Owlflight v(dt-1 Read online

  She laughed. “Big, brave Tayledras warrior worried about a little boy’s nightmares?”

  “Big, brave Tayledras warrior needs his sleep, or. he isn’t going to be much good at protecting annoying little Kaled’a’in trondi’irn,” he growled, cracking open an eye to see which side of her was uppermost, and smacking her on the rump when he had a target.

  That, of course, led to her rolling him into the water, and him pulling her in, and a conversation that had nothing whatsoever to do with Darian, Kelvren, or wyrsa.

  Darian woke screaming from a nightmare of fire, to find a sleepy, yawning Snowfire kneeling at his pallet, shaking him gently. “Easy, Dar’ian,” the Hawkbrother was saying, as if he had been saying the words over and over for some time. “It’s all right; you’re just dreaming. Wake up, little brother - “

  There was a lot of light around; where was it coming from? “I’m - awake,” Darian said, feeling dazed and confused, and still full of a sourceless grief and fear. “I’m awake - “

  “Good.” Snowfire smiled, but he had to put up a hand to cover his mouth as it turned-into a yawn. That was when Darian saw the source of the illumination, after Snowfire moved. There was a very dim globe of light hovering just at Snowfire’s shoulder, and Darian stared at it, distracted for a moment. It startled him, but Snowfire didn’t act as if it was something strange.

  “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to it.

  “My mage-light,” the Hawkbrother replied casually, as if he conjured such things all the time. Perhaps he did - and Darian just hadn’t been awake at the right time to see them. He had been so exhausted these last couple of days that he went to sleep almost as soon as the sun went down. “Would you like it a little brighter?” A heartbeat later, the glow intensified a measurable degree.

  “You can make those?” he said, staring at it. “Really? Justyn couldn’t - “

  Then all at once, as the sound of his own voice screaming Justyn’s name echoed in his memory, his fear and grief had a source; his throat closed up, and he fought back tears. A man shouldn’t cry; tears were useless. They hadn’t brought back his parents, had they? “Justyn’s dead, isn’t he?” he whispered, closing his eyes to hide the pain. “He’s really dead.”

  “Yes, little brother, he is,” Snowfire replied quietly, with an odd inflection in his voice. Darian opened his eyes, to see the Hawkbrother looking down at him with - what? Pity? Understanding? He couldn’t tell; he hadn’t seen anyone in Errold’s Grove wearing either expression around him.

  Just then, over on the other side of the hut, Wintersky snorted in his sleep, turned over, and mumbled. That seemed to make up Snowfire’s mind about something.

  “Here,” he said, getting to his feet, and holding out his hand. “We shouldn’t wake Wintersky, and I don’t think you’ll be getting back to sleep soon, so let’s go for a walk.”

  Darian hesitantly accepted the outstretched hand; Snowfire pulled him to his feet, then turned toward Hweel’s perch and held out his arm to the huge owl. He wasn’t wearing his arm-guard, and Darian gasped and winced as Hweel stepped onto the bare flesh - but the owl barely closed his feet around the arm and half-spread his wings to keep his balance instead of maintaining it by gripping the arm.

  Snowfire turned to give him a reassuring smile. “Remember, Hweel isn’t an ordinary owl; I’m only going to take him outside to let him step up onto the roof. He can be very soft-footed when he needs to be for me.”

  Yes, but if he gets unbalanced and can’t save himself, he may forget what’s under those talons - Mindful of that possibility, Darian stepped in front of Snowfire and held the curtain of vines aside so that the Hawkbrother wouldn’t have to juggle vines and owl at the same time. With a nod of thanks, Snowfire stepped out into the night, with the mage-light trailing at his shoulder. Darian followed him.

  Once outside, Snowfire raised his arm just enough that Hweel could move onto the end of an exposed roof-beam. Hweel stepped off his arm carefully, settled his feathers, looked all around, in that bizarre way only owls could. His head went nearly all the way around, then he settled on a direction, crouched down, and pushed off, flapping hard, vanishing silently into the darkness. Snowfire turned, just as silently, and after a backward glance at Darian, walked slowly along the path.

  After a breath of hesitation, Darian caught up with him. Wintersky had given him what he called “sleeping clothes” - that was a new idea to Darian, who generally slept in that day’s shirt and put on a clean one in the morning, but he’d obediently changed into the odd garments every night. He saw now that Snowfire wore very similar clothing; a draped, pullover shut of some light, loosely-woven, cool material, and drawstring trousers gathered at the ankle made of the same stuff. Darian felt a little like a ghost, walking barefoot through the sleeping camp in the pale garments.

  Ghosts . . . how many ghosts haunted Errold’s Grove now? One, at least. Or would Justyn have stayed to haunt the place?

  “What are you thinking?” Snowfire asked quietly, hardly above a whisper.

  “I was thinking - about Justyn,” he replied, feeling sorrow again rise to close his throat.

  “I think that he must have been a very good and brave man,” came the quiet reply. “People of his sort do not need to linger, haunting their old homes; ghosts are those who left things undone, and I cannot think he left anything undone that truly needed doing.”

  “Where - “ He couldn’t manage anything more.

  But Snowfire must have guessed his question. “Having had no personal experience of one who has gone, I cannot give you firsthand evidence,” he replied, as one hand somehow came to rest on Darian’s shoulder as a comforting weight. “But - well, I know enough folk who have, whose word I trust, to make me certain that we do not simply cease to be. But as for the nature of the path he took, the faith we Tayledras profess tells us that each path is different, according to the belief and the nature of the one who takes it.” He paused. “I am not certain what your people believe, but would you care to hear what one who had been a Herald supposedly told one of my people?”

  “I - yes,” Darian said, after a moment. One who had been a Herald? But Heralds don’t quit being Heralds, so -

  “He said, or so I was told,” Snowfire replied, interrupting Darian’s thoughts, “that when a Herald dies, he is given three choices. One is that he may return again as a Herald-to-be, the second that he return as a Companion, and the third is that he have some time in a place where all his desires are granted. I suspect that your teacher has been given the same choices.”

  Darian blinked as his eyes blurred, and felt tears coursing down his cheeks. “I hope - I hope whatever he picked, he got a lot of magic!” he choked.

  Snowfire’s hand closed briefly on his shoulder. “I think that he must,” the Hawkbrother replied. “In fact, I cannot imagine anything else.”

  That was too much for Darian, and he lost his last shreds of control. He stumbled, and started to sob, and found Snowfire holding him just the same way as his father used to when some childish grief overcame him. Darian forgot that he was supposed to be a man, forgot that men didn’t cry - forgot everything except that he had failed to help Justyn, he had failed to help bis father and mother, and now they were all dead and he was utterly alone.

  He cried silently as he had learned to do since his parents’ death, sobs shaking his frame, leaning on Snowfire, who simply held him and rocked a little from side to side, saying nothing. And only when the worst of his terrible grief had passed, did it dawn dimly on him that he really wasn’t alone after all. . . .

  Finally, there were no more tears left, and Snowfire let him go at the exact instant when he thought of pulling away, more than a little embarrassed.

  “Don’t be ashamed for allowing yourself to feel, little brother,” came the quiet words. “You should rather feel sorry for those who do not. They are either cripples - or very sick in soul.”

  As he stared at the Hawkbrother in astonishment, Snowfire patte
d his shoulder. “I think that a midnight swim might be a good thing for both of us,” he said, and gave Darian a gentle push to start him moving again.

  Darian was in a bit of a daze, and it seemed as if they only took a few steps farther before they came to the two ponds, their water reflecting the stars and a sliver of moon above them. Snowfire simply stripped off his garments and plunged in; after a moment of hesitation, Darian copied his example.

  He had expected the water to feel cold, but he had been standing in the night air long enough that it was only pleasantly cool. He swam back and forth on his back, staring up at the stars, letting his mind empty of everything. He didn’t stop until his arms and legs were tired and he was beginning to feel a little waterlogged. Only then did he stop to tread water, and saw Snowfire was back on the bank, putting on his clothing, the mage-light still hovering near him, but much brighter now.

  He paddled back to the same place, and looked up at a towel being held out for him to take. He dried himself off, and started to look around for his discarded clothing, but it wasn’t where he’d left it. Quickly, he wrapped the towel around his waist, wondering what had happened to it, when Snowfire noticed his confusion and pointed. There, neatly folded on a rock, was a fresh set of garments.

  “Hertasi,” was all Snowfire said, as he turned his attention to carefully braiding his long hair. Quickly, Darian slipped into the clean clothes, and used the towel on his own hair to cover his uncertainty about what to do or say next.

  “The sense of loss never leaves, little brother,” Snowfire said in a perfectly normal tone of voice. “But it does grow less over time, as long as you permit yourself to feel. If you bottle it inside, it only eats at you, until you are hollow and full of nothing but grief - ”

  “How do you know?” Darian blurted, feeling unaccountably angry - then he could have beaten his head against a tree for snapping at Snowfire so.

  But Snowfire didn’t snap back; he just finished braiding his hair and looked at Darian quizzically. “Who told you that Tayledras are immortal?” he asked. “Whoever he was, he was misinformed.”

  Darian hung his head, his cheeks burning. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean. . . .”

  “You didn’t think,” Snowfire corrected, with a kindly tone in his voice. “And given the hour and the circumstances, I can hardly fault you. You are tired, in every way. Much longer, and I will be snapping in an ill-tempered snarl myself,”

  Darian flushed even hotter, if that was possible. “I can’t imagine you ever doing anything wrong!” he stammered.

  To his surprise, Snowfire chuckled. “Oh, Dar’ian, do not ever allow Nightwind to hear you, or she will fill your ears with the myriad ways and times in which I have transgressed!” He rolled his eyes skyward. “I cannot even tell you which is worse - that she never forgets, or that she is right far too often - or at least, thinks that she is!”

  To his surprise, Darian found himself smiling a little, for he had certainly heard the men of Errold’s Grove making the same complaints in the “tavern.” “I guess all ladies are like that. The ones at home - “

  He stopped in midsentence. There wasn’t any “home” anymore. And as for the men who frequented the tavern, he had no idea where they were or what had happened to them. Were they even still alive? Shouldn’t he be getting help for them? What was he thinking of, lolling about in ponds like this, when he should be helping the people of Errold’s Grove? How had he managed to forget the rest of his people?

  “What’s the matter?” Snowfire asked, breaking into his silence.

  “I should - what am I still doing here?” he asked, feeling a frantic urge to do something, and not knowing what he could do. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other in a nervous dance. “I’ve got to go somewhere, got to get help. Why am I still here? I should be out there, trying to get somebody to help us, not here, enjoying myself!”

  Before he could yield to that urge and just run off into the darkness, Snowfire seized his elbow, and somehow the mere touch calmed him. “Dar’ian, listen to me, and please believe me,” the Hawkbrother said urgently. “Hweel and Kel and I have been to your village, the second night after you came to us - we saw no signs that your people had been killed, and none that they had been captured either. We are fairly sure they must have escaped completely. You can be at ease, for it seems likely that they have already found help!”

  “But you’re not completely sure?” Darian asked, wanting to believe, and not sure that he dared to. “You think they’re all right, but you - “

  “I could not be completely sure without going into the village and looking into all the houses,” Snowfire interrupted, and added, “I think you will agree that this would not be a very wise course of action.”

  “Uh - probably not,” Darian replied, trying to think where people could have escaped to.

  “We think that they probably went down the river,” Snowfire continued. “There is a place there with fortifications - some great lord’s holding, we think?”

  “Kelmskeep,” Darian replied automatically, “Lord Breon’s manor.” And somehow, just being able to identify the place made him lose some of that feeling of frantic urgency. “What did you see when you went back? I have to know! What if they didn’t get away, how would you know?”

  “Then sit here, and I will tell you.” Snowfire gestured at a rock that seemed perfectly sculpted to act as a chair, and took another like it. “I do not know if you have been told this, but a Tayledras can see through the eyes of his bond-bird. I remained near where we found you, in the boughs, on the same line as the sentries. Hweel and Kelvren went on, since it would be far less likely they would be detected than a human, and it would be far easier for them to escape if they were sighted.”

  Darian nodded, leaning forward tensely to better hear Snowfire’s soft voice.

  “The bridge crossing the river had been repaired, and it appeared that few of the buildings had actually been burned, mostly a handful of sheds. There were livestock in crude enclosures in the fields, and many, many horses in better enclosures there also.” Snowfire tilted his head and brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes, as Darian flinched at the thought of cows pastured in the young crops. “Why do you wince?”

  “They’re eating the crops,” Darian explained, thinking with pain of all the work that the villagers had put into those fields, only to have those animals devouring the food that should have gone to feed the village over the winter. “There won’t be anything to last until spring.”

  “The barbarians of the north - which is what I believe these are - do not farm much; they are mostly hunters. Crop growing is a task for women and thralls, and the men don’t trouble themselves with where food other than meat comes from.” Snowfire seemed lost in thought for a moment, then came to himself with a shake of his head. “This tells me that the barns are empty of livestock, and there must be something else in the barns. I count the horses, knowing that northern barbarians are not great horsemen, and that there will be a dozen men who fight afoot for every rider. I decided then that the barns must be full of those soldiers, and the houses are full of the riders, who are of higher rank. Guessing at the numbers by the number of horses, I would say that there was no room in the village for your own people, and there are no people sleeping out in the open. So, I think they must have escaped.”

  “And then?” Darian persisted. “Then what happened?”

  “Then Kelvren was discovered, and he and Hweel had to leave.” Snowfire shrugged eloquently. “So do you think I am right?”

  Darian tried to think, but he could not imagine where the villagers could be - other than escaped - if they weren’t in their own homes or in the barns. “I guess that must be right - “ he said, and suddenly found himself yawning. “But why can’t you attack these people? Aren’t you supposed to be Valdemar’s allies? Aren’t you going to help?”

  “If we thought that your people were in danger, we would, regardless of the danger to us,” S
nowfire said firmly, “But, Darian, just what do you propose we should do? You know how few of us there are, and you had a glimpse of how many the enemy has in his ranks.”

  “But magic - “ Darian protested. “You can use magic - “

  “Not as yet,” Snowfire told him. “Not in any way that will balance our small numbers. First, we must see if your people summon their own aid; it would be foolish, wouldn’t it, if we tried to attack and failed, only to see an army of your people come the next day?”

  Having seen what the enemy could do, Darian had another word for it than “foolish.” He gulped, thinking of what a real battle must look like. Not merely one man with a-wounded arm, but many people hurt, even killed. And it wouldn’t be strangers dying, it would be people he knew. The thought made him sick to his stomach. “I think that would be a bad idea,” he replied weakly.

  “On the other hand,” Snowfire continued, in that same, reasonable tone of voice, “if we wait long enough, the enemy will relax and drop some of their defenses. Even if help from your land does not come at once, we may well have an opportunity to do them a great deal of harm - perhaps even enough to drive them away. That sort of fighting does tend to make the best use of our abilities.”