The Windeye burst out of the woods at the lower end of the valley, and passed the standing stones that were its gate. The smooth, inviting grass of the plateau beckoned, and he heaved a sigh of relief. No longer did he have to worry about breaking a leg on uneven ground—on the plateau, he could really move! Chiamh stopped in the shadow of the great stones and collected himself, turning his attention inward. Then—he changed.
To an observer, he knew, the transformation would have taken place in seconds. To Chiamh, time seemed to stretch—as did his body, his bones and muscles gaining a tingling elasticity as they lengthened and grew thick and strong. There was a moment of blurred confusion, as impossible to register as the instant between consciousness and sleep—and in the lee of the stones that had previously shadowed a young man, Stood a snaggy-maned bay horse.
Chiamh pawed the ground, enjoying the power of his equine body, and the tapestry of rich scents that swirled around him. His ears flicked back and forth, hearing the slurring of the wind across the plateau’s snowswept grass, and the creak of branches back in the woods. His eyesight, unfortunately, remained unchanged in his Othershape—flatter in depth of vision and more peripheral and encompassing than that of a human—but still as blurred as ever. Still, at least in this form, he had other senses that could, in some measure, compensate . . .
Woolgathering! Chiamh snorted disgustedly. That was the trouble with this shape—one’s thoughts tended to become those of a horse, and the longer one stayed this way, the greater was the risk of losing all vestiges of human intelligence. But enough! Time was passing! At the far side of the meadow, he would have to change back again, to descend the steep cliff path, but in the meantime it was worth it, both For the saving in time—and the sheer, exuberant joy of the run. With a flick of his heels, the Windeye was off, racing the wind across the plateau.
In the lands of the North, yet in a place unreachable within the boundaries of the mundane world, the palace of the Forest Lord, with its treelike towers and innumerable gardens and glades, lay deceptively tranquil in a waiting silence, within and upon its massive hill. Upon the craggy slopes of the mound, a ferny hollow cupped a crystal pool, fed by a silvery filigree of water that twisted and tumbled down a stony precipice from the heights above.
The Lady of die Lake sat by the water, combing the silver-shot strands of her long brown hair. Warily, the great stag watched her from its thicket on the other side of the pool; safe, he thought, and unobserved—until the Earth-Mage lifted her eyes to him and smiled.
“Do you prefer that form, my Lord?” Her voice was low and musical.
Hellorin, chagrined, stepped forth, shifting to his magnificent human shape. Only the branching shadows of the great stag’s crown above his brow remained as a reminder that this was no ordinary Mage or Mortal—for indeed, the Lord of the Phaerie was more than both. His feet, clad in high boots of supple leather, caused nary a ripple as he walked toward Eilin across the surface of the pool. “The eyes of the Magefolk were ever keen,” he complimented her. “Many’s the Mortal huntsman I have lured and deceived with that shape.”
The Lady Eilin laughed. “Aye, and many’s the Mortal maid, I’ll wager, that you have lured and deceived with the shape you are wearing now!”
Hellorin chuckled, and made her a flourishing bow. “I have done my best,” he told her loftily. “After all, my Lady, the Phaerie have a certain reputation to uphold!” Sitting down beside her on the fragrant turf, he turned to more serious matters. “I did not expect to find you here. Are you tired, then, Lady, of your vigil?”
Eilin’s brow creased in a frown. “Not tired. Lord-not weary, at any rate. It helps to see what passes in the world outside. But oh, it galls me to be reduced to an onlooker, when I long to be free—to go where I am so badly needed, and do my part”
Hellorin, hearing the tremor of tears in her voice, turned the starry depths of his pay eyes upon her. “But that is not the sole cause of your unhappiness. There is more, Eilin, is there not?”
The Earth-Mage nodded. “The window in your hall shows my Valley,” she said sadly. “It shows Nexis, and all the northern lands—but it doesn’t show me Aurian Day after day I bend my will upon the thought of my daughter, but she is nowhere to be found! Where is she?” Her voice caught on a sob, “Trapped in this Elsewhere, I might not know if she died. Surely, if I cannot find her, then she must be dead!”
The Lady’s hopeless weeping scalded the Forest Lord’s heart. Since losing D’arvan’s mother, the Mage Adrina, grief had been a constant companion to Hellorin, and he sorrowed for Eilin’s heartache. Putting an arm around her shoulders, he drew her close to his side. “Take heart,” he told her. “Your fears may yet be groundless. If you cannot see Aurian’s image in my window, it may only mean she has voyaged across the ocean to the south.”
Eilin stiffened. “What?” Her head came up sharply, a spark of irritation lit her eyes. “Do you mean your wretched window doesn’t work across the sea?”
Hellorin, amused by her transformation from sorrow to anger, and her sudden abandonment of the courtly manners of the Phaerie, struggled to hide a smile. Ah, it took little provocation for the Magefolk to revert to type! And how much she reminded him, in that moment, of his dear Adrina! “Did you think to try to look?” he asked her gently. The Earth-Mage reddened. “Why, yes!” she blustered, “I mean—no! How the blazes should I know what the Southlands are like? I thought your window worked in the same way as scrying—I concentrated on Aurian, and had she been in the south, I was relying on it to me there!” To Hellorin’s astonishment, she flung her arms around him and hugged him, “Gods,” she cried, half in laughter, half in tears, “what a relief it is, to hope again! For days I’ve been convinced . . .”
It had been ages since Hellorin had held a woman—of any race—in his arms. After the loss of Adrina, he had never had the heart to do so again. As the Earth-Mage looked up at him, their eyes caught, and held—then Eilin looked away. “Tell me,” she said, in a voice that sounded strained and unnatural to the Forest Lord’s ears, “why the range of your window cannot see beyond the ocean?”
“The salts are a barrier to the Old Magic, such as the Phaerie use.” Hellorin found his voice with difficulty. “A fact that your ancestors, Lady, used to their advantage, and our detriment”
“How so?” The Mage was frowning now, and Hellorin felt a fleeting pang of regret that the bitter troubles of an age long gone should mar their accord. He sighed. “Lady, forget that I spoke. What good can it do us, to dwell upon the quarrels and injustices of the past?”
“I want to know!” Eilin snapped; then her expression softened. “If the forebears of the Magefolk wronged you, then only their descendants may make amends. And since I am the only Mage to whom you can speak at present ... . .” She tilted an eyebrow at him, and Hellorin realized that her anger had been directed, not at him, but at those ancestors, long gone to dust, who had imprisoned his folk out of the world. And so he began to speak, telling her things that no Phaerie had ever told a Mage. He told her how the world had been long ago, before the Artifacts of the High Magic had been crafted, and the Magefolk had gained ascendancy over the elder races who possessed the powers of the Old Magic.
The Lady Eilin listened, wide-eyed, as Hellorin spoke of the gigantic Moldai, elemental creatures of living rock who lived in an odd but mutually beneficial association with the Dwelven, the Smallfolk, who dwelt within their mountainous bodies and went out into the world to be their eyes and ears and limbs.
“When the Magefolk wished to weaken the Moldai, what better way than to separate them from the Dwelven, exiling them in the Northern lands where they could no longer reach the Moldai, who dwelt in the South?” Hellorin’s voice was bitter. “And what apt justice, to use the sea to do so—for it was a Moldan—a mad, wild giant—who seized the powers of the Staff of Earth and used them to fracture the land mass that was once both North and South together. He caused the sea to enter, drowning the lands between, with the loss of many lives, both Mage and Mortal alike.”