No, it was more than that. There was a new stool beside the bench where the old one had stood, there was a new door in place of the shattered one. Her old stove had been replaced with a new kiln and a new stove, her shelves had been replaced with stronger ones, the walls had been scoured, the floor scrubbed, and the place had been tidied up with meticulous precision.
Elspeth stared around with a sense of affront.
Bad enough that she’d been attacked here—but someone had taken it upon himself to “improve” the place.
Her sanctuary had been violated. With good intent, but violated, just the same. It wasn’t hers anymore....
But it was all she had.
Resolutely, she squared her shoulders, went to one of the waiting boxes of raw clay, and cut herself a generous chunk—quite enough to make another two-handled vase.
Better than the last one.
And she set about grimly wedging the helpless hunk of clay into submission.
Stubborn, unreasoning woman, she fumed, punching the defenseless clay as hard as she could, flattening it to a finger-wide sheet on the smooth slate top of the bench.
A lot like her daughter, whispered her conscience.
So what? she answered it. I can see sense when I have to, whatever it costs me. She won’t even consider what this could mean if I succeed—or what it will mean if I’m not allowed to try. I don’t even know if she’ll send someone else—she might decide not to. She might even forget.
Her conscience persisted as she rolled the sheet of clay up into a cylinder and flattened the cylinder into a sphere. You’ve never been a mother, so how can you know what letting you go would cost her? You heard Talia—if it were her son that was in jeopardy, she’d be just as irrational, and she is the most sensible person you know. And besides, you aren’t the only one who could take this mission on and make a success out of it.
Oh, no? she snarled at her conscience, picking the ball of clay up, and throwing it down on the slate, over and over again. Who else is there?
Kerowyn, for one, her conscience replied too promptly. After all, her uncle—if he’s still alive—is a White Winds Adept. And Quenten used to be one of the Skybolts’ mages. She has the same contacts she would be giving you. Surely one of them could be persuaded to help.
And if not? she challenged.
If not—there’re King Faram’s court mages. They aren’t exactly apprentices, and they’ve already proved they’ll work for hire by being in his employ. And Kero is Daren and Faram’s very good friend. She could probably even persuade Faram to part with one or more of his mages, if they are willing to come up here.
But I’m their relative, she countered. That should be twice as effective.
Her conscience had no counter to that, but she had no answer for it, either. So she wasn’t the only person who could go—so what? She was still the best choice, if not the only one, if only Selenay would admit it.
The clay was ready—but she wasn’t. She continued to pound her temper out on it as she sought reasons why Kerowyn could not be spared to go in her place.
She’s the Captain of the Skybolts—
Who are in Valdemar’s employ. And she has perfectly adequate stand-ins.
She doesn’t have Crown authority, in case she has to negotiate with someone besides the people she knows.
Well, there’s always a writ.
She’s too old.
That sounded like a stupid excuse even to Elspeth. Too old, sure. She can beat me nineteen falls out of twenty. Not even close, girl.
She doesn’t know what we need.
Now that might be a good reason. The needs of a mercenary Captain and the needs of a country like Valdemar were vastly different. A Company might be able to use someone who didn’t necessarily fit their profile. Valdemar was going to need someone very special.
For one thing, he’s going to need a pretty good set of ethics. He’ll have to be able to get along with people. He’ll have to know when not to use his power. And most especially, he’ll have to be someone who would never, ever, abuse either his power or position.
In other words, he would, for all intents and purposes, be as much like a Herald as possible.
And ideally, really, he would be Chosen as soon as Elspeth returned to Valdemar with him. That would be perfect.
But that would make him the first Herald-Mage since Vanyel....
She shook off the haze of speculation. What mattered was that Kero—if she went—was all too likely to bring back someone who was picked with a Captain’s eye, rather than a Herald’s. And that could be a major mistake.
She might well take the best of a dubious lot, without looking any further. She could get someone who had managed to conceal his motives. She could even get someone in alliance with Ancar, who had not only managed to conceal his motives, but his intentions.
Kero was smart, but she hadn’t been a Herald for very long. She still took some folks aback by her attitudes. That was amusing inside Valdemar, but in a situation where Valdemar’s well-being depended on her attitudes—a difference of opinion could be dangerous.
And there was always the possibility that she would pick someone who was not strong enough to pass the borders. Then what?
Would she simply conclude that this mage-hunting was a waste of time, and return?
Elspeth wouldn‘t—but she wasn’t sure that the same would be true of Kero.
This may be one case where my stubborn streak is an advantage. I won’t give in until I have someone. Kero might. And if she winds up having to go outside of Rethwellan—I think her reputation as a mercenary might be held against her. There might be mages with active morals who would feel that working with a mercenary, former or no, wasn’t ethical, no matter how worthy the cause.
Kero had worked all of her life to keep her emotions out of her negotiations. That lack of obvious passion might work against her in a case like this.
But Elspeth might be convincing enough....
I have all the reasons and counters I need, she thought, grimly kneading her clay. Now if only someone would be willing to listen to them.
Chapter Four
DARKWIND
“So, you have encountered another situation,” Starblade k‘Sheyna said coldly as he regarded his son without blinking. The ekele was too low on the tree trunk to sway, but the branches surrounding it moved in a gentle wind. Darkwind tried not to shift position in any way that might be interpreted as showing his discomfort. It was difficult to remain cool beneath that measuring, inscrutable gaze. Starblade’s bondbird, a huge, hawk-sized crow, gazed at him with the same, impassive expression as its bondmate. It might have been a stone bird, or a shadow made into flesh and feathers.
What ever happened to the Father I knew? He’s gone as thoroughly as Songwind.
“Let me see if I understand this correctly. You were on patrol along the border. Your bondbird located invaders. There were some seven intruders, two of whom may have been mages, the rest of whom may simply have been in their employ.” Sun poured through the leaves, beyond the open windows, engulfing them in a dappled silence.
“Yes, Elder,” Darkwind replied, just as impersonally. Perhaps if I give him a little taste of his own attitude....
Starblade inclined his head a little, in mocking acknowledgment of the imitation, and the tiny multicolored crystals braided into his waist-length, snow-white hair sang softly as he moved, echoing the wind chimes strung in each window. “But you are not sure. ”
“No, Elder.” Darkwind knew very well what Starblade was up to and did not rise to the bait. He wants me to get angry, and I won’t. That would be an acknowledgment of weakness and lack of control.
“Why not?” Starblade persisted, narrowing his ice-blue eyes to mere slits. “What was it that you did to try and determine what they were?”
As if he didn’t know what would be the proper procedure. “I followed them for some distance, before I judged they had ventured too far into k‘Sheyna territory. Nothing in their conversatio
n gave me any clues as to their identity, Elder,” Darkwind replied, holding his temper in check.
There was no real reason for this interview. They had already been over this several times; once before the entire Council, once with the other three Elders, in detail, and now, for the second time, with his father alone. The Council had heard his story without allowing him to confront them over the situation of being so shorthanded on the border. That, they had assigned to Starblade, as the most senior Adept, and presumably the one who could make a decision about the situation. Perhaps he is supposed to conjure up something, Darkwind thought bitterly.
Which meant he had to go over this as many times as Starblade wanted in order to get his point made. “I listened carefully to the conversation, what there was of it. The armed men treated the unarmed men with a certain amount of deference, but there was no outward sign that they were not—say—adventurous traders. I thought they might be mages because they were unarmed, so I moved to neutralize them first.”
“You did not spellcast to determine if any of them were using magic of any kind?” Starblade settled back in his green-cushioned chair. In contrast to his son’s camouflage outfit, his own elaborate clothing made him look like an exotic, silver-crested, blue-plumaged bird perched in the shrubbery.
“No, sir,” Darkwind replied, allowing a hint of effrontery to carry into his voice. “I did not.”
“And why not?” Starblade asked softly. “You have the power, after all.”
“Because I do not choose to use that power, Father,” Darkwind said, holding in his temper with an effort. “You know that. As you know my reasons.”
“As I know your excuses,” Starblade snapped. “They are not reasons. You put k‘Sheyna in jeopardy because you refuse to use your abilities.”
“I did no such thing. I kept k‘Sheyna from jeopardy because I destroyed the interlopers when they would not turn back,” Darkwind interrupted. “I did so without the foolish use of magic, which might have attracted more trouble, that close to the border. Despite being shorthanded, I did so with the limited resources at my disposal.”
“Without magic.”
“Without magic,” Darkwind repeated. “Because it was not needed, and because other things might have been attracted that it would not have been possible to combat, with only three guards and their birds within range to stand against the threat.” He glared at his father. “If you are so insistent on having mages on the border, Father, perhaps you would care to join us for some of our patrols.”
And we can lead you about by the hand.
They could not have been more of a contrast, he and Starblade. The mage wore his waist-length, silver hair braided with crystals, feathers, and rainbow beads. His costume, of peacock-blue spider-silk, cut and decorated elaborately, was impressive and impractical in the extreme. Darkwind, when he was not in his scout clothing, tended to wear brown or gray, cut closely to his body, high-collared and mostly without ornament; his hair was barely shoulder-length.
Most of the mages dressed the way Starblade did, though some made concessions to camouflage by wearing white in the winter and leaf-colors in the rest of the year, garments that could blend in with the woods after a fashion. Not that long ago, he had looked like the rest of them.
This is growing tedious.
“Father, we have been over this any number of times. I did my duty; I rid k‘Sheyna of the interlopers. The point is not that I did or did not get rid of them using magic. The point is that we are chronically shorthanded. We shouldn’t be here at all, Father. More than half of k’Sheyna is—elsewhere. What’s wrong with us? Why haven’t we done something about this situation?”
“That is none of your concern,” Starblade began coldly, drawing himself up and staring at his son in astonishment.
“It is my concern,” Darkwind interrupted. “I’m on the Council, too. I am the representative of the scouts. I’m one of the Clan Elders now, which you seem to have forgotten. And as the scouts’ representative, I would like to know exactly what we are doing to drain the Heartstone, or stabilize it, and rejoin the rest of our Clan.” He drew himself up to match his father’s pose, and looked challengingly into Starblade’s eyes.
Starblade met the challenging gaze impassively. “That is the business of the mages. If you wish to have a say in the matter—” he smiled, “—you may take up your powers again. Then you may join the mages and have your words heeded.”
Darkwind felt himself flushing with anger, despite his earlier resolutions. “What I choose to do with my powers has nothing to do with the matter. Those of us who are not mages have a right to determine k‘Sheyna’s future as well.” He paused a moment, and added, “That is the tradition, after all—that every voice in a Clan has some say in the running of the Clan.”
Starblade looked past his son’s shoulder for a moment and took a long, slow breath. “What you choose to do with your powers is precisely at issue here.” He lowered his eyes to meet Darkwind’s again, and there was an anger to match his son’s in his gaze. “You are risking the lives of your scouts by your refusal to use your magic. Your abilities are required on our boundaries, and yet you will not use them. And I do not accept why you refuse.”
Darkwind closed his eyes, but he could not block the memories.
The Heartstone, a great crystal-laced boulder taller than he, pulsing with all the life and power of the Vale. Its surface glowed with intricate warm red and golden tracings, as the inner circle of Adepts continued to drain the excess mage-energy from the land about them, to empty the nodes and the power-lines so that there was nothing left that could be used to harm.
That was how the Tayledras left a place; concentrating all the realigned power of the area in their Heartstone; then draining the Heartstone and channeling most of its awesome energy into a new one, at the site of their new Vale.
Power crackled and seethed, pouring into the stone, as Darkwind held to his position, anchoring the West—outside the circle of Adepts that contained his mother and father. The shunting off of the great stone’s energy was a dangerous task and required many protectors and guides from outside the main circle; he was an important part of the linkage. Songwind k‘Sheyna was the youngest Adept of his Clan ever to take such a task and quite conscious of the responsibilities involved.
There was no warning, no unsettling current of unclean energy. Just—a brightening of the stone, more intense than the last, and a disorienting sensation like lightning striking—
Hell opened in front of him. A blaze of incandescent white, power that scorched him to the soul. Silhouetted against the hellfires, his mother—
“I don’t trust my so-called ‘abilities,’ Father,” he said slowly, shaking off the too-vivid memories. “No one knows why the Heartstone fractured, and the power broke loose.”
Was it his imagination, or did his father start a little?
“I was the youngest Adept there,” he persisted. “I was the only one who had never participated in moving a Heartstone’s power before. What if it was something I did, and everything I do magically is forever flawed that way? I will not take that chance, Father, not when what is left of our Clan is at stake.”
Starblade would not look into his son’s eyes, but his voice was implacable. He gazed down at his hand as if he had never seen it before, examining the long fingers as he spoke. “I have told you, many times, it was nothing you did or did not do. It ... it had nothing to do with you.”
“Can you be certain of that?” He shook his head and started to stand up. “Father, I know exactly what my abilities are with my hands, my senses. I can’t count on my magic—”
Starblade looked up, and his expression had changed to one of scorn. “... If you have no confidence in yourself,” the Elder finished. “Your magic is flawed only if you choose to believe it is so. Songwind was not that—fearful. I remember and loved Songwind. He saw his power as a source of pride, and our Clan was proud of him for it. Our children and old ones are gone from us now, a
nd you have refused those powers to defend what is left of us here. I have little respect for you for that, Darkwind.”
The heat of Darkwind’s anger cooled to ice, as he felt the blood draining from his face. The golden sunlight drifting through the windows and making patterns upon the white wooden floor suddenly lost all its warmth. “The Starblade who is my Elder is not the Father I remember either,” he replied. “Perhaps a change of name is in order for you, as well. Iceblade, perhaps—or Broken-blade, for you seem to have lost both your courage and your compassion.” He stood, while Starblade gaped at him in startled surprise. “You are unwilling to face the fact that circumstances have changed. I think that you are terrified to face that change. I don’t know—I only know that you seem to think that we who work without magic are not worth aiding. If you see no reason to help the scouts, Father, then we must take what help we can get—even to calling on the hertasi, the dyheli, and the others of the Hills whose well-being you scorn in your arrogance.”
He started to turn, and had taken one step toward the door, when Starblade’s voice stopped him.
“Arrogance?” the Elder said, as coolly as if Darkwind had not said anything at all. “An interesting choice of words from you. Songwind was the youngest Adept in the Clan—but it has occurred to me of late that perhaps that distinction was not enough for you.”
Darkwind turned back to his father reluctantly. “What is that supposed to mean?” he asked, the words forced from him unwillingly.
“Songwind was only an Adept. Darkwind is on the Council—is, in fact, an Elder.” Starblade shrugged. “That was an opportunity that would not have been given to Songwind for some time—but with the scouts so shorthanded, and poor, newly-bereft Darkwind so eager to join them—and so—charismatic—”
“If you are suggesting that I have left magic solely for the sake of another kind of power—” Darkwind could feel himself going red, then white, with anger. He struggled to control his temper; an outburst now would win him nothing.
Valdemar 09 - [Mage Winds 01] - Winds of Fate Page 7