Tiolani was falling, tumbling through emptiness, her heart stuttering in terror, the sky and trees changing places in a spinning blur as she turned, raindrops pelting her skin with stinging force and the cold wind whistling past her face so fast that she could scarcely breathe. In her tear-filled vision, the dark-green blur of the forest was looming closer and closer . . .
Suddenly horses were flashing down on either side of her, and her headlong plunge was stopped short as she landed on her back with a jerk that jarred every bone in her body. Gasping great gulps of air, she blinked the tears from her eyes to see the stars above her, and a cautious turn of her head showed her the four riders of a net team, who had swooped down and, with speed, skill and tremendous presence of mind, had caught her in their net before she hit the ground. Drenched, aching all over, sick and dizzy, her head still spinning, Tiolani turned over and vomited copiously through the meshes, into the forest below. Only then did she see just how close to death she had come. Had she wished, she could have reached an arm through the net and touched the topmost branches of the nearest tree. Tiolani felt a clutch of coldness in her belly. Her quick-witted rescuers could have anything that was in her power to bestow.
As her head began to clear, Tiolani heard shouting from above her. At first she thought it was simple concern for her - but no. They were not calling out to her, but to each other, and she could hear a definite note of panic in the voices.
‘Darillan! Catch him, someone.’
‘He’s too far away—’
‘What a dreadful way to die.’
‘The hounds! We’ll lose them. Doesn’t anyone know how to call them?’
‘Curse that demon horse.’
‘It must have gone mad.’
‘Put an arrow through it.’
‘No need. It’s heading straight for the storm.’
‘Ferimon, no, don’t follow.’ This last was Varna’s voice. ‘You’ll be killed!’
‘Ferimon?’ Tiolani struggled around in the net with difficulty, for the riders were no longer concentrating on holding it straight, and she was being tipped and tossed in the billowing folds. To her horror, she saw her lover, the hide of his white stallion gleaming luminous against the blackness beyond, being swallowed by the monstrous mass of cloud. The slower riders who had been following managed to peel away in time and turn back, but the foremost, like their leader, were pulled into the storm and lost.
‘No . . .’ Tiolani’s wail rang out across the skies. Her brother, her father . . . Not her beloved Ferimon, too. He must survive the storm. He must still be alive. He couldn’t die. Someone must go after him. He must be found at once.
Her rescuers, however, had other concerns. With the extra weight pulling on them, they had neither the speed nor manoeuvrability to escape the tearing winds, and were losing height fast. Suddenly the net smashed into the top of a tall tree, and though the folds cushioned some of the impact, Tiolani cried out in pain as she was scraped and battered by the clutching branches.
From above her came curses and flying instructions, then somehow they were all down in a scramble: horses, riders and a frantic Tiolani in her net. Even as she sank to the ground, weighed down and trapped beneath a tangle of meshes, she heard the slithering hiss of an arrow storm. Suddenly, it was as though she was back in the ambush that had robbed her of both father and brother. Her rescuers fell around her, Phaerie and horses crashing into the mud, bleeding and kicking up great gouts of earth in their death throes, mown down by the deadly hail. Karinon, the brave and handsome, with dark hair and flashing smile; Damascena, who had shared the tedium of childhood lessons with Tiolani; Roseire, with her love of jokes and mischief; and Sheran the dependable and strong. She had known them all her life. They had saved her life. They had been her friends.
Tiolani, pressed flat into the ground, was the only one to survive. Screams, bubbling groans, the sickening smack of arrows striking into flesh, the stench of blood and voided bowels: it was all so hideously familiar, except this time there was no Hellorin to save her, no Ferimon to comfort her. None of the other hunters had come down, as she had expected, to see how she fared. This time she was all alone.
It was unthinkable.
Fury, outrage and grief consumed her.
Harsh voices rang out above the roaring wind, with one that sounded both young and female raised above the rest. ‘Plague take the cursed weather! It’s going to be a bugger of a job butchering those animals in this rain. Evnas, Nira, Traig and Nurt, you make a start on that. Laika, Margeli, Thu, you help them. Be careful of the hides - we want them as near in one piece as we can get. Renol, Shaima, collect all the unspoilt arrows. Make sure you don’t miss any. Teluk, Sparay, Sirit, keep watch. You others, loot the bodies then help to pack up the meat for carrying. And don’t forget to grab the net - it’ll come in handy for all sorts of uses.’
Tiolani’s rage and sorrow froze into terror. Play dead, play dead. The words screamed in her mind. She closed her eyes, willing herself to be elsewhere - anywhere but this dreadful place. All around her, she heard sounds of activity as the ferals began their gruesome tasks. Nausea rose up into her throat at the stench of blood and ordure as the horses, so free and beautiful only an hour ago, were butchered, and she fought back tears when she was forced to listen as the bodies of her friends were casually despoiled.
‘See their cloaks. Surely this lightweight stuff cannot be warm?’
‘Well, they would need warm cloaks, flying up in the air like they do.’
‘Maybe they use their filthy magic.’
‘I used to belong to Phaerie who weren’t too proud to hand out their cast-offs to the lowly humans. The cloaks are warm, all right, and waterproof, too.’
‘And such beautiful clothes.’ The voice held a touch of pure feminine delight.
‘Are you going soft in the head, Arina?’ It was the voice of the girl who led the band. ‘What use will beautiful clothes be to us out here? So long as they’re warm and hard-wearing, it doesn’t matter if they look like potato sacks. It’s the food and the weapons that will do us far more good - and the fact that these bloody bastards won’t be killing any more of us.’
‘They’re carrying good swords and knives - not to mention bows just like the ones that back-stabbing turd Ferimon got for us so we could ambush the Forest Lord for him . . .’
In the coils of her net, Tiolani went rigid, her own dreadful situation forgotten in her horror. How could this be? It couldn’t be true - no, surely it couldn’t. Yet how did these monsters know Ferimon’s name? And they had no idea that anyone was listening, so why would they make up such a story?
‘We bought Ferimon’s bows with our blood. I told my father not to trust a Phaerie, but he wouldn’t listen, and it cost him his life.’ For a moment, the leader’s voice was swallowed in grief, then it hardened again. ‘I’ll never make that mistake. In future we buy our weapons with their blood, as we did today.’
There was a moment of silence, then someone, a man clearly seeking to lighten the moment, spoke up. ‘Hey, Danel, who’ll get this loot? Is it to be finders-keepers?’
‘In your dreams, Benon,’ the leader scoffed. ‘The weapons and other stuff will have to go where they’ll do most good, and that will have to be decided in council. And you may be sure that no one will be trusting a sword to the man who nearly cut his foot off when we stole that axe.’
A gale of laughter followed, and Tiolani ground her teeth with rage. How dared they? How dared they stand over the bodies of her friends, the butchered remains of her horses, and laugh? She wanted to kill them - but dared not try. She didn’t know how many there were, and she did not have her father’s power to kill a number of enemies with one spell. How she wished she had not been so lazy while growing up, dodging lessons whenever she could and counting on Hellorin’s indulgence to save her from her tutors’ wrath. Nothing could save her now.