Winds Of Fate v(mw-1

by Mercedes Lackey

  Skif dismounted, his expression not the puzzled one she had expected but something she couldn't read. He walked slowly over to her, the Companions following with her reins trailing on the ground.

  "Well?" she said, staring up at him.

  He shrugged, but the conflicting emotions on his face convinced her that he knew something she didn't.

  "I am not moving," she said, firmly, suppressing the urge to cough as road dust went down her throat. "I am not moving, until you tell me what you know about what's going on." He looked helplessly from side to side; then his Companion whickered, and looked him in the eyes, nodding, as if to say, "You might as well tell her." I thought so. She glared at Gwena, who flattened her ears. "You should have told me in the first place."

  "It-was the Companions," Skif said, faintly. "They, well, they sort of-ganged up on their Heralds, when you first wanted to go looking for mages. The Heralds that didn't want to let you go, like your mother-well, they kind of got bullied."

  "They what?" she exclaimed, and turned to Gwena, surprise warring with other emotions she couldn't even name.

  "It had to be done," Gwena replied firmly. "You had to go. It was important."

  That's not all," Skif said, looking particularly hangdog. "For one thing, they absolutely forbid you to be told what they were doing. For another, they're the ones that suggested Quenten in the first place. They said he was the only way to an important mage that they could trust."

  "I knew it!" she said, fiercely. "I knew it, I knew it! I knew they were hock-deep in whatever was going on! I knew I was being herded like some stupid sheep!"

  She turned to Skif, ignoring the Companions. "Did they say anything about the Shin'a'in?" she demanded. "If I'm going to do this, I am by damn going to do it MY way.,,

  "Well," he said, slowly, "No. Not that I know of."

  "We don't know anything about the Shin'a'in Goddess," Gwena said, alarm evident in her mind-voice. "She's not something Valdemar has ever dealt with. We're not sure we trust Her."

  "You can't manipulate Her, you mean," she replied angrily.

  "No. She could be like Iftel's God; She could care only for the welfare of Her own people. That's all. We know some of what She is and does-but it's not something we want to stake the future of Valdemar on." Gwena's mind-voice rose with anxiety. Elspeth cut her off.

  "What do you have to say about this?" she asked Skif. "You, I mean.

  Not the Companions."

  "I-uh-" he flushed, and looked horribly uncomfortable. "I-don't know really what the Companions think of it." He's lying. His Companion is giving him an earful.

  "But I-uh, from everything Kero's said, the Shin'a'in probably could give you the teaching, and if they couldn't, they would know someone who could." He gulped, and wiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "Kero trusts them-not just her relatives, I mean-and so does her Companion, I know that much." Gwena snorted. "Of course Sayvil says she trusts them. Contrary old beast, she'd say that just to be contrary." Elspeth ignored the waspish comment. "Fine." She turned to stare into Gwena's blue eyes. "I am going to Kata'shin'a'in, and I am going to see if the Shin'a'in know someone to train me." She turned the stare into a glare. "That is where I am going, and you are not going to stop me. I'll walk if I have to. I'll buy a plowhorse in the next village. But I am not going to Lythecare. And that is my final word on the subject." She raised her chin and stared defiantly at all of them. "Now, are you with me, or do I go on alone?" Less than a candlemark later, they passed the turnoff to Lythecare, heading straight south, to Kata'shin'a'in.

  And Gwena was giving her the most uncomfortable ride of her life, in revenge.

  But every bruise was a badge of victory-And I hope I'll still believe that in the morning when I can't move.

  *Chapter Twelve DARKWIND

  This patrol-like all the others lately-had been completely uneventful. this is almost too easy, Darkwind thought, making frequent checks of the underbrush beside the path for signs of disturbance. A week now, that Nyara's been hiding with us, and there's nothing from the other side.

  Nothing hunting her, except that couple of wyrsa I caught on her trail, no magic probes, nothing.

  The very quietude set all his nerves on edge. Of course, her shielding is really outstanding. Falconsbane might not know she's here, or even that she headed this way when she ran. He could be hunting for her in another direction altogether.

  That was what Treyvan said; Hydona was of the opinion that Falconsbane knew very well she'd come this way but assumed she was in the Vale. She pointed out that in all the time Falconsbane had been on their border-and everything Nyara said indicated that he had been there for a very long time-he'd never directly challenged k'sheyna. He was only one Adept, after all, and there were at least five Adepts and ten times that many Masters in k'sheyna. And even though none of them were operating at full strength, the mages of k'sheyna could still be more than he cared to meet in conflict. Especially when the conflict was over the relatively minor matter of the loss of a single Changechild.

  "He can alwaysss make anotherrr," Hydona had said, callously. "It isss unussual for one like himssself to keep a pet forrr longerrr than a few yearsss." And oddly enough, Nyara agreed with Hydona's analysis.

  If he was angered at all, his anger would have been for a loss; not for the loss of me," she'd said, more than a little piqued at having to admit that she was worth so little to her former master. "As an individual, I mean very little to him. He has threatened many times to create another, to then see how I fared among his lesser servants as their playffin. All that would goad him into action was that he had lost a possession. If something distracted him from that anger, he would have made only a token attempt to find me, more to appease his pride than to get me back." So it seemed, for other than the pair of wyrsa, there had been nothing in the way of activity-not along Darkwind's section, nor Dawnfire's-not, for that matter, anyone else's. Except for Moonmist; she ran into a basilisk who'd decided her little patrol area was a good one to nest in.

  Prying that thing out had taken five scouts and three days. They didn't want to kill it if they didn't have to; basilisks were stupid, incredibly dangerous, and ravenous carnivores who would eat anything that couldn't run away from them-but they weren't evil. They had their place in the scheme of things; they dined with equal indifference on their own kills or carrion, and there were few things other than a basilisk that would scavenge the carcasses of cold-drakes or wyrsa.

  But no one wanted a basilisk for a near neighbor, not even the most ardent animal lover. Not even Earthsong, who had once unsuccessfully tried to breed a vulture for a bondbird.

  But that was the only excitement there had been for days, and there was no way that incident could have been related. No one could herd a basilisk. The best you could do was to make ~ so unpleasant for it that it chose to move elsewhere. No one, in all the history of the Tayledras, had ever been able to even touch what passed for one's mind, much less control it. The histories said they were a failed and abandoned experiment, like so many other creatures of the twisted lands; a construction, of one of the blood-path mages at the time of the Mage Wars. But perversely, once abandoned, the basilisk continued to persist on its own.

  It's just a good thing they only lay two or three fertile eggs in a lifetime, he thought wryly, or we'd be up to our necks in them.

  A broken swath of vegetation caught his attention, and he looked closer, only to discover the spoor of a running deer and the tracks of its pursuer, an ordinary enough wolf pair. From the small hooves, it was probably a weanling, separated from its mother; it wouldn't have broken down the bushes if it had been an adult. this is ridiculous, he thought. I might as well be a forester in the cleansed lands.

  There hasn't been att3~bw worth talking about out here for the past week.

  That was the way the area around a Vale was supposed to look, just before a Clan move to a new spot. No magic-warped creatures like the giant serpent, no mage-made things like the bas
ilisk; just normal animals, relatively normal plant life.

  Maybe Father's been right about sitting and waiting for the Heartstone to settle...Up ahead, the forest thinned a little, the sunlight actually reaching the ground in thick shafts. These golden lances penetrated the emerald leaf canopy, bringing life to the forest floor, for the undergrowth was thicker here, and there was even thin grass among the wild plum bushes.

  He looked up at the hot blue eye of the sky as he reached a patch of clearing; framed by tree-branches, Vree soared overhead, calmly. He hadn't seen anything either; in fact, he'd been so bored he'd taken a rock-dove and eaten it while waiting for Darkwind to catch up. It had been a long time since he'd been able to hunt and eat while out on scout.

  Starblade's answer to the fracture of the Heartstone had been to wait and see what would happen. He'd insisted that the great well of power would drain itself, slowly-Heal itself, in fact-until it was safe to tap into it, drain the last of its energies, construct a Gate, and leave.

  Darkwind had disagreed with his father on that, as he had seemingly on everything else. And up until the past week, it certainly hadn't looked as if the Heartstone was following his father's predictions. In fact, if anything, the opposite was true. There had been more uncanny creatures; more Misborn attracted, more actually trying to penetrate the borders.

  And recently, there had been the other developments; the fact that the mages within the Vale had been unable to sense the changes in energy flows outside it, the fact that now most of the scouts' bondbirds refused to enter the Vale itself, the perturbations that Treyvan sensed.

  But maybe that was all kind of the last gasp-maybe things have settled down. Maybe Father's right.

  But when he considered that possibility, all his instincts revolted.

  Yes, but what if I just feel that way because if Father is right, it means that I am wrong? at if I am wrong, what does it matter? Other than if I'm wrong, Father will never let me forget it...He stopped for a moment, hearing a thudding sound-then realized it was only a hare drumming alarm, hind foot beating against the ground to alert the rest of his warren-probably at the sight of Vree.

  Is it just that I can't admit that sometimes he might be right?

  On the other hand, there was a feeling deep inside, connected, he now realized, with the mage-senses he seldom used, that Starblade was wrong, dead wrong. A Heartstone that badly damaged could not Heal itself, it could only get worse. And this calm they were experiencing was just a pause before things degenerated to another level.

  I guess I'll enjoy it while it lasts, and stay out of the Vale as much as possible.

  He sent another inquiring thought at Vree, but the gyre had no more to report than the last time.

  It was very tempting to cut everything short and go to see how Nyara was doing. So tempting, that he fought against the impulse stubbornly, determined to see his patrol properly done. It might make up for the other days he had neglected it.

  Not really neglected it-there were the dyheli, and then Nyara.

  His efforts at appeasing his conscience came to nothing. It still wasn't done. And if I hadn't been very lucky, things could easily have slipped in.

  He no longer worried that these temptations were caused by anything other than his own selfish desire to spend more time with the Changechild.

  Nyara was good company, in a peculiar way. She was interested in what he had to say and just as interesting to listen to.

  At least I can appease my conscience with the fact that I'm learning something about our enemy.

  She was also as incredibly attractive as she had been the first time he'd seen her. If he had been a less honorable man, her problematic virtue wouldn't have stood a chance. Which led him to revise his earlier assumptions; to think that she wasn't in control of that part of herself. She might even be completely unaware of it.

  That would fit the profile of her master.

  Mornelithe Falconsbane would not have wanted her in control of anything having to do with sexual attraction; he would have wanted to pull the strings there. Which was one reason why Darkwind had continued to resist letting her lure him to her bed. He had no prejudice against her, but he was not sure what would happen, what little traps had been set up in her makeup, that a sexual encounter would trigger.

  That would fit Falconsbane's profile, too. Make her a kind of walking, breathing trap that only he could disarm. So anyone meddling with the master's " would find himself punished by the thing he thought to enjoy.

  With a set of claws-and sharp, pointed teeth-like she had, he didn't think he was in any hurry to find out if his speculations were true, either.

  Darkwind was not about to risk laceration or worse in a passionate embrace with her.

  He was so lost in his own thoughts that he almost missed the boundary marker, the blaze that marked the end of his patrol range and the beginning of Dawnfire's. He glanced at the sun, piercing through the trees, but near the horizon; it was time for Thundersnow to take over for him.

  And if he hurried, he would have a chance to chat with Nyara before he went to the council meeting.

  He was already on the path to the hertasi village before the thought was half finished.

  "I think this is the best chance I'm going to have; things have been so quiet, they can't blame disturbances on your presence. So I'm going to tell the Council about you, and put your request to them," he told her as they both soaked up the last of the afternoon's heat on the top of the bluff.

  She didn't answer at first; just turned on her back and stretched, lithe and sensuous-and seemed just as innocent of the effect it had on him as a kitten. She wasn't even watching him, she was watching a butterfly a few feet away from them.

  That didn't stop his loins from tightening, or keep a surge of pure, unmixed lust from washing over him, making it difficult to think clearly for a moment.

  He sought relief in analyzing the effect. that sexual impact she has can't be under conscious control. She couldn't fake the kind of nonchalance she's got right now.

  "When?" she asked, yawning delicately. "Is it tonight, this meeting?"

  He nodded; he'd explained to her the need to wait until a regular meeting so that her appearance would seem a little more routine. She'd agreed-both to his reasons and to the need to wait.

  But in fact, his real reasons were just a little different. He'd put off explaining what had happened in its entirety until he wouldn't have to face his father alone. Starblade in the presence of the rest of the Elders was a little easier to deal with than Starblade in the privacy of his own ekele, where he could rant and shout and ignore anything Darkwind said-and he tended not to take quite so much of his son's hide in public, where there were witnesses both to his behavior and to what Darkwind told him.

  "It is well," Nyara purred, satisfaction brimming in her tone. She blinked sleepily at Darkwind, her eyes heavy-lidded, the pupils the merest slits. "Though I still cannot travel, should they grant me leave. You will say that, yes?"

  "Don't worry," he replied, "I'm going to make that very clear." In fact, that was one of the points he figured he had in his favor; Nyara obviously could not move far or fast, and he wanted to have a reason for why he had left her with the hertasi, instead of putting her under a different guardian. "More competent," Starblade would undoubtedly say. "]Less sympathetic," was what he would mean.

  And if worse came to worst, he wanted to have a reason for continuing to leave her here, instead of putting her with a watcher of Starblade's choice.

  "You still seem fairly weak to me," he continued, "and Nera's Healer seems to think it's a very good idea for you to stay with us until those cracked bones of yours have a chance to heal a bit more. And that reminds me; have you had any problems with the hertasi?"

  "Have they complained of me?" she snapped sharply, twisting her head around to cast him a look full of suspicion.

  He was taken a little aback. "Why, no-it's just that I wanted to make certain you were getting along all ri
ght. If there was any friction, I could move you-maybe to the ruins where the gryphons are. It's pretty quiet there-~,-"

  "No, no!" she interrupted, her voice rising, as if she were alarmed.

  Then, before he could react, she smiled. "Your pardon, I did not mean that the way it may have sounded. Treyvan and Hydona are wonderful, and I like them a great deal-as I expected to like anything Mornelithe hated. I learned early that whatever thwarted him he hated-and that what he hated, I should be prepared to find good."

  "He knows about Treyvan and Hydona-"

  "No, no, no," she interrupted again, hastily. "I am saying things badly today. No, it is only gryphons in general that he hates. As he hates Birdkin, so I was prepared to like you. He never told me why."