“Kelvren k’Leshya, the Silver Gryphon chief, is out in the north scouting, and you will meet him later. And lastly, I will relate what Tyrsell and Hashi say, if you wish, for they are Mindspeakers. They can speak into your mind, if you would rather - ” Darian paused, and Lord Breon coughed.
“Ah, if you don’t mind, I would prefer for you to translate, young sir,” the older man said. “I’ve had one experience with that, and - well, I’m a plain man, with plain ways, and that was just a bit too uncanny for my taste, personal preference, no offense intended.” He coughed again, giving Darian a penetrating look. “And you are - ?”
“Darian Firkin k’Vala k’Valdemar, my lord,” he replied steadily, keeping his gaze even as well.
“Darian? Darian? Lord and Lady, youngster - I wouldn’t have thought it!” Lord Breon laughed with surprise. “Look at you! We send off a skinny waif that a good wind would knock over, and he comes back the equal of Val! Well met, young man! And welcome home!” To Darian’s surprise, Lord Breon grabbed his hand and pumped it vigorously. “Damme, but it’s good to have you back! We’ ve all felt the lack of a mage sorely since you’ve been gone!”
“Ah - thank you, sir,” Darian replied, rather at a loss as to what else to say. Starfall saved him, stepping smoothly to the fore as Lord Breon let go of Darian’s hand.
“Lord Breon, we are keeping everyone standing here in the sun, and there is much we would like to discuss with you this afternoon. Have we somewhere that we could all adjourn to?”
Starfall placed a slight emphasis on the word “all,” and Lord Breon’s eyes flickered to Hashi and Tyrsell.
“As it’s a fine day, the inner court would be very pleasant and private,” he replied, so quickly that if Darian hadn’t seen his eyes flicker, he’d have thought Lord Breon planned that venue all along. “Val and my Lady will be joining us, of course.”
“Absolutely,” Starfall replied. “The more minds, the better the decisions.”
Val looked startled at that, and Lady Ismay appreciative. Evidently Val was not used to being included in his father’s counsels, and Lady Ismay was all too used to being dismissed as insignificant by menfolk. “If you gentlefolk will come with me, then,” Lord Breon continued, “We’ll settle ourselves in the court, and Ismay can rejoin us after she informs the servants what is toward.” He turned toward the two bored guards. “And you fellows can be about your business. Mind that you tell the Weaponsmaster that I dismissed you on seeing that the wicked Hawkbrothers were not about to fall on us and murder us.”
Both men laughed, as if hearing the tagline of a joke, and sauntered off, leaving the k’Valdemar party to follow Lord Breon.
He guided them along the paths of the precisely manicured garden, around the side of the manor, until they came to a small archway leading deep under the second floor. At the other end of the tunnel, sun and greenery looked very enticing, though Darian noted the series of strong portcullis gates and drop doors, and the murder holes in the ceiling above. Anyone who thought this would be a weak point in the manor’s defenses would have a rude surprise, shortly before coming down with a serious case of death.
They emerged from the dark tunnel, blinking in the sunlight, surrounded by flowers.
Here in the “inner court” was what was often called “the lady’s bower” at other Valdemaran manors. The more delicate and frost-sensitive plants and trees were here, and in addition to these, there was a profusion of roses and lavender, lilies and hyacinth. A little less manicured than the gardens outside, flowering vines trained on trellises overhung nooks with inviting cushions in them, rose trees, quince trees, cherry and apple trees showered the grass with petals. Trees were espaliered against the warm stone walls. All of this surrounded a pool full of waterlilies and slow, lazy golden fish. Here and there a bit of forgotten handiwork showed that this was a favored retreat for Lady Ismay and whatever young women attended her.
It made a fine place for a conference, too. Soon after everyone settled down, the Lady herself appeared, with servants bearing the components of a picnic lunch. Nor were Tyrsell and Hashi forgotten; for Hashi there was a bowl of neatly cubed raw meat (probably so that no one had to watch him tear his food from the bone), and for Tyrsell, a large basin of sweet-feed. The bowl and the basin were both of ceramic, clearly from the kitchen and not the stable, serving bowls with Lord Breon’s crest glazed onto them. Both Hashi and Tyrsell expressed their pleasure through Darian.
Once food was handed ‘round, Lord Breon dismissed the servants with a gesture and got down to business.
“I’ve been kept abreast of the situation,” he said. “Though since the message came by bird, there wasn’t as much detail as I’d have liked. So there are more barbarians coming this way?”
Starfall nodded. “We have little more in the way of detail than you, but there is one difference from the last time. These people include women and children as well as the warriors, and herds of various cattle as well as war mounts.”
“Sounds as if they’re planning to stay wherever it is that they’re going.” Lord Breon frowned. “We have a bit of a quandary here. It’s the official Royal policy that peaceful groups be allowed to settle on unoccupied lands, and there is plenty of that hereabouts. At the same time, though, the last lot of these folk to come down out of the north were anything but peaceful. Do we defend ourselves with a quick preemptive strike, or do we wait and see what they do?”
Darian kept his mouth shut although his own feelings were quite clear. He would much prefer an attack, enough to send these people back where they came from. He could tell by the look on Val’s face that he felt the same.
It was gratifying that Lord Breon treated them all as allies and equals right from the beginning, though. Darian hoped that his advice had something to do with that.
“We should take our time in considering, my Lord,” Snowfire said smoothly. “They aren’t within the distance that a gryphon can fly in half a day, and they are traveling slowly, so we will have that time.”
“Huh. What we really need is more information,” Lord Breon agreed. “I don’t like walking into any situation blind.” He laughed suddenly. “As you said, we have the time, and there are other things to discuss. For example, what sorts of building materials are you short of, and what are you prepared to trade for them?”
The discussion moved into less martial matters, from trading for building supplies to dyheli grazing grounds, and the need to keep hunters out of them unless escorted by Tayledras. Darian spoke for Tyrsell and Hashi, and occasionally for himself, and when the meeting was concluded and Lord Breon expressed his intention of making a return visit, Darian, at least, came away with a feeling of accomplishment.
“I need your help for an ekele,” Ayshen told Darian, a few mornings after the visit to Lord Breon. Breon’s people had brought a train of wagons with some of the building materials that Starfall had negotiated for, and Darian thought Ayshen might have been waiting for these for a particular project. “I already have Wintersky and Whitethorn, and that will be enough for the things that hertasi have trouble with.”
“Gladly,” Darian replied, bolting the remains of his breakfast. “Whose is it?”
“Your teacher’s and his entourage,” was the surprising reply. “He will be here shortly, or so Starfall says, so there is some need for swift work.”
“Did Starfall tell you who my teacher is?” Darian asked eagerly, for Starfall had been singularly closed-mouthed about the identity of this mysterious being. No matter how often Darian asked - or how often he tried to catch Starfall off his guard with the question - the mage would only answer, “You’ll see soon enough.”
“No,” Ayshen replied, indifferently. “He only told me what sort of quarters your teacher would need to feel comfortable. Does it matter?”
Darian sighed. “I suppose not. Well, what have you got in mind for me?”
“Pounding earth, for the moment,” was the predictable reply.
So Darian f
ound himself on the top of yet another embryonic wall, ram in both hands, pounding away for all he was worth.
But although this dwelling was for one or two occupants, it had a great deal in common with the great common hall with its multiple pools. This place, too, was evidently to have multiple, cascading pools, judging by the work the hertasi were doing on the interior.
But there was more building going on in the tree above - and that was curious. Why would there be two dwellings here?
Gradually, as the walls in the ground-level portion rose, Darian saw the skeleton of the dwelling coming together. This was to be a very special place, half tree-dwelling, half on the ground.
By the second day, Darian began to wonder about this teacher of his - for what they were building, by k’Valdemar standards, was a veritable palace. On the ground was a tiny version of the communal hall, with the same transparent roof, exotic plantings, and a collection of three small pools. The floors were all tiled, and the pools as well. There was a bathing room, and two other chambers that did not share the transparent roof, chambers that looked a great deal like his own bedroom, though what purpose these chambers were to serve was unclear to him.
In the tree above, was a standard ekele - to the k’Valdemar standards, that is, with thick insulation against winter’s cold. And yet - not quite standard, for where others were making do with walls of rough plank until they had time to carve and polish the interiors of their ekele to their liking, this place boasted fine walnut paneling, with moldings of carved oak. Everywhere were touches of care that had not been given to the dwellings of other folk. Even more telling - once the ekele was finished, hertasi began moving in furnishings that looked newly made, yet did not move any personal belongings.
All of this preparation did nothing to ease Darian’s anxiety, for the newcomer must surely be important if so much time and effort was going into his dwelling!
When the place was finished, it was a tiny jewel of comfort and luxury, with the ekele above joined to the chambers below by an enclosed stair. And no one in the entire Vale showed any envy of the unknown who was to occupy it.
Darian did not have to endure the suspense for long. That very afternoon, his mysterious teacher arrived.
“You’re to come to the Vale entrance at once,” was all the hertasi would say. “Please. And dress well. Starfall wishes this.”
Then it ran off, as if it had been sent on more than one errand. Probably it had, so Darian made certain that he was reasonably well-groomed and hurried to the entrance marked by the twin pillars of rock. Starfall was already there - and so were Snowfire, Nightwind, Ayshen,
Kel, Tyrsell, Hashi - virtually everyone of any importance in fledgling k’Valdemar.
Suddenly Darian wished he had taken the time to change his tunic. Not that it was dirty, or even shabby - but he wished he’d put on the armor of fine clothing before he came to this meeting.
It was too late now, for in the distance, tiny beneath the huge trees, dwarfed by the enormous trunks, were two figures mounted on dyheli.
A snow-white bird flew over the head of one, a bird that simply could not be a raptor. Its tail was too long, and even at a distance it didn’t look or fly like anything Darian had ever seen before.
It flew acrobatically, as if it flew purely for the joy of flight. Yet there was a palpable tie between it and the rider it hovered over, as if the bond between it and the rider was visible and tangible.
There was something odd about the rider’s head -
A moment more, and Darian knew what it was. No human face was that flat - or that colorful. The rider wore a mask.
Another moment, another furlong nearer, and Darian saw more details. Long silver hair, hair that probably fell to the rider’s waist when unbound, had been made up into a single long braid for travel, now tossed over his right shoulder. The mask, of painted leather, covered the entire face - and it represented the face of the bird flying above him.
Darian only prevented his mouth from dropping open by force of will. Oh, no - it can’t be -
The rider’s costume was as fantastic as his mask, yet completely practical for a long ride, the ride from k’Vala to k’Valdemar, for instance. The garments were cut and pieced together to imitate the plumage of his white bird; it was truly an uncanny imitation.
The other rider, in his way, was just as striking as the first. His long hair, also braided, was a shining black with a single silver streak running from the temple. The cut of his riding gear was unmistakably Kaled’a’in. After several months in k’Vala, Darian knew the difference between Tayledras and Kaled’a’in styles at once. He was amazingly handsome, but there was nothing about him that suggested that he was either a warrior or a mage - or vain. Whatever his craft, it seemed likely that his only reason for being there was as company for the mage. Was this the so-called entourage?
Darian’s thoughts had come to a complete standstill, and he could only stay where he was, staring. The two riders completed their leisurely approach, and the first dismounted directly in front of Starfall.
“Well, Father, here I am,” the rider said, in a voice rich with amusement. “You have managed to drag me here entirely against my own better judgment, and if I did not know you as well as I do, I might be asking you what made you think this youngster was worth the effort of hauling me up from the south.” He cast a sidelong glance at Darian, and behind the mask, one silver eye winked broadly. “However, since I know you, I shan’t ask that particular question. This, I take it, is young Dar’ian?”
“It is, indeed,” Starfall replied, in a voice so like the rider’s that it was obvious they were related. “Dar’ian, this is your new teacher, Adept Firesong k’Treva, and his mate, kestra’chern Silverfox k’Leshya.” Only then did he step forward, and he and his son embraced with much hugging and back pounding.
Darian managed to scramble enough wits together to step forward and make a deeply formal bow. “This is - beyond an honor - sir - ” he began, searching frantically for appropriate words, feeling heat rising in his face and ears. I must be blushing as red as a scarlet jay, he thought, increasing his embarrassment.
“You won’t say that when you come to know me, youngster,” Firesong said, with a voice so solemn that Darian would have been tempted to believe him, had he not seen the wicked amusement in the eyes behind the mask. “I am a notorious taskmaster, and I have every intention of working you until you drop, then reviving you and putting you through the mill all over again.”
“Yes, sir, whatever you wish, sir,” Darian replied automatically, and quickly stepped back, hoping that the other folk would forget about him for a while. He suddenly felt as awkward as an elk-calf, and only thirteen years old again.
Dear gods! How did this happen? How could I be the student of one of the greatest Adepts in a dozen countries?
He slowly regained a little composure as people did appear to forget him; father and son embraced again, Starfall introduced Firesong and Silverfox to everyone else present, and the entire group drifted toward the interior of the Vale. Darian followed quietly behind, listening, but not saying anything.
“Oh, I didn’t bring all that much up with me,” Firesong was saying, in answer to a gentle jibe by his father. “We’ve got some wardrobe, and the more portable of Silverfox’s kit. The rest is relatively light, but bulky, and the k’Vala gryphons will be bringing it along at some point. After all your emphasis on speed, I didn’t want to slow things down bringing baggage by dyheli.”
“We have prepared your ekele as you requested, Firesong,” Ayshen put in, showing deference, but not servility. “I hope that you and Silverfox are both pleased.”
Silverfox, who until that moment, had not said a word, laughed softly and clapped Ayshen on the back. “I remember your talent at design and construction from White Gryphon, Ayshen. I have no doubt that you have not only granted our every wish, but anticipated needs we had not even thought of.”
Darian, meanwhile, felt his mind slowly com
ing back to him. No wonder no one would tell him who his teacher was supposed to be! He’d have been so terrified he probably would have run all the way back to k’Vala, or even farther.
And Starfall was Firesong’s father. Well, that explained a few things. How Starfall had managed to get someone as famous - or infamous, depending on your point of view - as Firesong k’Treva to come be the teacher of poor, lowly little Darian, for one. Gods save me, how can I ever manage to be worthy of this kind of attention? he thought in a haze of confusion that bordered on panic.
Just as he began to seriously consider that run to k’Vala, Firesong’s companion dropped back from the rest.
“He mumbles in his sleep, you know,” Silverfox said conversationally.
“He what?” Darian replied, baffled. Where did that come from?
“He mumbles in his sleep, he has a terrible weakness for candied yams, and he can never remember where he leaves things. He’s human, Dar’ian. He’s not a superior being, he’s as fallible as anyone. I know that at this point, this doesn’t seem likely to you, but I assure you, it’s true.” Silverfox placed his hand gently on Darian’s shoulder, and Darian felt himself relax, despite his anxieties. “I can also promise you that in spite of all of his protests to the contrary, he was quite eager to come here and teach his father’s cherished protege. Firesong just likes to be coaxed.”
“I - I’d think that after everything he’s gone through, he deserves coaxing, sir,” Darian replied shyly and was rewarded by Silverfox’s dazzling smile.
“And I agree with you entirely.” Silverfox chuckled, patting Darian’s shoulder. “I would agree with you even if I were not understandably prejudiced on his part. Don’t fear him, Dar’ian. Listen to him, learn from him, but do not fear him.”
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