Winged Magic (23 page)

Lady Helmar did not step back. Coolly she faced her guard and said, “Hydan, you forget yourself.”

Jut-jawed and steely-eyed, Hydan pointed at the two sorcerers like a man flinging an accusation. “What if they’re lying? What if all we have heard has been a tale to save their necks?”

Sayyed felt Rafnir tense and stir, and he laid a restraining hand on his son’s arm before Rafnir jumped into anything unnecessary. Helmar, he could see, was equal to the confrontation.

Eyes blazing, she ignored the rest of the gathering and pushed herself close to Hydan to make her point very clear. “And I suppose they faked the sorcery they used this morning.” she said fiercely. “Truth or half-truth, they are here and they are magic-wielders.” She threw a wild gesture at the stone city behind her. “Do you want to live like this forever? If we can find this Lady Gabria, she will confirm the truth.”

“If there is a Lady Gabria,” Hydan muttered.

“If you doubt, Hydan, then ride with me and learn for yourself.”

As quickly as he had flared up, the young guard subsided, having slammed his feelings against the wall of his chief’s will. Helmar, obviously used to his tantrums, turned back to Sayyed without a pause. “You said the wagon had a red emblem of some sort and took the trail up around the Storm King? I know that path. It goes to a fortress owned by an old noble family.”

“The old stone castle?” Hydan put in, as coolly as if he had never shown his temper. “The latest resident is one of the royal counsellors, I have heard.”

“His name wouldn’t happen to be Zukhara?” Rafnir guessed. Hydan didn’t even have to answer that. Zukhara’s name fit the trail of clues and events they had been following since Council Rock.

“You know this man?” Helmar asked.

Sayyed nodded once. “A dangerous adversary.” He lifted his eyes to her face and met her forthright gaze. He thought briefly of offering to leave alone — surely he and Rafnir could find the fortress with a few directions — then he dismissed the idea and bowed to the determination he could read so clearly in those expressive eyes. Yet he couldn’t help but wonder why she was so willing to help two strangers that only hours before she had planned to drop down a ravine. And why was it so dangerous for the Clannad to leave their valley? These questions and many more trooped through Sayyed’s thoughts. It was a puzzle with too many pieces missing.

At that point, men brought torches to the gathering circle. The fire was stoked, and several people fetched their instruments to strike up some dance music. Like their language, the Clannad’s musical instruments were an interesting blend of old clan, Turic, and individual designs, and the music they played was rollicking, toe-tapping fun. The people danced late into the night, breaking only to listen to a harper sing ballads of the white horses, the Sinking River, and the valley they called home.

Sayyed and Rafnir enjoyed the evening and the pleasant company of the cliff dwellers. It was a frustrating evening, though, for try as they might they could not lead anyone into answering more than basic questions about their daily lives. Minora was more than happy to discuss her duties in the temple to the goddess they worshipped, but she neatly skirted any inquiries about the origins of the white horses and her insistence on keeping the two men for breeding. Rapinor, too, was closemouthed about anything except his duties as swordsman to Lady Helmar. And the lady herself, when asked a question, more often than not answered it with another question. Sayyed found himself talking to her for nearly an hour about his childhood with the Turics and his decision to join Gabria. In all that time she said nothing about herself.

At last the chieftain clashed the hilt of her sword against a gong hanging near her chair and ended the gathering. The people quickly split up, going their separate ways back to their homes. Helmar took Sayyed and Rafnir to quarters that had been prepared for them on the ground floor of a tall building and bid them goodnight.

When at last they were left alone, Sayyed drew a long breath and expelled it in a gusty sigh. “I still don’t know who these people are,” he said irritably.

They found pitchers of water set aside on a stand for washing and beds covered with woven blankets. The stuffed mattresses on the beds felt so delightful after days of sleeping on the ground, Rafnir threw himself on one and was asleep before Sayyed had removed his boots.

Bone-tired as he felt, Sayyed could not sleep yet. Too many things ran through his mind, whirling as fast as the melodies of the Clannad jigs. He thought of the clan cloak he had transformed earlier and remembered he had left it at the gathering circle. Barefooted, he walked silently through the darkened passages back to the open ring.

He took one step out from between the buildings and as silently drew back into the shadows. Someone was standing in the ring beside the cloak Sayyed had left flung over the place where he had sat.

He stared at the form, trying to see who it was. Night filled the huge cavern with velvet darkness, but beyond the stone walls a curtain of countless stars glittered their distant, silver light. The person turned sideways against the backdrop of stars, and Sayyed recognized the handsome, straight profile of Helmar. Ever so slowly she picked up the cloak and seemed to hug it tightly to her chest; then she turned and strode toward him. Sayyed pushed deeper into the sheltering shadow as she walked on past.

The sorcerer blinked in surprise. For just the wink of an eye, Helmar had been close enough for him to see her clearly, and in that brief moment, he had seen the shimmer of tears in her eyes.

Sayyed walked slowly back to his quarters deep in thought, and when he finally drifted to sleep that night, it was Helmar’s face, strong yet sadly vulnerable, that coloured his dreams
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Kelene crouched against the stone wall as far from the gryphon as she could manage and vehemently loosed a string of well-chosen words vilifying Zukhara’s ancestry. Blood dripped from three long scratches on her arm, and a bruise spread over the right side of her face. She glared balefully at the gryphon, who hissed and glared back with equal ferocity.

“Stupid bird,” she muttered to herself. Or whatever it was. Even after two days of being trapped in its vicinity, Kelene still wasn’t sure if the winged creature was a bird or an animal. It was beautiful, she had to admit that. Its narrow head, wings, and the beaklike nose reminded her of an eagle, as did its piercing hunter’s eyes and the bright gold fur that looked suspiciously like feathers covering its entire body. The legs, though, looked like those of a lion, powerfully muscled, sleek, and deadly. Its feet had large pads fitted with razor-sharp retractable claws. The beast had a long tail like a cat’s, and Kelene had noticed that it used the tail to communicate its feelings much as Tam’s cat did. It used its tail now, lashing it irritably back and forth as it lay on the floor and glowered at her. Its tufted ears lay flat on its head.

“Afraid of a few scratches?” Zukhara’s voice reverberated through the cavern. The woman and the gryphon glared up with matching hatred at the overhang. That was one thing Kelene knew they had in common.

“The beast will not kill you,” Zukhara called to her, the scorn clear in his loud voice. “It is chained and prefers the taste of horseflesh. You have had two days already, two days that your lady mother lies dying.”

Kelene leaped to her feet, ignoring the gryphon’s startled snarl. “How is she? Is she still alive?” she called anxiously.

“She is being cared for,” the Turic said curtly. “And she is still alert enough to continue my training in sorcery. But you have only five days left until the poison completes its task.” He lowered a basket to her and left, his words still echoing in her mind.

Five days, she thought miserably, and she was no closer to taming this gryphon than she’d been when Zukhara dumped her in the pit with it. On the other hand, she thought wryly, the company of a wild gryphon was certainly preferable to Zukhara and his plans for her.

She unpacked the food and a wineskin from the basket. He certainly was taking no chances that she go hungry. He had sent enough delicacies to last another day, and the skin was full to bursting with the same fruit juice he had given her earlier. She wrinkled her nose at the sweet smell. He had probably laced it with more of his midwives’ remedy. For the briefest moment she hesitated and thought of her wish to have a baby. If this remedy worked, was it worth the chance? Could she rely solely on luck and her wits to keep her out of the counsellor’s bed? Then, almost fiercely, she changed the juice to water. She wanted a child desperately, but she wanted Rafnir’s baby, not a child conceived in trickery and hate.

After she had eaten, Kelene repacked the basket and stood to stretch her back and shoulders under the wary gaze of the gryphon. As she moved, something fell out of her skirt to the cavern floor. She picked it up and recognized the wad of fabric she had used to wipe the sedative off Demira’s rump. It had lain forgotten in her waistband for three days. Curious to see if the ointment was still damp, she unfolded the cloth, and the faint medicinal smell rose to her nostrils. The sedative, set in its oily base, had saturated the fabric through almost all the folded layers. Kelene grinned. If this hadn’t fallen but when it had, she might have been drugged by the very potion she hoped to save.

She folded it again, wrapped it in another scrap from her already tattered tunic, and returned it to its hiding place. Unfortunately there wasn’t enough to sedate the gryphon. It stood taller than a Hunnuli and probably weighed twice as much.

But she had other weapons for that beast. Kelene rolled up her sleeves. She had refrained from using more than a few minor spells in the presence of the gryphon for fear of injuring it further or scaring it beyond redemption. All she had received for her gentle concern were scratches, bruises, and snarling disdain. Well, time was too precious now to softfoot around this beast! She would have to take her chances with its sensibilities.

Kelene recalled the handbook of Lady Jeneve, and in her mind’s eye she pictured the page she wanted and the words to the spell that paralyzed living creatures. She recreated the spell and released it, stopping the gryphon in midstride before it knew what hit it. It could still breathe, and its eyes glowed bright with fear and anger, but it did not move as Kelene came close.

Softly, gently, she spoke to the gryphon to ease its fear. She did not touch it yet; she merely walked around the creature to ascertain the full extent of its injuries. Fortunately most of the wounds were scrapes and scratches that were healing on their own. Only one long abrasion on the left hind leg looked swollen and festering.

Kelene fetched the water left in the wineskin and her healer’s bag. The first night Zukhara imprisoned her with the gryphon, he had returned her bag, sent her new clothes, and provided a pallet for her comfort. Kelene had ignored the new clothes, preferring her own torn and dirty ones to the silk tunic and the form-fitting gown Zukhara had sent. She found a use for them now, taking delight in tearing them into strips to bandage the gryphon’s leg. She laid out several jars of salves, a bowl of water, and the bandages. When she was ready, she took a deep breath. The gryphon, its huge eye rolling back to look at her, looked terrified by its inability to move. Laying a hand gently on the gryphon’s warm side, Kelene closed her eyes and extended her empathic talent down her skin and into the creature’s body.

Wild, hot, and fierce, the gryphon’s emotions broke over her, making her gasp at the sheer force of its personality. At once she realized the gryphon was a female, young, barely of breeding age, and consumed with rage at her captivity. Kelene felt barbs of suspicion and bright red animalistic waves of fear. She probed deeper, soothing her way with calm thoughts and feelings of concern, toward the heart of the gryphon’s emotions.

Ever so delicately Kelene let her thoughts touch the creature’s mind.
Easy, girl,
she sent kindly.
You and I are in this together. Let us help one another.
She didn’t know if the golden beast was intelligent enough to understand her thoughts and the concept of cooperation, but it was worth a try.

Much to her relief, the gryphon’s vivid, tumultuous feelings began to settle down to calmer waves of wary curiosity.

I will not hurt you,
Kelene continued.
I want only to treat your hurt.

Her mental touch still lightly on the gryphon’s mind, she began to clean the infected cut. Skilfully she salved it and bandaged the leg, all the while stroking the creature with her empathic touch.

When she was finished with the wound she added one more thought before she broke their bond.
I am a captive like you, and like you I have to serve the man. If you will help me, I will help you gain your freedom
. And with that she withdrew her mind and dissolved the paralyzing spell.

The gryphon shook herself and snarled irritably at Kelene, but although she still stood in range of the creature’s powerful paws, the gryphon sat down, curled her tail around her feet, and contemplated the sorceress with eagle eyes.

“Think about it,” Kelene said aloud, and she returned to her pallet to let the animal rest. Would the gryphon settle down and let her help? She didn’t know, and she was too tired to think about it for long. Without intending to, Kelene fell soundly asleep.

The gryphon’s growl woke her to darkness, and she bolted upright at the chilling sound. The sorcerer’s light she usually maintained had gone out while she slept, leaving the cavern in impenetrable night. The gryphon growled again, low and full of menace. Her chains rattled in the darkness.