Winged Magic by Mary H. Herbert Page A

thunderstorm would be a pleasant change. The turbulent lightning storms provided a phenomenon for magic-wielders by enhancing the magic already present in the natural world. The increased power energized the magic-wielders by strengthening their spells and increasing their endurance to wield magic. She was disappointed, though, and a little alarmed when Demira answered. Snow. It is already snowing beyond the Goldrine River. It will be here in a day or two.
    Kelene straightened and stared up at the huge arch of the sky. A solid, featureless sheet of cloud moved overhead, pushed by a steady wind from the north. The afternoon air was still mild, almost balmy, but Kelene knew that could change very quickly. This time of year, when winter and spring vied for rule of the plains, storms could be tricky and often treacherous.
    “That’s just what we need,” she said irritably, stretching back under the mare to reach her inner hind leg.
    “What’s what we need?” asked a different voice.
    Kelene glanced around Demira’s leg and saw a familiar pair of boots and a red split-skirt, a red the same scarlet as that of the long-dead Corin clan. “A storm,” she called out to Gabria, then popped up and flashed a grimace at her mother over the mare’s folded wings. “Demira tells me a storm is moving this way.”
    Picking up another horse brush, Gabria began to polish Demira’s other side. “Nara said the same thing. It will probably turn to sleet or freezing rain by the time it reaches us... which will make things only slightly more chilly and uncomfortable around here than it already is.”
    Kelene grunted in agreement. “I don’t understand what’s the matter with the Turics. There’s a strong undercurrent of tension in their midst that has nothing to do with us. We’ve had two days of meetings and have accomplished nothing. It’s almost as if the Turics are afraid of saying much for fear of spooking someone.”
    “Who?”
    “I don’t know,” Kelene replied. “It isn’t the Shar-Ja. He almost never reacts. He sits in his chair and dozes half the time. Bashan, the Shar-Yon, is doing his best to push a settlement through, but the others keep blocking him with petty gripes and details.” She paused. She had not mentioned her misgivings about Zukhara to anyone, but perhaps her mother could give her a different perspective on the counsellor. “There is one man... even the Shar-Yon treads carefully around him.”
    “The emissary Zukhara?” Gabria guessed.
    “You know of him?”
    “Sayyed and Rafnir told me about him,” Gabria hesitated, then added, “Sayyed said this man stares at you during the meetings.”
    To that Kelene shrugged. She hadn’t realized anyone else had noticed. “He stares, but he says nothing. Perhaps he is only curious — and ill-mannered.”
    He is not just curious, Demira put in. There is a taint about him I do not like. He will not come near the Hunnuli when we wait on the island for the council to end. The other Turics have spoken to us; the Shar-Ja has patted my neck. But this Zukhara stays away from us.
    Kelene’s brows lowered. “I didn’t notice that. I wonder why?”
    Gabria leaned against Demira’s warm wing and turned a concerned eye on her daughter. “Have you heard the Turics speak of the Fel Azureth?”
    It seemed a simple question, but Kelene caught a distinct note of worry in her mother’s voice. She shook her head, the horse brush forgotten in her hands.
    “The Azureth have surfaced only recently. It is a fanatical religious group sworn to the overthrow of the Shar-Ja’s throne and a return to the ancient practices of the Prophet Sargun.”
    “Why hasn’t the Shar-Ja done anything about them?”
    “I don’t think he can,” Gabria said sadly. “He’s too sick. His son has been handling many of his responsibilities, but he is too inexperienced to deal with such organized fanatics. The Azureth are very secretive. Even their leader, whom they call Fel Karak, is