Winds of Change

by Mercedes Lackey

  Skif had not known a mother like that either; in that much, they were kin.

  Yet he received that kind of unquestioning love from - his Companion.

  She suppressed another surge of envy. To have that kind of love - what did he need from her?

  Somehow he sensed that doubt, and answered it. Not with words, though; with feeling, feelings that she could not possibly doubt. In her mind, he held her close and wanned her.

  Their peaceful reverie was broken by his Companion, who stole up beside them and nudged his shoulder. He turned to her after a moment of silent dialogue.

  :Cymry says that Elspeth and Darkwind have managed to attract some attention by springing a trap. She doesn‘t think Falconsbane is personally involved yet, but now would be a good time to move on while his guards are occupied with trying to catch them.:

  She nodded and sensed Need’s agreement as well.

  The moment passed, but something of it remained. She examined herself carefully, trying to figure out exactly what it was, and finally gave it up.

  The terrain became uneasily familiar, and she felt that cold fear rising up her spine and chilling her throat. Soon now - soon. The first of the border-protections was not that far from here; soon she would have to dismount, shed cloak and coat, and key herself up to the point where she could ignore pain and exhaustion, and run like one of the dyheli herself.

  By dawn, if all went well, she would be inside the fortress itself. Alone. . . .

  : Alone, like bloody hell,: the sword snorted scornfully. :What am I, an old tin pot?:

  The image that Need sent to her, of Nyara wielding a tin pot against fearful guards, made her smother a giggle, and completely dispelled the fear. Of course she wasn’t alone! She had Need beside her, Skif behind her - she would never really be alone again!

  :That’s the spirit. Just keep thinking that way.:

  And somehow, she did, as she and Skif followed Winter-moon deeper into the forest, past the valley where the dyheli herd had been caught by one of her father’s traps so long ago, closer to the border and the first of the barriers that she must cross.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Elspeth had been feeling eyes on the back of her neck for the past league and more, ever since they had sprung the trap meant for a bondbird. A particularly nasty thing, Brytha had spotted it and had alerted them to the fact that there were both physical and magical defenses in the trees as well as on the ground. If Vree had encountered such a thing unprepared, it would certainly have caught and hurt him and might well have killed him. But then, Falconsbane was well aware that harming the bondbird meant harming its bond-mate.

  The night-shrouded forest had held plenty of traps, not all of them Falconsbane’s. Rocks and roots lurked beneath the snow, to trip even the wariest. Shadows could hide anything - or nothing. Elspeth’s night-sight was not of the best, and she was forced to rely on Gwena’s physical senses entirely - although, truthfully, that meant she could devote most of her attention to her mage-senses, spying out trouble.

  Trouble there was, right enough, and it increased the closer they got to Falconsbane’s lands. Alarms, and more traps, some meant to hold, and some meant to kill. Places where Falconsbane’s underlings had simply left things to trip up the unwary, to make them delay. Nothing living, though; Elspeth was not sure if that was a good or bad sign.

  Now, with the gray light of dawn creeping over the forest and Vree scouting overhead, she was so tense with anxiety that she felt like a spring too tightly wound - and would have been starting at every little sound, if she had not held herself under careful control. This was the first time she, personally, had played decoy - the Heir to the Throne of Valdemar was far too important to risk as a decoy or bait - and now she knew how Kero and the Skybolts had felt when they were playing this little game.

  I can’t show I know we’re in danger, or we stop being such attractive targets. . . .

  If everything was going according to plan, the gryphons would be completing their task if they had not already done so. Nyara would be deep inside her father’s stronghold. And very soon they would be free to sprint back for the shelter of the Vale and the protections of a Vale full of mages and Adepts.

  Nyara was already inside her father’s lands, if not his stronghold; Skif had relayed that via Cymry just past midnight. He and Wintermoon had seen her safely past the first line of defenses, and had gone to the rally-point, the place she would reach if she could when this was all over. But there was no way of knowing how far she was at this point.

  Please, whatever gods there be - Star-Eyed, Kernos, Astera, whatever you call yourselves - let us all come through this with bodies and minds and hearts intact -

  Elspeth was exhausted and getting wearier with every passing moment; this business of springing traps was not as easy as it had sounded. Yes, they could use the power of the ley-lines to augment their own - when they could reach them. Some of Falconsbane’s own lines overlaid the natural ones, rendering them inaccessible. And some of the lines were protected against meddling by Falconsbane’s own power. No, nothing was as simple as it had sounded when they first made this plan, and it had not truly seemed all that simple then!

  She caught Darkwind’s eye; he smiled at her, but it seemed more than a little strained.

  :He’s in about the same shape you are,: Gwena said gently. :And your imagination is not acting up. You are being watched. Imperfectly - the Shin’a’in are doing what they can - but Falconsbane knows you‘re here and he knows who you are. :

  Well, that was the object of this little excursion, wasn’t it? To take the attention off of Nyara and the gryphons? Nevertheless, she felt a chill run up her back as the feeling of being watched increased, and the malevolence behind the watching “eyes” made itself felt.

  :Vree says the gryphons are done!: Darkwind exulted, suddenly. :The last line is loose!:

  Distance-Mindspeech was a hazard around Falconsbane - the kind he was watching for, at any rate. But they had something he didn’t; the gryphons Mindspoke to Vree, and he in turn to Darkwind - and all at a level it was doubtful Falconsbane was even aware of, much less could eavesdrop upon.

  She and Gwena turned, following Darkwind’s lead as if they had decided they had come far enough on an ordinary patrol, and were turning back.

  Ice crawled up her spine, her stomach was one huge knot of fear and nausea, and she kept looking out of the corners of her eyes for the first signs that Falconsbane was going to attack. We can’t run. If we run, he’ll chase us. We can’t hold him off if he goes all-out against us. So we have to look as if we ‘re just changing directions, and hope that he doesn‘t lose interest. . . .

  Huh. Better hope that he doesn‘t decide he‘s not going to let us slip away when he realizes we ‘re headed away from him!

  At least we know the gryphons succeeded.

  If only they had some such bond with Nyara. She licked lips gone dry with a tongue just as dry with fear, and felt her stomach tighten a little more.

  Nyara crept along the dusty passages between the walls of her father’s stronghold, moving as quietly as only she could. In this, she was her father’s superior; he had never mastered the art of moving without noise, without even the sound of a breath. Then again, he had never had need to. He had never had anyone to fear or avoid.

  In all his life, he never had to hide from anyone.

  Not like a certain small girl, who had huddled for hours in these passageways to avoid him - to avoid what he had in store for her.

  She felt fear starting to cramp her stomach, and sternly told it to relax. Deep breaths. Slowly. Tension brings mistakes; fear is his weapon.

  She was glad of the dust, for all that it might have choked her, had she not come prepared for it. She breathed through a silken cloth wrapped closely around nose and mouth; slowly, evenly, taking each step only after testing the surface before her. The dust meant that no one had walked this passage since she had last been here - and that had been years. The last
time - certainly it had been two years and more. The last time she had been here was long before she had even dreamed of escape from her father’s power. And then it had taken a year of planning before she dared to try.

  How bitter it had been to learn that the attempt had been watched and planned by Falconsbane all along. . . .

  That thought plays into his hands again. No, Nyara; once you were free of him, you did things he had never anticipated you would. You won free of him. You turned his own plan against him. Surely it is he who tastes bitterness now.

  She put that old disappointment behind her, throttled her fear again, and concentrated completely on setting each foot down carefully, noiselessly. At the moment, this was the only thing in the universe that was important. What was past could not be changed; the future lay beyond this passageway. This was all that she controlled, this moment of now, and she must control it completely. . . .

  So far, Need had detected no alarms or traps in this passageway itself. Perhaps her father did not feel he needed any. Perhaps he trusted in the narrowness of the passage to keep anything of real danger out of it. Certainly it was much too small to permit the movement of an armed man.

  But not too small for one small, slender female, armed with only the sword that she kept out and pointed into the darkness before her.

  Thirty steps from here was her goal; her father’s study. One of his workrooms; it lay in a suite in the heart of his stronghold, the heart of his power. There was an entrance into this passage from that room; behind a tapestry at the farther end, through the back of a wooden wardrobe that Falconsbane kept some of his special garments in. He knew all about it, of course, for he had built it - but because he knew about it, she did not think he ever thought about it anymore. The passage and the entrance had been there since before she was born, and no one that he knew of had ever used it but him in all that time. If she was very lucky, he might assume that since no one ever had, no one ever would.

  Twenty steps more.

  :He’s ahead up there,: Need cautioned. :In the suite. No one but him, and he’s busy.:

  Ten steps.

  She had never prayed before -

  :Don’t worry about that, kitten. I’m praying enough for both of us. And I’m an expert at it.:

  Five. . . .

  Elspeth sensed something change, like the sharpness in the air before lightning strikes. Alarm shrilled along her nerves, and every hair on her body stood on end. A bitter, metallic taste filled her throat. Gwena snorted and froze where she stood, sensing it as well - Darkwind and Brytha beside them did the same at the same moment. They were no longer being watched. . . .

  They were being targeted!

  No use to run now - they couldn’t escape what was coming.

  :Shields!: Darkwind cried. He stuck out his hand, blindly, as they had planned if it came to this; she linked to Gwena and caught his hand, and with it, his link. He was better at shielding; she flung her power to him, taking whatever Gwena could pour into her.

  She sensed the blow coming and cringed over Gwena’s neck; he met the blow with one of his own - a defense of offense, something she hadn’t even thought of.

  The two bolts of power met over their heads in a silent explosion of power and a shower of very physical sparks that landed in the snow all around him, sizzling and melting the drifts wherever they landed. He took the moment to weave a hasty shield about them both, but it had none of the layering or complexity he needed.

  The next bolt came, splashing and burning against the shield, scorching it half away and blinding her. Physically, as well as in Mage-Sight. A thunderclap of sound deafened her in the next instant. They hadn’t had enough time - they hadn’t known Falconsbane could strike like this.

  Where did he get all that power? Falconsbane should have been wounded, should have been at less power than he’d had before, not more.

  Unless he was already tapping into the proto-Gate?

  Or unless he had ruthlessly sacrificed many of his underlings, building a network of death-energies stronger than anything they had. Or unless he’d found an ally somewhere. . .?

  Darkwind couldn’t shield all of them; the group was just too big. He reinforced where the shield had burned away, and this time she aided him, weaving light and snow-glare into a dazzle, trying to recreate the kind of shielding they had learned to make in the safety of the Vale.

  But Falconsbane was keeping them both off-balance, destroying the rhythm of their dance of power with sheer, brute force. He controlled the situation now; it was his land they walked on, and the land held energy away from them. She whimpered in sudden pain as a lick of flame burned through and across her hand, the hand that held Darkwind’s - but she would not let go, not even if she died in the next moment. Instead, she kneed Gwena closer to Brytha, until their legs were half-crushed between the two mounts to make the physical gap between them smaller. She closed her eyes and sheltered against Darkwind’s back, sweat of fear and exertion running down her back under her coat, feeling him tremble with strain.

  Falconsbane did not let up, not even for a heartbeat. Blow after blow rained down on them, driving all sense from her, until the last of the shields eroded, and they clung together, waiting for the strike that would take them both.

  Together, at least - she thought faintly.

  The blow never came; they opened their eyes, fearing something worse.

  Then a scream from above made them jump, and look up.

  Like two golden streaks of light, the two gryphons plummeted down from above. They crashed through the thin lace of branches, ending their dive barely above the ground, and pulling up with wingbeats that sent the snow spraying in all directions. Both screamed again, an unmistakable note of taunting in their voices, as they plunged upward through the tree canopy.

  “Run!” Darkwind found his voice. “Run! They’ve made targets out of themselves. If we give him too many to choose from, we may all get away!”

  Brytha broke from his paralysis and hurled himself down their backtrail. Gwena followed a moment later, but not directly behind, making herself and Elspeth into yet another target to track on. Above the interlace of bare branches,

  Hydona and Treyvan had separated as well, sky dancing as if they were courting - but far enough apart that Falcons-bane would have to make a choice of victims. Four targets....

  When the two young fools rode along the edge of his territory, at first Falconsbane could not believe the testimony of his own senses. It must be an illusion, he thought at first. It is meant to distract me. But the closer the pair came, the clearer they were, despite the best attempts of - whatever it was - that was trying to cloud his scrying. Between midnight and dawn, he knew that the pair were something more than they seemed. By false dawn he knew that one of them was the young Outland woman he had wanted so badly to take for his own. By true dawn, he knew that the other was the fool called Darkwind, and that the girl still carried her artifact.

  By then, he could not withstand the temptation to attack any longer.

  He had not lived this long by neglecting an opportunity when it was given to him. And he would not botch this chance by holding back, or making testing feints.

  He gathered all of his power together, prepared his weaponry, and attacked.

  Darkwind would die; then the girl and the sword would be his.

  There was no point in being prudent or cautious now! Not with this prize in his grasp! He rained blow after blow upon them, heedless of the expenditure of power, heedless of anything about him. Elation held him like a powerful drug, making him laugh aloud with every shred of shielding burned away, giving him an elation he had not felt in decades. He held his arms high and power crackled between his hands, power from his network made of the death-energies of his mages. He was draining that network, but it did not matter, for in moments he would have her, and the Bird-Fool’s power as well, and there would be nothing standing in the way of his revenge and his glory.

  And then, just before he was to
strike the blow that would take them both -

  Gryphons!

  The sight of them in his scrying bowl struck like a physical blow, driving the breath from him.

  They dove down out of nowhere, interposing themselves between him and his quarry; taunting him, flaunting themselves at him, flying as if they thought agility alone would protect them.

  Gryphons!

  He snarled with overwhelming rage. How dared they step between him and his prey?

  Anger and hatred filled him, granted him a strength far beyond anything he normally possessed. They thought to confuse him, did they? They thought he could only strike one of them at a time.

  They would learn differently - in the few heartbeats it took for all of them to die!

  He gathered his powers - readied the blast to destroy that entire section of his borderlands -

  Nyara took three deep breaths; focused herself.

  There is no future. There is no past. There is only now, and the target. There is no fear. There is only balance. There is only myself and the task.

  She slipped through the false wall in the back of the wardrobe and slid soundlessly into the room. Her eyes focused quickly as she swept them from left to right, once, to orient herself.

  There. The target. Yes!

  She took two steps, raising Need high over her head to give additional momentum to her swing -

  And brought the mage-blade down squarely on the huge crystal-cluster that Mornelithe Falconsbane had invested and anchored with all of his power - a crystal that cried out to her of death and pain, and even now was glowing with internal fires of red and angry yellow as he drew upon it - Drew upon it to destroy her friends.

  NO!

  Sword crashed down upon crystal - and crystal exploded.

  Falconsbane brought his hands up, rage a hot taste of blood in his throat.