Winds of Fury

by Mercedes Lackey

  “I have held this next to my heart for the past several months,” he said solemnly, “Never thinking you would be able to wear it openly, and not sure you would even be able to accept it at all.”

  Her vision blurred as he spoke the traditional words that signified a Hawkbrother marriage. “Elspeth, will you wear my feather, for all the world and skies to see?”

  She took it from him, her hands trembling; started to fasten it into her hair, but her hands shook too much to do so and he had to help her. Her heart raced as if she had been running fast, and she could not stop smiling—her skin tingled and burned, and she wanted to laugh, sing, cry—all of them at once.

  Instead, she took out her own gift. “I don’t have a bondbird,” she said. “I don’t know how Gwena will feel about this. I can only hope she feels the way I do.”

  She held out the ring on her open palm, a silver ring with an overlay of crystal. Sandwiched between was an intricately braided band of incandescently white horsehair, hairs carefully pulled from Gwena’s tail, one at a time, so that each hair was perfect. She’d had the ring made up by one of the hertasi several months ago, never really hoping she would be able to use it, but unable to give up the dream that she might.

  He took it and placed it on his ring finger, and she noticed with a certain amount of pleasure that his hands were trembling as much as hers now. “Hertasi work, isn’t it?” he asked, rather too casually.

  She nodded. He looked at the ring closely.

  “In fact—I think I know the artisan. Kelee, isn’t it? ”

  Again she nodded. “I’ve probably had it as long as you’ve had the feather,” she ventured.

  He chuckled. “And the hertasi, no doubt, have been chortling to themselves for some time. They are inveterate matchmakers, you know.”

  She thought about the sly way that Kelee had looked at her when he had given her the finished ring, and could only sigh and nod.

  “Well,” he said at last, after a long silence. “This is a good thing. I think that my parents and Clan would approve.”

  Elspeth squeezed his hand and said quietly, “It doesn’t matter if they do or not. My feelings would be the same.”

  Darkwind smiled. “Mine as well.”

  They embraced again. “Perhaps ‘Darkwind’ is no longer a proper name for me. You have brought too much light into my life for it to apply anymore. I no longer feel like a lowering storm since joining with you, bright feather.”

  Elspeth nodded and bit her lower lip. “But . . . there are still storms approaching.”

  “Yes. We have many plans to make, and many to discard. I think that this is likely to be a very late night. . . .”

  I think that this is likely to be a very late night, Talia thought, motioning discretely to one of the pages near her Council seat. “Go order enough food and wine for all the Councillors, then recruit some of the final-year trainees to serve it and replace the pages,” she whispered to him. He was one of the older pages, and nodded with both understanding and relief. He had served the Queen and Council long enough to know how long one of these emergency sessions could last, and while he might have been disappointed at not being able to listen in on the proceedings, the disappointment was countered by the relief that he would not be stuck in the Council chamber until the sun rose.

  There was something to be said for having a limited level of responsibility.

  As the pages filed out, to be replaced by wide-eyed youngsters in trainee-Grays, Selenay rose to address her Council. The men and women seated around the horseshoe-shaped table fell silent, and lamplight gleamed on jewels and brilliant court-garb. Behind Selenay, the huge crest of Valdemar seemed to glow.

  “I am certain that many of you fear that I am going to oppose this abdication,” she said, with calm and equanimity. Talia knew better than anyone here that the calm was not feigned, it was real. She and Selenay had spent many nights in Elspeth’s absence, trying to find a way to reconcile the conflicts that Elspeth’s duties would place her in when she returned, but both of them had assumed that Elspeth would never want to give up her position as Heir. They had both been wrong, and Elspeth’s elegant solution to the conflict, while creating several more entirely new problems, had solved more than it created.

  Selenay locked eyes with each of her Councillors in turn, as Talia assessed their emotional state with her Gift of Empathy. Troubled, most of them, but excited. A bit apprehensive. Afraid that Selenay was going to make difficulties.

  “Well,” she said, with a wan smile, “Elspeth is wiser than I, and far more expedient. For the moment, although they are not yet Chosen, I am naming Kris and Lyra joint Heir-presumptives. Since they are so very young, being guarded day and night and kept from much public contact is going to do very little harm to them, and given that I am going to assign their safety into the hands of Guardsmen picked by Herald-Captain Kerowyn and Heralds and their Companions picked by my Consort, I think it unlikely that anyone will be able to threaten them with such formidable nurses on the watch.”

  There was overall relief at that, relief so palpable Talia was surprised no one else could feel it, unGifted though they might be.

  “It seems to me that the first thing we should do is to ensure that word of Elspeth’s abdication spreads as far and as fast as possible,” the Queen continued. “This will give her a greater margin of safety, and confuse Ancar completely. And at the same time, we should see to it that the reports of her demonstration of magical powers are as exaggerated as possible.” Selenay smiled slyly. “The more Ancar thinks we have, the less he is likely to attempt a sudden attack. Let him believe that Elspeth brought us an army of mages and peculiar creatures, at least until his own spies tell him otherwise. That will give us some breathing space.”

  Nods and speculative expressions all around the table. Herald-Captain Kerowyn spoke up—and Talia noticed then with some amusement that in the brief time between when Court had been adjourned and the Council had been called, she had managed to change out of her despised “oh-shoot-me-now” Whites. “This is the time to use those night-message relays, Majesty,” she said. “Ancar will be sure to read the messages if we make certain that at least one of the towers ‘happens’ to reflect to the border when they relay on.” She grinned. “We can thank him for that much, at least. Companions and Heralds may be invaluable for carrying messages that are supposed to be secret, but the towers are unmatched for relaying anything you want your enemy to know.”

  “See to it,” Selenay said with a nod, and Kerowyn frowned with thought for a moment, then scribbled down the message she wanted relayed and handed it to one of the trainees to take outside.

  “Now, how can we use this situation to our best advantage?” the Queen continued. “We have the potential to gain a lot of time here, if we use it well.” She looked around the table at her Councillors for suggestions. And now the mood had changed, from one of apprehension to one of anticipation and hope.

  Talia relaxed further, and surreptitiously gave Selenay the sign that all was well.

  For the moment, at any rate. That was all that anyone could count on right now.

  Chapter Eleven

  Elspeth knew that Treyvan and Hydona had resigned themselves to some kind of stabling situation when they reached Haven. Instead, somewhat to their astonishment, the gryphons had been housed in the visiting dignitaries’ apartments just like the humans. Elspeth was pleased, but not completely surprised. She had recalled a set of two large rooms usually left empty, meant for receptions and the like. When the Seneschal had told her that the gryphons would be treated like any other diplomatic visitor and housed in the Palace, she thought of those two rooms. A question to the pages the next morning confirmed her guess was right. Those rooms were needed often enough that they remained ready and empty at all times; there was no reason why the gryphons couldn’t have them. To reach the second room, you had to go through the first, so the arrangement was perfect. The gryphlets could nest in the inner room, and the adults i
n the outer.

  Elspeth, Darkwind, and Firesong went straight to the reception rooms as soon as she confirmed the gryphons were there. The doors—double doors, like the ones in the Throne Room—were standing partially open, as if the gryphons were inviting visitors to come in. The room was completely empty, except for the lanterns on the wall and the adults’ nest. She had expected nests of hay and sticks, however, and was greatly surprised to find that instead they had built “nests” of piles of featherbeds, with tough wool blankets over them to save the beds from the punishing effects of sharp talons.

  “Featherbeds?” she asked, raising one eyebrow. “My—how luxurious!”

  “And why ssshould we make nessstsss of nassty sssticks when we may have sssoft pillowsss?” Treyvan asked genially, lounging at his ease along one side of the “nest.”

  “I have no idea,” she replied with a laugh that made the feather fastened prominently at the side of her head tremble. “I just wasn’t aware that featherbeds were part of a gryphon’s natural forests. No one ever told me that there were wild featherbed trees.”

  “And what made you think we werrre wild creaturesss?” Hydona put in, with a sly tilt of the head. “When have we everrr sssaid thisss?”

  “She has you there,” Darkwind pointed out. Firesong simply shook his head.

  “Do not come to me for answers,” the Healing Adept said. “What I do not know about gryphons is far more than what I do know! I cannot help you; for all that I know, they could nest in crystal spires, live upon pastries, and build those flying barges that we saw Kaled’a’in use—out of spiderwebs.”

  “We do not build the barrrgesss,” was all that Treyvan would say. “And you know well that we do not eat passstrriess! But thisss iss not to the point; what isss—we musst find sssomeone who knowsss what has been going on herrre sssince you left, featherrrlesss daughterrrr.” He gave her an opaque look. “Desspite that all ssseemsss quiet, it isss a quiet I did not trrrussst.”

  Somehow it didn’t surprise Elspeth to hear Treyvan call her that, as he called Darkwind “featherless son.” His sharp eyes had gone straight to the feather braided into her hair the moment she and Darkwind had entered the room. Although he had said nothing, she knew he knew what it meant. She felt warmth and pleasure at the gryphons’ approval. She had Starblade and Kethra’s approval of this liaison, but in many ways the gryphons were a second set of parents to her lover, and winning their approval as well made her spirits rise with a glow of accomplishment. That glow of accomplishment faded quickly, though. Treyvan was right. This was the calm before the storm, and there was no telling how long the calm would last. Days—weeks—or only candlemarks. Too soon, whenever the storm broke.

  “If there is anyone in this Kingdom who knows everything important, it’s Herald-Captain Kerowyn,” she said decisively. Of course Kero knew everything; she was in charge of Selenay’s personal spies, and she might have a good guess as to when this calm would end.

  “Now, we have two choices,” she continued. “We can bring her here or we can go to find her. The latter choice is not going to be quiet. Treyvan, you and Hydona are the most conspicuous members of this rather conspicuous group; would you rather we brought her to you, or would you rather that as many people saw you as possible?”

  “I would rather they stayed put,” came a clear, feminine voice from the door, “but that’s my choice, not theirs. On the other hand, here I am, so you don’t have to come looking for me.”

  Kerowyn pushed the door completely open and gazed on the lounging gryphons with great interest. “We can move elsewhere if you want,” she continued, looking into Treyvan’s golden gaze, “but there isn’t anywhere much more secure than this room, if you’re worried about prying eyes and nosy ears, if I may mix my metaphors.”

  It was Treyvan who answered. “Yesss, warrriorrr. I am trroubled with thosssse who may overrrhearrr. But I alssso wisssh to know why you wisssh usss to rrremain in ourr aerrrie. You do not trrussst usss, perrrhapsss?”

  Elspeth didn’t know if Kero could read gryphonic body language, but Treyvan was very suspicious. He did not know what Kero’s motives were, and he was not taking anything for granted. This set of rooms could easily turn into a prison.

  Kero laughed and entered the room, her boots making remarkably little noise on the granite floor. “Simple enough, good sir. You may have convinced the highborn, Heralds, and Companions that you’re relatively harmless, but you haven’t gotten to all the servants, and you’ll never convince some of the beasts. You go strolling about the grounds without giving me the chance to sweep them first, and you’ll panic a dozen gardeners, scare the manure out of most of the horses and donkeys, and cause every pampered lapdog that highborn girls are walking in the garden to keel over dead of fright. You don’t really want angry gardeners and weeping girls coming in here yapping at you, do you?”

  Treyvan snapped his beak mischievously. No matter how serious a situation was, he could find something amusing in it. “No,” he replied. “I think not.” Already he was relaxing; Kero had put him at his ease.

  “Excellent.” Kero was not in Whites—as usual. She wore riding leathers of a dusty brown, worn and comfortable, her long blonde hair in a single braid down her back. She turned to give Elspeth a long and considered appraisal, lingering over the new Whites. “Well, what is this all about?” she continued. “Trying to set new fashions?”

  Elspeth shrugged. “Whatever. I can promise you I can fight in them. Not that I expect anyone to be able to get close enough to me to have to deal with them hand-to-hand.”

  “Oh, really?” Kero turned away—then lunged, with no warning at all, not even by the tensing of a single muscle.

  But not unexpectedly; Elspeth had been her pupil for too long ever to be taken by surprise, especially after tossing out a challenge like that one. Instead, it was Kero who got the surprise, as Elspeth lashed out with a mage-born whip of power and knocked her feet out from under her. Kero went down onto the marble floor in a controlled tumble, and if Elspeth had not been as well-trained as she was, Kerowyn could have recovered for another try at her. But Elspeth was not going to give her that chance. She kept a “grip” on Kero’s ankles to keep her off her feet, then wrapped her up in an invisible binding. Kero did not resist, as most Valdemarans would have. Elspeth knew she had seen magic often enough when she led the Skybolts as a mercenary company in Rethwellan and southward. She simply waited, lying there passively, until Elspeth released her, then got to her feet, dusting off her hands on her breeches.

  “You’ll do,” was all she said, but Elspeth glowed from the compliment, and Darkwind winked at her.

  “And you have learned much of magic, lady,” Firesong observed. “Enough to know not to fight mage-bonds, which is far more than anyone else in this land would know. And I am curious to know how you came by this knowledge.”

  Kero gave Firesong a long and penetrating look; in his turn, he graced her with one of his most charming smiles. It would have taken a colder woman than Kero to ignore that smile; it would have taken a more powerful wizard than Firesong for that smile to affect her. But in the end, she decided to answer him.

  “Simple enough; I’m not from around here.” That was in Shin’a’in, not Valdemaran; Firesong’s eyes widened a trifle and he gave her a look full of respect. Kero looked around for somewhere to sit, and finally chose the side of the gryphons’ “nest” by default. “I was born and grew up in the south of Rethwellan. I was the granddaughter of a sorceress, trained by a Shin’a’in Swordsworn who was her partner, adopted as a Clan Friend to Tale’sedrin, then took a place in a mere company. Eventually I got the Captain slot, and circumstances brought us up here.” She shrugged. “We hired on because I knew Prince Daren, we both trained with the same Shin’a’in, and the Rethwellans owed the Valdemarans a debt that hadn’t been discharged. The Skybolts were part-payment on that debt. Never guessed when we came riding over those mountains down south, I’d lose all my mages and pick up a stubborn white t
alking horse.”

  :No more stubborn than you.:

  Every Mindspeaker in the room looked startled at that, with the sole exception of Kerowyn. She only sighed. “That was my Companion Sayvil,” she said, apologetically. “She can Mindspeak with anyone she pleases, and she won’t pretend otherwise like the rest of ’em. Next thing is I expect her to start Mindspeaking people without the Gift. She’s gotten worse about it lately.”

  :That’s because there’s been more need for it lately. And speaking of “Need”—:

  “I suppose the damn sword decided you didn’t deserve it or something?” Kero asked. “Or did you get fed up with it and drop it down a well like I threatened to do?”

  “She’s with Skif’s lady, Nyara,” Elspeth began, hesitantly addressing the air over Kero’s head. “That’s a long story and—”

  :You!: came another, and far more excited voice. From the other room bounded a startled kyree, trailed by the gryphlets.: You had Need! You! You must be the youngling trained by my famous cousin Warrl! Lady Tarma’s pupil! The one Lady Kethry gave Need to!:

  He bounded over and prostrated himself at her feet for a moment, in the kyree imitation of a courtly bow. :I have heard so much about you! My famous cousin Warrl said you were destined for greatness! You must tell me all of your life so that I may make it into stories!:

  All the time that Rris was chattering in open Mindspeech, Kero’s face had taken on an expression that Elspeth had never, ever expected to see.

  Completely blank, and slack-jawed. She was, quite clearly, taken utterly by surprise.

  She recovered fairly quickly, however. “I don’t believe this,” she said under her breath, as Rris finished and waited eagerly for her answer. “I mean—what are the odds? Who ever sees one kyree in a lifetime, much less two, and for the two to be related? I just don’t by-the-gods believe this!”

  Rris took on an air of extreme dignity, and fixed Kero with an admonishing gaze. My famous cousin Warrl used to say that there is no such thing as coincidence, only mortals who have not fought the winds of fate.: