Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  He watched her face; she seemed thoughtful, and he hoped she believed him, because whether she knew it or not, her life depended on believing him—and sooner than she might think.

  For Hydona had not meant that suggestion in jest, that both of them take up a scout's position on the border of k'Sheyna. When they did that, there were no longer any shields, any protections, or any rules. It would be only themselves and the gryphons, and it might well be that there were things out there that were more powerful and deadly than Mornelithe Falconsbane.

  Chapter Eight

  So now I'm a scout on the border of the Tayledras territories. In the Pelagirs. Me, who never even rode circuit. Mother would have a cat. Elspeth's heart raced every time a bird called an alarm or a stray twig broke, even though she knew very well that potential danger was likely to be upon them long before there were any such warnings. Gwena was jumpy too, and that didn't help her nerves any. She had all her shields down toward Gwena, and whatever her Companion felt, she felt, and vice versa.

  Or was it that Gwena was jumpy after all? The Companion was ill at ease, but it didn't quite have the feeling of nerves.

  :All right,: she said, suddenly suspicious. :What are you hiding this time?:

  :I wasn't hiding it—at least, not from you,: the Companion temporized. :I've been keeping something from the others. Well, maybe I have and maybe I haven't—I mean, I don't know how much they've guessed about Cymry and me. So I wasn't really hiding it from you, but—:

  Elspeth choked and coughed to cover it. :Gwena, dear, you can stop babbling, all right? I'd say the Tayledras know plenty about you two, from the way Darkwind dances around you, and they aren't telling me about what they know, either. So you might as well let this great secret out, whatever it is, because even if I don't know about it, they probably do. :

  She couldn't hide her resentment at that, and didn't try. It was obvious—would have been plain even to a child—that the Hawkbrothers considered the Companions something quite special, according them more reverence than they even got at home in Valdemar. But the Tayledras wouldn't discuss the Companions at all without one of them being present, as if they were determined not to offend the Companions or reveal something they shouldn't.

  And even if there was nothing to this dancing about the bushes, it drove Elspeth to distraction.

  :Well,: Gwena said slowly, :I would have to tell you soon, anyway. It's not really all that complicated. Now that you know how to channel mage-energies, and you know how to feed someone else and be fed in turn—well—I can feed you.:

  Elspeth was past being surprised. She simply nodded. :And of course it would have been no use telling me this before I had the skill, I know.: She closed her eyes and counted to ten, very, very carefully. :You aren't keeping anything else back, are you?:

  :No,: Gwena replied in a subdued voice. :No, not really. I can feed you if you need it, but I'm subject to the same limitations you are. Except—:

  Elspeth counted to ten a second time. :Except?:

  Gwena waited a long time, and Elspeth sensed that she was choosing her words very carefully. :Except that you and I are a special pairing; so special that distance doesn't matter between us. That's all. I'm—different that way. It's like a lifebonded pair working together. Ask Darkwind about that some time, if you like; there are things a pair can do that even two Adepts working together can't do.:

  A vague memory fluttered at the back of her mind; something about a dark, windy night, the night when Gwena had Chosen her.

  But the memory escaped before she could grasp it and she gave up trying to get it back after a fruitless moment of concentrating. :I won't say I'm unhappy to hear that,: she told Gwena sincerely. :If things ever go badly for us, you and I might need that edge. I—don't suppose this means you're a mage, too—does it?:

  :Oh, no!: Gwena replied, her mind-voice bright with relief. :No, not at all! I can just tap into nodes, energy-lines, and fields. All Companions can, just most of them can't use it for more than—oh, the usual. Healing themselves quickly, extended endurance, and running faster than a horse can. And they certainly can't feed their Chosen. That's why we're white, you know—ask Darkwind about node-energy and bleaching.:

  She sat up straighter, and looked up in the tree above her at Darkwind, who was "taking the tree-road." Except that right now he was just sitting; letting Vree do his scouting for him before they all moved on to another spot on their patrol. "Darkwind?" she whispered.

  He looked down at her, but did not give her the hand signal that indicated she should be quiet.

  "Gwena says I should ask you about node-energy and bleaching. She says that's why Companions are so white, because they use node-power to increase speed and endurance." She shook her head, still trying to figure it out.

  But Darkwind seemed to get the point immediately; his eyes lit up, and he grabbed the branch beneath him. He swung down off his branch perch like a rope dancer, to land lightly beside her. "So! That is the piece of the puzzle that I have missed!" he said cheerfully. "I think you need not fear lack of nodes and power in your land, if all your Companions are able to tap them to enhance their physical abilities. That must mean that there is no scarcity of mage-energy."

  Well, that was a great weight off her mind. "About bleaching?" she prompted.

  He tugged at his own hair, and she noticed that white roots were starting to show and that the color had faded to a dull tan. "Use of node-energy gradually bleaches a mage; the color-making dies in skin, hair, and eyes, and the color that is already there is leeched away. I do not lie when I say that magery changes a person. So—your Companions use node-energy, and thus are blue-eyed, silver-coated, gray-hooved."

  :Silver-hooved,: Gwena said with dignity. He chuckled softly, and tapped her nose.

  "If you insist, my lady." He turned back to Elspeth. "My hair is not white, because as a scout I dye it. Tayledras all live with node-energy, whether we are mages or no, so nonmages bleach as well. Mages are silver-haired usually in their fifth year of practice; any other member of the Clan will have made the change at, oh, thirty summers, or thereabouts. Even with dye, I must renew the color every few days now that I am a mage again."

  Elspeth could only cast her eyes upward. "It's like continuous sun on them, then? No wonder dye won't take on them," she said. "The gods know we've tried often enough—you know, it's damned hard to disguise a big white horse!"

  :Sorry,: Gwena put in. :Can't help it.:

  "In a trade-off between endurance and the rest of it, and being unable to disguise them, I think I'll take the endurance," Elspeth said, as much for Gwena's ears as Darkwind's. And for Gwena's ears only, :I'll take you just the way you are, oh great sneak,: and felt Gwena's rush of pleasure, much like a pleasantly embarrassed flush.

  He shrugged. "It is the choice I would make. Besides, now that you are a mage, you may make her seem any color you choose, by illusion."

  Before she could answer that, he was back up in the tree again, swarming up the trunk like a squirrel, and hooking the branches above him with the peculiar weapon-tool he kept in a sheath on his back. She still didn't see how he could possibly climb that quickly, even with the spike-palmed climbing gloves he wore; humans shouldn't be able to climb like that.

  She was about to ask him what was going on, when he gave her the hand signal indicating that she should remain quiet. She and Gwena froze, statue still, trusting to the bushes they sheltered in to keep them from sight.

  She didn't dare let down her shields to probe about her. Darkwind had warned her of the danger of that, and after hearing more about Mornelithe Falconsbane and the creatures he had commanded, she was inclined to listen to him and believe. But she was free enough to use every other sense, and she did. At first she couldn't tell that there was anything at all out of the ordinary, but then she realized that the forest was a little top quiet. No birdcalls, no wind stirring the branches, nothing but the little ticks the red and golden leaves made as they fell.

  :Elspe
th?: came the tentative mental touch, as soft as the caress of a feather. :Vree has found someone. I sense only a void, which means that there is someone inside a shield where Vree sees a two-legged creature.:

  Darkwind had told her that he would use Mindspeech only if he had determined that an enemy could not hear it, and had explained that he would test with a quick mental probe of his own, too swift to fix on. She had wanted to object, but it was his land and he was used to scouting it; she had to assume he knew what he was doing. And evidently he did....

  :We're going to have to work out what I should do if someone ever does catch a probe and lock horns with you,: she interjected, sending a mental picture of stags in full battle.

  A rush of chagrin accompanied his reply. :You are right. But—not now.:

  :No,: she agreed. :Not now. What do you want me to do? Should I try a probe? Are the gryphons going to get in on this?:

  :Not unless there is no other choice,: he replied firmly. :We need to keep their existence as quiet as possible; there are surely others besides Falconsbane who might covet them or the small ones. And you may try a mind-magic probe, but I think you will encounter the same shields as I have. No, you and I will confront and warn him. If he does not heed the warning, we will deal with him—:

  He broke off his link with her so suddenly that she was afraid that something had locked him in mental battle after all. But then, a heartbeat later, his mind-voice returned. :There is an additional complication,: he said dryly; she looked up to find him looking down at her with a face full of irony. :It seems our intruder is a Changechild.:

  Her first thought had been: it must be Nyara. Her second thought had been that it couldn't be Nyara, but that it must be another of her father's creatures, running wild with Falconsbane gone. She tried a mental probe and discovered that just as Darkwind had said, the creature had very strong shields, well beyond her ability to counter. So the only way to learn anything about it was to confront it.

  As she and Darkwind watched the intruder from their respective hiding-places, she knew all of her guesses about it had been wrong.

  She didn't know whether to be relieved that this interloper was not their Nyara, or not. If it had been Falconsbane's daughter, the situation between herself and Darkwind would have been complicated enormously. Her own instincts warred with her on the subject; she trusted Nyara to a limited extent, and she certainly felt that the Changechild had been greatly wronged and abused, but—

  But Nyara was incredibly, potently, sexually attractive. She couldn't help herself. Elspeth would have to have been blind not to see that Darkwind had wanted her as much as Skif had and that if anything had kept them from becoming intimate, it wasn't lack of attraction. She suspected that his own innate suspicion, lack of opportunity, and perhaps something on Nyara's part had kept him from playing the role of lover. As it was, that night before Dawnfire had returned to them, trapped in the body of her bondbird, it had been Skif, not Darkwind, who had taken that role. And, perhaps, guilt had kept Darkwind at arm's length. Guilt, that kept him from taking a new lover when his former love was a captive, confined to a bird's body by the temptress' father.

  But Falconsbane was dead, or the next thing to it, and Dawnfire was out of reach of any of them. That left him free. And if he encountered Nyara before Skif did, would he be able to stand against temptation a second time? Especially if Nyara were to make overtures?

  Knowing men, she didn't think so.

  But at the same time, discovering that this stranger was not Nyara was a disappointment. However brief their acquaintance had been, Elspeth liked Nyara, and felt a great deal of sympathy for her. And she sometimes spared a moment to worry about her, put there in the wild lands that k'Sheyna no longer held, with a mage-sword who might not even like her. She had few or no provisions, no shelter against the coming winter unless she had somehow found or made one....

  Well, this wasn't the time to worry about their errant Changechild. Not with another standing on k'Sheyna lands, within k'Sheyna borders—and by the blood on its hands and the circle about its feet, one who was up to no good.

  Elspeth had done enough hunting in her time not to be sickened by the blood of a butchered deer. What made her ill were the fact that it was a dyheli that had been slain, and the signs that the butchery had taken place before it was dead, not after.

  Blood-magic. Wasn't that what Darkwind and Quenten both mentioned, but wouldn't talk about?

  Well, here it was—a "blood-mage"—and now that she knew what to Look for, she Sensed the power that the mage had drawn into himself as a result of his work. It wasn't power she could have used under any circumstances; in fact, it made her a little nauseous to brush against it just long enough to figure out what it was. But it was power, and she had a notion that the death of a thinking, reasoning creature like a dyheli would have given this mage four times the strength that a deer would have. Perhaps more, depending on how long it had suffered.

  Easy power, easily obtained, from a source you can find anywhere. And if you're sadistic by nature, a source that gives pleasure when exploited. No wonder Ancar is attracted to it.

  If Nyara was feline in nature, this creature was serpentine. As he moved about, disposing of his victim, he glided rather than walked, and many of his motions had a bonelessness to them that made her shiver in an atavistic reaction to the evocation of "snake."

  Odd. The hertasi don't do that to me, and they aren't half as human. I wonder why this thing does?

  What exposed skin she saw—mostly hands and a glimpse of cheek—gleamed in the late afternoon light, with a kind of matte reflectivity that hinted at hard, shiny scales.

  He dressed for deep cold, rather than the autumnal chill of the season; heavy leather boots, thick hose, a fur-lined tunic and cloak, and a heavy velvet shirt beneath the tunic. The colors were curious; a strange, dappled golden brown shading into deep orange—colors that blended surprisingly well into the foliage. Whatever else he was, this Changechild was canny. If he lay unmoving in the heart of a thicket, no one would ever see him.

  The Changechild looked up at the first rustle of leaves, and froze in a combat-ready crouch. Darkwind dropped out of the branches like a great hawk coming to land, his knees flexed, and his hands in front of him, wary and ready to launch into an attack or defense as the need arose. The creature faced her fully now, and she saw that beneath the hood of his cloak, his face was curiously flat, with a thin, lipless mouth, and unblinking eyes as round as marbles. He straightened, but did not relax his wary pose.

  Neither did Darkwind.

  "You trespass," the Hawkbrother said clearly and slowly, in the most common of the trade-tongues used hereabouts. "You trespass upon the lands of the Tayledras k'Sheyna, and you pollute those lands with blood needlessly spilled."

  That thin mouth stretched in what might have passed for a smile in any other creature. He straightened with arrogant self-assurance. "Not needlessly," he said, "and who or what are you to tell me what I may or may not do?"

  "Tayledras k'Sheyna," Darkwind replied flatly. "These are our lands. We do not permit this. You will depart, taking your filth with you."

  The mouth stretched a little more, and the creature's hands flexed a little. "What? Run from a single foe? I think not."

  He made no gesture, but the circle he had drawn about his feet in blood flamed with sullen power—

  —and, horribly, the disemboweled dyheli on the ground beside him heaved itself to its feet. It stood swaying a little, a gaping hole where its belly should have been, its eyes red with that same sullen power, and a dull glow about its hooves and horns.

  "You are only one," the Changechild said softly. "One single Hawkbrother is hardly a threat. This weak creature was not enough. I think you will do to serve me."

  Elspeth did not need Darkwind's signal to step from concealment, with Gwena at her side. She took up her position near enough to the Hawkbrother that they could not easily be separated, but distant enough that they would not inter
fere with each other.

  "We are Tayledras k'Sheyna," Darkwind said, firmly, but with no hint of anger. "And you will leave now."

  This time Hydona was not around to keep her from using the strongest source of power she could Sense, and there was a three-line node not more than a furlong from where they stood. She tapped into it, quickly; to her Othersight it glowed with healthy green fire, and touching it was a pleasant jolt, as if she took a deep draught of cold spring water on a hot day. She established her link and channeled power to herself and her shields before the stranger had a chance to respond to Darkwind's challenge. She kept the level of her outermost shield the same so as not to warn him; at minimal strength, the kind of mage-shield a beginner would build. But, like a paper screen hiding a stone barrier, beneath the disguising energies of the first shield was a second, and it was linked to the node-power.

  It was just as well that she did, because the Changechild's reply was to attack.

  He was no Falconsbane, but he was no Apprentice, either. He chose his target cleverly, launching his initial onslaught against Elspeth rather than Darkwind. Perhaps he was deceived by the rudimentary outer shield, or perhaps he was under the impression that a female would be less prepared and less aggressive than a male.

  If that was the case, he judged wrongly.

  She Saw his attack as he launched it; a flight of white-hot energy-daggers that he flung at her with both hands. She anticipated the direction of his attack by his eyes—and was ready in time to reflect them straight back at him, holding up mirror-shielded hands that doubled the flame-bright weapons back on themselves and sent them back on their original path. That must have been something of a shock to him, for he did not even deflect them properly, much less reabsorb them. They impacted on his shields, splintering silently into a thousand shard-sparks, and he flinched away.