Winds of Change Read online

  He was nearer the hertasi village than he knew. And while they were sluggish in the cold, they were by no means impotent. Anger alone was enough to keep their blood warm in the snow and give them the same agility they had in the high heat of summer. They, too, could dress for the cold and preserve some body heat when action outside was needed.

  And although the encroaching mage had prevented the bondbird he had caught from calling its distress, Vree was under no such handicap. Nor was Darkwind; while he was nowhere near as adept at Mindspeaking with other creatures as his brother Wintermoon, he was still one of the best in the Clan. The soundless cry went out for assistance.

  While Vree was calling his fellow bondbirds, Darkwind was rousing the hertasi village, starting with old Nera. The attack was conceived and coordinated in a matter of moments. The three forces converged on their target at nearly the same instant.

  If the mage - for mage he was; he had a lightning-flare ready for them the moment they plunged over the top of the hill and began the sliding descent toward him - had only had to face Darkwind and Elspeth, he might have won. They were tired, and he was fresh. If he had only faced the hertasi, with their simple fishing spears, he would have won.

  And he had already proven he was capable of felling bondbirds from the sky.

  But, since only Darkwind’s party was making any noise, he had no idea that the others were on the way until it was too late to do anything about them.

  Darkwind flung a shield up before them to deflect the first bolt. The second went awry as Vree dove, his claws ripping through the cloth of the man’s hood, narrowly missing the scalp. Behind Vree came another forestgyre, in the same stooping dive, then a gyrkin, then a trio of perlins, all of them slashing at head and face with their long, sharp talons. They struck to hurt, not to bind; the perlins in fact struck close-fisted, as if they were trying to knock a duck out of the sky. The mage screamed in pain as the talons scored deep gashes in his scalp; staggered under the blows of the perlins, any of which would have been hard enough to stun him had they hit the temple.

  He tried to protect himself with his arms. Apparently, like most Pelagir-wilds mages, there were severe gaps in his education. He seemed unable to summon any physical shields.

  The birds retreated to the protection of the skies, gaining altitude as one. The mage stood, one hand on his bleeding scalp. From behind him, a thicket of spears boiled up out of the half-frozen swamp.

  Darkwind struck then, gesturing behind Elspeth’s back with two clenching fists. Gray and green stripes of a binding spell tangled the mage’s hands and his magic for a moment. That moment was all that was needed. The hertasi did the rest.

  They swarmed about the mage, casting their fishing spears and pulling on the lines. He tried to run, then slipped and floundered in the heavy snow. He scrambled to his feet again, and fell for the last time. The hertasi overran him, and he writhed to avoid the wicked points of the spears.

  In moments, he looked like nothing so much as a hedgehog. In heartbeats, he was dead.

  Gwena skidded to a halt in the snow beside the man’s string of pack animals, a trio of tired mules who gazed at them with absolute indifference. Darkwind slid down off her back and hurried to the last one, the one bearing the bird like just another bundle of forest gleanings.

  This much the man had known; he had bound the talons into fists, tied them together, bound the wings to the body so that it would not injure itself, then hooded the bird so that it could not see and would not struggle. The hood was strung to the bound feet by a cord, to prevent further movement, and from the cord dangled a carved bead.

  As Darkwind’s hands touched the bundle, he felt - something. It was akin to the draining effect of the Heartstone, and was centered in that bead, and spread throughout the bindings.

  He drew back and examined the bird with mage-sight - and swore. Small wonder he had not Heard the thoughts of this bird; it was bound by magic as well as by bands of fabric, a binding that linked its life-force to the spell that held it. And that could only have been for one purpose.

  Elspeth bit her lower lip and peered at the bindings on the captured hawk-eagle. Her face looked as it did when she was hearing news she didn’t like.

  “He was going to use this bird as some kind of sacrifice, wasn’t he?” Elspeth said, her own voice tight with anger. She put a hand toward the hawk-eagle. “That’s not all, Darkwind, this bird is in pain. He hurt it when he caught it.”

  She had been quicker than he; though she could not sense the bird’s thoughts, she had felt its pain. He was glad he hadn’t touched the poor thing; he could only have hurt it worse, unknowingly.

  First things first; destroy the mage-bindings so that the bird’s mind could roam free and it could hear his Mindspeech. Until then, it would struggle against him, thinking he was an enemy, hurting itself further.

  The man had been a Master, but no Adept; Darkwind snapped the shackles of magic with a single savage pull but left the physical bindings in place. With a carefully-placed dagger cut, he removed the carved bead. Beneath the bindings, the bird was in a state near to shock, but not actually suffering from that ailment. Darkwind could still touch its mind, talk to it sensibly, and know he would be heard.

  He stretched out his thoughts - carefully, gently, with a sure, but light touch.

  :Friend,: he said, soothingly.

  The hawk-eagle tossed up its head as far as it could and struggled fruitlessly against the bindings. :NOT!: it Screamed.

  :Friend,: Darkwind repeated firmly, showing it a mental picture of its former captor lying in the stained snow. :The Enemy is dead.:

  The bird struggled a moment more, then stopped. Its head came up again, but this time slowly, as fear ebbed and the bird’s courage returned. It considered his words for a moment, and the image he had Sent; considered the sound of his mind-voice.

  :See!: it demanded imperiously.

  “I’m going to unhood him,” Darkwind warned. The hertasi backed off, but both Elspeth and her Companion stayed. “I don’t know what he might do. He’s bondbird stock, and right now he’s sensible, but he may go wild once he can see again.”

  Elspeth reached forward with gloved hands. “You need four hands to undo those wrappings. I’ll take my chances.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” No matter how intelligent, bondbirds were raptors, and likely to do unexpected things when injured and in pain, even one like Vree, brought up from an eyas and bonded before he was hard-penned. And this bird had never bonded to anyone. Still, she was right, and the sooner they got the bird untied, the more likely it was to listen.

  The bird had been hooded with an oversize falcon’s hood; a little too small; uncomfortable, certainly, and it would have been impossible for the bird to eat or cast through the hood. But Darkwind doubted that this man had made any plans to feed his catch, through the hood or otherwise. He got the end of one of the ties in his teeth, and the other in his free hand, and pulled, continuing the motion with his hand to slip the hood off the magnificent hawk-eagle’s head.

  It blinked for a moment, as the feathers of its crest rose to their full, aggressive height, the pupils of its golden eyes dilating to pinpoints as it got used to the light. Then it swiveled its head and saw for itself what Darkwind had shown it.

  It opened its beak in a hiss of anger and satisfaction, then turned those intelligent golden eyes back to Darkwind. :Out,: it demanded, flexing bound wings once in a way that left no room for doubt about what it meant. :Outl:

  It seemed calm enough, if still in pain. :Let me get your feet free first,: he replied. :Then you can stand while I get the rest of this mess off of you.:

  Once again, the bird gave careful consideration to what he had said, weighing his reply against what it wanted. Darkwind marveled at the bird’s intelligence; even Vree seldom thought about what Darkwind told him.

  :Good,: the hawk-eagle said shortly, and stopped any effort to free itself. It held itself completely still, and while Elspet
h held the huge creature, Darkwind picked delicately at the mess of rags and string muffling the hawk-eagle’s talons and tying them into fisted balls.

  Finally he got them free, and Elspeth placed the bird on the saddlepack. Its talons closed convulsively on the leather, and it flexed its claws once or twice to assure itself of its balance.

  The hawk-eagle stood on the saddlepack and looked Darkwind straight in the eyes. :Good,: it said. :Out now!:

  It waited while they picked the wrappings from its bound wings, talons digging deeply into the leather covering of the pack. Those talons were as long as Darkwind’s fingers, and the cruel, hooked bill would have had no trouble biting through the spine of a deer. Darkwind wondered at the temerity of the dead man who had caught the bird, mage though he was. Vree could kill a man, with enough precision - and had done so in the past. This bird was nearly double Vree’s size, and not only could kill a man, he could do it as easily as Vree killed a rabbit.

  If the hawk-eagle hadn’t been of bondbird stock - and hadn’t Mindspoken with such clarity and relative calm, given the situation - Darkwind would never have dared to unhood him. It would have been suicide. The bird could have seriously hurt him, even bound, with a swift stroke of that terrible hooked beak.

  When the last binding had been cut, the magnificent hawk-eagle spread wide, brown-banded wings to the fullest - and winced, dropping the left one immediately. The wing continued to droop a little, after he had folded the right and tucked it up over his back.

  He looked at Darkwind demandingly. :Hurts,: he said. :Chest hurts, wing hurts. Hurt when fell.:

  Darkwind ran careful hands over the bird’s breast, and quickly found the problem. A cracked wishbone. There was only one cure for that injury; resting quietly, while the bone set and mended. It would take weeks to heal properly, for bone Healing did not work well on birds, and the great hawk-eagle might never fly with the same ease and freedom again. Winter would bring special problems; cold would make the old injury ache, and the stiffness in the wing would make it harder to catch swift prey.

  A tragedy - if he continued to live wild. No special problem - if he lived in the Vale.

  But a bondbird, when not bonded as a fledgling or even an eyas, was traditionally given a choice. Freedom, or the bond.

  Darkwind explained it to the hawk-eagle in simple terms. If he would come and live in the Vale, his life would be thus. He would bond to Starblade, who was himself wounded and in need of healing. . . .

  It was not his imagination; the bird’s interest, dulled by the pain he was in, sharpened at that.

  :Show,: he demanded. Darkwind obeyed, showing him mental images of Starblade as he was now - and one of Starblade and his cherished perlin Karry.

  :Yes,: the bird said, thoughtfully. :Ye-es.: He dropped his head for a moment, and it seemed to Darkwind that he was thinking. Then his head came up again, and he stared directly into Darkwind’s eyes. :I go - we go to that one,: he ordered, :To warm place, to wounded one. We belong, him, me. Need, him, me.:

  And although Darkwind dutifully offered him his continued freedom after healing, the bird refused to consider it. :We go,: he insisted, and Darkwind gave in gladly to him, but with no little wonder. He had never had a bondbird speak so clearly to him - nor had he ever seen one exhibit genuine abstract thought before. There was no doubt in his mind that the bird was quite certain Starblade needed him. And there was no doubt that the bird had responded to that need.

  He had heard that the crested hawk-eagles were different, that way - that they had a greater capacity for bonds of affection than any other breed. They often hunted in family groups and shared kills in the wild, something most other raptors never did. But no one in k’Sheyna had one of their kind, so he had only hearsay to go on.

  Until now, that is. And he wondered; since no one in k’Sheyna had ever flown the crested hawk-eagles, where had this one come from?

  “I was following that, a little,” Elspeth said as she dumped the packs from the mules, leaving them for the hertasi to paw over. “So he does want to come with us?”

  “So it would seem,” Darkwind replied, a bit amazed by how readily the bird had fallen in with their idea. Could it be a trap of some kind?

  :Stupid,: Vree said contemptuously, from his perch in the tree above. :Hyllarr goes to Vale. Gets good food, warm place, safe place, hunts only when he wants. Gets good friend. Hyllarr wants good friend, mind-friend. Hyllarr flies, he gets winter snow, summer storms, has to hunt, get hurt again, dies alone.:

  Darkwind laughed, and so did Elspeth, though she looked a little surprised that she could hear the gyre’s “voice.” “Put that way, it makes all the sense in the world, doesn’t it,” she said, with a bright sparkle in her eyes. “Here - ” she offered her leather-clad arm. “I’ll take him for a moment while you get up on one of those mules. Then I’ll pass him back when you’re mounted.”

  Hyllarr looked at her arm for a moment, then directly into her face - and with a delicate care that in no way hid the fact that his talons could pierce through her arm if he chose, he stepped onto her forearm and balanced there while Darkwind hoisted himself onto a mule’s back. Elspeth blanched and inhaled abruptly when Hyllarr dug in while balancing himself.

  No point in doing anything with the others. He would leave them to wander or follow as they chose; if they followed his mount to the Vale, someone there could always put them to good use. If they didn’t, they would survive - or not - as their fate and wits decreed.

  Elspeth held the hawk-eagle - Hyllarr, she reminded herself - steadily, despite the fact that it was a heavy weight, there on her wrist. But once he got himself settled, and before he could reach out his own wrist to take the bird back, Hyllarr half-spread his wings and hopped from Elspeth’s arm to Darkwind’s shoulder.

  He tensed, expecting the talons to close through his leather coat and into the flesh beneath. But Hyllarr shifted a little, getting his balance, and then closed his feet slowly, carefully.

  :Hurt?: he asked Darkwind, increasing the pressure a little more.

  :No - no - there.: As the claws just pricked his skin, he warned the bird, and Hyllarr eased off just that trifle needed to pull the talons back through the leather.

  :Good,: the bird replied with satisfaction. :No hurt. Good. Go to warm place now.:

  That was an order, if Darkwind had ever heard one. He turned to Elspeth, to see her own eyes alight with laughter and a little wonder. “I heard him that time!” she exclaimed. “I think - maybe - I’ve got the knack of talking to the bondbirds now. They’re kind of - pitched higher man human mind-voices.”

  “Yes, exactly,” he replied, as pleased by her accomplishment as she was. “That’s excellent! Well, then, you heard. We’ve gotten our marching orders.”

  She eyed the long, sharp talons - the fierce beak - and grinned. “You know, given where he’s perched right now, I wouldn’t argue with those orders if I were you.”

  “I don’t intend to,” he assured her, and kicked the mule into a reluctant walk toward the Vale, Elspeth and Gwena following.

  When Darkwind turned the mule over to the hertasi, he got them to find a stout branch that he could brace across his shoulder and hold with one hand. That gave Hyllarr a much more secure perch, and one that eased Darkwind’s aching shoulder quite a bit. He was going to be very glad when he delivered the bird to his father. After that, Starblade could figure a way to carry him; it would no longer be Darkwind’s problem.

  The hawk-eagle reveled in the heat of the Vale, rousing his feathers with a careful shake and raising his crest fully. Darkwind had decided on a tentative approach to his father on the slow ride to the Vale; now it only remained to convince the bird to cooperate.

  He got Hyllarr’s attention with a little mental touch, the kind he used with Vree.

  :?: Hyllarr replied, definite feelings of relaxation and satisfaction coming along with the reply.

  :Starblade is hurt,: he said, hoping he could convey the complex idea in a way the bi
rd would understand.

  :Hurt,: Hyllarr agreed. And waited.

  That was encouraging. :Starblade is proud,: he continued, showing the bird an image of Hyllarr himself, hurt, but refusing all aid, trying to fly and unable to.

  :Proud,: the bird said, agreeing again. Then, :Stupid. Like first year. Try too much.:

  :Exactly!: Darkwind said, astonished that the bird understood so much. He was to have an even bigger surprise.

  For suddenly, Hyllarr drooped on his shoulder, dropping the injured wing even further. :Hurts,: the bird moaned, making little chirps of distress. :Oh, huuuurts. Need Starblade! Need Starblade, make better!:

  Then the bird straightened again, a distinct gleam of humor in the eye nearest Darkwind. :Good?: he asked. :Good for proud Starblade?:

  Darkwind wanted to laugh, both at the bird’s astonishing ability to act and at Elspeth’s expression. “I’m as surprised as you are,” he grinned, then returned his attention to the bird.

  :Very good!: he replied. :Exactly right!:

  The bird roused again with satisfaction. :Hyllarr plays hurt-wing-eyas, Starblade feels good, Hyllarr gets many good eatings, tender eatings, tasty prey, make Hyllarr better. All good.:

  “You,” he said, shaking an admonitory finger at the bird, “are going to wind up too fat to fly.”

  Hyllarr bobbed his head to follow Darkwind’s fingertip, then blinked in mock drowsiness. Darkwind felt his amusement. He turned his head to look at Elspeth, who was fairly bursting with laughter. “Don’t you dare give this away,” he warned. “I don’t know how Hyllarr managed to grasp it, but Father really does need him. This is going to make all the difference in his recovery, if we don’t ruin everything.”

  She nodded. Darkwind smiled his thanks to her.

  As soon as they were within sight of Starblade’s ekele, he gave a silent cue to the hawk-eagle, who immediately went into full droop, complete with weak, pathetic chirps.

  Weak they might have been, but Starblade heard them readily enough. He appeared at the door of the ekele, leaning against it heavily, with Kethra supporting him from behind, his face full of concern. “Darkwind?” he said, peering down at them in the gloom of late afternoon, “What is wrong with - ”