Lackey, Mercedes - Mage Storms 04 - Darian's Tale 01 - Owlflight.doc

by Owlflight [lit]

  Darian was in a bit of a daze, and it seemed as if they only took a few steps farther before they came to the two ponds, their water reflecting the stars and a sliver of moon above them. Snowfire simply stripped off his garments and plunged in; after a moment of hesitation, Darian copied his example.

  He had expected the water to feel cold, but he had been standing in the night air long enough that it was only pleasantly cool. He swam back and forth on his back, staring up at the stars, letting his mind empty of everything. He didn't stop until his arms and legs were tired and he was beginning to feel a little waterlogged. Only then did he stop to tread water, and saw Snowfire was back on the bank, putting on his clothing, the mage-light still hovering near him, but much brighter now.

  He paddled back to the same place, and looked up at a towel being held out for him to take. He dried himself off, and started to look around for his discarded clothing, but it wasn't where he'd left it. Quickly, he wrapped the towel around his waist, wondering what had happened to it, when Snowfire noticed his confusion and pointed. There, neatly folded on a rock, was a fresh set of garments.

  "Hertasi," was all Snowfire said, as he turned his attention to carefully braiding his long hair. Quickly, Darian slipped into the clean clothes, and used the towel on his own hair to cover his uncertainty about what to do or say next.

  "The sense of loss never leaves, little brother," Snowfire said in a perfectly normal tone of voice. "But it does grow less over time, as long as you permit yourself to feel. If you bottle it inside, it only eats at you, until you are hollow and full of nothing but grief."

  "How do you know?" Darian blurted, feeling unaccountably angry-then he could have beaten his head against a tree for snapping at Snowfire so.

  But Snowfire didn't snap back; he just finished braiding his hair and looked at Darian quizzically. "Who told you that Tayledras are immortal?" he asked. "Whoever he was, he was misinformed."

  Darian hung his head, his cheeks burning. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't mean…"

  "You didn't think," Snowfire corrected, with a kindly tone in his voice. "And given the hour and the circumstances, I can hardly fault you. You are tired, in every way. Much longer, and I will be snapping in an ill-tempered snarl myself."

  Darian flushed even hotter, if that was possible. "I can't imagine you ever doing anything wrong!" he stammered.

  To his surprise, Snowfire chuckled. "Oh, Dar'ian, do not ever allow Nightwind to hear you, or she will fill your ears with the myriad ways and times in which I have transgressed!" He rolled his eyes skyward. "I cannot even tell you which is worse-that she never forgets, or that she is right far too often-or at least, thinks that she is!"

  To his surprise, Darian found himself smiling a little, for he had certainly heard the men of Errold's Grove making the same complaints in the "tavern."

  "I guess all ladies are like that. The ones at home-"

  He stopped in midsentence. There wasn't any "home" anymore. And as for the men who frequented the tavern, he had no idea where they were or what had happened to them. Were they even still alive? Shouldn't he be getting help for them? What was he thinking of, lolling about in ponds like this, when he should be helping the people of Errold's Grove? How had he managed to forget the rest of his people?

  "What's the matter?" Snowfire asked, breaking into his silence.

  "I should-what am I still doing here?" he asked, feeling a frantic urge to do something, and not knowing what he could do. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other in a nervous dance. "I've got to go somewhere, got to get help. Why am I still here? I should be out there, trying to get somebody to help us, not here, enjoying myself!"

  Before he could yield to that urge and just run off into the darkness, Snowfire seized his elbow, and somehow the mere touch calmed him. "Dar'ian, listen to me, and please believe me," the Hawkbrother said urgently. "Hweel and Kel and I have been to your village, the second night after you came to us-we saw no signs that your people had been killed, and none that they had been captured either. We are fairly sure they must have escaped completely. You can be at ease, for it seems likely that they have already found help!"

  "But you're not completely sure?" Darian asked, wanting to believe, and not sure that he dared to. "You think they're all right, but you-"

  "I could not be completely sure without going into the village and looking into all the houses," Snowfire interrupted, and added, "I think you will agree that this would not be a very wise course of action."

  "Uh-probably not," Darian replied, trying to think where people could have escaped to.

  "We think that they probably went down the river," Snowfire continued. "There is a place there with fortifications-some great lord's holding, we think?"

  "Kelmskeep," Darian replied automatically, "Lord Breon's manor." And somehow, just being able to identify the place made him lose some of that feeling of frantic urgency. "What did you see when you went back? I have to know! What if they didn't get away, how would you know?'

  "Then sit here, and I will tell you." Snowfire gestured at a rock that seemed perfectly sculpted to act as a chair, and took another like it. "I do not know if you have been told this, but a Tayledras can see through the eyes of his bond-bird. I remained near where we found you, in the boughs, on the same line as the sentries. Hweel and Kelvren went on, since it would be far less likely they would be detected than a human, and it would be far easier for them to escape if they were sighted."

  Darian nodded, leaning forward tensely to better hear Snowfire's soft voice.

  "The bridge crossing the river had been repaired, and it appeared that few of the buildings had actually been burned, mostly a handful of sheds. There were livestock in crude enclosures in the fields, and many, many horses in better enclosures there also." Snowfire tilted his head and brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes, as Darian flinched at the thought of cows pastured in the young crops. "Why do you wince?"

  "They're eating the crops," Darian explained, thinking with pain of all the work that the villagers had put into those fields, only to have those animals devouring the food that should have gone to feed the village over the winter. "There won't be anything to last until spring."

  "The barbarians of the north-which is what I believe these are-do not farm much; they are mostly hunters. Crop growing is a task for women and thralls, and the men don't trouble themselves with where food other than meat comes from." Snowfire seemed lost in thought for a moment, then came to himself with a shake of his head. "This tells me that the barns are empty of livestock, and there must be something else in the barns. I count the horses, knowing that northern barbarians are not great horsemen, and that there will be a dozen men who fight afoot for every rider. I decided then that the barns must be full of those soldiers, and the houses are full of the riders, who are of higher rank. Guessing at the numbers by the number of horses, I would say that there was no room in the village for your own people, and there are no people sleeping out in the open. So, I think they must have escaped."

  "And then?" Darian persisted. "Then what happened?"

  "Then Kelvren was discovered, and he and Hweel had to leave." Snowfire shrugged eloquently. "So do you think I am right?"

  Darian tried to think, but he could not imagine where the villagers could be-other than escaped-if they weren't in their own homes or in the barns. "I guess that must be right-" he said, and suddenly found himself yawning. "But why can't you attack these people? Aren't you supposed to be Valdemar's allies? Aren't you going to help?"

  "If we thought that your people were in danger, we would, regardless of the danger to us," Snowfire said firmly, "But, Darian, just what do you propose we should do? You know how few of us there are, and you had a glimpse of how many the enemy has in his ranks."

  "But magic-" Darian protested. "You can use magic-"

  "Not as yet," Snowfire told him. "Not in any way that will balance our small numbers. First, we must see if your people summon their own aid; it would b
e foolish, wouldn't it, if we tried to attack and failed, only to see an army of your people come the next day?"

  Having seen what the enemy could do, Darian had another word for it than "foolish." He gulped, thinking of what a real battle must look like. Not merely one man with a wounded arm, but many people hurt, even killed. And it wouldn't be strangers dying, it would be people he knew. The thought made him sick to his stomach. "I think that would be a bad idea," he replied weakly.

  "On the other hand," Snowfire continued, in that same, reasonable tone of voice, "if we wait long enough, the enemy will relax and drop some of their defenses. Even if help from your land does not come at once, we may well have an opportunity to do them a great deal of harm- perhaps even enough to drive them away. That sort of fighting does tend to make the best use of our abilities."

  "With magic?" Darian asked hopefully. Surely if even

  Snowfire, who said that he was inferior as a mage, could do things even Justyn couldn't-what could Starfall do?

  "Well, you told us that there was a mage with these people," Snowfire began.

  "I did?" Darian blurted.

  Snowfire nodded. "When you told us of the creature riding the lizard-and the men with the aspects of bears. Only a mage can work such changes, which meant that there must be one among them. Well, you know what has befallen magic and you know that our task is to reestablish order in the patterns of magic. This means that Starfall must, before all else, seize control of the magic here."

  "So that the other mage can't get it!" Darian exclaimed.

  "Exactly so. Then, once we have control of the magic energy, he will be weaker. That is the good aspect." Snow-fire frowned. "The bad aspect is that this means Starfall will be busy holding the power, and unable to do other things he would otherwise-such as watching the enemy from afar or protecting us from the enemy's magic. And in the meantime, the enemy mage is not having to hold the power-matrix, and he is free to act. None of the rest of us are his equal, and I do not know that we could be, even acting together. So-we will ensure that some message comes to your people, calling for help, and meanwhile we will wait to see what happens."

  Wait and see. Wasn't that what Justyn was always harping about? Patience.

  But this time, rushing into things is going to get people hurt and killed. He sighed, and nodded his head.

  "I guess that's what you'll have to do," he said reluctantly. "But-"

  Whatever he had intended to say was interrupted by an enormous yawn, and he found himself blinking hard, trying to keep his eyes open.

  "Hold the thought, little brother," Snowfire said, and got up. "Whatever it is can wait until morning. For now, sleep is waiting."

  Darian stumbled along in Snowfire's wake, trying to keep his thoughts in order. There was something about Starfall holding the magic-something important-

  But whatever it was, it didn't last past putting his head down on the pillow.

  When he woke up, his memories of last night and the nightmare that had awakened him were waiting for him. Snowfire, however, wasn't.

  He went through most of the day, doing whatever chores the hertasi or Hawkbrothers asked him to, without once seeing his new mentor. He guessed that Snowfire must be out doing his job, scouting, and that made him feel a little better. Something was being done; it might not be obvious to him just what it was, but clearly the Hawkbrothers were not lounging about looking decorative.

  He helped Nightwind groom Kelvren after the latter returned from his own scouting foray, making certain that the enemy wasn't getting too near their encampment. Kelvren told him more of the night-sortie, especially the combat with the two smaller monsters; it was exciting, but scary, too, when he thought how Kelvren could have been hurt. Now all those old stories about battles and fighting took on an entirely different complexion when he thought about these people he knew being in the middle of all the hewing and smiting and all.

  The notion of seeing Kel sick with poison-of Wintersky with some terrible wound, bleeding into the dirt-it was horrible. Not that he hadn't seen nasty injuries, because obviously he had, but to think of such things being inflicted by other people on his friends, and on purpose, to hurt or kill them-well, it was just entirely different from seeing the results of an accident, and it was hard to wrap his mind around the idea. Not just hard-ugly. It made him feel horrible inside to realize that people could actually want to hurt other people. Oh, there were plenty of times when he'd wanted something nasty to happen to other people, but the wish was always vague and ill-defined, and what he'd wanted was for something to happen to them, not that he wanted to inflict a hurt.

  But-I think I could have hurt those men who were chasing me. He considered it a little more. I know I could have hurt them. I was ready to shoot them. He recalled quite clearly how he had felt at the time-coldly calculating an eye-shot, as if the men were nothing more than tree-hares he was hunting for the pot.

  But they were going to kill me and Snowfire. And they attacked the village. And for no reason! Or, not for no reason, but not for any good reason.

  When he finished with Kel-who had really enjoyed being able to tell someone about his fight-Wintersky caught him before anyone else did.

  "We need to get the hawk furniture in order," Wintersky told him, "and you're the only one free," without any explanations of what "hawk furniture" was, or how to get it in order. Instead, the youngest of the Hawkbrothers left him in the charge of a painfully shy hertasi in someone else's hut, the entire left side of which was full of-hawk furniture.

  Which was not little chairs and tables for birds of prey, as his imagination had devised, but the bits and pieces of hawk equipment needed for the bondbirds.

  For all their intelligence, bondbirds were still hawks, and a hood slipped over their heads would let them sleep in a noisy and brightly-lit room. "Darkness-makes them sleep," the little hertasi whispered, cupping her hands over her eyes by way of illustration. "If the bondmate needs to be awake, the bird must still sleep-to feel well, they must sleep from dawn to dusk."

  She showed him how to clean the hoods, made of hard, but extremely thin leather, odd bulges over the areas of the eyes to keep from touching the lids. Then, when he had cleaned them, she showed him how to repair those that were damaged. Most often, it was the braces, the leather thongs that held the hoods shut at the back, that were damaged, broken, or worn out. That was easy to fix, once he saw the odd way in which they were laced, so that a Hawkbrother could tighten or loosen the hood with one hand and his teeth. But sometimes what was damaged was the welt of leather protecting the raw edge of the bottom of the hood, or the ornamental knot on top, which was supposed to be used to take the hood off and put it on. The hertasi let him repair the simplest of these, but for the really complicated repairs, such as restitching the eye-covers, she insisted on doing the work while he watched. It was fascinating, for he would not have thought that such stubby little fingers could take such delicate stitches.

  Most of the bondbirds didn't need restraints, such as jesses, but all of them wore the bracelets on their ankles that the jesses fitted through. The bracelets were good for other things, for tying a light string onto, for instance, that a bird could carry up and over a high branch, so that a rope could be pulled up afterward. So the hertasi taught him how to cut and oil such bracelets-then how to make leather- or rope-wrapped and padded perches as well. Hawks took wall- or floor-perches of tree limbs wrapped in leather, while falcons, it seemed, required perches made of upthrust sections of stump, like upthrusting rocks, but padded so that the talons of a sleeping bird had something to grip. Care of the feet, it seemed, was all-important, and sharp talons were hard on wrapped perches. Perches had to be made to withstand hard use, but not made of things that would bruise or abrade the feet; bruised or cut feet could infect, leading to a state called "bumblefoot," which in turn could cripple a bird if not adequately treated.

  He learned more about birds of prey in that morning than he had ever learned in his life, and w
hen he and the little lizard were done, every bit of equipment that could be mended, had been.

  Then it was time for lunch, and time to help clean pots for a bit.

  It occurred to him after lunch, as he stood beside a half barrel with his arms up to the elbow in warm, slippery, soapy water, that he had seldom worked this hard with poor Justyn. But this didn't bother him at all, and that was the odd thing.

  Maybe it's just-it's just that no one shouts at me, or tells me what a terrible, ungrateful child I am, he concluded. It's not so bad to work when no one is scolding you.

  Of course, he'd never had such interesting work before, which might have been the reason. Ayshen always had funny or fascinating things to tell him while he scrubbed pots, and mending the hawk furniture had been something entirely different from anything he'd ever done before. It wasn't hard to get through a chore when someone was chatting to you and making jokes, and when the chore required concentration and delicacy, time just flew by.

  And as for helping to tend Kelvren, well, he had felt positively honored. It had been an amazing thing, to touch the gryphon's huge feathers, and make sure the killing talons were pinprick sharp and immaculately clean.

  Odd, he thought, as Ayshen left him alone for a moment, to tend to the bake ovens, I thought Kelvren was so old, older than Snowfire, but it was almost as if he was my age. I wonder how old he really is? There was no way of telling with a bird, of course. They didn't exactly show their age in any way that he could recognize.

  / like it here, he thought, with yearning, as he watched Ayshen's back. / wish I could stay.

  If only there was some way that he could! When things got back to normal, would anyone at Errold's Grove ever want him back? Was there the faintest chance that the Hawkbrothers would want him with them?

  And what if things never got back to normal? What if no one wanted to go back to the village? Would the Hawk-brothers be willing to give him a home?

  Last night Snowfire kept calling me "little brother." Is that just something he calls every boy, or-