Maggie Furey - Sword of Flames

Zanna settled back into the old routines and friendships of the Nightrunner hideout as though the months of her absence had never happened. At first Remana had been very cool with her, but her anger had been mostly due to worry over the fact that she had run away. When the matriarch of the smugglers discovered Zanna’s role in Vannor’s rescue, her manner thawed abruptly, and the two of them became fast friends again, with Remana treating her, once again, as the daughter she’d never had. There were many friendships to be renewed—the chief and most delightful of which was her reunion with her pony, Piper. Just now all the smugglers’ ponies were down in their cavern, sheltering from the wicked weather, and so he had been on hand to renew their acquaintance.

Zanna spent a good deal of time with Piper—or as much as she could spare from her dad, whose recovery had been set back by the grueling encounter with the storm. He had taken a chill from the icy soaking he had received, but under all Remana’s cosseting, and the constant care of Benziorn and the blond girl Emmie, he was gradually growing stronger, and Zanna hoped to be able to take up Tarnal’s offer to go riding with her as soon as the weather cleared.

At least it would get her away from Yanis, Zanna thought sourly. He was driving her to distraction, hanging around Vannor’s chamber all day making sheep’s eyes at Emmie—who, to be fair, seemed completely oblivious to his attentions. Zanna felt a curious ambivalence toward the serious, sad-eyed girl who, according to Remana, was older than she looked, and had lost her husband and both her children to Miathan’s depredations. Zanna felt sorry for her after that and also deeply appreciated what Emmie was doing for her father—yet she knew that by rights she ought to resent the older woman for her beauty, and for taking Yanis’s attentions away from herself.

Yet during the time that they had spent cooped up together in Hebba’s house, Zanna had found herself becoming more and more irritated by the thoughtless, self-centered behavior of the Nightrunner leader. Besides, he wasn’t very bright—and although she had known that before, it had never bothered her until now. Zanna blushed to remember that casual announcement made months ago to her father, that she intended to marry Yanis. What an idiot she had been! Without a mother to advise her, there was no one now to tell her that she was simply growing up—with all the trials and contradictions it entailed—and so Zanna was left to puzzle out her difficulties on her own.

In all her confusion, Tarnal was the solid anchor in her life. He always seemed to be there when she felt most in need of a friend, and she was always glad to see him. It also meant a lot to Zanna that the young smuggler was so considerate of her father, whom he held in great respect. Tired of the awkward atmosphere within the caverns between Emmie and the Nightrunner leader, she looked forward to having Tarnal’s company all to herself as a relief from Yanis’s foolishness, and waited impatiently for the weather to change. On the day after the storm had broken at last, she was glad to accept his invitation to go riding on the cliffs.

Wrapped up warmly against the bite of the wind that stung her glowing cheeks and ruffled her short-cropped hair, Zanna galloped her pony along the cliff top, racing Tarnal to the distant landmark of the solitary standing stone. Oh, but it was wonderful to be out in the fresh air again! Piper seemed to think so too—the pony was full of energy after his long confinement in the caverns, and needed this run to calm his fidgets. It seemed to be having the same effect on Zanna’s fidgets, for by the time she had reached the bottom of the mound on which the great stone stood—as near as she dared to approach on horseback, for the ponies were afraid of the sinister megalith—she was feeling happier and more free than she had felt in months.

Laughing, Zanna turned to Tarnal, who came galloping up behind her. “I won!” she crowed. “That fat slug of yours will have to pick up his hooves if he wants to beat my Piper…”

Zanna’s words tailed off as something—a long, dark, unfamiliar shape far out at sea—caught her attention. It certainly wasn’t a ship, though it was big enough, and from the way it moved, it seemed to be alive. “Tarnal—what on earth is that?” she cried, pointing.

“It looks like a whale.” The Nightrunner was frowning in puzzlement. “But they never come into these waters. What the blazes is it doing here? Why is it all alone? And why is it staying on the surface all the time? Do you think it’s sick?”

Together they sat and waited on the cliff top, dismounting to let their ponies crop the grass as they watched the behemoth approach the coast. At one point in their vigil Zanna noticed that Tarnal had taken hold of her hand, but it felt so pleasant that she made no effort to pull away. Suddenly, she felt his fingers tighten on her own. “Zanna”—his voice was little more than a hoarse whisper—“please tell me I’m not imagining things. I’m sure I can see people riding on that whale…”

His eyes were keener than her own, but after a few minutes Zanna could see them too. “They are people! But who could command such power over a creature of the deep?” She turned to the Nightrunner in sudden panic. “Tarnal—do you think it’s the Archmage? What if he’s found us?”

Cursing, Tarnal pulled her to her feet. “Quick! We must get back to the caverns! We’ve got to warn them!”

Zanna flung herself up onto Piper’s back, wrenching at the reins as the startled horse reared. Then they were galloping, racing back toward the Nightrunner hideout—both she and Tarnal praying that they could make it in time, before the speeding Leviathan reached the shore.

It was Sangra, whose turn it had been to keep a lookout, who first spotted the distinctive shape of the cliff top megalith that marked the location—for those privileged few who knew of its existence—of the smugglers’ secret home. “There it is!” she cried. Parric awakened blearily and rolled over, only just saving himself from sliding off the Leviathan’s curving back. Sangra put out a hand to steady him, and he scrambled back to safety, muttering epithets, before sitting up to look in the direction of her pointing finger.

“You’re right!” he cried. “Who’d have thought this beast could swim so fast? This is one up on that miserable bastard Idris, who took us south in that leaky old washtub he calls a ship.” Turning, he shook the Windeye into wakefulness—which took some doing, because Chiamh had spent most of the night sitting up in delighted conversation with Ithalasa.

“Chiamh? Chiamh, wake up, you idiot! We’re here!”

“What? Already?” Chiamh mumbled, sounding disappointed. Parric ignored that. The Windeye—though a pleasant enough lad and harmless, bless him—had always been a strange one. For his own part, the cavalrymaster couldn’t wait for this wretched, miserable, wet, uncomfortable, bloody boring journey to be over. Suddenly remembering where he was, he put a guilty damper on such thoughts, lest the Leviathan should somehow hear him. Parric was still very much in awe of the immense creature.

“Can you ask our friend to make for that standing stone on the cliffs?” he asked the Windeye quickly, and with unusual politeness.

“What cliffs?” asked Chiamh, squinting shortsightedly at the horizon. Parric sighed. This was a problem that he hadn’t considered.

“You know,” Sangra said gently, for she was fond of the Windeye, “you should ask the Lady Aurian if she couldn’t use her healing powers to help you to see properly.”

“We did talk about it,” Chiamh said, “and she offered—but I’m afraid that if she gives me normal vision, I might lose my Othersight. I just daren’t risk it.” He sighed. “I’m afraid it might be better to leave well alone.”