Winds Of Fate v(mw-1

  Winds Of Fate

  ( Valdemar (08): Mage Winds - 1 )

  Mercedes Lackey

  Since Herald Vanyel's time, all forms of magic, except for Mind magic, ceased to exsist in Valdemar's borders. A mage couldn't even go into Valdemar before he was driven out because of the unseen "eyes" watching him or her. But now, magic is slowly coming back and Ancar, an evil bloodpath-mage from Hardorn knows it. Elspeth, Herald and Heir to the throne of Valdemar, must take up the task and go to seek outside help. She becomes bound to Kerowyn's Sword Need and through Elspeth, the Sword "awakens." and tells her story. Elspeth and Skif set off to go to Kethry and Tarma's Mage schools that are in Tale'sedrin. We are introduced to another main character, Darkwind k'Sheyna who is a Tayledras and a Mage. These are troubled times for his clas an well because their HeartStone went rogue, killing half the mages holding a Gate open and destroying the Gate, leaving half the clan somewhere out beyond their reach. Darkwind's father has changed and his mother was killed, so he vowed not to be a mage anymore. During this book, Elspeth's and Darkwind's paths meet and they decide they need to help eachother, for a dark and mysterious mage is trying to destroy the k'Sheyna Vale. It is left up to Darkwind to take up his dormant powers and train Elspeth in becoming the First Herald-Mag since Vanyel Ashkevron's time.

  Winds of Fate

  By: Mercedes Lackey

  Dedicated to the memory of Donald A. Wollheim A gentleman and a scholar

  Prologue The Legend"

  Long ago, in the days of the first King, for whom the Kingdom of Valdemar is named, it came to the King that he was growing old. Now Valdemar had led his people out of the hands of a tyrannical monarch and had no wish to see them fall again into the hands of tyranny. He knew that his son and Heir was a worthy, honest man-but what of his son's sons, and theirs?

  He longed for a way to determine who would be a worthy successor to the throne, so that Valdemar the kingdom need never become less free than it was at that moment.

  So he went into the fields and gardens beside the Palace, alone, and wrought what was half a prayer and half a spell, begging all benign Powers for their aid in this desire of his.

  And as the last rays of the sun died from the sky, there was a mighty wind, and a shaking of the ground, and out of the grove of trees before him came a being like unto a white horse. And it spoke into his mind-Then came a second, and a third, and before Valdemar could think to question why these came, his own son and his chief herald came to the place as if they had been called. And these two beings spoke into their minds, also, saying "I Choose you." So did the king know then that these Companions would choose only worthy folk to bear them company, for all their lives-and that these folk would be the instrument of justice and honor for all of the Kingdom from this moment. So did he name those Chosen by Companions to be Heralds, for only one could be a Monarch, and only one could be the Heir, but all could aspire to be a Herald. And he had made for them clothing of white, like the coats of their Companions, so that all might know them at a distance, or in a crowd; and he decreed then that only a Herald could be the Heir or the Monarch. And he decreed that there should be one Herald always to advise and serve and befriend the Monarch, so that his decisions be tempered with another view, and that Herald was to be called the Monarch's Own.

  So it was. And so Valdemar has prospered. The Heralds increased, and the Monarch's justice spread.

  The Chronicles"

  In the first year of Herald Talia's investiture as full Queen's Own, Prince Ancar of Hardorn slew his father and all his father's men in a bloody and successful attempt to take the throne. He slew also Herald Kris who was there as ambassador on behalf of Queen Selenay, and imprisoned and tortured Herald Talia who was with him. She was rescued, out of all expectations, by the power of Herald Dirk, the young Heir Elspeth, and all the Companions together. Such a thing had never been known before, that the Companions would all add their strength to the Heralds to accomplish a task.

  Ancar then made a trial of the strength of Valdemar, using both magic and his private army, but he was thrown back.

  Some two years later, he made trial of the borders again. This time he was beaten back by the combined forces of the mercenary Company the Skybolts, under Captain Kerowyn; the armies of Valdemar; and the army of Rethwellan under Lord-Martial Prince Daren, who had come in answer to a promise of aid long forgotten. In the heat of the battle, the Prince and the Captain lost their horses and were both Chosen-and the Prince and Queen were taken with a lifebonding, a circumstance that both pleased and disturbed many.

  Our ancient enemy, Karse, remains quiet, for Karse is beset with internal troubles. Ancar makes incursions on the Border from time to thing but feints, however.

  So it has been to this day, some s years from the last battle, when the events occurred that I now relate...

  Herald-Chronicler Myste PCHAPTER One ELSPETH

  '"But-," Elspeth protested weakly. The empty salle echoed back her words faintly. She stared at Herald Kerowyn and tried to make some sense of what she'd just been ordered to do. Repair armor? Why should I repair armor? I don't even know the first thing about repairing armor! And what does that have to do with anything? She sat down, her arms sagging beneath the weight of a set of worn-out leather practice armor, a set long past its useful lifespan, and smelling faintly of sweat, leather-oil, and dust. "But I-"

  "You know leatherwork, don't you?" Kerowyn asked, her generous mouth twitching as if she were trying not to laugh. Elspeth squirmed uncomfortably on the wooden bench, feeling very much like a tiny brown mouse facing a bored cat.

  "Yes, but-" You've seen me and Alberich repair armor before, haven't you?" the mercenary-captain-turned-Herald continued with patient logic, arms folded across her chest. Elspeth looked from Kerowyn's weather-tanned face to the dust motes dancing in the sunlight to the whitewashed walls of the salle in hope of finding an answer.

  She was unable to come up with one. She'd been put directly under Kerowyn's command this week, in lieu of the "usual" duties of a Herald. Those "usual" duties-riding circuit on a Sector, acting as lawbringer, occasional judge, paramilitary advisor, and general troubleshooterbrought a Herald into areas of significant risk-risk the Council was not willing to take with the Heir to the Throne.

  So her assigned duty at the moment consisted of doing whatever Herald Kerowyn told her to do. She'd assumed her tasks would be things like acting as an assistant trainer, perhaps. Learning command tactics.

  Perhaps even acting as liaison between Kerowyn's mercenary Company and the Council.

  Especially since the Council members still weren't certain what to do with a mercenary Captain who was also a Herald.

  These were all things she knew how to do-or at least make a start on. After all, those were the kinds of things Heralds were supposed to do. They were not supposed to be repairing armor.

  "Yes, but-" she repeated weakly, not knowing what else to say.

  "You don't happen to think you're too good to repair armor..." Kerowyn's tone held a certain silky menace that told Elspeth that someone had given Herald Kerowyn chapter and verse on the ill-tempered Royal Brat. Of course, the Brat was a phase she had long ago outgrown, but some people couldn't seem to forget that stage of her life.

  "No!" she said hastily. "But-"

  "But why do I want you to repair armor-especially when it's someone else's job?" Kerowyn unbent enough to smile and shifted her weight to her right foot. "Let's play 'just suppose' for a moment. Let's suppose you are-for some reason-out in the back of beyond. Not even alone.

  We could have a situation like the one that brought me up here in the first place-where you're with a fighting force, maybe even in command, but there aren't any armorers around." She gestu
red at the pile of leather in Elspeth's arms. "Your gear gets damaged, and there's nobody free to fix it. What are you going to do, wear something with a weak spot and hope nobody notices? Hope you can find somebody to fix it before the next engagement?"

  "Did you ever have to fix your own gear?" Elspeth countered. She had so been looking forward to a free afternoon.

  "I assume you mean after I made Captain?" The Herald laughed out loud, displaying a fine set of strong, white teeth. "My dear child, the Skybolts were so badly off that first year that I helped make armor. And arrows and lances and even some horse-gear. No, dear, you aren't going to wiggle out of this one. Leather armor isn't that hard to repair; merely time-consuming. So I suggest you get to it. As for how, you take apart everything that doesn't look solid and replace it." The former-and currentCaptain of "Kerowyn's Skybolts" nodded her blonde head emphatically and turned away toward the heap of practice armor that had been tossed into the "needs repair" pile.

  Resigned to the situation, Elspeth watched Kero toss her blonde braid over her shoulder, thought of her own dull brown hair, and sighed a little enviously. If I weren't the Heir, nobody would ever pay any attention to my looks. Mother is gorgeous, the twins are adorable, my stepfather is the handsomest man at Court-and I'm the little brown sparrow. why couldn't I have been born looking like her?

  Kerowyn was certainly an amazing person. Lithe, strong, and with a face even her critics had to call "striking," she would have had dozens of suitors if it hadn't been for the fact that she and Herald Eldan discouraged even the most persistent with their devotion to one another.

  The Captain had been blessed with a head of hair as bright as newminted gold and thick as a horse's tail. And despite the fact that she was literally old enough to be Elspeth's mother, it showed no sign of graying.

  Whatever Kerowyn's past life had been like, it had left no outward marks on her. And from the stories Kero had told over the past few years, she'd been through enough to gray the hair of four women.

  For that matter, her present was just as hectic, and it hadn't left that much of a mark on her. She juggled two dedications, Herald and mercenary Captain, either one of which would have been a full-time career for anyone else.

  And there are plenty of folk who think she should stick to one or the other... Elspeth smiled to herself. Those were the same folk who were mightily annoyed that the Herald Captain wouldn't wear Whites unless it was ordered by the Queen herself. She compromised-if one could call it that-by wearing the same kind of dark gray leathers the Weaponsmaster favored. And the Queen smiled and held her peace. Like Alberich, Kerowyn was a law unto herself.

  "Besides, you have all the resources of the armory at your disposal," Kerowyn said over her shoulder, as she hefted another corselet in need of repair-this one of metal scale, a mending task Elspeth didn't even want to think about. "You wouldn't have that in the field. Be grateful I don't demand that you fix it with what folks carry in their field kits." Elspeth bit back a retort and spread the shirt out over the bench she was sitting on, giving the armor the kind of careful scrutiny she imagined Kero must have.

  Well, it isn't as bad as I thought, she decided, after a second examination proved that some of the worst places had already been repaired.

  Evidently the Captain had taken that much pity on her...She bent to her task, determined to make as good a job of it as Kerowyn would.

  Her determination did not last more than a few moments.

  Someone distracted her as soon as she turned her attention to a tricky bit of stitchery that had to be picked out without ruining the leather. A whisper of air was all that warned her of the attacker's rush-but that was all the warning she needed. What Weaponsmaster Alberich had not pounded into her, the Herald Captain was making certain she learned, and in quick-time, too. And Kerowyn was a past master of the unconventional.

  :Gwena!: she screamed mentally, as she acted on what had become reflex. She tumbled off her bench, hit the hard wooden floor with her shoulder, and rolled. She came up on the balls of her feet, poised and ready, the tiny knife she'd been using to cut the stitches still in her hand. Her heart pounded, but from battle-readiness, not fear.

  She found herself facing someone who had recovered just as rapidly as she had; he stood in a near-identical pose on the opposite side of the bench, and she sized him up quickly. Taller and heavier than she, an anonymous male, in nondescript clothing, his face wrapped in a scarf and head covered with a tight hood, so that all she could see were his wary eyes.

  A thousand fleeting thoughts passed through her mind in that moment of analysis. Uppermost was a second mental scream for help to her Companion Gwena. Hard on the heels of that was the sudden question: Why doesn't Kero do anything? She glanced out of the corner of her eye. The Captain stood with arms crossed, watching both of them, no discernible expression on her handsome face.

  The obvious answer was implied by the question. Because she was expecting this.

  And because Kerowyn was a Herald and her Companion Sayvil would never permit her to betray another, and further, because Elspeth's own Companion Gwena was not beating down the doors of the salle to get in and help her stand off this attacker, it followed that the "assassin" was nothing of the sort.

  Her heart slowed a little, and she dared a mental touch. Nothing: her assailant was shielded. Which meant he knew how to guard his thoughts, which only another Mindspeaker could do.

  And a closer look at the bright brown eyes, and the additional clue of a curl of black hair showing outside the assailant's hood gave her all the information she needed to identify him.

  " Skif," she said flatly, relaxing a little.

  "Good girl," came the voice in her mind. "I told Sayvil you'd figure this out before it got anywhere, but she didn't believe me." She shifted her gaze over to Kerowyn, though without taking Skif out of her line of sight. "This was a setup, wasn't it?" she asked the older woman. "You never really intended for me to fix that armor." Kero shrugged, not at all discomfited. "Hell, yes, I did. And tomorrow, you will. But I also intended for you to figure out that you could," she temporized as Skif relaxed minutely. "That's a good thing for you to know if you're ever in the situation I described. If you don't know you can do something, it doesn't occur to you as an option. But don't relax," her voice sharpened as Skif started to come out of his crouch and Elspeth followed suit. "Just because you've identified him, that doesn't mean that the rest of the exercise is canceled. Take it up where you left off."

  "With this?" Elspeth looked doubtfully at the tiny knife in her hand.

  "With that-and anything else you can get your hands on. There're hundreds of things you can use in here, including that bench." Kerowyn frowned slightly. "Anything can be a weapon, child. It's time you learned to improvise." Kerowyn did not have to outline the reasons for that statement; even if the current interkingdom situation had been full of light and harmony, there would always be the risk of someone with a grudge or grievance-or even a simple lunatic-who would be willing to risk his life to assassinate the next in line to the throne of Valdemar.

  And with at least two enemies on the borders, Hardorn and Karse, the political situation was far from harmonious.

  Still-Anything can be a weapon? what on earth is she talking about?

  But she didn't have time to question the statement in detail. Elspeth went back on guard just in time to dodge Skif's rush for her.

  She sidestepped him and reversed the knife, not wanting to really hurt him, and feinted for his eyes with the wooden hilt. He recognized the feint for what it was and ignored it, Coming in to grapple with her. SO far he hadn't produced any weapons of his own.

  So his "orders" must be to capture rather than to kill. That makes my job easier and his harder...Relatively easier. Skif had learned his hand-to-hand skills in the rough world of Haven's slums. Even the capital of Valdemar was prone to the twin problems of crime and poverty, and young Skif had been the godchild of both. Orphaned early, he had apprenticed himself to a
thieving uncle, and when that worthy was caught, set up shop on his own. Probably only being Chosen had saved him from hanging like his uncle-or death at the hands of a competitor, like his mother.

  His "style" was a mixture of disciplines-a kind of catch-all, "anything that works," devious, dirty, and deadly. The Queen's Own Herald, Talia, had learned quite a bit from him, but no one had ever thought to have him teach Elspeth as well. At least-not that. He had taught her knife throwing, which had saved her life and Talia's, but even Queen Selenay had been horrified a few short years ago at the notion of her Heir learning street-fighting. Elspeth had begged but to no avail.

  Many things had changed in those few years. Among them, the arrival of Kerowyn, who had sent one of her commandos to prove to Selenay that she and her daughter needed the kind of protection only instruction in the lowest forms of fighting could provide. Alberich undertook the Queen's instruction; Kero and Skif got Elspeth's. The lessons were frequently painful.

  Dirk's taught me a thing or two since the last lesson- she told herself as she circled him warily, testing her footing as she watched his eyes. and I bet neither of them knows that.