by Angus Wells
It came to her that she had not felt so alone with Gailard. Yes, he had at first frightened her with his blunt ways, his uncourtly practicality—but he had been a companion. He had defended her, and even comforted her. And now he was dead, no doubt an eyeless corpse ravaged by the carrion birds and the wolves and wild dogs. And she was utterly alone, without friends or allies or hope.
Rytha—in her own way as foul as Rurrid—had explained in minute detail what plans she and Eryk hatched. She had come visiting, telling Ellyn how word would be sent to Mattich when they reached the Dur lands, informing him that his granddaughter was held captive and would be slowly dismembered did the Dur chieftain not surrender and swear fealty to Eryk and Rytha. Then word would be sent to Talan Kedassian, offering him the bride he wanted to ensure his claim to Chaldor’s throne in return for military support and the allegiance of the clans once Eryk was established as paramount chieftain.
Ellyn was not, even now, accustomed to the role of pawn. Yet she must admit she had become no more than that: a helpless piece on the gaming board of men’s ambition. She wished Gailard was with her—his solid presence would be a comfort—and then a terrible regret that she had not treated him better. He had, after all, proven himself her champion. And he was dead. She clenched her fists and fought to dismiss the ghastly memory of his last moments, the last time she had seen him, flayed and bleeding on the tree with the birds gathering.
Terror and despair mingled and were joined by anger. She sought to channel all three emotions, just as she had done that last night, before Gailard was executed. The result was the same.
Then, when she had sought to find that power her mother had promised, she had found only confusion: strange dreams of flight and rescue and safety, mumbled words inside her head, most of them unintelligible as any dream’s whisperings. Nothing had come of it, and she had despaired of finding that talent Ryadne had vowed she owned.
Nor better now: only dancing lights behind her knuckled eyes, and the celebratory noise of the camp in her ears.
“You weep? I’ll make you cry with joy.”
She turned toward the opened entry flap, and saw Rurrid there, leering. He set a platter of food and a mug of ale on the floor.
“Touch me and I’ll kill you.”
It sounded foolish in her own ears. What could she do, were he to press her?
It surely amused him. “Kill me? I think not. I think you’ll only submit.” He began to laugh.
Ellyn felt the anger grow—refuge of a kind—and stiffened her courage that she might face him and scorn him. “You’d not dare speak so were Gailard …”
He interrupted her. “Alive? But he’s not, and you’re alone.”
He was still laughing as he laced the entry closed. Ellyn began to weep then, and by the time she turned to her dinner it was cold.
They struck camp a little after dawn. The air was chill and the trampled ground frosty. A cold, uncaring sun rose into a steel-blue sky where birds hung, anxious for the pickings the horde would leave behind. Ellyn was allowed to perform her ablutions—watched still—and then lashed once more to her horse, which Rurrid still led. Now, however, Athol rode with them, and his obscene suggestions were added to her torment. She steeled herself against the two, endeavoring to blot out their words as she forced herself to remember and review everything her mother had told her. But she could not help but wonder if Ryadne had been wrong. Did she truly own the magical talent, why could she not summon that power? She had tried hard enough, and found … nothing. The morning breeze seemed to freeze the tears on her cheeks, and was the land she traveled magnificent in its rugged beauty, she did not see it, for she could only think that she was alone and Gailard was dead and all hope was lost.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The blue of the sky and the white of the billowing clouds shifted into a whirlwind pattern, like colors swirled on a painter’s palette, one merging with another until there was no pattern, only movement. I felt a wind pluck at my hair and suddenly knew that I rode the sky. I cried out in unalloyed terror as I realized that I floated above the land, and looked for the comfort of Shara’s presence. For a moment I believed she’d betrayed me, and all she’d promised was lies, for I saw only a tawny-eyed eagle, its wings spread wide to catch the air currents, sailing beside me.
Beside me?
I turned my head and saw that I, too, wore wings. I could not understand this at all—until my companion opened her beak and spoke inside my head.
It’s the swiftest way, Gailard. Trust me.
I looked down onto a distant landscape. Cloud shadows chased the sun across wide moorland and stands of heather, dark woods and rushing streams. I saw a hare dart from cover and felt an immense urge to plunge after the creature.
No! We’ve no time to hunt.
I turned my gaze back to my companion, barely wondering how I could see so far, so clearly. The sheer wonder of what I did—what I was become—impinged on my mind.
What have you done to me?
Nothing, save give us a means to catch up with Eryk
By transforming me? By making me an eagle?
I thought on what she’d told me of Nestor’s hunters.
Only until we find Ellyn. Then you’ll be yourself again, I promise.
I hawked my fear, then regretted my doubt. Indeed, I began to enjoy this mode of travel, and as I melded better with my strange new form, I found it a wondrous thing to ride the wind and beat my wings and sail over terrain horses would find hard going; river crossings that—afoot or on horseback—must have left me soaked; cliffs that would take a day to climb; woodlands that should need long, slow traversing. I beat my wings, spread my pinions, and laughed as best an eagle can.
So do you trust me?
Yes.
Then let’s find Ellyn.
I screeched approval and bent my wings to catch a faster current.
We sailed above mountains and moorlands, over darkly looming brochs and deep, blue tarns, until we saw the massed forces of the Devyn and the Agador camped in a valley that was separated from the Dur lands by only the narrow ridge between.
Eryk’s camp spread along the valley, with watchmen at either end, and more on the ridges above. The Dur’s main camp was some distance northward, centered on a tarn around which the horses they’d captured grazed, warded by boys and old men. From our bird’s-eye viewpoint, I could see bands strung out across the sweeping moors, some bringing in more horses, others with deer and wild fowls for the cookpots. I felt a great pang of nostalgia, for this was what I remembered from my youth: the high, wild freedom of these lonely moors and mountains, where a man could travel for days alone and see only the horses and the wild animals.
Yes, I had fought then—warfare amongst the clans was surely not unusual—but neither fought as Eryk would have it. Declarations would be issued, challenges; conflict would be discussed in advance, at the Moots, when claims and counterclaims might be issued and rebutted, and always messengers would be sent under peaceful banners to announce impending conflict. What Eryk did was different and wrong. He crept like some skulking wildcat upon his prey, and that was not honorable.
I squawked a protest and Shara told me to land.
We found a rocky outcrop hidden from Eryk’s camp and winged down. Again, the world swirled about me and I felt a sudden nausea that ended as I realized I stood on solid stone in human form. I also realized that my arms were thrust out in memory of my recent wings, and began to laugh. Then stopped as I saw Shara kneeling, her head down and her body shaking.
I went to her. “What’s amiss?”
She raised a slow hand. “A moment, eh?”
I waited, and after a while she rose. Her face was pale, and she wiped at her mouth. “Ach, but that’s a hard spell. Is there water nearby?” Her voice was hoarse and breathless.
I glanced around. Rainwater was pooled in a bowl not far off. I brought her to it, aware of her slender frame as she leaned against me. She seemed weak, and that golden armor she’d worn was
gone, replaced with the clothes of a Highlander woman—albeit unmarked by any clan colors. I could feel her shuddering. She crouched above the pool and splashed her face, then drank.
“The transportation spells are difficult,” she said when she’d recovered. She leaned against the stone, breathing deeply. I saw that she’d splashed her gown, which clung wetly to her breasts. “I must rest before we go on.”
“I thought …” I said, and shrugged, not sure just what I thought. “Did you not tell me Nestor created hunters—how is that different?”
“It’s very different.” She frowned, her mouth down-turned in expression of disgust. “That one changes things forever. What Nestor made shall never again be a man, or a dog—only what Nestor made it. What I did was change us both for a little while; but now we are ourselves again. But by the gods, Gailard, it weakens me. I need to rest awhile now.”
And with that she stretched out and went to sleep.
It was a warm enough day and I had nothing save my tunic to cover her with, so I left her where she lay and wandered across the outcrop. On three sides rose high stone, reaching up toward the valley’s rimrock; on the fourth, a gentler slope went grassily down to a trail that looked to devolve upon the valley’s bed. I could see the camp below, but not what lay beyond. I could see Eryk’s grandiose pavilion, and wondered if the smaller tent beside held Ellyn captive. I waited awhile, but saw no sign of her; I returned to Shara, waiting for her to wake.
The sun was moved some distance across the sky before she opened her eyes, and my belly felt hollow.
She sighed and lifted to a sitting position, glancing around, then chuckled as my empty stomach rumbled. “I fear I could not carry provisions.”
I shrugged. I was accustomed to hunger, but still preferred by belly filled. So I asked her, “Can we not hunt as eagles?”
“No.” She shook her head. “What the bird would eat should not be enough to satisfy us. Besides, as I said, such spells are mightily draining and I’d not deplete my power any further.”
I suppose my disappointment must have shown on my face, for she sighed and said, “And even could I, every spell I weave is likely a beacon for Nestor and his hunters—and I’d not alert either him or them to my presence until I must. No, what we do next has to be in human form.”
I wondered how we were to reach Eryk’s camp and rescue Ellyn. I’d assumed that we should again take the form of eagles, or some other bird, and fly to the camp. But when I said this, Shara smiled and answered me. “It’s not so easy, Gailard. Think on it—two eagles landing in the midst of that camp? We’d be easy targets for the bowmen. Besides, that spell’s so draining I doubt I can work it again for days.”
“Nestor seems able,” I said, thinking of all the magic flung against us in the Darach Pass, “and you said he …”
“I know what I said.” She rose to her feet, wavering a moment so that I gave her my arm. “But Nestor’s all the ambition of Danant to strengthen him—all Talan’s desires and hatreds, and the force of a belligerent army around him. That strengthens him, whilst I’ve only myself and you.”
I frowned, not properly comprehending.
“Magic’s a subtle thing,” she said, “that depends upon an interplay of forces. The belief and the emotions of those surrounding the sorcerer deliver power. Listen, when you’ve faced men in battle, when were you stronger—when the men with you believed in you and you knew you could count on them, or when you doubted them?”
“When we fought together,” I replied.
“And so it is with magic,” she said. “Nestor’s all the feelings of Talan’s army to draw on, and that makes him very strong.” She hunched her shoulders an instant and gestured toward the distant camp. “Even here, where your brother plays into Nestor’s hands—that strengthens him. It’s as if his power extends across the land—and that weakens mine. So I must be careful I do not give us away.”
“So what do we do?”
And Shara looked me in the eyes and said, “What we can; but the next moves in this game must depend largely upon you. I’ll help you all I can, but Ellyn’s rescue shall be mostly your affair.”
“And do we rescue her? How shall we escape Eryk?”
“My strength will return in a few days,” she said, “and then I’ll be better able to assist.”
“Then why not rest here?” I asked. “Until your strength’s returned?”
“Even Vachyn sorcerers need to eat.” Shara laughed and gestured at our surroundings. “And there’s nothing here, so we must go down into that valley and rescue Ellyn before this war begins.”
I said, “It would surely be easier if they were fighting. There’d be confusion then—the warriors gone from the camp.”
“Save you forget two things,” she gave me back. “Eryk would use Ellyn as a pawn in his game, and the Dur own the scrying magic.”
I cursed myself for the one omission; did not understand the other.
“The Dur know Eryk’s coming,” Shara explained. “They gird for war.”
“Of course!” I slapped my forehead in frustrated anger. “And Eryk will set her in the van. Or send Mattich those pieces of her he threatened. Either way, the Dur must be wary of combat. Shall they flee?”
Shara shrugged—which drew her damp robe tauter over her breasts—and said, “Perhaps; but if they do, I think Eryk will pursue them. One way or another, there shall be a war of conquest that can only further Nestor’s—all the Vachyns’—aims.”
“So we must save her,” I said, “as soon as possible.”
Shara nodded.
The cloud gathered and hung above the valley, rendering the night dark and the trail we took treacherous. We made our way down the grassy slope—which proved to be a thin layering of sparse verdure over shale—and came slithering and stumbling onto the trail below. I began to find a grim amusement in our progress. By the gods, had we not flown here, ridden the sky as majestic eagles? But now we went afoot, falling and tripping, less sure of our way than any beast—and surely noisier. And more: we were two against many. I had thought that Shara’s magic must ensure our success. But now…
I halted where the trail curved, forming the first of a series of long traverses. It would be close on dawn before we could hope to reach the foot, and the camp would wake with the sunrise. Also, by now we were both very hungry; I could hear Shara’s belly emit little ladylike grumblings.
She smiled when I remarked on this and said, “All well, we’ll take food from the camp.”
I stared at her. “It shall be hard enough to take Ellyn. And we’ll need horses if you can’t fly us away, or turn us into wolves, or …” I shrugged, wondering if I went to my second death.
“We’ll find a way,” she said, and her face grew grim. “We have to.”
It was a long descent, but we reached the foot with dawn still some hours off and halted in the cover of a pine thicket. We could see the camp clearly, sprawling along the valley to either side of a shallow stream that fed into the tarn, and that gurgled as if amused by our presumption. I watched awhile and found what hope I could muster.
“You cannot use your magic yet?” I asked. And when Shara confirmed what I already knew with a shake of her head, “Then do you wait here while I steal us horses?”
“No.” She shook her head again, but this time she was smiling. “I’ll come with you—I’ve a way with animals.”
And without further ado she set out in the direction of the horse herd.
“By the gods, woman! What do you know of stealing horses?” I forgot for a moment that she was a Vachyn sorcerer. “This is man’s work. Just wait, and I’ll bring them to you.”
She only continued on her way, leaving me to fall into step beside. I had no other choice, save to argue—which would likely alert the camp’s dogs and bring men after them. So I went with her, believing that I should soon die again and Ellyn be forever lost.
But she was right; she did have a way with animals.
We approac
hed the herd and a dog came out to inspect us. It was a typical Highland dog: muscular and long-legged, with shaggy hair and large jaws, its coat brindle. I drew my sword, readying to hack the beast down when it attacked, but Shara stayed my hand and stepped forward. She murmured words too soft for me to discern and knelt, opening her arms. The dog growled a moment, then came into them and she stroked its muzzle, its chest, and the great beast lay down and panted like a puppy eager for attention. She fondled the underside of its jaw and beckoned me on; the dog followed, nuzzling at her legs, and we approached the herd.
The watchmen were asleep—which spoke to me of either massive confidence or the laxity of Eryk’s rule; surely our father would never have tolerated sleeping herdsmen—and we wandered in amongst the horses. Some snorted, but Shara spoke to them and they grew quiet as the dogs that gathered about us. I found my bay and Ellyn’s chestnut, and looked to Shara to choose her own mount.
She shrugged and whispered that I should choose for her, so I selected a black mare that looked to own both speed and stamina, and we led them away, back to the stand of pines.
“Can you ride bareback?” I asked.
Shara looked up from the dogs she stroked (they’d followed us—or her—like puppies hungry for their mother’s teats) and said, “Yes.” She went on fondling the dogs as if we had no cares.
“It shall be a hard journey,” I said. “We’ll need to ride swift to escape Eryk. It would be easier if …”
“I cannot use magic,” she said, recognizing my thought. “It was all I could do to find you—bring you your gear—and fashion that spell that brought us here. And listen, Gailard—magic leaves a trail. Every spell that’s wrought leaves behind traces, like spoor for those with the talent. What I’ve already done shall leave … tracks … for Nestor and his hunters. I’d not leave any here, nor to where we go; so best we go mundane.”
I grunted, somewhat irritated by her calm demeanor. It seemed to me that I had placed my life in her hands. Surely I had replaced my instinctive mistrust of magic with belief in her abilities, and forgotten—or forgiven—that she was a Vachyn sorcerer. Now it was as she had promised—that Ellyn’s rescue lay in my hands. I stared at her and asked, “So what now?”
