Valdemar 09 - [Mage Winds 01] - Winds of Fate

by Mercedes Lackey

  Not that it mattered; nothing was going to change Nera; the hertasi was far too fond of playing his little games of “eccentric old creature,” and insisting that if Darkwind really tried, he could move as well as the hertasi could in the swamp. He enjoyed watching Darkwind come out of the reeds covered in muck.

  Vree, Nera, Dawnfire, the gryphons.... With friends like these, why do I need to look on the border for trouble? All I need to do is sit and wait. They’ll bring trouble to me.

  But he did hurry his steps a little, as much as he dared without losing his footing. Nera would not have come looking for him if the hertasi weren’t at least a little worried—truly worried—about the Changechild. And rightly; it was possible the girl was an Adept; she seemed a little young for the rank, but Darkwind had just attained Adept-class when the Heartstone fractured, and he had been younger.

  And it didn’t follow that she was as youthful as she looked. One of the commonest changes for a blood-path Adept to make in himself was to remove years. Most of them kept their bodies looking as if they were in their mid-twenties, but some even chose to look like children.

  Those were the really nasty ones for Tayledras to cope with; given the Hawkbrothers’ strong reaction to children, it was easy to play on their emotions until the enemy Adept had them in exactly the position he wanted them. K‘Vala had been decimated by an Adept using that ploy several hundred years ago, back when their territory was on the eastern shore of the Great Crater Sea, the one the Outlanders called “Lake Evendim” now. Their lesson was one no Tayledras could afford to ignore.

  He found himself thinking of his options if she was an Adept, and how he might be able to trick her into revealing her abilities.

  She’ll have to pull power from the nearest node just to Heal herself, he thought, as he felt his way along the submerged path. Treyvan should be able to sense that if she does; from what he told me, he’s tied his magic into that node. If she’s a Master, she’ll draw from the ley-lines. That’s going to be subtler, and harder to catch. Hmm. If he had someone “trap” the lines, so that any interference would be noted, she might note it as well. What he needed was a Sensitive, someone who was so attuned to the local energy-flows that he would notice any deviation from the norm.

  Wait a moment; didn’t Treyvan tell me that the gryphlets are Sensitive to the power-flows in their birth area? That might work—assuming he can convince them to keep their minds on it.

  He tried to think of something that would have convinced him to keep a constant watch for something when he was that young, and failed to come up with anything. Children were children, and generally as featherheaded as Vree.

  Well, I’ll mention it to the adults, and see what they say.

  He emerged from the reeds to the walkways rimming the rice paddies and stopped long enough to dry his feet and put his boots back on. A quick look around showed him nothing amiss, which meant there had been no real need to hurry, only Nera’s impatience.

  Old coot. Just likes to see me lose my balance. And he’s not happy unless he’s the one in charge of everything.

  He knew Nera was watching him, and he deliberately took his time.

  On the hill above Nera’s tunnel, two pairs of huge, waving wings told him that Treyvan and Hydona were waiting, too, but with more patience than the little hertasi.

  He picked his way across the paddies, taking time to be courteous to the farmers who bent so earnestly over their plants. One of them even stopped him to ask a few questions about one of his kin who lived in the Vale— and he could sense Nera’s impatient glare even from the distant tunnel mouth.

  He looked up, and sure enough, there was a shadow, just within the round entrance to the tunnel. He smiled sweetly at it and bent to answer the hertasi’s questions, in detail and with extreme politeness. After all, he was the only Tayledras any of them saw regularly, and he did make a point to keep track of those Vale hertasi with relatives out here. They were so shy that they seldom asked him about their Vale kin, and it was only fair to give them a full answer when they did inquire.

  And if Nera says anything, that’s exactly what I’ll tell him.

  When he reached the hill and set foot on the carefully graveled trail leading up the side, he debated on going first to Nera’s tunnel, but Treyvan’s Mindspoken hail decided him in favor of the gryphons instead. It seemed that his charge was not only awake, but moving.

  :Featherless son, your prize waits up here. She can walk, slowly, and there is more room for us up here. She did not ask what we were and does not seem particularly frightened. :

  Well, that was a little disappointing. :She must have known about you—or else she’s seen gryphons before. So much for you playing monster. I’m on my way up. :

  When he reached the top of the sun-gilded bluff, he found his charge reclining on another of the stuffed grass mats, neatly bracketed between the two gryphons. They were also reclining in the cool, short grass, wings half-open to catch the breeze coming over the top of the hill.

  His eyes went back to the Changechild as if pulled there. She seemed even more attractive awake, with sense in those slit-pupiled eyes and life in the supple muscles. He was only too aware of how fascinating she was; her very differences from humankind were somehow more alluring than if she’d been wholly human.

  She nodded a greeting to him, then shifted her position a little, so that she could watch him and the gryphons at the same time. He noticed that she moved stiffly, as if more than her muscles were hurt.

  “Sssso, your charrge iss awake,” Treyvan said genially. “We have been having interessssting conversssation. Nyarrra, thisss iss Darrkwind.”

  She fixed him with an odd, unblinking gaze. “I remember you. You saved me,” she said, finally, in a low, husky voice that had many of the qualities of a purr. “From the mist. You helped me get out when I fell.”

  “After you saved the dyheli herd,” he pointed out. “It seemed appropriate—though I could not imagine why you aided them.” He lifted an eyebrow. “I assume you had a reason.”

  “I was fleeing my own troubles when I saw them.” She shrugged, gracefully. “I am what I am,” she replied. “A Changechild, and not welcome among the Birdkin. When I saw the dyheli trapped, it came to me that it would be good to free them, and also that your folk value them. If I freed them, perhaps the door might be open for one such as I. And also,” she added, looking thoughtful, “I have no love for he who trapped them.”

  “And who might that be?” Darkwind asked, without inflection. He could see what Treyvan had set up, even without a Mindspoken prompting; since the girl was not afraid of the gryphons, their planned positions would be reversed. They would be friendly, and he would be menacing.

  A little harder to pull off, with her lounging on the ground like an adolescent male dream come to languid life, but certainly a good plan. It seemed that she was perfectly willing to believe that he would be hostile to her, even with her sexual allure turned up to full force.

  “My master,” she said, pouting a little at his coldness. “Mornelithe Falconsbane.”

  “Not a frrrriendly name,” Hydona said, with a little growl.

  “Not a friendly man,” replied Nyara, with a toss of her head and a wince. “Not a man at all, anymore, for all that he is male—or at least, very little human. He has worked more changes upon his own flesh than he has upon mine.”

  “An Adept, then,” Treyvan said with cheerful interest. “And one you did not carrre for, I take it? From yourrr hurtss, I would sssay he wasss even lesss kind than he wasss frriendly.”

  Nyara nodded, her supple lips tightened into a bitter line. “Oh, yes. I was the creature upon which he attempted his changes, and if they proved to his liking, he used them also. And he made his mistakes upon me, and often did not bother to correct them. Other things he did, too—beatings, and—”

  Her eyes filled with tears and she averted her head. “I—he hurt me, once too often. That is all I would say.”

  “So,
you ran away from him, is that it?” Darkwind interrupted the attempt to play for sympathy rudely. “How did you get away from someone as powerful as that? I don’t imagine he let you simply walk away. And when you saw the dyheli, then what did you do?”

  She blinked away the tears, and rubbed her cheeks with the back of her hand, without raising her head. “I have stolen little bits of magic-learning from time to time. I have a small power, you see. When Mornelithe was careless, I watched, I learned. I learned enough to bend the spells of lock and ward and slip free of his hold. Then I went north, where I have heard from Mornelithe’s servants that there were Birdkin, that he hated.” She watched him out of the corner of her eyes. “Do you think less of me, that I thought to use you? You are many, I am one. You have been the cause of some of my hurts, when he was angered with you and could not reach you. I thought—with Birdkin between me and him, he would ignore my flight and harry the Birdkin. He might even think I was with the Birdkin, and turn his anger on them. Then I saw the homed ones, and felt his magic upon them, and thought to buy myself sanctuary, or at least safe passage, with their freedom.” Her head came up, and she looked defiantly into his eyes. “You owe me safe passage, at least, Birdkin. Even though I thought to trick Mornelithe and set him on you. You have defeated him many times. I am but a small thing, and could not even defy him, and escaped him only with guile.”

  He looked sideways at Treyvan, who nodded ever so slightly. Everything she’d said was the truth, then. It was probably safe enough to give her what she asked for.

  “We do owe you that and a place to rest until you can journey again,” he admitted, softening his icy expression a little. He caught the glint of scales out of the corner of his eye, and Mindspoke Nera, watching her closely to see if she detected the thoughts. :Nera, this Changechild seems friendly, and she’s going to need your help; shelter for a week or two at least, maybe more. Have you got any tunnels no one is using?:

  The hertasi forgot whatever it was that had brought him, now that Darkwind had invoked his authority again. :Hmm. Yes. The old one at the waterline that belonged to Rellan and Lorn, that flooded this spring. Again. They finally listened to me and moved out. Unless we have three or four weeks of rain, it should stay dry.:

  And it was right on the edge of the bluff, with the swamp on one side, a hillside too steep for someone in her condition to climb above, and all the hertasi between herself and freedom. That should do.

  :Perfect,: he said.

  And Nyara showed no signs of having heard the conversation.

  :We will make it ready,: Nera told him, full of self-importance, and content now that he was a major part of whatever was going on. :The creature can walk, but slowly—my Healer says that there are half-healed bones and torn muscles. Send her in a few moments and there will be a bed and food waiting.:

  “We can give you a place to stay for as long as you need it,” he told her. “And I will see about getting you safe passage, once you’re fit to journey again. I—don’t think you can hope for sanctuary. The Elders of this Clan hate Changechildren too much.”

  “But you do not,” she replied, her voice a caress.

  “I—don’t hate anyone,” he said, flushing, and averting his eyes, much to Treyvan’s open amusement. “But I don’t determine what the Elders will say or do. At any rate, Nera and the others are moving some basic things in now, and as soon as you are ready, one of them will come show you where it is.”

  “I am grateful, Darkwind,” she said, bowing her head a little and looking up at him from under long, thick lashes. “I am very grateful.”

  He felt his blood heating from that half-veiled glance, and wondered if she knew what she was promising him with it. Then he decided that she must know; sex was as much a part of her weaponry as her claws.

  “Don’t worry about being grateful,” he said gruffly, while Treyvan hid his amusement. “Just get yourself healed up, so we can get you out of this Mornelithe’s reach. The sooner you’re gone, the safer we’ll all be.”

  They removed themselves to a place farther along the bluff, well out of earshot of the hertasi village, before any of them said anything.

  It was a golden afternoon, near enough to nightfall for things to have cooled down, sunlight as thick and sweet as honey pouring over the gold-dusted grass of the bluff, with just enough breeze to keep it from being too warm. The gryphons fanned their wings out to either side of themselves, basking, their eyes half-lidded, and beaks parted slightly. Treyvan’s crest was raised as high as it could go, and his chest feathers were puffed out.

  They looked extraordinarily stupid. Darkwind had to fight off gales of laughter every time he looked at them.

  Vree, on his good behavior now that both Darkwind and Treyvan were ready for his tricks, joined them on the grass. He had just taken a bath, and looked even sillier than the gryphons. Even though he was behaving, he kept eyeing the quills of Treyvan‘s, crest with undisguised longing.

  “Will the little ones be all right with you gone so long?” Darkwind asked with concern.

  Hydona nodded, slowly and lazily. “The ruinsss are sssafe, tempo-rrrarrrily. We caught the wyrrrsssa. They were wild, masssterless.”

  “What about that serpent you thought moved into the ruins this spring?” he asked. “The one I found the sign of. It’s certainly large enough to make a meal of one of you, let alone Lytha or Jerven.”

  “It made the missstake of bassssking on the sssame ssstone alwaysss,” Treyvan replied, his voice full of satisfaction. “It wasss delicioussss.”

  “The little onesss will be fine,” Hydona assured him. “Their Mindssspeech isss quite sssstrong now, and if they are threatened, they will call. We can be there verrrry quickly.”

  Having seen the gryphons flying at full speed once, he could believe that. They were even faster than Vree, and that was saying something, for Vree was faster than any wild bird he had ever seen.

  “So, was she lying about anything?” Darkwind asked, as he pulled the hair away from the back of his neck to let the sun bake into his neck and shoulder muscles. “Nyara, I mean.”

  “No,” Hydona said. “Orrr—mossstly no.”

  “Mostly?” Darkwind said sharply. “Just how much was she lying about?”

  “The one ssshe claimed wasss her massster,” Treyvan said, slowly.

  “Mornelithe Falconsbane,” Darkwind supplied. “Sounds to me as if he really does hate Tayledras, if he’s taken a use-name like that.” Most Adepts assumed use-names; the Tayledras did it simply to have a name that was more descriptive of what they were, but the blood-path Adepts did so out of fear. Names were power, though not in the sense that the foolish thought, that knowing someone’s “true name” would permit you to command him. No, by knowing the real name, the birth-name, of someone, you could discover everything there was to know about him, if you were thorough and patient enough—you could even see every moment of his past life, if you knew the spell to see into the past. And by knowing that about him, you knew his strengths and weaknesses. And most importantly, you could learn the fears that were the strongest because they were rooted in childhood. It was characteristic of blood-path Adepts that they had many, many weaknesses, for they generally had never faced what they were, and conquered those old fears. There had been cases of mere Journeymen besting Adepts, sometimes even by illusions, simply by knowing what those fears were, and playing to them.

  But blood-path mage or any other kind, the use-name told the world something about what the mage was now. A name like “Mornelithe Falconsbane” did not call up easy feelings within a Tayledras.

  “I do not like that name, Darrrkwind,” Hydona said uneasily. “It does not sssit well in my mind.”

  “Nor mine, either,” Darkwind admitted. “I don’t imagine he cares much for anything with wings and feathers. Momelithe, now, that’s Old Tayledras; it’s actually Kaled‘a’in, the language we and the Shin‘a’in had when we were the same people—”

  “Yesss,” Treyvan said,
interrupting him. “We ssspeak Kaled‘a’in. Fluently.”

  “You do?” he replied, surprised again. That’s something to go into with them later. In detail. Where on earth did they ever learn Kaled‘a’in? I thought it was a dead language. “Well, I knew what it was, but what’s it mean?”

  “Hatrrred-that-returnsss, ” Treyvan said solemnly. “A name that sspeaksss of return over the agesss, not once, but many timesss. It isss not rebirrth, it isss actual returrn, and returrn looking for rrrevenge. It isss an evil word, Darrrkwind. Asss evil as you find ‘Falconssss bane’ to be.”

  The words hung heavy and ill-omened between them, silencing all three of them for a moment, and bringing a chill to the air.

  “Typical blood-path intimidation,” Darkwind said in disgust, attempting to make light of it and dispel the gloom. “Trying to frighten people with a portentous name and a fancy costume. Frankly, I’d like to know where they’re finding people willing to make clothing like that, those ridiculous cloaks and headdresses. They look as if they were designed by an apprentice to traveling players with delusions of grandeur. Half the time they can’t even walk or see properly in those outfits.”

  Treyvan laughed. “Oh? And who isss it hasss an entire collection of Ravenwing‘sss feather masssksss on hisss wallsss?”

  “That’s different,” he replied, defending himself. “That’s art. Back to the subject; what was it Nyara lied about in connection with her master? Wasn’t he her master after all?”

  “Oh he wasss her massster, yesss. But he wasss more. Sssomething more—intimate.” Treyvan shook his head and looked over at his mate, who nodded.

  “Yesss,” said Hydona. “But not intimate, asss in lov ersss. There isss no love there. It wasss something elsssse.”

  Darkwind tried to puzzle that one out, then gave it up. “I’ll think about that for a while; maybe the connection will come to me. She did escape, though, right?”

  “Oh, yesss,” Hydona replied emphatically. “Yesss, sshe did essscape, and wass purssued. I would ssay that her sstory isss trrrue—all of it that ssshe told usss, that isss.”