Maggie Furey - Harp of Winds

“Can’t you fly any faster?” the Mage shouted at her winged bearers. She was desperate to reach Aerillia now, to comfort her friend. “I’m coming!” she told Shia. “We’re almost there. Just hold on a little longer.”

Eventually, Aurian saw the haloed gleams of many lights shining dimly through the pervasive murk. Aerillia at last! Relief washed over her—but it was short-lived, as a great dark shape came hurtling at her through the fog. A leering gargoyle face loomed close, and hard stone struck her hip as the net crashed into the edge of a buttress. Aurian heard her bearers curse as they skimmed the top of the tower with which she’d collided. Her heart leapt into her throat as the sound of wingbeats faltered above her and the net gave a downward lurch. Then the Skyfolk steadied themselves, though the net, with its horrified passenger, was spinning beneath them from the force of the impact, while the Mage indulged in some inventive cursing of her own.

Aurian’s invective was cut short as she was dumped, none too gently, on a pile of excruciatingly sharp-edged rocks. Blast these bloody Winged Folk! she thought sourly, trying to scramble her way out of the tangled meshes. They’re supposed to be expecting us! Why didn’t they bring out some lights? Her escort seemed to be thinking along the same lines, judging by the choice, unflattering phrases that were being called out in the Skyfolk tongue. By the time that Aurian had managed to disentangle herself from the net, she saw some half a dozen lanterns, faint glimmers in the swirling fog, bobbing toward her at ground level.

In the growing light, the Mage saw Chiamh and Yazour struggling out of their own nets, and breathed a sigh of relief. Then she turned her attention to her surroundings. There was little to be seen through the mist, but Aurian could make out the looming shapes of broken pillars above piles of shattered stone. She recognized the ruined temple that she had seen when her spirit had ridden the winds to Aerillia with Chiamh.

There was no time for further thought. The Skyfolk delegation were approaching. Walking between four armed guards were two figures of a different stamp—an aging woman with a strong-boned face and a determined expression, her wings and hair tied in dramatic patterns of black and white, and a pale-skinned, white-winged man with dark hollows of sleeplessness beneath his eyes, and a shock of snowy hair that was belied by the youthfulness of his face. The guards drew back as the two Winged Folk approached the Mage, inclining their heads and extending their wings in the Skyfolk equivalent of a bow. “Lady Aurian,” the woman said. “I am Master Physician Elster. Queen Raven sent us to greet you. She cannot move from her bed—not with her wings so badly injured.” She glanced behind, to make sure that the guards were out of earshot. “Nor would it be wise,” she added softly, “for her to appear in public in her current condition. Thanks to the unlikely assistance of a straying child, who took a message out for Cygnus”—she indicated her white-haired companion”—the people of Aerillia know that the Queen was held prisoner by Blacktalon. They do not know, however, that she is incapable of flight, and therefore of ruling. Should this be discovered, trouble would ensue, for this fell winter is still upon us, and not all our folk were opposed to the High Priest. Some saw him as the harbinger of a golden age, when the Skyfolk would regain their old supremacy—” She threw up her hands in a gesture pf despair. “Lady, we stand on the brink of civil war, and only you can save us.”

Aurian thought of the death of gallant Hreeza, and Shia’s grief. She remembered the pile of catskins brought by the Winged Folk to the Tower of Incondor, where she had been imprisoned through Raven’s treachery. In that moment, she cared little whether or not the Skyfolk nation collapsed . . . Except that, against Miathan, she needed all the help she could get. And at least, as a price for helping Raven, she could put an end to the slaughter of the cats once and for all, and perhaps make peace between the two warring peoples.

Aurian brightened. At least Shia’s poor friend need not have died in vain. Feeling much better about the whole business, the Mage turned back to Elster. “Of course I’ll help you,” she promised, “but before I see Queen Raven, I must locate some friends of mine.” The white-haired Cygnus moved as if to protest, but Aurian Quelled him with a steely glare. “as soon as I have found my friends—and not a minute before,” she said firmly. “Now, show me the way to the passages beneath the temple.” She beckoned to her companions. “Chiamh, Yazour—come with me, please.” The words had scarcely left Aurian’s lips, when:

“I come!”

The Mage was bowled off her feet by a massive flame-eyed shape that was blacker than the darkness. As she went down, Aurian glimpsed, from the corner of her eye, another cat that pulled up just short of Shia’s joyful leap—then Shia was on top of her, purring like approaching thunder, her dark muzzle rubbing Aurian’s face as the two embraced.

“No!” The voice belonged to Chiamh. It was followed by a tearing, high-pitched scream.

As the Mage and Shia leapt apart, Aurian saw the winged guards cowering, arrows dropping from their crossbows and clattering to the ground. The Windeye was standing at bay between the cats and the terrified Skyfolk, his eyes flaring bright silver and reflecting the flickering torchlight, his hands twisting skeins of the mist-heavy air. Looming over the Winged Folk was the hideous shape of a demon.

“Drop your weapons,” Chiamh shouted, “or my creature will attack!” As swords and crossbows clattered to the ground, the Windeye glanced back toward Aurian. “Lady, they were about to kill your friends,” he grated. Red rage coursed through the Mage, but she had no time to indulge it. She could see the strain on Chiamh’s face as he strove to maintain his dread apparition in the sluggish air. Aurian looked at the demon with a shudder. It was far too reminiscent of the Death-Wraiths for her liking, but she had to admit that it was incredibly realistic. She turned to the cowering Skyfolk. “If anyone so much as threatens the lives of these cats, we will turn this abomination loose on the city of Aerillia. Have I made myself clear?”

“As you wish, Lady. I give my word that the beasts will not be harmed.” Elster was ashen, her face taut with anger, but Aurian suspected that the physician’s wrath was aimed at the guards with the crossbows, rather than at herself. Sure enough, she turned at once and began to berate the bowmen, and Aurian smiled to herself. She knew that the woman was masking her fear with anger.

With a sigh of relief, Chiamh dispersed the airs that had formed his monster, and the silver drained from his eyes. Aurian put a steadying arm around him as he sagged with exhaustion. “Thank you, my friend,” she said softly. The Windeye looked at Shia, his brown eyes wide with wonder. “When you told me of the cat that was your friend, I had no idea you meant the savage Black Ghosts of our mountains!”

“Savage, my eye!” snapped Shia. “All we ever had from your kind was arrows and spears—ever since the days you first invaded our mountains and took our lands! True enough, most of your folk have neither the wits nor the wherewithal to communicate with us, but you and your predecessors could have done so!”

“Mother of the beasts!” Chiamh cried, putting a hand to his head. “She did speak! When she leapt on you, Aurian, I was sure I heard her cry out to you in friendship. That was why I helped—else I might have thought she was attacking you, too!”

Aurian smiled. “You two can talk later, and work out peace between your peoples, I hope. Right now, though, our hosts look impatient. I think we had better see Queen Raven.” A hard edge crept into her voice, and at her side, Shia snarled. The Mage laid a comforting hand on the great cat’s head. “I know, my dearest,” she sighed. “But if we’re to find Anvar, we need her support, and that means helping the wretched girl.”