"He wants you as well, as I recall." just make sure he doesn't get me."
"No help coming frrrom the Vale?" asked Hydona, leaning over Skifs shoulder to look at the setup.
Darkwind shook his head. "Not since the message I sent them by bondbird-relay. They are rightly fearful that this may be a double ruse-a feint at the little ones, a pretense that draws us into ambush, and a real strike at the Vale. They have been badly shaken by what they have seen done to my father and do not share my confidence in their own shields. They have called in all the scouts but myself, and are bracing for attack."
"Firrrssst ssssmarrrt thing they've decided in agesss," Treyvan growled, "Even if it doesss leave usss to bearrr the burrrden of ourrrr own defenssssessss. I take it we are herrre, and herrrre?" The gryphon pointed a talon at two feathers stuck in the sand on the opposite side of the lair from Skif's initial position, behind a line of rocks representing the wall the lair had been built into.
"Precisely," Darkwind agreed, "And here are Elspeth and myself " He dropped two rough quartz-crystals opposite the gryphons and nearer to the lair than Skif. "Then the Companions, watching for his creatures coming at us from behind." Two large white flowers, one beside Skif's pinecone, one beside Elspeth's crystal. "Treyvan, we will try to bracket him with magic; once that occurs I do not think he will be looking for a physical attack. That is where you come in-" he nodded at Skif.
"And you, because of that, are the pivotal point of the defense. You look for your opening and take it. The man is as mortal as any to a wellplaced knife or arrow. You are our hidden token, our wild piece."
"What about me?" Nyara asked, in a small voice. "Is there nothing I can do?" Elspeth bit her lip to keep from saying what she was thinking; that there was no way they could trust the Changechild enough to give her a part to play. They certainly couldn't make her part of the bait; neither the gryphons nor Darkwind wanted her near enough to be in range for an attack on them if her father regained control of her.
"Falconsbane does not know you are still with us," Darkwind said, after an uncomfortable silence. "The longer this remains so, the better."
"Stick with me," Skif suggested. "I'm staying out of sight."
"Is this wise?" Darkwind asked Elspeth worriedly. She shook her head just enough to make her hair stir imperceptibly.
"He's assassin-trained," she replied wishing there were somewhere safe they could leave Nyara until this was all over. "And Cymry will be with him, watching his back, the way Gwena will be watching ours. She won't be able to catch him with an unexpected attack. I just hope he doesn't find himself in the position of being forced to let Cymry kill her."
"Or killing her himself," Darkwind added.
Anything more he might have intended to say was lost, for at that moment, Vree sounded the alert from overhead.
"He comes!" the bird shrieked, with mind and voice. "He comes now!..
They scattered for their posts.
Falconsbane prowled the woods that the Birdmen thought were theirs with an ease they would have found appalling, noting the increased levels of shielding about the Vale with a mixture of contempt and anger. There was no doubt of it; they had poured more power into their old shields, added new, and every Adept within the Vale was undoubtedly on alert. The tentative plan he'd formed to extract Starblade from his protectors and retrain him for further use was obviously out of the question now.
He paused in the shelter of a wild tangle of briars and searched for a weak point. There was nothing of the sort. Since there was no one to see him, he permitted himself a savage snarl. All that work, all the patience, the careful planning, the investment of power in Starblade's transformation to puppet, and in the construct that controlled him-all wasted!
He wished he had been able to see through the simulacrum's eyes, but the protections about the Vale had made that impossible. He Still ut the prote' n e a d ad no real idea what had happened when he'd lost his contact with the
Uul laaccrum. Starblade had been near the Heartstone; he knew that i Incee it had been near dawn, Falconsbane assumed that he must ducting his usual nonproductive assessment of the state of hen, out of nowhere, a flash of panic from the crow '- of power as the bird was destroyed. Why, or
4.
the uncontrolled power, killing one Daelon, who had the misfortune do you him up k c# 69 aelon had been useless as a mage,
"You and r t cretary. But any loss at all angered lb "He wamf Q el~y, flinging spells intended to resnare 7ust mak 0 ct otect him. It might have been an accident; it might have been the foolish simulacrum venturing into someone's protected area, or even bumbling into something-doing something as stupid as frightening a pet firebird. Any of those things could have killed it.
But as his spells battered against a new and powerful set of shields, it became obvious that it had not been accident that killed the simulacrum.
It had been deliberate; his plots had been discovered.
And later tries against Starblade had proven just as fruitless. The Birdman had been well protected within shields that predated Falconsbane's interference with the Heartstone; strong, unflawed shields that he could find no way past.
Now he passed within easy striking distance of the Vale-" striking" distance, only if he'd had that alliance with Ancar of Hardorn that he had feigned, if he'd had a dedicated corps of mages, Masters and Adepts-and as he saw the shimmer of power above the Vale he could only curse at his own impotence. Somehow, some way, someone within k'sheyna had learned what he had done to Starblade, had surmised how he controlled the handsome fool. Perhaps it had been one of the Adept's former lovers; in retrospect it had been a mistake to force Starblade to retreat into hermit-like isolation. But he had been afraid that the new persona he had laid over the old would not withstand the scrutiny of close examination.
I should have let him keep his lovers; should have had him employ some Of the pleasuring techniques he learned at my hands. that would have kept them quiet enough. Nothing stops questionings like unbridled lust and the exhaustion afterward.
It was too late now; he'd not only lost Starblade, he'd lost the Vale.
The Birdmen were alert now; there would be no subterfuge clever enough to bypass their protections, and though weakened, they were too formidable for him to take alone.
With luck, the two Outlanders and Starblade's son were on their way to the trap he'd laid for them. Camped within the valley even now were a host of human servants, garbed in the livery of Ancar of Hardorn, led by one who was like enough to that monarch to be his twin. And no illusion had been involved; the conscript was already similar in height, build, and coloring-the same spells that sculpted changes into Falconsbane's flesh had been used at a subtler level to reform this human's face.
There would be lingering traces of magic; but that was what the Outlanders would expect. Ancar was a mage, after all.
Once the Outlanders were in place, watching, the rest of his army would take them from behind.
If I cannot have Starblade, I will have Starblade's son. If I cannot take my vengeance upon the Vale, I can take it upon his sweet, young flesh.
There would be that other young man-malleable, possibly of some use as well. Certainly an entertaining bit of amusement. Likely to be a bargaining chip in some way.
And then there was the girl. Her potential as a mage was high. She was curiously naive in some areas; and that left her a wide range of vulnerable points for Falconsbane to exploit. It had been a very long time since he'd broken a female Adept to his will. He was going to take his time with this one; there would be no mistakes that way-and it would, not incidentally, prolong the pleasure as well.
He slid from shadow to shadow beneath the trees, as surefooted and quiet as the lynx he had modeled himself for. As keen of ear, swift of eye, and cunning-Not even the Birdmen, the scouts and their so-clever birds had ever caught him- He had been wandering freely amid their woodlands since k'sheyna first settled here. And they never once guessed at his silent pre
sence.
My fighters will take Starblade and the Outlanders, and kill or catch the gryphons. I hope they can catch them. I want the satisfaction of killing them myself.
The deep hatred that always rose in him at the thought of gryphons choked his throat and made him grind his teeth in frustration. No matter remote the memories of his other lives were, that one was clear, ear.
"-they had foiled his bid for supremacy in the Mage-Wars, ower, ruined his plans, destroyed his kingdomqsts, they were no more than jumped-up k-,of themselves as sentients, equal to dependence? How dared they ow dared they breed at all? d reduce them to the position he would achieve the sweetest
"'~d irything that the wretched beast and worked for. Only then would I ndranon, the Black Gryphon, with snarling, as he slipped through the
CC doyot. qj him ul) ~ % "You a.
"He wants lust make underbrush without leaving so much as a footprint behind. But most importantly, I will have the children. And through them I will not only control the node, but have the downfall of the entire race in my hands. through them I can spread a plague and a poison that will destroy the minds of any gryphon they meet, and turn them into mere carnivorous cattle. My cattle. To use as I wish. And it is time and more than time that I have that pleasure.
He entered the area of the ruins, skirting the edge just within the cover of the forest. The lair lay beneath the shadows of the trees in the morning, though it enjoyed full sunlight in the afternoon. This was the nearest he had been, save for that one quick foray to place his hand and seal on the youngsters, binding them to himself. they can't have left the young ones alone, without some form of protection. there may be shields, or some of the beast-guardians. He paused for a moment, one deeper shadow within the shadows, his spotted pelt blending with the dappled sunlight on the dead leaves beneath the trees, with the mottled bark of the trunk beside him. He wore scouting leathers very similar to what the Birdmen wore; that was one subterfuge that had stood him in good stead in the past. If he was seen, he had only to create a fleeting illusion of Birdman features, and other scouts would assume he was one of their number.
A quick glance upward showed him nothing was aloft-nothing but what he expected. Two tiny specks, hardly large enough to be seen, circling overhead. Waiting. That would do.
He set out a questing finger of Mage-Sight, looking for what might have been left behind with the gryphon young.
A shimmering aura flickered about the lair in a delicate rainbow of protection. But beneath the shimmer-a brighter glow of power. the shields I knew of-yes-and something more-He paused; Looked, and Looked again, hardly able to believe his luck.
They had left the artifact behind to guard the young ones! Its protections were unmistakable, and just the touch of them awoke avarice in his heart. the age-the power-woman's power, but there is little I cannot overcome and turn to my own use-I must have this thing. I must! And they have left it for my taking!
Elation faded, replaced by cold caution. Perhaps the Outlanders would be that foolish, and even the gryphons-but would Darkwind? The boy was a canny player; surely he had left more protections behind than that, for all that he had renounced magic.
Falconsbane Looked farther, deeper into the ruins than he had ever bothered before; looking for traps, for any hint of magic, even old, or apparently inactive magic. It was always possible that some ancient ward or guardian still existed here that Darkwind had left armed against him.
But there were no signs of any such protections.
He Looked farther still. He had assumed that they knew by now what he had done to the young ones. Was it possible, barely possible, that they did not know of his hand on the gryphlets? Had he overestimated their intelligence, their caution? Was it possible after all that they had been so caught up in what he had done to Starblade and Dawnfire that they had missed his sign and seal on their own young? Or could it be that the advent of the Outlanders had distracted them?
No. No, that is why they left the artifact, I am sure of it. To protect the young against me. the shields are too obviously set against my power; even the shields of the artifact itself Then, just when he thought perhaps he was searching in vain for further traps, he caught a hint of magic-energy, a tremor of power. Old magic.
Very old magic.
It was not active, but the presence of magic that ancient attracted his curiosity anyway. He had time to spare; such potentials were worth investigating.
It was probably nothing; perhaps some long-abandoned shrine, or an ancient talisman, buried beneath a mound of rubble. It might be worth retrieving at some point, if only as a curiosity.
He moved in for a closer Look, half-closing his eyes, his talons digging into the bark of the tree beside him as he concentrated.
And he tore an entire section of bark from the tree trunk as his hand closed convulsively.
A Gate!
No. Yes. It couldn't be. Not the site of a temporary Gate, but one of the rare, powerful, permanent Gates-No more than a handful of Adepts at the time of the Mage-Wars had ever constructed permanent Master Gates; they required endless patience, vast expenditures of energy that could have gone into constructing armies and weapons. Those few who had done so had made a network of such Gates, all tied into one another, crisscrossing their little kingdoms.
Urtho had been one of those; that was how the Kaled'a'in had survived the downfall of his kingdom to become the Shin'a'in and Tayledrasthey had fled through the Gate at the heart of his citadel to one on the edge of the area. Possibly even this one. Falconsbane had never built one-not in any of his lifetimes. He'd known of the network Urtho had built, of course, but he had never once entertained the idea that even part of that network could still exist.
A Gate, even a Master Gate, couldn't have survived the Wars, or the years, could it? It simply wasn't possible-Falconsbane could not ignore the proof of his own senses. It was possible.
And the Gate had survived.
The touch of it drove him wild with the desire to have it under his control. The node, the gryphons, the artifact, and now this-He had to have it. He would have it. Then he would excavate it, study it, learn how to set it-and use it, use it to penetrate to the remains of Urtho's stronghold at the heart of the Plains. With a Gate like this one, he could bypass all the protections of the damned horse-lovers, get in, get what he wanted, and get out with no interference. He could go anywhere there was another permanent Gate, whether or not he knew the territory. He could construct temporary Gates no matter where he was and link into this one at any distance, once he keyed it into himself.
Working that way would drain only a fraction of the energy of an ordinary Gate-spell from him. That was the deadly burden of Gating; the energy for the Gate came from the mage.
Or from someone tied to the mage with the kind of bond as deep as a lifebond. Not many knew that a mage tied by a lifebond to another mage could feed his beloved with the energies needed to fuel the Gate-spell.
Fewer knew what Falconsbane knew, that there was another bond as deep as a lifebond; the bond he built between himself and his victim when he made that victim an extension of himself.
As deep as a lifebond; it had to be, to survive the endless struggle of his victims to be free. Built out of both pleasure and pain at the most primitive, instinctive levels, it made his servants need him more than they needed food, drink, sleep-That opened all their resources to him; to the point, if needed, that he could drain them to their death. He could use those resources to open the Gate and make it his in a way that no other Adept ever had.
But first-he had to make the area his. And that meant retrieving and subverting the young gryphons, to open up the node to his use. Right now there didn't appear to be anything in the way of that.
He released the trunk of the tree, dropping bits of wood and bark as he shook his tingling hand, and stepped cautio,,tsly out into the sunlight.
He kept to the shadows, still. There was no point in walking about in She had no chance to ask him w
hat was wrong; even as he rose to a half-crouch, Falconsbane whirled and dropped to one knee, arms outstretched, hands palm out. Elspeth's stomach knotted with fear.
Darkwind uttered a strangled cry and rose to his feet, flinging one hand protectively toward Skif.
Too late. Elspeth choked on a cry of horror as Falconsbane's bolt of magic struck Skif and threw him into the stones of a ruined wall.
And too late for Cymry, as well; a second bolt struck her, dropping her where she stood like a stricken deer.
Elspeth's horrified "No!" was lost in the scream of pure hatred that tore the air like a jagged blade as Skif's limp body dropped to the stones beyond Cymry's.
It was Nyara, leaping in defense of Skif, who attacked her father with the only weapons at her disposal; her claws and teeth, her face a snarling animal-mask of pain, anguish, and hatred.
He intercepted her in mid-leap, and with a single blow of his powerful arm, flung her across the open space to land stunned atop the largest of the young gryphons.
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