Maggie Furey - Harp of Winds

With one last weary heave, the great cat hauled herself over the lip of the cavern entrance, assisted by Anvar’s strong grasp around her upper limbs. At long last she relinquished her precious burden, dropping the Staff of Earth at Anvar’s feet with a soaring sense of triumph, before collapsing bonelessly to the ground.

Shia lay, her chest heaving, her vision dim with exhaustion, as Anvar’s hands gently smoothed the pain from her cramped and trembling limbs. His touch sent a tingling warmth through strained and weary muscles, and in its wake, Shia felt a glow of well-being and energy renewed. As her vision began to clear, she saw the haze of shimmering blue round his hands, and realized that Anvar was using magic, as Aurian had done in the desert, to restore a measure of strength to her. After a few minutes, Shia stretched luxuriously and sat up.

Anvar ceased his ministrations to lay a gentle hand on the cat’s sleek, broad head. “That was a mighty climb, my brave friend,” he told her softly, with a catch in his voice. “Shia, I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Well, you’d better think of a way,” Shia retorted tartly, “because I don’t intend to do it again!”

Laughing with pure relief, Anvar threw his arms around the great cat, hugging her hard, and Shia rolled over on her back like a playful kitten, wrapping her great paws around him, and rubbing her head against his shoulder as the cavern reverberated to the booming rumble of her purr.

“Help me . . .”

Had it not been for that anguished mental cry, Anvar would never have noticed the weak and pitiful whimper that accompanied it. The tiny sound would have passed unnoticed in the midst of his joyful and boisterous reunion with Shia. “What the blazes was that?” the Mage demanded as he disentangled himself from the great cat’s embrace.

“It had better not be who I think it is,” Shia muttered wrathfully as they rushed to the cave mouth to peer out,

“Gods save us!” Anvar cried. “Another one!”

Shia peered past the Mage. “It’s Khanu,” she said.

Anvar could see the young cat hanging by his fore-paws just below the lip of the cavern—in trouble and plainly at the end of his strength. Already, his grip was beginning to loosen.

“Anvar, can you reach him?” Shia cried.

The Mage was already on his stomach, leaning out over the drop. “Curse it, I can’t—not quite . . . But wait! I know!”

Scrambling up, Anvar dashed back into the cave and returned with the Staff of Earth. Holding tightly to the head that bore the crystal, he lowered the other end down to the terrified young cat.

“Grab this, and hold on tight!” Anvar instructed. As Khanu grabbed the Staff in his jaws, the Mage linked his will with the mighty powers of the Staff—and pulled, as though hooking a fish from a river, Khanu, the Staff held tight in his jaws, came flying up the last few feet of the cliff, impelled by Anvar’s strength augmented out of all proportion by the power of the Staff,

Unfortunately, the Mage had overestimated the amount of force he would need. The cat went hurtling into the cave past Anvar and Shia, Jolted out of his grip on the Staff, he went rolling across the floor, narrowly missing the fire, to fetch up hard against the farther wall, where he lay, stunned, bruised, and breathless as Anvar and Shia ran toward him.

“You wretch! You idiotic young fool!” Shia was already snarling. “Did I not tell you to stay behind?”

Khanu, in no state, as yet, to defend himself, looked utterly wretched, but even as Anvar felt a twinge of sympathy for the young cat, the merest flicker of shadow across the bright cave mouth caught the corner of his eye. Damn! Skyfolk! Thinking quickly, Anvar picked up the pile of catskins that lay by his bed and flung them over Shia and Khanu in their shadowy corner. “Don’t move! Don’t make a sound!” he warned the cats, as just in time he remembered to hide the Staff away out of sight.

The sound of Winged Folk entering stilled Shia’s shocked and furious protests. Now that the blizzard had ceased, Anvar’s guards were bringing his daily ration of food, and the Mage cursed himself for having forgotten. Thank the gods they didn’t come any sooner, he thought.

As soon as Anvar’s captors had left, Shia and Khanu emerged from beneath the pile of furs as though they had been scalded. Both cats were shaking with anger and revulsion, and Anvar didn’t blame them. He knew how he would feel, if he had been forced to conceal himself beneath a pile of human corpses. Dropping to his knees, he put an arm around each of the great cats. “I’m sorry,” he told them softly, “but it was the only way to hide you.”

Khanu slunk into a corner and began to retch, but Shia glared balefully at the pile of catskins, “How many skins would you say are there?” she asked Anvar, Her voice held the bite of ice and steel.

“Ten—a dozen, maybe,” Anvar told her. “To be honest, I needed them in order to survive, but they filled me with such horror that I never wanted to examine them closely. I can’t bear the sight of them.” He shuddered.

The great cat looked at him gravely. “You are a friend of cats, Anvar. Those who once wore these pelts would not begrudge you their use now. But as for those murdering Skyfolk—” Her gaze kindled like cold fire. “You have the Staff now, Anvar—when do we start? I wish to kill today. The Skyfolk will pay for this atrocity in blood.”

Anvar had no quarrel with Shia’s sentiments—he had wasted enough time kicking his heels in this accursed hole, and he too had debts to pay. “But first you and Khanu must eat, and rest a little more,” he told her. “Once I start this, I want to be thorough.”

While Shia and her companion shared the meat brought by the Winged Folk, Anvar picked up the Staff of Earth and sat down beside the fire with the slender, serpent-carved Artifact in his hands. At the Mage’s touch, the green crystal clasped in the serpents’ jaws began to bloom with a growing emerald radiance, as the magically charged wood vibrated and hummed with such power that Anvar had to exert every ounce of his will to keep the energy contained and dampened until it could be focused. This Staff was Aurian’s gift, and the key to his freedom, brought to him beyond all hope by Shia’s heroic journey. Buoyed by the thought of his love, Anvar began to formulate his plans of escape and vengeance.

Elster, though she dared not help him openly, had been lavish with her information. Though he had only seen the edifice from a distance, Anvar knew that the menacing structure that crowned Aerillia Peak was the focus and seat of Blacktalon’s power, and the place where he would most likely be found. With the awesome power of the Staff of Earth that Aurian and Shia had managed, against all odds, to put into his hands, Anvar would be able to strike directly at the temple—right through the heart of the mountain.

Briefly, the Mage’s lips curled back in the grimmest of smiles. Too long had he and Aurian been helpless and imprisoned, Now it was time to turn the tables on their foes. By all the gods, he was looking forward to this.

Eliseth looked up from the scroll she was studying as the Archmage burst into her chambers without knocking. For an instant, Miathan saw the dark line of a frown between her brows, but she hid her irritation quickly beneath a mask of sociability. Pushing the scroll down the side of her chair, she stood to greet him, and gestured to her maid, who had been sewing in the corner, to pour wine.

“What has happened?” the Weather-Mage asked. “I gather, from your precipitate entrance, that it must be something of importance.”

“Vannor has been captured.” Miathan swung around sharply at the brittle crash of splintering crystal. The little maidservant was standing by the cabinet, wide-eyed with horror, the knuckles of one clenched fist held to her mouth, looking down at the twinkling shards that strewed the floor. Crimson wine was splashed on her skirts and pooled like blood around her feet.