Winds Of Fate v(mw-1 Page 41

  "Lady, we may not agree on what is to be done here," he warned. "This is Tayledras land; we follow the task given to us by our Lady, and nothing is permitted to interfere with that." She shook her mane impatiently. "Does it matter in whose name good is done? Evil done in the name of a Power of good is still evil. And good done in the name of a Power of evil is still good. It is the actions which matter, not the Name it is done for. You stand against evil here; we will help if you will have us. And then-perhaps-you may help us." Well, that seemed reasonable enough. He raised an eyebrow at Treyvan; the gryphon, adroit at reading human faces, cocked his head to one side. "She seems sincere. She is-something that cannot speak falsely.

  And Darkwind, we and k'sheyna are not strong enough that we can afford to neglect any form of aid. Especially if we are to free Dawnfire and my children."

  He nodded. "If that's the way you feel, then I agree." He turned to the mare. "Lady, we accept your offer with thanks." The spirit nodded emphatically. "Good. Shall we confer on what needs to be done?" Things to be done-the rescue of Dawnfire, for one thing. After Starblade's revelations, he was certain that she was in Falconsbane's hands.

  He could not leave her there-he told himself it was for k'sheyna's sake, that the Clan could not afford another like Starblade-but it was as much for his sake as the Clan's. Over and over the thought had plagued him, intruding into everything, that if he had only been more vigilant, if he had only taken the time to explain why he had wanted her to stay clear of the gryphons that day, none of this would have happened to her. He knew now that he was not to blame for the shattering of the Heartstone-but this he was guilty of. He had allowed Falconsbane to lure him into relaxing his guard. And this was the result.

  "Bring your people out," he told the spirit..As soon as they are ready to talk. And I will see if I can explain this before night falls. And explain," he added grimly, .just what it is that we mean to do."

  To his surprise-although he should not have been surprised-the Outlanders had a very good grasp of the situation once he sketched it. As the young man said, "It's not much different from our position at home.

  Except that the scale is a lot smaller." The girl sat with her chin resting on both her hands as she listened, then offered a question. "Why is it that this Falconsbane hasn't made a frontal assault on k'sheyna? He has to know that you're in trouble, and this would be the perfect time to take you." This Elspeth seemed much easier and more relaxed, now that her blade was out of its sheath and away from her. The spirit penned within the sword-"Need" was its name-had stated that there was very little it could contribute. It had never been a tactician or a leader and did not care to begin learning the craft now. Furthermore, there was a great deal she could do to shield the gryphlets from further tampering; so that was what she had been left to do.

  Elspeth had been a leader and a tactician-at least in small skirmishesand she had studied her craft under one of the legendary mercenary Captains of the modern times. Word of the Shin'a'in "cousin" had penetrated even into Tayledras lands, via the few Bards that had congress with Tayledras and Shin'a'in. And her pupil's question had merit.

  "I do not know," he replied frankly. "I am fairly certain that he has the power to pursue a frontal assault. It may be that he has not simply because he does not think in those terms; because he prefers to weaken from within, and gnaw away from without, until little by little he has wrought such damage that he can overcome his target with little effort or losses."

  "That only works if you don't know what he's doing," she pointed out. "Once his victim knows-"

  "It may be too late," Treyvan rumbled. "I sssussspect hisss tacticsss have done verrry well in the passst."

  "He probably enjoys working that way," the young man-Skif, a very odd sort of name, to Darkwind's mind-put in. "I mean, it's obvious from what the cat-lady said that he positively revels in making people suffer. Seems to me he wouldn't get half the pleasure out of being straightforward." Elspeth bit off an exclamation. "That's it!" she exulted. "That's his weakness! That's what makes him vulnerable! He's so busy with his convoluted plans that if he sees us trying one thing, he might not expect a second attack that was perfectly straightforward. Look, Darkwind, if I were you, that's what I'd do; I'd pretend to try to negotiate with him, and while he thought he was tying me in knots, I'd make a straight assault to get Dawnfire free. I'd also try and do as much damage as I could on the way out," she added thoughtfully, "but then, I'm well known to be a vindictive bitch." She glanced sideways at Skif as she said that, and the young man looked sour. Evidently she was using words he had thrown at her at some point, and he was not enjoying hearing them now, tossed back in his face.

  For his part, Darkwind was a little surprised by this interchange. He had been under the impression that these two were lovers, but evidently this was not so. He tucked the information into the back of his mind for later use in dealing with them. There were niceties needed with a pair of lovers that could be disposed of when working with a pair of friends or colleagues.

  Such as splitting them up, for instance, sending one on one mission, and the second on another.

  "It is a good notion," he told the girl. "Except that we are not supposed to know that Falconsbane even exists, much less that he holds Dawnfire."

  "Damn," she said, with a frown. "I'd forgotten that. Well, what about that daughter of his, Nyara? Can she be useful?" Now that was a thought. Treyvan rose, anticipating his next words.

  "I sssshall wake herrr," the gryphon said, folding his wings to fit more easily through the door of the lair. "We ssshall sssee if ssshe isss rrready to be morrre frrriend than enemy, asss ssshe claimsss.

  Darkwind nodded, grimly. Now was the time for Nyara to show her true allegiances. There was a great deal about her father and her father's stronghold and abilities that she could tell them, if she chose. And-just perhaps-some of his weaknesses.

  And if she did not choose to help them-well, she would see the Vale after all, as she had often wished. From inside, as he turned her over to the Adepts to be judged. He wondered what they would think of the creature that had eaten Starblade's bondbird before his eyes. No matter how extenuating the circumstances, he did not think they would be inclined to kindness.

  Dawnfire stood on her squeaking mouse, killed it messily, and leaned down to pick it up head-first. She started swallowing it whole, trying her best not to think about what she was doing.

  At least I'm not like a poor, stupid eyas that doesn't know which end to start on, she thought unhappily. At least I know enough to kill the things before I try to eat them. And I knew how to kill them in theory, if not in practice.

  In fact, she had learned a lot more than she was displaying. She blessed the many times she'd spent in full-bond with Kyrr, and blessed Kyrr's memory for the way the hawk had shared every experience with her.

  No, she was not a bird-but she had the memories of what it had been like to be a raptor, and once she had overcome her initial despair, those memories had helped her learn the ways of her new body.

  They did not help her overcome her fear.

  Fear of Falconsbane was only part of it. There was another fear, a constant fear that never left her, waking or sleeping. She knew what would happen as she remained in Kyrr's body-the longer she remained, the more of herself she would lose, until there was nothing left but the hawk. The fact that she had adapted to the body so quickly was both bad as well as good. The more comfortable she felt, the easier it would be to lose herself.

  She tried to hold onto herself, with utter desperation. She tried to remember everything about the scouts, the Vale, Darkwind-and she panicked when she found herself in the midst of a memory and could not remember a face, a name, a setting. Was it just that these things had slipped her mind-or was it that her mind was slipping? There was no way to know.

  And what had happened to her body, back in the Vale? What if Falconsbane had killed that along with Kyrr's soul? What would she do then?

  The past two days
had felt like two months. Time stretched out unbearablyand there was nothing to distract her from fear and brooding.

  When those thoughts drove her into a state of frenzy, there was only one way to break the cycle. She plotted her escape. She had been taken outside enough times on a creance to know all the places where escape might be possible. If she could get away-no, when she got away, she would not think "if"-she would head straight up, as high as a redshouldered could go. From there, she would have an unparalleled view of the countryside; her scouting experience would tell her where she was.

  If she didn't recognize anything, she would circle until she did see a landmark she knew. And Falconsbane shouldn't be able to touch her.

  Planning kept her sane; planning and practice.

  When Falconsbane was not in the room, she practiced, as she had seen the fledglings practice; flapping until she lifted herself just above the perch; hopping down the length of her jesses and flying back to her perch. When she had to kill her food, she did so with a clumsiness that was feigned more and more often. She took out her anger on the hapless mice, ripping them with talons and beak after she had killed them.

  Though it was still all she could do to force herself to eat the mice afterward.

  Falconsbane was not paying a great deal of attention to her, but she continued the charade, lurching clumsily up to the perch and taking a long time to get settled. She watched him carefully as she cleaned her talons and beak. He'd been very preoccupied today; and he had evidently forgotten, if he had ever known, just how wide a field of vision a raptor had. She could watch him easily without ever seeming to pay attention to him.

  He had been staring at the scrying stone; no longer relaxed, and no longer so infernally pleased with himself. She had finally decided that the scrying stone wouldn't work anywhere except this room; certainly he never took it with him, and there was nothing else here but her perch, his couch, the cabinets he kept his toys of pain and pleasure in, and the stone. For the past two days he had spent more and more time here; watching the stone, and getting very intent about something. She overheard him muttering to himself; evidently he had also forgotten how sharp a raptor's hearing was.

  There was something about "heralds," though what that would have to do with anything, she had no notion. There was more about "Valdemar " and a "queen;"

  "Hardorn," and

  "Ancar." He seemed very preoccupied with two quite different sets of people. One set seemed to be traveling, and they had something he wanted.

  "Wanted?" That was like saying that she "wanted" her freedom. He lusted over this object, whatever it was, with an intensity she had never seen him display before.

  The other people were connected with this "Ancar," who seemed to be the enemy of the first group of people. From the pacing and muttering that went on after he had watched this person, she gathered that he was toying with the notion of contracting with this "Ancar" and proposing an alliance.

  That was something new for him, or so she gathered. He wanted to-and yet he did not want to chance losing the slightest bit of his own power.

  Then, this afternoon, something had changed. The people he had been watching escaped what he had thought was a perfect trap. And they had taken the thing that he wanted with them.

  Falconsbane flew into a rage and flung the stone against the opposite wall with such force that he splintered the rock of the wall and reduced the stone to fragments, and she shrank back onto her perch, doing her best not to attract him to her by moving or making a sound. He paid no attention to her whatsoever; he roared for one of his servants to come and clean up the mess, and stood over the trembling boy, looking murderously at him as the terrified child carefully gathered the sharp shards in his shaking, bare hands.

  Dawnfire trembled herself, expecting at any moment that he would take out his temper on the boy as he had on the stone. There would be true murder then-With a sick feeling, she watched him reach down, slowly, clawed hands spread wide-But before he touched the boy, the door flew open, and two men in some kind of ornate uniform flung themselves into the room to abase themselves at his feet, babbling of "failure" and "mercy." Falconsbane started, then grabbed the child to cover his surprise. He pulled the boy up to his feet by his hair, and threw him bodily toward the door, showering the shards around him. This time the boy did not try to pick them up; he simply made good the chance to flee. The guards blanched and immediately went back to groveling with more heartfelt sincerity than before.

  He listened to them a while, then cut them short with a single gesture.

  "Enough!" he growled, the fingers of his right hand crooked into claws, with the talons fully extended.

  The two men fell absolutely silent.

  "You failed to capture the artifact," he said, his voice rumbling dangerously.

  You failed to corner the quarry, you failed to keep them from finding aid, and you failed to acquire the artifact when you had the opportunity. I should take your lives; I should-remake you." The men whitened to the color of fresh snow.

  "There is nothing you can say that will redeem your complete stupidity," Falconsbane continued. "You will report to Drakan for your punishment.

  I have not the time to waste upon you." The two men started to get up; a single snarl from Falconsbane sent them back to their faces.

  "I do have time to retrieve from your worthless bodies a modicum of the power you wasted in this effort." He stretched out his right hand and spread it over the two prone men.

  Dawnfire was not certain what exactly he did-but she saw the result clearly. The two men sat back on their heels suddenly, jerked erect like a pair of puppets. Their white faces were frozen in masks of pain, and their limbs trembled and jerked uncontrollably. Their mouths were open, but they uttered not so much as a single sound.

  What was truly horrible about the entire tableau was the expression on Falconsbane's face.

  He looked like a creature in the throes of sexual ecstasy. He had tossed his long, flowing hair back over his shoulders, and he stared off into nothingness with his eyes half-closed in pure pleasure. His fingers flexed; every time they did, the two men's bodies jerked, and their faces took on new lines of agony. Falconsbane's eyes closed completely, and he lifted his face to the light in obscene bliss.

  Finally, he knotted his hand into a fist; the men shuddered, then collapsed.

  He opened his eyes, slowly, and gazed down on his victims with a slow, sated smile. "You may go," he purred. "Now.

  Limbs stirred feebly; heads raised, and the two men began to move.

  Too weak to do anything else, they crawled toward the door, slowly and painfully.

  And that wasn't even their "punishment." That was just Falconsbane's way of reminding them that he was their master in all things.

  The first man reached the door and crawled out. All of Dawnfire's feathers slicked down flat to her body in fright. She couldn't have moved now if she had wanted to.

  "Greden," Falconsbane said, as the second man started out the door.

  The guard stopped, frozen; in a macabre way, he looked funny, like someone caught pretending to be a dog.

  "Greden, send Daelon to me on your way out." Falconsbane turned, ignoring the man's whispered acknowledgment, and began pacing beside his couch.

  In a few moments, another man entered; an older man, lean and fit, with elaborate, flowing garments and dark gray hair and beard. "My lord?" he said, waiting prudently out of reach. Falconsbane ignored him for a moment, his face creased with a frown of concentration. The man waited patiently; patience was a necessity with Mornelithe Falconsbane, it seemed. Patience, and extreme care.

  Finally Falconsbane stopped pacing and flung himself down on the couch. "Daelon, I am going to propose an alliance, to King Ancar of Hardorn."

  "Very good, my lord," Daelon responded, bowing deeply. "Alliances are always preferable to conflict.

  Falconsbane smiled, as if he found the man's opinions amusing."I've been in contact with him for some time, a
s you know; with him, and some other rulers of the East. He agreed to meet with me in person, but he would not set a time." Falconsbane's smile faded. "When he would not specify a date, I insisted that he must come here, and that it was to be within three months of the initial agreement."

  "I assume that he has set a date, my lord?" Daelon asked smoothly.

  "Finally." Falconsbane scowled. "He told me just before that disaster Greden was in charge of that he will be arriving in three days' time."