Winged Magic (22 page)

Helmar’s eyes crinkled in her weathered face as she watched the reaction of the two clansmen. Her expression was calm but wary, and she studied the two men as thoroughly as they studied the valley.

Beside her, an older woman touched Sayyed’s cloak. Small, bright-eyed, and quick as a bird, she was the only woman in the group wearing a long robe. The rest of the people, even the women, wore long, baggy pants, warm wool shirts, and leather vests or tunics, “Sorcerer, I am Minora, Priestess of the Clannad,” she told Sayyed.

“Ah, yes,” Sayyed said, flashing a smile, “The one who wanted to keep us for breeding stock.”

Although Sayyed did not know it, he had a very charming smile that took any sting out of his words. Minora laughed, a ringing, delightful burst of humour, “And I still do. We are very isolated here. Good breeders are hard to come by.”

He turned to look at the magnificent structure across the valley, “Did your people make that?”

The priestess lifted her chin to see his face. Short as Sayyed was, she barely reached his shoulder. “The ledge and the stone were there. We have simply worked it as we wished.”

“We could certainly use these people at Moy Tura,” Rafnir commented to his father.

A look too indescribable to understand passed over Minora’s face, and the other people hesitated, their expressions still and hard.

“What is Moy Tura?” Helmar quickly asked.

But Sayyed sensed a nuance of familiarity in her tone that belied her ignorance. “An old ruin in our land. We are trying to rebuild it,”

“Who—” she started to ask,

“My lady, you said no questions until the horses are released.” Rapinor reminded her bluntly.

She chuckled, low and throaty, and led the group on a winding course along the top of the ridge and down a steep, tortuous trail to the tiny canyon where the stallions were trapped.

“When you entered the passage last night, we sealed the entrance,” Rapinor explained. “We had no idea what we had caught.”

Sayyed’s fingers went to his throat. If his neck looked anything like Rafnir’s, a blue and purplish bruise ringed his throat where the rope had hauled him off his Hunnuli. “Indeed,” he said dryly.

Helmar cleared her throat in sympathy, and her lips twisted in a wry smile. “You must forgive our style of welcome. We do not usually allow strangers into our valley. If it had not been for Rapinor and his insistence that you were using a sorcerer’s light, you would be dead already.”

Sayyed shot a look at the burly swordsman. Stout as an oak, the lady’s guard had not budged from her side since the two men landed on the ledge. Nor had his hand strayed far from the sword buckled at his waist. Another man, younger but more dour than Rapinor, stood on Helmar’s other side. His heavy brows framed his eyes in a frown, and his thick lips were pursed with displeasure.

“How is it that you know so much about magic,” Sayyed inquired, “what with your being so isolated in a realm that forbids its use?” And, his thoughts continued silently, why is it so important to you?

Lady Helmar cocked her head and gave him a wide, challenging stare from her green-gold eyes. “We hear things once in a while. We do not drop everyone over the ravine.” She flashed a brilliantly disarming smile.

A short hike later, they reached the valley floor and trekked to the narrow entrance leading to the crevice where the stallions were trapped. Helmar and her two guards worked their way in, followed by Sayyed and Rafnir. They heard the horses long before they saw them, for ringing neighs echoed along the rock walls, punctuated by heavy crashes reverberating on something that sounded like wood.

The clansmen saw why a few minutes later. The high, narrow passage had been completely blocked by massive stone blocks fitted together to form a thick wall. The crashing sounds came from a wooden wicket gate set in the wall.

“The Back Door,” Rapinor said. “Your horses obviously found it.” He strode forward and, standing wisely aside, drew the heavy bolts. The door flew open, and Afer and Tibor charged through ready for battle. Their eyes glowed green with angry fire, their tails were raised like battle standards, and their hooves clashed on the stone.

Seeing their riders, both stallions stopped and snorted.
Where were you?
trumpeted Afer.
Who are these people?

Before Sayyed could respond, Helmar stepped forward and boldly put her hand on Afer’s arched neck. The stallion instantly stilled, his ears stiff and his nostrils quivering as he gently sniffed her arm and face. Tibor crowded over and smelled the chieftain from hair to belt, then nickered a greeting.

When she stepped back, the Hunnuli were satisfied and calmly went to join the sorcerers. A look of surprise passed between Rafnir and Sayyed.

Sayyed bent in the pretence of examining Afer’s legs. “Are you all right?” he said softly.

I am and you are! And I am glad to get out of that crack. There was no grass in there, and I’m hungry!

As if she had understood what he sent. Lady Helmar bowed slightly to the two horses and the clansmen. “I would like to make amends for our poor hospitality. Would you care to stay the night with us and share our table?”

The dour young man beside her made as if to protest, until he saw Minora give him a hard look. He subsided, looking sullen.

Sayyed thought of the city in the cliff, of the hidden valley and the secretive people who inhabited it, of the veiled suspicion he saw in every person’s eyes, and the gleam of excitement as if they could not quite believe what he and Rafnir had done. He thought of the Clannad’s knowledge of Hunnuli, sorcerer’s lights, and the “death” of magic beyond the mountains. These people with their pale skin and fair hair seemed different, and yet there was an undercurrent of familiarity he could not quite ignore. Surely one night here in this valley would make little difference in their search for Gabria and Kelene, and perhaps the Clannad could help by telling them where the wagon track went and how to find it again. He bowed to Helmar, and with Rafnir’s consent, he agreed to stay.

The group rejoined the others waiting at the mouth of the passage, and everyone walked down a steep, narrow trail to the valley floor. Once there, they paused on a low rise at the western end of the valley and gazed at the land about them.

“Sinking River carved this basin,” Helmar told her guests. “The waters come from the high peaks down those falls to the river, where it runs the length of our valley and spills into the lake.” She pointed to the small lake that lay below the rise. Not much bigger than a large pond, the lake sat serene in a ring of slender trees and grassy banks. Clear water lapped its rocky shores and sank down into unseen depths. “The lake has no bottom that we have been able to find. The river is swallowed by the mountains.”

The clansmen filled their eyes with the beauty of the valley. Having witnessed the bleak slopes of the rugged peaks and felt the fury of the Storm King, they could appreciate the lush serenity of this hidden realm where spring was in full bloom. Thick grass and vegetation carpeted the valley. Trees in full leaf grew in groves along the riverbanks and in scattered copses up the slopes to the towering valley walls.

A movement in the nearby meadow caught their gaze, and they turned in time to see a ghostly herd of horses sweep past a belt of trees and come galloping toward the rise. Both men drew their breath in wonder at the white animals that approached them. More than a hundred mares, stallions, and foals flowed like an avalanche up to the foot of the hill and neighed a welcome to the strangers.

Smaller than the Hunnuli, yet equally as graceful and beautifully proportioned, every horse was white, ranging in shade and intensity from dapple grey to the most brilliant snow.

A stallion and a mare cantered up the slope together. The mare, a starry white, went to Helmar with a greeting, but the stallion arched his neck, pranced to Sayyed and Rafnir, and sniffed them to familiarize himself with their scent. They rubbed his neck, which was the colour of polished slate; then he went to Afer and Tibor. The two blacks touched him muzzle to muzzle, nickering their greetings. Sayyed removed the Hunnuli’s saddles, and together the three stallions galloped down to the herd. The people and the mare watched them go until the horses spread out over a broad meadow and began to graze.

“Your horses are incredible,” Sayyed said to Helmar. “How did you manage to breed such a consistent colour?”

“Fear, Clansman.” she replied helpfully. With a graceful leap she mounted the mare’s broad back, and an enigmatic smile touched her lips. “Bring them to the cliff, Rapinor. I shall go prepare a feast.” The mare sprang away, as swift as a falling star. Minora chuckled to herself.

From the rise they walked down the valley to the waterfalls and the base of the great ledge. Rope ladders hung down the wall, connecting a series of small ledges, handholds, and narrow steps in several difficult trails up the cliff to the cave settlement. More people joined the group, their faces full of amazement and some disbelief at the arrival of the sorcerers. From somewhere above a horn sounded a summons. The sun was high by that time, and its warm light filled the valley from end to end, yet despite the business of the season, every person in the Clannad laid down their tasks and came at the call of the horn.

With a skill born from a lifetime’s practice, the people clambered up the ladders to their home. Sayyed and Rafnir climbed up more slowly, and when they reached the top they were welcomed with the return of their clothes and weapons. The men were then led to a wide, circular gathering place near the edge of the cliff where a low stone wall had been built along the rim. A fire burned in the hearth at the centre of the ring, and much to Sayyed and Rafnir’s surprise, a real feast had been hastily prepared for their arrival.

Helmar’s own handmaidens sat Sayyed and Rafnir beside the chief’s seat and served them from platters of meat and fish, an interesting dish of cooked tubers, bowls of dried berries, and rounds of flat bread. Tall flagons of cooled wine and pitchers of ale were passed around.

As Sayyed gratefully ate the first hearty meal he had had in several long days, he let his eyes roam over his surroundings and the people around him. The settlement in the cliff was not as large as he had at first thought. While the buildings were large and numerous, the population was not. At a rough count he estimated there were about four hundred men, women, and children in the Clannad. Since he had not seen any other buildings, tents, or shelters within the confines of the valley, he assumed they all lived in this stone aerie.

The cliff buildings themselves were remarkable, some towering four or five stories above the floor level. From where he sat, Sayyed could see several artisans’ houses, a gathering hall, what looked like a temple, and numerous multilevel dwellings, and while the buildings were not opulent, they looked comfortable and well maintained.

It was while he was looking at the narrow passages between the buildings that he made an interesting observation that only added fuel to his curiosity. Unlike a clan camp, this settlement had no dogs. Not a one, as far as Sayyed could tell. There were, though, cats of every colour and age, lounging on windowsills, draped on walls, and padding along the walks.

One tabby boldly walked up to him and sprang into his lap. Pleased, Sayyed scratched her ears and the base of her tail, remembering Tam’s cat waiting for him in Moy Tura. The cat settled on his knees and purred her song for him.

A soft laugh drew his attention, and he looked up into the green-gold eyes of Helmar. Now that he could see her close up, he saw that despite the similarities in character, there was little physical resemblance to Gabria. Helmar’s face was square and strong-featured with a straight nose and an incongruous sprinkle of freckles. He guessed she had seen more than thirty summers, for years of sun, wind, and work had worn away the softness of youth. Her body was hard, too, from physical labour, and her hands were nicked and calloused from wielding a sword. She lounged on her fur-draped seat, as self-assured as any clan chieftain.

Unconsciously, he smiled back.

“You like our cats?” she asked.

“I have one at home. I miss her.”

“Tell me about her.”

And out of this simple, ingenious request came an afternoon of talk and tales and history. From the story of Tam’s cat, Sayyed went on to tell his fascinated audience about Tam, the plague, and the clans. Rafnir took his turn, talking about Moy Tura, Kelene, and Demira. The people of the Clannad listened avidly.

When Sayyed described Gabria and her battle with Lord Medb, the people sat hushed and unmoving. Sayyed, looking at their faces, thought their interest went beyond mere politeness. In a whole afternoon, not one person left the gathering. Children napped in their parents’ laps, elders dozed in their seats, but not one person walked away from the tales. When he was finished, a low buzz of conversation filled the circle. The sorcerer glanced around and was surprised to see the sun had gone behind the western peaks. Darkness filled the bowl of the valley.

The talking stopped as Lady Helmar rose slowly to her feet. She looked thoughtful and rather sad, but her voice was as firm as ever. “This Lady Gabria, this last Corin, is she the other woman you are trying to find?”

“She is Kelene’s mother,” Rafnir replied. “They were taken together.”

“I should like to meet her. I think we will go with you to this fortress.”

The younger guard beside her leaped to his feet and planted himself squarely in her way. “My lady, think again. It would be folly to leave the valley this time of year. Let them find the trail themselves.”