Maggie Furey - Dhiammara

“I just can’t see him anywhere.” Frowning, the Mage straightened her back and looked up at Vannor and Parric from her kneeling position on a folded blanket.

“I always had a fair talent for scrying,” she went on in a puzzled voice, “and I learned a thing or two about it from the Phaerie while I lived with them.—But this time I’m beaten. I’ve tried the bowl, the mirror, and the crystal this morning, and every method tells me the same thing. Miathan is not in Nexis—he’s not even on this side of the ocean. I just don’t understand it, Vannor. All the crystal shows me is darkness—yet, had he died, I would have felt his passing.”

She threw down her crystal in irritation, and it bounced into the grass to rest beside the tiny silver-backed mirror borrowed from Dulsina, and the pewter bowl filled to the brim with clear water, both of which had shown similarly unsatisfactory results. “By the Goddess Iriana—he must be somewhere*. And until we discover his whereabouts, there will be no certainty in anything we do.”

Vannor tried not to betray his own concern, lest the Lady misconstrue it as a slight on her abilities. Though she was still adamant that they must leave the Valley, her attitude to the intruding Mortals seemed to have softened a good deal during the night, and he did not want to jeopardize this fragile new accord. The former Head of the Merchants’ Guild looked toward the campsite, and saw several figures awake now, some of them crouching sleepily over the fires or tending pots, while other folk were busy rolling up their bedding and dismantling the makeshift shelters. There was a lot of yawning, but little talk at this time of the day—only the occasional drowsy murmur broke the peace of the morning. Vannor rubbed thoughtfully at his short, bristly beard. These were his people now. He was responsible for their survival, and they were counting on him to make the right decision.

“Well, I reckon we’ll have to risk it anyway,” he said at last. “Wherever that old bastard Miathan—begging your pardon, ma’am—is hiding himself, he doesn’t appear to be in Nexis, or even in the North—so we’d better make the most of his absence.”

He looked across at Parric and grinned. “Just think, my friend—there’s an entire city out there with no one in charge of it. We can’t have that now, can we?”

“I should say not,” agreed the Cavalrymaster with a completely straight face.

“Why, we have a responsibility to go back and take care of those poor, lost folk.”

“You’re absolutely right—but first, I think we should go back to Wyvernesse and talk to the Nightrunners. For one thing, I want to see Zanna—” For a moment, Vannor’s front of determined cheerfulness faltered. He couldn’t bear to think of bringing his daughter the news that Aurian was gone. Breathing deeply, he took a firm grip on his emotions. “And also,” he went on, “this time I definitely want to take up Yanis’s offer of men and ships—just in case anyone in Nexis has been harboring similar ideas to our own. Once we control the river, the rest should be easy.”

Parric nodded. “Good idea, that—after all, we do want the Nexians to have the best possible leadership, don’t we?”

Perfect! The Cavalrymaster had fallen right into his hands. Vannor chuckled to himself, and sprung his trap. “I’m glad you feel that way, Parric old friend—because when we get back to Nexis, I’m putting you in charge of the Garrison.”

“What, me?” Panic’s face fell. “Oh bugger it, Vannor—you can’t be serious. I hate that kind of responsibility—you know I’m not cut out for it.”

“Oh aren’t you?” Vannor retorted mercilessly. “After you arrived back at Wyvernesse on that whale, Chiamh told me you had been masquerading as ruler of the Xandim.”

Parric groaned. “Masquerading is about right,” he grumbled. “Why couldn’t that Windeye have kept his blasted mouth shut? It was only for a month—and the Xandim would never have accepted me if Chiamh, the poor bastard, hadn’t forced them to.”

“Nonsense.” Vannor was determined to brook no argument. “Chiamh said you did a fine job as Herdlord of the Xandim and you’ll be just as successful as Commander of the Garrison.”

“You’d better bloody hope not,” Panic muttered gloomily. “When I was Herdlord, they were so desperate to get rid of me that I had a revolt on my hands before the month was out....”

The two men were so engrossed in their plans that they had forgotten her, so Eilin took the opportunity to pocket her crystal and slip silently away. The Mage had intended to pass by the camp without drawing attention to herself, but the ever thoughtful Dulsina, who seemed to notice everything, had spotted her and intercepted her with a mug of fragrant tea. “Here you are, Lady—it’s the last of the rosehips from before the winter. I’m sorry we have no honey, but though it’s a bitter brew, at least it’ll warm you. It’s a fine enough morning, but there’s a bit of a chill off that dew.”

Eilin accepted the mug gratefully. “That’s kind of you, Dulsina—it’s been a long time since I tasted rosehip tea.”

“There’s another thing I wanted to mention,” Dulsina added, blushing awkwardly. “Back in our old camp, Lady, we have a flock of chickens and a small herd of goats. We found them in the forest when we came—I expect they must have been yours in the first place. I thought I’d better tell you—you’ll be wanting them again now. I did my best to look after them.”

“Why, thank you, Dulsina—and thank you for telling me.” The Mage found herself smiling in pure relief. She had forgotten about the well-tended livestock in the rebel encampment, and had been wondering how she would manage to feed herself once the Mortals had gone.

Reluctant to enter the muted bustle of the camp, she took her leave of the woman and wandered away, mug in hand, toward the lake. “If only they were all like Dulsina,” she muttered to herself, “I wouldn’t mind them staying here.”

She knew it wasn’t true, though. She had slept little the previous night, and had done a lot of hard thinking. Her feelings toward the rebels had mellowed to the point where she no longer wished to strike out at them in her grief—but she still had no wish to share her home with them, and would view their departure with considerable relief.

When her unwelcome guests were ready to take their leave, however, Eilin discovered that Vannor and Parric were still so deep in their discussion that they scarcely even took the time to say goodbye to her. So full of anticipation and a certain amount of apprehension were they, at the thought of returning home, that everyone seemed to have forgotten her already. The Mage, who was standing near the end of the bridge ready to say her farewells, found it difficult to dismiss a pang of hurt at such a slight. Typical Mortals, she thought as she watched the knot of ragged figures diminish into the distance.—Selfish, thoughtless, and ungrateful! She had given them sanctuary and saved them from the Phaerie—and they lacked even the consideration to thank her or even say a proper farewell. Well, good riddance to them all. Thanks be to the Gods that they were gone at last, and she had her Valley to herself again.—She had no idea that she was wrong. Enjoying the tranquility, Eilin made her way along the shores of the lake, completely unaware of the eyes that observed her from the nearby forest fringe.

How could he break the news to Eilin that he would be staying? Up to this point, Yazour’s plan had been simple enough—just make himself scarce and find a comfortable hiding place until the others had gone. Vannor had agreed, albeit reluctantly, to make a hasty departure, in the hope that the Lady wouldn’t notice that one person was missing from the group. Once they were safely gone, Yazour had only to wait for a while (Dulsina’s plan, this), to give the solitude time to take its toll on the Mage....