City of Sorcerers (27 page)

"I am tired," she admitted, "but I will take the easy part. I'll help Demira relax, and you can try to attach the wings."

For a moment they both simply stared at the elegantly streamlined wings. Long and broad with the notched primaries of a glider, the wings were black at the shoulders fading to a delicate gray on the tips of each feather. The inner wing feathers were a white that gleamed like milk in the moonlight.

"They're beautiful," said Rafnir in a hushed, almost awed voice. He lifted his eyes to her face and voiced the last hesitation he could think of. "Should we do this to a Hunnuli? I feel like we're trying to change a legend."

Kelene touched the eagle's black head and closed its eyelids before she answered him. She understood what he was saying because she had had the same thought. But now a certainty surfaced in her mind that stilled the trembling in her fingers and added strength to her voice. "We're not changing a legend, we're making history.

We've been making history since we took that wrong turn in the canyon and found the mound. The plague, the wraith, the Korg, Moy Tura, and now Demira have all become a part of this history. Who is to say, except the gods, that this is not the way it is supposed to be?"

Rafnir's only answer was a firm nod of approval. He took the eagle out of her hands, laid it on the ground, and stretched the wings out to their full span. Kelene pulled out her dagger and knelt by the dead bird. Her hands were steady when she laid her fingers by the bird's right shoulder. She barely nodded her satisfaction. As carefully as she could in the darkness, she cut through the eagle's skin and detached the wing from the bird's shoulder. She laid the wing aside, then began the delicate operation on the next.

As soon as both wings were off, Kelene and Rafnir carried the remains of the eagle's body up the broken steps into the doubt down into the ruined temple of Amara.

On a small pyre of rocks by the front entrance, they laid the eagle down and stood back.

Kelene raised her arms to the sky and cried, "Great bird, beloved of Amara, you have given us a treasured gift. We shall always remember your generosity in our hearts and our prayers. May your spirit fly to Amara, and your strength and grace live always in these wings."

When her last words faded away into the night, Rafnir lifted his hand. From his palm came a pale yellow magic sphere that landed on the bird's body and burst into flame. The eagle was consumed in moments, her spirit sent with honor to the realm of the dead.

Two sets of hoofbeats thudded in the darkness, and Demira and Tibor came into the moonlit courtyard with the white cat riding on the filly's back. Kelene saw her Hunnuli, and she ran down the temple steps to throw her arms around the filly's neck.

She hesitated to speak, suddenly afraid of what they wanted to do. In spite of her brave speech about history, so many things could go wrong. Kelene knew she wouldn't be able to bear it if she caused anything to hurt or kill this horse.

"We have wings for you. Are you still willing to try this?" she asked hesitantly.

Demira's excitement nearly knocked her back a step.
Wings? For me? Where?

and she neighed a high cry of happiness.

Slowly Kelene picked up an eagle's wing and held it out for Demira's inspection.

The filly sniffed once and her whole head sagged.
It's so small. How can a little wing
like that lift me?

Her disappointment was so obvious that even though Rafnir didn't hear the question, he realized her dismay.

"These wings will serve you well by the time we’re through," he promised her, at which Demira said emphatically to them both,
Let's do it.

From that moment, Kelene knew they could not turn back. The tools of the spell had been placed in their hands. It was up to them to weave the magic, the wings, and the Hunnuli into a unique whole. Fiercely she forced her fear and self-doubt down into the deepest, most obscured part of her mind. If she showed even a taint of doubt during her joining with Demira the filly might not relax, and her innate defenses would resist the magic Rafnir needed to use.

Rafnir, meanwhile, was explaining to Tibor what they were going to do. The powerful stallion snorted.
I still think this is foolish. Hunnuli belong on the ground!

Demira tossed her head.
If you won't help your rider, then leave! I'm sure he can
do as well without you!

Rafnir nearly choked at her audacity, but Tibor only nickered a laugh.
Little one,
it is your body. If you wish to fly, I will try to help. But remember, once done, it will
be very difficult to undo. Be certain this is what you want.

It is,
Demira replied instantly.

With that settled, Kelene and Rafnir went to work formulating the spells they would use. They decided first to attach the wings to Demira's shoulders, then gradually enlarge them to fit her bulk. They had Demira lie down, her legs curled under her. Kelene sat beside the filly with her head resting on Demira's chest.

In that position, Kelene opened her mind to the waiting magic. The wondrous power poured into her and filled her mind, body, and soul with its invigorating energy. In the past, when she had used her ability to sense other people's emotions, she had not deliberately used magic to enhance her empathy. This time she tried it.

The result was like suddenly opening a door into a bright and busy room. One moment she was lying beside her Hunnuli, and the next she was feeling Demira’s every emotion and living her every sense.

As one, they lay immobile, united by touch, thought, and the power of magic. In that gentle union a bond was established between Hunnuli and magic-wielder that would protect and sustain them both in the years ahead.

Kelene, lavished by Demira's trust and love, relaxed the Hunnuli, comforted her, and soothed her into sleep. Every muscle, bone, and nerve of the black horse fell into complete relaxation. Her breathing and heart rate slowed; her mind drifted into a tranquility where she would feel no pain.

Lulled by her rider's presence, Demira's defense against magic dwindled to a mere protest as Rafnir gingerly laid his knife to her shoulder, cut a small slit into her skin, and carefully inserted the end of the wing bone through her muscle to her shoulder. Little by little, the magic-wielder joined bone to bone, muscle to muscle, and blood to blood, using magic to seal the union and make the parts compatible.

Tibor stood close behind him, his muzzle resting against Rafnir's back. Through their mental rapport, the stallion added his fiery strength to Rafnir's to increase the efficiency of the spell.

To Rafnir's surprise, the procedure went very easily. The injury healed almost as soon as he finished the spell. That benefit, he decided, came from Kelene's presence in Demira's mind. He suspected the woman's talent and her empathic ability were helping the filly's body heal faster than normal.

As soon as one wing was joined, they attached the second. This operation went faster since Rafnir was a little more sure of what he was doing. When he finished, he sat back on his heels and rubbed a hand over his forehead. He was very tired, soaked with sweat, and stiff, but when he looked at the two wings lying gracefully furled along the horse's shoulders, he felt a hot burst of jubilation. He looked across at Kelene, wishing he could share his victory, and he could only smile. She was deeply asleep, as calm and serene as her Hunnuli.

Gods, he thought to himself, she is so beautiful.

Before he could let his mind get too distracted, he began the next part of the spell: enlarging the wings to fit the horse. The difficulty was he didn't know exactly how large to make eagle wings to fit a Hunnuli. He knew from years of training and hunting the Khulinin clan's hawks that bird wings were perfectly designed to fit their bodies. If he made Demira's wings too long or too bulky, they would be too heavy to work. If he made them too light or too short they would break from the stress of Demira's weight, or they wouldn't give her enough lift to get airborne.

He finally decided to keep the proportion of width to length the same, and he settled on a wing length equal to her height at her withers---a little over five feet---

giving her a total wing span from wing tip to wing tip of about twelve feet. Rafnir hoped that size wouldn't be too cumbersome.

Once again he drew on Tibor's massive strength to supplement his own while he poured the magic energy into Demira's sleeping form. The wings gradually grew, their bones, feathers, and muscles stretching and lengthening.

By the time the wings reached their full length, Rafnir and Tibor were exhausted.

The young magic-wielder carefully folded them neatly along the filly's side and ended his spell. He felt the horse's blood warm the wing muscles under his hand, and he was content. He had done the best he could for Demira and Kelene. The results were spectacular, but the question of whether or not Demira could actually fly would have to be settled later. The filly needed healing sleep.

Rafnir sighed, too weary to stand up. He sank down on the cool ground and stretched out by Tibor's front hooves. He was asleep before the stallion could bid him goodnight.

* * * * *

Kelene woke the next morning to find the sun well on its way to midday. She sat up with a stretch and a yawn and grinned at the sun. By Amara's crown, she felt good!

She hadn't slept so well in days. Her face was a little stiff and swollen and her shoulder ached, but it was hardly noticeable. She looked around curiously, wondering where everyone was. Then the memory came flooding back, and she sprang to her feet.

Demira!" she shouted.

She couldn't wait,
a deep voice informed her.
She rushed off a little while ago to
practice.

Kelene whirled to see Tibor standing peacefully in the shadow of the broken arcade. "Practice?" she echoed in surprise.

Of course. You gave her wings, but you didn't give her the knowledge to use
them.

Kelene's eyes grew round. "You mean it worked?"

Yes, Tibor snorted. Rafnir has some of his mother's rapport with animals. The combination of his talents with yours was very successful.
But
--- Tibor stuck his big muzzle against Kelene's chest---
do not try that foolishness with me! I am perfectly
content to keep my hooves on the ground.

She laughed happily, not the least put out by his threatening tone. "Never," she promised.

The big stallion tossed his head.
Probably would not work anyway.
You were
lucky with Demira. She is small for a Hunnuli. Her size will be to her advantage since
she will have a Hunnuli's strength without the full weight. I doubt any wings would
get me off the ground.

"Thank you for your help last night," Kelene said, scratching Tibor's favorite spot to placate his mood.

Tibor leaned into her fingers and replied,
You are welcome.
Rafnir told me to tell
you they need you to take your turn guarding the Korg. Everyone else has stood their
watch.

The girl nodded. Although she wanted to dash off to find Demira, she knew it was her duty to relieve the men. On the way out of the courtyard, though, Kelene asked the stallion, "Does anyone else know what we did last night?"

Only the Hunnuli.

"Well, please don't tell the men yet. Let Demira show them when she is ready. I don't think they'll believe me otherwise."

Tibor whinnied a short burst of laughter.
You are probably right.

The girl and the horse walked together back through the ruins to the old warehouse and found Rafnir and Savaron eating some trail bread and cheese outside the shelter where the party had made camp. Rafnir was sitting on a stone, his eyes ringed with fatigue. He had found time to shave the old stubble of his jaw, but his face still looked haggard.

Savaron eyed his sister in Tibor's company and gave Rafnir a grin. "You two must have been busy last night."

Kelene winked at Rafnir and said in a very innocent voice, "Yes. . . very."

Savaron chuckled. "Well, Morad and I will expect you two to stand guard on the Korg tonight."

The mention of the Korg reminded Kelene and Rafnir at the same time what Sayyed had said the day before.

"I can't let you do it," Rafnir jumped in before Kelene could say a word.

"You can't
let
me? Who gave you authority over me?" she yelled back. "It's my decision who I talk to."

"What if his mind is too far gone to understand?"

"I don't believe it is! I sensed his feelings. He is confused, but he is not insane."

They were so busy glaring at each other, they did not see Sayyed stagger from the shelter.

"That's enough," he said hoarsely into a brief lull in the shouting. The two young people shot aggrieved looks at the older warrior and suddenly their argument was forgotten. Sayyed was barely standing upright, his face drawn and his skin flushed with fever. His cat was meowing piteously around his ankles.

"Father!" Rafnir cried. He leaped forward and caught Sayyed just as he sagged to the ground. Savaron, Kelene, and Rafnir carried the warrior inside and laid him on his blanket.

"It's the plague, isn't it?" said Rafnir, his voice laden with dread.

Kelene nodded as her fingers gently probed Sayyed's neck. The swellings were there, hard and hot under her fingers. "It's only a matter of time," she answered sadly.

"If the disease runs its course, he'll die in two to four days." Her expression hardening, she said to Rafnir, "Now do you want to take the time to tame the Korg, or shall I go talk to him?"

Rafnir didn't answer at once, for the indecision was tearing him up inside. What should he do, risk his father's life or the life of the woman he loved?

He knew it now---he
loved
Kelene as he had never imagined he would love anyone. How could he let her take such a risk? Then again, now his father was sick with the same disease that had killed his mother. His only hope was an old sorcerer in the shape of a stone lion. The bitter truth that their time was running out had been brought painfully home.