Winds of Fury

by Mercedes Lackey

  Dawnfire was joined by Tre’valen; a pair of graceful forms of gold and blue, with whitely glowing eyes. This time they had both appeared as hawks of flame, rather than in human form. An’desha found their chosen forms oddly comforting, for they were very clearly vorcel-hawks, and they made him think of home every time he saw them.

  :Excellent!: Tre’valen applauded, and An’desha flushed with pride. :Open your thoughts to us, little one, and we shall search through those new memories of yours. Then tell us what else you have learned as we sort them through.:

  That was done quickly; it was a pity there was so little of substance in the memories. This time An’desha had gotten access to the sculpting and training of Falconsbane’s daughter Nyara. He could not think of Nyara as his daughter; he had not engendered her, and he certainly had nothing to do with her upbringing. He did, however, feel a kinship to her. It seemed to him that they were siblings of a kind; they had both suffered from Falconsbane’s whims, and in similar ways. He could empathize and sympathize with her as no one else could.

  But the Avatars found more of interest in those pain-filled memories than he had thought they would. :Oh, this is excellent,: Tre’valen applauded. :We shall be able to help Nyara with this. She will never look entirely human again, but there is much that can be undone, now that we know how it was wrought upon her.:

  He hadn’t thought of that! The thought that he might be able to help Nyara, even a little, gave him a great deal of pleasure. There was so little he had been able to do for her, and nothing to save her.

  :Falconsbane now moves about the court freely,: he reported, as Dawnfire and Tre’valen sorted through the memories they had taken from him. :He does little but observes much, and I am able to watch what he thinks.: For all of his myriad faults, Falconsbane was no fool, and his observations were always worth making note of. :He has concluded that Ancar is something of a younger, much clumsier, and stupider version of himself. Ancar rules as he did, by fear. Other than those he thinks are valuable, which are mostly great nobles, no one is truly safe from Ancar’s mages or his magic.:

  Tre’valen turned his burning white eyes on An’desha. Strange, how he had no trouble telling the two Avatars apart. :Why is it that Ancar does not molest his great nobles?: the shaman-Avatar asked sharply.

  :I can only tell you what Falconsbane thinks,: he said hesitantly. :The Adept believes that Ancar himself does not know. He thinks in part that Ancar still fears the power those nobles hold, even though he could eliminate them if he chose—it is a fear from the time when he was still the Prince and had little power but that which he stole. And he believes that in part it is because most of them are still his allies, and he knows that if he betrays them, no one will trust him.: He hesitated again, then added, :And Falconsbane thinks he is a fool; if he fears the power of these nobles, he should eliminate them quietly in ways that seem accidental. This is what he would do.:

  Dawnfire’s form writhed and distorted. Somehow I am not surprised,: she commented.

  An’desha continued. :He sees that this is how he himself ruled, but he feels that Ancar is being extremely stupid about it. While Falconsbane could have conquered every one of his own underlings, singly or together, if they had chosen to revolt, he would have had sabotage in place already to destroy them and all they held dear. Ancar would not be able to muster a sufficient defense if all of his underlings attacked at once. So he thinks that Ancar is being very foolhardy.:

  Indeed, Falconsbane’s thoughts had been far more contemptuous than that. He felt Ancar should eliminate every risk, and saw his failure to do so as a sign of weakness. An’desha had not been so certain. It seemed to him, after watching Ancar among his courtiers, that the young King felt as long as he kept the threat of retaliation before his underlings, but only made examples of those few he did not need, he would succeed. People were often like rabbits; frighten them, and their minds ceased to work. And An’desha was by no means as certain as Falconsbane that the Adept could have taken all of his underlings if they had chosen to mass against him. Look what one broken Clan, a pair of gryphons, a couple of Outlanders, and his own daughter had managed to do! Twice, it had only been the intervention of the Goddess and her Avatars that had saved him! No, another sign of the damaged state of Falconsbane’s mind was this insane overconfidence, this surety that if only Ancar released the coercions, Mornelithe Falconsbane could conquer any obstacle.

  Not that he was aware of what the Goddess had done, nor the gaps in his own reasoning, which surely was the cause for his own foolish bravado.

  :You have learned much of this Court. What of Ancar’s mages?: Tre’valen asked. :How do they judge their master? Is there any likelihood they will rise up?:

  An’desha considered the question carefully. :Hulda is the most powerful,: he said at last. :She seems to think that Ancar will never escape her influence, and does not realize that he already has done so. The other mages have a hierarchy of their own—the most powerful is a Blood Mountain sorcerer, Pires Nieth. Falconsbane believes that one has ambitions to rule, himself. He comes of a noble family, possibly is of royal blood by bastardy. Falconsbane thinks that if Hulda and Ancar were both to fall, Pires would attempt to seize the throne for himself. But he is only a Master, and not as learned or powerful even as Ancar, and although he rules the other mages, he lives in fear of both Ancar and Hulda.:

  The Avatars communed silently with each other for a moment; the flames danced and hissed about their fire-winged forms. :Would he intrigue, do you think?: Dawnfire asked. :If you revealed yourself to him, could he be counted upon to help you and aid you in getting rid of Falconsbane?:

  An’desha hesitated, then replied, :I do not know. Falconsbane considered him as a possible ally against Ancar. The Adept would not trust him, so how could we?:

  Tre’valen nodded. :A good point.:

  :Besides,: An’desha continued, :He is a blood-path mage. Ancar will have none about him who are not blood-path mages. These men—they are all men, but Hulda—are evil, foul, and the only reason they are not as foul as Falconsbane himself is because they have fewer years, less power, and less imagination. Willing sacrifice is one thing—:

  :You have no argument from me, youngling,: Tre’valen said, hastily. : You are right; we cannot trust or foster blood-path mages. It would be obscene.:

  An’desha wished he had some way to make notes of what he wished to tell the Avatars; he always had the feeling he was going to forget something important!

  :There is only one other thing,: he said finally. :Falconsbane would never do anything to aid either Hulda or Ancar because he hates them both, so he is fostering the friction between them. I have been trying to make him think this is a good idea. Am I doing rightly?:

  This time Tre’valen chuckled. :Anything you can do to bring confusion to this nest of kresh’ta will be welcome, youngling. You are doing rightly, indeed.:

  The fire popped loudly, and Falconsbane stirred uneasily. He was about to wake.

  :Farewell!: Dawnfire said hastily—

  —and the Avatars were gone, in the space of an eyeblink.

  An’desha withdrew as well, to watch and wait.

  Falconsbane stirred as the fire popped again, sending a coal onto the hearth. He opened his eyes, and the coal glared at him from the hearthstone, a baleful fiery eye. He was vaguely aware that there had been something else that had disturbed his sleep but was unable to identify it.

  With what had become a habit, he cursed his captor for the clumsy, too-restrictive spells that were making it harder and harder to think or react properly. If that idiot Ancar were only half the mage he thought he was—!

  And as if the thought had summoned him, footsteps in the hall heralded Ancar’s arrival.

  As usual, he burst through the door with no warning and no consideration, as if Falconsbane, like the rooms themselves, was his own personal property. And as usual, he squinted against the perpetual darkness that Falconsbane cloaked himself and his apartment in, a darkness
that Falconsbane enhanced with a touch of magery. If the little brat could not learn to announce himself, then Falconsbane would not make it easy for him to fling himself into the suite at will!

  “Falconsbane?” Ancar said, peering around the room, and looking, as usual, for a form in one of the hearthside chairs. “Ah—there you are!”

  Mornelithe sighed, as Ancar flung himself into the other chair. At least the child didn’t have the nerve to order him to stand! “I am very fatigued, Majesty,” he said, making no effort to mask the boredom in his voice. “What is it that you require of me this time? I fear that no matter what it is, I have little energy to spare for it.”

  In fact, he was lying; after disposing of a pair of Ancar’s political prisoners, he was very nearly at full strength. Granted, he did seem to be sleeping a great deal, but that could be accounted for by the damages he had taken and the coercions he was under. Those things affected the mind and the body, and he did not wish to spare the energy needed to fight the coercions when he might use that same energy to break Ancar.

  So far as pure mage-energy, rather than physical energy, was concerned, he felt confident that there was very little he couldn’t do—if he had not been so hedged about with Ancar’s controlling spells.

  But he was certainly not going to tell Ancar that.

  “I just received word from the border with Valdemar,” Ancar blurted, in a state of high excitement. Falconsbane was taken aback by the level of that excitement, the tight anticipation in Ancar’s voice. The youngster was as taut as a harpstring! “The barrier against magic is gone! I am calling a council of mages; how long until you to feel up to joining it?”

  Gone? That unbreakable, stubborn barrier was gone? Falconsbane’s interest stirred, in spite of himself, and his attempt to maintain a pose of indifference and exhaustion. “Not long, a matter of moments—” he began, cautiously, trying to collect his thoughts.

  “Good. Come along, then. The walk will wake you up.” Ancar sprang to his feet, and Falconsbane fought being pulled out of his chair. Not physically, but via magic, as the young King used his spells to attempt to make Mornelithe rise and follow him. Both the exercise of the coercions and Falconsbane’s resistance were automatic. Like the response of a plant to light, or the strike of a snake at prey.

  Then he abandoned his struggle, and permitted the King to force his reluctant body to obey. After all, what was the point? He wasted more energy in fighting than he could really afford, and there was no telling when Ancar might send him another prisoner. At the moment Ancar was so wrought up by the news from the border that he wasn’t paying a great deal of attention to anything else anyway. Falconsbane wasn’t going to make a point of resisting if the King didn’t even notice what he was doing.

  As they left Mornelithe’s rooms, three pairs of guards that had been waiting on either side of the door fell in behind them. The Adept raised a purely mental eyebrow at that. Evidently either Ancar feared attack in his own halls, or else he was not taking any chances on Falconsbane’s willingness to come to this “council” of his.

  Interesting, in either case. Could it be that he sensed his own coercions weakening, and now was ensuring his captive’s compliance with more physical and tangible means?

  Ancar led the way out of the guest quarters and down a staircase into a series of dark, stone-faced halls in a direction Falconsbane had never taken. There were no servants about, but several times Falconsbane thought he smelled the scent of cooking food wafting down from above. It must be nearly dinner time, then, and not as late as he had thought.

  Finally, Ancar stopped and stood aside while one of his guards opened a perfectly ordinary wooden door, revealing a room that was not ordinary at all.

  It was swathed from ceiling to floor in curtains of red satin, and the only furniture in it was a single, large table, with a thronelike chair at one end (currently empty) and several more well-padded chairs on the other three sides. One of those chairs, the one at the throne’s right hand, stood empty.

  Hulda, looking extremely alert, impeccably and modestly gowned, and without any trace of the sullen sensuality she normally displayed, sat to the throne’s immediate left. Her violet eyes fastened on Ancar and Falconsbane, and her lips tightened slightly. More people—all male, mostly the same age as Ancar, and presumably some of his best mages—occupied the other chairs. Most of them Falconsbane recognized; others he had never seen before. All of them wore the same expression of baffled and puzzled excitement, mixed, in varying degrees, with apprehension.

  Ancar went straight to the throne and sat down, leaving Falconsbane to make his own way to the sole remaining seat and take it. He did so, taking his time, cloaking his displeasure in immense dignity, wondering if that right-hand seat had been left vacant at Ancar’s orders, or not, and what it might mean that it had been left unoccupied. Was it simply that no one else wished to be that close to Ancar, or was Ancar giving a silent but unmistakable sign of Falconsbane’s status among the mages by ordering it to stand empty until the Adept arrived?

  Ample illumination came from mage-lights hovering above the table; a frivolous display by Falconsbane’s reckoning, but there were a few of Ancar’s mages who were fairly useless, and could easily be spared to maintain them. It did eliminate the need for servants to come in and tend candles or lanterns, and if this chamber was used for magical purposes, it was best that only a few people ever had access to it. Ancar waited until Falconsbane had taken his seat, and complete silence fell across the table. There was not so much as a whisper.

  He did not stand, but he held all eyes. He waited a moment longer, while the silence thickened, and then broke it.

  “I have heard from my mages in the West. The barrier that prevents magic from passing the border with Valdemar is down,” he said, his voice tense with excitement and anticipation. “It appears to be gone completely. My mages at the border assure me that we can attack at will.”

  From the stunned looks on the faces of every other mage, including Hulda, Falconsbane concluded that he was the only one besides Ancar to whom this did not come as a revelation. There was a moment more of silence, then all of them tried to speak at once. Hulda was the only one that maintained a semblance of calm; the rest gestured, shouted, even leapt to their feet in an effort to be heard.

  The cacophony was deafening, and Falconsbane gave up on trying to understand a single word. Ancar watched all of his mages striving for his attention, each one doing anything short of murder in order to have his say, and the King’s face wore a tiny smile of satisfaction. He was enjoying this; enjoying both the fact that the barrier was down and his will would no longer be thwarted, and enjoying being the center of attention.

  Then he held up his hand, and the clamor stopped as suddenly as it had started. His smile broadened, and Falconsbane suppressed a flicker of contempt. Pathetic puppy.

  He pointed at Hulda, who alone had not contributed to the clamor. She frowned at him, presumably at being designated to speak with such casual disregard for her importance. But that didn’t prevent her from speaking up immediately.

  “We should be careful,” she said, looking cool, intelligent, and businesslike. “We should test the waters first, many, many times, before we even make any plans to attack, much less mount an actual attack. We don’t know how or why this happened, but in my opinion, this is very likely to be a trap. Every weakness we have seen in the past has proved to be a trap, and if the pattern holds, this will be as well. The Valdemarans are treacherous and tricky, and this could be just one more trick in a long history of such things. It would be only too easy for them to lure us across their border, then close the jaws of such a trap on us.” She shrugged. “They’ve done so often enough, and they’ve eaten away at our strength while losing little of their own.”

  Falconsbane smiled, but only to himself, at the idea of Hulda calling anyone “treacherous and tricky.” Then again, it took a traitor to recognize one.

  “Precisely!” the mage Pires Nieth
cried out before Ancar could designate another to speak. He jumped to his feet, his disheveled hair and beard standing out from his face, making him look like an animal suddenly awakened from a long winter’s sleep. “Hulda is right! That was exactly what I wished to say! This requires extreme caution; the Valdemarans have tricked us before by pretending to know nothing of magic, yet turning it on our own troops, and—”

  The clamor broke out again, but from what Falconsbane could make out, the consensus was that all of the mages were for caution. Interesting, since from what he had observed, the mages were usually divided on any given subject except when Ancar had previously expressed his own opinion. And from the faint frown on Ancar’s face, this did not suit his intentions at all. But there were also signs of hesitation there. Falconsbane guessed that this was an old argument, and that it was one those in favor of caution generally won.

  As they babbled on, each one more vehement than the last in urging restraint, Falconsbane analyzed his observations and began to formulate a plan. One thing in particular surprised him, and that was the reaction of Ancar’s mages. Apparently, whatever had brought this “barrier” down, it was none of their doing. And what truly amazed him was that none of them had the audacity or the brains to claim that it was!

  Well, if they would not, Falconsbane would make up for their lack of will and wit. This was another opportunity to impress on Ancar what he could do—and imply he might be able to accomplish far more, if given a free hand. Perhaps this time Ancar might be impressed enough to actually do something.

  He let the other mages talk themselves into a standstill, while Ancar’s frown deepened, until they began to notice his patent disapproval of their advice. The voices faded, and finally died altogether, leaving an ominous silence. Not even the curtains moved.

  Into this silence, Falconsbane dropped his words, cool stones into a waiting pool.