Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  "No, not at all," he said wearily. "No—it is—I thought perhaps you and Skif—"

  "Skif isn't going to leave here unless you force him to," she told him bluntly. "It's that simple. He can't travel any time soon, and after that—" She shrugged. "He may go home, he may decide to stay, that's up to him. Nyara's out there somewhere; he may decide to try to find her, and personally, I think he will. But I plan on staying, if you're still willing to teach me."

  "I am," he replied soberly, "But I must warn you that I have never taught before. And you are a dangerous kind of pupil; you come late to this, and you wield a great deal of power, very clumsily."

  She bristled a little. "I haven't exactly had a chance to practice," she retorted. "I don't think you'll find me unwilling to work, or too inflexible to learn."

  "I, too, will be a kind of pupil," he reminded her. "I have not used my powers in a long time; I shall have to relearn them before I can teach you."

  But it is easier for two than one. And my friends are few enough. Elspeth has become one.

  She shrugged. "If you don't care, I don't. What I do care about is that you can teach me as quickly as I can learn. I don't have a lot of time to spend here."

  Dark thoughts shadowed her face; he guessed they were thoughts of home, and all that could be taking place there. He softened a little, understanding those worries only too well. "If you will give me your best, I will give you mine," he replied.

  She met his eyes at last. "I never give less than my best," she said.

  He glanced at the slumbering Skif out of the corner of his eye. "Not even to him?" he asked, a little cruelly, but unable to help himself. You must know yourself, strengths and weaknesses, before you dare magic.

  "I gave Skif my best," she replied instantly, without a wince. "It just wasn't what he thought he wanted. He's still my friend."

  He nodded, satisfied, and rose, holding out his hand to her. "In that case, lady, gather your things again."

  This time she did wince. "Why? Did you change your mind just now about throwing us out?" She sounded a little desperate.

  "No." He stared at the forest for a moment, wondering again if he was doing the right thing.

  But he was doing something, and his heart told him it was right. And that was infinitely better than doing nothing.

  "No... no, Elspeth," he replied after a moment, tasting the flavor of the strange name, and finding he liked it. "I have not changed my mind. As soon as you are ready, I will have Skif brought to the Vale, and conduct you there myself." He turned toward her and found himself smiling at the look of complete surprise she wore. "You have succeeded in winning a place where no Outlander has been for generations."

  He clasped her forearm in his hand, searching in her eyes for a moment... then speaking to her softly.

  "As Council Leader of Vale k'Sheyna, I offer you the sanctuary and peace of the Vale; I offer you the honor and responsibility of the Clan. If you will take it, I give you the name Elspeth k'Sheyna k'Valdemar...."

  Somewhere overhead, a forestgyre called his approval as he rode the winds, watching over the forest; for Vree's bondmate had begun his healing at last.

  Author's Notes

  Just as the Companions are not horses as we know them, so the Tayledras bondbirds are not hawks and falcons. They have been genetically altered to make them larger, more intelligent, telepathic, and far more social than any terrestrial bird of prey. The "real thing" bears the same resemblance to a bondbird as a German Shepherd does a jackel.

  The ancient art of falconry can be thrilling and enjoyable, but the falconer must be prepared to devote as much or more time to it as he would his job. The birds must be fed, trained, and exercised every day without fail, and frequently will not permit anyone but their handler to feed them. For the most part, the falconer must make all his own equipment. And in order to obtain the licenses for his sport, he must pass a lengthy Federal inspection. The licenses themselves must be obtained from both the Federal and State governments. All native birds are protected species, and possession without a permit is subject to a Federal fine as well as confiscation of the bird. The Apprentice falconer is only permitted to train and fly the red-tailed hawk or the kestrel (North American sparrowhawk) and must do so under the auspices of a Master. This is not a hobby to be taken on lightly, not is it one that can be put in a closet on a rainy day, or if the falconer doesn't feel well that day. For the most part, birds of prey are not capable of "affection" for their handler, and the best one can expect is tolerance and acceptance. Falconers speak of "serving" their bird, and that is very much the case, for this is a partnership in which the bird has the upper hand, and can choose at any moment to dissolve the relationship and fly away. And frequently, she does just that.

  Falconers are single-handedly responsible for keeping the population of North American peregrine falcons alive. They were the first to notice the declining numbers, the first to make the connection between DDT and too-fragile eggshells, and the first to begin captive breeding programs to save the breed from extinction. They are intensely involved in conservation at all levels, and are vitally interested in preserving the wilderness for all future generations.

  --2 Winds of Change (1992)--

  version 2.0 spell checked, compared to original, formatted. Completed November 1, 2003

  Dedicated to the Tayledras and Heralds of our world: police, firefighters, and rescue workers everywhere, whose accomplishments in everyday life outdo anything in fiction.

  Prologue

  For long years, the rich northern kingdom of Valdemar, ruled by Queen Selenay and her consort Daren, had been under siege by the forces of Hardorn (Arrows of the Queen, Arrow's Flight, Arrow's Fall, By The Sword). Ancar, its ruthless and cunning leader, had first tried treachery against the rival country's court; that had been foiled by the Heralds of Valdemar, the judges, lawgivers, and law-enforcers of their people. He could not corrupt them, for it was not in the nature of the Heralds, Chosen for their duties by the horselike creatures called "Companions," to be corrupted. He then tried direct attack—that was foiled by the forces of neighboring Rethwellan to the south, brought by an old promise of aid, long forgotten in Valdemar. Those forces included the mercenary company of the Skybolts, commanded by Captain Kerowyn, granddaughter of the mage Kethry (whose own story is related in The Oathbound and Oathbreakers). Kerowyn brought more with her than just arms and fighters; she brought with her an ancient and powerful enchanted weapon, the sword her grandmother had borne; Need, who for reasons then unknown could be commanded only by a woman. With her she brought the King of Rethwellan's own brother, Prince Daren, the Lord Martial of his country, also the younger brother of Selenay's former treacherous husband.

  The result was the successful defeat of Ancar's forces—and the Choosing of both Daren (for he was nothing like his brother) and Kerowyn by Companions, much to the consternation of some of Selenay's nobles.

  And Daren and Selenay had loved each other at first sight.

  Five years later, they had produced both progeny and an uneasy peace, although Ancar continued to make attempts across the border, and insinuated spies inside Valdemar. But the one thing of which all felt sure, was that they were safe from magic.

  In fact, few people in Valdemar even believed in "real" magic, although the mind-magic of the Heralds was commonplace. An ancient barrier, attributed to the work of the legendary Herald-Mage Vanyel, seemed to hold the working of real magic at bay inside Valdemar's borders, if not its effects. Further, it seemed as if there was some prohibition about even thinking of real magic; those who discussed it, soon forgot the discussions; those who witnessed it soon attributed their memories to dreams. Even old chronicles that spoke of it were forgotten, and those who tried to read them found their interest lagging and put them away without a memory of why they had sought them out in the first place.

  But one day, it became plain that this barrier was no longer as effective as everyone believed and hoped. The Queen's Heir, her
daughter by her first marriage, made the decision that the time had come for Valdemar to have the same manner of magic its enemies wielded (Winds of Fate,) and perhaps new magics as well.

  She fought for the right to seek out the mages of other lands herself—more successfully, after a magically-enhanced assassin sent by Ancar nearly killed her—and set off with the sword Need and one other Herald, Skif, to find mages for Valdemar.

  She had not gone far beyond Rethwellan when she deduced that she had not done this alone—that the Companions had acted on her behalf, and were, in fact, forcing her toward a goal only they knew. Angered by this, and swearing that she would follow her own path in this venture, Elspeth turned off the road she had been intended to take, and headed instead for Kata'shin'a'in and the nomads of the Dhorisha Plains—who, she hoped, would lead her to the mysterious Hawkbrothers of the Pelagirs. The last of the Herald-Mages, Herald Vanyel, had been reputedly taught by them (Magic's Pawn, Magic's Promise, Magic's Price) and she hoped that she could find either allies or teachers there.

  The Shin'a'in had their own set of plans for her, once they learned of her destination. They intended to test her, watch her, and allow her to face some of their enemies as she crossed their land.

  Meanwhile, the sword she carried, that she had thought was "only" a magic weapon, proved to be more than that. In her hands it awakened—and proved to be a once-human mage of times so long past that there was no record of her previous life, or anything Need referenced, in the Chronicles of Valdemar.

  Together the Heralds, their Companions, and the newly-awakened blade crossed the Dhorisha Plains, only to find themselves going from old dangers into new—for the Tayledras territory they headed for, following a map that the Shin'a'in shaman Kra'heera and Tre'valen gave to Elspeth, was as much under siege as the kingdom of Valdemar.

  Among the Hawkbrothers, a former mage, Darkwind k'Sheyna, had been fighting his own battle against enemies within and without. Without, were the forces led by the evil Adept and Changemaster, Mornelithe Falconsbane—not the least of which was his half-human daughter, the Change-child Nyara. Within, the Clan was split—physically, for more than half their number, including all of the children and lesser mages, were stranded in the intended site of a new Vale when their Heartstone cracked. And split in leadership, for Darkwind was the leader of a faction that wanted to bring in help from outside to heal their Heartstone and bring back the rest of the Clan—while his father, who led the mages, swore this could not be done.

  But Darkwind's father had been subverted by Falconsbane, and even in the heart of the Vale was still under his control. It was Darkwind's father, the Adept Starblade k'Sheyna, who had actually caused the fracturing of the stone.

  Darkwind was aided by a pair of gryphons and their young, who had served as surrogate parents to him when his own mother died and his father turned strange and alien. Treyvan and Hydona did their best to support him, but despite being powerful mages in their own right, there were few in the Vale who would listen to their advice.

  Falconsbane elected to close his hand tighter around k'Sheyna Vale, and sent his daughter—under the ruse that she was escaping his power—to seduce young Darkwind. Nyara herself, sick of her father's mistreatment, was not aware of Falconsbane's larger plan. Loyalty to his lover Dawnfire kept Darkwind from succumbing to his attraction to Nyara, but by Falconsbane's reckoning, it was only a matter of time before he had both father and son in his grasp.

  Elspeth, bearing an enormously valuable artifact, and a powerful, if untrained mage herself, aroused Falconsbane's avarice as soon as she came within his reckoning. He turned some of his creatures that had been searching the Plain for the artifacts guarded by the Shin'a'in to pursue Elspeth. And meanwhile, in pursuit himself of an old hatred for gryphons, he launched an attack on Treyvan and Hydona and their young. And in the wake of the attack, he managed to trap Dawnfire's spirit in the body of her bondbird, and slay her human body along with the spirit of the bird.

  On discovering that the young gryphlets had been contaminated by Falconsbane's power, Nyara confessed her hand in the matter, and was confined in a corner of the gryphon's lair.

  Elspeth, Skif, and the rest arrived at the borders of the k'Sheyna territory, pursued by Falconsbane's creatures. Darkwind and the gryphons came to their rescue, and recognized both the sword and the Companions for what they were. Unsure of what to do with them, Darkwind led them back to the lair. There, Skif met Nyara and fell in love with her—and the fascination was mutual.

  Things that Nyara knew and confessed proved to Darkwind that his father was in thrall to the evil Adept. He succeeded in breaking Falconsbane's hold on his father and in destroying the creature through which the control had come, but that alerted Falconsbane to the fact that they now knew who and what he was and, presumably, what he had planned. He permitted Dawnfire to overhear that he was planning to meet with Ancar of Hardorn to discuss an alliance—then allowed her "accidental" escape.

  The name meant nothing to Dawnfire, but a great deal to the Heralds. This was their worst fear realized; that Ancar should unite with a truly powerful Adept—

  But Need, who had centuries of experience recognizing trickery, pointed out that Dawnfire's "escape" was a little too easy—and that they would be leaving both the gryphlets and possibly even herself unguarded to disrupt a spurious "meeting."

  So the allies planned a reverse ambush; lying in wait for Falconsbane when he came to take the young ones.

  Falconsbane was cannier than they thought; he detected the ambush at the last moment, and mounted an effective counterattack. He attempted to take control of the gryphlets, but Need deflected the magic, and turned it against him, using it to purge the unsuspecting young ones of his taint. He attacked Skif, but before he could kill the Herald, he was attacked by his daughter Nyara, in the first open act of defiance in her life. Nevertheless, Falconsbane's powerful magics and allies succeeded in taking down both Companions and trapping Hydona.

  All would have been lost but for the tenacity of Darkwind and the gryphons—and the intervention of the Shin'a'in Swordsworn, the black-clad servants of the Shin'a'in and Tayledras Goddess, who had been secret players in events all along. They surrounded the combatants and forced Falconsbane to a stalemate.

  Snarling in rage, the Adept escaped—barely—leaving behind a trail of blood and the survivors' hope that a Shin'a'in arrow had been fatal.

  But the intervention of the Shin'a'in was not complete. The Swordsworn and the two shaman took up Dawnfire—who, trapped in a bird's body, was fated to fade and "die," leaving nothing of her human self behind. Before the eyes of the Heralds and the rest, the Goddess herself intervened on Dawnfire's behalf, transforming her into a shining Avatar in the shape of a vorcel hawk, the symbol of the shamans' clan, Tale'sedrin.

  And in the awed confusion afterward, Nyara vanished, taking Need with her—at the blade's parting insistence that Nyara required her more than Elspeth did.

  But the Clan was united once more, and Darkwind agreed to take up his long-denied powers again, to teach Elspeth the ways of magic, that she might return home an Adept.

  So dawns the new day....

  Chapter One

  Elspeth rubbed her feather-adorned temples, hoping that her fears and tensions would mercifully go, and leave her mind in peace for just once today.

  This isn't what I expected. I wish this were over.

  Herald Elspeth, Heir to the Crown of Valdemar, survivor of a thousand and one ceremonies in her twenty-six years, brushed nervously at a nonexistent spot on her tunic and wished she were anywhere but here. "Here" was the southern edge of the lands held by the Tayledras, whom Valdemarans spoke of as the fabled Hawkbrothers. "Here" was a rough-walled cave, presumably hewn by magic, just outside the entrance to k'Sheyna Vale. "Here" was where Elspeth the Heir was stewing in her own juices from anxiety.

  Elspeth was still getting used to these people and their magic. As far as she could tell the cave hadn't been there before
yesterday.

  Then again—the walls didn't have that raw, new look of freshly cut stone, and the sandy, uneven floor seemed ordinary. Even the entrance, a jagged break in the hillside, appeared to be perfectly natural, and healthy plants lined the edges. Greenery grew anywhere roots could find a pocket of soil to hold onto. And the smell was as damp and musty as any cave she'd ever seen during her Herald's training.

  Maybe she was wrong. The cave might always have been there, but its entrance may just have been well-hidden.

  Now that she thought about it, that would be a lot more like the style of the only Hawkbrother she knew, Darkwind k'Sheyna. He wasn't inclined to waste time or energy on anything—much less waste magical power. He took a dim view of profligate use of magery, something he'd made very clear to Elspeth in the first days of their acquaintance. If something could be done without using magic, that was the way he'd do it—hoarding his powers and doling them out in miserly driblets.

  That was something she didn't understand at all. When you had magic, shouldn't you use it?

  Darkwind didn't seem to think so.

  Neither did the Chronicles she had read, of Herald-Mage Vanyel's time and before. Incredible things were possible to an Adept—and that, of course, was why she was here. If she'd dared, she'd have used her powers now, to shape a more comfortable seat than the rock she perched on, just inside the cave's entrance.

  That at least would have given her something to do, instead of working herself up into a fine froth of nerves over the coming ceremony.

  She glanced resentfully at Skif; he looked perfectly calm, if preoccupied. His dark eyes were focused somewhere inward, and if he was at all nervous, none of it showed on his square-jawed face. In fact, the only sign that he wasn't a statue was that he would run a hand through his curly brown hair once in a while.