Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  It wasn’t their fault.

  Unfortunately, their situation was still a fact, and fault didn’t matter to corpses.

  Once Blade had immobilized Tad’s wing, it hadn’t hurt nearly as much as he had expected. That might have been shock, but it probably wasn’t; the break was simple, and with luck, it was already knitting. Gryphon bones healed quickly, with or without the services of a Healer.

  It probably didn’t hurt nearly as much as his partner’s collarbone either; his wing was not going to move no matter what he did, but if she had to move and work, she was going to be jarring her shoulder over and over again.

  I wish the teleson wasn’t gone. I wish I could fix it! He could fix the firestarter and the mage-light, and probably would after he slept, but the teleson was beyond him, as was the tent and the cook pot. If they had the teleson, help could be here in two days, or three at the most. Now it might be two or three days before anyone even knew they were in trouble.

  He had volunteered for the second watch because he knew that she was going to have to be very tired before she could sleep—but once she was, those painkillers were going to hit her hard. Once she fell asleep, it was going to be difficult to wake her until she woke by herself.

  For his part, although the painkiller helped, Keeth had taught him a fair amount about taking care of himself; he could self-trance pretty easily, and he knew several pain-reduction and relaxation techniques.

  Lucky I have a trondi’irn’sor a brother.

  He made himself comfortable, and once Blade draped a blanket over him so that he was warm, he fell asleep quickly.

  Strange images, too fleeting to be called “dreams,” drifted with him. Visions of himself, visiting a trading fair in Khimbata, but as an adult rather than a child trailing after his Haighlei nurse, Makke; moments of flying so high above the earth that even with his keen eyesight, humans below him were no more than specks. There were visions that were less rational. He thought, once, that the trees were talking to him, but in a language he didn’t recognize, and that they grew frustrated and angry with him because he didn’t understand what they were trying to tell him.

  None of this was enough to actually disturb his rest; he roused just enough to dismiss the dreams that were unpleasant without actually breaking his sleep, then drifted back into darkness.

  He was just about on the verge of waking all by himself—half-dreaming that he ought to wake, but unable to really get the energy to rouse himself— when Blade shook him slightly, enough to jar him completely out of his half-sleep.

  He blinked up at her; her face was a bizarre mask of purpling bruises and dancing golden firelight. If it had been a little more symmetrical and less obviously painful, it would have been oddly attractive. He tasted bitter herbs in the air as she yawned, and guessed that she had bandaged herself with some of her human medicines.

  “I took more painkillers, and I can’t stay awake anymore,” she confessed, yawning again. “I haven’t seen or heard anything that I can confirm, although my imagination has been working away nicely.”

  “Fine, then get some sleep,” he said, a little thickly, and blinked to clear his eyes. “I’ll take over until dawn.”

  She settled herself between the wall of the tent and him, lying against him. He let her curl up in such a way as to take the most advantage of his warmth; she needed it. And she probably needs the comfort just as much, he thought, as she tried to arrange herself in a way that would cause the least pain to her broken collarbone. It can’t have been easy, sitting here, staring into the dark, and wondering what was out there, with your partner a great snoring lump beside you.

  Granted, he wouldn’t have stayed a great snoring lump for long if there’d been trouble, but that was no comfort when you were straining your ears trying to tell if that was a nightbird, a bug, or a maneating whatever out there.

  Gryphons were not noted for having powerful night vision, but both Skandranon and his two offspring were better than the norm at seeing in the dark. They weren’t owls—but they weren’t half-blind, either, and they were better than humans. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness, and mentally marked the shadows so that he knew where everything was. Some, he could even identify, by matching the general shape with his memory of the objects surrounding the camp; the place that looked like a crouching bear was really a stump overgrown with inedible fungi. And the bush that seemed to have a deeper shadow at the heart of it really did; it had grown around what remained of a snag, which could have passed for another crouching creature. Deep in the distance, a phosphorescent shape was a rotting tree with a patch of foxfire fungus in it—and it wasn’t really moving, that was an illusion brought on by eyestrain. Things that might have been pairs of eyes reflecting the firelight were nothing of the kind; if he watched them until they moved, it was clear that they moved independently of one another, which meant they were only a couple of light-bearing insects, probably flying in pairs because they were in the middle of a mating dance. A swift and silent shape passing from branch to branch above his head was an owl; one that flew with a faint fluttering just out of range of the firelight was a bat.

  Once he identified things in his range of vision, he began cataloging sounds. The obvious buzzes and whirs were insect calls; likewise there were croaks and cheeps he knew were frogs. There were some calls he recognized from around White Gryphon; not all the creatures here were new to him. The occasional sleepy twitter or mutter from high above meant that something had mildly disturbed a bird’s rest—nothing to worry about, birds bumped into each other while they slept all the time.

  Then there were the howls, barks, and growls. He took note of all of them, keeping track of where they were coming from and under what circumstances. Most of them originated from up in the tree canopy; that meant that, barring something completely strange, whatever made them wasn’t going to bother the two down below. The things living in the trees would, for the most part, be prey rather than predator; life in the tree tops was difficult, with the most difficult task of all being how to get to water.

  Anything living up there had a reason not to want to live on the ground. Any creature up there would probably be relatively small, no bigger than Blade at the most, with a disproportionately loud call, because in the thick leaf cover up there, it would be hard to keep track of herd- or flock-mates. And if you yelled loudly enough when something grabbed you, there was a chance that you might startle it into letting go.

  Predators in the tree canopy would either be snakes or winged; four-footed predators would hunt on the ground. While it was certainly possible that there could be a snake up there large enough to swallow Blade or even Tad, it would not be able to seize both of them at once, and it would not be very fast except when it struck. That left winged predators, and Tad was confident that he would be a match for anything that flew, even grounded.

  No, what they had to worry about was what lay down here, so sounds up above could be dismissed unless and until they erupted in warning or alarm calls.

  While his vision was incredibly keen by human standards, it was even more suited to picking up tiny movements. So once he had identified everything that lay in front of the shelter, he did not need to sit and stare into the darkness as Blade did. He need only relax and let his eyes tell him when something out there had changed its position. No matter how clever a predator was at skulking, sooner or later it would have to cross a place where he would spot it moving through the shadows, even on a night with no moon.

  His hearing was just as good, and now that he knew what the normal noises were, he could listen through them for the sound of a grunt, a growl, or the hiss of breath—or for the rustle of a branch—or the crack of a twig snapped beneath a foot.

  That was the other reason why he didn’t mind taking second watch. When all was said and done, he was much better suited to it than Blade was.

  Now, if anything decided to come up behind them, he wouldn’t see it, and he might not hear it either. But it wouldn’t get t
hrough the canvas and basketry of their shelter quickly, and they should have time to defend themselves.

  Or so I tell myself.

  He stared out into the darkness, watching winking insect lights, and finally acknowledged to himself that, far .from feeling competent, he was feeling rather helpless.

  We’re both crippled and in pain, we can’t use most of the weapons we have left, we aren ‘t entirely certain where we are, and we’re too far from home to get back, and that’s the honest truth. I don’t like it at all.

  They had to hope that in three days or so, when they didn’t make the appointed rendezvous, they’d be missed, and that White Gryphon would send out a search party looking for them. They had to hope that they could survive long enough to be found!

  Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself and eat! he scolded himself. You aren’t going to get a chance at a better meal for a while, and starving yourself is hardly going to do any good. Whatever Blade fixed, it probably won’t keep past morning.

  Slowly, to make them last, he ate the meat-and-vegetable cakes that Blade had concocted. They weren’t bad, considering how awful they could have been. Blade was not noted for being anything other than an indifferent cook, and these had actually been one of her best efforts. The two of them would probably joke about the incongruity of cooking a gourmet meal in the middle of a disaster, after they had escaped this stranding and healed. Of course, to hear the stories about Father, you would think he was so dashing that he would fight off two hundred makaar, seduce his wingleader, arrange a tryst, fight off another hundred makaar, and then pause for tea from a silver cup.

  Blade had placed the odd cakes close enough to the fire that they kept warm without burning or drying out much. They would probably stay with him for a while, which was a good thing, since he wasn’t going to be doing much hunting for the next couple of days. And even then, in order to take down the size of prey he was used to, he’d have to somehow surprise it on the ground.

  Father’s claims about being able to slip through enemy lines unseen might be true, but deer have keener noses and ears than human soldiers. I’m going to have to be very lucky to catch anything larger than a squirrel.

  He was satisfied before finishing the cakes, so he covered the last four of them with a leaf followed by a layer of hot ashes, burying them next to the fire. He would leave them for breakfast; they should keep that long. Then he rested his chin on his foreclaws and resumed his interrupted thoughts.

  The trouble is, I have no idea just what it was that knocked us out of the sky.

  Obviously, he had several options. It could have been a purely natural phenomenon—or, if not natural, simply an anomalous and accidental creation of the mage-storms.

  The trouble with that theory is that there have been a number of folk through here, Haighlei included. So that precludes it being stationary or ground bound. If it was something natural or accidental, it had to be stationary, it seemed, so why didn’t anyone discover it before this? The Haighlei in particular, suspicious as they were of anything magical that was not under the direct control of one of their Priest-Mages, made a point of looking for such “wild” magic, using broad, far-ranging sweeps. They had established the outpost; they would have come this way, though perhaps not this exact route. They should have found something this powerful.

  Granted, we were a bit off the regular route. I wasn‘t watching the ground that closely for landmarks, I was watching the sky for weather. I think I was even veering off a bit to avoid the worst of the storm.

  Still, a “bad spot,” even a null area, should show up to any skilled mage who was looking for it. It should be obvious to any mage looking for oddities.

  I wasn’t looking; I have to think about using mage-sight in order to see things. I’m not like Snowstar, who has to remind himself not to use it.

  That left the next possibility; it was something new, or else something that was outside his knowledge. He inexorably moved his thoughts toward the uneasy concept that something had brought them down intentionally, either in an attack or as a measure of preventive defense.

  But if it was a defensive measure, how did they ever see us from the ground? The attack couldn’t have come from the air; there hadn’t been anything in the air except birds and themselves. It hadn’t come from the tree canopy, or he would have seen something directly below. It had to have come from ground level, below the tree canopy, so how had “they” seen the basket, Blade, and Tad?

  Still, so far, whatever brought them down hadn’t come after them; that argued in favor of it being a defensive, perhaps even a reflexive, answer to a perceived threat.

  But it happened so quickly! Unless “they” had a spell actually ready to do something like that, I can’t see how “they” could have done this before we got out of range!

  That argued for an attack; argued for attackers who might actually have trailed them some time before they landed last night, and waited for them to get into the sky again before launching a spell that would send them crashing to the ground.

  So why didn’t they come see if they’d killed us? Could they have been that sure of themselves? Could they simply not have cared?

  Or could they be better at hiding themselves than he was at spotting them?

  Could they be out there right now?

  It was certainly possible that the attackers had struck from some distance away, and had not reached the site of the crash before he and Blade were up, alert, and able to defend themselves. The kind of attack certainly argued for a cowardly opponent, one who would want to wait until his prey was helpless or in an inescapable position before striking.

  Unless, of course, he is simply a slow opponent; one who was making certain of every inch of ground between himself and us before he initiated a confrontation.

  He sighed quietly. There was only one problem; this was all speculation. None of this gave him any hard evidence for or against anything. He just didn’t have any facts beyond the simplest—that they had been the victim of something that destroyed their holds on magic and brought them tumbling helplessly down out of the sky.

  So, for the rest of the night, he continued to scan the forest and keep his ears wide open, starting at every tiny sound, and cursing his unending headache.

  Dawn was heralded by nothing more obvious than a gradual lightening of the darkness under the trees. Tad knew that his partner was about to waken when her breathing speeded up and her heartrate increased—both of which he could hear quite easily. At his side, Blade yawned, stirred, started to stretch, and swore under her breath at the pain that movement caused her.

  Tad hooked a talon around the strap of the medical supply bag and dragged it over to her so she could rummage in it without moving much. She heard him, and shoved her hand in and pulled out one of the little vials; without being asked, he pierced the wax seal with his talon, and she drank it down.

  Blade lay quietly for many long moments before her painkillers took effect. “I assume nothing happened last night?” She made it an inquiry.

  “Nothing worth talking about—except that I think there was some squabbling over the remains of the foodstuffs.” He hadn’t heard anything in particular except a few grunts and the sound of an impact, as if one of the scavengers had cuffed another. “We ought to consider putting out snares, especially whipsnares that would take a catch out of reach of the ground. It would be very frustrating to discover we’d trapped something, but a scavenger beat us to it.”

  She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes with her good hand. “I should have thought of that last night,” she said ruefully.

  “They wouldn’t have worked last night,” he pointed out. “It was raining until well after dark. Chances are, the lines would have been ruined, or stakes pulled out of the mud. If it doesn’t rain that badly today, we can put them out after the afternoon rains are over.”

  She yawned again, then grimaced and gingerly rubbed her bruised jaw. “Good idea,” she agreed. “Snares are a more efficient means of ge
tting us supplemental rations than hunting. We’ll trap the area where I dumped the ruined food. Even if there’s nothing left, animals still might come back hoping there will be. Oh, gods, I am stiff and sore!”

  “I know precisely how you feel. I saved us some breakfast.” He scraped away the ashes and revealed the cakes, now a bit crisper than they had been, and a bit grimier, but still edible. I wish I had some bruise medicine that would work as well on me as hers does on her.

  “Did you!” She brightened, and scratched the back of her neck with her good hand. “Well, that puts a better complexion on things! And my bruise remedy seems to have the additional value of keeping away bugs; for once I haven’t got any new bites. Do you think you want another dose of your painkillers?”

  He shook his head. “I took one as soon as it was light enough to see which vial was which.” He handed her a cake, and ate the remaining three, neatly but quickly. One cake seemed to be substantial enough to satisfy her, though he noted that she did devour every crumb and licked her fingers clean afterward. Thanks to the fact that she had filled and refilled every container they had, he had even been able to get a drink without her assistance from a wide pot.

  He waited until she ate, washed her face and hands, and looked a bit more alert. “Now what do we do?” he asked, as she dried off her face on her ruined tunic of yesterday. He made a mental note to have her set that out when the rains started, to give it a primitive wash.

  She sat back on her heels, wincing as she jarred her shoulder. “Now—we discuss options,” she said slowly. “What we do next, and where we go.”

  He stretched, taking care with his bandaged{wing, and settled back again. “Options,” he repeated after her. “Well, we both know that the best thing we can do is stay here. Right?”