Exodus of the Xandim (GOLLANCZ S.F.) (51 page)

With a huge wave of delight that welled up from the very depths of her soul, Corisand drew on the energies contained in the Fialan and poured out the flying spell upon the assembled tribe of
Xandim. The stable doors burst apart as the stallions of the tribe came pouring forth, for once at peace with one another and the world, answering the Windeye’s call to accept her benison.
The glowing magic flowed across them all; stallion, mare and foal alike, like sparkling starlight, like scintillating diamond dust, shooting out sparks of coloured brilliance as it responded to the
Windeye’s elation. As one the Xandim arose, taking to the sky in a massive surge of power as they responded to their Windeye’s call.

‘Follow,’ Corisand cried out to them, praying that the strength of her emotions would be enough to communicate with them, beyond the simple language of the horse. ‘Follow me to
freedom.’

They sensed.

They felt.

They soared.

They followed.

In the forest beyond the stable compound, Dael waited, with Melik in his basket strapped firmly behind the saddle. The minutes had seemed like hours to him, for he had not wanted to distract the
others with unnecessary questions, and he could not see what was happening. The fearful magical storms; all the noises he’d heard of screaming and the sound of battle had done nothing to ease
his mind. How he hated feeling so helpless; being the only one with no magic! As the suspense grew within him, so did his concern, until he felt that he must call out to one of his friends –
then suddenly he saw them, soaring above the trees. All the Xandim, glowing like a comet tail with the flying spell. With a whoop of joy he mounted his own horse and waited impatiently while
Corisand swooped down towards him. He felt her spell flow across him like a tingling starfall, and urged his mount up into the air to join his friends. ‘You did it!’ he cried, and it
was hard to tell whether the tears that gathered in his eyes were from the cold wind that blew into his face, or sheer joy at the magnificence of that moment.

They sped away from Eliorand, soaring high above the forest, heading south-west in the direction of the border and the realm of the Wizards. Corisand was brimming with exultation. Against almost
insurmountable odds she had done what she set out to do. She had saved her tribe except—

‘But what about Asharal?’ The Windeye’s responsibilities weighed heavily on her. She hated to leave even one of her people behind.

Iriana felt the change in her friend’s posture and knew she was yearning to turn back. Brutally, hating herself, Iriana put the images of the Xandim who’d been killed in the battle
into Corisand’s mind. ‘You can’t save them all,’ she said gently. ‘I’m sorry, my friend, but you’ve freed all but a scant handful, and that’s far
more than we could have hoped for when we started this. Some of your people made that sacrifice so that the entire Xandim race could be free.’

‘You’re right,’ Corisand replied sadly. ‘I know in my heart that you’re right, but I hate to think of the lost ones.’

‘Even Athina herself couldn’t have saved them all,’ Iriana comforted her friend. “Besides, Asharal isn’t lost yet, you know. Aelwen is carrying the flying spell on
her body, and it will spread to him if she rides him. If there’s any way she can bring him out of Eliorand, she will.’ She paused, then added, ‘I wonder what they’re doing
right now? I hope they’re safe.’

~

T
aine had spent all his adult life in the shadow of violence and bloodshed. He had killed – and almost been slain himself – on a number
of occasions, yet he had never witnessed anything like the scenes of horror he was seeing now. He and Kaldath had finally reached Eliorand and come riding down like an avenging storm, with the
spirits of the Dwelven seething and snarling at their heels. Already the streets were crowded, for the Phaerie, alarmed by the commotion that was taking place around the stables beyond the city
walls, had come rushing out of their homes to find out what was happening.

A great roar came from the Dwelven spirits at the sight of their ancient foe; their slayers of old. Overtaking Taine and his companions, they came smashing down like an avalanche, spreading out
across the city, tearing and ravening wherever they went. In mere moments, it seemed to the horrified watchers, the streets were awash with blood and littered with the dismembered bodies of Phaerie
dead. Screams and howls rent the air as Hellorin’s people fled hither and thither in mindless terror, fruitlessly seeking to escape.

Suddenly Aelwen appeared beside them. ‘Kaldath, stop them!’ she cried in anguish. ‘I’m sorry I failed everyone, and I’ll do anything to make amends, but please,
please, you’ve got to stop the Dwelven. They’re killing everyone!’

‘She’s right. Make them stop this,’ Taine agreed, though his own approach was more pragmatic. ‘If they kill all the Phaerie you’ll have no leverage to bargain with
Tiolani for the release of the Dwelven – and if they happen to kill
her
, they’ll never be free.’

Even Kaldath, despite all his endless aeons of suffering, looked sickened by the slaughter, his gnarled old hands clenched into knots upon the reins of his horse. ‘I only hope I
can.’

Taine and Aelwen heard his mental call go out; felt it impact against a vast wall of reluctance. Kaldath urged the phantoms more strongly, his voice becoming sterner and sterner still, until
finally he barked out an order with the force of all the iron will that had sustained his sanity for so long. ‘CEASE! I COMMAND YOU.’

The Dwelven spirits moaned with reluctance, and snarled and gibbered with frustration, but this time they finally obeyed him.

‘Wait,’ Kaldath comforted them. ‘Only wait a little longer. The time of our release is coming soon. Round up all of the surviving Phaerie. Herd them like cattle into the
courtyard before the palace. Keep them there. Then . . .’ His voice hardened. ‘Find Tiolani, daughter of the Forest Lord. You know her. You will have her image in your minds through me,
from Taine and Aelwen. Don’t stop looking until you’ve found her, and bring her here alive, to me.’

Aelwen felt him pluck Tiolani’s image from her mind and send it out to the waiting Dwelven spirits, and a shiver ran through her. Despite everything the girl had done, she still shared
blood ties with the Horsemistress; was still the little girl that Aelwen had once taught to ride. ‘What will you do to her?’ she whispered. ‘You won’t hurt her, will
you?’

Kaldath and Taine exchanged a glance, both their faces set and grim. ‘Let’s hope we don’t have to,’ Kaldath said.

Aelwen’s world was falling apart around her. No more Eliorand. No more of her beloved horses. Taine, who she had loved so steadfastly through the empty years, was a stranger to her now.
Oh, how desperately she wished that she could turn back time to happier days, when Hellorin and his Queen, Aelwen’s beloved half-sister, had ruled in joy over a united Phaerie land with
Full-blood and Hemifae working together, and Tiolani and her brother were youngsters glowing with energy and promise.

There could be no going back, however. All Aelwen could do was to battle forward through the ruins of her life, and hope for better times to come.

She was jolted from her bitter ruminations by a cry from Taine. ‘
What
? Are you
sure
?’

‘That’s what the Dwelven say,’ Kaldath replied. ‘They’ve found a not-Phaerie in the dungeon. Someone like Iriana, they say.’

Then she too received the image from the Dwelven of a venerable man, his silver hair and beard close-trimmed but beginning to straggle now. She gasped. The form and features were unmistakable. A
Wizard? Here? In ragged filthy clothes, and chained up in a dungeon?

‘Cyran!’ Taine roared, and without waiting to explain what was going on, he sped full tilt towards the palace. Instinctively, Aelwen started to follow, but reined in her horse at the
last moment. At any time the Dwelven might find Tiolani. She needed to be here, with Kaldath, when they did.

Guided by one of the spirits, Taine leapt from his mount at the palace door and looped the reins round one of the tethering posts that were there at the side of the steps. The animal, who by now
had become accustomed to the phantoms, stood calmly, and made no attempt to flee. Already the courtyard was beginning to fill as the Dwelven herded the Phaerie survivors up from the city into the
broad, paved space. Some seemed stupefied with terror, while others howled epithets and curses, or wept or babbled in hysteria. There was no fight left in any of them, for they had seen what had
happened to those who had not been so lucky. Taine felt a stab of remorse. Most of them were just ordinary citizens, going about their business, living their lives. They were paying a heavy price
for the actions of their former ruler.

On the subject of Hellorin, what was happening to him? Taine threw a quick, urgent question to Kaldath in mindspeech, and shortly afterwards, the reply came back. ‘The Dwelven say they
found him, but the Healers have still not removed the time spells from him, and so they have no way to reach him.’

‘Damn good thing, too,’ Taine said fervently. ‘The very last thing we want is to awaken the Forest Lord. Hopefully, we can find a way to bully Tiolani into doing what we want,
but with Hellorin we’d have a fight on our hands that might just be too much for us to handle.’

Putting the matter out of his mind for the moment, he ran into the great building, following his Dwelven guide. He had another ruler to concern him right now. How in the name of all Creation had
Cyran come to be here? It looked as if the stupid old fool had come following the trail of his son, and managed to get himself captured.

Taine hurried through the deserted corridors of the palace, keeping his footing with difficulty on floors that were slippery with gore, ordure, and disembowelled or dismembered Phaerie corpses.
The air was thick with the stench of blood and death and he breathed in shallow gasps, trying not to take in more of it than he needed. He could imagine only too well what it must have been like:
Hellorin’s courtiers asleep in their beds while the servants busied themselves with their nightly tasks of cleaning and refurbishing the endless passageways. Suddenly the Dwelven would have
come, erupting from the floor, pouring down from the ceiling, oozing through the walls. Those of the Phaerie who had made it out of their bedchambers had been slaughtered in the corridors.

For a moment Taine felt a surge of pity for the helpless inhabitants of the palace – and then Kaldath’s voice came into his mind. ‘The entire Dwelven race was slaughtered,
right down to the last child. I know that these particular Phaerie, save the very oldest perhaps, were not involved in that massacre, but the Dwelven have endured for many a long age, trapped,
unable to live, unable to go to their rest, and all they had to think about was revenge. I’m sorry, Taine, but Hellorin started this.’

Taine sighed. ‘Sometimes we walk on a very sharp knife edge between right and wrong. When that happens, blood is certain to be spilled and the survivors are left to live with the
consequences.’ He shook his head. ‘We did what had to be done. I don’t want to talk about it.’

The Dwelven spirit, one of the lithe, active Sidrai, led Taine down several flights of stairs and a maze of narrower, unadorned passageways, until they came to Hellorin’s little-used
dungeons, a single corridor lined with barred doors on either side. The air smelled stale and dank, and the place was badly lit, with only the occasional pale, flickering flame, kept alive by
magic, in a sconce attached to the wall. The phantom slipped between the bars of the first door on the right, where a figure, his face unseen, lay huddled in a corner. Taine, lacking the abilities
of his companion to slip through walls, was forced to use one of the lockpicks he’d accumulated in his years as a spy, for there were no gaolers or guards in sight. ‘Cyran?’ he
called softly, as he worked on the mechanism. ‘My Lord Archwizard, is that you?’

A pale face, smudged with grime, emerged from the shadows in the corner. ‘Taine?’ The voice, though hoarse and croaking, belonged to Cyran. ‘Can it really be true?’

‘Unless I have a twin that I don’t know about.’ Taine gave his wrist a sharp twist and the lock finally clicked open. He ran across to Cyran, who was fettered in the corner.
‘Archwizard, are you all right? How in Creation did you end up here?’

At first Cyran’s words were lost in a fit of coughing, but when he got his breath back he replied, ‘I was captured, isn’t it obvious? They killed Nara and Baxian, but one of
them recognised me and they brought me back here.’

‘Where did they catch you?’

‘We were following Avithan’s trail.’ There was a catch in Cyran’s voice as he mentioned his son’s name. ‘We ended up in a clearing where the ground was all
churned up and there were signs of a funeral pyre . . .’

With the night vision that was part of his Wizard legacy, Taine saw Cyran’s face crease with pain. ‘The pyre you saw was for Esmon,’ he said hastily. ‘Your son did not
die in that clearing.’

Like a striking snake, Cyran’s hand shot out and grabbed the front of Taine’s shirt, the sturdy cotton bunching and twisting in his knotted grasp. ‘Then what
did
happen to Avithan, spy? Why did you fail to protect him, as you were sent to do?’

Staggered by the unfairness of this, Taine was about to point out that it was Cyran who’d sent his son out into danger in the first place, but just in time he remembered that the
Archwizard was overcome with grief and guilt, and he held his peace. ‘Avithan has gone from this world but he did not die.’ He kept his voice level and matter-of-fact. ‘He was
taken beyond the reality we know to try to heal wounds so terrible that they would certainly have killed him, had he remained.’ Firmly, he prised open Cyran’s fingers and loosed them
from his shirt. ‘This is neither the time nor the place to discuss this, Archwizard. We must leave, and quickly.’