The blade was as good as its word; the dizziness and weakness were gone, and shortly after that, he felt as refreshed as if he had never endured the stresses of the past five days.
He stood up and gingerly passed the sword back to its bearer. "That was kindly done," he said, with all the courtesy he could muster, embarrassed by the awareness that his dealings with her had been woefully short of courtesy up until this moment. "Thanks is not adequate, but it is all I can offer."
She seemed first surprised, then pleased, then blushed, averting her eyes. "That's all right," she said, "I mean, you looked like you needed help. She doesn't like men much, but I figured I could convince her to do something for you."
He looked to the young lady and spirit-mare, nodding gravely. "There have been troubles here," he told her. "There still are troubles—evil ones—and you have tumbled unwitting into the midst of them. My time is short, my powers are strained, and my patience, alas, never was particularly good. Please, even if I offend you, never hesitate to follow my orders or Treyvan's. It may well mean not only your life but ours."
She looked back up at him, resentment warring with respect in her eyes. Respect won.
"I will," she said, a little grudgingly, and he sensed that she was not often minded to follow anyone's orders, much less a stranger's. "You're right, I suppose. We're not from around here; we can't possibly know what's going on."
Imperious, he noted thoughtfully. Used to giving the orders, not taking them. The sword called her "Highness." That may well be truth, rather than sarcasm.
"I am Darkwind k'Sheyna," he told her. "This ruin is nominally part of k'Sheyna territory; Treyvan and Hydona are the actual guardians here. There are few who would care to dispute boundaries with them."
He meant that as a subtle warning, but she cocked her head to one side, looked from him to Treyvan and back again, and said accusingly, "There is something very wrong here. You said we've walked into a situation we don't understand—but everything, absolutely everything I've seen tells me that it's worse than that. You people are in trouble."
He narrowed his eyes speculatively. "Why do you say this?" he asked before he thought.
"Well, I'm thinking of you, for one thing," she said. "Need says you were exhausted, that you'd gone days without rest. You don't do that unless you're in some kind of trouble. Everything around here seems—well, it feels like being on the edge of a battlefield, on the eve of a war. And if that's what we've walked into, I'd like to know." She gulped. "I think, on the whole, I'd just as soon take my chances with those things you chased off. I'd rather not get caught in another all-out war. Especially not a war involving magic."
Again, he spoke before he thought, with a little more scorn than he had intended to show. "And what do you know of warfare?"
She scowled. "I've fought in a few battles," she snapped. "Have you? And you still haven't answered my question."
"Why should I?" he retorted. He raised his head proudly, planting his fists on his hips. "I know nothing of you, other than that you came across the Plains—and that you likely did without the knowledge of the Shin'a'in—"
"What, you want my credentials?" she scoffed, now obviously very angry, but keeping a firm grip on herself. She turned quickly to her saddlebag and turned round again with a roll of vellum and something else. "All right, I'll give you what you'll recognize. My teacher's teacher was Tarma shena Tale'sedrin. My teacher is Captain Kerowyn of the Skybolts, cousin to most of the Tale'sedrin. She no longer rides a warsteed, but when she did, it was always called Hellsbane. I came to Kata'shin'a'in looking for Tale'sedrin. One found me; a Kal'enedral. He, she, or it gave me these."
She thrust the roll and an enameled copper disk at him. The latter, he recognized. It was one of the Clan tokens customarily used to identify Clansfolk passing through Tayledras lands. And it was, indeed, a genuine Tale'sedrin token. He even recognized the maker's glyph on the back. That they had given this Outlander one meant that they expected her to be passing through both the Plains and Tayledras territory, and had granted her as much safe passage as they could.
But the other thing, the roll of vellum, proved to be as great a shock as the spirit-horse.
It was a map of the Plains. Darkwind had heard of such things, but the normally secretive Shin'a'in had never before let one out of their hands, to his knowledge, not even to their cousin, Captain Kerowyn. And it was a genuine map, not a fake. It showed every well and spring in the Plains, used the correct reckonings, and showed the correct landmarks—at least as far as he could verify. For that much it was priceless. It showed more than that; it showed, if you knew what to look for, the locations of common camp-sites of the four seed-Clans and the offshoot Clans. Anyone who had that information would know who held which territories, and where to find them....
And it also showed the ruins here on the rim, circled in red ink, fresher than anything else on the map.
"That was where I was supposed to go, at least that's what I guessed," she said assertively, stabbing her finger at the red mark. "I don't know what it was I was intended to find, but it certainly looks to me as if I was to come here. If you know better, I'd be pleased to hear where I'm supposed to be."
"No," he replied vaguely, still staring at the solid evidence of Shin'a'in cooperation in his hands. "No, I would say that you are correct."
This incident was rapidly turning into something he was not ready to deal with. It had looked like a simple case of Outlanders wandering where they didn't belong. Then it became a case of keeping these people out of Falconsbane's hands. But now it looked as if the Shin'a'in had sent these Outlanders here. And what that could; mean, he did not know.
"Please," he said, rolling up the map and handing it back to her. "Please, if you would only rejoin your friend, the young man, I need to speak with Treyvan."
She set her chin stubbornly, but he could be just as stubborn. He crossed his arms over his chest and stood between her and the pathway out, silent, and unmoving except for his hair blowing in the breeze. Finally she stuffed the map back in her belt with an audible sniff and turned to enter the lair.
She went inside—but the white spirit-horse did not.
The mare stared at Darkwind for so long he began to feel very uncomfortable. It was very much as if she was measuring him against some arcane standard only she knew. In fact, she probably was, given the little he knew about manifesting spirits; Starblade had once seen a leshya'e Kal'enedral, but he never had, and he had been perfectly content to have it remain that way.
Evidently the gods had other ideas.
:A word with you,: the spirit-mare said. Then she looked up at Treyvan and included him in the conversation. :Both of you,: she amended.
Treyvan looked down at the little mare from his resting place atop the lair, and rumbled deep in his throat. :We have many problems and little leisure, my lady,: he replied in Mindspeech. :I do not mean to belittle your troubles, but we have no time for yours.:
She tossed her head and stamped one hoof with an imperiousness that matched her rider's. :That is exactly what I wish to speak with you about, your troubles! You are being very foolish to dismiss us so lightly. I tell you, you need us, and I swear to you that you may trust us!:
With every word, she glowed a little brighter to his Mage-Sight, until he finally had to shield against her.
:Lady, I know you think I can trust you,: he replied, stubbornly, :but you and she are not of my people; your ways are not ours, and what you think important may mean nothing to us.:
:And please to dim yourself,: Treyvan added. :You do not need to set the forest afire to prove what you are.:
Her glow faded, and she pondered for a moment. :It is true that we are not of the same peoples, but I will tell you what brings us here. The child needs tutoring in magecraft. That is the most important of our tasks. Other than that, we have no agenda to pursue. And we are four more to stand at your side in your troubles.: She snorted delicately. :We have departed from the road that
had been planned for her. At this point, I do not see how further deviation from that plan can matter.:
The road that had been planned for her? Interesting words, and ones that explained a great deal about the girl's temperament. I doubt I would much care for being blown about by the winds of fate. In fact—I just might become as belligerent as she has. He began to feel a bit more in sympathy with the girl. And quite a bit more inclined to trust her.
:Lady, we may not agree on what is to be done here,: he warned. :This is Tayledras land; we follow the task given to us by our Lady, and nothing is permitted to interfere with that.:
She shook her mane impatiently. :Does it matter in whose name good is done? Evil done in the name of a Power of good is still evil. And good done in the name of a Power of evil is still good. It is the actions which matter, not the Name it is done for. You stand against evil here; we will help if you will have us. And then—perhaps—you may help us.:
Well, that seemed reasonable enough. He raised an eyebrow at Treyvan; the gryphon, adroit at reading human faces, cocked his head to one side. :She seems sincere. She is—something that cannot speak falsely. And—Darkwind, we and k'Sheyna are not strong enough that we can afford to neglect any form of aid. Especially if we are to free Dawnfire and my children.:
He nodded. :If that's the way you feel, then I agree.: He turned to the mare. :Lady, we accept your offer with thanks.:
The spirit nodded emphatically. :Good. Shall we confer on what needs to be done?:
Things to be done—the rescue of Dawnfire, for one thing. After Starblade's revelations, he was certain that she was in Falconsbane's hands. He could not leave her there—he told himself it was for k'Sheyna's sake, that the Clan could not afford another like Starblade—but it was as much for his sake as the Clan's. Over and over the thought had plagued him, intruding into everything, that if he had only been more vigilant, if he had only taken the time to explain why he had wanted her to stay clear of the gryphons that day, none of this would have happened to her. He knew now that he was not to blame for the shattering of the Heartstone—but this he was guilty of. He had allowed Falconsbane to lure him into relaxing his guard. And this was the result.
:Bring your people out,: he told the spirit. :As soon as they are ready to talk. And I will see if I can explain this before night falls. And explain,: he added grimly, just what it is that we mean to do.:
To his surprise—although he should not have been surprised—the Outlanders had a very good grasp of the situation once he sketched it. As the young man said, "It's not much different from our position at home. Except that the scale is a lot smaller."
The girl sat with her chin resting on both her hands as she listened, then offered a question. "Why is it that this Falconsbane hasn't made a frontal assault on k'Sheyna? He has to know that you're in trouble, and this would be the perfect time to take you."
This Elspeth seemed much easier and more relaxed, now that her blade was out of its sheath and away from her. The spirit penned within the sword—"Need" was its name—had stated that there was very little it could contribute. It had never been a tactician or a leader and did not care to begin learning the craft now. Furthermore, there was a great deal she could do to shield the gryphlets from further tampering; so that was what she had been left to do.
Elspeth had been a leader and a tactician—at least in small skirmishes—and she had studied her craft under one of the legendary mercenary Captains of the modern times. Word of the Shin'a'in "cousin" had penetrated even into Tayledras lands, via the few Bards that had congress with Tayledras and Shin'a'in. And her pupil's question had merit.
"I do not know," he replied frankly. "I am fairly certain that he has the power to pursue a frontal assault. It may be that he has not simply because he does not think in those terms; because he prefers to weaken from within, and gnaw away from without, until little by little he has wrought such damage that he can overcome his target with little effort or losses."
"That only works if you don't know what he's doing," she pointed out. "Once his victim knows—"
"It may be too late," Treyvan rumbled. "I sssussspect hisss tacticsss have done verrry well in the passst."
"He probably enjoys working that way," the young man—Skif, a very odd sort of name, to Darkwind's mind—put in, "I mean, it's obvious from what the cat-lady said that he positively revels in making people suffer. Seems to me he wouldn't get half the pleasure out of being straightforward."
Elspeth bit off an exclamation. "That's it!" she exulted. "That's his weakness! That's what makes him vulnerable! He's so busy with his convoluted plans that if he sees us trying one thing, he might not expect a second attack that was perfectly straightforward. Look, Darkwind, if I were you, that's what I'd do; I'd pretend to try to negotiate with him, and while he thought he was tying me in knots, I'd make a straight assault to get Dawnfire free. I'd also try and do as much damage as I could on the way out," she added thoughtfully, "but then, I'm well known to be a vindictive bitch."
She glanced sideways at Skif as she said that, and the young man looked sour. Evidently she was using words he had thrown at her at some point, and he was not enjoying hearing them now, tossed back in his face.
For his part, Darkwind was a little surprised by this interchange. He had been under the impression that these two were lovers, but evidently this was not so. He tucked the information into the back of his mind for later use in dealing with them. There were niceties needed with a pair of lovers that could be disposed of when working with a pair of friends or colleagues.
Such as splitting them up, for instance, sending one on one mission, and the second on another.
"It is a good notion," he told the girl. "Except that we are not supposed to know that Falconsbane even exists, much less that he holds Dawnfire."
"Damn," she said, with a frown. "I'd forgotten that. Well, what about that daughter of his, Nyara? Can she be useful?"
Now that was a thought. Treyvan rose, anticipating his next words.
"I sssshall wake herrr," the gryphon said, folding his wings to fit more easily through the door of the lair. "We ssshall sssee if ssshe isss rrready to be morrre frrriend than enemy, asss ssshe claimsss."
Darkwind nodded, grimly. Now was the time for Nyara to show her true allegiances. There was a great deal about her father and her father's stronghold and abilities that she could tell them, if she chose. And—just perhaps-some of his weaknesses.
And if she did not choose to help them—well, she would see the Vale after all, as she had often wished. From inside, as he turned her over to the Adepts to be judged. He wondered what they would think of the creature that had eaten Starblade's bondbird before his eyes. No matter how extenuating the circumstances, he did not think they would be inclined to kindness.
Dawnfire stood on her squeaking mouse, killed it messily, and leaned down to pick it up head-first. She started swallowing it whole, trying her best not to think about what she was doing.
At least I'm not like a poor, stupid eyas that doesn't know which end to start on, she thought unhappily. At least I know enough to kill the things before I try to eat them. And I knew how to kill them in theory, if not in practice.
In fact, she had learned a lot more than she was displaying. She blessed the many times she'd spent in full-bond with Kyrr, and blessed Kyrr's memory for the way the hawk had shared every experience with her. No, she was not a bird—but she had the memories of what it had been like to be a raptor, and once she had overcome her initial despair, those memories had helped her learn the ways of her new body.
They did not help her overcome her fear.
Fear of Falconsbane was only part of it. There was another fear, a constant fear that never left her, waking or sleeping. She knew what would happen as she remained in Kyrr's body—the longer she remained, the more of herself she would lose, until there was nothing left but the hawk. The fact that she had adapted to the body so quickly was both bad as well as good. The more comfortable she
felt, the easier it would be to lose herself.
She tried to hold onto herself, with utter desperation. She tried to remember everything about the scouts, the Vale, Darkwind—and she panicked when she found herself in the midst of a memory and could not remember a face, a name, a setting. Was it just that these things had slipped her mind—or was it that her mind was slipping? There was no way to know.
And what had happened to her body, back in the Vale? What if Falconsbane had killed that along with Kyrr's soul? What would she do then?
The past two days had felt like two months. Time stretched out unbearably—and there was nothing to distract her from fear and brooding.
When those thoughts drove her into a state of frenzy, there was only one way to break the cycle. She plotted her escape. She had been taken outside enough times on a creance to know all the places where escape might be possible. If she could get away—no, when she got away, she would not think "if"—she would head straight up, as high as a red-shouldered could go. From there, she would have an unparalleled view of the countryside; her scouting experience would tell her where she was. If she didn't recognize anything, she would circle until she did see a landmark she knew. And Falconsbane shouldn't be able to touch her.
Planning kept her sane; planning and practice.
When Falconsbane was not in the room, she practiced, as she had seen the fledglings practice; flapping until she lifted herself just above the perch; hopping down the length of her jesses and flying back to her perch. When she had to kill her food, she did so with a clumsiness that was feigned more and more often. She took out her anger on the hapless mice, ripping them with talons and beak after she had killed them.
Though it was still all she could do to force herself to eat the mice afterward.
Falconsbane was not paying a great deal of attention to her, but she continued the charade, lurching clumsily up to the perch and taking a long time to get settled. She watched him carefully as she cleaned her talons and beak. He'd been very preoccupied today; and he had evidently forgotten, if he had ever known, just how wide a field of vision a raptor had. She could watch him easily without ever seeming to pay attention to him.
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