Winds Of Fate v(mw-1

by Mercedes Lackey

  "that he is right, we have no choice," came the Companion's prompt reply. "It is not necessarily a bad thing; you were in search of mages. He is a mage, so is the gryphon. And according to the chronicles, many of the Hawkbrothers are mages. they taught Vanyel, did they not, when the Heraldmages could not?"

  "Let's see if someone's willing to come with us, or teach me, first," she replied sourly. So, it was fairly well unanimous.

  "He's right," she told Skif shortly, in their tongue, much to the older Herald's relief. "And so are you. We're all tired, and as long as this isn't an imprisonment-" I don't think it is," Skif replied. "I think he'd let us go if we really wanted to. I've got the feeling that we're kind of an annoyance to him, not something he'd keep around if he had the choice." That didn't make her feel any better. "All right," she told the Hawkbrother, trying to conceal her annoyance. "Where is it you want us to go?" Instead of replying, he gestured curtly for them to follow; she seethed a little at the implied discourtesy. As the gryphons lofted themselves into the air, she stood aside for Skif and Cymry to get by her. She did not want to follow him too closely just now; she was afraid she would lose what was left of her temper.

  She had gotten used to being the one making the decisions. Now she was again following someone else's orders. That galled her as much as this Darkwind fellow's arrogance.

  In fact, she decided somewhat guiltily as she led Gwena in Cymry's wake, it probably galled her more...

  *Chapter Twenty two

  Darkwind led the way for this strange parade of Outlanders, winding through the piles of stone on the weed-grown path that led from this end of the ruins to the gryphons' lair. It was a good thing that they had enlarged it; between two Outlanders, their spirit-horses, and Nyara, it would have been crowded otherwise. He wished strongly for something to ease his aching head, or to make him able to forget everything that had happened for the past several days. Or both.

  Well, perhaps not everything.

  I have my father back again. That was no small gain, even when weighed against all the grief and pain.

  He concentrated on staying on his feet; glad beyond telling that this incursion would likely mean there would be nothing more today. If only he were in his ekele-he had begun this day wearied and emptied of all strength, or so he thought. He had not found anyone able to take his patrol for him, so he had taken to the border, resigned to another stretch without rest. It had been two days without sleep, now.

  But it had been quiet, amazingly so-until, when (of course) he was at the very opposite end of his patrol, he sensed magic, powerful magic, being used somewhere near the gryphons' lair.

  He'd thought it might have been Treyvan, doing something to free the gryphlets from Falconsbane's control. But any hope he'd had of that had been shattered by Treyvan's Mindcall.

  There was a massing of Misborn beasts, Falconsbane's creatures, in pursuit of two humans-and one of those humans was using magic to try and drive them off. Without success, as it happened. The gryphons were going to their aid. It was his territory; so must he.

  He, and they, had arrived on the spot simultaneously, to play rescuer to Outlanders. That had irritated him beyond reason; he was tired, and he saw no reason to save ignorant fools from the consequences of their own folly. He had intended to send them back where they came from, whether they were still in danger or not-until he actually saw who, or rather, what, he had rescued.

  He glanced back over his shoulder at them, trying not to look as if he was doing so. "Unsettled" was the mildest term for the way he felt right now. "Shaken" probably came closer; profoundly shaken.

  Well, it is not every day that a pair of Guardian Spirits and a pre-Magewar Artifact fold wings on your doorstep...And when one added the fact that the person bearing the Artifact-and in the charge of the more potent of the Guardian Spirits-was a completely untutored mage of Adept potential-If this is a trial of my abilities-the gods have no sense of proportion.

  He was exhausted, bewildered, and one step short of collapsing. All he could think of was to take these Outlanders to the gryphons' lair, where they had left Nyara. Treyvan agreed; and concurred with his judgment that they did not dare let these two-four-five-wander about with things as unsettled as they were. If Falconsbane got his hands on them, as he was so obviously trying to do, Darkwind was not willing to think about what uses he might make of them.

  With any luck, the Elders were so concerned with Starblade that they would not find out about these "visitors" until they were long gone.

  And meanwhile, perhaps he could find somewhere safe to send them.

  To the Shin'a'in? No, they had forsworn magic.

  Could these two have stolen that sword from the soil of the Plains?

  That horrifying thought nearly stopped him in his tracks, until he remembered that the blade did not have the air of disuse about it that something of that nature would-and that it did have the air of something that was alien to the kind of magics that lay buried in the Plains. Woman's magic; that was it. No, this was nothing that had been created by the thoroughly masculine Mage of Silence-and it did not have the look or feel of anything forged by the Shin'a'in. Weapons made for the servants of the Star-Eyed were as sexless as the Kal'enedral; this artifact was as female in its way as-as Nyara.

  He staggered a little as he neared the I recovered himself before the Outlanders noticed. Above all, he had to present a strong front to them. There was no telling what kind of unwitting havoc they could cause if they thought he was less than vigilant, ineffectual-he was certain now that they meant no harm, not with Guardian Spirits hanging about them, but they could cause a great deal of trouble if they chose to meddle without knowing what they were about.

  I could wish they were Shin'a'in; then we would have two more useful allies at this moment...Hydona was already in the lair when they reached it; Treyvan waited outside. "In there," he said, shortly, wishing he dared shake his head to clear his eyes. "If you have gear, Hydona will tell you the chamber you may use." When the young man looked from him to the spirit-horse doubtfully, he added, "The white ones, too. We will find them food if you do not have it." He bowed a little to the mare. "Zhaihell-va, lady. You honor k'sheyna with your presence." The spirit-mare looked flattered and surprised-so did the young man.

  "You do not look well," Treyvan noted.

  "I do not feel well, but I shall survive," he replied. He gave Vree a toss to send him to a perch above the lair "doorway" and stood, leaning (he hoped) casually, against the doorpost. The young man entered with his spirit-horse. The young woman's spirit-horse started to follow, and he averted his eyes with discomfort-Then he found himself sliding dizzily toward the ground, clinging not-socasually to the rock as his knees buckled.

  Quickly, the young woman knelt beside him and unsheathed her sword.

  "Peace, brother, she means no harm," Treyvan said calmly.

  Darkwind wasn't so sure. He tried to get up a hand to fend her off-but instead, she put the hilt of the thing in his hand.

  And he heard a strange, gravelly voice in his mind" She says if I don't Heal you she's going to drop me down the nearest well," the sword told him, annoyance warring with amusement in the overtones of its-her-mind-voice. "I think she must have been taking lessons in rudeness from her predecessor. And knowing Her Highness, she probably would." He nearly dropped the thing in shock, and only long training-never, never, never drop a blade-kept his numb fingers clutched to the hilt.

  "Huh. Nothing too bad-overwork, under-rest. And-: He Felt the thing probing him and his memory, then suddenly pulling back. "oh, youngling," the sword said, dropping all cynicism. "You've had more heartbreak than anyone should ever face in a lifetime, and that much I can't Heal. But I'll do my best for you. Open your shields to me." She sounded so much like one of his teachers, an old, old Adept who had ordered him about as if she had been his mother, that he obeyed without thinking twice. She took instant action; in the next moment a gentle warmth stole over him, making him relax still furt
her. He closed his eyes gratefully and let it in. Healers had worked on him before, but that had been for a major injury, not for general exhaustion.

  First came the warmth and relaxation; then came new energy, new strength. It rose in him like a tide, rather than a flood; a rising tide of warmth and golden-green light that touched him within and without, folding him in great wings of brilliance, sheltering him as he had not been protected since he was a child. But the blade not only filled him with renewed physical energy, she also reopened his long-unused mage-channels, replenishing him with magical power as well.

  He was vaguely offended at first, but then practicality took hold. He had said he was a mage. Any reasons for renouncing powers were gone.

  There was, in fact, every reason why he should take up mage-craft again.

  "Thank you," he told the blade. thank the girl," Need responded. "oh, I was an Adept, but never with the ability she has.

  She and her teacher were the first in I don't know how long that fought me and won. And all this power-it's coming through her.

  So save your thanks for her. I'll be done soon." The blade was as good as its word; the dizziness and weakness were gone, and shortly after that, he felt as refreshed as if he had never endured the stresses of the past five days.

  He stood up and gingerly passed the sword back to its bearer. "That was kindly done," he said, with all the courtesy he could muster, embarrassed by the awareness that his dealings with her had been woefully short of courtesy up until this moment. "Thanks is not adequate, but it is all I can offer." She seemed first surprised, then pleased, then blushed, averting her eyes. "That's all right," she said, "I mean, you looked like you needed help. She doesn't like men much, but I figured I could convince her to do something for you." He looked to the young lady and spirit-mare, nodding gravely. "There have been troubles here," he told her. "There still are troubles-evil

  ones-and you have tumbled unwitting into the midst of them. My time is short, my powers are strained, and my patience, alas, never was particularly good. Please, even if I offend you, never hesitate to follow my orders or Treyvan's. It may well mean not only your life but ours." She looked back up at him, resentment warring with respect in her eyes. Respect won.

  "I will," she said, a little grudgingly, and he sensed that she was not often minded to follow anyone's orders, much less a stranger's. "You're right, I suppose. We're not from around here; we can't possibly know what's going on." Imperious, he noted thoughtfully. Used to giving the orders, not taking them. the sword called her "Highness." that may well be truth, rather than sarcasm.

  "I am Darkwind k'sheyna," he told her. "This ruin is nominally part of k'sheyna territory; Treyvan and Hydona are the actual guardians here. There are few who would care to dispute boundaries with them." He meant that as a subtle warning, but she cocked her head to one side, looked from him to Treyvan and back again, and said accusingly,

  "There is something very wrong here. You said we've walked into a situation we don't understand-but everything, absolutely everything I've seen tells me that it's worse than that. You people are in trouble." He narrowed his eyes speculatively. "Why do you say this?" he asked before he thought.

  "Well, I'm thinking of you, for one thing," she said. "Need says you were exhausted, that you'd gone days without rest. You don't do that unless you're in some kind of trouble. Everything around here seems-well, it feels like being on the edge of a battlefield, on the eve of a war.

  And if that's what we've walked into, I'd like to know." She gulped.

  "I think, on the whole, I'd just as soon take my chances with those things you chased off. I'd rather not get caught in another all-out war.

  Especially not a war involving magic." Again, he spoke before he thought, with a little more scorn than he had intended to show. "And what do you know of warfare?" She scowled. "I've fought in a few battles," she snapped. "Have you?

  And you still haven't answered my question."

  "Why should I?" he retorted. He raised his head proudly, planting his fists on his hips. "I know nothing of you, other than that you came across the Plains-and that you likely did without the knowledge of the Shin'a'in" What, you want my credentials?" she scoffed, now obviously very angry, but keeping a firm grip on herself. She turned quickly to her saddlebag and turned round again with a roll of vellum and something else. "All right, I'll give you what you'll recognize. My teacher's teacher was Tarma shena Tale'sedrin. My teacher is Captain Kerowyn of the Skybolts, cousin to most of the Tale'sedrin. She no longer rides a warsteed, but when she did, it was always called Hellsbane. I came to Kata'shin'a'in looking for Tale'sedrin. One found me; a Kal'enedral.

  He, she, or it gave me these." She thrust the roll and an enameled copper disk at him. The latter, he recognized. It was one of the Clan tokens customarily used to identify Clansfolk passing through Tayledras lands. And it was, indeed, a genuine Tale'sedrin token. He even recognized the maker's glyph on the back. That they had given this Outlander one meant that they expected her to be passing through both the Plains and Tayledras territory, and had granted her as much safe passage as they could.

  But the other thing, the roll of vellum, proved to be as great a shock as the spirit-horse.

  It was a map of the Plains. Darkwind had heard of such things, but the normally secretive Shin'a'in had never before let one out of their hands, to his knowledge, not even to their cousin, Captain Kerowyn.

  And it was a genuine map, not a fake. It showed every well and spring in the Plains, used the correct reckonings, and showed the correct landmarksat least as far as he could verify. For that much it was priceless.

  It showed more than that; it showed, if you knew what to look for, the locations of common camp-sites of the four seed-Clans and the offshoot Clans. Anyone who had that information would know who held which territories, and where to find them...And it also showed the ruins here on the rim, circled in red ink, fresher than anything else on the map.

  "That was where I was supposed to go, at least that's what I guessed," she said assertively, stabbing her finger at the red mark. "I don't know what it was I was intended to find, but it certainly looks to me as if I was to come here. If you know better, I'd be pleased to hear where I'm supposed to be."

  "No," he replied vaguely, still staring at the solid evidence of Shin'a'in cooperation in his hands. "No, I would say that you are correct."

  This incident was rapidly turning into something he was not ready to deal with. It had looked like a simple case of Outlanders wandering

  where they didn't belong. Then it became a case of keeping these people out of Falconsbane's hands. But now it looked as if the Shin'a'in had sent these Outlanders here. And what that could mean, he did not know.

  "Please," he said, rolling up the map and handing it back to her.

  "Please, if you would only rejoin your friend, the young man, I need to speak with Treyvan." She set her chin stubbornly, but he could be just as stubborn. He crossed his arms over his chest and stood between her and the pathway out, silent, and unmoving except for his hair blowing in the breeze.

  Finally she stuffed the map back in her belt with an audible sniff and turned to enter the lair.

  She went inside-but the white spirit-horse did not.

  The mare stared at Darkwind for so long he began to feel very uncomfortable.

  It was very much as if she was measuring him against some arcane standard only she knew. In fact, she probably was, given the little he knew about manifesting spirits; Starblade had once seen a leshya'e Kal'enedral, but he never had, and he had been perfectly content to have it remain that way.

  Evidently the gods had other ideas.

  A word with you," the spirit-mare said. Then she looked up at Treyvan and included him in the conversation. "Both of you," she amended.

  Treyvan looked down at the little mare from his resting place atop the lair, and rumbled deep in his throat. "We have many problems and little leisure, my lady," he replied in Mindspeech. "I do not m
ean to belittle your troubles, but we have no time for yours." She tossed her head and stamped one hoof with an imperiousness that matched her rider's. "that is exactly what I wish to speak with you about, your troubles! You are being very foolish to dismiss us so lightly. I tell you, you need us, and I swear to you that you may trust us..

  With every word, she glowed a little brighter to his Mage-Sight, until he finally had to shield against her.

  "Lady, I know you think I can trust you," he replied, stubbornly, "but you and she are not of my people; your ways are not ours, and what you think important may mean nothing to us." And please to dim yourself," Treyvan added "You do not need to set the forest afire to prove what you are." Her glow faded, and she pondered for a moment. "It is true that we are not of the same peoples, but I will tell you what brings us here. the child needs tutoring in mage-craft. that is the most important of our tasks. Other than that, we have no agenda to pursue. And we are four more to stand at your side in your troubles." She snorted delicately. "We have departed from the road that had been planned for her. At this point, I do not see how further deviation from that plan can matter." The road that had been planned for her? Interesting words, and ones that explained a great deal about the girl's temperament. I doubt I would much care for being blown about by the winds of fate. In fact-I just might become as belligerent as she has. He began to feel a bit more in sympathy with the girl. And quite a bit more inclined to trust her.