‘But where are the riders?’ the female of the couple said.
‘They would decide to land here.’ The male frowned. ‘These animals have been lost from the Hunt - they still glow with the flying magic. The bloody Phaerie will be right on top of us, searching for them, with these two in our clearing lit up like beacons to lead the enemy right down on top of us.’
Corisand was sure she’d seen his face before. He looked so familiar, but she couldn’t think . . .
The woman, however, was a complete stranger and, like the man, looked as though she had already been in a dreadful battle that night. Her clothes were torn and soaked through with blood and rain. Her hair hung in snarls, and her face was chalk-white with exhaustion. Corisand was impressed to note that she made a visible effort to rally herself, and deal with the problem. ‘I’ll put them with the others,’ she said. ‘If I tuck them right under the hawthorn and put blankets on them, hopefully we can hide that glow.’
She put out a gentle hand towards Corisand. ‘You poor thing, you’re cold, wet and scared.’ Her voice was the same low, reassuring croon that Aelwen used. ‘You’re safe now - no one here will harm you. Come along with me, and I’ll soon make you more comfortable.’
Corisand’s instincts, both horse and Windeye, said trust. These people were right - while she and her companion still glowed with the remnants of the flying spell, they were a conspicuous target from the air. She allowed the strange woman to put a gentle hand on her bridle, and permitted herself and Halira to be led away.
Recognising Iriana’s superior touch with animals, Taine offered to stay with Avithan while she concealed the new arrivals. Fighting the rain and the wind that blew her hair across her face and made every step forward an effort, the Wizard led the horses across the clearing, trying not to alarm them with any sudden movements. They were splendid creatures, the most beautiful she’d ever encountered. One, slightly smaller than the other, was prettily marked in copper and white, while the taller was a beautiful grey with black legs, mane and tail, and dark dappling on her shining coat. Esmon’s warhorse, still acting as her eyes, was craning towards the newcomers and nickering a welcome, and as Iriana drew closer she realised that they were both mares, which accounted for his enthusiasm.
‘How in the world did you come to be here?’ she murmured to the two beauties. She loosed the stallion’s halter rope, counting on his interest in the females to keep him with the group and, using his eyes and moving carefully, she took the strangers beneath the sheltering hawthorn to tether them with the other horses.
‘Come along, my pretty ones,’ she crooned. ‘We’ll soon have you warm and comfortable.’ They were both trembling with shock and cold, and seemed to appreciate her attentions as she covered them with warm, dry blankets and fed them from the camp’s dwindling grain supply.
She knew she should hurry back to the tents. Avithan would need constant watching through the remainder of the night. But she felt an overpowering reluctance to return to the clearing, past poor Esmon’s body lying beside the corpse of his killer. Physically and mentally drained, Iriana paused - just for a moment, she assured herself - and stroked the velvety muzzle of the grey. Leaning into the powerful arching neck, she could feel the warmth and strength of the horse seeping into her; helping her to keep going for just a little while longer. ‘Just look at you, you beautiful creature,’ she murmured. ‘Now I finally understand why Hellorin sets such value on you - and why Archwizard Cyran is so interested in you.’ She ached with longing as she remembered poor, lost Dailika. ‘I wonder if you would let me ride you?’
It occurred to her that there might be a way to discover what had happened to the horses: she would look into their minds as she looked into those of her own creatures, and see if she could discover anything from their memories about the proximity and direction of the Hunt. Laying a gentle hand on the grey mare’s neck, she let her thoughts drift into the animal’s consciousness - but suddenly, shields slammed down and she found herself shut out.
‘Get out of my mind!’ The words, spoken quite clearly in mindspeech, echoed through Iriana’s head, startling her so much that she stepped back hastily. This was impossible! However, when she tried again to probe the mind of the grey horse, all she encountered were very firm, impassable shields. The animal made no attempt to speak to her again, but seemed to be scrutinising her with a look which was so intelligent and acute, she was sure that something more than a mere animal lurked behind that penetrating stare.
‘Did you just speak to me?’ she asked the mare out loud this time, as mindspeech would not penetrate the shields. ‘Did you just tell me to get out of your mind?’
The horse took a step backwards, looking as startled as Iriana felt. Then the Wizard was engulfed by a wave of joy and relief so strong that it almost knocked her off her feet, as the mare dropped her shields abruptly. ‘You heard me? You actually heard me? Oh, but this is a miracle.’
The astounded Corisand could barely contain her excitement. That she could actually communicate with this Wizard was good fortune beyond all her expectations. The surface of the other’s thoughts was dark with an agony of grief, but beneath it, the Windeye could feel a similar delight and astonishment welling up, together with acute curiosity. Suddenly her heart was filled with hope. Would everyone in Tyrineld be able to hear her like this? If so, she saw a new future stretching before her, filled with a multitude of exciting possibilities.
She came back to herself at the touch of the Wizard’s hand on her neck. ‘You did use mindspeech, didn’t you?’ the girl was saying. ‘I didn’t imagine it?’
Corisand moved firmly away from the caressing hand. If she was to identify herself as more than a simple animal, it was important to establish respect and dignity between herself and the Wizard from the very start. She looked her in the eye. ‘No, you did not imagine hearing me. My name is Corisand, and I am one of an ancient race, the Xandim—’
‘The Xandim?’ The girl interrupted with a gasp. ‘The lost race of shapeshifters? I learned about you in history lectures when I was a student at the Academy. But they said you were extinct, or possibly even a myth.’
‘Do I look like a myth to you?’ Corisand snapped.
‘I’m sorry, but that’s what I was told,’ the Wizard said. She smiled. ‘I’m glad it isn’t true. My name is Iriana, and I’m a Wizard from Tyrineld—’
‘Yes, I guessed as much,’ the Windeye told her, ‘when you mentioned Archwizard Cyran. This meeting is good fortune beyond my wildest hopes.’
‘But where have you been all this time?’ Iriana asked her. ‘The Xandim, I mean.’
‘A very good question,’ Corisand replied grimly. ‘Down all the ages that the Xandim were deemed to have been lost, we have dwelt in captive slavery in Eliorand, imprisoned in our equine forms by Hellorin, the Forest Lord.’
‘Merciful Creation! So all this time the Phaerie steeds have really been the Xandim?’
‘Exactly. And I am their Windeye, or Wise One, which means that of all of us, I am the only one capable of human thought and communication from mind to mind. I escaped from Eliorand, desperately hoping that the Wizards would hear me, as the Phaerie could not, and would help my people escape the bonds that Hellorin has laid on us.’
The eyes of Corisand’s companion had been growing wider and wider during this explanation. ‘Of course we’ll help you,’ she said. ‘I’m not very senior as Wizards go, but I’m sure that when you meet Archwizard Cyran, he’ll think of a way . . .’