Heritage Of The Xandim

13

FROM THE SHADOWS

Today, for once, the scrying was going as it should. Cyran had used a crystal instead of the usual mirror, and it appeared to be working. To his relief, he saw what he’d been looking for rather than a confusing jumble of ill-omened portents. The crystal, a massive chunk of clear quartz, sat on the table in the sunlight, and within its depths he could see, small but very clear, an image of three tiny figures on horseback, leading a packhorse behind them as they cantered steadily across an expanse of undulating green downs. Three days had passed since the cold dawn when Avithan, Iriana and Esmon had set out. By nightfall they would reach the northern settlement of Nexis and the first leg of their journey would be safely over. The Archwizard nodded in satisfaction. Of course they were safe. How many times had he told Sharalind over the last few days (when he could get a word in edgeways) that Iriana would come to no harm?

To say that Cyran’s consort had disagreed with his decision to send Avithan and Iriana to Eliorand would be putting it mildly. Sharalind’s explosion of anger had broken every window in the building, and it had taken repairing spells from a squad of Wizards to put right the mess. Even now, three days later, her treatment of him was as cold as the northern mountains, and he had a feeling that he would not be back in favour until the emissaries had returned safely to Tyrineld. Archwizard or no, he was also in considerable trouble with Iriana’s guardian, Zybina, and caught between the two formidable females, he was beginning to wish that he, too, could have been riding to Nexis with his son and Iriana.

Unfortunately, the Archwizard couldn’t shrug off his responsibilities so easily. Cyran wrapped his crystal in a velvet cloth and put it away, then began to prepare for a meeting with the other Magefolk leaders. Taking his mirror from its cabinet, he unwrapped it carefully from its velvet covering and repeated the process with two others. Then he placed all three of them on the table and tilted them carefully to catch the morning sunlight and reflect it onto the wall. When the three patches of light were properly aligned and glimmering alongside one another, he was finally ready to begin.

He wondered why the others had called this meeting. There had not been one due for another six days, and normally all the arrangements were left to him. Could something have changed at last? Had one of them finally been given a warning, as he had? The Archwizard was torn: half-wanting to be vindicated in the eyes of his peers, but half-dreading confirmation of the horrors he had seen.

The misgivings of the other leaders had hit him hard. He had worked so laboriously and struggled for so long to be made Archwizard. Many had thought him too scholarly, not sufficiently practical, and his determination that magic should never be used for warlike purposes had made him many enemies among those who believed that the Wizardfolk should have the means to defend themselves, especially living as close as they did to the Phaerie. He had finally succeeded in his ambition, however, and during the years since he had achieved the leadership of his people, he had always been certain that he was doing a good job. Now that confidence had been shaken. Since these visions had started he had known no peace, analysing every move and decision he made for fear of where it might lead. At the back of his disquiet, there were always the insidious doubts that had made sleep a thing of the past. What if, in trying to avoid this catastrophe, I bring it about? In the end he had no choice but to trust his own judgement and do the best he could. If only the other leaders had shared his presentiments! Cyran hoped with all his heart that they had been wrong to doubt.

He was just about to sit down at the table when the door opened soundlessly and a figure wearing a dark cloak slipped inside. Cyran turned. ‘How dare you enter my chambers without knocking—’

‘I? Knock?’ The intruder laughed lightly, but without mirth. ‘Why get into bad habits?’ His hair was dark, and tied back from his face. He had the tall, lean form of one of the Phaerie, but there was a solid muscularity to his body, and his face and jaw had strong, chiselled features that indicated otherwise.

‘Taine!’ The Archwizard gasped. ‘May the Light be praised. You were away for so long, I was sure you had been caught.’

‘I very nearly was. I had a lot of trouble getting out, now that the Phaerie have closed their borders. Also, I’m sure that Dhagon, who is still head of Hellorin’s Chahiri spy network, suspects me.’ He broke into a lazy smile. ‘His accursed agents were snooping around all over the city, and since I had to kill several of them during my escape, he’ll certainly be after my blood now.’

Cyran ignored this. ‘They’ve closed the borders?’

‘The Phaerie realm has been isolated. No one gets in or out any more.’

‘Oh, mercy, no.’ Cyran felt as though he had been kicked in the guts. ‘I have just sent my son and a young, blind, inexperienced girl to Eliorand as emissaries.’

Taine’s eyebrows shot up. Coming from one so skilled at hiding emotions, his expression betrayed his feelings more strongly than a shout or a curse. Nonetheless, when he spoke, his voice remained mild and calm. ‘Your son and a blind girl. Pardon me for being frank, Archwizard, but what in the world were you thinking?’

Temper flashed through Cyran, hot and red. Anger at himself as much as the weary spy. ‘I thought you were dead. If you had even managed to get some kind of message to me it would have helped, but for months I’ve heard nothing. I had to do something - I have my reasons for not wanting open warfare with Hellorin’s folk. I felt that by sending the most non-aggressive representatives possible, I might have a chance to treat with the Phaerie, not to mention find out what’s going on up there. And Iriana might be blind, but she has special abilities, talents that might have proven very useful in finding out some of the Phaerie secrets, had she been able to gain entry to Eliorand. She might also have been able to discover what had become of you.’

‘When did you send them? How fast were they planning to travel? I saw no sign of them on my way here, but that means nothing, for I seldom travel on public roads - especially when I’ve needed to steal myself a fresh horse.’ A rare spark of humour brightened his weary eyes. ‘Over the years, I’ve learned a lot of short cuts.’

Cyran had begun to pace. ‘They left three days ago, and they were in no hurry. They planned to reach Nexis by tonight. And I had more sense than to send them alone. They have Esmon, the Head of the Luen of Warriors, with them.’

‘Good. That makes me feel a little more confident about their safety. Give me a couple of good horses and I can catch them before they reach the borders of the Phaerie realm. I’ll set off at once.’ Taine swayed with exhaustion even as he spoke and, dangerous though the situation might be, Cyran took pity on him. ‘Will an hour or two make any difference?’

The spy shook his head. ‘They’ll be dawdling along, no doubt, and stopping to eat and sleep. I won’t. Even if I set off at nightfall, I should still catch them easily.’

‘Then sit down and rest yourself. When did you last eat or sleep?’

Taine unslung the compact pack from his shoulders, doffed his muddy cloak and threw himself down in the nearest chair. ‘I came straight here without stopping, except to steal a fresh horse in Nexis.’

‘I’ve been scrying in that direction off and on for the last three days, keeping an eye on my son and his companions,’ Cyran said. ‘Why did I never see you?’

‘I know a spell that screens me from observation by scrying.’

‘I’ve never heard of such a spell.’

The spy shrugged. ‘Phaerie magic, a lesser version of their glamourie spell. I did inherit some powers from my father, you know, as well as my Wizardly mother.’

The Archwizard poured taillin from the pot that always stood on his desk, kept warm by one of Avithan’s useful spells, and added a generous dollop of honey. He thrust the cup into Taine’s hands, and took a goblet of wine for himself. He forced himself to be calm and concentrate on the matter in hand, instead of worrying unnecessarily over Avithan and Iriana. ‘What is really happening in Eliorand?’ he asked. ‘Why have the Phaerie closed their borders? Tell me what you’ve learned.’

‘It’s even worse than you might have imagined, Archwizard,’ Taine said.

Cyran listened with growing consternation as Taine told him what had taken place during the winter. This was all wrong. There were too many questions here; too many imponderables. He and Hellorin had ruled their respective realms for so long that each could predict, within reason, what the other would do in any circumstances. But Tiolani now ruled the Phaerie, and she was an entirely unknown quantity. Hellorin and Estrelle had waited long indeed for their daughter, and the untimely death of his beloved consort had made Hellorin all the more inclined to indulge his child. Young, pampered, inexperienced, undisciplined: any of these traits spelled trouble in a ruler. Put them all together, add the fact that the girl was half-crazed with grief over the death of her brother and was being influenced by this Ferimon - another unknown and suspect quantity - and you had a recipe for certain disaster. How would she cope with the challenges of her sudden rise to power? That she had found an outlet for her grief riding with the Wild Hunt every night, exterminating every feral human she could find without regard for treaties, borders or anything else, was indicative of the grave nature of the situation.

Cyran could feel the beginnings of a headache tightening behind his eyes. What would be the best way to deal with a situation such as this?

‘That’s not all,’ Taine said quietly, interrupting the Archwizard’s racing thoughts. ‘The healers could not remove the arrows from Hellorin and several other of the wounded Phaerie until they had brought them home. Most of the projectiles were destroyed during the healing process, but I finally managed to get my hands on one.’ Unstrapping the pack, he reached inside and withdrew a long, thin package, well wrapped in cloth. Balancing it on his palm, he held it out to the Archwizard.

Cyran took the package and unfolded the cloth with care. The discoloured shaft had been soaked in blood, but he ignored the dark, jarring energy of pain and death carried by the stains. His eyes were riveted on the arrow itself. Contrary to his expectations, it was smooth and straight, with perfect fletching and a beautifully forged iron point. His eyes opened wide. ‘This was not made by a pack of renegade slaves living wild. Were they all like this?’ he demanded.

‘To the best of my knowledge.’

‘Then where did the humans get them?’

‘I don’t know,’ Taine confessed. ‘One thing seems certain: someone has been providing the ferals with weapons. Hellorin has an enemy - but who? Is it one of the Phaerie, or someone else? My instincts tell me it must be Ferimon, but I have no real proof, and cannot be certain.’

The Archwizard frowned. ‘I must learn the identity of Hellorin’s secret foe. Will they be an ally to us, or an enemy? Our entire future could depend on it.’

‘Of course. I’ll take a few hours’ rest, and set off for Eliorand tonight. I’ll send Avithan’s party back and continue on alone.’ Taine’s face was as expressionless as stone.

‘Taine, I regret the necessity for this. The situation is so serious, however, that—’

The Archwizard broke off, his reply unfinished, as a cascade of sound, a plangent fall of musical notes, echoed through the room, and the air came alive with swirling, scintillating coloured light.

In an eyeblink Taine was on his feet: tense, alert, ready to defend himself. ‘What’s that?’

‘Nothing to worry about,’ Cyran said. He gestured towards the wall behind them. There, in one of the patches of glimmering light he had created earlier, an astonishing form could be seen: a great golden Dragon. Even as a small image on the wall, the entity was vibrant with beauty and power. An elegant head, with formidable jaws, sweeping back and forth on its long, graceful neck; great eyes glowing with a deep, slumbrous garnet fire; a strong, compact body with a tapering tail - and the glorious wings, a translucent gold web with a complex network of glittering silver veining, all stretched between outspread digits of a similar construction to batwings, and spangled with the multitudes of darkly gleaming scales that were used to capture the sun’s energy, on which these amazing beings fed.

Taine gasped. ‘By all Creation! I always wished to see one of the Dragonfolk.’ His eyes grew wider as distinct figures began to take shape within the two other areas of shimmer: the vast, dark, streamlined bulk of a Leviathan, and a stern-faced queen, her hair white except for a black streak on either side of her head. She was cloaked in a pair of dark-brown wings with white flashes, and her fierce, golden eyes had the keen, uncompromising gaze of a warrior.

The Archwizard was careful to keep his smile hidden. He never thought he’d see the day when something would take Taine by surprise. He pushed back the chair. ‘I’m afraid the rest of our discussion will have to wait. As you can see, I’m late for a meeting with my fellow Magefolk leaders. Thanks to your timely news, we’ll have a great deal more to discuss than we expected. Go downstairs to my apartments. Sharalind won’t be there at this time of day. Refresh yourself, rest. Get a good meal inside you. I’ll have food sent at once.’ He touched a small, glowing crystal that stood on his desk, spoke into it briefly, then turned back to Taine. ‘There you are. Make yourself comfortable, and we’ll continue our conversation later.’ He put his hand on the other’s shoulder. ‘Taine, I am more grateful than I can say for all you are doing. I swear I will find a way to repay you. If you ever need anything I can give you, you need only say the word.’

‘Thank you.’ For the first time, Taine’s face relaxed into a genuine smile. ‘Cyran, I can’t tell you how good it is to be back among my mother’s people. I’m happy to be of use to you, if I can.’ Looking over his shoulder so that his eyes could linger on the extraordinary images on the wall, he went out of the room and, with one last, regretful look, closed the door behind him.

Cyran extended his senses beyond the chamber, just to make sure that Taine had really gone, and was not listening outside. The informant was unique: he had been born in the forest of a Wizardly mother, Cerica, who had been living there in solitude in order to perfect her magic. His father, Astreth, had been lost from the Wild Hunt when his horse bolted and threw its rider, stranding the Phaerie deep in the woods when the flying magic had expired. They had fallen in love and lived together in secret, and Cerica had borne Taine. But when the boy was five, one of the magical monsters that inhabited the side of the forest within the Phaerie realm had broken through Hellorin’s wards and strayed across the border. Cerica, meditating alone in a woodland glade, had never stood a chance. The grieving father had returned with Taine to Eliorand, claiming that the boy’s mother had been a human slave, for the Forest Lord, deeply suspicious of the Wizards, would never have permitted a child with their blood in his city.

Taine, therefore, grew up keeping secrets, and though his father’s denial of his mother gave rise to a certain coolness between them, he had only pursued the other side of his heritage much later, when Hellorin had discovered his secret and he’d been forced to flee the Phaerie realm. But he had integrated well within the city of the Wizards, and had eventually come to Cyran and offered his services as a spy.

That night, passing a bottle between them, they had talked right through until dawn, and the Archwizard had learned something of Taine’s lonely past, and begun to understand what had triggered his change of allegiance. Though aware of the risks - it was, after all, possible that Taine could have been acting for Hellorin and feeding disinformation to the Wizards - the Archwizard had been convinced of his integrity. In all the time he had been using the half-breed as a spy, he had never once had cause to regret his decision.

Taine is loyal - too loyal for his own good, Cyran thought. In all conscience, how much longer can I continue to make use of him? Surely he has earned his place among the Wizards many times over? Each time I send him back to Eliorand, the risks are growing. Am I treating him as expendable, holding out a promise that will never materialise, until he takes one risk too many, and is killed? Yet in the current situation, what choice do I have? I can only hope that one day I will be able to hold true to my word - and that Taine will survive long enough to earn the peace and security to which his contributions to the weal of the Wizards have more than entitled him.

After several days’ hard riding, Taine appreciated the comfort of the Archwizard’s luxurious quarters. Taking off his travel-soiled boots at the door, he let his feet sink into the thick, soft carpet, with its intricate patterns woven in pure, bright colours. He had been here before, and knew his way around. He went straight into the bathing room, to finally shed the dirt of the trail and get into the one change of clean clothes he had brought with him.

It did not take him long. When he emerged, the meal was ready and waiting under covered dishes, all set out on the table beneath the window. He made short work of rich fish soup, bread, cheese, cold fowl, assorted fruit and a sweet pastry to round off the meal. As usual, he ignored the pale, fragrant wine that had been provided, and helped himself to taillin instead. His life was one of concealment, of subterfuge and secrets. His sure instincts and quick reflexes had saved his life more than once, and he never dared risk dulling them with wine or spirits.

How had he come to this? Belonging nowhere, with nothing in his world but loneliness and danger. Sitting beside the sunny window, Taine closed his eyes and let the years roll back to his youth in Eliorand. Everything had seemed to be going in his favour, and the future was full of promise. He had apprenticed to a merchant, and was looking forward to his first trading journeys out of the Phaerie realm. He was in love with Aelwen, at that time the assistant to Hellorin’s Horsemaster, and they were planning a life together. They had been young, and full of hope and energy, and nothing had seemed impossible - until, without warning, the shadow had fallen across his future.

The Forest Lord had discovered the real identity of his mother. His father Astreth, no real horseman, had once again been unwise enough to take part in the Wild Hunt that his son was denied through his half-blood heritage, and had sustained a bad fall. In a dying delirium, he had somehow blurted the truth to Hellorin, and at last the secret was out.

Taine remembered that night so very clearly. Because there had been a Hunt, and Aelwen was busy preparing for the return of the riders, he had been sitting alone by the window of his chambers with a glass of wine at his elbow, looking out at the towers, with all their twinkling lamps that held so many hues, on the lower slopes of the city. He had maps of the route through the forest to Tyrineld spread out on the table in front of him, together with a scholarly old tome on the history of the Wizardfolk and the Earth magic they used. He wished he could have found a treatise that was a little more recent. In a few days’ time he would be making his first journey to the city of the Wizards with Ambaron, the merchant to whom he was apprenticed, and he wanted to be prepared.

All was peaceful, all was quiet. He had been looking forward to seeing Aelwen tomorrow, once her work was done. She always had a busy time when the horses returned from the Hunt. They were weary, hungry, and they and their accoutrements were stained with mud and blood. Inevitably, a number of them were lame, or had other injuries that needed tending . . .

There was a sound like a thunderclap and his chair was hurled over backwards by an explosive blast of air. Heart hammering, he scrambled to his feet - and saw Aelwen herself, white-faced and gasping for breath, standing on the hearthrug. He was horrified to realise that she had apported straight into his chambers, an act that was illegal within the boundaries of the city, and highly dangerous besides. It required an immense amount of power and, if the apporter was not strong enough, it could use so much energy that there was not sufficient remaining to stay alive. Besides which, if Aelwen had materialised within a wall, or a piece of furniture - or even himself . . . Shudders crawled down his spine at the thought of the dreadful consequences.

Taine rushed over and took her in his arms. ‘Aelwen! What in Creation do you think you’re doing? You could have been killed—’

‘There’s no time for that.’ Aelwen’s hair had straggled loose from its braids, and she shook it impatiently out of her eyes. ‘Taine, you’ve got to get out of here. Your father - I’m sorry, but he was killed during the Hunt. Estrelle has just sent a message by mindspeech to warn me. Before he died, Astreth let slip the truth about your mother to Hellorin, and he was raging at the deception. Taine, you know that he would never allow someone tainted with Wizard blood to survive. You’ve got to be safely away before he returns.’

And just like that, within the space of two breaths, his life had been shattered into shards. There was no time even to think of his father’s death, or how he felt about it. Aelwen’s panic leapt to Taine like a lightning bolt, and he found himself stuffing food into a bag, pulling on his boots and throwing his cloak around his shoulders, while Aelwen snatched blankets from the bed and rolled them into a bundle as she told him what she knew about his father’s accident. He was only half-listening. Why should he care about the man who had just wrecked his life? He thrust his sword into its sheath, snatched his bow and quiver, then Aelwen grabbed his hand and there was a sickening, swirling sensation followed by a violent lurch as she apported them back to the stables. A horse was already saddled, waiting for him. How had she managed everything so quickly?

She must have been reading his mind. ‘Kelon took care of it for me, while I was fetching you.’

I’ll wager he did, Taine thought. He had noticed the wistful, hungering look in the other groom’s eyes when Aelwen was about. He would be overjoyed to get rid of the competition. But why only one horse? The hollow clutch of panic twisted his stomach. ‘Aelwen? You’re coming too?’

‘I can’t.’ Her eyes flooded. ‘Oh, Taine, I’m sorry.’ With an effort she got control of her voice. ‘Estrelle is my half-sister. You know how close we are, and so does Hellorin. If I go, he’ll know at once that she was the one who warned me. I can’t make that kind of trouble for her.’ With tears streaming freely down her face, she clasped him in one last, desperate embrace, and he crushed her in his arms, unable to bear the thought of leaving her. Firmly, she pushed him away. ‘Go quickly! I’ll always love you.’

‘And I’ll love you. To the end of my days.’ Somehow he found himself in the saddle, and then Aelwen was dwindling into distance and darkness, as the forest reached out to swallow him.

Though his mix of Wizard and Phaerie blood allowed him to see the track in the blackness beneath the midnight trees, the way was slick and muddy from heavy rain the previous day. Nevertheless, Taine had little attention to spare for hazards. His heart and mind were consumed with grief for Aelwen; for the life together they had been denied; for the hopes that lay in ruin. Somehow he could not bring himself to deal with the practicalities of flight. Though he was forced to flee, every fibre of his being was calling him back to the one he loved.

Taine blinked, and returned to the present, half-surprised to see the walls of Cyran’s apartments instead of the dark, reaching trees of that first, dreadful night when he had made his way into the forest, fleeing for his life. In order to reach the safety of Tyrineld he’d known cold and hunger, been forced to evade not only the Wild Hunt itself, but also the airborne patrols that Hellorin had sent in search of him. During that arduous journey he had taught himself perforce to find food and shelter in the wild, and the rudiments of stealth and concealment as he dodged the Forest Lord’s hunters. Because of this the journey had taken far longer than usual, and when, filthy, exhausted and ravenous, he had finally crossed the border into the realms of the Magefolk, he had sworn never to set foot in the kingdom of the Forest Lord again - a vow he had broken over and over since that day for Cyran’s sake and for another, even more pressing reason: Aelwen, the beloved he had lost on that terrible night of discovery and flight.

He had spent time in Eliorand ever since, disguising himself with glamourie, always just a step ahead of the Chahiri while collecting information for the Archmage. He had often watched Aelwen from hiding, his heart aching with the need to reveal himself, to speak to her, to hold her in his arms again. But she had always looked settled and content in her role as Horsemistress. Though she had never chosen a mate, would she thank him for disrupting her life once more? And if he should get her to come away with him, would she settle with the Wizards? How well would they accept one who carried none of their blood? One thing was certain: if he brought her back to Tyrineld, his days of taking such appalling risks for Cyran would have to be over. And if he could no longer spy for the Archwizard, would he still find a welcome here? Though Cyran had always assured him that this was the case, there was a constant shadow of doubt that had kept Taine braving the numerous perils of yet another return to Eliorand.

How would Aelwen manage without her beloved horses, to which she had devoted so much of her life? Would she harbour resentment, deep within her, if he took her away from them? Would it sour the love that they once shared? Always, his courage had failed him. As things stood, their love was a pure and perfect thing, preserved in his memory with absolute clarity. How could he risk finding out that Aelwen no longer felt as he did? No. Better, surely, to leave things as they stood. It was no good trying to demand the impossible. Not now, at any rate. This was not the time. But in the future? That might be a different story, and he was determined not to give up hope.

In the meantime, Taine told himself, he would grab a couple of hours’ rest and then head off in pursuit of the ill-starred emissaries. He frowned. If the Archwizard was sending out his only son on such a hazardous venture, the situation must be a great deal more serious, not to mention perilous, than Cyran was prepared to admit. But though the unpleasant thought that he was being used had begun to cross his mind more and more often these days, Taine was prepared to continue for as long as he was needed. If he wanted to bring Aelwen back some day, it wouldn’t do any harm to have the Archwizard deep in his debt.