Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  They were being targeted!

  No use to run now—they couldn't escape what was coming.

  :Shields!: Darkwind cried. He stuck out his hand, blindly, as they had planned if it came to this; she linked to Gwena and caught his hand, and with it, his link. He was better at shielding; she flung her power to him, taking whatever Gwena could pour into her.

  She sensed the blow coming and cringed over Gwena's neck; he met the blow with one of his own—a defense of offense, something she hadn't even thought of.

  The two bolts of power met over their heads in a silent explosion of power and a shower of very physical sparks that landed in the snow all around him, sizzling and melting the drifts wherever they landed. He took the moment to weave a hasty shield about them both, but it had none of the layering or complexity he needed.

  The next bolt came, splashing and burning against the shield, scorching it half away and blinding her. Physically, as well as in Mage-Sight. A thunderclap of sound deafened her in the next instant. They hadn't had enough time—they hadn't known Falconsbane could strike like this.

  Where did he get all that power? Falconsbane should have been wounded, should have been at less power than he'd had before, not more.

  Unless he was already tapping into the proto-Gate?

  Or unless he had ruthlessly sacrificed many of his underlings, building a network of death-energies stronger than anything they had. Or unless he'd found an ally somewhere...?

  Darkwind couldn't shield all of them; the group was just too big. He reinforced where the shield had burned away, and this time she aided him, weaving light and snow-glare into a dazzle, trying to recreate the kind of shielding they had learned to make in the safety of the Vale.

  But Falconsbane was keeping them both off-balance, destroying the rhythm of their dance of power with sheer, brute force. He controlled the situation now; it was his land they walked on, and the land held energy away from them. She whimpered in sudden pain as a lick of flame burned through and across her hand, the hand that held Darkwind's—but she would not let go, not even if she died in the next moment. Instead, she kneed Gwena closer to Brytha, until their legs were half-crushed between the two mounts to make the physical gap between them smaller. She closed her eyes and sheltered against Darkwind's back, sweat of fear and exertion running down her back under her coat, feeling him tremble with strain.

  Falconsbane did not let up, not even for a heartbeat. Blow after blow rained down on them, driving all sense from her, until the last of the shields eroded, and they clung together, waiting for the strike that would take them both.

  Together, at least—she thought faintly.

  The blow never came; they opened their eyes, fearing something worse.

  Then a scream from above made them jump, and look up.

  Like two golden streaks of light, the two gryphons plummeted down from above. They crashed through the thin lace of branches, ending their dive barely above the ground, and pulling up with wingbeats that sent the snow spraying in all directions. Both screamed again, an unmistakable note of taunting in their voices, as they plunged upward through the tree canopy.

  "Run!" Darkwind found his voice. "Run! They've made targets out of themselves. If we give him too many to choose from, we may all get away!"

  Brytha broke from his paralysis and hurled himself down their backtrail. Gwena followed a moment later, but not directly behind, making herself and Elspeth into yet another target to track on. Above the interlace of bare branches, Hydona and Treyvan had separated as well, sky dancing as if they were courting—but far enough apart that Falconsbane would have to make a choice of victims.

  Four targets....

  When the two young fools rode along the edge of his territory, at first Falconsbane could not believe the testimony of his own senses. It must be an illusion, he thought at first. It is meant to distract me. But the closer the pair came, the clearer they were, despite the best attempts of—whatever it was—that was trying to cloud his scrying. Between midnight and dawn, he knew that the pair were something more than they seemed. By false dawn he knew that one of them was the young Outland woman he had wanted so badly to take for his own. By true dawn, he knew that the other was the fool called Darkwind, and that the girl still carried her artifact.

  By then, he could not withstand the temptation to attack any longer.

  He had not lived this long by neglecting an opportunity when it was given to him. And he would not botch this chance by holding back, or making testing feints.

  He gathered all of his power together, prepared his weaponry, and attacked.

  Darkwind would die; then the girl and the sword would be his.

  There was no point in being prudent or cautious now! Not with this prize in his grasp! He rained blow after blow upon them, heedless of the expenditure of power, heedless of anything about him. Elation held him like a powerful drug, making him laugh aloud with every shred of shielding burned away, giving him an elation he had not felt in decades. He held his arms high and power crackled between his hands, power from his network made of the death-energies of his mages. He was draining that network, but it did not matter, for in moments he would have her, and the Bird-Fool's power as well, and there would be nothing standing in the way of his revenge and his glory.

  And then, just before he was to strike the blow that would take them both—

  Gryphons!

  The sight of them in his scrying bowl struck like a physical blow, driving the breath from him.

  They dove down out of nowhere, interposing themselves between him and his quarry; taunting him, flaunting themselves at him, flying as if they thought agility alone would protect them.

  Gryphons!

  He snarled with overwhelming rage. How dared they step between him and his prey?

  Anger and hatred filled him, granted him a strength far beyond anything he normally possessed. They thought to confuse him, did they? They thought he could only strike one of them at a time.

  They would learn differently—in the few heartbeats it took for all of them to die!

  He gathered his powers—readied the blast to destroy that entire section of his borderlands—

  Nyara took three deep breaths; focused herself.

  There is no future. There is no past. There is only now, and the target. There is no fear. There is only balance. There is only myself and the task.

  She slipped through the false wall in the back of the wardrobe and slid soundlessly into the room. Her eyes focused quickly as she swept them from left to right, once, to orient herself.

  There. The target. Yes!

  She took two steps, raising Need high over her head to give additional momentum to her swing—

  And brought the mage-blade down squarely on the huge crystal-cluster that Mornelithe Falconsbane had invested and anchored with all of his power—a crystal that cried out to her of death and pain, and even now was glowing with internal fires of red and angry yellow as he drew upon it—

  Drew upon it to destroy her friends.

  NO!

  Sword crashed down upon crystal—and crystal exploded.

  Falconsbane brought his hands up, rage a hot taste of blood in his throat.

  Then—What—

  A fractional instant of something wrong; no more than that.

  —an instant of disorientation—

  —searing pain—pain, engulfing every nerve, every fiber—

  —out of the pain, the void, rushing upon him like the open mouth of a giant to devour him—

  —and then, oblivion.

  Elspeth picked herself up out of the huge drift of snow she had landed in, slowly. One moment they had been running for their lives, and the next—

  Gwena!

  She scrambled to her feet, flailing in the deep snow, trying to get herself turned around.

  :It's—all right. I'm fine. Mostly.: Elspeth stopped trying to flail her way out of the snow and relaxed.

  Thank the gods. Oh, thank the gods. Altho
ugh Gwena's mind-voice sounded—odd. As if—

  :I feel as if I have a hangover,: the Companion replied. :I—think I may be sick.: The overtones of nausea that came with the thoughts almost pushed Elspeth into sickness herself.

  She got herself back to her feet and turned around, her head pounding, her stomach heaving along with Gwena's. The Companion was on her knees in another snowdrift, sides heaving as her breath hissed between clenched teeth.

  :I will—never again—mock you—when you are—wine-sick,: Gwena managed, closing her eyes as if the sun hurt her.

  Elspeth staggered to her side. "Eat some snow," she urged, holding a handful up to Gwena's muzzle. "Do it; I think this might be reaction-sickness, and eating snow will help."

  :If you—think so—: Gwena opened her jaws gingerly and accepted a bite of snow, swallowing it quickly. The nausea subsided, and she took another bite. :That helps. Thank you.:

  "It's not going to help the headache though," Elspeth warned, squinting against the pain in her own head. We're all alive, I think—

  A shadow loomed beside her; Darkwind, leaning on Brytha. He smiled wanly, and the joy that flooded her almost made her forget her pounding head. She would have jumped up, if she could; as it was, he simply let go of Brytha's shoulder and fell into her arms.

  "What happened?" she asked, holding him, being held, and ignoring the chill of the snow penetrating her clothing.

  "I think he must have had something ready to hit us with when Nyara destroyed his focus," Darkwind replied unsteadily. "Most of it aborted, but there was enough left to knock us all head-over-hind. I hope Treyvan and Hydona—"

  :Were out of range, thank you.: The hearty mind-voice made her wince, and snow blew up in all directions as the gryphon backwinged to a landing. "Arrre you unwell, childrrren?" he continued, folding his wings and cocking his head to one side. Vree landed beside him, imitating his pose in a way that would have been funny if Elspeth's head had not hurt so much.

  And not only her head. It felt rather as if someone had been beating her with blunt clubs all over her body.

  "I sssee," the gryphon said, although none of them had replied. "Wait a moment."

  He walked over to a little sheltered area amid a cluster of bushes. Within a few moments, he had the earth scraped bare and overlaid with pine boughs. "Herrre. I have made you a nessst," he said, turning back to them. "Go and wait therrre, all of you. I ssshall brrring back sssome help. Meanwhile, eat ssssnow."

  With that, he launched himself into the air again, vanishing into the bright sky in a few wingbeats.

  "Well?" Elspeth said to Darkwind. He shrugged.

  "I can't go any further," he replied. "And Brytha's not feeling much better than Gwena. Let's let someone else take charge for a change."

  "Good idea," she replied, and the four of them collapsed together into die "nest" that Treyvan had made, to share the heat of their bodies and await their rescuers.

  Nyara prowled the complex of three rooms, study, library, and workroom, and found only the destruction of a whirlwind in the workroom; Need went quiet for a moment.

  :He was here. Kitten, this was mad; he meant to anchor the proto-Gate partially in himself. He's gone now—pulled right into the void, along with half of the stuff in this room.:

  "Can he return?" she whispered.

  :Don't know. But if he does, he won't be the same.:

  She shivered and started back to the hidden passageway. The sound of people murmuring on the other side of the door made her hurry her steps. They might welcome her as savior—but more likely, they'd welcome her with the points of blades. Mornelithe's servants were steeped in suspicion and fear. Time to go.

  :You did great, kitten. I was impressed.:

  The Vale had never looked better, and Elspeth felt as if she would like to drink tea and stay in bed for a week. The tea she got, but she wasn't allowed to seek her bed yet. There were a number of people waiting for all of them, chiefest of whom was Firesong.

  Firesong actually looked chagrined. Elspeth had never seen that particular expression on his face before and had not ever thought that she would.

  "I have some strange news," he said, as she sipped the tea that was slowly dulling her headache to a bearable level. She looked at Darkwind, who only shrugged and accepted another mug from the Healing Adept.

  "I'm beginning to think that's the only kind of news we ever have around here," she said dryly, pulling her blanket a little closer.

  Firesong sat back on his heels, and shrugged. "This is—news that will probably not please most of k'Sheyna," he opined. "It is concerning the proto-Gate. It did not settle where I intended. It was pulled away—very strongly."

  "Not Falconsba—" Elspeth exclaimed, alarmed, when he interrupted her with a shake of his head.

  "Nay. But it also did not go to the new k'Sheyna Heartstone." He sighed, and shook his head. "I am at a loss to explain this. It has gone east and north. Far east and north." He looked up at her from under long white eyelashes. "To your land, to be precise."

  She blinked, feeling suddenly very stupid. Was there something here she was missing? "Valdemar?" she replied. "But—why? How?"

  "Better to ask, who," Firesong replied, standing up again. "There was a force came out of the north, at the moment of backlash. It used the force of backlash to snatch the power-point out of our hands, and when all was done, it had settled nicely as a Heartstone in the center of your crown city. Or so I surmise, since I cannot imagine any other place with so many of your Companions in one small area." One corner of his mouth crooked in a slight smile as he nodded at Gwena. "I do suspect that all of them are suffering as much as your—friend—is. The settling of that much power is not an easy thing."

  "North?" Elspeth managed, trying not to look too stupid. "North?"

  "North?" Darkwind shook his head. "What in the name of the gods is north of Valdemar's lands that could do that?"

  "Nothing—" Elspeth began, then stopped.

  "What?" both of them snapped at once.

  "The Forest of Sorrows," she said hesitantly. "The Forest—has always had a reputation for strangeness. Since Vanyel died there, anyway."

  At the name of "Vanyel," Firesong's eyes narrowed, and he nodded thoughtfully. "You are ready now," he said directly to her. "The rest of your training is largely a matter of practice and learning what will work for you. I think you both should go to this Forest."

  "Go?" Darkwind said faintly. Elspeth took a glance at him out of the corner of her eye; he was pale, and looked as if someone had just struck him.

  "Yes," Firesong repeated forcefully. "Go. And you should go with her. It is obvious to a blind man that you wish to—and with all the Kaled'a'in here, there will be nothing that the Clan needs that you alone could provide." He shrugged. "They may even choose to move back here, which I think would be an excellent thing. But you should—must—go with Elspeth."

  "But—I cannot!" Darkwind cried out, and winced at the sound of his own cracking voice. "I cannot," he repeated, at a lower volume. "Tayledras never leave their Vales."

  "Sheka," Firesong said rudely. "My own foster forefathers did so, to help Herald Vanyel in Valdemar when he needed their aid. They have not in centuries, it is true, but this is a time of changes. Or," he finished, his tone heavy with sarcasm, "had that fact escaped you?"

  "But the move—" Darkwind said feebly.

  "Can be accomplished with the help of the Kaled'a'in. Either bringing them here, or your mages there. Now that the Stone is gone, you could use the node in the ruins to create a new one, or build a Gate to the new Vale." Firesong shrugged, carelessly tossing his hair back over his shoulders. "It matters little to me. My task is done here, and I am returning home."

  "Father—" Darkwind began, then shook his head. "Father has Kethra and the Kaled'a'in and Shin'a'in healers. And Wintermoon. I am being foolish. But—" he licked his lips nervously. "This is not easy."

  "Fledging rarely is," Firesong said dryly. "I shall leave you to make you
r decision."

  Firesong stood and smiled, and now they saw that he had been toying with a black rose. At Elspeth's curious look, he smiled a little wider and said only, "A gift. Brought to me by a scarlet-crested firebird."

  Darkwind's brow creased in concentration. "But—that breed is from the far north."

  Firesong closed his eyes and sighed, content as any maiden paid a compliment. "Yes, Darkwind—north of Valdemar."

  Elspeth sat quietly as Firesong left them alone in the little clearing below her ekele. She wanted to look away from him, but she was afraid that if she did, he would take it as a rejection.

  And that was the last thing she wanted.

  He stared into his cup for a long, long time, while the tea cooled and both of them were locked inside their own thoughts. Finally, he looked up.

  "This will not be easy," he said awkwardly. "I am—I have never been outside our own lands. I know nothing of the Outlands."

  "There are good people, bad people, and middling people," she replied as casually as she could. "Just more of them than you're used to, perhaps. But I would like you to come. I need you; not just the mage—but yourself; Darkwind."

  That last slipped out before she could stop it, but once escaped, she did not want to take it back.

  He let out a breath he had been holding in. "I had hoped you would say that," he said, and took her hand. "I had hoped, but I had not expected it."

  She felt her heart racing, as she put her own hand over his. "So," she said, dizzy with elation, "Shall we go see where all these changes are taking us?"

  "Together," he replied. "Yes. I think we should."

  Once again, Elspeth made up her full packs, with everything she owned, and more—all the possessions she had accumulated in the Vale. It was still the deep of winter, but the expedition that prepared to set out from Kena Lesheyana Vale was not one that was likely to be daunted by a little cold and snow. Not only were there three Adepts in the party, Firesong electing to guide them as far as k'Treva, but there were four gryphons. Granted that two of them were barely fledged, and would make their ground-bound way alongside the riders in between their short flights, but even a young gryphon was likely to give predators pause.