Sword of Flames

8 The Mountain Queen

Anvar hurtled down through the darkness, clinging tightly with cold-numbed fingers to the rough meshes of the net, his skin tingling from the impact of the stinging rain. The keening of the storm grew louder in his ears—and suddenly became another sound. Anvar’s belly tightened into a knot of fear for poor Wolf as he heard a crescendo of yowls rising above the wail of the wind. Below him the great cats were fighting.

Then, to his astonishment, the Mage heard a familiar, rasping old cat-voice in his mind, shrieking venom and defiance. He was not the only one to have heard it.

“Hreeza!” Shia’s cry echoed in Anvar’s mind. “Don’t be a fool!” And then they were down, in the midst of a bloodbath. The Skyfolk, guided by Chiamh, had landed them near the tunnel mouth at the edge of the crater—both to cut off Meiriel’s retreat in that direction and to give them a chance of taking cover from the mass of fighting cats that swarmed across the floor of the crater. To Anvar’s fury, their winged escort took one startled look at the carnage around them and rocketed skyward again like a covey of startled birds. The Mage cursed savagely and then thrust the matter from his mind, to be dealt with later. One problem at a time—and it seemed that he had troubles enough.

The rain was beginning to slacken, allowing Anvar’s night-vision to function once more. He stared, aghast, at the bloody struggles taking place around him, trying to make sense of it all and, more important, to catch a glimpse of Meiriel. But if she was somewhere amid the fighting cats, there must be a glamor about her that defeated even his Mageborn sight.

Chiamh could see Anvar squinting his eyes to peer this way and that through the drifting curtains of rain. The Windeye, however, had an advantage over the Mage. With his Othersight he could perceive the glow of life energy rather than the physical form—and the corpse-gleam of Meiriel’s hideous, sickly aura was easy to pick out.

Shia, with her feline senses, had no difficulty picking out her own foe. “Gristheena!” Her yowl rose in a bloodcurdling crescendo, and she darted off into the mob of fighting cats, Khanu hot on her heels. Chiamh belatedly realized that her route was taking her in the same direction as he and Anvar wanted to go—toward the rearing obsidian spur for which Meiriel was determinedly heading, picking her way through the warring felines as though they did not exist. “Come on!” The Windeye tugged urgently at Anvar’s arm. “This way!”

Chiamh, his Othersight fixed firmly on his quarry, led the way, with Anvar close by him, guarding him with drawn sword from attack by the cats that packed the canyon floor. Shoulder to shoulder, Mage and Windeye forced a way forward together, taking advantage of the swath that Shia and her companion were clearing with fang and claw through the ranks of battling felines. Chiamh shuddered at the sight of so much mindless ferocity unleashed within the confines of Steelclaw’s crater. It was difficult, at this moment, to remember that these were intelligent creatures and not mere savage beasts. He could only pray to the Goddess that Shia’s fellow cats would remain absorbed in their own bitter struggles and continue to ignore the two frail humans that had invaded their realm.

Hreeza had already reached the spur. Ignoring the individual battles that raged all around her as her ragged band of chuevah closed with the astounded great cats, she had taken with her a vanguard of close companions—selected for being in a less pitiful condition than the rest—and had clawed and bit and slashed and fought her way in the straightest possible line toward the position of her deadly foe.

The bloodlust had taken possession of Hreeza. She was unaware of the many minor wounds that leaked blood into her tattered fur, and ignored the burning of the long gashes slashed by hostile claws into her flanks. The red fog of battle clouded her mind and glowed in her eyes, and her laboring old heart was swollen fit to burst with a fierce pride mixed with anger and grief for those of her poor valiant followers who had already fallen in the onslaught, their death cries ringing—as they would echo forever—in her mind.

Had the old cat been human and believed in such things, she would doubtless have said that the gods were with her that night. In fact, she owed her good fortune to her enemy. Brutal, swaggering, pitiless Gristheena may have been dominant, but she was not loved. Already, unknown to Hreeza, the tide of battle was turning in her favor. Many of the lesser cats, recognizing former companions and den mates in the returning chuevah, had greeted them with joy and abandoned the defense of their leader, whom they had obeyed only through fear of being cast out in their turn. On discovering that the much-respected Hreeza was First Female of the chuevah, the canyon cats were changing sides with startling speed. Hreeza met with little resistance as she barged her way from ledge to ledge up the side of the massive ridge. Had her mind been fixed less on her quarry and more on her surroundings, she would have noticed that many cats were falling back respectfully to let her pass.

Gristheena stood on the rising tip of the spur, surrounded by her coterie of bullying favorites. The burly cats stood snarling in a solid mass, blocking the old cat’s path. For one mad instant, Hreeza’s bloodlust almost impelled her to charge right into them, carving a path to her enemy with teeth and claws. But she was wise and wily, and had not lived so many years for nothing. Cold sanity asserted itself just in time. She stopped, and lifted her cracked old voice in the discordant, blood-freezing yowl of the Challenge: “Come out, coward—and fight!”

From the throne of her obsidian eminence, the First Female looked down upon her Challenger and laughed. “Fight with you, you toothless, crack-clawed, film-eyed bag of bones?” she sneered. “Why should I soil my claws on your flea-ridden hide? My followers, rid me of this ckuevah vermin!”

“Wait!” Hreeza’s answering snarl was soft and chilling, but it halted every cat in the crater in its tracks as her mental voice broadcast her words to them all. “You had better fight me, you bloated bag of offal,” she hissed. “Because if you do not, every cat in the clan will know that the fire has gone out of Gristheena’s belly. That our great First Female cannot even defend herself against one tottering, half-starved old chuevah—because she is afraid.” Now it was Hreeza’s turn to laugh, and her mockery raised the hackles of every cat who heard. “Some First Female! Why, even the smallest purblind kitten will be lining up to challenge you after this!”

Gristheena’s ears went down flat against her skull. Her tail lashed back and forth, and foam dripped from her jaws as she bared her fangs in a terrifying snarl. Without warning she leapt.

“This way!” Chiamh yelled. Had the Windeye not been reinforcing his voice with mental speech, it was doubtful whether Anvar would have heard him over the din of screeching, spitting felines. The Mage was relieved that Chiamh had succeeded, with his Othersight, in keeping track of Wolfs abductor, for Shia and Khanu—better able to insinuate themselves between the press of feline bodies—had already vanished far ahead of the two men, and Anvar himself had lost sight of Meiriel in the confusion that raged all over the canyon floor.

“Over there!” The Windeye pointed, and Anvar caught a glimpse of Meiriel, clothed in a tatterdemalion patchwork of rags and scraps of fur and hide. The madwoman was clutching a bundle that must be Wolf. As they watched, she gained the bottom of the spur and went scrambling like a spider up the side of the ridge.

“Come on!” Anvar tugged at Chiamh’s arm and, with his free hand, took a tighter grip on the hilt of his sword. Deeply reluctant as he was to harm any of Shia’s kin, the Mage was so anxious for Wolfs safety that he was prepared to carve a way through them with his blade, if it became necessary. Fortunately, however, it was not. The cats themselves seemed to be melting away before the two men, heading in the direction of the ridge. Anvar and Chiamh reached the foot of the escarpment unchallenged, and the Mage sprang quickly from ledge to ledge up the broken rocks, leaving the Windeye to grope his way up as best he might.

Gristheena sprang effortlessly over the heads of her followers to land all her vast, crushing weight on top of the old cat—and discovered that Hreeza was no longer there. Gristheena’s claws closed screeching on unyielding stone. Her jaws snapped shut on nothing—save her own tongue. Blood spattered the froth around her muzzle as she howled her humiliation and rage—and howled again as a set of iron jaws crushed the fine bones in her tail. Gristheena whirled, screaming, her battle cry drowning out the unbearable laughter of the watching cats. Hreeza gave one last agonizing jerk to the roots of Gristheena’s tail before she twisted lightly away.

The battle raged back and forth across the top of the spur as the two cats whirled and twisted for position, striking out at one another with their great, curved claws. Again and again the First Female tried to close with Hreeza, depending on her greater weight and strength to pull the old cat down. Again and again Hreeza eluded her, occasionally getting in a telling blow on her enemy’s nose or flank, but the elderly cat was tiring. Her movements were becoming less fluid, her sides were heaving, and her breath rasped harshly in her throat as she fought for breath.

Renewed hope goaded Gristheena into an unexpected burst of agility and speed. The great muscles in her haunches propelled her in an impossible leap—forward and sideways, catching the old cat by surprise. There was no escaping this time. Gristheena heard the dry snap of a breaking rib as her weight bowled her enemy over and over. The heavy paws knocked and buffeted Hreeza across the ridge, hitting her again and again with stunning force as the great claws raked bloody slashes in her sides.

Hreeza lashed out in blind desperation and connected, but Gristheena’s teeth met in her ear, ripping it to ribbons. Another instant, and it was over. Gristheena had the old cat pinned down flat against the rock and was straining to push her over, onto her back where she would be helpless against the great claws that could rip out her guts, and the lethal white fangs that would sink into her throat and drink her blood.

Meiriel was standing near the edge of the great black spur, and as she whirled to face him, Anvar saw that her features were contorted with shock and dismay. The next second he was almost knocked off his feet by a snarling black flurry of fur and muscle. On the top of the eminence, two great cats were fighting for their lives.

Anvar caught his balance and leapt toward Meiriel, but she eluded him, slipping like quicksilver out of reach of his blade. Lifting his sword, he lunged at her again, but the Magewoman whirled away from him, to the very brink of the escarpment. “Stop!” she cried. Anvar froze in horror as she lifted the wriggling, whimpering cub high above her head. “Come one step nearer,” Meiriel hissed, “and I will throw him over the edge!”

Ice sheeted down Anvar’s spine. Wolfs life was balanced on a knife edge. Now what was he to do? And where the blazes was Chiamh?

“Back away, Anvar.” The Magewoman’s voice was soft and menacing. “Get away from me, you lowborn Mortal scum—or I’ll make you sorry you ever dared meddle in the affairs of the Magefolk!”

It took a moment for the import of her words to sink in—then Anvar gasped. Meiriel didn’t know! She still thought of him simply as Aurian’s Mortal servant. She had no idea that he too possessed Mage blood—and its associated powers! Anvar smiled to himself, gathering the magical force deep within him, racking his brains for a spell—just the right spell—that would overcome Meiriel and also get Wolf out of danger. Maybe if he took them out of time…

From behind the Mage came the furious yowl of a great cat and the heavy thud of a falling body. Anvar jumped involuntarily—and in that split second of his distraction, Meiriel vanished. Anvar looked around wildly and spat out a vicious curse, but it was no good. The Magewoman had gone.

Hreeza, with a red-hot agony in her side that strangled every breath she tried to take, kept her claws anchored firmly in a small crevice. She crouched low to protect her vulnerable throat and belly but kept her ground, though her limbs were trembling with strain and a cold knot of dismay was forming deep within her. She knew that she could not hold on much longer. Death did not hold many terrors for Hreeza now—this was the second time in as many months that she had come so close. But she was heartsick at having failed.

Gristheena’s heart swelled with triumph. Already, she could taste the victory ahead. To gain a better leverage, she dug her sharp, wickedly curved claws deep into the black rock of the ridge and pushed at the old cat with all her strength. The First Female snarled deep in her throat. She could scarcely believe that this stringy old bag of bones could have the strength to resist such an onslaught! It only needed time, however…

Something huge and heavy hit Gristheena from the side. The breath shot out of her lungs. She lost her grip on Hreeza and went crashing to the ground as the weight or another cat crushed her down against the cold black stone. Half-stunned, Gristheena shook her head, opened her eyes—and blinked in dismay and disbelief. Above her, silhouetted against the dawn-pale sky, loomed the shape of her oldest and most bitter enemy.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance!” Gristheena snarled.

“But you did not.” Shia’s voice was chill and inexorable as a glacier. “You failed, Gristheena—and now you have failed again. Your reign is over.”

The last thing that Gristheena saw was the burning gold of Shia’s eyes as they caught the blaze of the sunrise. Then Shia’s powerful jaws closed around her throat, and darkness fell.

Meiriel laughed softly in triumph as she slipped, unseen, down the far side of the spur. During the long, tedious wait for Aurian to return with Parric, the Magewoman had occupied herself in perfecting an illusion spell that bent the air around her, effectively concealing her where she stood in plain sight. And it had worked—better than she would ever have imagined.

The glow of satisfaction at the success of her ruse helped cushion the shock Meiriel had received when she had returned to Steelclaw to find her ally, Gristheena, and her subjects under attack. The Magewoman scowled. How could it have happened? Could this sudden assault on Gristheena have something to do with her own adversary? A chill crawled up Meiriel’s spine. All this time she had been thinking of Aurian merely as her impulsive, inexperienced pupil from the old days at the Academy. It seemed that she had underestimated the power of the younger Mage.

With an effort, Meiriel mastered the stab of panic and gathered her wits. While she had Aurian’s child, its mother could do little to harm her. Meiriel tightened her grip on the misbegotten abomination that Aurian had birthed, though even touching the accursed creature was enough to sicken her. The wolf cub whimpered in protest. Its struggles were growing weaker now—but that was of no consequence. She only needed to keep it alive until she was certain that Aurian was dead—or until she had found a way to deal, once and for all, with the one who had caused the death of her beloved Finbarr.

The sky had paled from night’s blackness to a rich, deep blue that was beginning to glow with dawn beyond Steel-claw’s jagged peaks. The thin, cold wind that had finally banished the rain clouds snaked across the dark rock of the canyon floor. All the cats had vanished now, drawn to the rearing spur to witness the battle of the Queens. Meiriel groped with her mind to catch Gristheena’s thoughts but only came up against a stark, black void. Fear knotted the Magewoman’s stomach. Gristheena dead? Impossible! But if her ally had been slain, then she had better get out of here—and fast. Quickening her pace, Meiriel scuttled toward the dark maw of the tunnel that led out of the crater, and rushed inside.

The uneven tunnel was narrow and so low that she had to stoop as she hurried along, the darkness taxing even her Mage’s sight. Nonetheless, though she knew it was illusory, the secure stone walls on either side gave the Magewoman the feeling that she had attained a measure of safety at last, and she abandoned her illusion spell as an unnecessary drain on her energies. When a circle of pale daylight appeared ahead of her, she approached it almost reluctantly—but she couldn’t lurk in the darkness forever. As she emerged cautiously from the entrance onto a wide, sloping ledge on the mountain’s side, her ears were assaulted by a booming thunder of wings in the sky above her. A swirling gust of wind blew grit into her face and almost knocked her from her feet. Meiriel, fighting for breath, wiped the dust from her streaming eyes—and choked again in terror at the sight of Aurian.

Cold shock drenched through Meiriel’s body. Time seemed to stretch and slow as she looked into the inexorable face of her adversary, while her mind screamed out in horrified protest, for she had never truly believed—had not wanted to believe—the mysterious voice that she had heard upon the Wyndveil, and had truly convinced herself—until now—that the spell that cloaked her had also kept out the awareness of Aurian’s passing. How could it be otherwise? Meiriel remembered plunging her knife toward Aurian’s heart, and feeling the point catch and jar as it grated against a rib. She remembered the dark blood welling up around the deadly blade and gushing hotly across her hand. Aurian should be dead!

Aurian kicked free of the tangled heap of meshes at her feet. With a slithering hiss her sword slid from her scabbard—the same blade that Meiriel remembered from so long ago. In her other hand the Mage clutched a staff tipped with a great green jewel clasped between serpents’ jaws. It thrummed with power, shivered and twisted the air around it, flooding the wan dawnlight with a blaze of emerald radiance. At the sight of it, terror struck deep into Meiriel’s heart. She took an involuntary step backward, quaking, and automatically raised a magical shield about herself. She doubted that it would hold for long against the power of the Staff, but it might buy her the time she needed.

“You look pale, Meiriel. Seen a ghost?” Aurian’s voice cut like a whiplash. Her eyes burned silver with the icy flare of her wrath. “Give me back my child.”

Desperation gave Meiriel a measure of courage. She clutched Wolf even tighter to her chest, and put one hand around his throat. “Make me give him back,” she sneered. “Strike at me, and your brat dies with me. If you so much as call out with your mind to your companions, I will slay him.”

Aurian, still feeling weak and drained from the deadly wound she had taken and the energy expended in Healing it, was shaking with the effort to suppress her rage. Now, of all times, her head must be clear, though the sight of her child with Meiriel’s hand around his neck tore at her heart. Inwardly she cursed the Skyfolk, who had been too cowardly to venture into the territory of their ancient feline enemies, and were unprepared to risk themselves by attacking a Mage. Their reluctance had lost her critical moments while she extricated herself from their net. Had she been in a position to strike at Meiriel while her foe was still blinded by dust, it would all have been over now, and Wolf would have been safe.

Possibilities flew through Aurian’s mind, and were as quickly discarded. Even the option of taking both her enemy and Wolf out of time until she could get help was out of the question. Shielded as she was, Meiriel would still have enough time to kill the child before the spell could take effect. All the Mage could do was play for time—and hope that her companions would think of searching the tunnel before it was too late.

Aurian looked at the wild-eyed madwoman with the ravaged face and tangled hair, and remembered with sadness the neat, brisk, efficient Healer who had saved her life and taught her the skills that had proved a blessing over and over again. “Meiriel, why?” she pleaded. “Where’s the sense in this? Can’t you see that your enemy should be Miathan, not me? And I can’t believe that you, of all people, would want to harm an innocent child…”

“Child?” Meiriel shrieked. “It’s an abomination!”

Aurian gritted her teeth and reined back her temper, trying not to antagonize the madwoman further. “Wolf is a normal child, Meiriel—save that Miathan cursed him. Surely, if you joined your skills with mine, you could help me remove the bane…”

Meiriel’s face contorted with hatred. “Help you?” she snarled. “Were it not for you and your filthy Mortal lover—and this half-breed freak you bore—my Finbarr would still be alive.”

So that was it. It had been a slender hope in any case, but Aurian knew for certain now that Meiriel could not be reasoned with. “Then it seems we have a stalemate,” she said tightly. “I cannot attack you while you hold Wolf; but should you kill him, you’ll have nothing left to bargain with—and death will be the most pleasant of your options.”

“That would be true—if you could keep me here,” Meiriel retorted. Aurian saw the Magewoman’s brow crease in concentration. She made a sharp gesture with her free hand, and the air around her shimmered as she began to fade. But Aurian, with the power of the Staff of Earth, could see through the illusion, and her racing mind seized upon the germ of a plan. While working her spell of invisibility, her enemy could not also maintain a magical shield. Aurian cursed and looked around wildly, feigning consternation. And as Meiriel, sure that she could not be seen, turned to creep away, Aurian struck, dropping the Staff of Earth to get a two-handed grip on her blade. Coronach came whistling down in a glittering, deadly arc to embed itself in Meiriel’s neck. Without a sound the madwoman crumpled—but even as her spirit fled, Aurian’s mind caught one fast whispered, fading word…

“Finbarr …”

Then Aurian screamed and fell to her knees, blasted by Meiriel’s death agony. Even so, she crawled forward on hands and knees over rocks that were slippery with warm blood, half-blinded by pain and with her head ringing. With a wrenching effort she rolled Meiriel’s limp body over. The head lolled, half-severed from the trunk, but the Mage had no eyes for the grisly sight. The pain of her opponent’s death throes was ebbing now; she could see clearly once more. Wolf was caught beneath a fold of Meiriel’s cloak, whining piteously in terror. Aurian tore at the heavy, soaked fabric, pulled it aside, and snatched up her bloodstained, whimpering child.

A quick scan with her Healer’s senses soon confirmed that Wolf had taken little physical harm except for cold and hunger and a bruise or two, but even though their mental link had weakened since his birth, Aurian could feel his shock and acute distress. Since he shared her heritage, it seemed likely that the child, too, had been assaulted by his abductor’s death pangs. Aurian fought to control her own roiling emotions so that she could calm and reassure him. Too limp with relief even to think of getting to her feet, she stayed kneeling in Meiriel’s blood, rocking her son and thanking all the gods that he was safe.

Anvar, with Chiamh hot on his heels, burst out of the tunnel at a run. After a frantic, fruitless search for Meiriel, he had been buffeted by her death throes—and through them, had located her at last. When he saw Aurian, with Wolf clasped in her arms, kneeling over the Magewoman’s body, his heart almost stopped. As he ran to her, his mind whirled with conflicting anger, anxiety, and relief, and as he sank to his knees beside her, his questions tumbled one over another in his haste to get them out.

“Are you all right? Is Wolf? Are you mad to come out here and fight her so soon after she nearly killed you?”

For the first time, Aurian looked up from her child, a spark of anger flashing in her eyes as she looked from Anvar to the Windeye and back again. “I had to come. Look what a mess you two were making of the business,” she snapped. Then her expression softened as she laid a hand on Anvar’s arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that—though you deserve more than harsh words for trying to give me drugged wine. You idiots—did you really think I’d fall for that?”

Anvar looked at Chiamh and saw his chagrin mirrored in the Windeye’s face. Then, to his own astonishment, he burst out laughing. It was pure relief, he knew—and also a reaction to the events of the last few harrowing hours: Wolfs abduction, Aurian almost losing her life, the bloody battle of the cats, and the physical and mental wrench of Meiriel’s violent death. Aurian caught his eye, and suddenly she was laughing with him, as they had laughed away their shock and terror long ago in the dark tunnels beneath Dhiammara, when both had been sure that Anvar’s life had ended beneath a stonefall. Though the laughter was dangerously out of control for a time, Anvar felt the fears and turmoil of the night beginning to ease, as though a bowstring stretched taut within him was loosening at last.

Finally, Aurian’s peals of laughter ended in something suspiciously like a sob, and she embraced him clumsily, with Wolf between them. Anvar, mindful of the cub, hugged her as hard as he dared before they broke apart reluctantly and scrambled to their feet to face the baffled Windeye. Aurian thumped him on the shoulder. “Thank you, Chiamh, my friend, for all your help this night—but next time, don’t go slipping your peculiar Xandim concoctions into my wine.”

Chiamh smiled sheepishly. “It seems there would be little point—but, Lady, you must rest now, before you undo all the benefit of your Healing.”

“You’re right—I’m so tired I can barely stand.” Aurian sighed, and dragged her arm wearily across her eyes. She grimaced as the edge of her sleeve left a smear of blood across one cheek. “Besides, we must get Wolf home—and where are Shia and Khanu?”

Anvar, looking on, saw her expression change to a frown of concern. “Back in the canyon—I don’t know what happened to them. Chiamh and I lost them when we were searching for Meiriel…” His words trailed away. Aurian was not listening. Her expression turned vague as she called to the cats—then her eyes snapped open wide. “Shia says that Hreeza is here—and she’s hurt.”

“Hreeza?” Anvar gasped. “How the blazes did she get here?”

Aurian shrugged. “Let’s find out. No—wait.” Thrusting Wolf into Anvar’s arms, she turned back to Meiriel’s body. Anvar could see the tension in her jaw as she stooped to the ghastly head, and closed the staring eyes. For a moment she lingered, her hand smoothing the Magewoman’s tangled hair, and Anvar was amazed to see a glitter of tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Meiriel,” she whispered.

“What?” Anvar could not contain himself. “Why should you be sorry? She meant to murder Wolf, and she came too bloody close to killing you.”

Aurian shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “That wasn’t Meiriel. I mourn the passing of the Healer I once knew, who was once a friend. She saved my life when I was a girl, and taught me the precious arts of Healing.” Then her expression hardened. “As for the madwoman who tried to kill my son—she deserved what she got.”

Springing to her feet, she wiped her bloody hands on her cloak before raising them aloft. At her gesture a bolt of sizzling flame leapt from her fingers, consuming Meiriel’s body where it lay on the bloodstained stones of Steelclaw.

“Now we can go.” Turning away from the pyre, Aurian reached down to pick up the Staff of Earth from the pool of blood in which it lay. Anvar, seeing the Artifact sullied with the lifeblood of a Mage, felt a shiver of unease crawl up his spine—and his thoughts were in tune with those of his soulmate.

“Damn,” Aurian muttered. “Steeped in blood—this doesn’t bode well.” Gingerly, she picked up the Staff—and cried out, almost dropping it again in astonishment. As her fingers had touched and lifted the Artifact, it had blazed for an instant with a blinding emerald radiance—and when the effulgence faded, every trace of blood had vanished.

“Incredible!” Anvar breathed.

Aurian was holding the Staff as though the twin serpents might bite her. “Yes,” she muttered, “but why?”

Chiamh stepped forward to peer shortsightedly at the Staff, though he was careful not to touch it. Then he looked up at the Mage. “Lady—why did you choose to kill the madwoman with your sword, and not with this powerful tool of magic?”

“I…” Aurian frowned. “Well, for one thing, there was too great a risk of harming Wolf, but mainly because it just wasn’t right.” For a moment she faltered. “This is one of the four Great Weapons that were fashioned to work against destruction. If I had used it for harm, then…” She shuddered. “Something bad would have happened. Oh, it would have worked, I’m sure—but there would have been some kind of recoil, or backlash. I remembered what the Leviathan said, about a weapon having two edges…” She shrugged, unable to explain it any better.

Chiamh shuddered. “Lady, you are very wise—and thank the Goddess that it is so.”

“I don’t know about that,” Aurian sighed. “Sometimes, Chiamh, I feel as though I’m anything but wise.” Though she was trying to hide it, she was trembling with exhaustion. “Come on—let’s find Shia now, and then we can get back to the fastness. I could sleep for a month—not that we have one.”

Almost as an afterthought she gathered up Coronach from the ground, wiping the bloodstained blade on her cloak before sheathing it. Then, thrusting the Staff into her belt, she held her arms out for her son.

The stones near the top of the rearing black spur were slick with blood. It caked on Aurian’s boots and coated her hands where she had used them to help her scramble up the last steep stretch to the summit. With a shudder, she wiped her sticky hands on the hem of her much-abused cloak, and longed for a mug of good, strong ale to clear the metallic stench that caught at the back of her throat.

Aurian looked over her shoulder and saw Chiamh down below, waiting at the foot of the ridge with Wolf, while Anvar followed close behind the Mage. He, too, was tight-lipped and pale. Thankfully, there had been fewer deaths among the cats than Aurian had expected from Anvar’s terse account of the battle, but some of the injuries that they had witnessed on their way across the canyon had been dreadful. Having been apprised by Shia that Hreeza’s life was not in danger, Aurian had lingered to give assistance where she could—though even with Anvar’s overtaxed strength to draw upon, and the power of the Staff, her contribution seemed woefully inadequate.

Khanu, his heavy fur torn out in patches and one ear ripped and bleeding, had come across the canyon to meet the Mages and escort them to Shia in safety. When they reached the summit, he led them proudly through the crowded ranks of felines that waited there. The assembly was a breathtaking sight. One great cat alone was awesome in size and power, but to see so many… Wonderingly, Aurian swept her eyes across them all, seeing lithe, muscled females and heavy-boned males resplendent in their shaggy ruffs; grizzled veterans, leggy youngsters, and fuzzy, gold-dappled black cubs, with paws and ears too big for them yet, that made her smile. A hundred gold eyes flashed and flared like a dragon hoard in the early sunlight as the great cats watched her pass, each one of them tense with silent curiosity. Aurian, looking at their great curved claws and gleaming fangs, was suddenly very glad that she had Shia to sponsor her here. She was an interloper and a hated human, and had she been alone, she would not have lasted long enough to draw another breath. With a shiver of surprise, she suddenly remembered her first meeting with Shia in the Khazalim arena. The bond between them was so strong now, it seemed impossible to believe that her beloved companion had very nearly killed her.

Shia was near the tip of the spur, watching over Hreeza. The old cat, though battered and bloody, raised her head with stubborn pride to look on as the Mage rushed to embrace her friend. “Thank the gods you’re safe,” she told the cat. “How did you come unscathed through all the fighting?”

“Most of them were very glad to see me,” Shia replied smugly. “Though there is one who was not.” Aurian followed her glance toward the body of an enormous cat that lay nearby, its heavily muscled body limp in death. Shia looked back toward her people. “Gristheena has been vanquished!” The thunder of her mental tones rose to match the challenge of her roar, which shook the very stones beneath them. “Who is leader now?”

“Shia! Shia!” The sheer volume of their response was almost enough to batter Aurian to the ground. It took all her self-control not to clap her hands over her ringing ears.

“No.” Shia’s answer stopped them in midroar.

For a moment there was utter silence; then an ancient, hollow-eyed chuevah called out from the rear of the ranked cats. “If you will not lead us, who will?” There was a brief scuffle as her friends tried to silence her; then the harsh old voice rang out again: “Well, somebody has to say it! Don’t be a fool, young Shia. You must lead us. Do you want us to go through this again?” Her bony paw swept out to indicate the many wounded who lay in the bottom of the crater. “Our people have suffered cruelly in this last evil winter, and through the injustice of Gristheena’s rule. Our numbers are sadly diminished. A strong First Female is essential now, or the tribe will die. Would you weaken us further by wasting our best in Challenge after Challenge, until a new leader should emerge?”

Though the cantankerous old feline had spoken out of turn, murmurs of assent greeted her words.

“Be still!” Shia interrupted them. “Taheera speaks wisely, does she not? Yet she is old. Too old, according to Gristheena, to be of any further use to the tribe. Too old to Challenge. Only the strongest have been permitted to remain with our people. Only the strongest could rule. Yet see to what end our reverence for strength has brought us.” Now it was her turn to remind them of the cats that lay in agony below.

“My people, it is time for change. We must maintain our prowess, certainly: encourage, instruct, and nurture our hunters and warriors for the good of the tribe. But let wisdom lead us.” Shia paused, and her golden gaze swept across the assembled cats. “By right of Challenge, the leadership is mine—but I cannot stay to lead you. The bonds of friendship hold me, and my path leads elsewhere—for not only here on Steelclaw is the safety of our people threatened. With your agreement, I will appoint another to rule in my absence. I will entrust the safekeeping of our tribe to the brave cat who dared, against all hope, to challenge Gristheena: the wise cat who brought home your exiled elders and den mates, and saved them from starvation in the mountains. O cats, have you learned from the slaughter and suffering? Will you abandon the law of claw and tooth and terror, and put your trust in wisdom? Will you have Hreeza as your leader?”

“What?” Hreeza demanded. “Me?”

Aurian felt the warm edge to Shia’s thoughts that denoted humor. “Of course, old friend,” the great cat said. “Who better?”

The cats stared at one another, thunderstruck. Aurian knew that Shia’s return had set them in a turmoil. She guessed that, at first, they had been wild with elation over the reappearance of their long-lost leader, then horrified by her friendship with, of all things, certain humans, for she had felt their resentment as she passed among the injured cats on the crater’s floor. Her help with their wounded, however, had gone a long way to reassure them that not all two-legged folk were evil, so that by the time Shia had warned them of her imminent departure, they must have been dismayed by her decision to leave them once again. But though the bitter lessons of the previous night had left their impact, and made them ready to listen to her stirring words, acceptance was another matter. Dispensing with the rite of Challenge went against every belief that the tribe possessed.

There was a long moment of silence. Then a lone voice spoke up from the rear of the gathering. “Well, I say we should have Hreeza as our leader.” It was the indomitable Taheera again. “What do we have to lose? We lived with the other way for so long—and see where it has led us. We old cats have lived for many seasons. We have hunted in our time, and borne cubs; we have lived and survived through famine and sickness, battle and conflict within and beyond the tribe. We remember: we are wise. Should we be discarded because we are too old to fight and hunt and bear young? Why does the tribe not use our knowledge? Let Hreeza try, I say—and we old chuevah will help her. Give her a chance. If she fails, we can always go back to the old way.”

A roar of assent broke out as the old chuevah raised their voices to support her. The younger cats murmured among themselves, indecisive—and reluctant, perhaps, to let go of their authority. “Fine words,” one of them said, “but what if we need to defend ourselves? How can an old cat lead us in battle?”

Shia added the weight of her words to the debate. “Hreeza must choose a battle leader from the cats in their prime. She may also appoint a hunt leader from those who are most skilled. Give her a year, and see what happens,” she said persuasively. “Under Hreeza’s rule, I am certain that the tribe will prosper.”

“It had better prosper,” muttered one lone voice from somewhere in the crowd, but apart from that, there were no further objections. “Hreeza for leader!” Taheera roared, and as the other cats joined in, the very mountains trembled. “Hreeza! Hreeza!”

Hreeza turned to Shia with blazing eyes. “Now look what you’ve done, you young fool,” she snapped, but Aurian could see that she was secretly delighted.

“Here, let me look at those injuries,” she told the old cat. “Goodness knows, you’ll have a busy time ahead, so you’d better start off your reign in perfect health.”

Anvar pulled from his pocket the carved bone whistle that had been given to the Mages to summon the Skyfolk from the air. “And once you’ve healed Hreeza, we must go home,” he added firmly.

Aurian looked around at the soaring mountains of a foreign land, and sighed. “I would like nothing better—if only we had a home.”