Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  The gryphons had tackled the first real problem; the half-dozen gandels that tried to force their way into the ruins. But without Falconsbane's will driving them, they were inclined to fold at the first show of resistance. A few feints of Hydona's claws and a stooping dive by Treyvan convinced them elsewhere would be far safer.

  That set the tone for the day; to frighten the creatures away rather than actually closing to fight with them.

  Illusions proved as effective as real threats; after the gandels, they had sent a pack of Changewolves running with the illusion of a bigger, stronger pack downwind facing them to claim the territory. Illusions were exhausting, though; they took more magical energy from the caster than actually fighting, but certainly left the user less winded, and less likely to strike at shadows. After a full day of active casting, though, illusions could deaden even the most ardent of j mages.

  On the other hand, one generally doesn't get wounded casting illusions. Or bitten, gored, horned, or worse. As Vree would say, "Fair deal."

  It actually had a certain entertainment value, as he and Elspeth got into an impromptu contest over which of the two of them could create the most imaginative counter to the problem at hand. He'd conceded defeat when Elspeth began dropping huge illusionary clay pots on the dumber creatures' heads, or sending blizzards of wildflowers in their faces. They'd both found themselves laughing after that.

  So far, they had been incredibly lucky; the illusions hadn't failed yet to drive away their targets, though once or twice they'd needed to reinforce the illusion with a bit of magical force.

  The dyheli stopped and pawed at the snow, a signal for attention. Was their luck about to run out?

  :You are called to the ruins,: the dyheli said, before Darkwind could ask him why he had been sent. :The gryphons say there is a message waiting for you there. Three of the Vale mages are following me, to take your place.:

  Darkwind slumped against a tree in relief. He had completely forgotten that the mages of k'Sheyna would recover from their draining eventually. He had been so used to depending on himself and no one else, used to the idea that there was no one to relieve him. It had literally never occurred to him that someone would be along to take their places.

  "So what is it?" Elspeth asked. "Who are we going to have to rescue this time?"

  "No one," he said, mentally thanking the messenger at the same time. "Believe it or not, no one. We've had a reply to our call for help. It came to the ruins, since that was where the hummingbird started from. Keyed to us, of course, so no one else can break into it."

  :Would that be the kind of personally keyed message we would have sent if we'd been able?: Gwena asked, her tiredness fading as her interest was caught. :But it hasn't been more than a day—I had no idea that little bird could fly that fast or far!:

  "I hoped he would find a good carrying wind somewhere up above the clouds," Darkwind told her. "That, and the enhancement spells we put on him would have made all the difference. Once k'Treva got the message, of course, it wouldn't take them very long to reply—they knew where to send it and who to send it to; it takes a little longer than straight Mindspeech, but not much."

  "Then the bird probably reached them just as we tackled the wolves," Elspeth replied thoughtfully. "It hardly seems possible, but I suppose that if a falcon can be carried off for hundreds of leagues by a high wind, there's no reason why a hummingbird couldn't have that happen to him, too."

  She straightened, and looked around. "We're going to have to walk," she told Darkwind. "Gwena is in no shape to carry us."

  She bent down and scooped up a little snow, and rubbed Gwena's forehead with it. When Gwena didn't protest that she was fine, thank you, Darkwind figured that Elspeth was right. While the Companion hadn't been working any direct magic, she had been acting as an energy source for both of them, plus giving the more timid creatures a good scare when she charged them. She must be as exhausted as they were.

  "That's all right," he said. "It isn't that far." He oriented himself, recognizing a clump of mingled evergreen and goldenoak, stand of willows, and a rock formation. "We've been working in circles, actually. We're hardly more than a dozen furlongs from the edge of the ruins."

  "Then what are we waiting for?" Elspeth asked.

  "For me to get my second wind," he told her. "I haven't your youthful resilience." She chuckled. He closed his eyes for a moment, drew up reserves of energy, then pushed away from the tree he had been leaning on. "Let's go see what the news is."

  The visible component of the message was a tiny, incandescent spark that danced in the air above the exact center of the crude building in the ruins. It brightened as soon as they entered the building, and the moment they were both in place, with Darkwind to the east of the node and Elspeth beside him, the spark flared suddenly.

  Then it—unfolded, was the only word Darkwind could think of. It stretched down in a line that just touched the ground, then the line opened up on either side, until it formed a soft-edged mirror that hung in the air between them.

  For a moment, Darkwind saw only his own reflection. Then the mirror dimmed and darkened to blue starlight, and the face of another Tayledras, this one a contemporary of his father at a guess, looked solemnly out at him.

  It was hard to remember that this was only a message, that he could not actually speak to the one in the mirror, any more than he could hold a conversation with a piece of parchment. The illusion was so complete that it took an effort of will to keep from greeting the stranger.

  :K'Treva has heard the need of k'Sheyna,: came the mind-voice of the stranger. :While we are grieved by your situation we are relieved that you came at last to us. We feared for you but saw no way to help you without acting like tyrants or well-meaning but intrusive siblings.:

  Darkwind nodded; that made sense. No Clan interfered in the affairs of another without some kind of truly catastrophic emergency involved.

  :We have the help you need,: the other continued, :A Healing Adept, strong and well-versed in his craft, and who is one of the most creative mages this Clan has ever held.: The other smiled, briefly. :Such praise may seem excessive, but as the Shin'a'in saying goes, "It is no boast when it is fact." I will build him a Gate to a place I know within your territory, one that I hope will be far enough away that it will not disturb your Stone. From the Gate terminus, I believe it will be about a half day's ride to your Vale under good conditions, and certainly no more than a full day. Expect him within that time once you feel the perturbations of the Gate. If Firesong cannot help you, no one of k'Treva can. Be of good cheer, brothers.:

  With that, the entire construction sparkled and winked out. Darkwind stared across the room at Elspeth, unable to believe their good fortune.

  "You look like a stunned bird," she observed.

  "I feel like a stunned bird," he admitted. "It's incredible."

  "I have to tell you," she said, shaking off her daze, "I was standing here waiting for the ax to fall. I never thought there'd be anyone in the first Clan we sought help from powerful enough—and willing—to handle this mess. Especially not after what it did to our mages."

  "Nor did I," he admitted. "I thought that surely even if there was a Healing Adept within k'Treva that we would have to convince him to come here. And then we would have to convince his Clan to permit him to put himself at risk. They must have been convinced already that we needed their help and were just waiting for us to ask for it."

  Elspeth crossed the room to stand closer to him. "Was I missing something, or did he imply that he was here after the Stone shattered and that his Clan was worried about yours?"

  Darkwind winced, but felt comfortable enough with her now not to bother covering it. "You are correct. He said—or implied—exactly that."

  Memories, though dimmed with time, still had the power to hurt him. Heart and mind in agony, as well as body—the dim shapes of strangers in his sickroom. Shock holding him silent in the face of their gentle questioning. Then the voice of his father
, harshly telling them to leave the boy alone....

  "Right after the Stone shattered, I was told that k'Treva sent mages to discover what had happened and to volunteer their help," he told her. "I was—still in shock, hurt, and I do not recall most of it. But they went away without doing much except to help treat some of the worst wounded. I suppose that Father must have sent them away as soon as he could."

  "Evidently if he tried to cover things up, he didn't manage as well as he thought he had," she replied, dryly. "Not if they were still concerned after all this time."

  "Or he managed to let them see enough that there were still doubts; kept from completely covering things up, despite Falconsbane's control." That seemed the more likely, given what else Starblade had done. Like protecting his son by driving him away....

  Elspeth shook her head. "I wonder sometimes if you realize just how strong your father is. When you think what that kind of attempt must have cost him... I can't imagine doing half that much. It took some kind of cleverness, too, to get around Falconsbane's compulsions. Starblade's a strong man."

  "It is a brittle strength," he replied, sadly. "And like a bit of metal that has been bent too often, he is apt to break if he is stressed again." He shook his head. "Ah, this is gloomy thinking and poorly suited to our good news. Who knows? It may speed Father's recovery."

  "It might at that." It seemed to him when she stood up that she moved with a bit more energy; certainly he felt that way. A great burden had been taken from his shoulders. K'Sheyna would have the help it needed. The long nightmare would soon be over.

  He refused to think beyond that. There would be time enough for plans later. Let the Stone be dealt with first, and worry about what followed that when the time came.

  He stopped at the gryphons' lair long enough to give them the good news, then they trudged back to the Vale through the snow, though it was nowhere near the job it was yesterday. They had been this way so often they were making a trail between the ruins and the Vale. A few months ago he would have worried about that, but not now. There wasn't any real reason to worry about leaving signs of where they had been. He sighed with relieved contentment, and relaxed a bit more, feeling muscles unknot all over his back. Shortly this would all be true Tayledras land again, and things like the Changewolves would not get past the borders—

  :Up! Help!:

  His head snapped up to a call only he heard. Vree!

  He froze where he stood and linked with the gyre, fearing the worst. Dawnfire and her redshouldered all over again. Elspeth and Gwena stared at him for a half-heartbeat, then went into defensive postures. He prepared to break the link with Vree if he had to, to save himself—

  —but caught no pain, no feeling of imminent danger. Vree felt him link and welcomed him in, his mind seething with agitation but not pain. He had given a distress call, but the bondbird himself was uninjured.

  :Here! Help! Look-look-look!: the bird Mindcalled again, and this time gave Darkwind a look through his eyes.

  A disorienting look; for Vree circled and twisted wildly, but Darkwind was used to looking through his bird' eyes. He recognized the spot immediately; on the edge of the swamp, but he did not recognize the man that was the source of Vree's anger and distress, a man laying out what could only be a hertasi trap. The view dipped and swung, as Vree circled, his silent rage burning in Darkwind's mind, making the Tayledras clench his fists and longed with the bird to screech out a battle-cry. Then with another turn, Darkwind saw what must have triggered that rage.

  The man had three pack-mules with him, and on the third was a raptor, a big one, bound on its back and hooded. From the little he could see, it looked to be a crested hawk-eagle; from the size of it, it could only be of bondbird breeding.

  He had no idea that he was running until he saw Elspeth pounding beside him, already astride her Companion, and offering him a hand up. He seized it, and scrambled behind her. Then they were off, plunging through the thick snow. This was not like the last wild ride he'd made, for Gwena could not run or trot in the heavy snow. Her progress was a series of lunges or leaps; it was harder for him to keep his balance on her back, but easier on his bones.

  Their quarry knew they were coming, for they made no effort to hide the noise of their passage. But their quarry did not know two very pertinent facts.

  He was nearer the hertasi village than he knew. And while they were sluggish in the cold, they were by no means impotent. Anger alone was enough to keep their blood warm in the snow and give them the same agility they had in the high heat of summer. They, too, could dress for the cold and preserve some body heat when action outside was needed.

  And although the encroaching mage had prevented the bondbird he had caught from calling its distress, Vree was under no such handicap. Nor was Darkwind; while he was nowhere near as adept at Mindspeaking with other creatures as his brother Wintermoon, he was still one of the best in the Clan. The soundless cry went out for assistance.

  While Vree was calling his fellow bondbirds, Darkwind was rousing the hertasi village, starting with old Nera. The attack was conceived and coordinated in a matter of moments. The three forces converged on their target at nearly the same instant.

  If the mage—for mage he was; he had a lightning-flare ready for them the moment they plunged over the top of the hill and began the sliding descent toward him—had only had to face Darkwind and Elspeth, he might have won. They were tired, and he was fresh. If he had only faced the hertasi, with their simple fishing spears, he would have won. And he had already proven he was capable of felling bondbirds from the sky.

  But, since only Darkwind's party was making any noise, he had no idea that the others were on the way until it was too late to do anything about them.

  Darkwind flung a shield up before them to deflect the first bolt. The second went awry as Vree dove, his claws ripping through the cloth of the man's hood, narrowly missing the scalp. Behind Vree came another forestgyre, in the same stooping dive, then a gyrkin, then a trio of perlins, all of them slashing at head and face with their long, sharp talons. They struck to hurt, not to bind; the perlins in fact struck close-fisted, as if they were trying to knock a duck out of the sky. The mage screamed in pain as the talons scored deep gashes in his scalp; staggered under the blows of the perlins, any of which would have been hard enough to stun him had they hit the temple.

  He tried to protect himself with his arms. Apparently, like most Pelagir-wilds mages, there were severe gaps in his education. He seemed unable to summon any physical shields.

  The birds retreated to the protection of the skies, gaining altitude as one. The mage stood, one hand on his bleeding scalp. From behind him, a thicket of spears boiled up out of the half-frozen swamp.

  Darkwind struck then, gesturing behind Elspeth's back with two clenching fists. Gray and green stripes of a binding spell tangled the mage's hands and his magic for a moment. That moment was all that was needed. The hertasi did the rest.

  They swarmed about the mage, casting their fishing spears and pulling on the lines. He tried to run, then slipped and floundered in the heavy snow. He scrambled to his feet again, and fell for the last time. The hertasi overran him, and he writhed to avoid the wicked points of the spears.

  In moments, he looked like nothing so much as a hedgehog. In heartbeats, he was dead.

  Gwena skidded to a halt in the snow beside the man's string of pack animals, a trio of tired mules who gazed at them with absolute indifference. Darkwind slid down off her back and hurried to the last one, the one bearing the bird like just another bundle of forest gleanings.

  This much the man had known; he had bound the talons into fists, tied them together, bound the wings to the body so that it would not injure itself, then hooded the bird so that it could not see and would not struggle. The hood was strung to the bound feet by a cord, to prevent further movement, and from the cord dangled a carved bead.

  As Darkwind's hands touched the bundle, he felt—something. It was akin to the draining e
ffect of the Heartstone, and was centered in that bead, and spread throughout the bindings.

  He drew back and examined the bird with mage-sight—and swore. Small wonder he had not Heard the thoughts of this bird; it was bound by magic as well as by bands of fabric, a binding that linked its life-force to the spell that held it. And that could only have been for one purpose.

  Elspeth bit her lower lip and peered at the bindings on the captured hawk-eagle. Her face looked as it did when she was hearing news she didn't like.

  "He was going to use this bird as some kind of sacrifice, wasn't he?" Elspeth said, her own voice tight with anger. She put a hand toward the hawk-eagle. "That's not all, Darkwind, this bird is in pain. He hurt it when he caught it."

  She had been quicker than he; though she could not sense the bird's thoughts, she had felt its pain. He was glad he hadn't touched the poor thing; he could only have hurt it worse, unknowingly.

  First things first; destroy the mage-bindings so that the bird's mind could roam free and it could hear his Mindspeech. Until then, it would struggle against him, thinking he was an enemy, hurting itself further.

  The man had been a Master, but no Adept; Darkwind snapped the shackles of magic with a single savage pull but left the physical bindings in place. With a carefully-placed dagger cut, he removed the carved bead. Beneath the bindings, the bird was in a state near to shock, but not actually suffering from that ailment. Darkwind could still touch its mind, talk to it sensibly, and know he would be heard.

  He stretched out his thoughts—carefully, gently, with a sure, but light touch.

  :Friend,: he said, soothingly.

  The hawk-eagle tossed up its head as far as it could and struggled fruitlessly against the bindings. :NOT!: it Screamed.

  :Friend,: Darkwind repeated firmly, showing it a mental picture of its former captor lying in the stained snow. :The Enemy is dead.:

  The bird struggled a moment more, then stopped. Its head came up again, but this time slowly, as fear ebbed and the bird's courage returned. It considered his words for a moment, and the image he had Sent; considered the sound of his mind-voice.