Heritage Of The Xandim
Maggie Furey
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
PART 1 - ELIORAND
Chapter 1 - THE WILD HUNT
Chapter 2 - INITIATION
Chapter 3 - POINT OF NO RETURN
Chapter 4 - THE FIRST STEP
Chapter 5 - TAKU
Chapter 6 - KINDNESS OF A STRANGER
Chapter 7 - THE EVANESAR
Chapter 8 - SIGNS OF PERIL
PART 2 - TYRINELD
Chapter 9 - PORTENTS
Chapter 10 - IRIANA
Chapter 11 - THE EMISSARIES
Chapter 12 - TOWARDS THE FAR HORIZON
Chapter 13 - FROM THE SHADOWS
Chapter 14 - THE ART OF COMPROMISE
Chapter 15 - A FAMILY AFFAIR
Chapter 16 - TRANSFORMATION
Chapter 17 - ABOUT FACE
PART 3 - THE FIALAN
Chapter 18 - THE MAD ONE
Chapter 19 - BRIGHT FACE , DARK HEART
Chapter 20 - DHAGON
Chapter 21 - KEEPER OF THE TRUST
Chapter 22 - NIGHT IN THE FOREST
Chapter 23 - THE SHINING MOUNTAIN
Chapter 24 - THE GRIM FACE OF TRUTH
Chapter 25 - OUT OF THE DARK
Chapter 26 - STORMFLIGHT
Chapter 27 - IRIANA ALONE
Chapter 28 - NOTHING BY CHANCE
Chapter 29 - DAYS OF JOY AND SORROW
Chapter 30 - TRUST AND TREACHERY
Chapter 31 - THE GATHERING
Chapter 32 - THE CLEAR LIGHT OF DAY
Chapter 33 - TO SAVE A WORLD, TO SAVE A LIFE
Chapter 34 - MATTERS OF TRUST
Chapter 35 - THE SEARCH BEYOND
Chapter 36 - ON A KNIFE EDGE
Chapter 37 - THE OLD ONE
Chapter 38 - BEYOND THE ICE
EPILOGUE
Heritage Of The Xandim
MAGGIE FUREY
Orion
www.orionbooks.co.uk
A Gollancz ebook
Copyright © Maggie Furey 2009
All rights reserved
The right of Maggie Furey to be identified as the author of
this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in Great Britain in 2009 by Gollancz
An imprint of the Orion Publishing Group
Orion House, 5 Upper St Martin’s Lane, London WC2H 9EA
An Hachette UK Company
A CIP catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
eISBN : 978 0 5750 8785 9
ISBN 978 0 575 07662 4 (Trade Paperback)
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
www.orionbooks.co.uk
This ebook produced by Jouve, France
This book is dedicated, with the utmost gratitude, to
Professor Ciaran Bolger,
Consultant Neurosurgeon, Wizard and Genius.
You gave me back my life. I can never thank you enough.
WITH GRATITUDE
During the last few years of illness and a nightmare of pain, it sometimes seemed impossible that I would ever make it through. The fact that I finally did is due in no small part to a number of very special people, and I would like to take this opportunity to thank them all.
First and foremost, my everlasting thanks go to Professor Ciaran Bolger, Neurosurgeon, who performed delicate, intricate and risky spinal surgery with inspiring confidence and skill.
Thank you, Dr Raymond Victory, Consultant in Pain Management, whose very name made me feel better, and whose nerve blocks helped keep me going.
Thanks to Dr Ian Bothwell, my GP, whose kindness, help and understanding got me through a horrible time, not to mention his wife Edel, receptionist, and Practice Nurse June Darcy, who were so supportive.
Thank you, Patricia Swords, Reiki and Amatsu Practitioner, whose hands, and whose friendship, had a positively magical way of easing the pain.
Many thanks to Mary Varilly for being such a kind and wonderful friend, and helping me so much in every way she could; and to her daughter Claire, who has inherited her mother’s compassion.
Thanks to my neighbour Linda Moore, who was always just a phone call away.
Thank you, John Meaney, for the Tapping.
Thanks to my sister, Lin Stockley, for flying over from Edinburgh and back in a day to feed my cats while Eric had to be away.
Thanks to Paddy Sheridan and Ken Carrington, for being, as always, charming, delightful and kind friends who were on hand to provide good company and some lovely evenings out.
Many thanks to my Dad, Jim Armstrong, for all the hours of worrying he put in on my behalf, and to my mother, Margaret, who came over from England on several occasions to take care of a post-operative daughter who was helpless in a full-body brace while her husband was working at the other end of the country.
I can’t leave out my cats Merlin and Sunshine in the thanks. They somehow knew that all was not well, and one or the other, if not both, stayed at my side at all times.
I would like to thank my agent, John Parker, who kept the lines of communication open even when I couldn’t face talking to anyone, and who worked so hard to make sure I had a career to come back to.
A multitude of thanks go to Simon Spanton of Orion Books, with whom I had recently signed when all the trouble started. I’m tremendously thankful for his patience and understanding in being willing to wait so long. Thanks also to Jo Fletcher of Orion, whose own experiences gave her such an insight into my difficulties.
Thanks to John Jarrold, for his wonderful editorial insights into the manuscript of this book. As always, John, it’s a tremendous pleasure to work with you.
Most of all, I would like to thank my husband Eric, who has stuck with me through thick and thin, and patiently nursed a wife who for weeks after her surgery couldn’t even make a cup of tea or take a shower without assistance. I love you so much. You are the best thing in my life.
And finally, to all the readers who have waited through this lengthy and mysterious absence: thank you. You’re what it’s all about.
PROLOGUE
THE CAILLEACH
The omens brought the Lady of the Mists down to the shores of the Timeless Lake. They came to the Cailleach in the midst of her waking dreams, disturbing the tranquillity of her eternal meditations. In this Place Beyond the World, there was no day or night or passing of the seasons; there was no hunger, thirst, loneliness - or change. There was only the Lady, one of the powerful, ancient Guardians who had been present at the world’s creation and who would be there at its end. Only the Lady, and her endlessly-spun web of contemplation. Until the omens came, like a stone thrown into the tranquil waters of the Timeless Lake, casting ripples of disquiet through her thoughts.
The sense of unease that awoke the Cailleach from her reverie drove her out of her resting place in the great Tree that lay at the Centre of all things, beneath the Timeless Lake. Quitting her softly glowing chamber in the Tree’s hollow heart, she passed down the steps that were natural formations in the stonelike bark, crossed the floor of the vast cavern in which the behemoth was rooted and passed into the extraordinary woodland that edged the clearing. It was a forest carved from stone: every detail was perfect, from the trees with their leaves of jade and finely wrought blossoms of translucent quartz, right down to the flowers made of coloured gems, the insects with bejewelled wings and the delicate stone birds, so realistic that they might burst into flight or song at any moment.
Beyond the forest of stone lay the spiral of basalt steps that took the Cailleach out of the cavern. Climbing up and up, driven by
anxiety, driven by need, she finally emerged through a portal in the rock, high up on the pinnacle of the island at the centre of the Timeless Lake. The only light came from the stars scattered across a sky that was the clear royal blue of a sapphire. Constellations were reflected in the smooth lake waters, but, strangely, the stars that shone there came from a different sky from that above. Treading the spiral path of shining stone with care, the ancient Guardian made her way to the foot of the pinnacle and knelt down on a tongue of rock that protruded into the still, dark lake with its glittering reflections from some unknown sky. Looking into the infinite depths, she waited to see what had called her here.
A film of silvery vapour drifted across the surface of the water. It swirled, dissolved, coalesced, then parted again, revealing and obscuring a succession of vivid images. Forming and dissolving, they flickered through the depths, giving the Lady a window into the future. The world she had helped to create spun before her in all its complexity - then her eyes were drawn to one continent in particular.
In its northlands, she saw Eliorand, city of the Phaerie, shrouded by the cloak of glamourie which gave it the appearance of a forested hill. Further south, beyond the Phaerie realm ruled by Hellorin the Forest Lord, dwelt the four races of Magefolk, wielders of elemental magic. The Cailleach caught glimpses of the Winged Folk, masters of the element of Air, in their peak-top city of Aerillia; the Dragonfolk, Masters of Fire, in their jewelled realm of Dhiammara; the Leviathan and their partners in magic the Merfolk, who roamed the ocean depths to wield the power of the element of Water, returning from time to time to the coral city of Amauin, where their wise ones dwelt. Finally there were the wizards, human in form and skilled in Earth Magic, who dwelt in beautiful Tyrineld, their seat of lore and learning, on the wild, rocky coastline of the western ocean.
Also scattered throughout the continent were the lowly slave race of mortals who, with no powers of their own, existed to serve both Phaerie and Magefolk. All the races, Magical and mortal, were still dwelling side by side as they had done for many a long age, in varying degrees of harmony and discord, but without overt conflict. The Lady of the Mists, however, had an uneasy premonition that this fragile peace was about to be shattered.
Suddenly a dark, spreading stain the colour of blood obscured the visions in the water. It cleared to reveal a series of images that chilled the Cailleach’s heart. Her unease turned to dread as she watched the Magefolk fashioning four mighty magical artefacts; weapons of extraordinary power, using elemental forces that were too intense by far for the mundane world. The Cailleach gave a low cry, her horror vying with sheer anger at such folly. The Mages had taken too much upon themselves - could they not see that their actions were certain to end in catastrophe?
Images followed one upon the other in swift succession now, showing the Phaerie and the four races of Magefolk ripped apart by war. The force of their magic devastated the land with fire and ice, flood and tempest, earthquake and plague. A crazed colossus threatened to shatter the very bones of the earth in his madness. A beautiful and ancient city vanished forever. Entire races were brought to the very brink of extinction, and it seemed inevitable that some of these must perish utterly, leaving great tracts of the ruined lands devoid of life.
The visions faded into darkness, leaving only the enigmatic waters of the Timeless Lake. Slowly, the Cailleach rose to her feet, her heart dark with foreboding. Was there to be no future for the Magefolk, for the Phaerie - for the world?
She was about to turn away when a ripple passed across the surface of the lake, sending wavelets lapping at her feet. Away from the island, at the point where the lake was deepest, a patch of water began to glow with a crimson light that appeared to be rising slowly from the very depths. The Lady of the Mists froze, forgetting even to breathe. She had dwelt in this place beyond the very beginnings of the world, and she had never seen anything like this.
As it rose towards the surface the light grew brighter, changing colour as it gained in brilliance, moving up through the spectrum to a violet so intense that the Cailleach’s eyes could scarcely focus on it. The water began to bubble and boil - then suddenly the light changed to the blue-white dazzle of a lightning bolt as three stars erupted from the lake in a fountain of silver spray and hurtled towards the heavens, rising to take their place in the skies above, changing the face of the constellations forever.
And in that moment, the Lady knew. She no longer needed to look into the lake, for the visions came clearly and directly into her mind. Three women, all born when the moon was concealed by the shadow of the sun, would hold the future of the world in their hands, determining whether it would be lost or saved. Three children of a red moon, a blood moon, born when the sky was dark and full of violent portents: one a Wizard, one Phaerie-born, and the other . . .
The Cailleach paused and blinked, as if by doing so she could clear her inner vision. Try as she would to see this woman - and she knew in her heart that it was a woman - all that would come into her mind was the image of a grey horse; running, running . . .
As the vision faded, the Lady of the Mists clenched her fists in frustration. Who was that last woman? What was she? Why couldn’t the Cailleach see her? For she knew, without a doubt, that this last star, this last child, this last, enigmatic woman, would prove to be the most important of all.
PART 1
ELIORAND
1
THE WILD HUNT
On a winter’s night when frost made the city of Eliorand glitter like a jewel-box, and the air was so cold that it splintered on the tongue, the Hunt made ready for its first great ride of the season. An air of frantic activity permeated the stables of Hellorin, Lord of the Phaerie. Lamplight blazed in the vast complex of paddocks, boxes and barns that took up much of the northern face of the eminence on which the city was built. The stables housed not only the horses belonging to the Forest Lord’s courtiers, but also those of most of the other Phaerie in the city, for the rest of the hill was taken up with beautiful houses, gardens, gracious parks and public buildings, with little provision for livestock. Everyone gained from the arrangement. The Phaerie could keep their magnificent animals in the best possible facilities with little inconvenience to themselves, the horses benefited from the most skilled of attendants and, in addition to the levies which increased the royal coffers, it pleased Hellorin’s sense of power to have the unique breed of Phaerie steeds under his control.
The grooms - mostly human slaves who, due to their hard work and expertise, occupied a privileged position in the royal household - were bustling to and fro: some grooming, some checking hooves, while others saddled the horses, decking them in caparisons made from fabric that glowed with coloured radiance. Orders flew back and forth, but there was no time for the banter that was permitted on a normal day. Aelwen, Mistress of the Royal Horses, stalked back and forth along the aisles between the boxes, her eyes seemingly everywhere at once, making sure that nothing was neglected or skimped, and that everything was done to her usual exacting standards.
A current of restless excitement was sweeping through the horses. All but the very youngest beasts had hunted before, and knew exactly what was happening. Corisand, in her stall at the end of the row, fidgeted and snorted, striking with a forefoot at the door of the box. She laid her ears back at the stable lad who was trying unsuccessfully to make her keep still so that he could saddle her, and the young groom cursed and yanked roughly at her bridle.
‘Here now, enough of that. Stop wrenching her around, you halfwit, and leave her to me.’ Kelon, Aelwen’s head groom, entered the box, leaving room for the lad to scurry out. ‘You go and finish getting Maiglan ready for the Lady Tiolani, and I’ll see to this fractious little girl myself.’
‘Little girl, my backside,’ the lad muttered sullenly. ‘She’s as big as any of the others, and twice as bloody awkward. What she wants is a—’
‘What she wants is someone with a bit of common sense, instead of an idle, thoughtless fool.’ Kelon
’s voice had taken on an icy bite that had even the mare turning her head in surprise. ‘And I’ve told you before, Horsemistress Aelwen will have no swearing in her stable. Now get about your work.’
Scowling, the youth stamped off, and Kelon, the smile back on his face, turned to Corisand. ‘Now then, little one, let’s get you settled down and looking beautiful. You’ll be carrying the Lord of the Phaerie, remember, and you have to look the part.’ His hands were gentle and, unlike the other groom, his voice was soothing and soft. Also, there was a sense of presence and strength about him that made Corisand cease her antics immediately.
Kelon never raised his voice to any of the horses - he didn’t have to. He was a horseman to the bone, and in his presence the most recalcitrant of animals suddenly found itself behaving exactly as he would wish. Now he was putting on the saddle with deft expertise, talking softly to her all the while in a low, crooning voice. ‘There now. That’s better, isn’t it? And you won’t have to worry about that young idiot any more. I’ll have a word with Mistress Aelwen, and by tomorrow he’ll be back among the field labourers hoeing cabbages. Serve him right, too. Some folk just aren’t fit to work in a stable.’
