As Anvar looked into the human’s green eyes he was overwhelmed by a profound wave of joy: a feeling of belonging that swept through him like some inexorable tide. Though he did not understand why, he knew that his place was right here at the human woman’s side.
“Has the courier been dispatched to the Queen of the Khazalim?” Eliseth asked.
“Indeed, Lady. Everything is just as you have ordered,” Sunfeather told her.
“The message was worded exactly as you said, asking the Khisihn Sara if she would be willing to become your ally and supply you troops to help defend Dhiammara, in exchange for your assistance in her own land once the Dragon City has been secured. As for our planned attack on Finch and Petrel and their colony, your warriors are assembled above, and ready to move—we simply await your word.”
The Weather-Mage turned to Skua. “And you, High Priest? Are you ready to take on this great charge?”
Skua nodded, and though his usual saturnine expression did not alter, Eliseth could see the gleam of suppressed excitement in his eyes. “I have been preparing all my life for this moment, Great Lady. You need have no fear—in my safe hands, the city will thrive and prosper during your absence.”
Eliseth smiled at him, “I have every confidence in you, my Lord Skua.” If only you knew how little I have to fear from you, she thought. Your black heart may be full of treachery—but your mind is under my control.
Eliseth poured wine for her two winged cohorts, and picked up the third cup from the table. “What do the Skyfolk think of our glorious mission to subdue the colony of Eyrie?”
The High Priest grimaced thinly—the nearest he ever came to a smile. “I have preached against the evil, godless renegades in the Temple,” he said. “The populace of Aerillia are convinced that Sunfeather and his warriors will smite the Eyrians in Yinze’s name, and there is a great deal of support for the notion. After a handful of dissenters had the error of their ways explained to them by the stones and cudgels of the righteous, even those who have friends and kin in the colony are rapidly learning the value of silence.”
“That’s most satisfactory,” Eliseth laughed. “By all means, let us cleanse our land of these ungodly Eyrians—not to mention the fact that the colony stands in the way of my plans for Dhiammara.” She lifted her cup. “To our success, my friends—great deeds await us.”
By the time dusk fell the next day, Aurian had begun to feel that she was really getting somewhere with the magic that permitted the Xandim to fly. The weather had been grey but dry with a brisk wind, and she’d spent the day outside with D’arvan, Chiamh, Schiannath, and Iscalda, practicing the wielding of Old Magic to include more than a single Xandim. It had not proved so difficult as she had expected, though it did require a good deal of concentration to link the energies of so many auras with the power of the winds. Linnet had joined them for part of the day, exercising her newly healed wing. Because of the missing feathers, her flight was still uneven and ungainly, but at least she was getting off the ground again. The hawk was also present, flying around them in flutter-ing circles, sometimes peeling off to hunt over the cliffs, but never straying too far, and always returning to Aurian. The bird remained an enigma to the Mage. Since it had returned to her the previous day, she had become more convinced than ever that it truly held the spirit of Anvar—yet when she reached out with her mind to attempt communication with the creature, it seemed to have no sense of identity, and she would make little sense of the confused jumble of simple avian Rages in its brain. Certainly, it was still very wild—there was no way she could persuade it to accompany her into the confinement of the Nightrunner quarters. Whenever she stepped outside, however, it was there waiting for her, and clung to her with a fierce loyalty.—For some reason, it also seemed to favor the Windeye, but any notion that it might have been drawn to magic was negated by the fact that the hawk treated D’arvan with utter indifference.
Shia too had been uncertain. “I hope for all our sakes that you’re right, Aurian,” she had said doubtfully, “but are you sure your hopes aren’t leading you astray? It just looks like a bird to me.”
The one person with whom Aurian had not discussed the hawk was Forral. Not only had she made no mention to him of her suspicions, but she had sworn D’arvan and Chiamh to secrecy too. D’arvan had asked her why. “Look,” she told him, “if I’m right about this, it will only upset and disturb Forral—with very good reason—to think that Anvar is still present in some way, watching our every move and waiting to take back his own body. If I’m wrong, then Forral will be equally as disturbed, but for no reason at all.” It had all sounded very plausible at the time.
All in all, it had been good to get away from the Nightrunner caverns and the uneasy mix of personalities that had been thrown together these last few days.—The issue of the Death-Wraith’s hunger was becoming increasingly urgent, and there seemed no way to avoid a human death. The Mage could not help but think that maybe Forral had been right after all—perhaps it had been a grave mistake to bring the Wraith out of time. Wolf remained, if not overtly hostile, indifferent to his mother, and was spending a great deal of time with Zanna’s sons. Iscalda said he missed Currain, who had been like a younger brother to him. Much to the swordsman’s distress, he had flatly refused to believe that Forral was his father. “You can’t be my father—he’s dead,” Wolf insisted.—Nonetheless, there had also been better news. Vannor, thank the Gods, seemed to be recovering his spirits thanks to the determined ministrations of Dulsina and Zanna, who were well on their way to persuading him that, rather than castigating himself over his past mistakes, he would be better off atoning for them with constructive deeds. That morning, Forral had come out with Parric to find out what the Mage was up to, and had gone very white when he had seen her hurtling through the skies on Chiamh’s back, with Schiannath and Iscalda flanking her on either side. At Aurian’s urging, however, the swordsman had finally been persuaded to mount Schiannath for a trial flight, with Aurian flying alongside on Chiamh, her magic keeping both Xandim aloft. Forral had returned with his face glowing with delight as he enveloped the Mage in a great bear hug. “By Chathak, lass—what an incredible experience! I never thought I’d live to see the day....”
“You didn’t,” Parric put in dryly, and clapped the swordsman on the back to take the sting from his words. The Cavalry-master was in irrepressible spirits. Unlike Forral, he had taken no persuading whatsoever to try flying on Iscalda’s back, and was now firmly convinced that he had seen the crowning moment of his life.
That night, the Mage and her companions ate in Emmie’s quarters with Zanna and her family, and Emmie and Yanis, to celebrate the return of the Nightrunner leader whose ship had docked that afternoon (and who had been bemused, to say the least, at finding a horse flying in circles around his mast when he neared the land).
Grince’s eyes were on Aurian, who was seated across the table from him. Emmie had rummaged through her store-looms to find some finery for them all, and the Mage looked like a living flame in a wine-colored velvet gown. Her hair, which was growing long again, lay loose on her shoulders in a tumbling silken cascade. The thief could barely look away from her for long enough to eat his food. Though he had been spending most of his time in the Nightrunner haven with Emmie, or learning about ships with his new friend Jeskin the shipswright, Aurian had never been far from his thoughts. She was brave and competent and compassionate, and one of the few people who had ever treated him as though he really mattered. Furthermore, she had brought some magic into a life that en singularly short of enchantment. He had never forgotten their meeting beneath the Nexian Academy, and the rough but unreserved kindness she had shown him, both then and during their escape across the moors. Though he’d been unaware of it at the time, Grince had his heart to the Mage that first day, but he had only to realize just how very much she meant to him when had seen her lying, cold, pale, and still, up by the standing tone, and had been sure that she was dead. At that moment, had felt that something rare and precious had been taken from him; as though some vital part of himself had been ripped away. In a fit of fervor that had shocked him greatly when he came to look back on it afterward, he had run to her, clutched at her, and begged her not to leave him—and as if by some miracle, she had not. Over the last day or two, however, he had been watching her covertly as she practiced flying with the Xandim and talked to Emmie and Zanna about ships and supplies. He knew that she was planning to leave again and the thought filled him with dread and dismay. He couldn’t let her go without him.