Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  Elspeth set her chin stubbornly, her eyes flashing for a moment, then sighed, and threw up her hands. "Bright Havens, I want to believe it, I really do, because it's such a good chance to get the bastard now, while he's away from his support and his army—but you're right, you're both right. It's too damned pat, too coincidental. Mother's intelligence web had Ancar safe in his own palace when we left. We made much better time than he could have because we're riding Companions. The only way he could possibly have matched our time would be to ride in relays, and how would he manage that off his own lands? He has farther to come than we did on top of all that. So how could he possibly be arriving here just at the same moment we did?"

  "And why sssshould he perrrmit Dawnfirrre to overhearrrr hisss plansss?" Treyvan rumbled. "Mossst essspecially, why ssshould he have given herrr to one who wasss not competent with hawksss to take to the mewsss? He wanted herrr to fly to usss with thisss."

  "And then wanted us to—what?" Elspeth asked. "Falconsbane never does anything for just one reason. He wants us not only to try and break up this nonexistent meeting, he wants us moved. Why? What's so special about this neutral area where the supposed 'meeting' is? Is it a particularly good place to stage a double ambush?"

  "There's nothing special about it that I know of," Darkwind replied, frowning with concentration.

  :He can't have meant to catch you as he caught the dyheli, can he?: Dawnfire asked, drooping a little, as she, too, acknowledged the fact that her escape had been too easy. :He deliberately reminded me of what he had done to them there—:

  "Which probably means he wanted us to concentrate on that as well," Skif mused aloud. "We know he wants the sword. From what Quenten told me, he probably wants Elspeth as well."

  "Oh, yes," Nyara agreed, nodding her head vigorously. "Yes, an untrained mage? He uses such as tools. He would be pleased to have you in his hands, lady."

  "So, is there anything else he wants? Something we'd leave unprotected—something even the whole Clan might leave unprotected, if we went to them and got more help for this?" Skif continued.

  Elspeth glanced sideways at Darkwind. "The Vale itself?" she hazarded. "Or your father?"

  He shook his head. "No, the static protections are too much for him to crack easily. We could return and entrap him before he had even begun to break the outermost shields."

  "The Heartssstone?" asked Treyvan, then answered himself. "No, it isss the sssame as for the Vale—"

  The squall of a hungry young gryphon cut across their speculations, and sent all eyes in the direction of the inner lair.

  "No," Treyvan whispered, his eyes widening.

  "Yes!" Nyara cried, in mingled pain and triumph. "Yes—that is what he wants—as much as sword and mage, and Starblade and Starblade's son! Revenge, and the souls of your younglings!"

  "And I..." Treyvan whispered, his eyes wide with horror, "nearrrly gave it all away to him... again."

  It had taken Darkwind no time at all to create a scale-model of the area around the lair, using rocks, twigs, and the flat expanse of sand near the entrance. It was the only place big enough for all of them. Elspeth shook off the many memories of time spent bending over a sand-table with Kero, and paid close attention to Darkwind. She wondered now how she could have mistaken simple stress for arrogance.

  Not thinking clearly lately, are we? she asked herself. Not observing at all well. When this is over, it might be a good idea to take a few days to rest and think. About a lot of things.

  "You'll be here," Darkwind said to Skif, placing a pinecone on the bits of rock representing the ruins to the left of the lair.

  "And I'll be moving around if I can't get a good knife or bow-shot from there," Skif added.

  The Hawkbrother nodded. "Exactly so. You are best as mobile as possible. Now, the little ones, Dawnfire, and the sword will be here, in front of the lair." He placed a cluster of weed-stripped seed-heads and a sliver of wood before the large stone representing the lair, and gave Elspeth a penetrating glance. "You are certain you are willing to give up the use of the blade? It seems unfair."

  Elspeth shrugged. "It was Need's choice, remember," she pointed out. "We've got to protect the bait somehow, and two of the three of them are female."

  :Crop, I'll take care of the little male, too,: the blade said gruffly. :What do you think I am, some kind of baby-killer? Besides, the bastard would twist him up as badly as he has Nyara, if he got his claws on the lad.:

  "You are not such poor bait yourself, blade-lady," Darkwind replied. "He wants you as well, as I recall."

  :Just make sure he doesn't get me.:

  "No help coming frrrom the Vale?" asked Hydona, leaning over Skif's shoulder to look at the setup.

  Darkwind shook his head. "Not since the message I sent them by bondbird-relay. They are rightly fearful that this may be a double ruse—a feint at the little ones, a pretense that draws us into ambush, and a real strike at the Vale. They have been badly shaken by what they have seen done to my father and do not share my confidence in their own shields. They have called in all the scouts but myself, and are bracing for attack."

  "Firrrssst ssssmarrrt thing they've decided in agesss," Treyvan growled, "Even if it doesss leave usss to bearrr the burrrden of ourrrr own defenssssessss. I take it we are herrre, and herrrre?"

  The gryphon pointed a talon at two feathers stuck in the sand on the opposite side of the lair from Skif's initial position, behind a line of rocks representing the wall the lair had been built into.

  "Precisely," Darkwind agreed, "And here are Elspeth and myself." He dropped two rough quartz-crystals opposite the gryphons and nearer to the lair than Skif. "Then the Companions, watching for his creatures coming at us from behind." Two large white flowers, one beside Skif's pinecone, one beside Elspeth's crystal. "Treyvan, we will try to bracket him with magic; once that occurs I do not think he will be looking for a physical attack. That is where you come in—" he nodded at Skif. "And you, because of that, are the pivotal point of the defense. You look for your opening and take it. The man is as mortal as any to a well-placed knife or arrow. You are our hidden token, our wild piece."

  "What about me?" Nyara asked, in a small voice. "Is there nothing I can do?"

  Elspeth bit her lip to keep from saying what she was thinking; that there was no way they could trust the Changechild enough to give her a part to play. They certainly couldn't make her part of the bait; neither the gryphons nor Darkwind wanted her near enough to be in range for an attack on them if her father regained control of her.

  "Falconsbane does not know you are still with us," Darkwind said, after an uncomfortable silence. "The longer this remains so, the better."

  "Stick with me," Skif suggested. "I'm staying out of sight."

  :Is this wise?: Darkwind asked Elspeth worriedly. She shook her head just enough to make her hair stir imperceptibly.

  :He's assassin-trained,: she replied wishing there were somewhere safe they could leave Nyara until this was all over. :And Cymry will be with him, watching his back, the way Gwena will be watching ours. She won't be able to catch him with an unexpected attack. I just hope he doesn't find himself in the position of being forced to let Cymry kill her.:

  :Or killing her himself,: Darkwind added.

  Anything more he might have intended to say was lost, for at that moment, Vree sounded the alert from overhead.

  :He comes!: the bird shrieked, with mind and voice. :He comes now!:

  They scattered for their posts.

  Falconsbane prowled the woods that the Birdmen thought were theirs with an ease they would have found appalling, noting the increased levels of shielding about the Vale with a mixture of contempt and anger. There was no doubt of it; they had poured more power into their old shields, added new, and every Adept within the Vale was undoubtedly on alert. The tentative plan he'd formed to extract Starblade from his protectors and retrain him for further use was obviously out of the question now.

  He paused in the shelter of a
wild tangle of briars and searched for a weak point. There was nothing of the sort. Since there was no one to see him, he permitted himself a savage snarl. All that work, all the patience, the careful planning, the investment of power in Starblade's transformation to puppet, and in the construct that controlled him—all wasted!

  He wished he had been able to see through the simulacrum's eyes, but the protections about the Vale had made that impossible. He still had no real idea what had happened when he'd lost his contact with the simulacrum. Starblade had been near the Heartstone; he knew that much. Since it had been near dawn, Falconsbane assumed that he must have been conducting his usual nonproductive assessment of the state of the Heartstone. Then, out of nowhere, a flash of panic from the crow—

  And then, the backlash of power as the bird was destroyed. Why, or by whom, he'd had no clue.

  He had immediately diverted the wild, uncontrolled power, killing one of his servants—the toady of a secretary, Daelon, who had the misfortune to be nearest.

  That wasn't too much of a loss; Daelon had been useless as a mage, and only moderately useful as a secretary. But any loss at all angered him. He had lashed back immediately, flinging spells intended to resnare Starblade before anyone could protect him. It might have been an accident; it might have been the foolish simulacrum venturing into someone's protected area, or even bumbling into something—doing something as stupid as frightening a pet firebird. Any of those things could have killed it.

  But as his spells battered against a new and powerful set of shields, it became obvious that it had not been accident that killed the simulacrum. It had been deliberate; his plots had been discovered.

  And later tries against Starblade had proven just as fruitless. The Birdman had been well protected within shields that predated Falconsbane's interference with the Heartstone; strong, unflawed shields that he could find no way past.

  Now he passed within easy striking distance of the Vale—"striking" distance, only if he'd had that alliance with Ancar of Hardorn that he had feigned, if he'd had a dedicated corps of mages, Masters and Adepts—and as he saw the shimmer of power above the Vale he could only curse at his own impotence. Somehow, some way, someone within k'Sheyna had learned what he had done to Starblade, had surmised how he controlled the handsome fool. Perhaps it had been one of the Adept's former lovers; in retrospect it had been a mistake to force Starblade to retreat into hermitlike isolation. But he had been afraid that the new persona he had laid over the old would not withstand the scrutiny of close examination.

  I should have let him keep his lovers; should have had him employ some of the pleasuring techniques he learned at my hands. That would have kept them quiet enough. Nothing stops questionings like unbridled lust and the exhaustion afterward.

  It was too late now; he'd not only lost Starblade, he'd lost the Vale. The Birdmen were alert now; there would be no subterfuge clever enough to bypass their protections, and though weakened, they were too formidable for him to take alone.

  With luck, the two Outlanders and Starblade's son were on their way to the trap he'd laid for them. Camped within the valley even now were a host of human servants, garbed in the livery of Ancar of Hardorn, led by one who was like enough to that monarch to be his twin. And no illusion had been involved; the conscript was already similar in height, build, and coloring—the same spells that sculpted changes into Falconsbane's flesh had been used at a subtler level to reform this human's face. There would be lingering traces of magic; but that was what the Outlanders would expect. Ancar was a mage, after all.

  Once the Outlanders were in place, watching, the rest of his army would take them from behind.

  If I cannot have Starblade, I will have Starblade's son. If I cannot take my vengeance upon the Vale, I can take it upon his sweet, young flesh.

  There would be that other young man—malleable, possibly of some use as well. Certainly an entertaining bit of amusement. Likely to be a bargaining chip in some way.

  And then there was the girl. Her potential as a mage was high. She was curiously naive in some areas; and that left her a wide range of vulnerable points for Falconsbane to exploit. It had been a very long time since he'd broken a female Adept to his will. He was going to take his time with this one; there would be no mistakes that way—and it would, not incidentally, prolong the pleasure as well.

  He slid from shadow to shadow beneath the trees, as surefooted and quiet as the lynx he had modeled himself for. As keen of ear, swift of eye, and cunning—

  Not even the Birdmen, the scouts and their so-clever birds had ever caught him. He had been wandering freely amid their woodlands since k'Sheyna first settled here. And they never once guessed at his silent presence.

  My fighters will take Starblade and the Outlanders, and kill or catch the gryphons. I hope they can catch them. I want the satisfaction of killing them myself.

  The deep hatred that always rose in him at the thought of gryphons choked his throat and made him grind his teeth in frustration. No matter how remote the memories of his other lives were, that one was clear, balefully clear.

  Gryphons. They had foiled his bid for supremacy in the Mage-Wars, they had defied his power, ruined his plans, destroyed his kingdom—

  Gryphons. Wretched beasts, they were no more than jumped-up constructs. How dared they think of themselves as sentients, equal to human, independent and proud of their independence? How dared they use magic, as if they had a right to do so? How dared they breed at all?

  Animals they were, and one day he would reduce them to the position of brute animals again. And in so doing, he would achieve the sweetest revenge of all, for he would undo everything that the wretched beast who had brought him down had lived and worked for. Only then would he be able to face the memory of Skandranon, the Black Gryphon, with satisfaction.

  I will have the parents, he thought, snarling, as he slipped through the underbrush without leaving so much as a footprint behind. But most importantly, I will have the children. And through them I will not only control the node, but have the downfall of the entire race in my hands. Through them I can spread a plague and a poison that will destroy the minds of any gryphon they meet, and turn them into mere carnivorous cattle. My cattle. To use as I wish. And it is time and more than time that I have that pleasure.

  He entered the area of the ruins, skirting the edge just within the cover of the forest. The lair lay beneath the shadows of the trees in the morning, though it enjoyed full sunlight in the afternoon. This was the nearest he had been, save for that one quick foray to place his hand and seal on the youngsters, binding them to himself.

  They can't have left the young ones alone, without some form of protection. There may be shields, or some of the beast-guardians. He paused for a moment, one deeper shadow within the shadows, his spotted pelt blending with the dappled sunlight on the dead leaves beneath the trees, with the mottled bark of the trunk beside him. He wore scouting leathers very similar to what the Birdmen wore; that was one subterfuge that had stood him in good stead in the past. If he was seen, he had only to create a fleeting illusion of Birdman features, and other scouts would assume he was one of their number.

  A quick glance upward showed him nothing was aloft—nothing but what he expected. Two tiny specks, hardly large enough to be seen, circling overhead. Waiting. That would do.

  He set out a questing finger of Mage-Sight, looking for what might have been left behind with the gryphon young.

  A shimmering aura flickered about the lair in a delicate rainbow of protection. But beneath the shimmer—a brighter glow of power. The shields I knew of—yes—and something more—

  He paused; Looked, and Looked again, hardly able to believe his luck.

  They had left the artifact behind to guard the young ones! Its protections were unmistakable, and just the touch of them awoke avarice in his heart. The age—the power—woman's power, but there is little I cannot overcome and turn to my own use—I must have this thing. I must! And they have left it
for my taking!

  Elation faded, replaced by cold caution. Perhaps the Outlanders would be that foolish, and even the gryphons—but would Darkwind? The boy was a canny player; surely he had left more protections behind than that, for all that he had renounced magic.

  Falconsbane Looked farther, deeper into the ruins than he had ever bothered before; looking for traps, for any hint of magic, even old, or apparently inactive magic. It was always possible that some ancient ward or guardian still existed here that Darkwind had left armed against him.

  But there were no signs of any such protections.

  He Looked farther still. He had assumed that they knew by now what he had done to the young ones. Was it possible, barely possible, that they did not know of his hand on the gryphlets? Had he overestimated their intelligence, their caution? Was it possible after all that they had been so caught up in what he had done to Starblade and Dawnfire that they had missed his sign and seal on their own young? Or could it be that the advent of the Outlanders had distracted them?

  No. No, that is why they left the artifact, I am sure of it. To protect the young against me. The shields are too obviously set against my power; even the shields of the artifact itself.

  Then, just when he thought perhaps he was searching in vain for further traps, he caught a hint of magic-energy, a tremor of power. Old magic.

  Very old magic.

  It was not active, but the presence of magic that ancient attracted his curiosity anyway. He had time to spare; such potentials were worth investigating. It was probably nothing; perhaps some long-abandoned shrine, or an ancient talisman, buried beneath a mound of rubble. It might be worth retrieving at some point, if only as a curiosity.

  He moved in for a closer Look, half-closing his eyes, his talons digging into the bark of the tree beside him as he concentrated.

  And he tore an entire section of bark from the tree trunk as his hand closed convulsively.

  A Gate!