Taking their land would be a good start. Finding the girl and the man would complete that particular facet of his revenge.
And from there, with two lands under his control....
Well, it would be much easier to attack the Bird Lovers with a conventional army at his call. They were not prepared for such things. He could take them with little personal effort.
After that—
After that, he might well think about all the blighted ambitions of Leareth and Ma'ar. All the plans he had laid that could actually be brought to fruition. He could become more than a mere "king"—even more than an Emperor. He could have the world calling him Lord and Master.
He closed his eyes, picturing himself as Master of the World, and drifted again into pleasant dreams.
An'desha emerged from hiding as soon as Falconsbane was truly asleep again. This time, although he took care not to move Falconsbane's body, he took a few moments to get some idea of his surroundings.
He was in what seemed to be a very luxurious bedroom. The bed itself was canopied, with heavy curtains that were now pulled back and held against the posts of the bed with straps of fabric. There was a fireplace, although there was no fire burning at the moment. Beside the bed was a table with the remains of Falconsbane's meal still on it. Shadows against the wall hinted at more furniture, but the light from the two heavily-shaded lamps beside the bed was not enough for An'desha to make out what kind of furnishings were there.
So much for the physical aspects of the room. As for the nonphysical—
He paused for a moment, then used the Mage-Sight that had become second nature over the years of Mornelithe's dominance.
The door is mage-locked. There are protections on the bed and wards and shields everywhere—baffles and misdirectors. Ancar doesn't want anyone to know that he has a mage in this room.
An'desha hesitated for a moment, trying to decide if he should probe those protections further, or try to investigate the locks on the door.
An odd stirring in the energies surrounding the room alarmed him. Something was coming!
He readied to bolt back into hiding again, when the gentle touch of a thread of Mindspeech touched his mind. His—and not Falconsbane's! Was this the madness he had feared? Was his remaining consciousness having fever-dreams of its own now?
:Do not fear, An'desha. We are here to help you.:
He paused in frozen amazement, too shocked at hearing his own name to even think of what to do next. It was the kind of wish fulfillment he had always mistrusted, but it seemed real. Would madness seem so real? Would a madman know?
A sparkling energy coalesced in the room, then formed a rotating center and swirled around it. A column of twisting, glowing mist formed in the center of the room, spreading two wide wings, raising a head—
The image of a ghostly vorcel-hawk, many times life size and made of glowing amber mist, mantled its wings and stared at him for a moment.
A vorcel-hawk—Her hawk! This was no trick. Falconsbane knew nothing of Her creatures, nor would the foreigner Ancar have any notion of what a vorcel-hawk meant to a Shin'a'in!
The Hawk gazed at him with star-flecked eyes for three heartbeats. Then it pulled in its wings and became a mist-cloud; the mist swirled again, split into two masses, and began taking shape for a second time.
Not one hawk, but two stared at him, one larger than the other—
Then the hawks folded their wings and the mist clouded; not two hawks, but two people stood there. One, a woman, so faint and tenuous that An'desha could see nothing clearly but her eyes and the vague woman-shape of her. But the other was male.
The other was a man of the Shin'a'in.
He very nearly cried out—but the man motioned him to be silent, and with many years of control and caution behind him, he obeyed instantly. He took a tight rein on his elation and his confusion as well, lest they wake Falconsbane out of slumber. Whoever, whatever these were, they could only be here to help him—but they could not help him if Falconsbane learned of his existence.
:I am Tre'valen shena Tale'sedrin, An'desha,: the spirit-man said in his mind. :We have been sent to help you as much as we can—but I must warn you, although we come at the order of the Star-Eyed, we are far from our forests and plains. Both we and She are limited in what we can do. She is bound by rules even as we are.:
There was a little disappointment at learning they would not simply invoke a power and banish Falconsbane, but far more simple relief. He was not alone at least, he had not been forgotten! He nearly wept with the intensity of his emotion.
But like lightning, his relief turned to bewilderment. What, exactly, was this Tre'valen? He didn't look anything like one of the Swordsworn... could he be spirit-traveling in some way, and was his real body somewhere nearby? If An'desha had a real, physical ally somewhere, it would be more than he had hoped for. A physical ally could free him from Ancar. But on the other hand, wouldn't someone who was leshy'a be better suited to free him from Falconsbane?
:What are you?: he asked timidly. :Are you a spirit?:
Tre'valen smiled ruefully. :I am not precisely a spirit-but I am not precisely "alive," either. I was, and am still, a shaman of Tale'sedrin. I do not believe that the term "Avatar" would mean anything to you—:
An'desha dared not shake his head, but evidently Tre'valen "read" the intention.
:We are "Avatars," for what that is worth. We serve Her a little more directly than the Kal'enedral do. We go where She cannot and where the Kal'enedral are unsuited. As now, when a shaman is needed, and not a warrior. :
A shaman? He couldn't help himself; he had gotten into this mess by trying to escape the shaman. He shrank back a little, both afraid of Tre'valen's censure, and ashamed. Surely, since She knew so much, She knew of his foolish attempt to flee, and her—Avatar—knew it, too.
Tre'valen sensed his shame, and Sent him a feeling of reassurance. :An'desha, you need not fear me because of your past. Would She have sent us to you if She thought you deserved punishment? Would She punish you because you chose to flee instead of being forced into a role you didn't want?:
A good point. He breathed a little easier.
:And think on it, An'desha. She takes no one who is not willing—Kal'enedral or shaman. She also punishes only those who have betrayed that which they promised. Why should She be angered at you because you were not willing?:
Now he felt twice as stupid. All this could have been avoided if only he had thought before he acted.
Tre'valen shook his head. :An'desha, I learned to think long before I acted—and when I was young, that broody thoughtfulness became inactivity. I was shocked out of it in my own way, even as you have been shocked. I became what I am now because of a moment when I did not have time to consider hundreds of options. I believe the choice I made was the right one. And perhaps, so was yours.:
Now he was confused. And what on earth did Tre'valen mean by saying that he was not precisely a spirit, but not precisely alive?
Oh, it didn't matter. What mattered was that he had been forgiven. Tre'valen seemed to be able to follow that thought, for he nodded.
:You were not thinking, An'desha, to run off like that. A better choice would have been to go to another shaman, one of some other Clan, who would have been more objective about you and your life-path. But you were also very young, and being young and stupid is not supposed to open one up to consequences quite as serious as you suffered. We all learn. That is why we live.: Tre'valen smiled a little and the woman-form behind him took on more substance. And to An'desha's surprise, it was not one of the Kal'enedral as he had suspected it might be, nor was it even another Shin'a'in. Instead, the woman matched all the descriptions of the Tale'edras that he had ever heard! She was very beautiful, and it was clear to An'desha that these two were bound by more than similarity of form and purpose.
:This is Dawnfire,: Tre'valen said, confirming his guess by giving the woman a Hawkbrother name. :She and I are your friends and your helpers. Y
ou know what you want most—:
:My body!: he cried involuntarily. :My freedom!:
:We can free you of your body—permanently, but I suspect that is not your first choice,: Dawnfire replied wryly.
No. For all that he had wished for oblivion and death before, he truly did not want it now.
:In that case, you will have to earn your body and your freedom,: Tre'valen told him. The mist-forms glowed, like dust in a sunbeam, sparkling and dancing. :And even if you do all that we ask, there is no guarantee that we can grant what you want. We will do our best, but we are very limited in power. There are many other forces at work here.:
But it was a chance; it was more than he had ever had before. Even a chance was worth fighting for, and especially a chance for freedom.
Both of the spirits nodded encouragingly. :An'desha, what we want from you is relatively simple. Watch. Listen. Learn. And tell us all that you have learned.: Tre'valen's mind-voice was earnest. :This will not be easy, because we will be asking you to do more than simply observe what happens. We will be showing you how to see into Falconsbane's thoughts and memories without him being aware that you are doing so. As you have been, brave one, when Falconsbane is fully aware, you are in limbo. We will show you how to protect yourself so that you are part of everything he thinks and does. Eventually, you will be an unseen witness to what goes on within him and outside of him. Eventually, you will invade his memories and learn the answers to questions we shall ask in the future:
An'desha writhed with indecision and discomfort for a moment. He had not liked the little he had seen; he knew very well that Falconsbane had done horrible things, much more horrible than An'desha had ever been aware of. As Mornelithe had become more intent on his depravities, An'desha had been pushed back into limbo. He had awakened to the aftermath when Mornelithe came down from his twisted pleasure. Could he bear to see and know these things that had been done with his body?
:You will not like any of what you find,: Dawnfire warned soberly. :Falconsbane is a monster in every sense. What you discover for us will bring you pain. But these are things that we must know in order to help you. And—to help others; those Falconsbane would harm.:
In that case—if they meant to stop Falconsbane from hurting anyone else—how could he refuse? How many times had he prayed for a way to stop the madness that he had seen? How many times had he cursed his inability to save even one creature from Falconsbane's evil? The old Shin'a'in proverb of "Beware what you ask for, lest you receive it" seemed particularly apt....
Wordlessly—even though he was full of fear, and already shrinking from what he knew he would find—he gave his assent.
By the time they left him, they had shown him as much as he could encompass in a single lesson. They had coached him through making his little corner of Falconsbane's mind more secure, and even more invisible to the Adept. They had taught him how to gain access to Falconsbane's memory without the Adept being aware that he was doing so. They had shown him how to extend his reach into areas of Falconsbane's waking mind, so that now he would be able to see and hear whatever Falconsbane did, and to read the Adept's waking thoughts at all times, and not just when Falconsbane was extremely preoccupied. And they had gently praised him, something he had not experienced in what felt like eons. He quivered at how it made him feel.
When they took wing into the night, he withdrew again, buttressed up the walls of his defenses, and assimilated everything they had taught him. As Falconsbane continued to sleep, he made his first overt move. He sent the Adept into deeper slumber.
It worked.
Falconsbane descended into a sleep so deep that not even an army marching by would have awakened him. It would not last for long, but it was the first time that An'desha had dared do anything directly against the Adept.
Encouraged by his success, he thought for a moment.
He did things to my body; I know he did. More things than just changing the way it looks—and I don't even know how far he went with that. I ought to find out.
And the memories of how Falconsbane had done those things were likely to be some of the least noxious.
That would be a good place to start, then.
He settled down, made his own thoughts very quiet, and began his work.
Chapter Five
Elspeth stared at the enormous conifers surrounding them. Their trunks and branches were not "enormous" by Tayledras standards, but they were huge when compared to the trees around Haven.
If the air had not been so cool, she would have thought they had been transported into a miniature Vale, or part of a larger one. They stood in a pocket-valley, with the cave that had formed the terminus of the Gate behind them, a small, grassy meadow in front of them, and those huge trees climbing up the steep slopes to either side of them. Any place where sunlight might penetrate the canopy, there were bushes and other low-growing plants clustered thickly about the bases of the trees. And yet, the meadow here had nothing taller than a few weeds, and while it was not exactly symmetrical, it still felt artificial—arranged somehow. There were no exotic flowering plants, and no signs of a Veil or other protections. But for all of that, it still reminded her strongly of a Hawkbrother stronghold. There was something about the placement of the trees that gave her the sense that this place had been touched by the hand of man.
Could trees grow that tall without something nurturing them? She didn't think so... but then she was not exactly an expert. Hadn't Darkwind once told her that the trees in the Pelagiris Forest were this tall?
Could they somehow have come out into an old Vale, one abandoned long ago? How did they get here instead of k'Treva? Certainly Firesong did not seem to recognize this place either. If he had targeted an old Vale by mistake, wouldn't he know it? Wouldn't he recognize it, if it was an old k'Treva Vale?
The group moved so their backs faced each other, with the gryphlets in the middle of the circle. Darkwind and Skif had dropped all burdens but their weapons, and Vree was already ranging up onto station to scout. Firesong stood with the most perplexed expression Elspeth had ever seen, one hand to his scalp, pulling his white hair back.
"I have no clue how we got here!" he cried, and received a gesture to be quieter from Darkwind, Skif, and Nyara.
A bird called off in the distance somewhere. It sounded like a wood thrush. There weren't any wood thrushes around k'Sheyna, at least not that she had ever heard. She had always thought they were a northern bird... were there other birds that sounded like wood thrushes? Scarlet jays mimicked other birds, so perhaps it was a jay. But would a jay mimic a bird that didn't live in the same region?
"We are definitely far north. I think we can calm down, though—if we were meant to be killed, it would have been done as we exited the Gate. Still," Firesong continued, "this seriously annoys me."
Something about the light shining down into the center of the clearing was unusual. Its color—and the angle at which it fell.
Light in the center of the clearing? But the sun isn't high enough—it's early morning—there can't be a shaft of light in the middle of the clearing!
But there was—only it wasn't a shaft of light coming down through the treetops, but a column of light, taller than a man. Silver-gold light, the kind of light that shines over snow on a winter morning. Everything developed odd double shadows as the light became brighter still.
A ripple in the energies of the place made her redouble her shields quickly, and join them with Darkwind's, in a move that was near-instinctive now. Gods only knew what this thing was, but it surely had something to do with whatever snatched them away from k'Treva.
A vague shape developed, a sculpture of fog—except that it was glowing, and the energies of this place were definitely centered around it. Now that she knew what to look for, the lines of force were as clear as ripples in a pond. This—thing—was a part of the forest—of the energies that lay under the forest.
But it was still changing; it blurred, or perhaps her eyes blurred for a m
oment. And then, the figure solidified. It was not at all what she had expected.
It was a handsome man, silver-haired, silver-eyed, handsome enough even to cast Firesong into the shade, of no determinate age.
And he was dressed in an antique version of Herald's Whites. He looked like a glowing statue of milky glass, or like—
Oh, gods. Like a ghost, a spirit....
The hair on the back of her neck rose with atavistic fear, and she backed up another pace, holding out one hand as if to ward the thing off.
As if she could! This was not the first spirit she had encountered, but how could she know what this spirit could do? How could she hope to hold it off if it chose to attack her?
A crisp, clean breeze rose and fell. It sounded like the forest was sighing.
:Bright Havens!: said a cheerful, gentle voice in her head. :You all look as if you'd seen a ghost!:
A quick glance showed her that everyone else had heard that mind-voice as well. Darkwind looked startled; the gryphons were mantling and the little ones hid under their wings. Skif was white—and round-eyed with astonishment, for he was not a strong Mindspeaker, and it would take a powerful Mindspeaker indeed to make him Hear. Nyara simply looked frightened and puzzled. The Companions—there was no reading them. They stood as stock still as if they had been carved of snow.
Firesong was as pale as his hair—or the apparition. This was the first time that Elspeth had ever seen the Hawkbrother truly frightened. She'd seen him worried, yes. Anxious and even apprehensive. But never frightened.
Still, it was Firesong who recovered first. He regained a little more color, drew himself erect, and approached the—man.
The apparition simply smiled. For a revenant, this one was remarkably good-natured. Weren't ghosts supposed to rattle chains and moan curses or warnings? But she had never heard of a Herald coming back to haunt anyone before.
"And have we not?" Firesong asked, stopping within touching distance of the spirit and looking challengingly into its "face." "Have we not seen a ghost, Forefather?"
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