Magiere had no idea what this meant. Confusion and frustration made her shudder harder. She'd never turned from a fight. But if Leesil, or even Chap or Wynn, came under threat, she wouldn't be able to control herself in this state.
Leesil glared at Chap. "You've been in my head again!"
"Shut your mouth and do it!" Wynn snapped at him.
Magiere grabbed Leesil by the shirtfront. "This is Chap's game now. Follow his lead."
Chap stalked forward across the clearing, and Leesil followed, looking worried.
A shrill whistle like a rushing song carried above the noise of the gathering.
Chap and Leesil were only partway across the field, and even the majay-h turned confused circles at the sound. A clan elder in a dark brown cloak raised a hand and pointed high beyond Magiere.
Leesil turned, and Chap did as well. Brot'an lost his stoic self-control for an instant as he stared beyond Magiere. She turned around.
From the upper reaches of one bridge-branched oak, something launched from the thick leaves into the air. It spread wings longer than any bird Magiere had ever seen, and spiraled downward in wild arcs. The closer it came, the more Magiere doubted its shape. The majay-h scattered away as it landed beyond Leesil and Chap. Magiere sucked in a breath and held it.
Not a bird, for-she-had arms and legs. She looked only at Magiere, as if she saw someone familiar.
Her wings were immense, and their combined span was at least three times her height. They folded behind a narrow and slight-boned torso of subtle curves like that of an adolescent girl. She was no taller than an aruin'nas, and perhaps less. From pinion feathers to the downy covering on her body and face, she was a mottled off-white. Instead of hair, larger feathers combed back like a headdress and were matched by the same on the backs of her forearms and lower legs.
Two huge oval eyes dominated her face, pushed slightly to the sides by a long narrow nose that ended above a small, thin-lipped mouth. Her eyes were like polished stones, dark at first but turning as red as a dove's where they caught sunlight. She cocked her head like a crow, studying Magiere.
This frail creature stepped toward Magiere, rocking slightly upon the earth as if walking wasn't quite natural for her.
"Uirishg," Wynn said, the word exploding on her exhale.
Magiere couldn't take her eyes from this winged female. The majay-h pulled farther aside to give her passage. A dry female voice from somewhere behind said, "Seyilf!" The word rattled in Magiere's empty mind until she heard herself try to numbly repeat it. But the closest she got out was "silf."
"The Wind-Blown," Wynn translated.
The silf drew closer and reached up with a hand of narrow fingers. She parted her lips as if to speak, and between them, in place of teeth, were ridges like the edge of a bird's beak inside her mouth. The sound that came out of her throat was somewhere between the cry of a hunting hawk and a sparrow's song.
Gleann came down and stopped beside Wynn. Most of the majay-h descended to the clearing floor. Even Chap returned with Leesil close behind. Freth headed for Most Aged Father, who now watched in silent suspicion. Brot'an and Sgaile approached behind Leesil.
The silf looked about, growing agitated or nervous, and flexed her wings.
Gleann waved everyone off before they came too close. From behind him, one of the Aruin'nas stepped out.
"This is Tuma'ac," Gleann said in accented Belaskian. "He may be able to translate."
Tuma'ac looked up at Magiere with a vicious twitch of his eye that made the strange markings on his sun-wrinkled face seem to dance. He nodded once to Gleann but looked to Sgaile.
Sgaile regained himself, perhaps remembering his place as adjudicator. "Yes, proceed."
Tuma'ac approached the silf, and indeed she was shorter than he. He motioned with his hands toward himself and spoke to her in his strange tongue. The odd cry erupted from the silf again, sounding much the same as before to Magiere. Tuma'ac blinked twice as he looked sidelong at Magiere, but his sudden shock faded in disgust. He barked something at Gleann.
Gleann's high eyebrows rose even higher. "He says the seyilf called you 'kin'... or blood of her kind."
Magiere looked to Leesil, who only shook his head, and then to Wynn.
The sage was horrified. She gave Magiere a quick shake of her head. Not in confusion but more that she couldn't speak her mind here and now.
It was enough to bring Magiere to her senses, enough to call up memories of a hidden room beneath the keep of her undead father.
One of the decayed bodies there had rotted feathers among its bones. Wynn called them Uirishg, the five mythical races, of which the elves and dwarves were the only known two. Five beings had been slaughtered in that hidden blood rite to make Magiere's birth possible.
Magiere turned cold inside, looking back into the silf s dark eyes.
It cried again, and the chain translation passed once more to Gleann.
"She says you are not to be harmed... her people will not tolerate any violence against one of their own."
"That cannot be true!" Most Aged Father shouted. '"You translate incorrectly. And even so, how could she know?"
Again the chain of words passed, but this time Gleann stumbled and spoke one elvish word to Wynn. The sage seemed to have difficulty.
"Something like..." she began and shook her head. "She is... a spiritual leader of some kind. 'Spirit-talker' is the closest I can think of."
Gleann turned toward Most Aged Father. "If you wish to call Tuma'ac or the seyilf a liar, then do so for yourself and not through me. Do we now reject the word of those we promised to protect and hide in our mountains?"
Wynn shifted close to Magiere with a whisper. "The feather and berries in the mountain passage. It was one of them . . one of the seyilf."
The silf turned away. Her flurried thrash of wings sent majay-h scattering, as she half leaped and flew to the piles of stones that Sgaile had left at the clearing's edge. She grabbed a black one and tossed it across the clearing.
It tumbled to a halt before Most Aged Father, and he shook visibly as his expression turned livid.
The silf screeched again, and Tuma'ac grunted in satisfaction before speaking to Gleann.
"She calls us to vote," Gleann said, pointing to the stone, "and gives that of her people... against the claim of Most Aged Father."
"Do the advocates have anything further to present?" Sgaile asked quietly.
Brot'an shook his head once. But Most Aged Father clutched at Freth, whispering harshly. Freth kept shaking her head in denial.
"Your answer, advocate!" Sgaile called with more force.
Freth stood up, and her head dropped as she shook it slowly. "No... nothing."
Sgaile stepped to the clearing's center. "The Advocates have retired. We ask the elders to deliberate and render judgment on the claim presented."
Gleann didn't return to his clan. Instead, he simply cast a stone-black-and gave Magiere a curt bow. It was a kind gesture, but not enough to make her hopeful.
Another black stone arched out from behind her and tumbled across the ground. Magiere looked back.
The tall female in maroon stood halfway down the slope, the one Sgaile had called Tosan... something on the night they searched for Wynn. Her calculated study of Magiere turned suddenly upon Leesil, and then she walked back up to her chair between her like-clad attendants. How her filmy eyes saw anything was disturbing.
Magiere wasn't certain how long it would take the others, or whether a quick or protracted vote worked more in her favor. She tried not to meet the silf's steady stare, for its strange face was too difficult to read. She didn't want to think about her own past, her birth, and why this creature had mistaken her as kin.
One at a time, then in twos and threes, black and white stones fell into the clearing.
Magiere closed her eyes. She felt Leesil's arm slip around her shoulders and tighten.
She didn't watch Sgaile gather the stones, but after long moments she heard their clatter as he poured them into piles upon the ground.
Gleann's voice rose so loud it startled her, and her eyes snapped open as Wynn translated.
"As the claim against her is now dismissed, Magiere's companions cannot be held in blame either. They came here as guests of Most Aged Father and under oath of guardianship. No reason has been given to breach either. They must be released, and their property returned. Then other matters require our collected attention"-he glanced toward Most Aged Father-"concerning Anmaglahk ways in conflict with those of the people."
"It's over," Leesil whispered.
Magiere couldn't see any difference between the stone piles at Sgaile's feet. He seemed to understand her confusion and nodded to her.
"It is over-for now," Brot'an added. "I will take you back to quarters, so you may rest."
"Not quite," Leesil returned. "I still have a claim to make for my mother."
"It will be addressed," Brot'an answered. "The rest will be settled without either of you, and should cause you no more concern. Do not press the matter when it is not yet necessary."
Leesil glanced at Magiere, caught between concern and stubbornness.
Magiere put a hand on his chest. Both looked up as a rush of wind around Magiere whipped Leesil's loose hair wildly about.
The silf dropped upon the table behind Magiere and reached out too quickly, startling Leesil into the defensive. Magiere grabbed his wrist.
The tiny female flexed her wings and raised her hand more slowly this time. She lifted the side of Magiere's hair, letting its strands slide between narrow fingers ending in roan-colored nails that curved slightly like talons. The silf cocked her head, watching the hair fall bit by bit.
Magiere pulled back at the thrash of her wings as she lifted into the air and flapped away beyond the treetops.
Leesil exhaled. "As if we haven't had enough for one day."
"There is one more thing," Wynn said. "Brot'an, would you please wait with Magiere?"
The sage grabbed Leesil's arm, pulling him along as she followed Chap toward Most Aged Father.
Chap had no idea what this seyilf-silf-truly wanted. Like Magiere and even Wynn, he was confused as to why it mistook Magiere for kin. Somehow the small winged female sensed the blood of its own used in Magiere's conception.
He had tried reaching for its mind to catch any memories, but he found nothing besides images of himself and his charges climbing downward through the mountain. The female had been the one to leave them a trail... the one who had called out to him amid the blizzard. This was all he gathered from it. He was left wondering why it had twice interceded on their behalf and how long it had watched them from hiding.
Chap had planned for a fight, even wanted it in part. Or at least enough distraction to take the one person who mattered-Most Aged Father.
He had watched the an'Croan shaken by how the majay-h cast their "vote" in this matter. Lily had likely strained her place among the pack in convincing them for him, but they all shared some strange animosity for the leader of the Anmaglahk, a being too old for natural life and yet making claims against Magiere as an undead.
Perhaps his rejected kin were correct-flesh and heart made him reckless. He did not care anymore.
Most Aged Father's bearers had not come for him. Even this did not matter to Chap. He wanted answers, and he would take them.
Frethfare stepped in his way as he closed on the old one.
"We only have a message for Most Aged Father," Wynn said.
Chap barked once, not turning his eyes from the patriarch.
"Snaw... hac..." Leesil began, then sighed in frustration.
"Snahacroe," Wynn pronounced for him.
At the name, Most Aged Father's milky eyes widened and he sat up as straight as he could.
"He said to tell you..." Leesil called out clearly, "that he's waiting for his comrade to join him... when you're done."
Chap lunged into the old one's mind, waiting for whatever might come.
Sounds and images rose, led by the face of a tall elf with wide cheekbones. Chap let go of all else, even anger, and sank into Most Aged Father's rising memories.
Sorhkafare stood amid the night-wrapped trees surrounding Aonnis Lhoin'n, First Glade.
It had been the longest run of his life to reach his people's land and what now seemed the only sanctuary in a blighted world. He led his dwindling group to this place hoping to find other survivors, hoping to find help. But he could still hear the grunts and weeping and madness of the night horde ranging beyond the forest's edge.
All through his flight home, every town and village, and even every keep and stronghold, was littered with bodies torn as if fed upon by animals. The few living they encountered joined them in flight from the pale predators with crystalline eyes, always in their wake.
The numbers of their pursuers grew with each fall of the sun.
Fewer than half of those who fled Sorhkafare's encampment with him reached the forests of his people. Not one of the dwarves made it on their stout legs carrying thick heavy bodies. Thalhomerk had been the last of their people to succumb, along with his son and daughter.
In a dead run through the dark, Sorhkafare had heard the dwarven lord's vicious curses. He looked back as Thalhomerk submerged under a wave of pale bodies. He shuddered at the sound of bones cracking under the dwarf's massive fists and mace. And still the horde flowed toward Sorhkafare and over Thalhomerk's son and daughter. He could not tell which one had screamed out, as Hoil'lhan's voice smothered it with a visceral shout. She whirled to turn back.
Her hair whipped about her long face as she swung the butt of her thick metal spear shaft. It cracked through a pale face. Splattering black fluids blotted out the creature's glittering eyes and maw of sharp teeth.
Sorhkafare did not understand Hoil'lhan's preference for dwarven and human company, nor her restless and savage nature. Perhaps she had been killing for too long.
Hoil'lhan spun her spear without pause as three more pale figures closed on her. The spear's wide and long head split through the first's collarbone, grinding into its chest. She jerked her weapon out as the other two hesitated, and she screeched at them madly, ready to charge.
Sorhkafare grabbed her, pulling her around as more of the horde rushed at them through the dark.
"Run," he ordered.
Even in renewed flight Hoil'lhan tried to turn on him with her metal spear. Snahacroe snatched her other arm, and they dragged her onward.
"You cannot save Thalhomerk," Snahacroe said in a hollow voice.
The endless running took its toll. Two more of Sorhkafare's soldiers dropped in their tracks before any saw the forest's edge. All he could do was hope they died of exhaustion before...
In the clearing of First Glade, humans and elves now huddled in fear. Sorhkafare could no longer look at their gaunt faces.
So few... and in the distance, beyond the forest's limits, carried the shouts and cries of dark figures with crystalline eyes. A part of him found that easier to face than to count the small number who still lived.