“What is it, lad?” Lord Breon asked, seeing the doubt in his own eyes. “What is it to be? Do you go with the Hawkbrothers, or do you remain here?”
He looked from Snowfire’s calm eyes, to Lord Breon’s worried ones, and back again. “I—I have to be trained, first,” he said, echoing Snowfire’s words. “And I’d rather it was with my friends than anyone else. But—” He shook his head, and tried to put into words the idea he’d had. “But—this place is right on the border, right on the edge of Hawkbrother lands and Valdemar, right? Shouldn’t there be someone who was as much a Hawkbrother as a Valdemaran, right here all the time, to make sure that there are never any misunderstandings?”
Lord Breon looked astounded, and Snowfire impressed and pleased. He hurried on. “And Lutter is right. Errold’s Grove is going to need a real mage, sooner or later. The Peligirs haven’t gotten less strange, even after the Storms; if there was a mage here, he could look at stuff that was brought out and tell if it was good for anything besides dyeing. Other things, too. So—couldn’t I do both?” He turned pleading eyes to Snowfire. “Couldn’t I go with you, learn to be a mage and one of the Clan, then come back here and maybe make a little Vale where Tayledras would always be able to come?”
“It would be a hard life, and often lonely, being neither of this world nor that,” Snowfire said softly in the Hawkbrother tongue. “But you are correct, that there is a need for such a person. Especially here, where there is—scope for a great deal of misunderstanding.”
“Then that’s what I’d like,” he sighed. Then he laughed a little and shook his head. “Hellfires, I never could take the easy way with anything!”
“I am glad that you made that choice, little brother,” the scout replied, and switched to Valdemaran. “That is a good plan, and a generous one. You shall come with us and be trained, and when you are ready, you shall return here and be a living example of the Alliance. You shall make for us a haven for our kind, and a place where those of Valdemar will find help when it is needed.”
Sighs and smiles all around, but Snowfire wasn’t finished yet. “And since it is a plan that shows wisdom beyond your years, I shall do as Hweel and Huur asked me, though you are not quite yet of an age for such a joy and a responsibility.” He smiled. “After all, usually in matters of this sort, our winged ones are far too wise to be bound by convention.”
He whistled and held up his gauntleted arm—but instead of Hweel coming in to land on it, the youngster woke up, hooted loudly, and blundered in to his fist. Before Darian had a moment to think, Wintersky grabbed his left hand and slipped a shoulder-length glove over it, then held it up. The youngster made a clumsy hop from Snowfire’s fist to Darian’s, and looked deeply into Darian’s dazzled eyes as Snowfire laughed with delight at his expression.
“H—hello,” Darian stammered, beside himself with so much joy and excitement that he shook. “What’s your name?”
:Kuari,: the bird said solemnly in his mind. :I am Kuari. I like you. We’ll be bondmates. Yes? They want it, too: The owl didn’t move his head, but Darian knew that they meant Hweel and Huur, sitting side-by-side up on the rooftree. :I like mice. I want to hunt mice. Bring you some, too?:
“I have the feeling that Hweel and Huur have decided that this will ensure your place within the clan, little brother,” Snowfire said in Tayledras, with suppressed laughter in his voice.
Darian didn’t care; the trust he sensed in Kuari’s “voice” won his heart as nothing else could have. With gentle care, he reached up and scratched the youngster’s head at the eartufts, as he had seen Snowfire do for Hweel.
:Oh, I like that. I like that better than mice. Do that a lot.
Kuari closed his eyes in ecstasy, all but melting under the caress, and butted his head into Darian’s hand.
“I told you,” Daystorm muttered to Snowfire, in a whisper Darian probably wasn’t supposed to overhear. “The boy’s a natural with the birds. He’ll be fine.”
Yes, I will be fine, he thought, his heart so brimming with joy and contentment that there was no room in it anymore for anger, resentment, or grief. Yes, I will. I’ve got a family, adventure, a worthy goal. I’m home. I’m finally making my own home.
Darian looked up, and out at the villagers, who were conspicuously silent. “One last thing,” he said boldly. “I won’t even consider returning until there is a portrait of the great mage Justyn displayed in a place of honor in Errold’s Grove.”
He paused a moment, then added, just to make sure, “A good portrait.”
Then Darian, Hawkbrother of Valdemar, turned his full attention to his new bondmate’s soft feathers, and the shared bliss that came from being with each other.
Maybe the young owl’s flight was not all that graceful at the moment, but in time, with support and guidance, he would be a master at whatever he tried. In time, so too would Darian, and he would be at home wherever he went.
Owlflight Page 34