Valdemar 09 - [Mage Winds 01] - Winds of Fate Page 36
He snapped his fingers, and held out his hand—and a huge crow, identical in every way to those the Tayledras bonded with, flapped out of the shadows beside Mornelithe’s chair to land on the outstretched arm. The Changechild gestured with a lifted finger that Starblade should rise from his crouch to a simple kneeling position; the Tayledras’ body obeyed instantly, even while his helpless mind screamed a protest.
The crow lifted silently from Mornelithe’s wrist, and dropped down onto his shoulder.
And what little remained of Starblade’s will was frozen with paralysis.
“There,” Mornelithe said with satisfaction. “That should take care of any little problems we may have, hmm?”
The crow cawed mockingly, joining Mornelithe’s laughter....
The memory-spell released him, leaving him limp and shaking, with the echo of that laughter in his ears.
From the moment he had left Mornelithe’s stronghold—which leavetaking he did not remember—he had been completely under the Adept’s control. And Mornelithe was an Adept; there was no doubt of that. All that he lacked to make him a major power was control of a node. The only two for any distance around lay in the hands of the Tayledras.
Mornelithe intended to change that. And at the time of his release, that was all that Starblade had known; he had no idea what Mornelithe planned.
Nor, when he was found wandering in the heart of the burned area, did he even remember that he had been taken.
Instead, he had false memories of being overcome with smoke, of losing Karry somewhere in the heart of the fire—of taking a blow to the head from a falling tree. Then vague and confused recollections of crawling off and hiding in a wolverine’s hole until the fire passed, of smoke-sickness that pinned him in the area for several days, of bonding to a huge crow who brought him fruit to feed him and supply his fevered body with liquids, and his final desperate attempt to get back to the Vale.
And the false memories passed muster. The crow was unremarked-upon. He had only an unusually touchy temper that caused his friends and son to give him some distance until he should regain his normal calm. Any changes in him, they—and he—ascribed to the trauma he had endured, and they all felt that those changes would pass in time.
All else seemed well, until the ritual to move the Heartstone.
Only then, after the disaster, did his true memories return. And it was then that the rest of his hidden memories emerged—
Memories of going to the Heartstone every night, and creating a flaw in it, leeching the power away from a place deep inside, and creating an instability that would not be revealed until the entire power of the Vale had been loaded into it, preparatory to bridging the distance between the old Heartstone and the new.
That was the first night he had tried to fling himself from the top of his ekele.
Once again, Mornelithe exerted his power over him, through the compulsions planted as deeply within him as he had planted the flaw in the stone. The crow was the intermediary of those compulsions, and since it never left his side, Mornelithe’s hand was always upon him.
And when he tried to confess his pollution, he found his tongue uttering simple pleasantries. When he tried to open his mind to let others see the traitor within their ranks, he found himself completely unable to lower his own shields. As he had been in Mornelithe’s stronghold, he was bound, gagged, and paralyzed, a prisoner within his own mind, still toyed with and controlled for Falconsbane’s pleasures and purposes. At least half of the time, that tiny portion of himself that was still free was buried so deeply that it was not even aware of what passed, what Mornelithe made him do, and say.
All he could do, in the moments he was free to speak and act, however, circumspectly, was to alienate his son, in the barren hope that, once made into an enemy, anything Starblade supported, Darkwind would work against. It looked as if the ploy was working.
At least, it had until the death—no, murder—of Dawnfire. Once again the hand of Mornelithe Falconsbane had reached out to take what he wanted, and again Starblade had been helpless to prevent it.
There was only one further hope. Darkwind had withdrawn from the company of mages after the disaster. Darkwind lived outside the influence of the flawed and shattered Heartstone. So Darkwind’s powers should be uncontaminated by Mornelithe’s covert influence. If he could just get Darkwind to take up his powers again—Darkwind would call for help from the nearest Clan. The deceptions that had held for so long would shatter under close examination, and Mornelithe would find himself locked out, once again.
But how to get Darkwind to resume his powers, after all that Starblade had done to keep him from doing just that?
Starblade groaned, and threw his arm over his eyes. There seemed no way out; not for him, nor for anyone else.
K‘Sheyna was doomed, and his was the hand that had doomed it. The only way out was death, and even that had been denied him.
Damn you, Falconsbane! he shrieked inside his own mind. And it seemed to him that he caught a far-off echo of derisive laughter.
Darkwind felt torn in a hundred pieces, divided within himself by conflicting emotions, responsibilities, and loyalties. Treyvan had kindled a mage-light; a dim orange glow in the center of the ceiling of the lair. Yet another surprise to Darkwind; he hadn’t known the gryphon could do that, either.
He slumped in one corner of the gryphons’ lair with his head buried in his hands and his mind going in circles. Hydona curled protectively around her youngsters, trying to minimize whatever harm Falconsbane had already done them. Her shields were up at full strength, with Treyvan’s augmenting them. Darkwind’s shields augmented both of theirs; he had never renounced that part of his magecraft, and he squandered his own energies recklessly to stave off any more disaster that might befall his friends.
Nyara sat curled into a ball in the opposite corner of the lair, with as much distance between herself and the rest of them as she could manage.
After his initial outburst of rage—during which he had come very close to breaking her neck with his bare hands—Darkwind’s anger toward the Changechild faded. After all, none of this was of Nyara’s plotting. He should have known better than to leave her with the hertasi, who were mostly creatures of daylight, to keep her watched at a distance by tervardi and dyheli who also moved mostly by day.
I should have found a night-scout willing to watch her, he thought distractedly. Hindsight is always perfect.
“All right,” he said, breaking the silence, and making everyone jump. He turned to Nyara, who shrank farther back into her corner, her eyes wide and frightened. “Stop that,” he snapped, his tightly-strung nerves making him lash out at her as the only available target. “I’m not going to kill you.”
“Yet,” Treyvan rumbled. He had taken Nyara’s news much worse than Hydona. His mate tended to ignore the past as beyond change, and was interested only in what she could do to fix what had been done to her younglings. Treyvan felt doubly guilty; because he had failed to protect Hydona, and because he had failed to protect his offspring.
Darkwind knew exactly how he felt.
Nyara tried to melt into the rock behind her, her eyes now wide and focused on Treyvan.
Darkwind recaptured her attention. “I want to know everything that you know about us, and what he knows that you’re sure of. I mean not only what you’ve told your f—Falconsbane, but what he knew before this.”
Nyara shivered but looked as if she didn’t quite understand his question.
He stood up, walked over to her, and towered over her. “What does he know about the Vale?” he asked, speaking every word carefully. “Begin from the very first thing you knew.”
Nyara began, stuttering, to tell them fairly simple bits of intelligence that anyone could have figured out for himself. That the only nodes Falconsbane could possibly access were in Tayledras hands. That he had made several attempts to get at one or the other of the nodes. She identified each attempt that she knew of, going back to long bef
ore the arrival of the gryphons. Most of these trials had been low-key, tentative feints. And as she spoke, she gained confidence, until she was no longer stuttering with fear, and no longer speaking in short, choppy sentences.
Most of the feints she described, Darkwind had already been aware of. But then she took him by surprise.
“Then F-father decided to take the Vale from within, I think,” she said, her hands crooking into claws, as her eyes glazed a little. “This was when he was angry with me, and he was—he was—he was angry with me.” Her expressive face was as still as stone, and Darkwind sensed that this had been one of those periods when Falconsbane had “trained” her, using methods it made him ill even to contemplate.
But this was important. She had said that Falconsbane meant to “take the Vale from within.” He had to know what that meant, and what had happened.
“What did he mean by that?” he prompted. She gave him a frightened, startled look, as if she had forgotten he was there.
“He set a trap,” she replied tightly. “He set a very clever trap. He sent many of his servants to create diversions—emptying the Vale of all but one of the Adepts.”
This was beginning to sound chillingly familiar—but she was continuing.
“When that one was alone—he knew that there was but one Adept still present by the level of power within the Vale—he created a disturbance that required an Adept.” She licked her lips nervously and gave him a pleading glance. “I truly do not know what that was,” she said, “I was not in favor. He did not grant me information.”
“I understand that,” he said quickly. “Go on.”
“When the Adept came to deal with the disturbance, Mornelithe sprung the trap and closed him off from the Vale. He was hurt—and that was when Mornelithe cast illusions to make him appear to be of the Birdkin, so that the Adept would accept him as rescuer. The bird, Father slew. It was not deceived, and attacked him. But by then the Adept’s hurts were such that he was unconscious, and did not know. Father took him to the stronghold and imprisoned him to break him to Father’s will.”
“And you know who this Adept is?” Darkwind felt himself trembling on the brink of a chasm. If it was his father—it would explain so much. And yet he dreaded the truth-
She looked directly up at Darkwind, and said, clearly and forcefully, “I did not know until Father called me on the night of moon-dark who that man was. It was your father, Darkwind. It was he that is called Starblade.” She licked her lips, and raised one hand in a pleading gesture. “He wanted you, as well, the son as well as the father—he wanted me to—entice you. I told him ‘yes,’ but I told myself ‘no,’ and I kept myself from working his will, as he worked it upon your father.”
There it was, the blow had fallen. He surprised himself with his steady, cold calm. “So Falconsbane succeeded?”
She nodded, dropping her eyes, her voice full of quiet misery. “When he sets out to break one to his will, he does not fail. I was—present—for much of it. It was part of my t-t-training. That this could be happening to me. Both the pleasuring, and the punishment. I can tell you some of what he did, what he ordered Starblade to do when he returned to the Vale. You do not want to know ... what was done to control him.”
Darkwind tried to speak and could not. Treyvan spoke for him, in a booming, angry rumble. “Continue! All that you know.”
“He was, firstly, to forget what had happened to him. Mornelithe gave him false memories to replace what had truly occurred—until Mornelithe chose otherwise. Then he was to creep in secret to the heart of the Vale.” She gave Darkwind a look of entreaty. “I have not the words—”
“The Heartstone,” Darkwind supplied, at her prompting, feeling sick.
“The Heartstone,” she said. “Yes. He was to go to it in secret, and change it—he was one who created it, so he would know best its secrets. Father did not know that his trap would ensnare someone of that quality, but he was so pleased that he had, he forgot, often, to mete out punishment to me.”
“Return to the subject, Changechild,” Treyvan growled. She wilted, losing some of the confidence she had regained.
“What was it Starblade was supposed to do to the Heartstone?” Darkwind prompted her, with a bit more gentleness. She turned gratefully to him.
“He was to make a flaw in it, a weakness, one that would not appear until the Birdkin prepared to move. Then he called back all his creatures, to make it appear that all was made safe here. He even sent his creatures to guard beyond your borders, so that you would be prepared to shift your power elsewhere.”
Darkwind held up his hand. “How much does he know—how can he continue to control Starblade, and does he know our strength?”
She shrugged. “I do not know what he knows, but he has long patience and is willing to move slowly, so that each move he makes is sure. But as to how he controls Starblade, it is with a crow.”
“His bondbird.” Somehow that was simply the crowning obscenity. To take the closest tie possible to a Tayledras other than a lifebond, and pervert it into an instrument of manipulation—
“He cannot speak, move, or let his thoughts be known. All that is under Father’s control, from compulsions planted when he was broken, and held in place by the crow.” She hesitated a moment. “There is little, I think, that he can learn unless Starblade goes to him, and that, he has not done. The barriers still in place about the Vale prevent that. But there is much that he can do with the compulsions already in place.”
“Not for long,” Darkwind said, with grim certainty, heading for the door of the lair. “Hydona, forgive me—I can’t do anything about the younglings yet. But I can do something about this.
“Go,” she replied. “Frrree thisss placsse of the vi perrr, then perrrhapsss we can frrree the little onesss asss well.”
“I will guard the Changechild,” Treyvan said, before Darkwind even thought of it.
And before Darkwind could think to ask “how?” the gryphon turned to face Nyara, his eyes flashing. She looked surprised—
And then she slumped over, unconscious.
Darkwind returned to Nyara’s side. She was asleep, deeply asleep, but otherwise unharmed.
Treyvan sighed. “I have not hurrrt herrr, Darrrkwind. But it isss better to have the enemy underrr yourrr eye.”
“She isn’t exactly the enemy,” Darkwind said, uncertainly.
“She isss not exactly a frrriend,” Treyvan replied. “Ssshe isss at bessst, a weaknesss. I will watch herrr, for my magic isss ssstronger than hersss. Go.”
Darkwind did not have to be told twice. He was out the door of the lair and running for the Vale before the last sibilant “s” had left Treyvan’s beak. Dawn’s first light flushed the eastern horizon, and Vree shot into the sky from his perch on a stone beside the lair crying greeting to his bondmate, projecting an inquiry. While running, Darkwind tried, as best he could, to give Vree an idea of what he had learned, in simple terms the bird could understand.
He conveyed enough of it that Vree screamed defiance as he swooped among the forest branches, preceding Darkwind and making sure the way ahead was clear of hazard. The bird was angered, but he had not lost his head or his sense of responsibility.
:Where?: Vree demanded, his thoughts hot with rage.
:The Vale,: Darkwind replied, as he leapt a bush, and took to the game trail that led most directly to the k‘Sheyna stronghold.
:I go,: the bird said. :I go in, with you.:
Once again, Darkwind was surprised, but this time pleasantly. :I go,: Vree repeated firmly.
That took one worry off his mind. It would be a great deal easier to handle that thrice-damned crow with Vree around.
Now he concentrated on running; as hard and as fast as he could, keeping his attention fixed on the ground ahead and leaving his safety in Vree’s capable talons.
Where would Starblade be at this moment? He was an early riser, as a rule. By the time the sun was but a sliver above the horizon, he was generally in c
onference with one or more of the Adepts. There was a kind of informal ceremony there, as the memorial fire at the foot of the Heartstone was fed with fragrant hardwoods and resinous cedar. Those Adepts remaining—even the most reclusive—generally attended at least one of these meetings; they remembered those who had been lost, and monitored the Heartstone very carefully, looking for changes in it morning and night.
With Father carefully making sure they accomplish nothing, he thought with nausea. Now I know why he never misses a meeting.
Now he was on safer ground; he passed his own ekele, and that of his brother; passed night-scouts coming in and day-scouts going out, both of whom stared at him in equal surprise. He ignored the ache of his lungs and his legs; dredged up extra reserves of energy and ran on, long hair streaming out behind him. He caught sight of other bondbirds flying beside him, peering down at him curiously, and guessed that their bondmates were somewhere behind. He ignored them; he would take no chances that a carelessly shielded thought would warn Starblade—or more importantly, the thing that controlled him in the guise of a black bird.
Up hills, and down again; he took the easiest way, not the scouts’ way—using game trails when he could find them. Finally he came out onto a real path, one that led to the border with the Dhorisha Plains, and had, in better days, been used by visitors from both peoples. It terminated at the entrance to the Vale, and Darkwind took deeper breaths, forcing air into his sobbing lungs. It would not be long now....
The shimmer marking the shields that guarded the entrance flickered between the hills. This was where Vree usually left him.
A cry from above alerted him, and Vree swept in from behind in a stoop that ended with the forestgyre hitting him hard enough to stagger him, and sinking his talons into the padded shoulder of Darkwind’s jerkin. A fraction of a heartbeat later, he was through the shields, a tingle of pure power passing through him as the shields recognized him and let him by.
He was inside the Vale, but this was no time to slow down. He flung himself down a side path, bursting through the overgrown vegetation, and leaving broken branches and a flurry of torn leaves in his wake.