Sword of Flames

17 The Seeing

Aurian awakened, stiff and tired, with Wolf whimpering in her arms. Instinctively she soothed the cub as she opened her eyes to see an unfamiliar ceiling of silver-veined rock, much darker and rougher than that within the fastness. Is this a cavern? she wondered blearily, only half-awake. Where the blazes am I? Gripped with sudden anxiety, she turned to see Anvar asleep beside her, the smudges of smoke accentuating the pallor of his weariness, and dark circles shadowing his closed eyes. Reassured, she was about to turn over and snuggle back into the warmth of the furs that were tucked around her, when the memory hit her. Bohan. Another comrade lost in this senseless struggle. And she had promised to help him find his voice again, but there had never been time… A memory surfaced from the previous hours, following their escape from the fastness: of warm, flickering firelight within this cavern, a hot drink, and Shia, greatly distressed, telling her that the eunuch had actually called out as he fell: “Shia. My friend …”

The Mage closed her eyes against the pain. Shia had always been Bohan’s friend—and had proved a better friend than Aurian, who had sent him to his death…

“No, you did not. You were trying to save him.” Though the voice had picked the thought from her mind, it was speaking aloud now. Aurian turned to see the Xandim Windeye sitting cross-legged beside the fire, not far from the shelf of rock that formed her bed. Chiamh looked worse than Anvar—and as bad as herself, she suspected. His face was so haggard with weariness that he seemed to have aged overnight. Aurian left Wolf in his nest of furs beside Anvar and slid out of her warm refuge with a sigh. Though she was tired and heartsick, there was too much to do to lie abed. Trying vainly to straighten her creased and rumpled clothing, the Mage went to join the Windeye by the fire. She sat down beside him, gratefully accepting a steaming cup of fragrant herb tea. “You’re right about Bohan, I know,” she sighed. “But it’s hard not to feel responsible.” She felt her throat grow tight with unshed tears. “We never even had a chance to bury him…”

Chiamh covered her hand with his own. “If you must blame someone, Lady, blame the Xandim who attacked us. If they had only trusted me… Had they only waited a little longer, the matter of the succession would have been resolved in any case.” He sighed. “Perhaps the fault is mine. Had I tried sooner to gain the respect I merited as their Windeye…” He shook his head, and she felt his grip tighten on her hand. “In any case,” he went on, “Bohan did have his burial. I asked Basileus…”

“And I loosened the rocks of the cliff to fall down upon the body of your departed friend. Fear not, Wizard. No one will despoil his resting place.”

Aurian frowned. “Basileus? How can we still hear you in this place?”

“You rest at the foot of the Windeye’s tower—but you are still upon the Wyndveil, are you not?” The Moldan chuckled. “All this mountain is my body, and Chiamh’s Chamber of Winds is wrested from my bones. …”

“Then why couldn’t you have helped Bohan?” Aurian didn’t hide her resentment. It would do no good, in the long run, to conceal her feelings from the Moldan. They might as well have it out now, for later there would be so much else to occupy her attention…

“Perhaps I might have helped him, Wizard, had my attention not been occupied elsewhere,” Basileus answered sharply. “But you were in danger, too, as was the Windeye and your soul mate. There is a limit to what I can accomplish.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you would have helped Bohan if you could. It’s just so hard to lose a friend…”

“You think I do not know that?”

Aurian thought of the fate of Ghabal, the Moldan imprisoned beneath the Academy. She thought of the stark, tortured shape of Steelclaw Peak, and remembered Anvar’s account of the death of the Moldan of Aerillia. Yes. Indeed, she did understand the losses that Basileus must have suffered. But now her own survival, and that of her friends, was at stake.

“What’s happening now?” she asked the Windeye.

Chiamh shrugged. “It is an hour or two past noon,” he told her. “The Xandim have encamped beside the standing stones, at the mouth of the valley. Khanu is watching them. As I suspected, they are afraid to come any farther. They await tomorrow’s dawn and the Challenge for a new Herdlord.”

Aurian sighed. “We had better talk to Schiannath, then.” She grimaced ruefully. “While we’ve been so busy hatching all our plans, we’ve never actually asked him if he wants to do this.” And what—demanded a tiny, nagging voice in the back of her mind—if he does not?

“Lady,” Chiamh said hesitantly, “what of the Seeing?”

“The what?” Aurian frowned.

“You remember—the day after your child was stolen. We came up here and talked, and I promised you—”

“Oh. Of course.” The events of the last two days had driven the conversation from the Mage’s mind. Chiamh had promised to search upon the winds, to see if he could find the location of the Sword of Flame…

“The Seeing must be performed before the Challenge takes place, if we do it at all,” the Windeye told her urgently. “Who knows what may happen to any of us tonight, or at dawn tomorrow? If Phalihas should prevail, I can measure my life in minutes.”

“If Phalihas wants to harm you, he’ll have to get past Anvar and me to do it,” Aurian vowed. “Nevertheless, I think you’re right. We ought to get it done as soon as possible. It’s vital that I find that Sword. We’ve lingered in the south too long now, and the gods only know what Miathan is doing in Nexis…” With an effort, she broke off that train of thought. One worry at a time… She turned to the Windeye with a smile. “Thank you, Chiamh—for everything. I don’t know how we would have managed, these last days, without you.” He was not the only one she had to thank, Aurian reflected. What about the two remaining, loyal Winged Folk, who had rescued herself and her companions from certain death? She asked Basileus where they were, and discovered that they were both fast asleep, perched up in a niche in the rugged walls of the great rock spire.

Thoughts of the Winged Folk gave the Mage a moment of anxiety for the rest of her companions, but a quick check around the cavern proved that they had all arrived safely. All except Bohan had gained the sanctuary of the Windeye’s refuge. Shia lay asleep on the bottom of the bed that Aurian shared with Anvar. Wolfs foster parents were nearby, curled together so tightly that it was nigh impossible to distinguish one from the other. Schiannath was sleeping in a nest of woolen blankets on the floor, while Yazour and Iscalda were rummaging through Chiamh’s hoarded food supplies and putting together a sketchy meal for everyone. Sangra lay on the other rock-shelf bed beneath a mass of furs, one arm outstretched into a vacant indentation… Aurian frowned. Where had Parric got to?

“Parric is outside,” Chiamh supplied. He frowned. “I must warn you—he is unhappy and angered over what happened last night, when you would not leave until Anvar was safe.”

“Oh, surely not,” Aurian groaned. “That’s all I need.”

She found the cavalrymaster not far from the great stone spire, where a slender cataract arched into a feeder pool for the stream that went tumbling down the vale. He was sitting on the mossy brink of the pool, flicking pebbles into the water. As the Mage approached, the little man looked up at her bleakly.

Aurian sat down at his side, and clasped her arms around her knees. “What’s wrong?” she asked him directly, wishing that he could have found a more convenient place to do his sulking. The muted background thunder of the waterfall was going to make conversation difficult.

Parric shrugged, avoiding her eyes. “What do you mean? What makes you think that anything is wrong?”

Aurian tried to lighten the moment with a grin for him. “Because you look as though you had lost a horse and found a billy goat,” she replied.

Parric did not return her smile. “I’m tired, that’s all,” he muttered, so that the Mage had trouble hearing him over the sound of the cascade.

By this time, Aurian was becoming truly concerned. It was most unlike Parric to be evasive—normally, he was blunt to the point of obscenity. She decided that it was time to bring this matter, whatever it was, to a head. “You? Tired? That’ll be the day,” she scoffed at the hard-bitten, wiry little man. “You’re no more tired than the rest of us! You’re angry with me, because I wouldn’t leave Anvar behind last night, to save myself. But why, Parric? Surely it must have been the right decision, because we all got out safely in the end.”

The cavalrymaster flung another stone into the pool with savage force. “You really don’t understand, do you?” He glared at the Mage. “Forral was my friend. Have you no respect for his memory, that you replaced him so quickly? Couldn’t you even wait a decent interval?”

For an instant Aurian was utterly stunned. Then she found her voice. “Wait for what?” she snapped, as anger ignited within her. “The way things are, I don’t even know if I have a decent interval! Don’t you realize what I went through when Forral died? Don’t you know how much I grieved? But Forral himself warned me, long ago, that as a Mage I would outlive him—though neither of us suspected that the end would come so soon. He told me to find someone else and be happy…” She rubbed a hand across her eyes. “I resisted Anvar’s love at first,” she said softly, “but in the end I had to admit that I loved him, too.”

She shook her head. “Parric, you’ve been my friend for a long time now, but if you can’t deal with this, it’s not my problem. I came to terms with Forral’s death in my own time—and if that time isn’t the same as yours then I’m sorry, but it’s not your life. It has nothing to do with you, or anyone else but myself and Anvar.”

“And if you truly cared about Aurian, you would rejoice that she’d found happiness again.”

Aurian spun around, startled by her lover’s voice, and caught a glimpse, out of the corner of her eye, of Parric leaping to his feet.

Anvar stood behind them. “As far as we know,” he went on softly to Parric, “you’re Aurian’s oldest surviving friend. Whatever you may think of me, the time has come to prove that friendship.”

“You stay out of this!” Parric snarled. “It has nothing to do with you.”

“You’re wrong,” Anvar said levelly, never taking his eyes from the older man. “Aurian’s happiness has everything to do with me—and the sooner you get used to the fact, the easier it will be for all of us.”

For a moment the air was thick with tension between them—then Parric exploded in anger. “I don’t have to take that kind of talk from a former Magefolk drudge!” He elbowed Anvar roughly aside. “Get out of my way!”

Anvar grabbed hold of his arm, his eyes flashing fire and ice. “No, but you do have to take it from one who is Mageborn in his own right, and Aurian’s soul mate besides.”

Parric tore himself away with an incoherent shout of anger, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Stop this madness—both of you!” Aurian leapt between them. She turned her cold gaze on the seething cavalrymaster. “For shame, Parric,” she said softly but clearly. “What would Forral think? This would sadden him more than anything that has happened since Miathan’s evil began.”

She held out her hands to him, her grim expression softening. “Apart from Forral, you and Maya were the first Mortal friends I ever had. As a warrior, you know what it’s like to lose loved ones in battle, but you also know that life must—and does—go on.” She took a deep breath. “If you care about me at all, you should be thanking Anvar, not blaming him—for without him I would not be here today. Not only has he saved my life on countless occasions, but it was Anvar who gave me the will to live on after Forral’s death.” She turned to her soul mate with a crooked grin. “He was infuriatingly insistent about it, as a matter of fact—right from that very first night when we fled downriver, and he wouldn’t let me drown us in the weir…”

Parric’s hand dropped from his sword hilt. “You—you were going to drown yourself?” He looked accusingly at Anvar. “Is that true?”

Anvar shrugged. “She had a bloody good try,” he admitted. “And, frankly, it wasn’t the last time.” He smiled apologetically at his soul mate, but she was nodding in support.

“Half the time I didn’t even realize what I was doing when I behaved so rashly,” she said, “but Anvar always took care of me. He knew me better than I did myself.”

Parric looked from one Mage to the other for a long moment, his face expressionless—but Aurian was relieved to see that the ugly flush of anger had vanished from his skin. Rubbing his hand across his face, he shrugged and sighed—then reached out to grasp the Mage’s outstretched hands. “I’m sorry, lass. I didn’t realize it was so bad for you. Can you forgive such a daft old bugger?”

“Oh, Parric!” Aurian pulled him into a hug. “You do yourself an injustice—I wouldn’t say you were particularly old,” she added with a sly chuckle.

The cavalrymaster’s roar of laughter broke the last of the tension that had gripped them all. “That’s one thing about you that hasn’t changed, at any rate,” he snorted. “That bloody wicked tongue of yours is as sharp as ever!”

“I don’t think I’ve changed that much,” Aurian protested. “I haven’t really, have I?”

Parric shook his head. “No, not at heart, lass—though it’s taken me a long time to get that through my thick skull. You just grew up, that’s all—and you’ve grown so greatly in power that it frightened me, I suppose, though I couldn’t admit that to myself. It was easier to get angry instead, and blame Anvar, here… I never thought, until you just told me, that he might have made you want to keep on going after Forral was killed. What with everything that’s happened, you never did have time to tell me the entire story.”

“Maybe I had better tell you,” Anvar put in with a grin. “Some of her escapades would make your hair stand on end.”

“Do you mind?” the balding cavalrymaster exploded. “Bloody Mages—you’re as bad as she is!” He held out his hand to Anvar. “I’m sorry, lad, for what I said to you. After the way the others, especially that mad bitch Meiriel, behaved, I suppose I was a bit wary of suddenly finding yet another Mage on my hands. But I was impressed with the way you stood up to me. I never really got to know you in the old days, but Forral always said you were a good sort. I should have trusted his judgment—and Aurian’s.”

“Yes, you should have,” Aurian said. “But we’ve all been through a lot these last months, Parric. I’m sure we can let you off with one mistake,” she added with lofty condescension.

“Let me off? Why, you…” Parric spluttered indignantly—then saw her smirk at having baited him so successfully, in an echo of the old game they had played so long ago, back at the Nexis Garrison.

Aurian raised an eyebrow. “Got you, Parric. You owe me a beer!” she crowed.

“Not again,” Parric groaned. “I’ll have to remain in your debt until we get back to Nexis—if I haven’t settled the score by then,” he threatened, laughing with the Mages.

Chiamh, watching the three of them walking back to his tower together, was relieved to see that they seemed to have settled their differences, whatever they had been. Sometimes the peculiar ways of these Outlanders baffled him beyond belief, but he had grown very fond of them all in a short time.

“Ho, Chiamh,” Parric called. “Have you got any of that wicked mead you brew? I think the occasion calls for a cup or two.”

Aurian laid a hand on his arm, her face suddenly sobering. “Not now,” she warned. “We have no time to spare for drinking—we’re still in considerable trouble. Anvar and I have a task of our own to perform with Chiamh, and then you and he must go down to the valley gates and give our decision to the Elders of the Xandim.”

“Too true, alas,” Chiamh interrupted. “And worse—I must permit Phalihas to resume his human shape, so that he can undergo the trial of tonight’s vigil. The risk of treachery will be greatest at that time.” He shuddered. “Once Phalihas is changed back to human form, there will be no further need for the Xandim to spare me. Windeye or not, I will be lucky to escape with my life.”

“You’ll be all right,” Anvar said firmly. “Aurian and I will shield you.”

“Indeed we will,” Aurian agreed. “But before we do anything else, we must have Schiannath’s agreement. Suppose he doesn’t want to be Herdlord?”

“I think you need have no fears on that score,” Chiamh said wryly. “Nonetheless, it is time we asked him.”

“You want me to do what?” Schiannath looked at the four—Aurian, Anvar, Chiamh and Parric—who were ranged before him, and realized that his jaw was still hanging open in sheer disbelief. He closed his mouth quickly, but his mind was still reeling. “You would really give me another chance to become Herdlord?” he repeated their offer, unable to assimilate all the implications. “You can truly do this, and the Xandim will accept it?”

“If you are Challenging as an elected substitute for the current Herdlord, it is within the Law,” Chiamh replied. “They must accept it—but they will not like it.”

“They don’t have to bloody well like it,” Aurian put in. “I just want to be sure that you are happy with the decision, Schiannath. I won’t have you pressured. Are you absolutely sure you want to do this? Have you considered the risks involved? Chiamh says that last time—”

“Please, Lady, do not judge me by last time,” Schiannath told her firmly, wishing that that interfering Windeye would learn to keep his mouth shut. “I have suffered much in the interim, but I have learned a very great deal since then. This time things will be different. Last time I fought through hatred, but this time I will fight through love.”

To the Xandim’s relief, Aurian nodded slowly. “I understand, Schiannath—and I believe you. Forral told me once, when he was teaching me to fight, that other factors being fairly even, a warrior who fights for a true cause that he believes in will always win over one whose motives are destructive. His passion will give him the intensity of focus he needs to prevail. Very well, then—it’s agreed.” She took his hand, “I wish you the best of good fortune, my friend.”

Schiannath smiled at her gratefully. Aurian’s words helped to stiffen his courage—which was just as well, for when he came to tell Iscalda of his decision, he was completely unprepared for her anger and dismay.

“Schiannath—no! How could you let them persuade you into this folly?” Iscalda’s eyes blazed with anger, and Schiannath flinched from the look of hurt and betrayal on her face. “My dear Iscalda—only listen…” He tried to soothe her, putting an arm around her shoulders, but she tore herself away from him with an oath.

“How could you do this—to yourself—to me! Did you learn nothing at all from what happened last time? Phalihas will not exile you again, you fool! This time, he will take your life!”

“He will not!” Schiannath fought for calm. “This time will be different, Iscalda. This time he will not prevail.”

“How can you know that?” Iscalda blazed at him. “You put your life at stake—”

“Yes—for greater gain, in the end.”

“What greater gain?” Iscalda snapped. “For power? For glory?” She spat contemptuously on the ground. “How like a man, to—”

“Will you be still and listen?” Schiannath caught hold of his sister’s shoulders, gripping hard enough to stem her torrent of angry words. “Listen to me now,” he repeated, and took a deep breath. “I confess that the first time I Challenged, I did it for all the reasons that you so rightly decry. I was young, rebellious and foolish—and in truth, I was lucky to escape with my life. I care far more about the fact that I almost lost you yours, and put you through such suffering for my sake. Now, against all odds, Parric has given me another chance to defeat Phalihas—but power and glory are my last considerations.”

He paused, and looked deep into her eyes. “The last time I Challenged for myself, Iscalda. This time I do it for you. If Phalihas is not stopped—and stopped for good—he has every right to make good his claim of betrothal upon you.”

Iscalda gasped, and turned pale.

“Yes.” Schiannath nodded. “And he will make you suffer for his enmity with me. I will not—I cannot—allow that to happen. And so I must fight him, this one last time—for your safety, and your future.”

Tears flooded Iscalda’s eyes, but the stubborn set of her jaw remained unaltered. “I don’t care,” she whispered. “I would rather Phalihas subjected me to all manner of indignities than see him take your life.”

Schiannath put his arms around her. “With luck,” he assured her, “Phalihas will do neither. I intend to see to that.”

“Do we have to go up there?” Aurian groaned. “Couldn’t you just perform your Seeing down in the vale?” She was standing at the bottom of the cliff path (if you could dignify that narrow, treacherous lip of rock—barely a slanting fault where the layers of stone had slipped and overlapped—with the name of “path”, that led up to the top of the spire and Chiamh’s Chamber of Winds.

The Windeye shook his head. “There is not enough wind down here in the valley—and besides, for a Seeing, highest is best. I can See much farther, and with greater accuracy, up there at the top of the spire, where the air is so much clearer and free to move.”

Aurian looked up at the cliff and shuddered. Unbidden, the horrific vision of Bohan’s lethal plunge came into her mind. The world around her tilted dizzily, and she found herself trembling. In panic, she grabbed hold of Anvar’s hand. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I’ll never get up there…”

“Surely it can’t be the height that’s bothering you,” Anvar encouraged her. “Why, the cliff at Taibeth was far higher than this, and so was the tower of the Dragonfolk at Dhiammara. You managed both of those all right.” He put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Is it the manner of Bohan’s death that’s upset you so?”

The Mage nodded reluctantly, glad to look at her soul mate instead of the crumbling cliff, and even more grateful that he should be so in tune with her thoughts. “You’re right—it’s the ascent itself,” she told him. “We’ve never climbed anything as precarious or as difficult as that—and coupled with the fear is the memory of what happened to Bohan last night—” Suddenly she stopped, gasped, and hugged him, laughing with relief. “Of course!” she cried. “Thank you, Anvar—you’ve just found me the solution. We don’t have to climb!” Fishing in the pocket of her tunic, she brought out the slender whistle of carved bone that summoned the Skyfolk.

There came a shrill cry of acknowledgment from high above the Mages, followed by the drumming thunder of wings. From their lofty perches high among the crags of the spire, the Winged Folk came spiraling down, to land in a swirling windstorm at Aurian’s feet. They were a mated pair, Aurian had discovered on her previous night’s adventure, when they had transported herself and her companions from peril in their beleagured tower of the fastness. Ibis, the male, was tall and gangling for a Skyman, with white plumage trimmed and edged in black, and a serious, considered mien. Kestrel, his mate, was small, bright-eyed, and quick, with speckled plumage in blending shades of brown. Though she smiled more often than her mate and seemed to have a greater sense of playfulness and fun, the fierce intensity of her manner could be somewhat daunting. As they landed, the two Skyfolk spoke simultaneously:

“Not trouble again!” said Ibis, with a worried frown.

“You need help?” Kestrel asked.

“It’s not a crisis, but I’d be only too glad of your help,” the Mage told them. She pointed to the top of the spire. “Can you take me up there?”

They could and did, grasping her arms as they had done the night before and lifting her, with little effort over such a short distance, to the top of the spire and Chiamh’s Chamber of Winds, where they set her down as delicately as a feather on the flat, wide, windswept platform of stone. The Windeye, following his normal route with the ease of long practice, was already partway up the cliff, and would soon be joining her. While the Winged Folk went down to pick up Anvar—who had also elected to come up by the easier method—Aurian, making sure to keep as close as possible to the center of the floor, away from the perilous brink, looked curiously around at the peculiar structure.

The first thing that she noticed—because it was impossible to ignore—was the wind, which was so much stronger up here on this platform between earth and sky. It wailed and whistled shrilly as it poured from the north like a swift-moving river, blowing her hair back from her face and making her jaws and ears ache with its chill as it coursed around her swaying body and ripped her flapping cloak back from her shoulders, gnawing into her very bones. It buffeted and worried at her as though she were being attacked by a living creature. Aurian felt its merciless, inexorable force, and shuddered. Who was Chiamh, that he could tame and harness such elemental wildness?

Annoyed that she had allowed herself to be so disquieted by nothing more than moving air, Aurian took herself to task very sharply. “Fancy a Mage succumbing to an attack of the vapors,” she muttered to herself, and chuckled dourly at her own poor joke. To distract herself from such foolishness, she forced herself to concentrate on her surroundings. In typical Moldan style, the edifice looked as though it had been grown organically rather than constructed. The circular floor was flat and smooth, with a lustrous polish, and four sturdy pillars grew up at regular intervals around the periphery, supporting the arching roof that was the apex of the spire. The view was staggering, blocked only to the south by the cliffs and upper summit of the Wyndveil. To the west and east were the long, wooded spurs that formed the cradling arms of Chiamh’s vale, with the snowy heads of other mountains beyond. Aurian, facing west, turned away with a shudder from the shattered peak of Steelclaw and looked north, down the length of the valley and the plateau beyond. The view there gave her even less comfort. A scattering of colored dots were strewn about the sward beyond the mouth of the vale: the Xandim had arrived in force. Aurian shuddered, suddenly gripped by a formless fear for Schiannath and Chiamh, who would have to deal with these, their own people, on the morrow. She was so wrapped up in her worries that she did not hear the flurry of wings behind her until she felt the reassuring touch of Anvar’s hand. She gripped it tightly, and turned to face him with a rueful grimace as she saw her concerns mirrored on the face of her lover. “I know,” she sighed. “It looks bad down there—but we’ll cope with it somehow.”

“Of course we will. Not just the two of us, but the rest of our allies. Now that we have Parric back on our side…” Anvar’s grin betrayed his relief, but Aurian detected a slight tightening of pain around his eyes. “He was the last person I would have expected to…”

“I should have guessed long ago that something was troubling him,” the Mage replied. “He and Forral were always so close. He just needed time to accept that so much had changed. He’ll be all right now—I hope.”

Aurian turned to thank the two Skyfolk who had transported Anvar to the Chamber of Winds. Knowing that she had already alienated the rest of the winged couriers, she was more than anxious not to make the same mistake again—and besides, she was genuinely grateful to Kestrel and Ibis. Now that the others had gone, the Mage found herself hoping that this last pair of Winged Folk would not keep themselves so isolated from the other companions, and would truly become an integral part of her little band.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the Windeye, who was panting heavily from the strenuous climb. He hesitated, feeling like a clumsy intruder, when he saw the Mages deep in conversation with the Skyfolk. They seemed so deeply engrossed in talk that he was reluctant to interrupt them.

Aurian, however, turned at the sound of his harsh breathing. “Serves you right—you should come up the easy way, as we did,” she teased him, with a wicked grin.

Ibis and Kestrel chuckled.

“Thank you, no.” Chiamh shuddered. “If the Goddess had meant me to fly, she’d have given me wings of my own.”

“And if she’d meant me to climb, she’d have given me feet like a fly,” the Mage countered swiftly.

“Ah, but flies have wings too,” Anvar added, joining in their nonsense, “so where does that leave us?”

“If we Skyfolk may leave you,” Ibis suggested, “we thought we might fly down the valley to take a look at our foes. Wings come in useful for other things than carrying burdens—we can also scout much nearer the enemy than any of you groundlings would dare approach.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Chiamh agreed, “but don’t get too carried away. Just remember to stay high. The bows of the Xandim are very powerful.”

“Never fear.” Kestrel grinned. “We Skyfolk are not so easily captured.” Calling their farewells, the two winged couriers launched themselves from the edge of the platform, opened their great wings, and soared out of sight.

Chiamh sighed enviously. What must it be like, to be able to fly? Then he realized that he already could, in a sense, when he was riding the winds—and that reminded him that he and the Magefolk ought to be getting down to business. “Now that the Skyfolk have gone, we ground folk had better concentrate on gathering the winds.” The Windeye was suddenly anxious to get the Seeing over with as soon as possible. As always, the effort of such farsight would be a great strain on him, and he had many more trials ahead of him in the next few hours.

Aurian nodded gravely. “What do you want us to do?”

“Little, I suspect,” Chiamh told her. “I have no idea whether your powers can access this type of magic. With luck you may be able to share the Vision, but if not, then simply stay back, listen—and bear witness.” He smiled ruefully at the Magefolk. “In truth, I welcome your presence and support more than anything. For me, a Seeing has always been a lonely and terrifying experience.”

“A little like riding the winds used to be,” Aurian said softly, and Chiamh remembered the night at the Tower of Incondor when she had joined him on the winds to travel to Aerillia. No longer alone, he had discovered a glory and joy in his powers that he had never before experienced. His life had changed that night, and he was grateful to the Mage for her timely and encouraging reminder. His eyes met hers in understanding. “Maybe it will be the same this time,” he told her. “At any rate, we’ll soon find out.”

Chiamh closed his eyes and concentrated hard upon summoning the arcane, mysterious powers of the Windeye—then gasped, as though he had taken a breathless plunge into an icy stream. The melting chill of his Othersight enveloped his body, blurring his vision to shimmering silver as his eyes changed from their normal hue. As his sight cleared, he took command of himself, and peered out into the otherworld that was now revealed.

In sunlight, the images of his Othersight were somewhat different from those he saw when his surroundings were dark. The streaming currents of the winds showed less of their silvery brightness, but glowed instead with sparks and shimmers of moonstone, fiery opal, and burnished, liquid gold. The stone that comprised the surrounding mountains and his Chamber of Winds had a crystalline, amethyst glitter, and the living auras of the Magefolk at his side shone with the blinding effulgence of two jeweled rainbows. Gritting his teeth, Chiamh tore his attention away from the perilous entrancement of such beauty. He steadied himself by taking long, deep breaths, and held out hands that blazed with a dazzling iridescence of their own. Squinting against the light that came from his inner self, he reached out and grasped two handfuls of the flowing strands of wind, clearly formulating the question he wanted to ask in his mind as he did so.

Stretching the skeins of living air between his fingers, the Windeye controlled and shaped them, molding them into a wide, reflective disc that shimmered like a swirling, opalescent web between his hands. As he looked deeply into it, surrendering his own will to the power of the Seeing, he felt it drawing him down and in, further and further into the maelstrom of light, until all knowledge of himself had been abandoned: left far behind as his spirit went spinning away, beyond, in pursuit of the answers that he sought.

Chiamh came back to himself with a jolt, and immediately felt the difference. It was working! His heart leapt with elation. The mirror of air had turned into a living thing between his hands. He had given of himself—and now, in return, the wind was surrendering its powers of knowledge up to him. The Windeye looked deep into the mirror and watched, wide-eyed, as the images began to form within its fiery depths:

Two great stallions—one black, one clouded gray—fighting at dawn upon a windswept plateau. One stumbled, fell; great hooves struck down, and a swirl of crimson blood spiraled out to obscure the vision. Chiamh caught his breath. Which had fallen? Which?

But when the blood cleared, the Vision had changed. The mirror darkened to a blackness so profound that the Windeye thought he had somehow lost the Seeing—then an actinic flare of lightning split the sky, and he saw the brutal churning of storm-lashed waves, boiling white as they hurled themselves against the jagged rocks of a headland. In the next flash, his Othersight pierced the black caldron of the waves to reveal terrifyingly monstrous shapes swimming beneath the waters, waiting. Then all was dark once more until another lightning bolt revealed the Mage, standing poised upon the edge of the rocks. She dived, with the clean arc of a salmon’s leap, launching herself right into the teeth of the ravenous waves…

Chiamh gasped in horror. Involuntarily he closed his eyes, and opened them again to a sight of such breathtaking beauty that the horror of the previous Vision was forgotten. It was a unicorn: an unearthly creature, translucent and ethereal, seemingly created out of light in all its forms. She turned her exquisite head, that glistened like frost, to look at him and tossed a mane that was like sunrise on a swirl of morning mist. Then, kicking up sunbursts from her silver heels, she raced away intc the darkness, his only guide the moonspun glimmer of her coat, and the starlight that streamed and sparkled like a comet tail from her spiral horn…

Chiamh followed, and burst out into the sunlight that lay thick as mead in the cup of a deeply forested green valley. The view shimmered as though seen through a heat haze, beneath a web of the strongest magic he had ever encountered. Despite the unearthly beauty of the Vision, the Windeye felt a pang of agonizing fear, like a sword thrust deep into his vitals, and had to steel and steady himself so as not to flee in terror. He looked down from above, with the sight of an eagle, and saw the unicorn standing by a slender wooden bridge, which led across to an island in the center of a tranquil lake. On the island was a jewel—a massive blood-red gem—and within it was the silhouetted shadow of a sword. The fierce blade, cradled in the pulsing light of the crystal’s crimson heart, looked as though it had been drenched in blood. It hummed to itself, redolent with somnolent power, singing songs of victory and sacrifice that became manifest and shot like spars of carmine light into the heavens. They reached out like bloody fingers to entrap and seize the Windeye—and in the power of their fell clutch he saw the fate that he had dreaded: the ending of the Xandim…

With a scream of anguish that was ripped from the very depths of his soul, Chiamh fled in terror, not knowing where he went, or how, only wanting to get away from the Sword and the two-edged fate it held. Darkness surrounded him, and he plunged into it gladly, desperate for concealment, for succor…

“Chiamh—Chiamh! Wake up, damn you! Come back to us, please…”

Someone was slapping him; then fingers dug bruisingly into his shoulders, shaking and shaking him… The Windeye felt the firm grasp of a mind—no, two minds—clutching at his consciousness—holding him, supporting and comforting him, and gradually but firmly drawing him back toward the sane and normal light of day. For a moment he continued to fight them in blind, mindless panic—then, as memory returned to him, he recognized the familiar mind-touch of the Magefolk. Gladly, trustingly, he surrendered then, and let them bring him home.