The Pearl of the Soul of the World - By Meredith Ann Pierce Page 0,16

and flowing trousers, the men in their long gowns, heads veiled against the white, slant morning light of Solstar. Syllva, the Lady of Esternesse, stood foremost, flanked upon one side by Irrylath, her son. Aeriel stood beside him. Craning eagerly, Irrylath's half brothers—the Lady's younger sons—stood opposite. A glimpse, a murmur from the throng, and the priestesses led forth the starhorse. Aeriel's heart leapt at the beauty of him: Avarclon, the guardian of Avaric.

She felt her husband shiver hard, though with delight or terror at the sight, she could not tell. Irrylath no longer shunned her, as he had for the first year of their marriage. Nor did he shrink from her now. But he had seemed in awe of her since Orm: she suspected he found her presence troubling, even painful.

Why? The question needled her, and she had no clue. Always he treated her more as some distant, valued ally than as his wife or even a friend. An overwhelming sense of failure ate at her, for Irrylath was her husband only in name.

Overcome by longing, Aeriel pressed nearer to him, using the crush of the crowd as an excuse. He appeared oblivious to her, his gaze directed toward the starhorse, who came forth from the temple all silver fire. Those hooves, striking the paving stones, were throwing white sparks. Great wings—the pair that sprang from the Horse's withers -arched, flexing, and beat the air, while his little wings—those that dressed his fetlocks and adorned his cheeks—fluttered. He tossed his tail. He pranced, and one hoof shone brighter than the rest, dazzling in the light of Solstar.

Aeriel sensed Irrylath beside her growing taut, his breath quickening. She felt his back arch, his own shoulders flex as Avarclon's pinions beat. Was he remembering his own wings, a dozen of them, that he had worn as a darkangel? Now it was Aeriel who shivered. Her husband had ceased to be that powerful winged creature not by his own choice, but by hers. What must it be like, she wondered, to have lost such wings? Avarclon tossed his head, his brow-horn cutting the air. His nostrils flared, and he whinnied a long, trumpeting call.

"By Ravenna, who first made me," he cried, shaking himself, "it is a fine match. A new body as like my old as could be. You have done well, priests and wisewomen, in building this new engine for my soul.

I thank you. It is good to be in the world again."

His eyes like bright meteors scanned the crowd.

"Companions," he called to his fellow guardians, the Ions, "you who were with me at our first making, I greet you. That you are all assembled can mean but one thing, that you have been rescued from the Witch's power as I was from death, and the war against her is on."

The great lyon Pendarlon roared in answer. "Yes, you have it, friend."

The starhorse turned his head and gazed upon the Lady of Esternesse. She went to him. "Ah, Lady,"

he said, "king's wife in Avaric. I rejoice to see you again. What is this place?"

"This is my land," the Lady Syllva replied, "that you would call Esternesse. Once wife to the late king of Avaric—yes, I was. But no more. I am returned again to my own dominion."

The starhorse bowed his head. "I remember now. I saw your train departing after the death of your son."

"You mistake," Syllva replied. "He did not die."

Aeriel could not see her face, but from her voice, she knew the Lady must be smiling—as though she told of joyous things. Irrylath caught his breath in through his teeth. Aeriel saw only the side of his face, gone tense and pale.

"He became the Witch's prisoner," the Lady continued undismayed, without a trace of shame, "and she made him into a darkangel."

"A darkangel?" the Avarclon exclaimed, snorting and half rearing. "Little Irrylath that used to sit laughing on my back, and dig at me with his heels for spite and pull my hair?"

Syllva nodded. "But he has been rescued by her who rescued both you and the gargoyles. He is mortal again, and stands at hand."

She turned to her son as she said it, and the equustel, following the line of her sight, cast his silver eyes upon the prince, who flinched beneath that cool and level gaze. Aeriel no longer felt him breathe. The starhorse whickered darkly, low.

"You might be he," he said at last, "that was my Irrylath. Are you also he that put me out of