“So you are the brave child who rescued her!” Raven said. She had been astonished when Aurian had brought her word that one of her folk—and a fledgling at that—could accomplish the mindspeech of the great cats. She had been meaning to look into the matter further, but… Raven put her thoughts aside with an impatient shrug. The child was here now, at least. “And what was your message?” she asked.
Linnet looked blackly at the guard. “She said it was private. ”
The Queen laughed. “Come, then, little one. We will adjourn to my chambers and see if we can find any refreshment there that is fit for a messenger.”
“She said what?”
Linnet flinched from the forcefulness of the Queen’s tone. Had that dratted cat got her into trouble again? Was she to be thrown out of these cozy royal chambers in disgrace? I told Hreeza that this idea was crazy, she thought resentfully. Linnet took an enormous bite out of the sweet cake in her hand—it tasted so good, and if she was to be thrown out, she might as well—and that was as far as she got for, not unnaturally, it went down the wrong way.
By the time the Queen had finished thumping her on the back and giving her a drink of water, Linnet had forgotten the original question. She flushed with embarrassment as Queen Raven repeated: “Now, then, tell me again, Linnet, exactly what Hreeza said.”
“She said that she had an urgent request.” Linnet scowled in concentration, doing her best to remember the exact wording. “She asks if you will wait until the others leave—the Mages and the cats—and then provide bearers to return her to the lands of her people.”
“But in Yinze’s name, why?” The Queen was frowning. In her consternation she seemed to have forgotten that she was speaking to a child. “Shia said that she and her friend were outlawed in their own lands, and could not return on pain of death.”
“That’s why it has to be a secret,” Linnet told her. “Because if the others find out, they’ll worry, and they won’t let her go. Hreeza says that her Queen is bad—not like you,” the child added hastily, blushing for the slip, “and if she isn’t dealt with, she will always be an enemy at Aurian’s back. But Hreeza has a plan—a wonderful plan—and if she can just get back quickly—”
“Wait, wait!” Frowning, the Queen held up her hand for silence. “Linnet, you had better come with me and talk to Hreeza. If you can translate, I would hear this plan for myself. What the Mages would say, if they knew of this…”
Linnet felt a weight of responsibility lift from her shoulders. Forgetting, in her relief, the exalted rank of her companion, she darted round the table and took hold of Raven’s hand. “Let’s go now,” she said excitedly. “I didn’t understand it myself, but you will. And Hreeza is very wise, so it’s sure to be a very good plan…”
As the excited child pulled her from the room, Raven lifted her eyes heavenward. “It had better be,” she muttered to herself, “or Aurian and Shia will have my hide.”
6
The Storm Breaks
The little band of Xandim cavalry were but a scant handful of days from their destination, and excitement was growing within them as they neared their homeland. They had climbed high now, into the great mountain range, and were looking forward to the day when they could look out across the roof of the world and see the familiar shape of their own sacred Wyndveil Peak, glimmering in the distance like a promise.
Spirits were high around the fire that night, and the talk and laughter were loud, but even though the flask was passed round again and again from hand to hand, the Xandim maiden declined her share and crept away from the crowd of warriors who had crammed themselves into the bright circle of the campfire’s glow. After so many months of near solitude, Iscalda still found herself overwhelmed, on occasion, by such a press of people, and she wanted to be alone for a time—at peace with the immense stillness of the night. On quiet feet she crept past the sentries and ventured a little farther beyond the glare of the flames until the soft hum of voices had receded and the stars above her were bright once more.
Iscalda unbraided the rippled flaxen banner of her hair and pushed her cloak back from her shoulders, letting the wind that swirled down from the snowpeaks stroke her arms with fingers of ice, raising tingling gooseflesh along the bare skin. She shivered pleasurably, luxuriating in the sensation of being clothed in human flesh once more. For her, this trek back through the mountains to her homeland had turned into a wondrous voyage of discovery. She had been trapped in her equine form for so long that she had almost forgotten simple, ordinary sensations such as the smooth slide of linen and the rough drag of wool against her skin; the savor of hot food in her mouth and the supple weight of a leather cloak around her shoulders; the heart-lifting, all-enfolding warmth of strong arms pulling her into an embrace; and the delight of shared laughter with a friend. Sights, sounds, scents, emotions—they had all seemed like thrilling new experiences, tasted for the very first time. In these last few days Iscalda had felt like a child again, running out, full of excited expectation, into the morning of the world.
“Lady—do you not feel cold?”
Iscalda jumped at the sound of the soft voice that came from behind her and, whirling, came face-to-face with Yazour. He had been the last person she had expected to hear addressing her in her own language. During the journey she had been chiefly occupied with renewing old friendships among her own people, and had forgotten that Chiamh the Windeye had extended a spell of tongues around the strangers so that they could be understood. With a startled exclamation, she took a hasty step backward and pulled her cloak around her shoulders once more.
The young warrior inclined his head in apology. “I did not mean to startle you.”
“No?” Iscalda inquired tartly. “You creep up soft-footed as a Black Ghost of the mountains, and suddenly speak from out of the darkness. What, then, did you expect?”
Yazour laughed. “You have me there. What I meant to say was that I did not come out here with that intention. In fact, I left the fireside to satisfy a much more mundane and pressing need, but as I was returning, I saw you standing there, alone in the darkness.” He hesitated. “Lady—I must confess that I was driven to approach you by curiosity. Since our rescue, we have had no chance to speak privately with one another, and…”
“And?” There was an edge to Iscalda’s tone. Already she knew where this must be leading. When he did not reply, she went on for him. “And you remembered what I was when you first met me, and wanted to know whether, as a woman, I had retained the instincts of a lowly beast—to be at the beck and call of any passing man—”
“No!” Yazour’s protest interrupted her. “Lady, you misjudge me. I simply wondered how it could be that the most magnificent horse that I had ever seen could have been changed, as if by magic, into the most beautiful woman. I wished to understand the nature of your race—yet, as your warriors talked with one another around the campfire, something—a fear of giving offense perhaps—has held me back from asking, especially since my people and yours have been foes for so long. But I felt, because of the long days of our captivity that we spent together in the cave, that you and I might share some fellow-feeling. Your thoughts then, I know, can not have been those of a mere beast. The night you took me to the tower, you understood my need, and when I saw you tonight, I thought that you, of all people, might understand again, and forgive any offense that an outsider and former enemy might convey with his prying questions.”
Iscalda was mollified, if not a little surprised, by his words. “In a sense, you were wise not to ask the warriors,” she mused. “Once, your questions—your very presence in our lands—would have meant instant execution. Yet you do not seem like an enemy to me, Yazour. And if what I hear from Chiamh is true—that our people soon will go to war—then the secret of our dual nature, which the Xandim have guarded so jealously for so long, may soon be out in any case.” She smiled at him. “Ask, then, Yazour—and I will try to satisfy your curiosity.”