But to balance all that, she was loyal, faithful, and truly cared for people; so blindingly intelligent that it amazed him, and not afraid of her intellect as so many were. She tried, to the best of her ability, to consider others as often as she considered herself. Her sense of responsibility frightened him, it was so like his own. So, too, her sense of justice.
Dawnfire had been—was, he told himself, fiercely—a paragon of simplicity compared to her. Of course, Dawnfire was ten years her junior, or thereabouts, but he wondered if Elspeth had ever been uncomplicated, even as a child.
Probably not; not with all the considerations the child of a royal couple had to grow up with. Every friend must be weighed against what he might be wanting; every smile must be assumed to be a mask, hiding other motives. Such upbringing had made for bitter, friendless rulers in the Outlands.
It was a very good thing that these people had their Heralds; a very good thing that the monarch was a Herald, and could know with certainty that she would always have a few trustworthy friends.
He didn't entirely understand what the Heralds did, but he certainly understood what they were about. They embodied much the same spirit as the Kal'enedral of the Shin'a'in; like them, it appeared that they were god-chosen, for if the Companions were not the embodiment of the hand of the gods, then he would never recognize such a thing in his lifetime. Like them, they were guided, but subtly—for the most part, left free to exercise their free will, and only gently reminded from time to time if they were about to err. It seemed that the unsubtle attempt to steer Elspeth down a particular course was the exception, and not the rule—and it appeared to him to have failed quite dismally. And as a result, Elspeth's Companion Gwena was now, grudgingly, going to admit her defeat and permit Elspeth to chart her own way from this moment on.
The Heralds were very like the Kal'enedral in another way; for as each had his Companion, so each Kal'enedral had his leshya'e Kal'enedral, the spirit-teacher that drilled him in weaponry and guided his steps on the Star-Eyed's road.
And the Heralds themselves were blissfully unaware of the fact.
If they didn't know—and the Companions chose not to tell them—he was not inclined to let the secret slip. "It is not wise to dispute the decisions of the Powers," he thought, wryly quoting a Shin'a'in proverb. "They have more ways of enforcement than you have of escape." The decision to set Elspeth on a predetermined path was probably less a "decision" than a "plan." Another Shin'a'in proverb: "Plans are always subject to change."
He found himself making a decision of his own; when all this was settled, he would teach her himself. He would find a teaching-Adept, perhaps in another Clan, like k'Treva, and as he relearned, he would teach her. He had the feeling that she respected what he had done, and she would continue to respect him for going back to pick up where he had left off.
Besides, as Tayledras had learned in the past, those who were in the process of learning often discovered new ways and skills, just by being unaware that it "couldn't be done." Perhaps they would discover something together.
But that was for the future; now there was a rescue to be staged.
"We have decided," he said, as Skif reclaimed his boulder, and Nyara seated herself near it. Not quite at his feet, but very close. Darkwind suppressed a last fading twinge of jealousy. "We think we have a plan that will work."
"It's going to need a lot of coordination, though," Elspeth added. "It's going to involve more than just us. Skif, can you get Cymry listening in on this? I just called Gwena."
"Cymry?" he responded, sounding confused. "Unsure—"
"They don't need to be with us to be in on conferences," Elspeth said in an undertone to Darkwind. "The Herald-Companion link is even closer than a lifebond in many ways; no matter how weak your Gift of Mindspeech is, your Companion can always hear you, and, if you choose, listen to what you hear."
"And right now they need very badly to be eating," he supplied. "Indeed, the dyheli are so, after a long, hard run."
He felt her smile, though he could not see it. "Why don't you start, Darkwind, since this was your idea."
"What of me?" Nyara asked in a small voice. "Should I"
"You are going to be inside the Vale by midmorning," Darkwind told her. "I am going to tell Iceshadow something of your past, and put you in his custody, asking him to keep you always within the shields of the apprentice's working place, where my father is. If your father can break the Vale shields and the working-shields, he is merely toying with us, and anything we do is trivial against him. I am going to ask you to answer all of Iceshadow's questions about my father's captivity, no matter how painful they are to you."
"Why?" she asked, huddling a little smaller.
"Because you will be helping Iceshadow determine what was done to him, and so break the bonds Falconsbane placed upon him," Darkwind told her, letting the tone of his voice inform her that he would grant her no more mercy than he granted himself. "That much, at the least, you owe him."
Skif made a little movement, as if he wanted to leap up and challenge Darkwind, but wisely kept himself under control.
"I will then summon the nonhumans that Dawnfire worked with," he continued. "They will help be our diversion; tervardi and dyheli, they will concentrate on a place where you, Heralds, will be. In the neutral area, as if you had passed across Tayledras lands and were going westward. It will look to Falconsbane as if you have summoned them, and he will assume it is through your sword, Elspeth."
Elspeth took up the explanation where he paused. "All he can tell is that it's magic, Skif. That's probably why those things were chasing us across the Plains. He wants it, and he hasn't got a clue that he can't use it."
:Oh, he could try, I suppose,: the sword said dryly. :But he doesn't know I'm in here. It's quite likely that it would be impossible for him to make any real use of me without destroying me.:
"I suspect he will decide that it is one of the ancient devices used to control the nonhumans in warfare." Darkwind rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I can tell you that if he thinks that, he will be mad to have it. And he will be equally determined after his last failure that he will not leave the task in the hands of others."
"So he'll come in person," Skif stated, and he was plainly not pleased with the idea. "Where does that leave us?"
"Standing inside the Vale," Darkwind chuckled, wishing he could see Skif's face. "It will be your images and your auras in the neutral area, and no more. It is a spell that is not often cast, for it is broken as soon as one moves more than five paces in any direction. Need reminded us of it. In fact, Need intends to be the mage casting it." He made a little bow in Elspeth's direction.
:Thank you for the confidence, but save your applause for if it works. And it'll be Elspeth casting it; I'll just be showing her how.:
"That leaves me outside," he continued, "And I shall be the one making the attempt to free Dawnfire. If I have the time, I shall place the illusion of the proper hawk on some other bird in his mews, and blank the beast's mind. He will assume that Dawnfire's personality has at last faded. Or so I hope."
He hated to subject an innocent bird to that, but with luck, it would be one of Falconsbane's own evil creations.
"If I do not have the time," he continue, "I shall simply free her and attempt to escape. I do not think he will return before I am away again."
Skif whistled softly. "That's going to take some good timing," he observed. "And you're the one taking the packleader's share of the risks."
"But it could not be done without all of you," he responded. "I cannot ask you to take the kinds of risks that I will—but I cannot make this succeed without you."
"And afterward?" Elspeth asked softly. "When you have Dawnfire free, but still trapped in a hawk's body, her true self fading with every day—what then? You didn't speak of that."
He remained silent because he didn't know—and he didn't want to contemplate it, having to watch her struggle against the inevitable, and lose.
&nbs
p; A long, unhappy silence descended, which the sword finally broke.
:Oh, worry about it when she's free,: the blade replied irritably. :For one thing, I know a bit about transfer spells. Maybe I can get her into something with a big enough brain that she can stay herself. Or maybe I can get her into something like a sword.:
"Would that not be just as bad?" Nyara asked doubtfully, voicing exactly what Darkwind was thinking. He suppressed a groan.
:At least she'd stay herself, girl,: the sword retorted with annoyance. :There're worse fates than being hard to break, heart included.:
Darkwind decided to end the discussion right there. "Enough; we have a great deal ahead of us—
"And not much time," Elspeth said firmly. "And best to work on it in the morning."
They returned to the lair, and gave Treyvan and Hydona the basics of what they had decided. Treyvan did not ask about the fate of his own young, but Darkwind could tell that he was gravely worried and weary; evidently Falconsbane had tried something while they were talking and had been beaten back, but at a cost. They were all too tired for anything more, and put off further discussion. Nyara bedded down in the same chamber as Skif and Elspeth, with Darkwind across the door and Treyvan blocking the entrance for added security.
But Darkwind could not fall asleep as easily as the rest. He lay staring at the silhouette of the sleeping gryphon, watching the shadow climb up the wall as the moon set. And over and over, the question repeated in his mind.
What do I do once she is free?
She would never again wear the body of the girl he had traded feathers and favors with. At worst case, he would watch her fade, slowly, into the hawk. If Falconsbane had slain the spirit of her bird with Dawnfire's body, she might well hold on longer, but the end would be the same. And whether she stayed in the hawk, or Need managed to find a way to put her in another form, the result was the same. She would never again be "Dawnfire," she would be something else, something he could no longer touch.
What, in the gods' names, do I do when she is free?
Chapter Twenty-four
The alarm cry of a falcon woke him at dawn—and the answering, deeper scream of a hawk.
He started awake, all at once, and knew he was not at home. The rock floor, the lack of movement, and the darkness told him that much before he even opened his eyes. His hand was on his knife-hilt as he blinked the haze of sleep away, running rapidly through all the possibilities of where he was and what had become of his ekele—
Treyvan's lair—That was all he had a chance to remember as the falcon cried alarm again. He cast about for the door, still disoriented by the strange surroundings.
That's Vree—but whose was the hawk?
:Out!: Vree demanded, his mental cry as shrill and penetrating as his physical scream. :Out now! Hurry! Help!:
That wasn't the "Help me," version, it was "I need your help." He scrambled over Treyvan's prone body as the gryphon struggled up out of sleep. "Grrrruh?" Treyvan responded, as Darkwind slid down his haunches and into the sunlight. "Wrrrrhat?"
There were two birds up above, one flapping as clumsily as a just-fledged crow, the other unmistakably Vree. The gyre circled in guard-fashion above the first, protecting it as it tried to come in to land.
It was a red-shouldered hawk—
It was—
Dawnfire!
:Help me,: came the faint and faltering mental cry. :Help me—:
She doesn't know how to land—he realized, just as Treyvan shouldered him aside, leapt into the sky, rose to meet her, and scooped her from the air with his outstretched talons. He wheeled and dropped, cradling her safely in his foreclaws, coming to rest delicately on his hind feet only, in a thunder of wing-claps, before Darkwind realized what he was doing.
Treyvan balanced precariously as he had alighted, keeping himself from falling with his outstretched wings. The bird lay exhausted in Treyvan's claws, every last bit of energy long since spent. Darkwind took her from the gryphon, and held her in his arms, like an injured, shocked fledgling. She lay panting, eyes closed, as he folded her wings over her back, and stroked her head.
Another hand joined his; a hard, but feminine hand. It was Elspeth, wearing only a thin undershift and hose, but carrying her blade unsheathed in her other hand. Her eyes were closed; a slight frown was her only expression—but the moment her fingers touched Dawnfire's back, the bird began to revive.
Her head lifted, and she craned it around to stare up at him. :Darkwind?: she Mindspoke, softly. :Is this real, or some illusion he created to torment me? Am I truly free? And home?:
"You're free, ke'chara," he replied, anger and grief combined rising to choke off his words. It was one thing to know intellectually that she might have been trapped in her bird's body; it was another to see it, Sense it.
:I saw Vree, or he saw me, I forget,: she said, closing her eyes again, and bending her head, as if she did not want to see him through the hawk's eyes. :He brought me here, but I was so tired—:
"The sword will work better through direct contact," Elspeth said quietly. "If you can put her down on my bed, and I can lay Need next to her—"
No sooner spoken than done; and with the blade touching her, Dawnfire gained strength quickly, asking for water and food. The latter, Darkwind fed her as he would an eyas: little morsels cut from a fresh rabbit that Vree brought back within moments of her asking for something to eat. She took each tidbit daintily, and it was plain from her condition that she had not been feeding well in Mornelithe's hands.
Outwardly he was calm. Inwardly he was in turmoil. How to tell her that her body was dead—that she was still as trapped now as she was in Falconsbane's hands? There was no hint of Kyrr in her thoughts—so the blade's guess, that Mornelithe had killed the bird's spirit with her body was probably right. That gave them a little more time than if she'd had to share Kyrr's mind—but it would only postpone the end a little longer.
Joy at her recovery, anguish at her condition, rage at the one who had brought her to this—guilt because he was partly to blame. Warring emotions kept him silent as he fed her, wondering what to say and how to say it.
"Dawn—" he began, hesitantly.
:Darkwind, you're in danger,: she interrupted urgently. She twisted her head to look at the strangers. :You're all in danger, terrible danger!:
Quickly she told them of all she had heard; and most importantly, of Falconsbane's new plan, his decision to make Outland alliances.
Alliances? Oh, blessed gods—He forgot his other worries in the face of this new threat, for Falconsbane alone was bad enough. Falconsbane with allies was a prospect too awful to contemplate. Allies with mage-powers, allies with armies—either would spell disaster for the precarious hold k'Sheyna maintained on power here, but this Ancar evidently had mages and armies, according to Elspeth. K'Sheyna would be obliterated, and every other Vale faced with a formidable threat.
If he gets help like that, there won't be anything beyond him—
The Heralds—and their Companions—questioned Dawnfire closely as he closed his eyes and tried to think of all the possibilities. Their reaction was identical to his—not too surprising, given that he thought this "Ancar" that Dawnfire said Falconsbane was meeting was undoubtedly the same man who had been doing his best to level their land. It was not a common name; it was beyond likely that there were two of them.
And although it seemed a terribly long way to travel just for a meeting with a possible ally, Mornelithe was a powerful Adept, and a desirable acquisition, so far as Ancar's position was concerned. The King of Hardorn needed mages; he'd been actively recruiting them. He might not yet have any Adept-class; it might be well worth it to him to come this far.
And a similar search had already brought Elspeth and Skif just as far.
:He said he was meeting the man in three days,: Dawn-fire was saying when he opened his eyes again to pay attention to what was going on around him. Now there were seven sets of eyes fixed on the exhausted hawk; the two He
ralds, the two gryphons, the pair of Companions, and Nyara, who seemed as upset as any of them.
He thought he knew the reason why. Perhaps she sees herself in Dawnfire's entrapment....
:That was two days ago,: Dawnfire continued. :I escaped that afternoon, and I've been flying in circles ever since, trying to find my way home. So today, or the day after, they will meet.:
"Ancar wouldn't have come all this way just to turn around," Elspeth said grimly. "He wants this alliance, wants it badly. He's got no other reason to leave his own realm, and I don't care how much Hulda taught him, he wouldn't leave the place even in her hands if there was any other way out. Gods—with Falconsbane's power and Ancar's armies—and his recklessness—we won't have a chance. We've got to stop this before it happens."
"We have an opportunity to put paid to both our enemies," Darkwind growled, his hands clenched into fists. "Not only to stop this alliance, but take both our enemies at one stroke. I must talk to the Elders."
He started to get up; Skif caught his elbow and his attention. "You'd better include Elspeth in your plans, no matter what else you do," he whispered, "or she's likely to march right in there on her own."
She, who holds a grudge like an eyas binds to a kill. He nodded curtly, annoyed, but knowing Skif was right. The gryphons had a grudge of their own to settle. They probably wouldn't try to stop her.
:Settle down, you lot!: Need growled suddenly, startling all of them. :I don't know what's set the burr under your tails so you aren't thinking, children, but I stopped falling for tricks like this one a millennium ago and I'm not going to let you cart me into a trap now. I said he likely wouldn't be able to use me; I'd prefer not to put that to the test, if you don't mind.:
They stared at each other in shock, Dawnfire included.
"What?" Darkwind asked.
:Let me spell it out for you. Dawnfire was allowed to escape, so that she could bring you this trumped-up story. So that you lot would go charging off straight into his loving arms.:
Nyara was the first to recover. "Oh, no," she whispered. "It is too, too like my own escape—an escape that was not. This sword is right!"
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