For a while it was hard to concentrate on her mission. She was flying high above the waves, riding the winds as easily as the Blue Moon skimmed the waters. The view, even beyond the gift of the hawk’s eyesight, was incredible.
I had no idea….
Her euphoria took a bit of a gut blow as a shuddered passed through her feathered body. It wasn’t pain, nor was it fear. Rather, this was recognition. She realized that she had been feeling that sense of…familiarity, for want of a more perfert word, even before she left the ship, but her focus on the problem at hand had kept her from understanding what it was. Marta knew that what she was feeling now was the thing she felt when she approached a Law. Indeed, it was clear to her now that she had approached a Law, practically kissed its cheek, in a manner of speaking. But what had triggered it? Her new form? Marta considered this doubtful. The Fourth Law spoke specifically to her transformation, and none of the others, on their own, seemed to resonate in any way, and yet the feeling was unmistakable.
A sudden downdraft sent Marta sideways, down, and upside down for several terrifying seconds. She forced her attention back to the here and now. Whatever she had felt, she would—she hoped—consider later. There were more immediate matters to attend…like not plunging into the ocean. She righted herself and felt the wind lift her again. She spiraled upward as she had seen other birds do, letting an updraft do most of the work as she merely adjusted her wings slightly now and again to stay within the column of rising air. When she judged herself high enough—and in truth was starting to feel a bit dizzy—she turned out of the column and set herself in a glide directly toward their pursuer.
She covered the distance quickly, and in fact discovered that she needed to give up a bit of height in order to avoid overshooting her target. Closer now, she could see Borasur-Morushe banner flying from the mast and imprinted on the sail.
Do they know who they’re chasing?
Marta wondered if there was a way to find out without attracting too much attention, but then saw that two crewmen were pointing at her and one was trying to wind an arbalest.
Do the fools think I’m a goose…?
Then Marta realized that someone else was shouting from the deck—the wind whistler. She could see him now—a thin and hunched figured sitting by the rear castle. He too was pointing, but not shouting, dividing his time between calling attention to Marta and keeping up the chant that created the wind. She could see his lips move but she could not hear him, and his gesturing in her direction was becoming even more frantic.
Curse my thick-headedness! He knows!
She should have realized the danger sooner. An Arrow Path witch and a wind whistler were not anywhere near alike, but the magic that Marta sought, the wind whistler had touched, in his own way, as well. Just as she recognized him instantly, he saw through her bird form and recognized danger.
Marta was still considering what to do when the first bolt whizzed past her left wing. Just. Marta turned away and her powerful wings carried her higher again. She considered breaking the arbalest, but she could see now it wasn’t the only one. There was no time, not unless she wanted to continue as target practice for the warship’s mariners. She looked at the warship with senses other than her eyes, now that she was close enough, and found what she was looking for.
First Law.
There was a crack! like a bolt of lightning, and the main mast snapped at the yardarm just as another bolt flew by, this time taking the end of a flight feather with it.
You over-taxed that oaken beam, whistler. It was never designed to run before a wind that great.
Marta turned back toward the Blue Moon. She never heard the bolt that raked along her side in an explosion of feathers and searing pain. She almost fell into the sea. As it was, it took the last of her strength to spread her wings again and fly just over the waves, using the bits of wind she found there, until she fell, spent and bleeding, onto the deck of the Blue Moon.
“Cabin,” she managed to croak, and Sela scooped her up and rushed her to where Longfeather, in her borrowed body, still slept.
First Law….
Marta’s eyes closed, and for a little while she went away again.
§
“That was a foolish risk, my dear.”
Marta looked around. She wasn’t certain where they were. She didn’t recognize the place. It looked at once like a forest valley, a mountain top, and the beach at Shalas, depending on which way Marta looked at it. One thing she was certain about was that she still had the form of a goshawk. Another thing was the identity of the one who had just spoken.
“It didn’t go exactly as I planned,” Marta admitted.
“You came close to dying,” Amaet said.
The Power was visible now. She sat on what could have been a bare rock or a throne of amber since, as with the rest of that place, the view kept changing depending on your perspective, and if Marta so much as squinted, her perception shifted.
“That would have been unfortunate for me and the mariner as well, since he would have inherited my debt.”
“There is no shortage of fools in this world, Marta. Those who know better will hesitate to harm you, true, but there are plenty who will not hesitate, possibly in the mistaken belief that they will also inherit your power. I do wish you’d keep that in mind.”
Marta frowned. “Was that actual concern?”
“Of course,” the Power said. “I think you better suit my purpose as a living witch. Not that I nor the threat of any unfortunate consequences will save you from your own recklessness. Just keep that in mind. By the way, how did you like being a goshawk?”
“I imagine a great deal better than Longfeather has enjoyed being a woman.”
“Interesting trick,” Amaet said, looking at Marta’s hawk-form up and down. I am reasonably certain that your mother never attempted it, yet you figured it out.”
“It made sense to me, but I didn’t know it would work.”
Amaet’s smile was as cold as the mountains of Wylandia. “Now you have your answer. And I do hope you’re right about reversing the effect. Otherwise Longfeather might have to get used to being a young woman, though it might be good for him…no, on second thought probably not. He sheds life lessons as a duck sheds water.”
“Which is why he wound up a goshawk in the first place. So. Did you bring me here simply to scold me?”
“I brought you here because I chose to do so. Which is all the reason I need. I suggest you do not forget this. For now, go and find out if you’re a woman again. That was not a request.”
Marta awoke to a memory of searing pain, but when she put her hand to her side she realized that it was a hand and not a wing. She found no feathers and nothing amiss, and the memory was already fading.
“Lo—“ Despite her grogginess, Marta remembered and managed to stop herself. “The goshawk? How is he?”
“Here he is,” Sela said. “Just a bit worse for wear.”
Callowyn and Sela were both there, as was Longfeather, back in his goshawk form where he belonged. He had lost a clump of feathers on his right side and there were traces of darkening blood in those nearby, but otherwise he appeared more or less intact.
“We keep some healer’s supplies on board, for just such as…well, not exactly like this, but injuries do happen. This one has a deep scratch, but nothing worse. I’ve applied a salve and the bleeding has already stopped. Your pet will be fine in a day or two…only he’s not exactly a pet, is he?”
Marta sat up slowly and carefully. She answered in the same manner. “Not exactly, no.”
“He almost seems familiar to me, yet I do think I’d remember a talking hawk, if I’d met one before now. When he started complaining about how much the salve was stinging…well.”
“I tried to make him be silent,” Sela said. “Short of cutting his head off.”
“The raven as well?” Callowyn said. She phrased it as a question, but it didn’t sound like one.
“A lot like this one,” Marta said,
and yawned. “Only slightly less arrogant.”
Longfeather shot Marta a hard look, but then proceeded to clean his feathers around the injury, like any goshawk might do.
“What about the galleon? Any sign of it?” Marta asked.
“Long left behind,” Callowyn said cheerfully. “And I’d be amazed if they weren’t limping back to port as we speak. Without their mainsail they couldn’t catch us even with a wind whistler. I don’t know how you did it any more than I know how you broke my sailor’s arbalest, but that’s not important. The fact that you can do such things….” Callowyn said, and it was clear she wasn’t just referring to the galleon. “Maybe this mission has a chance after all.”
Callowyn left then to check their course, and Marta put her head in her hands. “I wish I were as optimistic as she is. Anyone who wants to punish the Five Isles as badly as they did won’t change their opinion easily.”
“It’s not necessary that they change their opinion all at once,” Sela pointed out. “Diplomacy only requires that they agree not to act on it long enough to be persuaded.”
Marta looked up. “No offense intended, but that sounded surprisingly insightful.”
Sela shrugged. “I’m no expert, of course—just a swordsmith’s daughter. But I have this annoying habit of paying attention, and I’ve seen royal diplomacy in action before now. Once you realize that it’s a weapon like any other, save that it was designed for a specific sort of battle…well, then its characteristics start to make sense.”
“I’m sensing a story here,” Marta said. “I believe I’d like to hear the details.”
Sela shrugged again. “There really aren’t that many. This all happened when I was about ten years old. Father got a commission from King Lukan to make a presentation sword to honor one of his barons, the Lord of Uclent.”
“King Lukan must have thought highly of him.”
“Not according to Father. In fact, by his account, the king had more than enough just cause to arrest the man and declare all his domains forfeit to the Crown.”
“Not an action to take lightly, and certainly not without that ‘just cause’ you mentioned. Then why didn’t he do so?”
“Father often said of King Lukan that the man couldn’t defeat a stable boy in armed combat, but he could best twenty or better in any game of strategy you’d care to name. Apparently the king thought the baron could be more useful in another regard. Rumor had it that King Lukan held a private audience with the baron before the ceremony, where very serious matters…and consequences, were discussed.”
Marta frowned. “Go on.”
“When it came time for the ceremony the sword—beautiful work, as even the least of Father’s blades—was duly presented with all ceremony to the Lord of Uclent…who then turned around, and after giving a short speech on how unworthy he felt to receive such an honor, in turn and in full view of the assembled Court, presented the blade as a gift ‘to a more deserving man, the Lord of Almok.’”
“You were present for this?”
Sela smiled. “Oh yes. Father was there, of course, and he wasn’t inclined to leave me to my own devices, so I attended the ceremony with him.”
Marta considered, then finally shook her head. “I don’t believe I’m following you. Did he punish the Lord of Uclent by making him give away the sword?”
Sela shook her head. “I and everyone even remotely attached to the king’s Court knew that the barons of Uclent and Almok hated each other, and tensions had been rising along their common border for some time. There was a real danger of a baronial war, and the risk that other domains within the kingdom would choose sides. The only sure way Lukan could defuse the situation was for Uclent and Almok to make peace. The transfer of the sword was his master stroke.”
“I could understand Almok’s enmity softening a bit under the circumstances, but I’d think Uclent’s resentment would have been greater after this,” Marta said.
Sela shook her head. “Oh, no. If anything, both men hated each other even more. Uclent for reasons you guessed, but Almok as well, for he had always coveted one of Father’s blades—as the king well knew—but now that he possessed one, he owed that to the generosity of a man he despised!”
“So matters got worse?”
Sela laughed, then, and it was a moment of two before she could continue. “Lady Marta, would it surprise you to learn that, within five years, the families of Uclent and Almok were united? It’s a duchy now, and the only one in Denelos not ruled by a former prince of the royal house.”
Marta prided herself on being as aware as possible of large matters prevailing in whatever place she happened to travel to or through—it was just common sense to prepare for whatever might be likely to occur—but she had to admit that what Sela had just told her was not making a lot of sense, and she said as much.
Sela just smiled again. “Such grand gestures are like stones in a pond—they will make ripples. In short order both barons found themselves being praised by their peers: Uclent for his ‘generous’ gift to an enemy, but Almok as well for his ‘obvious willingness’ to be the better man and accept that gift. Well. In short order the two men found themselves pretending to be friends. Frankly, by keeping up the pretense, the two domains did become closer. All mutterings of war ceased. They organized joint tournaments where they managed to not kill each other. They shared yearly markets on the border, there was more travel and trade between the two, more intermarriages…and speaking of which, at one such tournament Uclent’s daughter met Almok’s son and…well, they were rather pleased with each other. I think the king gave his blessing before the two old warriors even knew what was happening.”
Marta shook her head. “You think King Lukan planned all that? Impossible.”
Sela sighed. “Of course not, because too much of it was beyond prediction, even by a master like Lukan. But once matters were put in motion it was clear to me what he was trying to accomplish. As I said, I pay attention. Not always, true, and not always to the right things, but I have no doubt that his plan was to force the two men into roles they never expected to play. It was a risk, yes, and could have made a bad situation worse.”
“But he judged that the situation would get worse on its own if he did nothing, so better on his schedule than theirs?”
“That is my understanding, which I believe to be correct. I also think that the two barons pretended to be friends for so long that you’d be hard pressed to tell any difference between a true friendship and what passed for it with them, at least so far as the well-being of their domains and, by extension, the kingdom itself, were concerned.”
Marta thought about what Sela had told her. She realized that what had passed between the two barons was a close analogy to the Third Law—“The appearance of power, once accepted, becomes power itself.” Yet perhaps in conflict with the Fourth Law—“Changing appearance does not mean changing nature.” Or perhaps not. Maybe it wasn’t in Uclent’s and Almok’s nature to be enemies, and the appearance of friendship became actual friendship, in time, especially as it was perceived as such by all around them. Or maybe the two men just realized that being friends took less time and trouble than being enemies.
“Conmyre only accedes to the wishes of Borasur-Morushe because of the friendship between them, because Five Isle privateers—yes, pirates—don’t raid so far east.”
“Mostly because circumventing Borasur-Morushe’s waters makes such ventures both difficult and more risky,” Sela said. “According to Callowyn, who has no reason to lie on this particular matter. Besides, we just saw how…zealous, Borasur-Morushe is about protecting its waters.”
Marta considered. “Denelos already has an understanding, at least unofficially, with the Five Isles. Then Borasur-Morushe’s enmity to the Five Isles is the only true enmity we’re dealing with, and defusing that will be the key to solving this problem.”
“Even if true, where does that leave us?” Sela asked.
“Right where we were, with one diffe
rence—now I realize that we need something like King Lukan’s master stroke.”
“Do you have one?” Sela asked.
“No,” Marta said. She turned to Longfeather, who had been preening all this time and pretending not to listen. “What do you make of our assessment?”
“Court intrigues and politics never concerned me,” he said. “I raided, I traded, and it was all going swimmingly until Boranac and I had our little—disagreement.”
“You were holding out on his agreed percentage, you mean,” Marta said. “Just as you were holding out on us. Why didn’t you tell us that Callowyn was Boranac’s daughter?”
“Is she?” Longfeather asked, trying to appear innocent.
“She is, and you knew. Didn’t you think that this knowledge might be of use, or at least warning, to us?” Sela asked.
The hawk shrugged, then winced. “Even assuming what you say is true, it’s not my place to make such judgments.”
Marta smiled. “Oh? Suppose I were to ask you to fly to the mainland and make your own way to Amurlee. Could you do it?”
“Hardly,” Longfeather muttered. “I can barely cling to this stool at the moment, thanks to you.”
“That’s what I thought. Now then—you’re going to tell me what I want to know, and you’re going to do it with good will and leave nothing out.”
The hawk blinked. “I am?”
“You are. Or I am going to tell Callowyn your real name.”
“But…wouldn’t that deliver my debt to Callowyn? When she kills me, I mean.”
Marta smiled. “So you do listen to me on occasion, I wondered. No matter, by revealing you to Callowyn, I would in turn be revealing your hiding place to Boranac, which would negate our bargain. Any debt owed would remain with me, but of course you’d be nailed to the mast and no longer concerned about the matter either way.”
“You wouldn’t….” Longfeather began, but thought better of it. “Fine. And of course I knew. It was part of the reason I was…pursuing, her.
Sela scowled. “Most of the reason, I’d say.”
Longfeather looked insulted. “She’s a fine lass, her station in life aside. But things were not going well—“
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