Crowded behind the three Heralds were what appeared to be a hundred other people. All three tried to get past Gwena for what she assumed was a greeting; certainly the relief on their faces spoke volumes for their feelings. Even if her feelings were mixed, theirs certainly were not!
But at that moment, Darkwind and Firesong came stumbling through—then, before anyone could blink, Nyara, the dyheli and Rris—
And then the gryphons, plunging through the Gate as if they were charging an enemy line, then skidding to a halt just past the threshold.
And the crowd went insane with panic.
A crash of thunder that shook the stones under her drowned out most of the screams, but not all, by any means.
I guess someone forgot to tell them about Treyvan and Hydona—
Thunder faded, but not the shrieks. People stared for a moment, then, like cattle, bolted in the direction of freedom and safety.
That was all she had time to think, before the Ashkevron clan snatched up children, turned tail, and fled the scene, leaving behind three white-faced Heralds to guard their retreating backs.
Crashing thunder covered the sound of their retreat for the most part. All Elspeth could do was stand there, torn between laughter and hysteria.
Meanwhile the three Heralds were apparently convinced they were all about to die at the claws of the strange beasts. All three groped after weapons they weren’t wearing, as people shoved and stumbled behind them and thunder crashed again.
Impasse. They were unarmed, but the gryphons weren’t moving. And at this point, they must have been wondering why the two Companions didn’t do anything! The Heralds stared at the gryphons, paralyzed with indecision, as the Gate vanished behind the winged apparitions, and another blast of thunder deafened them all for a moment.
No one moved.
The gryphons stared back. Elspeth was about to say something to break the deadlock——then stopped herself. Treyvan was an envoy. Let him deal with the situation. If she intervened now, it might look as if he needed her intervention. If the Heralds had been armed, it would have been a different story—
In the silence that followed the thunder, Treyvan opened his beak and the three Heralds stepped back a pace as if they expected him to charge them.
“I take it we werrre not exssssspected?” he said, in clear, if heavily accented, Valdemaran.
Eventually, everything was sorted out as the thunderstorm rolled on outside. The Heralds—Cavil, Shion, and Lisha—recovered from their terror very quickly in the face of Treyvan’s civilized politeness and sunny charm. As she had expected, he soon had the situation under control, and even had the three Heralds laughing weakly at their own fear.
The antechamber and hallways were too crowded a venue for any kind of discussion, however. As soon as the atmosphere settled for a moment, Elspeth suggested they all move into the chapel.
Like most private chapels, this one was devoid of permanent seats and much in the way of decoration. It was basically a simple stone-walled room, empty at this moment, with a stone altar at one end. More lanterns lit it, but these were candle lamps rather than the fish oil, and the honey scent of beeswax was a great deal easier on Elspeth’s nose than the odoriferous oil.
Gwena and Cymry picked their way carefully over the stone floor, leading the way, followed by the dyheli. They took places near the altar. The bondbirds flew up to the rafters and began a vigorous preening, oblivious to whatever their bondmates were up to for the moment. And the gryphons herded the young ones into a window alcove that no longer looked out on the outside, as evidenced by the lack of glazing and the view of another fish oil lamp lighting yet another corridor.
At that point, Lord Ashkevron reappeared, armed to the teeth and wearing a hastily-donned, antique breastplate. Elspeth would have laughed if she had not been so amazed at his temerity.
She ran quickly to the front of the room, placing herself between him and the gryphons.
“My Lord!” she shouted, pausing for thunder to die down. “My Lord, there is no danger! These are guests of Valdemar. You were supposed to have been warned they were coming!”
His sword point, held in defensive posture, wavered for a moment, then dropped. He raised the visor of his helm.
“The hell you say!” he exclaimed, regarding the gryphons in puzzlement.
She hastened to assure him that there was no danger, and briefly explained the situation.
He in his turn went cautiously to the doorway and peered in.
Treyvan looked up at just that moment. “Hel-lo,” he said, in a voice that sounded friendly to Elspeth—although who knew how it sounded to Lord Ashkevron. “May we impossse upon your hossspitality and rrremain herrre, good sirrr? I fearrr we would frrrighten yourrr horrrsesss if we went nearrr yourrr ssstablesss. I would not rrrisssk panic to the horsssesss.”
That was enough for Lord Ashkevron; whatever this monster was, it had just demonstrated that it cared not to disturb his precious horseflesh. The gryphons were invited to take over the chapel.
He went off to start collecting the terrified members of his household and explain to them that these were not monsters—or at least, these were monsters that were on the side of Valdemar. Lisha wasted no time in seizing on Elspeth and filling her ears with complaints about how little preparation they’d had.
That was when Elspeth discovered that her worries had been dead on the mark. No one had said anything about the gryphons. In fact, no one had told these three that anyone but Skif and Elspeth were going to arrive—and certainly those assigning them to this task had not been able to explain the manner of Elspeth’s arrival in any way the three Heralds were able to understand.
Meanwhile, the storm raged outside, its fury no doubt further frightening everyone who had fled, who must be certain that in the howling wind they heard the hungry cries of man-eating monsters. Finally Elspeth called a halt to further explanations until they helped Lord Ashkevron collect and calm his household.
It took candlemarks to soothe the nerves of the terrified Ashkevrons, who had been certain that they had just witnessed terrible monsters following their Heir—that she and Skif had, in fact, been fleeing them when they dashed across the threshold of the Gate. The poor folk had been certain that these monsters came from whatever strange place she had been, and were going to eat them all alive as soon as they caught and devoured the Heralds. People had to be hunted out and reassured, one by one; they had fled to every corner of the manor, hiding under beds and behind furniture, in closets and attics, and even cowering in the cellars. Only the storm outside, pouring so hard that it was impossible to see, had kept them from fleeing the building altogether.
Even now, a good half of the inhabitants were still walking softly and fearfully, expecting at any moment that the monsters would show their true nature. Nothing Lord Ashkevron or any of the Heralds could say would convince them otherwise.
Predictably, it was the gryphlets who eventually won over the rest. Lytha and Jerven had begun a game of pounce-and-wrestle as soon as they were settled, including Darkwind in their fun. There was nothing even remotely threatening in their kittenish play, and they soon had Lord Jehan Ashkevron convulsed with laughter. Now those who dared the chapel soon found themselves engaged in cheerful conversation with one or the other of the adults, while the youngsters continued to entertain themselves and anyone else watching them.
With that crisis out of the way, Elspeth and Skif went back to finding out just how things stood—both here, and in the Kingdom as a whole. She could quite cheerfully have shot whoever had made that particular set of omissions. Fortunately, after the gryphons, even the dyheli and Nyara didn’t seem to cause too much consternation. Rris was simply assumed to be a very large dog, and neither he nor Elspeth saw any reason to enlighten anyone on that score—although his occasionally acidic comments had her choking down laughter she would have been hard put to explain if anyone had noticed.
By the time everyone had been found and calmed, and all
misunderstandings sorted out, it was well into night. Elspeth was tired, hungry, and in no mood to deal with anything other than a meal and a warm bed.
“But like it or not,” she said to Darkwind—in Tayledras, so that no one would overhear and be offended—“I’m back at home, which means work, lots of it, starting this very moment. You don’t have to sit through this if you don’t want to, but I have to have a meeting with these Heralds. If they didn’t get the message about the gryphons, there are probably a hundred equally important messages we haven’t gotten.”
“I came to help,” Darkwind said softly, the lines of worry in his face softened by the light from the candlelamps. “If you do not object to my presence.”
Object? “Not likely,” she said with gratitude. “You probably won’t understand half of what they say, but you should get the sense of it all if you link with my mind.”
Link with my mind—I never thought I would ever say that to anyone, I never thought I would be willing to. She smiled at him, a little shyly. She was so used to linking with him now that it never even caused her a moment of uneasiness; she did it as easily as she opened her thoughts to Gwena.
He smiled, and touched her hand lightly. She gave him a slow wink, then paused for a half breath to settle her thoughts. After speaking only Tayledras for so long, it seemed odd to speak her own tongue again; the words felt strange in her mouth.
Darkwind waited as she attempted to assume an air of authority. At her nod, he followed, as she went right to the corner to interrupt the low-voiced conversation all three Heralds were having with Lord Jehan.
The Heralds started and looked guilty as she cleared her throat. She was struck, at that moment, by how plain and severe their Whites looked, and spared a flicker of thought to wonder if she and Skif looked as outlandish and exotic to them as they looked plain to her.
Although the three Heralds seemed embarrassed—which meant that they had probably been discussing her—Sir Jehan, evidently, was just as blunt and forthright as any of his line, and turned to her immediately.
He was a brown and blocky man; brown eyes, hair, and beard, with a square face and a square build, all of it muscle. He looked nothing like Vanyel. She remembered something her mother had said once, though: “The Ashkevron look usually breeds true, and when it doesn’t, the poor child generally runs off to Haven!”
“Cavil was just saying that no one told him that anyone was coming except you and the other Herald,” he said, with a hearty chuckle. “He keeps insisting that I ought to complain to someone. Can’t understand why. I know how it is. You tell someone, ‘I’m coming and bringing an entourage of a hundred,’ he tells the next fellow, ‘Jehan’s bringing an escort,’ it keeps getting pared down until your host thinks you’re only bringin’ a couple of servants, and when you show up with your hundred, there’s no place to put ’em all.” He shrugged. “It happens. Happens all the time, and no one to blame for it.”
She sighed with relief. There was one good thing about dealing with people like Jehan; once they calmed down, they were usually able to take anything in stride, from gryphons in their chapels to Gates in their doorways.
“Thank you for being so understanding,” she said. “Could I steal Cavil and the others from you for a little? There’s a great deal I have to catch up on.”
“Oh, no fear, no fear,” Jehan replied affably. “I have to go round up the aunties again and let ‘em know they aren’t goin’ to be eaten in their beds.” He grinned hugely, showing very white teeth in a very dark beard, then added. “I never believed ‘em when they all said you were dead, Lady. Kept telling ’em they were actin’ like a bunch of silly hens, flutterin’ around over nothing.”
And with that odd comment, he sketched a bow and took his leave.
Elspeth turned to Herald Cavil, who looked profoundly embarrassed. He was an older man, thin and harried-looking, with brown hair going gray at the temples. She had a feeling that after today, there would be a lot more gray there. “Just what in Havens was that all about?” she demanded. “About my being dead, I mean.”
He flushed; his cheeks turned a brilliant crimson. “Some of what we need to brief you on, my lady,” he said, quickly, while the other two Heralds nodded. “There have been rumors over the last several months that you were dead and the Council was trying to conceal that fact. Nothing the Queen or Circle could say or do seemed to calm the alarm. We need to proceed back to Haven at all speed, and as openly as possible—”
“We aren’t going to be able to proceed quietly with this menagerie!” she pointed out, interrupting him. “But apparently, that’s going to be all to the good, from what you’re saying. The more people that see me, the better, right?” She shook her head for a moment, and caught Darkwind’s eye. He was rather amused by something, although she couldn’t imagine what. Perhaps it was the notion of trying to conceal the gryphons.
As what? Statuary?
“Of course, with four gryphons along, I wonder if anyone is going to notice me!” she added with a tired smile.
“There is this,” Darkwind put in, speaking slowly in his careful, accented Valdemaran. “The notion of you in company with gryphons is so strange that no one would make it up; it is so strange it must be believed.”
“You don’t intend to bring those creatures to Haven!” Cavil exclaimed without thinking.
She started to snap; caught herself, and answered instead, quietly and calmly, “Treyvan and Hydona are not only envoys from the Tayledras and Kaled’a’in, they are mages in their own right. They have offered to teach any Herald with Mage-Gift. Yes, Mage-Gift. They can do that best at Haven, and they are needed there. I would be doing everyone a disservice if I insisted they remain here until they were sent for.”
The three Heralds exchanged hasty glances, and the one called Shion said, cautiously, “But what of the rest? The other—ah—people?”
A sidelong glance told her that Shion meant Nyara, but she deliberately chose to take her literally.
“Darkwind and Firesong are Tayledras Adepts, and they are just as badly needed as the gryphons, if not more so,” she replied, “And as for the others, Nyara is Skif’s lady, and the dyheli and Rris are envoys from their respective peoples. Everyone with me is either a representative of a potential ally, or someone who is practiced in mage-craft and is willing to teach.”
At the startled looks she got, she could not repress a chuckle. “It’s a strange world out there, my friends,” she added. “You can’t assume that something that looks like an animal isn’t an intelligent person—or that something that looks human is more than a beast. Havens, you should know that from Court duty.”
Cavil shook his head, biting his lip in what was obviously a nervous habit. “Lady, this is the single most confusing day of my life,” he said at last, with honest bewilderment.
He glanced at the single window in the chapel that still faced the open sky. It was made of thick glass that allowed little view, but enough to show that outside it was black night—except when lightning glared across the sky, turning the window into a patch of white. Obviously the storm had not abated in the least since they had arrived. Here inside thick stone walls, most of the fury of the storm was muffled, but it might very well be the worst storm Elspeth had ever seen.
“It is too late to travel tonight,” Cavil said reluctantly. “But in the morning, we must be off. We have taken more time than I like as it is.”
That took her a little aback. “In this storm?” she exclaimed without thinking. “The way it’s raining, it’ll still be going strong in the morning! Can’t we wait until it clears, at least?”
Herald Lisha sighed. “It probably won’t clear, not for two days at least,” she told Elspeth. “Not that I’m a weather-witch or anything, but the weather all over Valdemar has been rotten this year. It got bad around Midwinter, when everyone got hit with that headache, and right before you people popped out of that doorway this storm just blew up out of nowhere. I’ve never seen anything like
it, and I’m not exactly young.”
“No one knows what is causing this,” Cavil said glumly, “although many people blame Ancar, and a great many more are convinced he has somehow learned to turn the very weather against us. Lisha understates the case, Lady Elspeth. The weather has been simply hellish.”
Elspeth noticed that Firesong had been listening intently to this entire conversation, and decided to invite him in on it. “Cavil says the weather has been hellish, that this storm is just one example,” she called over to him. He took that as an invitation, and stalked gracefully toward them, his robes flowing about him in a way that made Lisha smile at him appreciatively. “Cavil, Lisha, Shion, this is Firesong k’Treva, another Adept. Firesong, they think Ancar is to blame for the state of the weather. Is this something we need to warn Haven about? Have you any ideas?”
He nodded a greeting to each of the Heralds before replying.
“Of course the weather has been hellish,” he said matter-of-factly while Elspeth translated. He understood Valdemaran far better than he could speak it. “There has been a disturbance in the magical currents here, and that always makes the weather act up, unless someone is working to balance it. Since you have no weather-wizards and earth-witches working to rebalance the weather, it will continue to be bad.”
Lisha’s long face was puzzled, Shion’s round one thoughtful, but Cavil brightened. “You mean Ancar isn’t to blame?”
“In a sense, but it was not deliberate,” Firesong explained. He held up a finger. “First—that moment when all of you were struck with that blinding headache—that was when a powerful packet of energy was flung up here and linked to a physical object in your chief city. That was meant entirely to help you, and indeed you will need it, but it also created great disturbances in the natural order of magic in this land. Weather is influenced by these energy patterns, and so the weather began to turn awry. Now, outside of your land, this Ancar has been mucking about with magic as well, and I suspect without any safeguards at all. That will also stir things up. The forces he has been meddling with are powerful ones, and this has had an effect on the weather over both your lands.”
Winds of Fury Page 16
