Maggie Furey - Harp of Winds

Eliizar’s voice penetrated the rising howl of the wind. “Stay together,” he shouted. “Tie the horses in a circle and get inside!” It was difficult to follow his advice, blind as they were and with frightened horses to contend with, and hands that were numbed and clumsy with cold. After a struggle, they found themselves huddled within the minimal shelter of the circle of beasts as the snow heaped itself around them, counting one another by touch and afraid to sit, lest they never rise again.

The companions clung together, sharing each other’s warmth, which was quickly leeched away by the merciless wind. Aurian had long ago lost all feeling in her frozen feet, and the cold was pervading her body with a drowsy numbness. It took her back to her childhood, when she had searched for Forral in the endless snow . . . She awakened in the warm, glowing kitchen of her mother’s tower on the lake, to see the swordsman’s anxious face looking down at her . . .

“Aurian, wake up!” It was Anvar’s voice. Aurian’s dream melted like snow—oh dear Gods, the snow! She opened her eyes with difficulty and pulled herself upright. Anvar was shaking her. “Thank the Gods you’re all right! You fell asleep, you idiot! Had I not felt you go down . . .”

Aurian groaned. “I was having a wonderful dream . . .”

“I should hope it was,” Anvar told her grimly; “because it was almost the last one you ever had!”

For the first time, the befuddled Mage noticed that she was hearing Anvar’s voice quite clearly. The wind had dropped. The snow was still falling, but more gently now, and Aurian could see her surroundings for a few yards around. Not that there was much to see . . . Only snow, and more snow—and her companions, who were so encrusted with the dreadful stuff that they were difficult to distinguish against the stark white background.

Raven, with her race’s inborn resistance to the cold, seemed the most alert of them all. “We should be fairly close to the tower now,” she said. “If you will wait, I’ll fly up and see where we are.”

Nereni sighed. “I wish we could have a fire. We all need something hot inside us.”

Nereni, however, would have to go on wishing. They had exhausted the slender stock of firewood that they had brought with them from the last valley, some days previously. The companions had not long to wait, however, before Raven returned. “I thought-so,” she told them. “The tower is at the far end of the next valley. We should reach it before dark, except—” Her face fell. “For you flightless ones, there may be a problem ...”

Grim and silent, the travelers urged their weary, frozen horses through breast-deep drifts to the top of the ridge. Near the top the going became easier, for the wind had scoured the snow away until it was only a thin speckling over the dark rocks. They paused on the windswept ridge, looking out over the next stage of their journey. Below them, the way opened into a broad sweep of valley, its stark, snow-choked whiteness alleviated here and there by dark clumps of twisted evergreens, bent like worn old men by their wintry burden. Above, oppressive with their looming weight, peaks like jagged fangs shouldered one another as though jostling to attack their puny human victims. The Mage, looking out across the way they had to travel, felt her heart sink. Now that the companions had reached the summit, she could see only too clearly what Raven, with masterly understatement, had described as a problem. The pass below them, the only way down into the valley, was choked with snow.

“That’s all we need.” Aurian sighed. “How will we ever manage to dig our way through that lot?”

Shia, born and bred in the mountains, surveyed the snow-clogged pass. “The way looks very steep,” she said. “An avalanche might sweep it clear, at least sufficiently for us to get down. If only we could start one ...”

“A what?” Anvar squatted beside her, his cold hands tucked beneath his cloak, while the great cat told him of the massive snow slides that sometimes occurred in the mountains, crushing everything that stood in their path. He frowned, looking down at the pass. “Do you think it would be possible to start one?”

“Surely.” Shia paused. “So long as you are willing to sacrifice the one who starts it, for the risk of being swept away is exceedingly great.”

“Oh.” Anvar’s face fell, but the great cat’s words had set Aurian thinking.

“Anvar . . . Do you think you could set the snow in motion with the Staff of Earth?” the Mage suggested. He turned to her, his face alight with excitement. “Aurian, you’re brilliant! That is ... if you wouldn’t mind lending it to me again?”

Aurian shrugged. “If it’s a choice between that and freezing my backside off on this accursed mountain, there’s no question. But Anvar—for the sake of all the Gods, be careful. The Staff has a way of taking over, it’s so powerful, and Shia just told us how dangerous this is. Think it through first, before you do anything, and—”

“I know, I know!” He grinned at her. “Don’t worry, Aurian. I’ll be all right.”

The Mage fumbled the Staff from her belt and handed it to him—and was seized with misgivings as she did so. These were different circumstances from the first time he had handled the Staff, during the desert battle. Then he’d been fighting for his life—and he had also had her steadying hand on the Staff to take up some of its awesome power. Me and my bright ideas, Aurian thought. For an alarming instant, she saw in Anvar what he must have seen in her, when she had first won the Staff. He seemed taller, his body wrapped in an aureole of power. His eyes glowed with sapphire fire as he strode to the head of the pass, where the snow deepened and the way began to drop toward the valley floor.

“Stay back everyone,” Anvar called cheerfully.

Aurian swore under her breath. She knew how it felt to him—she had experienced this euphoria when she’d first held the Staff. Over his shoulder, she could already see his spell beginning to take effect as a web of glowing green lines snaked their way through the snow, right down to the bottom of the pass. But he only needed to dislodge a little of the snow at the top, Shia had said

“Anvar, don’t ...” Aurian yelled.

The force lines flared with a blinding emerald light. With a rumble growing to a deafening roar, the snow began to thunder down the narrow defile, rumbling and rolling and crashing down in an inexorable wave as the ground shook and shuddered and great clouds of powdered white crystals erupted into the air and the plaque of snow on which Anvar was standing began to move, sliding forward, down and over the edge. Anvar, flailing wildly to keep his balance, cried out once in shrill desperation—and was gone.

The ground shook and the ears of the companions were battered by the receding roar of the avalanche. Snow, hurled high into the air, came spattering down on top of them. Raven took wing like a startled bird. The terrified horses reared, trying to pull their lead reins free of the eunuch’s hands. One broke free and shot forward, vanishing over the edge of the slide with a shriek that was abruptly and sickeningly cut off. Bohan and Nereni had fallen to the ground beneath the hooves of the plunging animals, and Aurian fought to keep her balance by hanging on grimly to the bridle of her wheeling mount. Then mercifully, the world began to settle.

“Anvar!.” Heartsick, Aurian scrambled toward the edge of the slide—but hands were holding her back. After a frantic struggle she realized that Yazour and Eliizar were hanging on to her arms.

“Wait, Aurian,” the young warrior told her urgently, “lest we lose you too!”