Elspeth had thought her eyes were going to pop out of her head when those came through the Veil. She was secretly relieved to find that the Tayledras were equally astonished by the "floating barges;" it made her feel less like a country cousin. Forsaking his place with the Elders, Iceshadow had latched onto one of the mage-pilots of the peculiar constructions, and both of them were whispering to each other even now, ignoring the arguments. She had the feeling that they were planning to spend those waking moments not devoted to moving the proto-Gate to explanations of how the barges were enchanted and worked, and how Heartstones were created and functioned.
The full Clan immediately went into session on demand of a minority of Tayledras who were outraged over this violation of their territory. Wintermoon turned out, surprisingly enough, to be the steadiest voice of reason, reminding the contenders, over and over, that these "Outlanders" were Tayledras—or rather, the Hawkbrothers were Kaled'a'in, and that the coming of those of their own blood could hardly be counted as invasion. Elspeth wished that she could have left him to this thankless task, but she was a member of the Clan, and she had to be there, like every other member of the Clan.
There are several other things my time could be spent more profitably on. Wintermoon could probably wear them down into consent within a day or two, with sheer persistence, with or without her help. I wish they'd simply give up and let the rest of us deal with them later, after things have been settled. Dear gods, this is like having an argument over precedence on the eve of a battle!
She had been here since sunrise, perched on a shoulder-high tree branch at the back of the mob, and she hadn't heard any variation in the arguments. She stifled a yawn and looked down, catching the amused eyes of Firesong and his new friend, and the shrug of the former.
Firesong was particularly taken by a young man who was supposed to be a kestra'chern, whatever that was, and who had offered to teach him some of the craft when there was time. "I think you would have a talent for it," Silverfox had said, with a hint of some kind of innuendo that she couldn't read. "You are a Healing Adept, after all—it would be a useful skill to have."
Well, that meant that Firesong was not going to be thinking about Darkwind. Not with the lithe and graceful Silverfox, he of the knowing blue eyes and ankle-length ebony hair, giving silent invitations Firesong seemed to find irresistible. And that was just fine with her.
That left one less thing for both Darkwind and herself to worry about, and they certainly had enough on their hands right now. Even without the contention within the Clan.
A stir of activity near the Elders' seats caught her eye; she was too far away to see what was going on, but there was certainly something happening besides the dreary old arguments.
She sent a silent inquiry to Gwena, who was somewhere on the edge of the clearing, but her Companion sent back a wordless negative. Gwena couldn't see anything either.
She narrowed her eyes and peered carefully through the screening of branches and bodies. There was someone coming into the Council Oak clearing from outside—No, lots of someones!
She craned her neck to see, bracing her hands against the branch, and jumped when someone grabbed her wrist. She looked down to find Darkwind tugging her, indicating she should jump down into his arms. "They are calling for us," he said. "The Shin'a'in have arrived."
The Shin'a'in? What did they have to do with this mess?
But she obeyed; she jumped and he caught her waist, easing her to the ground with that carefully controlled strength that she never noticed until he did something like this. Together they wound their way through the crowd to the front, where the Elders sat.
As they broke through the final group of Tayledras screening her from the Elders' circle, she stifled a start of surprise. There was old Kra'heera—but with him were six other Shin'a'in—Shin'a'in of a kind she had seen only twice before. Shin'a'in of the kind called "Swordsworn."
They crowded in behind Kra'heera, black-clad, some veiled, some not, leading night-black horses. And the veiled ones seemed to shimmer with power, as if they were not quite of this world.
:So we are not,: said a voice in her head, and she stifled another start. One set of ice-blue eyes over a black veil caught her attention; one of those eyes winked, slowly, and deliberately. :Be at peace, little sister-in-power, student of my student.:
"Of course we have known of the coming of the Kaled'a'in," Kra'heera was saying impatiently. The faces of the Elders remained inscrutable, but there was no doubting the surprise and consternation in the expressions of those who had been arguing against permitting the Kaled'a'in to remain. "She told us they were coming, and bid us find a place for them on the Plains, if they could not find one here, or chose not to dwell here. We did not expect them to come so soon, or we would have told you long before they arrived." He turned to fix one of the Kaled'a'in spokesmen with an acidic glare. "You were not supposed to arrive until midsummer!"
The Kaled'a'in shrugged. "So it goes."
"She told you?" one of the most ardent opponents said to Kra'heera, feebly.
"We are here to stand as proof of Her word," one of the veiled ones said, in a strange voice that sounded as if it was coming from the bottom of a well. "Although we are not wont to appear to any save our own. She sent us to prove to you doubters that She approves. Unless you choose to doubt us as well."
The Tayledras in question paled, and shook his head. Kra'heera snorted, and turned back to the Council. "We have been doing what we can, within the limits of Her decree and our own resources, to give you help with your troubles," he told them, sharply. "So, I think it little enough to grant our brothers their request, given that they will help us all deal with this Great Beast, our enemy! And so, too, does She think!"
Skif, who was standing near Starblade with Nyara at his hand, blinked, as if he had suddenly realized something. "Now I know where I saw you!" he said to one of the black-clad Shin'a'in. "Not just at the ruins—you were out in the forest, when we were hunting for Nyara!"
The Shin'a'in shrugged. "Some of us," she said. "Two or three. Keeping an eye on our younger sister, as She asked us to, so that we could vouch for her to you as well. The rest—" she chuckled. "The rest of us have been sending the Falconsbane little trinkets, and harassing his borders, to keep his mind puzzling over things with no meaning, and to distract him from your doings as much as we could."
:It is no coincidence that we are black riders upon black horses, little sister,: said the voice in her head again. :The Falconsbane knows of your enemy to the north and east—knows that you and yours are white riders. We simply counterfeited something he would expect if that enemy of yours were courting or challenging him; gave him something to think upon, a dangling carrot, as it were, with as many misdirections as we could manage.:
Elspeth stuffed her hand in her mouth to keep from giggling with a kind of giddy relief. The Shin'a'in had been teasing and tormenting Falconsbane. No wonder they'd been able to do as much as they had been! No wonder it seemed as if Falconsbane's attention was divided! She wondered why they'd been doing this, but whys didn't really matter at the moment, only that they had.
She turned her attention back to the Council meeting, but after that, there was very little debate—and a great deal of constructive planning.
The plan was set; they were about to put it into motion. While most of the gryphons frolicked in the Vale, and barbarically beautiful Kaled'a'in occupied the attentions of most of k'Sheyna, the Council of Elders had already listened to and given consent to what the little "war council" had put together. Surely Selenay would have had a fit if she'd known what her daughter's part in this was to be. Thank all the gods that Gwena had decided to keep discreetly silent on the subject, telling Rolan only that Elspeth's studies "continued."
Well—they did. Sort of.
The gryphons—those dozen or so of the wing of thirty that were full mages, at any rate—were going to solve one problem for them. With seven pairs making the rounds of Falconsba
ne's web of power, the work of weakening his power-threads should be done between sunset and sunrise, easily. Under the cover of darkness, they were less likely to be spotted from below.
Nyara was going to be the arrow striking for Falconsbane's heart. That was a task Elspeth did not envy her, and she could not imagine how the Changechild managed to be so calm about it. Perhaps it was Need's steadying effect. Perhaps it was because she knew that if she betrayed any nervousness, Skif would probably fall to pieces.
Meanwhile, as Nyara crept closer and closer to her father's stronghold, she and Darkwind got to play target to distract him, if they could. The Shin'a'in could no longer play that role; he had started to look for them, and had laid traps for them that would catch them. They had no magic to disarm those traps, not as Darkwind and Elspeth had. The leshya'e Kal'enedral would be occupied in another way; helping Kra'heera and Kethra, confusing Falconsbane's FarSight and FarVision spells with their shamanic magic, so that he would not See the newcomers to the Vale, and the special energies of all the new mages there. That was vital to their purposes; if Falconsbane had any idea who and what had arrived to augment the powers of k'Sheyna, he would not hesitate, he would throw everything at them that he had, knowing their massed power could take him. Even with the help of the Kaled'a'in, there was no one in all of the new Council who thought the Vale and the three peoples there would survive that unscathed.
So Darkwind and Elspeth were on their own in supplying a needed distraction. Without distractions, Falconsbane might well notice the gryphons, Nyara, or both. If he noticed them—
She shuddered. Better not to think about it.
With Need's help, she had fashioned a blade that would counterfeit Need at a distance. It had no real power whatsoever—like the sword meant to select the rulers of Rethwellan, all it did was burn mage-energy in a spectacular fashion, radiating power to anyone with Mage-Sight. Gwena would supply the energy for that blade. Elspeth would go imperfectly shielded, at least on the surface, looking as ill-trained as possible. Darkwind would simply be himself. That alone should bring Falconsbane down on them.
They would ride north and west, skirting the edge of what was probably Falconsbane's territory, as if they were heading in search of something. Any time they met with one of the enemy's traps, they would destroy it. Any time they found one of his power-sinks, they would drain it. Meanwhile Firesong and the Kaled'a'in mages would be moving the proto-Gate, but with none of the speed they were capable of.
Darkwind hoped that Falconsbane would assume the obvious—that they were trying to distract him from diverting the proto-Gate—and therefore he would not look for something else they were distracting him from.
"I really ought to be used to playing target by now," she said, as she tightened Gwena's girth and prepared to ride out into the snow and cold with Darkwind. They looked like a pair of fancy-dress Heralds, the two of them; he wore winter scout gear, which was just as white as any Herald's uniform, and she had finally pried her Whites out of the grip of the disapproving hertasi. Gwena was champing at her nonexistent bit, ready to go—and Darkwind was going to be riding Firesong's very dear friend, the dyheli-mage, Brytha.
What was even more amazing than a dyheli mage, was the fact that Brytha had instantly volunteered for this, before Darkwind could ask any of the other stags to carry him.
:I am not much of mage,: Brytha had said, in the stilted thought-forms of his kind. :I channel power, like Companion. I channel to you; you are less tired, then.:
No one could deny the truth of that; any power that could be given to Darkwind without effort on his part increased his stamina tremendously. But now Elspeth knew why Brytha was white—and why Firesong could accomplish some of the incredible things he'd already done. With that extra reserve of power available, one Healing Adept could act like two, or even three.
That was the edge they had needed to turn this from suicidal to merely horribly dangerous, in Elspeth's opinion. Or at least, to less suicidal.
"I suppose you should be used to being a target, in those 'here I am, please, shoot me,' uniforms you wear," he replied with a grin, carefully tightening Brytha's girth.
"Not you, too," she complained. "Kero calls them the 'oh, shoot me now' uniforms. There are perfectly good reasons why we wear white!"
"I like you better in colors," he said simply and reached out to touch her hand, briefly but gently. "They suit your quiet beauty. White only makes you look remote. An ice-princess. Your spirit is brighter even than my best scarlet."
She flushed and hung her head to cover it. "Thank you," she replied carefully. Slowly, she was learning to accept his compliments without any of the doubt she'd have had if they had come from anyone else. And for a moment, she was back in his ekele in memory, surrounded by color and soft silk, warmth and admiration.
Then she shook off the memory. For now, all that was important was the task ahead of them. And for that task, she could not have asked for a better partner than the one she had now. Should they come out of this well enough, they would celebrate in the ekele again, in a similar way.
She mounted up; he followed a moment later, and looked into her eyes. She nodded, and he took the lead, riding out through the Veil and into the quiet cold and the snow.
The gauntlet was cast. There was no going back now.
Treyvan launched himself into the wind, his wings spreading wide to catch the updraft, spiraling higher above the Vale with every wingbeat. Behind and below him, Hydona echoed his launch, and once she reached height, the others followed. It was good to see other gryphons taking to the air again; better still to know that they were here to stay. Counting himself and Hydona, there were thirty-two gryphons in the Vale now, a full wing. The little ones would have many teachers, and doubtless there would be playmates for them before too long. The gryphons who had volunteered for this settlement were all paired, and the balmy temperatures of the Vale had sent several of the pairs into pre-courting. It should be very interesting to see the effect on the Tayledras if they had not moved by the time the true courting began....
But that was for later; now there was a job to be done.
They all knew what they were to do. Seven were to go to the south, seven to the north. The web of power gleamed to their inner sight, seen from far above the world; a construction of entirely artificial lines of energy and their anchors, overlaying the natural ley-lines and often conflicting with them. Not exactly a web in shape, only the power-poles were connecting-points. That was what held the whole construction stable—it was all that held the whole construction stable.
That would be to their benefit and Falconsbane's detriment. Anything that ran counter to the earth's own ways was subject to extreme stress. Maintaining this web would be much like flying against a headwind. The moment the pressure was released, the entire construction would implode.
The swiftest of the gryphons, two of nearly pure gyrfalcon lineage, would take the farthest points on the web—those two were not Treyvan and Hydona, but a much younger pair, Reaycha and Talsheena. Treyvan and Hydona, as senior mages, would take the nearest points, but they would take more of them, making up in work what they were not putting into flight time. All had agreed that this was the fairest way of apportioning the work; since the time of Skandranon, nothing was decreed within a gryphon wing without a majority consenting to it.
The two older gryphons held the middle heights, providing a marker point for the others to use to orient themselves. It was a moonless night, and on such nights, despite mage-enhanced night-sight, distances were often deceptive.
The first pair gained height above Treyvan and his mate, and shot off, barely visible against the swiftly-darkening sky, heading southwest and northwest. Then the second pair gained altitude and took to the sky-trail—then the third—
Finally, only he and Hydona were left, gliding in lazy circles on the Vale-generated thermal. The sky was entirely dark now, with wisps of cloud occluding the stars, and a crisp breeze coming up from below.
A good night for a flight.
:Well, my fine-crested lover,: she said, her mind-voice a warm purring in the back of his mind, :are you prepared to enchant me with some fancy flying?:
:Ever so, my love,: he replied, and drove his wings in powerful beats that sent him surging upward and outward, as she did the same. He glanced at her, and felt the familiar warmth of love and lust heating him as she showed her strength and beauty, angling against the wind. :We shall meet at dawn!:
Nyara also left at sunset, riding dyheli-back. She had not expected that boon, but the dyheli themselves had insisted on it. Her partner for this first part of the journey, until the moment that she must go on afoot, was a young female, Lareen. Fresh and strong, she promised laughingly that she could keep her rider well out of any trouble by strength and speed alone. That suited Nyara perfectly; she had no wish for any kind of a confrontation—it would be far better to reach the borders of Falconsbane's territory without anyone ever getting so much as a glimpse of her.
She had thought that this would be the worst moment of the journey, for Skif had been stiff and silent all during the Council meeting, and she feared he would remain so during the ride. She had not been looking forward to spending what might be their last hours together aching with the weight of his disapproval.
But instead, once the meeting was over, he had taken her aside where no one could overhear them. Except for Need, of course, for the sword had not left her side except for sleep; but the sword had remained silent, and he had ignored the blade entirely.
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