Valdemar 11 - [Owl Mage 03] - Owlknight

by Mercedes Lackey

  As Keisha made her rounds, she noticed Shandi and Karles watching the villagers thoughtfully, as if they were making some kind of assessment. Shandi glanced over at her once, but said nothing, so Keisha left her to her thoughts and continued taking care of the wounded.

  She finished around noon, and returned to the Shaman’s house. The pyre was nothing but embers now, for which she was very grateful, and the widows had thrown great heaps of green cedar, white sage, and juniper on the coals. The scented smoke had overcome the stench of the pyre.

  A line of gutted deer carcasses hung upside down by their rear hooves in the trees just outside the Shaman’s house; Kel and some of the others must have been very busy this morning. Ordinarily it wasn’t like Kel or the Tayledras to take out an entire herd of deer, but under the circumstances, it was the right thing to do.

  Maybe Red Fox won’t starve, she thought with a little more hope. This looks like enough to keep them going for a while.

  Shandi met her at the door as she approached, stopping her with a look. “How long do you think that will last?” she asked, nodding toward the line of carcasses.

  Keisha counted the deer, made a quick mental estimate of the number of people left and how much they would need to eat, added a bit more for generosity, and said, “About a fortnight.”

  Shandi nodded, and sucked on her lower lip for a moment. “That was what I figured. How long before most of the injured can hunt for themselves? About a fortnight?”

  “Pretty much,” she said truthfully, wondering what Shandi was thinking. “I’ve got them about half Healed; if we left now, it would be about a fortnight before they could do anything strenuous.” There was something going on in her sister’s mind—but what?

  Darian pushed the blanket over the door aside and joined them, looking sharply at Shandi. “What’s on your mind?” he asked abruptly, the same question Keisha had.

  “These people used to be in Snow Fox,” Shandi told him. “They split off about three generations ago, but they’re still a Snow Fox sept. Neta can put the directions to Snow Fox right into the heads of as many people as we need to. We can leave them with enough food to get them healed up, and they can make it to safety before anyone from Wolverine comes checking on them. There’s your solution.”

  Keisha heaved a sigh of relief as the tension eased out of Darian. “There’s our solution,” he agreed, nodding, the worry lines in his forehead smoothing out. “They won’t burden themselves down with possessions, because they don’t have any to speak of. Snow Fox has to take them in; they’re related. There’s nothing keeping them here, so I doubt they’ll make any objections, but let me check and see what Hywel thinks.”

  Keisha went back into the log house while Shandi, Karles, and Darian went over to the butchering area where Hywel was working to turn the deer into strips of jerked meat.

  She ate without tasting what she was eating, stayed a moment to rest, then went back to her patients. Now she had helpers—helpers who were dealing with their own pain by giving themselves something to think about besides their own ordeals, and they were very good at obeying her directions. She gave the same instructions so many times she could recite them without thinking about it: “Wash your hands in water that’s been boiled and cooled. Pull the dressing off carefully; don’t touch the wound with your hands. Sprinkle the mold-powder on the wound, check for the signs of infection. Take a new dressing that’s been washed and boiled, rebandage the wound.” One man had the start of an infection; she used the occasion to call all the women together to give them a lesson in what infection looked like and how to deal with it. If they aren’t Wisewomen, they’ll certainly have half the training by the time this is over....

  By nightfall she was as exhausted as she had been the previous night, but when she returned to the group around the fire in the log house, the mood there was so much more cheerful that she nearly wept with gratitude. She didn’t, but she quietly basked in the positive feelings while she ate, listening to the discussions of what to do to prepare Red Fox for the journey. The Shaman’s widows joined in the discussion—not with animation, but with a determination that surprised and pleased her. They were ready to leave now, and anything they could do to hasten the date of departure would be dealt with.

  “Neta already gave Gwynver, Rinan, and Dedren the directions to Snow Fox,” Darian told her in an aside during a pause in the discussion. “They’re going to tell the rest of the tribe tomorrow that their husband and the Red Fox spirit came to them in a dream tonight—the Red Fox turned white, and their husband showed them the way to their allies.”

  “Nobody will argue with that,” Hywel agreed, looking more like his old self. “And who knows? Tonight it might well happen that way. If I were the Red Fox, I would certainly choose to do that for my people.”

  “Young man!” called one of the three women—who was certainly no older than Hywel—in an imperious tone. “Tell me again where in the stream to place the fish trap!”

  Hywel rolled his eyes, but turned back to her with all the deference due that rare woman who ranked higher than a young warrior, and the conversation resumed. Keisha leaned against Darian and closed her eyes. There was no more tension in the air; even Kel was satisfied with the solution. No longer having to keep her shields reinforced, she relaxed further—then she heard the word sleep in a dyheli mind-voice and the next thing she knew, Darian was putting her into her sleeping roll.

  She murmured her thanks, and unable to even get her eyes open, gave up and fell back into dreamless slumber.

  Seventeen

  If the people of Red Fox themselves had not been so determined to take Shandi’s solution and follow through on it, Darian would have had a harder time with his conscience. As it was, it was difficult, very difficult, to persuade himself that the tribe would do as well without his help as with it.

  But the survivors greeted the morning’s “revelation” by the three co-conspirators with unquestioning belief and even enthusiasm. It didn’t hurt that the eldest of the three widows confided to Darian with a look of wonder that she really had dreamed of the Red Fox spirit. Furthermore, she wonderingly said that in her dream the spirit had bestowed its approval of all that they had said and planned, and it had told her to tell the rest of the people to do as these special foreigners—the “Trusted Not-of-the-Tribe” —directed. Whether her own mind manufactured the dream, or it was a true vision didn’t really matter at the moment; what did make a difference was the reverence. She almost palpably projected a glow when she told the rest of her tribe of the manufactured vision. Because the spirits had approved of it, it became true for her and for her two co-widows. Their belief was contagious; it didn’t even require the mental nudging of the dyheli, which had been his private, emergency plan.

  When one of the younger widows lamented her husband’s loss again, the older woman gained a sudden look of extreme serenity and replied, “The Fox says, ‘Do not let yesterday use up too much of today,’ child.” Two heartbeats of utter stillness followed, and then the older woman bent to pick up some of her belongings to prepare for the journey. Whether that had been clever acting or an actual contact with the Fox Spirit he did not know, but the effect was startling. One by one, the rest followed suit.

  Kel, Hywel, and Wintersky went hunting that day as well, making certain that the village would have meat enough to carry it through not only the next fortnight, but the necessarily slow journey to Snow Fox. Steelmind, Shandi, Karles, and the dyheli “hunted” growing edibles and collected firewood.

  Perhaps “collecting” was an understatement. They hitched the dyheli and Karles to downed trees, which were then dragged to the village; before long there was an enormous line of them in the clearing, waiting to be chopped up. It was an exquisite irony that so many of Darian’s youthful indiscretions had revolved around collecting firewood, and now here he was, in charge of firewood yet again.

  Darian remained behind to help the survivors plan their journey, help Keisha, and chop
the wood—with the help of the strongest of the girls, women, and any of the men fit to swing an ax or a mallet. Many of them were impressed by the high quality of the Tayledras axes, and marveled at Wintersky’s folding ax. And from the fierce and controlled anger with which the women dealt with their woody “adversaries,” Darian figured they were getting more than just stockpiled wood out of the exercise.

  For him, the day passed quickly. He took a great deal of his own anger out on the wood; it felt good to imagine the faces of the Wolverine raiders and strike with his full strength behind the blows.

  Everyone was so exhausted by the end of that day that they all went straight to bed relatively early. But there was none of the depression and gloom hanging over them that there had been; having a place to go and things to do to get ready for the migration had altered the entire mood of the tribe.

  He had no illusions about the damaged psyches of the women, however. What they had endured would have to be dealt with eventually—but he trusted, having met and worked with him, that the Shaman of Snow Fox would be able to give them help.

  Or if he can’t, their own tribal spirits certainly will.

  So he went to sleep feeling, if not cheered, certainly with his conscience doing little more than an occasional mutter.

  They left only when they all felt that they had done as much for the tribe as was needed; there was firewood piled high, racks and racks of meat drying, all manner of stores to tide these people through the difficult weeks ahead. Keisha had done as much as she could, given the brief amount of time she’d had to work; time and their own bodies would do the rest. The women had a purpose again, the men a reason to heal and get on their feet. The despair was gone, and there was even a glimpse of hope, now and again. These people were ready to stand on their own feet. If they weren’t to become dependent on their benefactors, it was time for Darian’s group to leave.

  So they rode out on the morning of their fifth day with Red Fox, though not precisely as they had ridden in. If there were no cheers sending them off, there were grateful farewells, hands pressed silently but fervently, eyes with life in them again. If Darian did not feel good about leaving them to carry on without any more help, he didn’t feel bad about it either.

  As they took their bearings and departed from that path of browned and dying underbrush, heading once again for the pass between two mountains to the west and north, Darian felt the weight of another responsibility descend on him. Now they knew that Wolverine was out there, raiding, looting, and killing. They would have to be twice as vigilant as before.

  He also held a secret from Keisha and Shandi, which made him feel a bit guilty. It wasn’t a major secret—but he wasn’t sure how they’d react if they knew it.

  Kel hadn’t won the hearts of Red Fox with his gifts; the dyheli had insinuated the concept of friendly, helpful, protective gryphons into the minds of the tribesmen long before the group ever reached the village itself.

  Now that was meddling, by any standard. The dyheli didn’t think of it that way; they considered it as being helpful, easing the way, making certain that the humans of Red Fox got no more traumatic experiences. However, they had planted a concept in the minds of the unsuspecting without consent or permission.

  Quite frankly, at this point, Darian was in accord with the dyheli. Things had been difficult enough without having to calm hysterics and panic. They needed Kel’s help, and needed to be able to have him come and go openly.

  According to Kel, their detour might have been a good thing in a tactical sense. There were no wide meadows between here and the pass, nothing but thick forest. At least the group on the ground would have cover the entire way.

  Yes, but so will any Wolverine raiding parties.

  Hardly a comforting thought.

  :Excuse me,: Neta said politely into Darian’s mind, :but there is something rather badly wrong in these woods. I don’t know what, precisely, but it’s too quiet.:

  :I agree,: Hashi spoke up. :There doesn’t seem to be anything around here bigger than a tree-hare, and even the tree-hares are staying high up. I haven’t scented anything of a decent size since we crossed that last big stream.:

  Darian didn’t like the way the forest felt either. The trees were a little farther apart here, letting plenty of sunlight through, and it should have been correspondingly more cheerful. But it wasn’t; the forest felt empty, hollow, like that deserted village they had encountered.

  Could Wolverine have hunted this place out? he wondered. That might be the explanation, and yet it didn’t feel right. For one thing, there wasn’t any sign of humans hunting—the broken undergrowth, trail marker ties, remains of camps, that sort of thing. For another, he didn’t think that even a tribe like Wolverine would hunt an area bare.

  They had been climbing steadily all day; they had managed to journey over all the territory between Red Fox and this final pass without crossing paths with any more raiding parties. There shouldn’t be any reason why they wouldn’t be on the other side of the mountains by tonight. Then, provided the information they had was correct, they would be within touching distance of Raven.

  And my parents?

  The shadow of the mountain fell across their path; it wasn’t just cool here, it was cold. Darian shivered, and out of the corner of his eye saw Shandi pulling her cloak closer. I’ll be glad when we get across, into the sunlight. Who would have thought it could be this cold at the beginning of summer? Small wonder that the Ghost Cat villagers had not been prepared for the summer heat in Valdemar. He was just glad that for once it wasn’t raining. In this cold, rain would feel like drops of ice.

  There was another small clearing coming up ahead of them, one with a brush-filled ravine running along the left side. As they cautiously entered the clearing, Hashi and Neta were running flank guard, Kelvren was high above, Kuari was running tail guard, and the other two birds were in front. It was better to have the birds in front and behind; they could cover more ground than Neta and Hashi. It’s too bad they don’t have a way to pick up scent, but—

  There was a flash of motion. Out of nowhere, something huge and white reared up from the ravine, stretching up and up, and Darian froze. He couldn’t move; all he could do was stare upward, at the strange eyes that whirled and pulsed in the snakelike head two stories above the ground....

  .... how ... incredible....

  Was there someone calling him? Well, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but those eyes. He forgot everything, even his name; all he wanted to do was to stare into those eyes forever. They were beautiful. He’d have thought his Clan, his Knighthood, and his quest were all useless if he’d even been able to think of them. The eyes were all that mattered. All else narrowed to them, or rather—yes, the eyes engulfed him. There was nothing above or below or around him that was of consequence, or was even noticed as missing, for that matter. There was only those eyes.

  Just as abruptly as the drake’s appearance, his mount went from immobile to active in a heartbeat. The dyheli spun in place, wrenching his attention from those hypnotic eyes, lurched into a run, and fled back down the way they had come. Greenery and stone flashed past at incredible speed, making even the view through Kuari’s eyes when they were linked seem plodding by comparison. Holding on for dear life, Darian’s dyheli caromed off the side of another one laden with supplies, which went down into the underbrush. Darian’s knee and shin hurt immediately from the crushing blow against the dyheli’s ribs, but the fallen dyheli was nowhere to be seen now. He looked around desperately. The noise of cracking branches and clattering gear mixed with a climbing whine behind him—a shrill one he had never heard before, much like the death cry of a rabbit, but forced from larger lungs. The dyheli he had crunched against struggled to get back up and then vanished into a pillar of white—the cold-drake’s open jaws crushed down upon the flailing dyheli and there were three swift thrashing bites. The dyheli was dead, somewhere back there, but the scenery blurred past and the line of sight was gone. He wasn’t al
one; all of the dyhelis were stampeding back down the path, with Karles and Shandi in the lead. He shook off his pain and hung on like a leech as his mount lurched down the slope just a breath away from a disastrous stumble.

  That was a cold-drake. Oh, gods, that was a cold-drake! Now that he wasn’t under the creature’s spell, he knew the danger of what it was, and could put a name on it. He knew what must have saved them, too—Neta, out there free and not under the cold-drake’s mesmerizing gaze. She had exercised her own Gift and had taken over the minds of every other dyheli and probably Karles, too. Then she had made them all stampede away from the danger zone; the cold-drake wasn’t swift enough to keep up with them.

  The dyheli traveled across the forest floor in huge bounds, snapping Darian’s head back and forth until he got into the same rhythm as his mount. The dyheli didn’t usually break into this “stampede gait” when mounted, and he could only thank his luck that there was a saddle between him and that knobby dyheli backbone. As it was, his neck muscles hurt, and so did his head.

  As abruptly as they began their run, they ended it, bouncing in three or four steps to a halt a safe distance down the pass. The others came to a stop beside him, with the dyhelis shaking their heads so hard their ears flapped as Neta let their minds loose. Last to stop was Karles, and it seemed to Darian that as the Companion walked toward them, his expression was decidedly sheepish.

  Now it hit him—how close they had all been to a distinctly unpleasant death—and he began to shake with reaction, the sour taste of fear in his mouth. One more heartbeat, and we’d all have been dinner. Oh, gods.

  Keisha looked puzzled; Shandi still confused. “We lost—we lost Gacher. What happened?” Keisha blurted. “What was that? Why did the dyheli all run?”

  :Gacher has died. The herd ran because I made them,: came Neta’s mind-voice. :As for what that was, I do not know; only that it was dangerous. It had you all spell-trapped with its eyes and mind.: