Winds of Change

by Mercedes Lackey

  But he must think of a way to explain those bodies. He wished he could simply burn them to ash and pretend that he did not know where they had gone. But that might only make the others think their colleagues had run off, and if those three had done so, there might be a good reason for the others to follow their example.

  Complications, complications. Everything he did was so complicated. Not like the old days, when he didn’t have to justify himself to anyone. When he only had to issue orders and know he would be obeyed.

  The cowards. If they hadn’t been quite so quick to think of conspiring against him he might not have -

  Ah. That was the answer. He would have the bodies dragged from his study and hung from the exterior walls in cages, as traitors were. That would be enough. The rest of his underlings should assume that the three had attempted to overcome him and had fallen in the attempt. A good explanation for why he was so weary.

  He would not even have to say anything himself; just look angry. No one would dare ask him. The rumors would fly, but there was no reason for anyone to guess the truth.

  He rang for a servant, and feigning greater strength than he had, contorted his face into a mask of suppressed rage and ordered the bodies taken away and displayed in the cages. Then he called for stimulants, food and drink, as he always did after a battle. Sometimes habits were useful things. When he demanded rare meat, red wine, and ke-phira, with a body-slave to be waiting in his bed, the servants all assumed that a fight had aroused his blood and his lust.

  The servant went and came back with several more; Falconsbane ignored them as they carried the bodies away, lying back on his couch and staring at the shadow-shrouded ceiling. He often did that after a battle of magic, too. When the servant returned at last with the food and drink he had been sent for, he told the man in a flat, expressionless voice to set it down and take himself out. He did his best to look angry, and not tired. The illusion was what mattered right now.

  If I were not so pressed, I would manipulate their minds to reinforce the tale that is spreading, he thought, slowly mustering the strength to reach for a cup of dragged wine. Perhaps I should do so anyway.

  But at that moment, there came a hesitant tap at the door. He started, and cursed his own jangled nerves, then growled, “Yes? What is it?”

  If it’s nonsense, I’ll kill him. If it’s a defection, I’ll set the wyrsa on the fool who ran and see if he can outrun and outlast a pack of forty!

  “Sire,” came the timid voice of the servant, muffled by the door, “I beg your pardon for disturbing you, but I’m following your orders. You said to let you know immediately if one of those riders - ”

  He sat up abruptly, exhaustion and pain completely forgotten. “The riders? Open the damned door, you fool! What about the riders?”

  The servant edged the door open, nervously. He peered inside, then slid into the room with one eye on his escape route. There was a small box in his hand.

  A small box carved of shining black wood.

  Falconsbane’s eyes went to it as if drawn there; he stood up and strode over to the man, and stood towering over him, his hands twitching at his sides.

  “Sire, one of the riders came right up to the gate just as they were - taking out - ” The man gulped, his face pasty white, and Falconsbane repressed the urge to strangle him. He simply tried to ease some of the anger out of his face so that the servant would be able to continue.

  “Go on,” he said, more gently than he wanted to. He cursed his own weakness; if he had been stronger, he could have seized the man’s mind and pulled what he wanted right out of it.

  “The rider came up and tossed this to the Guard Captain, himself. “Then - he was just gone. The Guard Captain brought this straight to me, like you ordered.”

  “By ‘just gone,’ do you mean that he rode away?” Falconsbane asked carefully. Why didn’t they call me? Or was there no time? Can those riders move that fast? Why isn’t someone chasing them?

  “No, sire, I mean he was gone. Like smoke. There, and then not there.” The servant seemed convinced, and there was no real reason for him to lie. “The Guard Captain said so. Said he was gone like he’d been conjured and dispersed.“

  Falconsbane pondered the box in his hand; this was the first real evidence that the riders were the manifestations of magic. Was his unknown enemy - or friend - showing his hand a little more? They could not have gone through a Gate; he would have sensed that. Therefore they could only have been temporary conjurations, given life and form only so long as the mage needed them, or creatures from another plane. Minor demons, perhaps? Those he might not be able to sense unless he was actually looking for them.

  Of the “gifts” that had been sent to him, only one was magical - and it was useless. He cast an eye at the lenticular scrying crystal as the servant waited nervously for his response, and snorted a little.

  Scrying crystal, indeed. It was an excellent crystal. The clarity was exceptional, the lenticular form ideal for scrying, the size quite perfect for a detailed image to form. The problem was, no matter how he bent his will upon it, it would show only one thing. The view of some remote mountain peak, and halfway up the side of the mountain, a strange and twisted castle that he did not recognize. A snowstorm swirled about the castle when the crystal was moved.

  He dismissed the servant, and reached for the wine, drinking it down in one gulp, before he returned to his couch and contemplated the box. Like the other, it was beautifully carved, and about the same size. There was no sign of magic anywhere about it.

  Like the other, this one held something.

  Nestled in a nest of black velvet padding was a ring. Not just any ring, either - it held no stone, and was not metal, although it was an intricately carved or molded band. Like a wedding ring, exactly like a wedding ring, it was carved witft tne symbols of harvest, wheat-ears and grapes - except that this ring was made of a shining, cool black substance. He tried, experimentally, to break it, but it was probably of the same stuff as the horse.

  In this part of the world, widows sometimes laid aside their wedding bands to wear a black band like this, made of jet, signifying mourning. Was he being warned? But he had no spouse to mourn, and the very last thing he would weep over was the death of his traitorous daughter.

  His predilection for black was apparently well known to these riders - or whoever sent them. There had been the rose, the velvet, the horse, and now the ring. And this would certainly gain his attention far quicker than a simple peasants’ gold or silver wedding band.

  So, was this an invitation to a “wedding” - an alliance?

  Or a funeral?

  “I don’t like this,” Darkwind told Firesong unhappily. “I only told you my plan because I hoped you’d have another way of handling this, something that wouldn’t put anyone into danger like this. Even if it is my plan, I don’t like it.”

  He had intercepted Firesong as soon as the Adept had anchored the proto-Gate for the night. They had walked back to Firesong’s ekele together, while Darkwind laid bare his thoughts on Falconsbane and what might be done about him.

  To his dismay, Firesong had agreed, completely.

  “Nor do I care for your plan,” Firesong replied, wearily sagging back against the cushions of his couch. “I dislike sending Nyara into peril of this sort. She is a frail prop for all our hopes - and yet there is a certain symmetry in it, in sending her to avenge her own hurts upon her father.”

  Darkwind snorted. “Symmetry was not what I had in mind,” he said. He would have gone farther than that, but at that same moment, Nyara and Skif arrived, summoned by one of Firesong’s ever-present hertasi. Skif was unarmed as far as Darkwind could see, but Nyara, as always, had Need; the sword at her side was so much a part of her that he couldn’t imagine her without it.

  He took a moment to examine her with the dispassionate eyes of a stranger and was a little surprised. He’d thought of Nyara as small and slender, maybe even spidery; well, perhaps she was, compared to hims
elf and to Skif. But she certainly carried her sword with authority - and from what he’d seen, she knew how to use it well. And what skill she did not possess, the sword could grant to her, if Elspeth was to be believed.

  “Sit,” Firesong said, before the other two could say anything. “Please. We have somewhat we need to ask you.” He waved to one of the hovering hertasi, who converged upon the two Outlanders with food and drink.

  They took seats; Nyara a little apprehensively, Skif reluctantly. Darkwind didn’t blame them. He’d had the feeling that Nyara knew what he’d had in mind all along, from the nebulous ideas that had formed when he asked her to locate Falconsbane’s stronghold, to the crystallized plan that had sent him looking for Firesong. Skif probably didn’t know what was in Darkwind’s mind, but if it required involving Nyara, he was going to be immediately suspicious.

  “I’ll come straight to the point,” Darkwind said. “Before we take this to a larger forum, we need to know something from you.” He waited until they had settled a little, then turned to the Changechild. “Nyara, this afternoon I asked you to help me find your father’s stronghold on the map. You thought you located approximately where it is, correct?”

  She nodded, slowly, accepting a cup of tea from one of the hertasi. It was very hard to read her face; long ago she had probably learned how to control her expressions minutely, and that was a habit that was hard to break.

  He hated to ask this of her. He hated to put her back where she might need that kind of control. “Well, this is a different question, but related. Could you trace your way back to it - and if you found it, get into it?”

  Skif yelped and started to rise; she shook her head at him, and placed one hand on his knee to calm him. It didn’t calm him a bit, but he subsided, looking sharply at both Firesong and Darkwind.

  Hmm. Interesting. I thought he was unarmed, but the way his right hand is tensing - he has a knife hidden somewhere near it. If he had a choice, he probably wouldn‘t be looking daggers at us, he’d be throwing them.

  “Yes to both questions,” she replied steadily. “My problem with finding Father’s hold upon your map was that I could not see the things I know as landmarks. I have a perfect memory for trails, it seems. I never had occasion to use it before I escaped my father, but it is very difficult for me to become lost. I can easily find the stronghold.” She licked her lips, showing the tips of her canine teeth, then took a drink before continuing. “I can find it - and having found it, I know many of the odd ways into it. He does not guard all of them, for many are hidden. Some I was taught, but some I found on my own.”

  “Yes, but will he not know of them as well?” Firesong asked gently. “I would not send you into a trap, dear child. Candidly, that would not serve either of us.”

  Her lips curved in a faint smile. “I do not think there will be a trap. Since I am only interested in fleeing from him - he thinks - I suspect that the last thing he would look for me to do is return. The ways that I would take inside will be those that only I know, or those that I think he will not bother to trap.”

  :I can hide her some, if that’s your next question,: Need said. :I can hold a ‘ ‘reflective’ illusion on her, the kind that makes her look like part of the landscape to Mage-Sight. More importantly, while I’m doing that, I can hide myself as well. Watch.:

  At that instant, Need ceased to exist, from the point of view of Darkwind’s Mage-Sight. She was nothing more sinister to ordinary sight than an ordinary broadsword, and to Mage-Sight, she and Nyara did not exist, and Skif sat alone on the couch.

  Then Nyara was “back,” all in an instant, and the sword with her.

  “Good. Very good,” Firesong said, leaning forward a bit, his voice warm with approval. “Well, then, you must know that we have a plan, but the one in greatest danger will be you, Nyara. That is a great burden to be placed upon you, and no one will fault you if you say no.”

  She shook her head, but not, Darkwind sensed, in denial. “I have been partially to blame for much harm that has come to you,” she said. “I feel that I owe some recompense.”

  :It’s not like she’s going to do this alone,: Need added dryly. :I’ve handled what Falconsbane can throw before. Hmph. Maybe if he throws the right stuff at us this time, I can transmute it and take off a little more of what he did to her.:

  “I will not count upon that,” Nyara told her blade, and

  Darkwind thought he detected a tone of friendly chiding in her voice. “I will not even think of it. It serves little purpose, after all. If you can, I shall be grateful, but do not put yourself into jeopardy by an attempt.”

  Need couldn’t shrug, but Darkwind got the impression she had. :At any rate, as Nyara and Skif can tell you, I took on this form because there are times when one person can do what an army couldn’t. I’m no expert on Falconsbane, but I don’t think the odds are any worse now than they were back when I froze myself into this blade.:

  Darkwind looked at Skif, who growled, but shrugged. “She’s her own woman,” he replied unhappily. “If I tried to make her change her mind, I wouldn’t be doing either of us any good. She wants to go through with this - I’ll do what I can to help.”

  Darkwind raised an eyebrow skeptically, Skif grimaced.

  “I don’t like it,” he admitted. “I’m scared to death for her, and if I could take her place I would. I won’t pretend otherwise. But let’s just say I learned how stupid it is to try and stop someone from doing something they have to do. It’s even more stupid if you care about them.”

  Darkwind read the look Skif gave both of them, however. If Nyara came to any harm at all, Skif would personally collect the damages due.

  “More than good!” Firesong applauded. “Well, then, if Nyara is agreed, I think it is time that we took the idea to the rest. We will discover if anyone can knock holes in this plan - or make it safer in any way.”

  The gathering in the Council Oak clearing held only part of the usual gathering. Both gryphons, Nyara, Skif, Firesong, Wintermoon, the Companions, Elspeth - and Darkwind himself. No other mages; this would not be a plan that required more mages than they had right here. Starblade and Kethra were back to recovering; Iceshadow and Nightjewel were conserving their strength. And they added no more fighters than Skif and Wintermoon, either. As Need had said, there were times when one - or a handful - could do what an army could not.

  Firesong had lost a great deal of his jauntiness in the past few days, and he had put aside his elaborate costumes in favor of simple, flowing clothing like any other mage wore, He could hardly hide the flamboyant bondbird that perched on his shoulder, but other than that, and his incredible beauty, there was nothing that set him apart from the other mages in k’Sheyna.

  “Here is the situation as it stands,” Firesong began. Using a handful of stones and a bit of string, he began laying out something that looked rather like a very simple spiderweb. “If I had been looking for this earlier, I might have seen it being built - but it has the feeling of something assembled with haste, and we may be able to take advantage of that.”

  “What is it?” Darkwind was baffled. “I assume Falconsbane has something to do with this, whatever it is.”

  Firesong flushed, the first time Darkwind had ever seen him truly embarrassed. “Pardon. I forgot that none of you have been working with me upon this. The enemy wants to capture the proto-Gate; to that end he has constructed this web of power-points and interconnecting lines about his stronghold. If you look in the direction of his stronghold with FarSight and Mage-Sight, you will see it.”

  Treyvan examined the model, and growled. “Thisss isss anew thing, isss it not?”

  Firesong shook his head. “Only new to Falconsbane. I have seen this sort of construction before, and it isn’t half as effective as those who use it think. It has a vulnerability, a severe one. If the connections were weakened all about the edge so that they might snap beneath a good shock, he likely would not note the weakening. And if they snapped, the power would backlash ag
ainst him in some profound ways.”

  “What kind of ways?” Wintermoon wanted to know. “Something grievous, I hope.”

  Firesong smiled faintly. “If he was not prepared with a way to ground it or to escape, he would likely be cast into the void between the Gates - as if he entered a Gate and both the Gate and the terminus were then destroyed. That is because of the way he has set up the tensions among his power-poles and his center. Great concentrations of power warp the world-space as Gates do.”

  Darkwind shuddered; he had once had a glimpse of that void. He would prefer not to see it again. “That’s not a fate I would wish on anyone,” he said.

  “Not even Falconsbane?” Elspeth asked. “I can think of one or two others I would like to see contemplating their deeds for all eternity!”

  Firesong continued, as if they had not interrupted him. “Any shock to him would snap these threads of power once they were weakened - that would be the best way, in fact. A shock at the center will have more effect than one at an edge. But the weakening - that would have to be done quickly, so that he did not have a chance to notice what was being done.” He looked up into the gryphons’ faces, expectantly.

  Treyvan blinked slowly, his eyes distant. “You rrre-quirrre ssswiftly trraveling magesss,” he said. “And at the sssame time, you rrrequirrre sssomeone to infiltrrrate the beassst’sss home.” Firesong nodded, and waited.

  “The ssswift onesss mussst be usss, I think,” Treyvan continued. “And the otherrr - Nyarrra.”

  “If you are willing, yes,” Darkwind said awkwardly. “I hate to ask you, but if Falconsbane gains control of the proto-Gate, he’ll have an enormous amount of power. It would be the kind of power that normally goes to establish and maintain an entire Vale; protections, Heartstones, Vale-sculpting, and all.”

  “He could dessstrroy usss all with a thought,” Hydona replied flatly. “He mussst not have that powerrr.”

  “Bring the little ones here,” Darkwind urged. “With the Heartstone gone, there’s no longer a danger to them in staying here.”