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

by Mercedes Lackey

  So it seemed, for other than the pair of wyrsa, there had been nothing in the way of activity—not along Darkwind’s section, nor Dawnfire‘s—not, for that matter, anyone else’s. Except for Moonmist; she ran into a basilisk who’d decided her little patrol area was a good one to nest in. Prying that thing out had taken five scouts and three days. They didn’t want to kill it if they didn’t have to; basilisks were stupid, incredibly dangerous, and ravenous carnivores who would eat anything that couldn’t run away from them—but they weren’t evil. They had their place in the scheme of things; they dined with equal indifference on their own kills or carrion, and there were few things other than a basilisk that would scavenge the carcasses of cold-drakes or wyrsa.

  But no one wanted a basilisk for a near neighbor, not even the most ardent animal lover. Not even Earthsong, who had once unsuccessfully tried to breed a vulture for a bondbird.

  But that was the only excitement there had been for days, and there was no way that incident could have been related. No one could herd a basilisk. The best you could do was to make things so unpleasant for it that it chose to move elsewhere. No one, in all the history of the Tayledras, had ever been able to even touch what passed for one’s mind, much less control it. The histories said they were a failed and abandoned experiment, like so many other creatures of the twisted lands; a construction of one of the blood-path mages at the time of the Mage Wars. But perversely, once abandoned, the basilisk continued to persist on its own.

  It’s just a good thing they only lay two or three fertile eggs in a lifetime, he thought wryly, or we’d be up to our necks in them.

  A broken swath of vegetation caught his attention, and he looked closer, only to discover the spoor of a running deer and the tracks of its pursuer, an ordinary enough wolf pair. From the small hooves, it was probably a weanling, separated from its mother; it wouldn’t have broken down the bushes if it had been an adult.

  This is ridiculous, he thought. I might as well be a forester in the cleansed lands. There hasn’t been anything worth talking about out here for the past week.

  That was the way the area around a Vale was supposed to look, just before a Clan move to a new spot. No magic-warped creatures like the giant serpent, no mage-made things like the basilisk; just normal animals, relatively normal plant life.

  Maybe Father’s been right about sitting and waiting for the Hearthstone to settle....

  Up ahead, the forest thinned a little, the sunlight actually reaching the ground in thick shafts. These golden lances penetrated the emerald leaf canopy, bringing life to the forest floor, for the undergrowth was thicker here, and there was even thin grass among the wild plum bushes. He looked up at the hot blue eye of the sky as he reached a patch of clearing; framed by tree-branches, Vree soared overhead, calmly. He hadn’t seen anything either; in fact, he’d been so bored he’d taken a rock-dove and eaten it while waiting for Darkwind to catch up. It had been a long time since he’d been able to hunt and eat while out on scout.

  Starblade’s answer to the fracture of the Heartstone had been to wait and see what would happen. He’d insisted that the great well of power would drain itself, slowly—Heal itself, in fact—until it was safe to tap into it, drain the last of its energies, construct a Gate, and leave.

  Darkwind had disagreed with his father on that, as he had seemingly on everything else. And up until the past week, it certainly hadn’t looked as if the Heartstone was following his father’s predictions. In fact, if anything, the opposite was true. There had been more uncanny creatures ; more Misborn attracted, more actually trying to penetrate the borders. And recently, there had been the other developments; the fact that the mages within the Vale had been unable to sense the changes in energy flows outside it, the fact that now most of the scouts’ bondbirds refused to enter the Vale itself, the perturbations that Treyvan sensed.

  But maybe that was all kind of the last gasp-maybe things have settled down. Maybe Father’s right.

  But when he considered that possibility, all his instincts revolted.

  Yes, but what if I just feel that way because if Father is right, it means that I am wrong? What if I am wrong, what does it matter? Other than if I’m wrong, Father will never let me forget it....

  He stopped for a moment, hearing a thudding sound-then realized it was only a hare drumming alarm, hind foot beating against the ground to alert the rest of his warren—probably at the sight of Vree.

  Is it just that I can’t admit that sometimes he might be right?

  On the other hand, there was a feeling deep inside, connected, he now realized, with the mage-senses he seldom used, that Starblade was wrong, dead wrong. A Heartstone that badly damaged could not Heal itself, it could only get worse. And this calm they were experiencing was just a pause before things degenerated to another level.

  I guess I’ll enjoy it while it lasts, and stay out of the Vale as much as possible.

  He sent another inquiring thought at Vree, but the gyre had no more to report than the last time.

  It was very tempting to cut everything short and go to see how Nyara was doing. So tempting, that he fought against the impulse stubbornly, determined to see his patrol properly done. It might make up for the other days he had neglected it.

  Not really neglected it—there were the dyheli, and then Nyara.

  His efforts at appeasing his conscience came to nothing. It still wasn’t done. And if I hadn’t been very lucky, things could easily have slipped in.

  He no longer worried that these temptations were caused by anything other than his own selfish desire to spend more time with the Changechild. Nyara was good company, in a peculiar way. She was interested in what he had to say and just as interesting to listen to.

  At least I can appease my conscience with the fact that I’m learning something about our enemy.

  She was also as incredibly attractive as she had been the first time he’d seen her. If he had been a less honor-able man, her problematic virtue wouldn’t have stood a chance. Which led him to revise his earlier assumptions; to think that she wasn’t in control of that part of herself. She might even be completely unaware of it.

  That would fit the profile of her master.

  Mornelithe Falconsbane would not have wanted her in control of anything having to do with sexual attraction; he would have wanted to pull the strings there. Which was one reason why Darkwind had continued to resist letting her lure him to her bed. He had no prejudice against her, but he was not sure what would happen, what little traps had been set up in her makeup, that a sexual encounter would trigger.

  That would fit Falconsbane’s profile, too. Make her a kind of walking, breathing trap that only he could disarm. So anyone meddling with the master’s toy would find himself punished by the thing he thought to enjoy.

  With a set of claws—and sharp, pointed teeth—like she had, he didn’t think he was in any hurry to find out if his speculations were true, either. Darkwind was not about to risk laceration or worse in a passionate embrace with her.

  He was so lost in his own thoughts that he almost missed the boundary marker, the blaze that marked the end of his patrol range and the beginning of Dawnfire’s. He glanced at the sun, piercing through the trees, but near the horizon; it was time for Thundersnow to take over for him. And if he hurried, he would have a chance to chat with Nyara before he went to the council meeting.

  He was already on the path to the hertasi village before the thought was half finished.

  “I think this is the best chance I’m going to have; things have been so quiet, they can’t blame disturbances on your presence. So I’m going to tell the Council about you, and put your request to them,” he told her as they both soaked up the last of the afternoon’s heat on the top of the bluff.

  She didn’t answer at first; just turned on her back and stretched, lithe and sensuous—and seemed just as innocent of the effect it had on him as a kitten. She wasn’t even watching him, she was watching a butterfly a few feet away f
rom them.

  That didn’t stop his loins from tightening, or keep a surge of pure, unmixed lust from washing over him, making it difficult to think clearly for a moment.

  He sought relief in analyzing the effect. That sexual impact she has can’t be under conscious control. She couldn’t fake the kind of nonchalance she’s got right now.

  “When?” she asked, yawning delicately. “Is it tonight, this meeting?”

  He nodded; he’d explained to her the need to wait until a regular meeting so that her appearance would seem a little more routine. She’d agreed—both to his reasons and to the need to wait.

  But in fact, his real reasons were just a little different. He’d put off explaining what had happened in its entirety until he wouldn’t have to face his father alone. Starblade in the presence of the rest of the Elders was a little easier to deal with than Starblade in the privacy of his own ekele, where he could rant and shout and ignore anything Darkwind said—and he tended not to take quite so much of his son’s hide in public, where there were witnesses both to his behavior and to what Darkwind told him.

  “It is well,” Nyara purred, satisfaction brimming in her tone. She blinked sleepily at Darkwind, her eyes heavy-lidded, the pupils the merect slits. “Though I still cannot travel, should they grant me leave. You will say that, yes?”

  “Don’t worry,” he replied, “I’m going to make that very clear.”

  In fact, that was one of the points he figured he had in his favor; Nyara obviously could not move far or fast, and he wanted to have a reason for why he had left her with the hertasi, instead of putting her under a different guardian. “More competent,” Starblade would undoubtedly say. “Less sympathetic,” was what he would mean.

  And if worse came to worst, he wanted to have a reason for continuing to leave her here, instead of putting her with a watcher of Starblade’s choice.

  “You still seem fairly weak to me,” he continued, “and Nera’s Healer seems to think it’s a very good idea for you to stay with us until those cracked bones of yours have a chance to heal a bit more. And that reminds me; have you had any problems with the hertasi ? ”

  “Have they complained of me?” she snapped sharply, twisting her head around to cast him a look full of suspicion.

  He was taken a little aback. “Why, no—it’s just that I wanted to make certain you were getting along all right. If there was any friction, I could move you—maybe to the ruins where the gryphons are. It’s pretty quiet there—”

  “No, no!” she interrupted, her voice rising, as if she were alarmed. Then, before he could react, she smiled. “Your pardon, I did not mean that the way it may have sounded. Treyvan and Hydona are wonderful, and I like them a great deal—as I expected to like anything Mornelithe hated. I learned early that whatever thwarted him he hated—and that what he hated, I should be prepared to find good.”

  “He knows about Treyvan and Hydona—”

  “No, no, no,” she interrupted again, hastily. “I am saying things badly today. No, it is only gryphons in general that he hates. As he hates Birdkin, so I was prepared to like you. He never told me why.” She shrugged indifferently, and by now Darkwind knew he’d get nothing more out of her on the subject. She had all the ability of a ferret to squirm her way out of anything she didn’t want to talk about.

  But if she likes them, why wouldn’t she want to stay near them?

  “It is the little ones,” she sighed, pensively, as if answering his unspoken suspicion. “I am very sorry, for I am going to say something that will revolt you, Birdkin, but I cannot bear little ones. No matter the species.” She shuddered. “Giggling in voices to pierce the ears, running about like mad things, shrieking enough to star-tie the dead—I cannot bear little ones.” She looked him squarely in the eyes. “I have,” she announced, “no motherly instinct. I do not want motherly instinct. I do not want to see little ones for more than a short time, at long intervals.”

  He laughed at her long face. “I can see your point,” he replied. “They are a handful—”

  “And soon there will be two more, this time the very little ones, who cry and cry all night, and will not be comforted; who become ill for mysterious reasons and make messes at both ends. No,” she finished, firmly. “I care much for Treyvan and Hydona, but I will not abide living with the little ones.”

  “You’ve been getting along all right with the hertasi, though?” he asked anxiously. If he had to leave her here for any length of time, it would be a good idea to make sure both parties were willing. Nera had indicated that he had seen no trouble with her, but Darkwind wanted to be sure of that. Sometimes the hertasi were a little too polite.

  “As well as one gets along with one’s shadow.” She shrugged. “They are quiet, they bring me food and drink, they are polite when I speak to them, but mostly they are not there—to speak to, that is.” A wry smile touched the corners of her mouth, and the tips of her sharp little canine teeth showed briefly. “I am well aware that they watch me, but in their place, I would watch me, so all is well. I pretend to ignore the watchers, the watchers pretend they are most busy counting grass stems, we both know it is pretense, and politeness is preserved.”

  Darkwind laughed; she smiled broadly. Now I know why Nera called her “a very polite young creature. ”

  “As long as you’re doing all right here—” he glanced at the setting sun. “I have to get back for that meeting. I expect to have some trouble with it.”

  Nyara’s smile faded to a wistful ghost. “I wish I could tell you it would be otherwise, but I doubt it will be so. I only hope you do not come to regret being my champion.”

  He sighed, and got to his feet. “I hope so, too.”

  The windows of the ekele shook as his father pounded the table with his fist. “By all the gods of our fathers,” Starblade stormed, “I never thought my own son would be so much of a fool!”

  Darkwind stared at a patch of the exposed bark of the parent-tree, just past his father’s shoulder, and kept his face completely expressionless. At least it sounded like most of the tirade was over. This was mild compared to the insults Starblade had hurled at him at the beginning of the session.

  Then again, it might simply be that Starblade had run out of insults.

  Starblade shook his fist in the air, not actually threatening Darkwind but the implication was there. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I couldn’t be your father! I’ve never—”

  “That’s enough, Starblade,” interrupted old Rainlance tiredly. “That is quite enough.”

  The quiet words were so unexpected, especially coming from Rainlance, that both Starblade and his son turned to stare in surprise at the oldest of the four Elders. Rainlance never interrupted anyone or raised his voice. Except that he had just done both.

  “By now we all know that you think your s—hmm, Darkwind—is the greatest fool ever born. We also know precisely why you think that.” Rainlance leveled a penetrating stare at Starblade that froze him where he sat. “The fact is, I’ve known you a great deal longer than Darkwind, and I think there are times when you allow some of your opinions to unbalance your judgment. This is one of them. It just so happens I’ve never shared your peculiar prejudice against the Changechildren. I won’t go into why, right now, but I have several good reasons, strong ones, to disagree with you on that. And I also do not share your view of Darkwind’s incompetence.” He coughed, and shook his head. “In point of fact, I think Elder Darkwind has done a fine job up until now, a very fine job. His peers trust him, he has never let his private opinions interfere with his judgment, and I don’t see any reason to make a snap decision about this Other of his. I don’t see any reason, in fact, why we shouldn’t continue to help her. ”

  Rainlance looked pointedly at the other Elder, Ice shadow, who shrugged, the crystals braided into his hair tinkling like tiny wind chimes. “She’s not a danger where she is,” Iceshadow said. “She hasn’t caused any trouble—”

  “That we know of,”
snapped Starblade.

  Iceshadow gave Starblade a look of disapproval, and Darkwind knew he’d scored at least one point. Iceshadow hated to be interrupted. “Very well. If you insist on that phrasing. That we know of. Frankly, I see no harm in letting her stay where she is until she’s healthy, and considering her request for safe passage then.”

  Rainlance nodded. Starblade frowned angrily, then pounced. “Under strict watch. Darkwind may be a gullible boy being led by a pair of come-hither eyes and a sweet voice, but I’m not so sure this Other may not be playing a deeper game. I say she stays under strict watch, with careful observers.”

  “You can’t get more careful than hertasi,” Iceshadow remarked to the ceiling of his ekele. “And if she’s leading Darkwind around by his urges, that ploy won’t work on hertasi. Even stubborn, pigheaded old—ah—mages will admit to that.”

  It was Iceshadow’s turn to receive a glare, but the Elder ignored it, winking broadly at Darkwind when Starblade turned away in disgust.

  “I think the hertasi will do as watchers,” Rainlance said smoothly, soothingly, as he sought to heal the split in the Council. “They are certainly quite competent. But I do agree she should be kept as far from the Vale itself as possible. And if she causes any trouble—”

  “If she even looks like she’s causing any trouble,” Starblade growled.

  Rainlance raised his voice a little, and annoyance crept into it. “—she’ll have to be dealt with.”

  “She’ll find herself bound and staked, and you can tell her so!” Starblade shouted.

  “Are you quite finished?” Rainlance shouted back, his temper frayed to the snapping point. “I’d like to get on with this if I may!”

  Starblade sank back into his seat with an inarticulate mumble, confining himself to angry glares at anyone who happened to glance at him.

  Rainlance closed his eyes for a moment and visibly forced himself to calm down. Darkwind had no sympathy to spare for him; he’d been on the receiving end of his father’s tempers too often to feel sorry for anyone else.