While the cavalrymaster made the slower journey by horseback to the Xandim lands, the Mage planned to return to Aerillia and use her mother’s Earth-magic to speed the growth of the new crops that the Skyfolk were currently planting—and she still had a great many matters to resolve with Raven. There was also the matter of Anvar’s continuing hostility toward the newly crowned Queen of the Skyfolk—but she would resolve that, too, given time. In the meantime, Aurian’s immediate concern had been to persuade her child’s foster parents to leave their pack and make the journey by net to Aerillia—and even more difficult, to persuade the winged bearers to take them. By the time everything had been arranged and the Mages were ready to return to the Skyfolk city, Aurian had been ready to tear her hair out and scream.
Hreeza’s words, however, drove all these matters to the back of the Mage’s mind. The old cat, though she still slept for much of the time, seemed well on the road to recovery, but perhaps the experience had turned her brain. Aurian raised a questioning eyebrow at Shia, who returned the mental equivalent of a shrug.
“I would have thought,” the Mage suggested cautiously, “that you’d have had enough of the Skyfolk for the time being.” Following the cat’s ordeal at the hands of her people’s ancient foes, Hreeza had acted with undisguised hostility toward any of the Winged Folk who had entered her chamber.
Shia, in her usual style, was much more forthright. “What do you want with the cub?” she demanded. “Be still, you old fooclass="underline" rest. Have you forgotten how close we came to losing you?”
“No, I have not forgotten.” Hreeza’s mental voice, though faint and weary, still held a spark of her old acerbic spirit. “That is why I wish to see my rescuer. Had it not been for that cub of the Skyfolk, I would have perished for certain—and it is against my nature to let a debt go unpaid, as well you know, Shia. I must thank the little one—and as it galls me to be beholden to any of these skyborne scum, I wish to get the unpleasant business over with as soon as possible.”
“Pah! You don’t fool me!” Shia retorted. “I know you too well, Hreeza. You are keeping something from us, or I’m a chunk of Xandim horse meat! Come on, spit it out!” And when Hreeza remained obstinately silent, the younger cat continued: “I won’t let Aurian send for the child until you do.”
Hreeza grumbled through her whiskers, but she knew when she was beaten. “Very well,” she conceded grudgingly, “but you won’t believe me.” She shot Shia a challenging glare. “The Skyfolk can hear us, Shia. They have the potential to understand our mindspeech just as the Mages can!”
Aurian, listening in on this conversation, uttered a startled exclamation, but Shia was silent, too stunned for speech. After a moment she collected herself. “Nonsense!” she snapped. “Delirium—that’s all it was. You imagined it!”
“I did not!” Hreeza snarled. “I called out for help, I tell you—and that winged cub heard me!”
Aurian, lacking Shia’s background of inborn hatred and resentment of the Winged Folk, was quicker than her friend to grasp at the possibilities. “But if the two races can communicate, then surely there must be a way of making peace between you,” she suggested cautiously.
“Never!” Shia spat. She turned on Aurian, eyes blazing. “What of our slaughtered people? Have you forgotten so quickly the skins that the Skyfolk gave you and Anvar to warm yourselves? Have you forgotten how Raven betrayed us and almost cost us all our lives—including your child? The Winged Folk are not to be trusted! They are base, treacherous, murderous…”
“Hush.” Hreeza’s voice cut firmly through Shia’s snarling tirade. “The slaughter of our people has gone on long enough,” the old cat declared. She looked sympathetically at the dumbfounded Shia, and sighed. “In my heart I agree with you, my friend, but my head tells me this war between our people and the Skyfolk must cease. The slaughter of our race has gone on long enough—and I would never wish another cat to suffer as I did. Someone must call a halt to these senseless hostilities, and if the winged cub holds out a hope for the future, then let us take advantage of it!” Her head drooped with exhaustion, and she laid it down on her outstretched paws. “Enough, Shia. I am weary. While I sleep, you must consider my words—find Khanu, too, and discuss it with him. Then, when I awaken, you must send for the little one.”
3
Strange Havens
Emmie was almost walking in her sleep as she entered the kitchen cavern. The empty chamber was wrapped in shadows, for most of the lamps in the smugglers’ network of caves had been extinguished long ago. Emmie didn’t mind. The slumberous red glow from the banked fires provided enough illumination for her needs. She crossed to the long, knife-scarred table, pulled out one end of the sturdy bench that was tucked beneath it, and sat down heavily. She was ravenously hungry, but lacked the energy to find herself something to eat. It was well after nightfall, and the kitchen helpers had long since gone to their beds. Everyone had worked so hard without rest these last two days that Emmie didn’t want to wake them now. It wouldn’t be fair. Instead, she propped her elbows on the table, ran her fingers through the tangles in her disheveled blond curls, and lost herself in worried thought.
As though it could sense her weariness, the white dog, now christened Storm, laid its head on her lap and whined, looking up at her with an uncannily intelligent expression in its dark eyes. Emmie swallowed hard as her vision blurred with unexpected tears. She muttered a curse and brushed an impatient hand across her face. My, but you’ve sunk low, she chided herself. Bawling like a babe over sympathy from a dog!
“Gracious, girl, you look worn to a shadow! Here—get some of this inside you.”
Emmie jumped. She must truly have been lost in her thoughts, for she’d heard no one come in. A rough, sturdy, work-reddened hand appeared, bearing a mug of soup that was plunked down unceremoniously on the table in front of Emmie. She looked up to see Remana, the mother of Yanis, the Nightrunner leader. The woman pulled out the opposite bench and lowered herself wearily onto the hard wooden seat. Though she must also have been ready to drop from fatigue, she still managed a bracing smile for the younger girl. “Did you get it sorted, then?” she asked, taking a cautious sip from her own steaming mug. “And why wasn’t Jarvas dealing with it?”
Emmie shrugged. “It was just another squabble over accommodation,” she sighed. “Jarvas was asleep—I finally found him in a corner, but it looked as though he had just fallen over where he sat. I hadn’t the heart to wake him—the loss of his sanctuary has hit him very hard. I managed to settle the ungrateful fools myself, without further bloodshed.” From somewhere she found the ghost of a smile. “Luckily, they are all very much in awe of Storm, here.”
Hearing its name, the dog whined, and Remana reached out to stroke the broad white head. The dog looked up sharply at the touch of the strange hand, but had already decided that, as a friend to her mistress, the Nightrunner woman was acceptable. Slowly, the white-plumed tail began to wag—then a large black nose came up over the edge of the table to sniff hopefully at Remana’s mug. “You should be so lucky!” Remana chuckled, removing her soup to a safe distance. “This is the first thing I’ve had to eat all day!” She turned back to Emmie. “My word, she’s going to be a beauty. All she needs is fattening up…”