Winds of Change

by Mercedes Lackey

  The plan was set; they were about to put it into motion. While most of the gryphons frolicked in the Vale, and bar-barically beautiful Kaled’a’in occupied the attentions of most of k’Sheyna, the Council of Elders had already listened to and given consent to what the little “war council” had put together. Surely Selenay would have had a fit if she’d known what her daughter’s part in this was to be. Thank all the gods that Gwena had decided to keep discreetly silent on the subject, telling Rolan only that Elspeth’s studies “continued.”

  Well - they did. Sort of.

  The gryphons - those dozen or so of the wing of thirty that were full mages, at any rate - were going to solve one problem for them. With seven pairs making the rounds of Falconsbane’s web of power, the work of weakening his power-threads should be done between sunset and sunrise, easily. Under the cover of darkness, they were less likely to be spotted from below.

  Nyara was going to be the arrow striking for Falconsbane’s heart. That was a task Elspeth did not envy her, and she could not imagine how the Changechild managed to be so calm about it. Perhaps it was Need’s steadying effect. Perhaps it was because she knew that if she betrayed any nervousness, Skif would probably fall to pieces.

  Meanwhile, as Nyara crept closer and closer to her father’s stronghold, she and Darkwind got to play target to distract him, if they could. The Shin’a’in could no longer play that role; he had started to look for them, and had laid traps for them that would catch them. They had no magic to disarm those traps, not as Darkwind and Elspeth had. The leshya‘e Koi‘enedral would be occupied in another way; helping Kra’heera and Kethra, confusing Falconsbane’s FarSight and FarVision spells with their shamanic magic, so that he would not See the newcomers to the Vale, and the special energies of all the new mages there. That was vital to their purposes; if Falconsbane had any idea who and what had arrived to augment the powers of k’Sheyna, he would not hesitate, he would throw everything at them that he had, knowing their massed power could take him. Even with the help of the Kaled’a’in, there was no one in all of the new Council who thought the Vale and the three peoples there would survive that unscathed.

  So Darkwind and Elspeth were on their own in supplying a needed distraction. Without distractions, Falconsbane might well notice the gryphons, Nyara, or both. If he noticed them -

  She shuddered. Better not to think about it.

  With Need’s help, she had fashioned a blade that would counterfeit Need at a distance. It had no real power whatsoever - like the sword meant to select the rulers of Rethwellan, all it did was burn mage-energy in a spectacular fashion, radiating power to anyone with Mage-Sight. Gwena would supply the energy for that blade. Elspeth would go imperfectly shielded, at least on the surface, looking as ill-trained as possible. Darkwind would simply be himself. That alone should bring Falconsbane down on them.

  They would ride north and west, skirting the edge of what was probably Falconsbane’s territory, as if they were heading in search of something. Any time they met with one of the enemy’s traps, they would destroy it. Any time they found one of his power-sinks, they would drain it. Meanwhile Firesong and the Kaled’a’in mages would be moving the proto-Gate, but with none of the speed they were capable of.

  Darkwind hoped that Falconsbane would assume the obvious - that they were trying to distract him from diverting the proto-Gate - and therefore he would not look for something else they were distracting him from.

  “I really ought to be used to playing target by now,” she said, as she tightened Gwena’s girth and prepared to ride out into the snow and cold with Darkwind. They looked like a pair of fancy-dress Heralds, the two of them; he wore winter scout gear, which was just as white as any Herald’s uniform, and she had finally pried her Whites out of the grip of the disapproving hertasi. Gwena was champing at her nonexistent bit, ready to go - and Darkwind was going to be riding Firesong’s very dear friend, the dyheli-mage, Brytha.

  What was even more amazing than a dyheli mage, was the fact that Brytha had instantly volunteered for this, before Darkwind could ask any of the other stags to carry him.

  :I am not much of mage,: Brytha had said, in the stilted thought-forms of his kind. :I channel power, like Companion. I channel to you; you are less tired, then.:

  No one could deny the truth of that; any power that could be given to Darkwind without effort on his part increased his stamina tremendously. But now Elspeth knew why Brytha was white - and why Firesong could accomplish some of the incredible things he’d already done. With that extra reserve of power available, one Healing Adept could act like two, or even three.

  That was the edge they had needed to turn this from suicidal to merely horribly dangerous, in Elspeth’s opinion. Or at least, to less suicidal.

  “I suppose you should be used to being a target, in those ‘here I am, please, shoot me,’ uniforms you wear,” he replied with a grin, carefully tightening Brytha’s girth.

  “Not you, too,” she complained. “Kera calls them the ‘oh, shoot me now’ uniforms. There are perfectly good reasons why we wear white!”

  “I like you better in colors,” he said simply and reached out to touch her hand, briefly but gently. “They suit your quiet beauty. White only makes you look remote. An ice-princess. Your spirit is brighter even than my best scarlet.”

  She flushed and hung her head to cover it. “Thank you,” she replied carefully. Slowly, she was learning to accept his compliments without any of the doubt she’d have had if they had come from anyone else. And for a moment, she was back in his ekele in memory, surrounded by color and soft silk, warmth and admiration.

  Then she shook off the memory. For now, all that was important was the task ahead of them. And for that task, she could not have asked for a better partner than the one she had now. Should they come out of this well enough, they would celebrate in the ekele again, in a similar way.

  She mounted up; he followed a moment later, and looked into her eyes. She nodded, and he took the lead, riding out through the Veil and into the quiet cold and the snow.

  The gauntlet was cast. There was no going back now.

  Treyvan launched himself into the wind, his wings spreading wide to catch the updraft, spiraling higher above the Vale with every wingbeat. Behind and below him, Hydona echoed his launch, and once she reached height, the others followed. It was good to see other gryphons taking to the air again; better still to know that they were here to stay. Counting himself and Hydona, there were thirty-two gryphons in the Vale now, a full wing. The little ones would have many teachers, and doubtless there would be playmates for them before too long. The gryphons who had volunteered for this settlement were all paired, and the balmy temperatures of the Vale had sent several of the pairs into pre-courting. It should be very interesting to see the effect on the Tayledras if they had not moved by the time the true courting began. . . .

  But that was for later; now there was a job to be done.

  They all knew what they were to do. Seven were to go to the south, seven to the north. The web of power gleamed to their inner sight, seen from far above the world; a construction of entirely artificial lines of energy and their anchors, overlaying the natural ley-lines and often conflicting with them. Not exactly a web in shape, only the power-poles were connecting-points. That was what held the whole construction stable - it was all that held the whole construction stable.

  That would be to their benefit and Falconsbane’s detriment. Anything that ran counter to the earth’s own ways was subject to extreme stress. Maintaining this web would be much like flying against a headwind. The moment the pressure was released, the entire construction would implode.

  The swiftest of the gryphons, two of nearly pure gyrfalcon lineage, would take the farthest points on the web - those two were not Treyvan and Hydona, but a much younger pair, Reaycha and Talsheena. Treyvan and Hydona, as senior mages, would take the nearest points, but they would take more of them, making up in work what they were not putting into flight
time. All had agreed that this was the fairest way of apportioning the work; since the time of Skandranon, nothing was decreed within a gryphon wing without a majority consenting to it.

  The two older gryphons held the middle heights, providing a marker point for the others to use to orient themselves. It was a moonless night, and on such nights, despite mage-enhanced night-sight, distances were often deceptive.

  The first pair gained height above Treyvan and his mate, and shot off, barely visible against the swiftly-darkening sky, heading southwest and northwest. Then the second pair gained altitude and took to the sky-trail - then the third -

  Finally, only he and Hydona were left, gliding in lazy circles on the Vale-generated thermal. The sky was entirely dark now, with wisps of cloud occluding the stars, and a crisp breeze coming up from below. A good night for a flight. :Well, my fine-crested lover,: she said, her mind-voice a warm purring in the back of his mind, :are you prepared to enchant me with some fancy flying?:

  :Ever so, my love,: he replied, and drove his wings in powerful beats that sent him surging upward and outward, as she did the same. He glanced at her, and felt the familiar warmth of love and lust heating him as she showed her strength and beauty, angling against the wind. :We shall meet at dawn!:

  Nyara also left at sunset, riding dyheli-back. She had not expected that boon, but the dyheli themselves had insisted on it. Her partner for this first part of the journey, until the moment that she must go on afoot, was a young female, Lareen. Fresh and strong, she promised laughingly that she could keep her rider well out of any trouble by strength and speed alone. That suited Nyara perfectly; she had no wish for any kind of a confrontation - it would be far better to reach the borders of Falconsbane’s territory without anyone ever getting so much as a glimpse of her.

  She had thought that this would be the worst moment of the journey, for Skif had been stiff and silent all during the Council meeting, and she feared he would remain so during the ride. She had not been looking forward to spending what might be their last hours together aching with the weight of his disapproval.

  But instead, once the meeting was over, he had taken her aside where no one could overhear them. Except for Need, of course, for the sword had not left her side except for sleep; but the sword had remained silent, and he had ignored the blade entirely.

  “Nyara,” he had begun, then faltered for a moment, as he looked into her eyes and gripped her shoulders with hands that shook with tension. His usually expressive face had been so full of anxiety that it had become a kind of mask.

  She had remained silent, unsure of what to say, only watching him steadfastly. Should she break the silence? Or would that only make things worse?

  He had stared at her as if he thought she would vanish or flee with the first word. “Nyara, you know I don’t like what they’re asking you to do,” he said, finally. His voice was hoarse, as if he were forcing the words out over some kind of internal barrier.

  She had stared deeply into his eyes, dark with emotions she could not read, and fear (which she could), and nodded slowly, still holding her peace.

  “But I also won’t deny the fact that - that you have a right to do anything you want, and you’re capable of doing it. And I won’t deny you the chance to do what you think is right, what you have to do. You’re your own person, and if I tried to stop you, tried to manipulate you by telling you I love you, which I do, absolutely, completely - ” He shook his head with a helpless desperation, his eyes never once leaving hers, a frantic plea for understanding in his gaze. “I won’t do that to you, I won’t manipulate you. Please, understand, I don’t like this, but I won’t stop you, because I know it’s something you have to do.”

  She had reached up to touch his cheek gently, a lump born of mingled emotions briefly stopping her voice. Then she had smiled and said lightly, “But I think you have also learned the futility of trying to stop someone who is set on a course from dealing with Elspeth. Yes?”

  Her attempt at lightening the mood had worked. He had growled a little, but a tiny smile crept onto his lips, and a little of the worry eased from his face. “Yes. Minx. You would remind me of that, wouldn’t you?”

  She had sighed as he relaxed his grip on her shoulders and had moved forward so that he could hold her - which is what she had wanted him to do, with equal desperation, ever since this morning.

  For a long time they simply stood together, holding each other, taking comfort from each other’s warmth and nearness. “I think what I hate the most is not what you’re doing, but that I can’t be with you,” he had said, finally, his arms tightening around her. “I feel so damned helpless. I hate feeling helpless.”

  “We all hate feeling helpless,” she had reminded him. Well, so they did, and she was not feeling less helpless than he, though for different reasons.

  Her eyes adjusted to the growing darkness as they rode out into the snow, following, for a while, the tracks of Darkwind and Elspeth. The clean, cold air felt very good on her face; in fact, if their situation had not been so tense, she would have enjoyed this. She had discovered out in her tower that she enjoyed the winter, even with all the hardships she had endured once the weather had turned cold. Now she was adequately clothed for winter in Tayledras scout gear; now she was riding upon the back of a creature built for striding through snow, rather than forcing her own way through the drifts. This was winter taken with pure pleasure.

  But tension had her stomach in such sour knots that she had not been able to eat much; her back and shoulders were knotted with anxiety, and she was terribly aware of the burden of the sword at her side and what it meant. Need was cloaking her, presumably, as well as itself, but she absolutely required that cloaking, and she would require every bit of her mentor’s skill and learning to come through this alive.

  The alarms and traps should not react to me, she told herself, once again. Father has been otherwise occupied. In no way would he ever expect me to return to him of my own will after attacking him and betraying him. Surely he will not have tampered with the defenses since I left him last. He has been beset by the Shin‘a‘in, launching his own attacks - when has he had time to reset them? Once I leave Skif and Wintermoon at the border, there should be no difficulty in getting within the territory or the stronghold -

  - so why am I as frightened as a rabbit walking into the den of a Changelion?

  She shivered, though not with cold, and touched the hilt of the sword unconsciously.

  :I’m here, little one,: the sword said calmly. :I’m screening us both for all I’m worth. You can do this; I trained you, and I know.:

  Some of the sword’s calm confidence seeped into her own soul and eased the cramps in muscles and stomach. There was no point in getting so knotted up that she would accomplish nothing, after all. No point in worrying until it was time to worry.

  The trail widened at that point, and Skif rode up beside her; she turned to smile at him, but it was so dark that although she could see his face, she doubted that he could see hers.

  :We should talk like this, Wintermoon says,: came his mind-voice deep inside her head. Although she had never heard it, she knew it for his and it gave her unexpected comfort, like feeling his hand holding and steadying her. :I’m not - very good at it, I should warn you. Have to be this close to you.:

  :I will - try,: she replied the same way, stumbling a little despite her practice with Need. Her father had never spoken mind-to-mind with her; he had only used his mind to coerce her, and to hurt her.

  :You‘d like Valdemar, I think,: he said unexpectedly. Especially the hills in the south. They‘re very beautiful in the winter. You‘d probably like the Forest of Sorrows, too; that’s way in the north. There are mountains up there so tall that some of them have never been climbed.:

  She Saw the image of the mountains, and the forest at their feet, in his mind; saw it drowsing in the heat of summer, alive with birds in the spring, cloaked in flame in the fall, and sleeping beneath a blanket of snow in winter
. :Why so sad a name?: she asked.

  :Oh - that’s because of Vanyel,: he replied, and told her the tale, embellished with images out of his own experiences and imagination. That tale led to another - and another - and soon it was midnight and time to stop for a bit of a rest and a chance to check their bearings against the stars.

  Wintermoon oriented himself; she and Skif dismounted and walked a short distance. :This - being a Herald, I do not understand,: she told him, as he held her within the warmth of his arms and coat, and they waited for Winter-moon’s two bondbirds to report with their findings.

  :Sometimes I don’t understand it either,: he admitted. :I suppose the closest I can come is to say that it’s something I have to do - just as what we‘re doing now is something you have to do. But what I do is not because of hate, or anger, or the feeling that I owe it to anyone.:

  She moved her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes. :Then why?: she asked simply, longing, suddenly, to understand.

  :Would it sound entirely stupid to say that it was out of love?: he asked. .’That’s not the whole of it; that’s not even the largest part, but it’s the start.:

  She waited, patiently, for the rest of the answer, and it came, in bits and pieces. They were pieces that did not yet fall together to make a whole, but like the pieces of a mirror they reflected bits of him that made her see him a little more clearly. When one assembled a broken mirror, one could still discern an image. . . .

  Some of his reason was gratitude - the Heralds had literally saved his life and given him something like a real family. That revelation made her feel kinship and a bitter envy; she had known only brief affection and never any sense of real family. She had, now and again, spied upon the lesser creatures of her father’s stronghold with wonder and jealousy. She had seen fathers who caressed their children with nothing ever coming of those caresses but care; she had seen children greeting their fathers with joy and not fear. And she had seen that strange and wondrous creature, a mother ... a creature that could and would die to save the offspring she had given life to. A creature that gave life and love without asking for anything other than love in return - no matter what the child became, no matter what darkness it turned to.