“Pardon,” Nightwind said, stepping in before either parent could send down thunder and lightning. “But Keisha is eighteen, is she not?” At Sidonie’s automatic nod, the trondi’irn continued. “Then by your own laws, she is two years past the age when she can legally make her own choices.”
“That she is,” Kero said cheerfully, bringing her own formidable personality in on Keisha’s side. “She can marry, be apprenticed, take on business or a debt, choose whatsoever profession she wishes, no matter what your desires are.”
“But she’s a child!” Sidonie wailed. “She can’t possibly make any kind of rational decision!”
“By your law, she ceased to be a child two years ago,” said Nightwind quietly. “By our law, she ceased to be one four years ago. And by demonstration of responsibility, she ceased to be one at least that long ago.” She smiled, a smile full of pity and sympathy. “Lady, your child is in no sense a child, and has not been so for years. She was simply too dutiful to remind you of that fact, but now her higher responsibilities have forced her to that point. Don’t force her to hurt you just to prove she’s long since grown up.”
Suddenly Sidonie’s face crumpled, though at least she didn’t burst into tears. Keisha swallowed, with the revelation of how difficult it must be to let children grow up; it was all there, in her father’s shocked and stricken look, in her mother’s heartsick eyes. She began to waver; was she wrong in standing against them?
But Kero was not going to let the situation decay. With a wicked gleam in her eye, she stepped in again. “I must remind you,” she said, in a voice as devoid of pity as Nightwind’s expression was full of that emotion, “I am in charge of this situation, and in my opinion you would be seriously interfering with the best interests of Valdemar by trying to persuade one of my Healers to cravenly abandon her post. It could even be construed as treason,” she added thoughtfully.
“Oh,” Ayver said, his face blank with shock. Sidonie took a few moments more to see what Kero was getting at, but when she did, her expression went just as blank as her husband’s.
Now it was Kero’s turn to soften, a little. “You’ve been good enough parents to raise not only a child Chosen but another who sees her duty as a Healer as more important than her own wishes. Now be good enough parents to let that child live up to her potential.”
Ayver was the first to recover. “Just promise that she’ll be taken care of!” he said to Kero, with the fierce glare of any thwarted father.
“I am Herald-Captain Kerowyn, and I always take care of my people,” Kero told him with supreme dignity. “You have my leave to inquire from any of my people how they are cared for.”
There seemed nothing more to say at that point, and with that bee in their ears, they beat a hasty retreat. Dusk had faded into darkness, and they were swallowed up by the night before Keisha could call them back.
Keisha let out the breath she’d been holding in, and looked at both Nightwind and Kero with gratitude. She couldn’t believe how quickly the confrontation had ended, although she wished with all her heart that it had been less painful for her parents. “This isn’t the first time you’ve held off angry parents, is it?” she asked Kerowyn, who laughed.
“No, it’s not,” she agreed. “And you should see them when their baby-child is going to go hit people with sharp things, instead of Heal them of the aftermath!” She shook her head reminiscently. “Hate to do it, but a child has to grow up sometime in their parents’ eyes, and better they should blame me than their own flesh and blood.”
“Well, thank you, thank you both,” Keisha sighed. “I almost gave in to them; I probably would have, if you hadn’t helped.”
They all turned their mounts away from the dispersing gathering, and headed back toward the Vale just as the full moon appeared above the trees, gilding their path with silver. “I don’t think you would have,” Nightwind said, after a long silence that took them right to the edge of the night-darkened forest. “But don’t feel ashamed that they made you feel as if you were going to.” Now Keisha heard the smile in her voice. “Parents always know what strings control your heart and soul. After all, they are the ones who tied them there.”
Shandi and Karles
Thirteen
This was, of course, not the first time that Darian and Snowfire had gone scouting an enemy encampment. The easiest way was the path they had chosen—through the treetops. The easiest way was also the safest; getting themselves into a tree near the barbarian encampment, and letting the owls make overflights while they used their owls’ eyes to observe. Snowfire sent out both of his birds, but Darian only had Kuari to keep track of. This, of course, meant that Snowfire had twice the work of Darian, but Snowfire might have been happier if Darian hadn’t insisted on coming along in the first place.
He had only agreed because they had a limited time to work in, and needed as much information as they could get.
Darian put his back up against the curiously smooth bark of his tree, and concentrated on the noncombatants, the women, girls, and young children, who were gathered around their own fire. Snowfire sent Huur and Hweel to single out those who seemed the most important in the clan, and to look for a shaman or mage. Darian didn’t know what Snowfire was seeing, but from his point of view, much as he hated to admit it, these people were nothing like the arrogant barbarians of years ago.
As Kuari actually perched no more than a few feet above the heads of a gathering of women and children, he took note of a wealth of details through the owl’s sight. For instance, there was one decoration repeated over and over in their clothing and ornaments—a cat. It was some sort of great hunting-cat, and the colors it was portrayed in were whites, grays, and blacks, giving it a ghostlike appearance. Decorations included stylized cats in profile in every conceivable position, cat faces, cat eyes, and cat paw-prints. As ornaments, he counted cat furs, cat teeth, cat skulls, and cat claws. This, then, was probably their totemic animal.
So much for the decorations of their lives. Now for the substance.
In this much, this batch of barbarians was similar to the last—the sexes were strictly segregated. Women, girls, and small children below the age of puberty grouped around one campfire, sharing one meal, the adult males crowded around another, sharing a different meal, with more of the choice cuts of meat. Snowfire was concentrating on the adult males, so Kuari and Darian ignored them.
Whatever dinner the women had was long since eaten, though the men were still chewing away; the only signs of it were the cracked and gnawed bones in the fire, the two pots filled with coals to burn out the residue of food left in them. One thing did surprise him. The women did not seem particularly cowed or slavish; they chattered among themselves, scolded rowdy children, sewed hides into articles of clothing or decorated the finished clothing. If this isolation was an indication that they were considered inferior creatures by the men, there was no sign that they were kept that way with beatings and brutality.
As Kel had reported, though, there were several people, mostly children, who seemed afflicted with a curious paralysis or wasting disease. These victims lay quietly on furs beside the fire, occasionally rubbing emaciated limbs as if to ease a constant ache. An arm might be afflicted, or a leg—never both legs or both arms.
On the other hand, how could a child survive long with such a profound affliction in a nomadic clan? Even in Valdemar, people with paralysis had difficulty in simply staying alive. He had the sense, gained mostly from the way that women would look at the afflicted children and sigh, that there had been other children who had been stricken worse than these—and had not survived.
He gleaned all he could, noting that not all the women were making or decorating new garments. Some were working on weapons, fletching arrows, fitting heads to spears. Yes, those things could be used for hunting, but they could also be used for war. Just how many spears and arrows did the tribe need for hunting, anyway? A nomad tribe can’t afford to carry much; why make so many weapons when there
are hectares of raw materials all around them? He could understand stockpiling spear tips, arrowheads, but not whole weapons. Spears in particular were clumsy and hard to transport for people who had no wagons; why bother making entire bundles of extras?
Because they expect conflict, that’s why. Can’t stop to fletch arrows or fit a point to a shaft in the middle of a fight.
Finally he figured he had gleaned as much information as he could from simple observation, and called Kuari back in. As the great eagle-owl landed on the limb beside him, a huge branch wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side on it, he looked over to the next branch to see how Snowfire progressed. Huur was already there, sitting quietly beside her bondmate, and from the look of it, Hweel would not be far behind. Darian began carefully stretching muscles and getting ready to move out.
It wasn’t long before Snowfire whistled the quiet signal that meant it was time to retreat, and Darian followed the scout’s lead through the upper limbs of the trees, moving along the branches of the great trees as surely and silently as if they traveled forest paths. Where limbs crossed, they used their climbing staffs to hook the branch of the next tree, either to pull themselves up, or lower themselves down. Even in Valdemar, Snowfire had drilled his “younger brother” in this tree-walking, and no matter that the trees there were no more than a tenth of the size of those in the Pelagiris. A Hawkbrother was as at home in a tree as any Valdemaran was on the ground. That was the real secret of their ability to move invisibly through the Forest, though to Valdemarans it might as well have been magic.
They didn’t descend to the earth again until they were far from the encampment. Two dyheli waited impatiently in a clearing to carry them further toward safety. With the moon on the wane, the dyheli were only moving shadows below to Darian’s eyes, but to Kuari’s, the thick darkness made no difference. With Kuari to guide him, Darian followed Snowfire down to the ground; the dyheli (not Tyrsell, but a swift runner all the same) was at his side as his feet touched the moss. Faster than thought, Darian was in the saddle, and the dyheli bounded away, no more than a pace or two behind his herdmate.
There was neither the time nor the leisure for either of them to talk, not with the dyheli at full gallop. Darian hung on, most of his attention with Kuari, who scouted the back-trail, watchfully making certain that barbarians had not somehow detected them. Huur and Hweel scouted ahead, serving as their guides as the moon set and the darkness thickened further.
Darian had made so many similar rides in the last four years that his senses were keenly attuned to the signals that meant real danger. He no longer started, hand to weapon, at every little sound. The farther they got from the encampment, the more he relaxed—insofar as it was possible to do so. The mission had only begun; it would be a very long night before it was over.
We got away with our spy-out; that’s a decent omen. So far, so good.
The war council wasn’t waiting for their report in the Vale. Tonight was the night of confrontation, and the barbarians weren’t as close to the allies as that. Their own war band had an encampment of their own, near enough for an effective strike at the barbarians, but hopefully far enough away that the barbarian scouts wouldn’t detect them.
The dyheli slowed to a walk as they neared the periphery of the camp. With Darian just a pace behind him, Snowfire answered three low-voiced challenges before the dyheli brought them to a shallow cave in the hillside facing away from the barbarians, and into a circle of fire-light reflecting off faces that looked up at their approach. This cave was the only spot safe enough for a fire and offering enough privacy for the war council.
Once they were out of the saddle and settled in among the rest, taking seats cross-legged on the soft sand floor, Darian reported his findings first. Snowfire listened as intently as the others, although, except for the identification of the clan-totem, there wasn’t much real information there. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you more,” Darian ended, on a note of apology. “But at some point we’ve got to get hold of one of their people—maybe a child—and get their language. There’s too much I missed by not understanding their conversation.”
Snowfire then made his own report. “I didn’t see a mage or a shaman anywhere among the men, nor did I see a special tent, or any of the sort of equipment and paraphernalia that a shaman or mage would require,” he said, eliciting a nod from Firesong. “From the little of their speech that I understood, I believe that they call themselves the “Ghost Cat” clan. If what I heard is true, they believe their totemic animal actually led them here. I also understood that they are terrified of the Change-Circles, and will make any detour to pass around them, and that corresponds with what Kel has observed. They don’t seem to be aware of the existence of Errold’s Grove or k’ Valdemar Vale; as far as they are concerned, this is completely unknown, probably empty territory. I saw some preparation for fighting, but not what I would expect if they planned a major assault. In my opinion, they are ready to fight, and will if they see the need to attack or defend, but it did not look to me as if they planned to go to war.”
Kero nodded, and looked first into Sayvil’s eyes, then nodded at Eldan. “Then we should go ahead with our plan. We come in, show superior abilities, and try to awe them. I’ll have the Skybolts in place as backup for the contact party, but they won’t show their faces unless the contact party has to be rescued. Sound right to everyone else?”
Darian followed Kerowyn’s glance around the circle; there was no dissension, but he didn’t expect any at this point. After all, they’d been over and over this plan so many times that they had, he hoped, worked any flaws out of it.
“Let’s do it,” Firesong said. “Before I lose my nerve.”
He’s joking, Darian thought as they all stood, and shivered. I wish I could.
Now it was time for Tyrsell to join the group, but as Firesong’s mount, not Darian’s. Darian would remain with the Skybolts as advance scout, ready to mount a rescue, should that become necessary. This did not make Darian feel any better; he could not help thinking about all those well-made arrows he’d seen being fletched, and imagining his friends facing a hail of them.
Kerowyn would not be with the contact party either; that was Eldan’s place. Like Darian, Kero had a different place to fill. She would be with her troops, waiting in hiding, hoping she wouldn’t be needed.
She isn’t any happier about that than I am. Kerowyn hadn’t said anything, certainly hadn’t done anything, but there was no doubt in Darian’s mind that she would gladly have accepted any excuse to get Eldan out of the contact party.
But there were only two Heralds, and Eldan was the diplomat of the two; it was, as he had gently reminded Kerowyn, his place to be conspicuous, at least for the moment.
Kelvren, who was so excited by his part in this that his hackles were up, was to be the crowning piece of the display. Whether or not these people were familiar with gryphons from afar, they could never have seen one up close, and to have Kel come swooping in out of the dark would be a considerable shock.
With Eldan and his Companion in the lead, Snowfire and Firesong flanking him riding dyheli, and followed by a good-sized escort of mounted Skybolts, the party’s size should be enough to surprise the barbarians. Appearing suddenly and unexpectedly out of the night was a time-honored tactic of the Hawkbrothers; it worked as an effective way to intimidate interlopers more often than it failed.
Darian hoped that tonight would not be counted as one of the failures.
Lord Breon had wanted badly to be included as one of the party, and had only been dissuaded from his intention by Kerowyn. The Herald-Captain had pointed out that it was her duty to protect him, not the other way around, then added that she didn’t know the territory around Kelmskeep half so well as its Lord; if it came to a running fight, she needed his expertise. So Lord Breon was also going to be an observer, and probably would be fretting inside as much as Kero or Darian.
The darkness was their friend, not the barbarians’. Wit
h the aid of the three owls, they moved into position without disturbing the few sentries, much less the sleeping camp. The barbarian sentries were posted within sight of the dying campfire anyway, too close to the camp to be an effective ward against a force like theirs. As Kero arranged her own fighters, positioning Darian and Kuari as lookouts, the others moved closer still, just barely out of the barbarians’ sight, as near as they dared.
Darian stayed where Kerowyn had placed him, in another tree, halfway between her people and the camp. It wasn’t as safe a perch as it might have seemed; one of the things that the contact party was going to produce was a lot of light, and he would make a tempting and easy target if anyone spotted him.
In a situation like this one, the Gift of Mindspeech was all the more valuable; everyone knew when everyone else was in place and ready, with no clumsy signals that might be misheard or not heard at all. Without that warning, he might have been so startled as to lose his balance when the contact party made their initial move; as it was, he winced involuntarily when the group revealed their presence.
It must have been a hundred, a thousand times worse for the barbarians.
For them, there was no warning. In one moment, they slept peacefully, the forest sounds of crickets and frogs, the occasional bird call, no different than any other night. In the next, it must have seemed as if the heavens and earth opened up at once.
With a great flash of light and a corresponding blare of homs—supplied by Kerowyn’s people—the contact party “appeared” out of the dark as if they had suddenly burst through a Gate or were conjured by some other magical means. With mage-lights burning fiercely above them, with the owls flying at head height on either side of the group, they galloped up to the very edge of the camp. At the last moment, Starfall and Snowfire held up their hands, and the owls landed neatly on the gloves. The whole camp was roused, of course, but very few had the temerity to burst out of their tents, and fewer still to brandish the weapons they’d seized.
Valdemar 11 - [Owl Mage 02] - Owlsight Page 35