It was easier this time than the last Gate she’d built to the Pelagirs, because she knew now where the k’Treva had relocated their Vale the last time they’d moved, and knew also where they built their own Gates inside the Vale.
Easier in terms of time; it was never “easy” to build a Gate, and the energy all had to be drawn from the mage himself; no outside sources could be used. As always, it felt as if bits of herself were spinning off and leaving her, as if she was trying to Fetch something that was just barely beyond her strength. It was hard to think, as if someone was actively preventing her mind from working. But there were no more than a few heartbeats between the moment she began the search and the moment she made contact with the other terminus.
There was a flare of light—and the chapel door no longer opened on a prosaic little family shrine, but on a riot of green leaves and twisted rock, with a hot spring bubbling off to the right.
K’Treva Vale.
She stumbled across the threshold, and into a circle of unblinking and hostile guards.
A half-dozen golden-skinned, blue-eyed warriors stared at her over the crystalline points of spear-or arrow-heads. Though not mages themselves, these guards knew the tiniest signs of the Gate being activated, and were prepared to handle anything or anyone coming through. This was the first time Savil had actually seen the Gate-guards at their posts, though she had met several of them during her visits to Moondance and Starwind—whenever one of the k’Treva mages needed to use the Gate, the guards generally cleared discreetly out of the way.
They stared at Savil for a very long moment, and she was altogether glad that she hadn’t come with the intention of trying to cause trouble, because they looked more than capable of handling it.
Their no-nonsense attitude extended to their appearance. Most wore their hair shorter than was usual for Tayledras, barely past shoulder-length; and since it was summer, the normal silver-white had been dyed in mottled browns and dull yellow-greens. Their elaborate clothing was also dyed that way. In a tree or hiding in underbrush, they would be very hard to see.
Some few of them had the Mage-Gift, but none were primarily mages. These were members of the Tayledras Clan who, whether or not they had the Mage-Gift, preferred not to use what Gift they had. They served the Clan in other ways; as Healers and craftsmen, as scouts and border-guards, and as guards of the few places within the k’Treva shield that needed both tangible and intangible guards. After all, they didn’t have to be sensitive to know when the Gate had been activated—the effect was fairly obvious.
Most of them were young; the life-expectancy of a Tayledras scout was about that of a Field-Herald, and for many of the same reasons.
“Savil!” exclaimed one of them, as Savil fought off her weakness and looked up. The circle of suspicious and hostile expressions changed in an instant. Someone knew her and recognized her. The weapons were lowered or set aside entirely, and two came to her aid as she swayed with fatigue and dropped to her knees on the bare stone in front of the Gate itself.
“Wingsister!” exclaimed the same one, a lean, sharp-faced young woman Savil knew as Firesong, whose spear clattered onto the smooth, bare stone as she tossed it aside. She helped Savil to her feet, and before the Herald-Mage could even voice her need, snapped out a series of commands.
“Windblade, get tea and honey. Hawkflight, find Brightstar; he should be with his weapons-teachers. Dreamseeker, find Starwind and Moondance. Suncloud, get me three more guards. Move on it!”
The four so designated handed their weapons to comrades, and sprinted off. Firesong helped Savil over to a seat on a magically smoothed boulder, supporting the Herald-Mage with one arm around her shoulders.
“How long can you hold the Gate?” Firesong asked as soon as Savil was settled.
“As long as I have to,” Savil replied dryly. “Don’t worry, the other terminus is secure. I wouldn’t put k’Treva into any danger I could avoid.”
“Good.” Firesong looked as if she might have said more, but the youngster sent off for tea returned, as did the boy sent to fetch replacements. The guardswoman then had her attention fully claimed by the newcomers.
Like every set Gate-terminus Savil had ever seen constructed by Tayledras, this one was built around a cave-mouth. Unlike the last one, which she had helped shape, it was a very shallow cave this time; it went into the solid rock of the cliff-face scarcely more than two horse-lengths. The entrance had been cleared of dirt down to the bare rock, and ringed with boulders. It wasn’t wise to allow anything to grow too near a place used often as a Gate-terminus; strange things happened to the plants. . . .
In spite of her claim to be able to hold the Gate, Savil was coming to the end of her strength. She huddled with her hands cupped around the hot cup of tea, and shivered. They’d better come soon, she thought, or I’m going to lose this thing. We could call it up again, but that would take time, a good day before I’d be fit to try. We have time, but I don’t think we have that much.
But as if they heard her thoughts, Starwind and Moondance finally made their entrance, dramatically as always, bondbirds on their shoulders. Savil looked up from her tea, sensing them, more than hearing them—and there they were.
They were mages—Adepts, in fact—so their hair was its normal silver-white, elaborately braided and beaded, and flowing down past their waists. And being Adepts, they tended to a sense of the flamboyant that showed in their fantastically designed green tunics.
Savil smiled weakly at them; they wasted no time in formal greetings on seeing the depleted state she was in. They moved as one to augment her own failing energy.
She sighed as they each caught up one of her hands and she felt their energy flowing into her, strong and pure. With one sitting on either side of her, feeding her power to replace what she had lost, she felt able to talk to them.
It had been a while since she was last at k’Treva, but the years hadn’t made much change in either of her friends. It was impossible to tell that Starwind was Savil’s age, and Moondance only a little older than Vanyel. Adepts were long-lived, normally; node-magic tended to preserve them. Tayledras Adepts were even more long-lived, for they lived amid a constant flow of node-derived magic, magic that touched even the non-Gifted, whether born or raised among them, bleaching their hair and eyes to silver and blue in a matter of two years.
That bleaching effect was even more pronounced and took less time for the mages, a sign that working with node-magic changed them in deeper ways. The drawback was that when they did near the end of their allotted span—and not even an Adept could know when that would be—they would fail and die within a matter of weeks, as the magic burned them up from within.
Savil knew all that, but growled, “You two have little simulacrums locked away somewhere, don’t you, that age for you.”
“Now, Wingsister,” Starwind chuckled. “You know that isn’t true. You could enjoy the benefits we do, if you would accept our invitation to live here.”
“Can’t,” she said shortly. “I have duties, and we’ve been through all that. Listen, I need your help—”
Briefly, she outlined everything that had happened, and waited for their response.
The initial reaction was pretty much as she’d expected.
“We do not leave k’Treva,” Moondance began, uneasily, when she had finished. “You know that. Our place is here, as it has been for centuries—”
“That, ash’ke’vriden, is no excuse,” said a light tenor voice from just beyond the trees planted at the edge of the “safe” boundary. A huge, white owl winged silently into the clearing to perch on a boulder, and following it was a younger version of the two Tayledras Adepts.
Except that instead of blue eyes, this striking young man had luminous silver, and there was something about the timbre of his strong, vibrant voice that would remind anyone who heard it of Vanyel.
Hardly surprisin
g, since Vanyel was Brightstar’s father—and apparently Brightstar was going to be Savil’s unexpected ally.
“You yourselves have taught me that Tayledras have left their territories at need before,” Brightstar said, taking a stand beside his owl, “and the world being what it is, likely will again.” He lifted his chin in a way that reminded Savil irresistibly of Van in one of his aggressive moods. “If the need is great enough, what harm in answering it?”
Savil explained again, and Brightstar stiffened his back in outrage. “But you must go! I owe Wingbrother Vanyel my very existence. I would go, if I knew how to deal with these ‘leech-blades’—” He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “But I cannot.”
“What, humility from the falcon who refused to admit there was any height he could not soar to?” Starwind raised a sardonic eyebrow.
They were taking this a little too lightly for her comfort, and evidently their adoptive son felt the same. Brightstar glowered. “I do not think that we have time to waste while Vanyel lies in danger from this thing,” he said. “And you are quite right that there are some things I am not suited for.”
“So at last you recognize that yours is the Gift of changing the living and Healing the earth, and not things made by the hand of man.” Moondance looked up, theatrically. “Has the sun turned green? Are fish learning to fly?”
“Is my honored father going to return to the point?” Brightstar retorted. “The question is—Vanyel is in need of us and cannot come to us. How do we answer that need? I say you must go to him before he comes to harm!”
Starwind nodded reluctantly. “Vanyel needs us, and indeed, we owe him much—but is our Clan served by our leaving the Vale? Or would this bring harm that outweighs any good we could do? My son, there are good reasons for keeping our presence as secret as we may.”
A polite cough interrupted them. Savil turned slightly, and saw that Firesong was standing there, obviously waiting to be heard.
Starwind nodded at her, and she coughed again, self-consciously. “If you will excuse my intrusion,” she said, standing at rigid attention with her hands clasped behind her. “It seems to me that the better question would be if the Vale and Clan are harmed by your leaving. And I cannot see that this would be the case. The debt of k’Treva to Wingbrother Vanyel is a high one, and our honor would be in doubt if we did not proffer help when it was asked of us. In my opinion, and speaking as the head of the scouts, I think that this overrides even our tradition of secrecy.”
“So, I am twice rebuked,” Moondance said with a slight smile. “And by the infants. I do believe that I hear a turtle singing.”
“Lest the ground itself rise up to rebuke us a third time, shay’kreth’ashke,” Starwind said, rising and holding out his hand to Savil, “or our son strike us down and drag us across the threshold, let us go.”
“I’m very glad to hear you say that, ke’chara,” Savil said, as they walked toward the Gate, and steeled themselves for the shock of crossing.
“Whyfor?” Starwind asked, pausing on the threshold of the Gate itself.
“Because,” she said, “I’m getting too old to hit attractive men over the head and carry them off. And the sad part is, I’m so old that’s the only way I can get them!”
And with that, she took his elbow and stepped across the threshold, taking him with her.
• • •
Though she was so exhausted that it felt like days since she’d left, it was hardly more than a candlemark. Either weariness had made it seem longer, or time did odd things when you passed through a Gate.
Or both, she thought, turning to face her creation. No one really knows how the damn things work, anyway. Someday maybe an artificer will discover how to make us fly, and we can do without them altogether. If I had the choice between a nice journey in a comfortable seat, and one of these gut-wrenching Gates, I’d take the journey every time.
She held up her hands and began unweaving her Gate, strand by careful strand, taking the energies back into herself. Tedious work, and dangerous; going too fast could send the power back into her at a rate she couldn’t handle. And at her age, a shock like that could all too easily kill her.
Then again, that journey would probably mean entrusting myself to the competence of strangers. There’s plenty of folk I wouldn’t trust my baggage to, let alone my safety. Ah, well, it’s a nice dream, anyway.
Building a Gate took most, if not all, of a mage’s energies, but taking it down put a sizable amount of that energy back. Savil was feeling very much her cantankerous self when she turned back to Starwind.
“Well,” she said, dusting her hands off on her tunic, “what kind of an entrance do you want to make?”
“Your pardon?” Starwind replied, puzzled by her turn of phrase.
“Do you want things to stay as quiet as possible?” she asked. “Would you prefer we kept your presence at Forst Reach a secret? It’d be hard, and frankly, we’d waste a lot of magic doing it, but we could, if that’s what you want.”
Starwind exchanged glances—and probably thoughts—with Moondance. He bit his lower lip, and looked at her measuringly before replying.
“I am of two minds,” he said. “And the first thought is that it would be worth any effort to keep our presence unknown. Yet if we were to do that, we would be unable to accomplish many things that I would like. Moondance wishes to have speech of Vanyel’s father, for one. If we are to do such a thing, we must be here openly.”
Savil did her best to keep her surprise from showing. “I can’t imagine why you’d want to talk to Withen, but—all right. So what’s your choice?”
“Open,” Moondance said promptly. “With as much drama as we may. If we are to break Tayledras silence, then I say we should leave your folk with a memory that will follow them all their days.”
“You’ll do more than that, my lad,” Savil muttered, but nodded anyway. “However you want,” she said a little louder. “I’d like you to look at Treesa first, if you would. Van can wait a little, and I’d rather get her on her feet before Withen comes home and has hysterics.”
Starwind nodded. “Lead the way, Wingsister. We will follow your lead.”
I doubt that, she thought, but didn’t say it.
It was worth every odd look she’d ever collected from the members of her family to see their faces as she sailed into Treesa’s sickroom, followed by the two Tayledras. They certainly knew how to time things for a particularly dramatic entrance, she gave them that. She shoved open the doors first, then made a half-turn to see if they were still coming—then, just before the doors swung completely shut, they flowed through, side by side, and paused to look around.
There were roughly half a dozen people in the room, all told. The only two Savil recognized were the Healer and Father Tyler, both of whom stared at the exotic Adepts with their mouths slowly falling open.
The rest drew back as far as they could get; years of being told as children to “be good, or the Hawkbrothers will get you” were bound to have an effect. And no one could doubt for a moment that these two were a pair of the fabled out-landers—for their birds were still perched calmly on their shoulders, as if they passed through Gates and were carried around strange keeps every day of the month.
Both birds were stark white now, though when Savil had last seen him, Starwind’s bondbird, the younger of the pair, was still marked with gray where the darker colorations hadn’t yet bleached out. She found herself marveling anew at the birds’ calm; no falcon in the Ashkevron mews would sit unjessed and unhooded on a human’s shoulder, nor tolerate being taken all over the keep. But then, these birds were to ordinary raptors what Shin’a’in warsteeds were to horses. Bred for centuries to be the partners of those they bonded with, their intelligence was a little unnerving. Just now Starwind’s bird was watching Savil with a quiet, knowing look in its eyes, and Moondance’s was watching the pries
t with what had to be an expression of wicked amusement.
Moondance himself strode toward the bed where Treesa had been placed. Those at her bedside melted out of his way without a single word. He held his hand briefly above her forehead, frowned for a moment, and then announced without turning around, “You were correct, Wingsister. It is simple mage-shock from being too near a blast. I can bring her out, if you’d like. It makes no difference to her recovery if she is awakened now or later.”
“Do it now,” Savil advised, “before Withen comes crashing in here like a bull with its tail on fire.”
Moondance took both of Treesa’s hands in his, and held them for a moment with his eyes closed. Treesa began to stir, muttering unintelligibly under her breath. Moondance waited for a moment, then opened his eyes and called her name, once.
“Treesa,” he breathed. Only that, but somehow the name took on the flavoring of everything she was, and things Savil hadn’t guessed she could be.
Treesa’s eyes fluttered open, and the first thing she focused on was Moondance.
“Oh—” she said, weakly. “My.” She gulped, and blinked at the Tayledras as if she could not look away from him, though he dazzled her. “Am—am I dead? Are—are you an angel?”
Starwind was too polite to burst out laughing, but Savil could tell by his too-calm expression and the creases around his twinkling eyes that he was doing his very best not to laugh at the notion of Moondance as an angel.
Moondance is never going to hear the last of this, Savil thought, holding back a smile that twitched the corners of her mouth despite the seriousness of the overall situation.
“No, my lady,” Moondance said haltingly in the tongue of Valdemar. “I am only a friend of your son. We came here to help him, and you as well.”
The Last Herald-Mage Trilogy Page 93