Winged Magic

by Mary H. Herbert

  Zukhara, in his arrogance, rejoiced. Gabria could not fight him; she was too weak, yet she could watch her daughter be crushed beneath his power. He would not kill Kelene’s body; he still wanted that for breeding. He would destroy her personality, the spirit that made her so unique. He leaned over Kelene again and lowered his hand to her face.

  The little silver tube hanging loose on its chain dangled forgotten from his neck. It twisted and danced in a gleam of sunlight and shone like a tiny sun in Kelene’s blurry vision. It beckoned to her hand to reach for it. Just as Zukhara’s fingers touched her cheek, Kelene grasped the tube and yanked hard. The chain dug into the man’s neck and broke with a snap.

  He yelled in fury but, before he could snatch the tube back, Gabria formed a spell — a simple, devilish one that required little strength from her failing body — and flung it at him. A small green ball of power flew through the space between them and smacked into his shoulder. It clung there like a bur. Immediately tiny tendrils of green energy burst out of the ball and skittered over his torso like streams of angry fire ants.

  Zukhara arched backward, stunned by the itching pain of the magic. He scratched frantically at his arms and chest and back; he pulled at the little green bur, and all his efforts only made the burning stings worse. He staggered back from Kelene to the wall and screamed for the gryphon.

  Free of his weight, Kelene grabbed the stones by her head and hauled herself to her knees. She was just high enough to peer over the low wall and see the ground below, where the gryphon crouched close to the temple wall, flanked by two furious Hunnuli mares. Demira had been clever enough to realize she could not outfly the winged predator. As soon as she saw her mother, Nara, approaching the temple, she had landed and sought the older mare’s help. Now the gryphon had two large and powerful horses to contend with, and she was discovering they were not such easy prey. At Zukhara’s bellow, she bounced into the air and beat her way up to the top of the temple.

  Kelene saw her coming. Summoning all her strength, she willed her hurting body to walk toward Gabria. Her mother stumbled toward her. They met in the middle, and their arms went around one another.

  Zukhara finally pried the green bur off his shoulder. He threw it to the ground and stamped on it. “Kill them now!” he shrieked at the gryphon. The creature wheeled, reluctant to obey the man’s demands. She hissed at him and slowly came to land near the women. “Kill them I said!” he screamed again.

  Kelene snatched at the one chance she had left. Letting go of Gabria, she threw herself at the gryphon and caught one of its long legs. Surprised, the animal jerked back, but Kelene held tight to the warm, furry limb. Her fingers clasped tight against the skin. Using her empathic talent, she reached into the gryphon’s turbulent mind to touch the bond of familiarity she had forged during their time together. The gryphon growled a rumbling note.

  It’s all right, beautiful one, she sent softly, reassuringly. It is me. I will not hurt you. I promised to help free you, remember?

  The creature’s growl slowed and faded. Her nose sniffed Kelene’s scent.

  “No!” Zukhara yelled at her. “You are mine! You will do as I say. Now kill them both.” Overcome with embittered rage, he lashed out at the gryphon with a whiplash of fiery magic.

  Without the ward the spell would have killed her. As it was, the lash caught the gryphon on the haunches like a flick of lightning. She reared up, breaking away from Kelene, and screamed a shivering cry. Her wings beat the air; her eyes burned with white-hot fire. In one powerful leap she sprang at the man she hated above all other men.

  Zukhara’s arrogance proved his undoing, for even as he saw her come he could not believe the gryphon sent to him by his god would turn on him. By the time his brain thought to react, her powerful talons had ripped into his stomach. He screamed once before she crushed his head.

  Kelene turned her eyes away. She walked back to Gabria, and for a time they simply stood together in utter exhaustion. Relief, release, and happiness formed a potent brew of feelings that began to revive Kelene’s battered form, and she became aware of several details. The first thing she pointed out was the blood on Gabria’s face and clothes.

  “Most of it is not mine,” Gabria said unhappily. “It is Helmar’s and Marron’s.” She held up her hand to forestall Kelene’s questions. “The tale is too long to explain now, but as soon as you’re able, please go to them. Zukhara booby-trapped the citadel gate, and it blew up in their faces.”

  Kelene nodded. “There is only this; then we will go.” She held up the silver tube she had torn from Zukhara’s neck. “The antidote.”

  Years of aging dropped away from Gabria’s face at the touch of a brilliant smile. With shaking hands she took the tube, unscrewed the top, and swallowed half the contents. “I will save the rest for the Shar-Ja,” she said. “I could tell just by looking at him that he had been poisoned the same way.”

  “I hope it is enough. Amara only knows if there is any more.”

  A grumbling sound drew their attention back to the gryphon. Demira and Nara came clattering up the stairs, and the gryphon crouched, snarling at their presence.

  Kelene skirted the remains of Zukhara’s body and calmly patted the wild gryphon. Even hungry as she was, the creature had not tried to eat the man’s corpse. Gently Kelene unfastened the collar on the gryphon’s neck. Stroking her back, Kelene extended her magic into the gryphon to ease the pain of the animal’s burns and injuries. Thank you, she told her. That is twice you have saved me. I keep my promise. Go home and find your family.

  The gryphon’s tufted ears snapped up and, without a backward glance, she leaped off the roof into the afternoon. Wild with joy, she called once and flew faster than the wind toward the western peaks. They watched her for a moment, until her golden shape disappeared in the distance.

  Silently the sorceresses mounted their Hunnuli and left the temple roof, where Zukhara’s trampled body lay alone and unmourned.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  While they rode back to the front gate, Gabria told Kelene the little bit she knew about Helmar.

  “A red cloak?” Kelene said in amazement. “Where did she come from? Do you think she is a Corin?”

  “I don’t know. All I can tell you is that she and her Hunnuli risked their lives for us, and I don’t want to lose her now.” Gabria’s reply was iron-firm, a sure sign that her strength was starting to return.

  Kelene said nothing else. She worked instead on her own condition to clear her battered mind, still the pain, and bolster her energies. By the time they reached the cloistered courtyard, her headache had eased from blinding agony to a dull ache that was tolerable, and her limbs felt strong enough to deal with what she had to do.

  A small group of yellow-robed priests clustered under the shade of the arched cloister near the remains of the gate. Gabria went to them and gestured to Kelene.

  The young sorceress slid carefully to the ground. She patted the mare, delighted beyond words to have her back. “Demira, I must ask one more favour. Please go back to the palace and find my healer’s bag in our room. Third floor, west wing. And see if you can find Rafnir, too.”

  I will look for Sayyed, as well. I think he loves Helmar.

  Kelene barely had time to register that surprising remark before Demira sprang aloft and dropped over the rim of the citadel’s wall. Kelene hurried to help Gabria.

  Priests from the temple had brought the unconscious woman to a resting place on a low cot out of the sun. They had been afraid to carry her any farther. A healer skilled in the arts of surgery and medicine had already begun the difficult task of stopping the bleeding from lacerations on her head, neck, and chest. Kelene looked at the bloodied face and marvelled that the woman was still alive.

  The healer said something in Turic, and Gabria made an understandable reply. The healer nodded to Kelene. She knelt down by Helmar’s head and set to work. Although she did not speak very much Turic and the healer knew no Clannish, they were able to meld
their efforts into a swift, efficient treatment. Kelene removed the wooden splinters and debris and cleaned the wounds while the healer priest deftly stitched the worst lacerations closed before the chief lost too much blood. It was a long, difficult process.

  Helmar roused once and tried to twist away from the healer’s sharp needle, but Kelene laid her fingers on the woman’s forehead and eased her gently back to sleep. The Turic healer nodded with approval. They were nearly finished when Demira returned from the palace Kelene’s bag in her teeth and Tassilio on her back. “Hajira and Mohadan are with Father, so I came to help,” he announced, hopping off the mare’s back. “Demira told us what happened. Lord Athlone, Rafnir, and Sayyed are on their way up.”

  Kelene smiled her thanks. “A gift for your help, Shar-Yon.” She handed him the silver tube of antidote.

  Recognition ignited Tassilio’s face into an incandescent grin, and he quickly handed the precious vial to one of the priests. “Give this to my Father at once!” he commanded. “Tell him I will come as soon as my work here is done.”

  Kelene gratefully took her bag back to Helmar’s bedside. Most of the immediate work to save Helmar had been done, but the woman faced a long siege before she could fully recover. Shock, blood loss, dehydration, and infection were side effects she would have to battle in the next few days. Fortunately she had suffered no broken bones, and as far as Kelene could tell, no internal injuries. Even so, neither Kelene nor the Turic healer who had helped her knew if Helmar would survive the devastating blast. Only time and her own strength could help her now.

  To improve her patient’s strength, Kelene brought out a carefully wrapped packet. Using some warm water brought by a monk, she made an infusion from a special combination of herbs that she always kept prepared and readily available in her bag. The recipe was an old one she had found in the ruins of Moy Tura, and its invigorating potency had helped restore many people to health. With Tassilio’s help, she explained to the healer what it was, and he watched with interest while she mixed the tea with honey and dribbled it between Helmar’s lips.

  Kelene glanced around the courtyard for her mother and saw Gabria kneeling by something on the other side of the gate. Oh, gods, she had forgotten about the Hunnuli. She passed the cup to Tassilio and went to check on the horse.

  Gabria had treated many wounds in her life, but she was the first to admit she was not a healer. It was apparent to Kelene as she joined her mother that the older woman felt overwhelmed by the extent of Marron’s injuries. With one hand Gabria pressed a strip of cloth torn from her skirt over a gaping wound in the mare’s chest and with the other tried to stem the flow of blood from a gash on the mare’s neck.

  Dismayed, Kelene dropped her bag and knelt beside the bloodied horse. The priests, assuming the mare was dead, had left her where she had fallen after the gate blew up, and she lay on her side, bleeding slowly into the dust from dozens of punctures, slashes, and abrasions.

  “I don’t think we can save her,” Gabria said in a voice thick with tears. “She reared up and took the full force of the blow to save Helmar.”

  Kelene touched the mare’s grey muzzle where the black skin showed through the short white hairs. The skin was warm and her eyelids flickered, but Marron was dangerously close to death. And if she died, Kelene knew Helmar would probably die, too.

  “We need water, lots of it. Cloth, blankets, and a big bucket of hot water.” She pointed to her bag. “If that tea helps humans, maybe it will help a Hunnuli, too.”

  Gabria fought down her worry and went to gather the things they would need. Demira and Nara stood close by Marron, their noses almost touching her. Kelene leaned forward to rest her cheek on the mare’s face and said, “Marron?”

  A flicker of consciousness flared in Kelene’s mind — not the vibrant, alert thought of a healthy Hunnuli, but at least it meant Marron was still alive and, on a subconscious level, still aware. Kelene probed deeper into the horse’s mind to reach her understanding. She extended her power over Marron’s body, lessening her pain and soothing her fear.

  Marron. I am Kelene, Demira’s rider. Helmar is alive. Do you understand?

  The Hunnuli’s thoughts burst brighter in recognition.

  She is alive. But you must stay alive, too. Do you hear me? If you die, she will lose her will to fight. Please stay with us! We will take care of both of you.

  The mare’s thoughts sparkled a weary acknowledgment, then slowly faded into the dim, pulsing glow of deep sleep.

  Kelene heard horses approach, and she lifted her head to see one of the most welcome sights she would ever remember in her life: her father, her husband, and her father-in-law on their Hunnuli cantering almost neck and neck toward the citadel gates. Their three stallions slid to a stop, and the men dropped off in one unbroken movement.

  Kelene stood up, took one step forward, and found herself engulfed in her husband’s arms. She buried her face in his shoulder and held him as if she would never let him go. His clothes were filthy, spattered with blood and coated in dust, reeking of sweat and smoke. A dark beard framed his jaws, and his face was too thin, but Kelene thought she had never seen him look so wonderful.

  Sayyed paused long enough to see she was safe; then he looked closely at Marron, and his face turned a sickly paste colour. He ran into the courtyard to find Helmar. Afer joined Nara and Demira in their vigil over the white mare.

  Lord Athlone came out of the gates, helping Gabria carry the water, buckets, and bandages. His clothes were as bad as Rafnir’s, and his hair and beard were unkempt. His face was lined from days of worry, and his expression was sober after seeing Helmar. But underneath it all, like a light burning in a worn and weathered tent, glowed a joy too bright to mask. It was matched in its luminosity only by the happiness in Gabria’s eyes. He set down his burdens and silently hugged his daughter. Words would come later when the wounded were cared for and the most immediate tasks were clone.

  With Gabria and Rafnir close by to help, Kelene settled down to the task of repairing Marron’s torn chest and shoulders. She felt sometimes as if she were piecing together a shredded blanket of black skin, white hair, and too much red blood. It was a wonder the horse’s jugular had not been punctured. The gods, Kelene decided, had kept their hands over Helmar and Marron.

  When at last she was finished, Kelene felt worn to a single thread. Her hands shook as she slathered Marron’s wounds with an ointment made to fight infection and keep the skin soft so the stitched wounds would heal without crippling scar tissue. If Marron survived, she would always carry scars, but Kelene wanted her to heal as unimpaired as possible.

  Since they could not leave the mare lying in the road, the sorceress gradually roused Marron out of unconsciousness. Ever so gently, Afer and Nara nudged her onto her stomach, then helped her ease to her feet. Standing on either side of the swaying mare, they propped up her weight as she tottered into the citadel to the shady cloister near Helmar.

  At Tassilio’s insistence, the priests agreed to allow the chief and her Hunnuli to stay in the cloister where they could be close together. Straw was brought for Marron, and she lay down again, her eyes closed and her muzzle near Helmar’s shoulder.

  Kelene steeped a bucket of the restorative for the mare, leaving it where she could reach it without difficulty. She also fixed cups for herself, Gabria, and the three men. They all drank it gratefully.

  Sayyed sat, like a man in a daze, beside Helmar. He wiped her face with a cool cloth and slowly fed her sips of her tonic, but a haunted shadow greyed his face, and his limbs were tensed with a terrible anxiety.

  Gabria watched him worriedly. He had had that same look in the plague tent when he watched Tam die. She had no idea he had fallen so deeply in love with this woman — perhaps he hadn’t either until now. But gods above, Gabria sighed, how would he survive if he lost another love? She leaned into the embrace of her own dearest husband and thanked Amara with all her heart for their reunion.

  As soon as Helmar and Marron
were as comfortable as they could be, Kelene found the nearest place to sit down and began to shake. Tears filled her eyes. Her strength was gone; her will was depleted. Her head pounded like an overworked drum. She had nothing left in mind or body but a strong desire to lie down and cry. Rafnir scooped her up in his arms. The last thing she remembered for a long time after that was the softness of a bed and the warmth of Rafnir’s body as he held her close and comforted her to sleep.

  She roused late in the afternoon of the following day in a chamber she soon learned was in the citadel. Rafnir had left, but Kelene was delighted to see a new clan tunic and skirt draped over the foot of the bed and a tray of stuffed meat rolls, cheese, grapes, and wine on the table. Kelene discovered she was ravenous. As soon as she had dressed and eaten, she hurried through the corridors to the front entrance. No one was there but Sayyed and his patients under the cloister. Twenty-four hours had brought little change to Helmar or her horse, and if Sayyed had left her side once, Kelene saw no sign of it. He still wore his filthy, rumpled clothes, and dark shadows circled his eyes from the lack of sleep.

  Kelene kissed his forehead. “Thank you for coming after us,” she said.

  He cracked a semblance of a smile. “You led us on a merry chase.”

  “Tell me,” she asked as she bent over the chief. So while Kelene examined Helmar and Marron and made more of the tea, Sayyed told her about the long journey from Council Rock. Once he got started, he seemed compelled to keep talking, and he told her everything about Sanctuary, the Clannad, Hajira, the ride to Cangora, and most of all, like a man astonished by what he was saying, he talked about Helmar.

  Kelene listened quietly. Her father-in-law was not usually so verbose; in fact she had not heard him talk so much in years. She knew it was a measure of his fear for Helmar that made him confide so much of his feelings, and a measure of his love for his daughter-in-law that he chose to share his thoughts with her. Kelene was more grateful than words could tell.