Cygnus, realizing all too late that control of the meeting had slipped from his grasp, tried to dissipate the tension. “Please, my friends, there is no need for such suspicion between us. Aguila, you have misjudged the Wingmarshal. As you all know, Sunfeather was my childhood companion, and we have remained close over the years. I know his reasons for accepting his position from the hand of Blacktalon, for he confided in me at the outset. It was I who advised him to take the promotion—for at least then he would have sufficient authority to help our people clandestinely and to counteract the worst of the High Priest’s depredations. He acted from the best of intentions—as do we all.”
“I see. Well, if that is truly the case, then I beg his pardon,” Aguila answered, though Cygnus suspected that he spoke more from caution than from true conviction. “You must understand that as guardian of the Queen’s person, it is my duty to ask these questions. I admit, however, that there may be sense in what you say. I see no gain in sending our warriors off to some foreign war when we should be consolidating our position here in Aerillia, and I will join with you in advising Queen Raven to that effect.”
It was only through rigid control that Cygnus managed to suppress his sigh of relief.
“Good,” he answered. “I am grateful to you all for your cooperation. I suggest that we present our case to the Queen on the morrow.”
It couldn’t possibly last, thought Raven—but by Yinze, while it did, it was a marvel to behold! The winged girl, now Queen of the Skyfolk, dropped out of the thermal in which she’d been circling and swooped down toward the lower slopes of Aerillia Peak. Let them say what they like, she thought. At least I’ve already achieved a miracle in my short reign.
There, on the hand-hewn terraces below the Citadel of the Winged Folk, a great work of cultivation was in progress—and everyone capable of such labor, from ragged-plumed elders down to the smallest of fledglings, had been mobilized to assist. Raven looked down with pride upon her people, all engaged in the work of clearing, tilling, and planting, and felt her raptor’s vision blur with tears of gratitude and relief. I have the Mages to thank for this, she thought. Aurian and Anvar. Even though I betrayed them, they have still come to my aid in this great-hearted way.
Raven cringed inwardly at the memory of her recent folly. How close she had come to bringing ruin upon them all! How could I have let myself be duped by Aurian’s enemies, and my own? she wondered. How gullible I was. Aurian might have forgiven her, but the young Queen of the Skyfolk would never be able to forgive herself—and that made her feel even more guilty about the news that she must now impart to the Mages.
“Ho, Raven!”
The winged girl banked sharply in the direction of the cry from below. Aurian, with Anvar at her side, was waving from a bank of earth at the end of a row of grapevines. Raven bit her lip as her stomach clenched in trepidation. They weren’t going to be at all happy with the word she brought them, but she would have to get it over with. Furling her wings, she landed beside the Magefolk, apologizing hastily as her final backsweep whirled a cloud of dust into their faces.
Aurian coughed grit from her throat and wiped her streaming eyes on her sleeve. “I see your whirlwind landings haven’t altered,” she said dryly.
“You’re right,” Raven acknowledged. “My mother always used to say…” Her features twisted in a grimace of pain.
“Don’t dwell on it.” Aurian laid her hands on the winged girl’s shoulders. “Raven, you can’t change the past. You’ve repented, and what’s more, you’ve learned from your mistakes. Now you’re doing your best to set matters to rights. You have promised to help us in our fight, and your winged warriors will make all the difference—though I know how difficult it is for you to spare them just now, when you have so much to do here in your own kingdom.”
Raven could not meet the Mage’s eyes. “That’s just it,” she muttered. “I…” There was no way that she could break this news gently. “Aurian, they won’t come,” she blurted. “I spent the morning closeted with what remains of the Temple Guard and the officers of both the Royal Guard and our fighting force, the Syntagma. They all say the same thing: that it’s insane to leave our land unprotected when we are at our most vulnerable, and that since the time of the Cataclysm, the groundling Wizards have earned nothing but our enmity.”
“They said what?” Anvar shouted, his blue eyes icy with anger. His hand swept out to embrace the verdant terraces on the mountainside. “They call this nothing? All the work that Aurian has done to keep the ungrateful bastards from starvation? And what about Blacktalon? If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even have a bloody kingdom—”
“And without the backing of the warriors, I will not have one much longer!” Raven cried. “They have already made that perfectly clear,” she added in a smaller voice, into the shocked silence that followed. “It was Elster who warned me. Despite his cruelty, Blacktalon had many followers, especially among the military, because they believed that he was trying to restore the ancient self-respect and supremacy of the Winged Folk. How else do you think he could have succeeded as he did?” Her voice took on a brittle edge of bitterness. “His only mistake was murdering my mother. Even for those who were loyal to him, that was going too far—and yet even now there are those in Aerillia who are saying that the coming of spring had naught to do with Anvar. That it was Blacktalon who ended the winter as he had promised—at the cost of his own life.”
“But that’s outrageous!” Aurian was scowling. “You know, I thought I could sense hostility from some folk while I was working on the terraces. I simply put it down to suspicion of an Outland Wizard. But who started these ridiculous rumors? How can people believe them?”
“I wish I knew who was responsible,” Raven sighed. “Because of what happened with Harihn, my rule over the Skyfolk is tenuous at best, and to have a secret enemy spreading such poison behind my back makes me very uneasy. Your selfless work upon our crops has strengthened my position, but…”
“It’s not enough.” There was grim finality in Aurian’s words.
Raven nodded. “Not only that, but…” She looked up at Anvar, tacitly pleading for his understanding. “The finding of the Harp has caused a good deal of resentment. People believe that Anvar had no right to claim it. Only today, Sunfeather, the Wingmarshal of the Syntagma, was saying that it should be returned to its rightful keepers: the Winged Folk. The hope of regaining our long-lost powers of magic is a powerful and dangerous lure. With the resentment that is building, it may no longer be safe for you to stay here—”
“Damn it, Raven—the only reason we did stay so long was to help your people,” Anvar began hotly, but Aurian silenced him with a shake of her head.
“It’s time we were leaving anyway,” she said calmly. Only the cold gray glint in her eye betrayed her true feelings. “Far from helping you establish your authority, Raven, I think our presence is making matters worse—and, besides, it’s time we were heading back north. Can you still arrange to have us transported to the Xandim Fastness?”
“I owe you that—and so much more.” Raven’s vision blurred with tears. “You gave me back the gift of flight…” She took a deep breath, fighting to control her emotion. “My people have shamed me, Aurian, but I will make amends for betraying you, I promise. I’ll do whatever I can to put things right. There are some still loyal to me, who will act as bearers and couriers for you until you cross the ocean and return north. I will make the arrangements at once.” Too ashamed to say more, she took wing again, heading back toward the sunlit spires of the Citadel.
Anvar’s eyes were bleak and cold as he watched Raven fly off. The anger in his guts was too great to be contained any longer. Aurian, catching his expression, raised a questioning brow. “Does she still trouble you so much? After all, you can hardly blame her for this situation.”