Winds of Change

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Oh, and he would enjoy having us at odds over him as well,” Darkwind replied. “Make no mistake about it. He is aptly named. I suspect he leaves lovers strewn in his wake like old, dead leaves. He would take great pleasure in being the centerpiece of a quarrel, only to turn about and mend it. But he is too much the Healing Adept to allow that to happen now in a situation this important. In a quieter time, perhaps.”

  “Well, he isn’t going to get another chance from me,” she replied firmly. “Let him go play his games with someone else.” She shook her head, and realized that the muscles of her neck and shoulders were aching with tenseness. “Look, after all that, I need a soak. Come with me?”

  He smiled, and reached for her hand. She met him halfway. “A good notion,” he replied clasping his warm hand around her cold one.

  Moments later, they were side by side in the hot pool below her ekele. She sighed as the heat and her own deliberate attempt to relax her muscles took effect, easing the stiffness and some of the pain.

  It was very dark under the tree, and neither of them put up a mage-light to illuminate the shadows. He was a silent presence in the water beside her; not touching her, but there nevertheless. Above them the ever-present breezes of the Vale stirred the leaves of the tree; somewhere in the distance, a bird sang for a moment, then fell silent. Or perhaps it was someone playing a flute.

  Darkwind lifted a hand out of the water, and the sound of drops falling from it to the pool seemed very loud. Elspeth emptied her mind and let it drift, full of nothing but the sounds around her.

  “Do you think he meant that?” Darkwind said, finally.

  “Do I think who meant what?” she asked, lazily.

  “Firesong. Do you think he meant what he said about - ” Darkwind hesitated, “ - about me?”

  “Why?” she asked, fiercely. “Because if you plan on taking him up on it, I’ll - I’ll - ” She sought desperately for the most absurd thing she could say. “I’ll scratch his big blue eyes out!”

  Darkwind laughed, and she let relief wash over her again. “No, I do not plan on taking him up on it.”

  “Good,” she replied. “Because in a cat-fight, I’d win.”

  “I believe you would,” he said lazily.

  “That’s because I’d cheat,” she continued.

  “I know you would,” he chuckled.

  Then she reached toward him and found his hand catching hers, pulling her toward him. She decided not to fight and let her body drift to his.

  “You would do that for me?” he asked. “Fight, cheat - ”

  “Well, fight, anyway. I’d only cheat if it was Firesong because he’d already be cheating.” He put his arm around her, and suddenly it was good just to rest her head on his chest and listen to the night.

  “He probably would.” He took one or two deep breaths. “I do not think that you need to worry about Firesong, however.” Another breath. “Or shall I show you that, so that you truly believe me?”

  “Please,” she said, surprising herself.

  Then he surprised her.

  Darkwind held Elspeth’s hand, facing Iceshadow and Nightjewel across the circle, the Stone standing ominously in the middle, half-obscuring the other couple. To the right, Treyvan and Hydona faced the crazed surface of the Stone with no sign of trepidation; to the left, Starblade and Kethra stood, hand in hand, in a peculiar echo of Darkwind and Elspeth’s own pose. In the middle of their carefully constructed circle was the Stone.

  It showed its damage now, and not just to the inner eye. Trails of sullen red light crawled over its surface, strange little paths of lightning in miniature. Every line that could be severed from it, had been, and had been reattached to the node beneath the gryphons’ lair. That had taken a full day, with a working team of the gryphons, Elspeth, and himself - and Firesong and Need.

  He had been surprised when Firesong appeared with the blade in hand, he was amazed when the Adept actually used Need’s powers. The two couples had held a warding about the circle, as the Adept and the blade together severed all but two of the remaining ley-lines and relocated them to the node beneath the lair. Firesong was not inclined to explain how he could use magics so openly feminine, and Need held her peace when Darkwind questioned the Adept. Elspeth was just as astonished. It was Nyara herself who had provided the answer, with an odd shyness, when he asked her. “He is balanced,” she had told Darkwind. “He is completely balanced between his masculine and feminine sides. So even as he can use man’s magic, he can also use woman’s magic, magic keyed only to females.”

  “Such as what Need holds?” he had asked. She had nodded. “And since she is willing to do so, she can feed her power through his feminine side. She would not be able to do that, were he not so balanced.”

  So although Nyara did not have the mage-strength to enter the circle and wield the blade effectively in this case, Need was there anyway, and lending her power to the isolating of the Stone.

  Falconsbane, thank the gods, remained quiet during that day, and during the day that it took for Firesong - alone, completely unaided - to create the proto-Gate from the Stone’s remaining power. He would permit no one else within the shielded area. It was too dangerous, he said, and something about his unusual grimness made Darkwind believe him completely. Darkwind and Elspeth took a patrol on the edge of the Vale, encountering nothing more dangerous than a lone wyrsa, and returned to linger outside the shielded area, waiting for Firesong to emerge.

  That was when he finally realized just what it meant to be a mage as powerful as Firesong. What it meant to be a Healing Adept, in terms of personal cost.

  As the sun set, Firesong staggered across the invisible pass-through at the boundary and fell into their arms. No longer the arrogant, self-assured young peacock; he was drained, shaking, drenched with sweat. His very hair hung lank and limp with exhaustion. He was hardly able to stand, much less walk.

  They held him up, Darkwind’s heart in his throat, until he told them in a hoarse voice that he was all right. “Just - tired,” he had croaked. “Very - tired. I have - called help.”

  The white dyheli that had brought him to the Vale appeared at that moment as if conjured, and Darkwind helped the Adept up onto the stag’s back at his direction. “My hertasi are waiting,” Firesong had whispered, from under a curtain of sweat-soaked hair. “I told them what to expect, what I would require. Thank you for helping me.”

  “Shall I get some other help?” Darkwind had asked, uncertainly.

  The curtain of hair had shaken a faint negative. “They know what to do. It is their ancient function, I shall be well enough in a day or so.”

  Darkwind had nodded and stepped back, letting the dyheli bear his burden away.

  And Firesong had been well enough in a day, making a recovery that seemed little short of miraculous to anyone who had seen him the day before. It seemed he had recovery skills as remarkable as his other skills.

  Darkwind and Elspeth had taken another turn as border guardians, with both of them expecting trouble from Falconsbane at any moment. But no trouble came, nothing more than some odd glimpses of shadow riders, who could have been little more than nerves and an overactive imagination. Certainly they left no traces on the fresh snow. At the end of that day, they had returned to find Firesong waiting for them, fully restored.

  “Tomorrow,” he had said. “It must be tomorrow. Starblade and Kethra are not as strong as I would like, but Nyara is afraid that with every passing day, it becomes more likely that her father will strike again. Need agrees, and I will not underestimate Falconsbane again if I can help it. I will go to instruct the gryphons this evening, and we shall gather on the morrow.”

  Darkwind still did not know exactly what passed between Firesong and the gryphons, but it must have been interesting. Hydona would surely have met his young arrogance with an arrogance of her own, and Treyvan would have deflated Firesong with a few well-chosen comments. Nevertheless, here they were, calmly prepared to do what they must.
/>   And in the center of the circle, ready to strike when all was prepared - Firesong and Need.

  The young Adept looked carefully at each one of his chosen pairs, meeting the eyes of each of them in turn. Darkwind brought his chin up and nodded in answer to that unspoken challenge, and Elspeth showed the ghost of a feral smile. What Firesong saw must have convinced him that they were ready, for he nodded.

  “Let us begin,” he said simply, with no elaborate speeches. There was no need for speeches, after all. They all knew what they were to do, they had drilled together as much as they could. If they were not ready now, nothing anyone could say would make any difference.

  Darkwind already held Elspeth’s physical hand; now he held out a mental hand, and felt her take it firmly, but without clutching. He let the power build between them for a moment, then he bent his attention (though not his eyes) to the left, where his father and Kethra stood. Elspeth turned hers to the right.

  He sensed Kethra building the power between herself and Starblade; then having secured her ground, she bent her attention to him, and he held out another “hand” to her. She took it, fumbling a bit at first, then her “grip” firmed. It was the clasp of a warrior, for all that she was a Healer.

  :But a Healer fights for the lives of her patients, does she not? As much a warrior as a bladesman,: Kethra said lightly; then she braced herself to make their bond as strong as possible.

  On the right, he sensed Treyvan catching Elspeth’s extended “hand.” At that moment, the circle trembled for a heartbeat, until all the powers within it found their balance points. Male and female, human and gryphon, old and young; earth, air, fire, and water; Tayledras, Valdemaran, Shin’a’in, far-traveler. . . .

  Then the unexpected; when the balance came, it brought with it a sense of wholeness and astonished joy, a lift to his spirits like nothing he had felt since the Heartstone shattered. He saw his surprise mirrored in Kethra’s eyes; felt it in the trembling of Elspeth’s physical hand in his. He wanted to shout, to laugh, to sing - this was how magery should be! This marvelous feeling of rightness!

  Movement at the center of the circle caught his attention, and he looked up for a moment at Firesong. The young Adept was smiling, his eyes alight - and somehow Darkwind knew that the wholeness, the joy, came from him.

  Was this how Firesong felt every time he worked magic? No wonder it was effortless for him ... no wonder he was willing to exhaust himself, drain himself to nothing, if this was his reward.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, Darkwind wondered if he would ever feel this way again - knew he never would - and at the same time, knew there would always be a little of this whenever he worked a spell. The touch of the Healer Adept had given that much to him.

  The eight of them bound themselves ever closer, with Elspeth weaving their power around and about the circle until it was no longer a circle, but a shell of energy as precise as a porcelain egg, as strong as sword-steel.

  Firesong began to tap his foot. He could not bring a drum into the circle, for he could not use it and Need at the same time - but standing just behind Starblade and well within the danger area was Nyara. She caught Firesong’s rhythm, and began to drum with a skill Darkwind had not suspected of her. Darkwind picked up the rhythm within a few beats, moving his legs and loosening up; the others followed upon it. The stamping of his feet was enough like a dance that his own magic gained in strength; and where Elspeth’s light-weaving gave their construct form, his dancing gave it movement, making it dance, so that there were no weak places, and no places holding still long enough to be weakened by an attack.

  He closed his eyes and gave himself up to the rhythm; sensing Elspeth holding firm beside him. Sensing Firesong waiting, poised above the waiting Stone, choosing his moment -

  Then, he struck.

  Need rang as she impacted the Heartstone pointfirst, but instead of the shriek of agony that Darkwind had expected, there came a single bell-like tone.

  The sound filled the air and filled his soul; carried all other sounds away, drowning them, and he sensed that they must contain it, or it would ring through the Vale and shatter everything in its path.

  Nyara threw herself into the drumming, and though he could no longer hear it, he felt it. He threw all of his power and will into the effort of holding - holding - holding until he thought he must fall.

  He felt himself faltering, felt the circle faltering. He steeled himself and poured more energy in. He sensed a change in the tone.

  It was weakening, fading away.

  That gave him his second wind and the strength to keep his place, to keep the power contained. As it faded, so did his strength, but always just a little behind the tone so that his ability to keep it contained was just enough to do so.

  Finally it was gone, faded into an echo, then into nothing.

  He opened his eyes, swaying on his feet, and looked around. Firesong leaned heavily on the blade, which was buried to the hilt in a pile of uneven, dull-gray shards. Starblade leaned on Kethra’s shoulder, and even as he watched, Iceshadow and Nightjewel sank to the ground together. Even the gryphons’ heads were hanging down with weariness. But when Treyvan finally raised his head with an effort, and looked into Darkwind’s eyes, Darkwind saw satisfaction and triumph that mirrored his own there.

  “Brothers,” came the weary voice from the center of the circle. “Sisters. We have succeeded.”

  :Damn if we haven’t,: Need said, and even the sword sounded exhausted. :Damn if we haven’t.:

  Firesong stood erect again, pulling himself up with an effort, and with a single gesture, banished the circle of power beyond them that had contained the rogue Stone for so long. He shared that power among them, equally, giving them all the strength to stand firmly again. Not much more than that, but at least they were no longer about to drop.

  Darkwind did not need to close his eyes to sense the burning lens of power that had been the Stone and was now the proto-Gate. It hovered between this world and the world of Gates and ley-lines, affected by both - yet no longer the malignant, near-sentient thing it had been. Now it was only power. And now that the shields were down, the gryphons were able to draw safely on the clean power of their own node.

  They lost their weariness, legs straightening, wings refolding with a snap, heads coming up.

  Nyara entered the former circle quietly, and Firesong handed Need back to her with little bow of courtesy before he turned back to the gryphons. “Well,” he said, his voice already stronger, as he shared the power they were drawing from the node they had made their own. “And are you ready for the first stage of the move?”

  “Lead on, featherrlessss one,” Treyvan said, cocking his head sideways. “And congratulationssss. That wasss well done.”

  Firesong had that arrogant little smile back, but this time Darkwind was not going to fault him for it. This had been the most brilliant, innovative piece of magic he had ever seen - and, he suspected, was ever likely to see.

  “Thank you,” Firesong replied with no show of humility at all, false or otherwise. “That was the hardest part. The rest, though it will be tedious, will be much easier.”

  “Hmm. Yesss. Perrhapsss. It isss not wissse to count the eyassess until they arrre fledged.” Hydona roused her feathers with a shake, so much like Vree that Darkwind chuckled despite his weariness. “Ssstill, sssoonesst begun isss sssoon-essst done. Let usss deal with thisss prrroto-Gate of yoursss before it getsss the notion to wanderrr on itsss own.”

  As the rest of them gathered themselves up and headed for the Council Oak, where the hertasi had assembled food and drink, Darkwind sighed with relief and squeezed Elspeth’s hand. The worst, indeed, was over. No matter what else happened, Falconsbane would not be able to destroy the Vale and Stone together. So for now, at least, they were safe.

  Or as safe as they were likely to get, with Falconsbane still out there.

  Still plotting. Still watching.

  Still Falconsbane ... a terrible and implaca
ble foe.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  There was a peculiar feeling to the Featherless Fools’ Vale today. Falconsbane could not quite put his finger on what it was, but he sensed that they had redoubled their shielding on the Stone again. They had also reduced the number of lines on the Stone to a bare two, but those were the most powerful of all. It would not have been possible to sever either of them - no matter how good that Adept thought he was.

  He smiled to himself, fingering the tiny, carved horse - which was not onyx, nor obsidian, nor any other stone he knew. It could not be chipped nor marred in any way at all, no matter what he did to it. It should have been fragile. He had even ordered one of his artisans to strike it with a stone sledgehammer when nothing he had done had aflected it in any way. It had chipped the hammer; obviously, it was anything but fragile.

  A puzzle; like those who had sent it.

  One he did not have time for, as matters stood. He needed to concentrate on his plan for k’Sheyna, a plan that required patience and vigilance, but would pay for that patience handsomely. The Bird Lovers could put all the shields they wanted to on that Stone of theirs; they still wouldn’t be able to save it. And the moment they dropped the shielding, he would be waiting. He would not fail a second time.

  Let them only drop the shield. He had been waiting for days now, buried in his study, gathering his strength, preparing a single, lightning strike that would overwhelm Starblade, burn away his mind, and burn through him to the Stone.

  It was a new sort of action for him - and thus, he thought, it would be unexpected and unanticipated. There would be no testing, no struggling of wills. Just one single, quick, clean blow, spending all of his power in that strike and holding none in reserve. A reckless kind of action, audacious. Starblade would flare up like a stick of dry kindling, and a moment later, his home would follow, Adept and all. It was not the end he would have chosen for Starblade or his followers, but it would at least be revenge.