Winds Of Fate v(mw-1 Read online

  "Very good, my lord. By Gate, my lord?" Daelon asked, with one eyebrow raised.

  Falconsbane snorted with contempt. "No. The fool calls himself a mage, yet he cannot even master a Gate. That, it seems, was the reason he would not set a date. He had to travel overland, if you will, and he did not wish anyone to know that he was en route." Daelon produced a superior, smug smile. "Then you wish me to ready the guest quarters, my lord?"

  "Exactly," Falconsbane nodded. "I expect I will be able to persuade him to accept my hospitality after several weeks of primitive inns and the like." Dacion raised one eyebrow. "Do I take it he will not be coming directly here?" Once again, Falconsbane snorted. "He prefers, he says, to remain in 'neutral' lands. I directed him to the valley I flooded with death-smoke a while ago. It is secure enough, the horned vermin will not be using it again soon, and if he proves unreliable, well-" the Adept shrugged, rippling his hair and mane. "I flooded it once and can do so again."

  "Very good, my lord," Daelon bowed, and smiled. "Better to eliminate a menace than deal with a conflict." Falconsbane chuckled; the deep, rumbling laugh that Dawnfire knew only too well. She crouched a little smaller on her perch. "Ah, Daelon, your philosophy is so-unique." Daelon bowed again, smiled, but said nothing. Falconsbane waved negligently at him. "Go," he said. Then as Daelon started for the door' he changed his mind. "Wait," he called, and scooped something up from beside his couch. As Daelon turned, he tossed something at him; and as the servant caught it, Dawnfire saw it was the falconer's glove.

  "Take that bird with you," he yawned. "I am fatigued, and she no longer amuses me. Take her to the mews; it is time for her to learn her place in life."

  "Very good, my lord," Daelon repeated. When the servant approached Dawnfire, she tensed, expecting trouble, but evidently he was so unfamiliar with falconry that he did not even attempt to hood her.

  He merely took the ends of her jesses, clumsily, in his free hand, and stuck his gloved hand in her general direction.

  If he didn't know enough about falconry to hold her jesses properly, he might not know enough to hold them tightly.

  She hopped onto his hand as obediently as a tamed cage-bird, and remained quiet and well-behaved. And as he carried her out of the room, and away from Falconsbane's sight, she saw with elation that he was barely holding the tips of her jesses. Of course, she had fouled them; she couldn't have helped that. He evidently found that very distasteful, and he was avoiding as much contact with the chalked leather as possible.

  And he was holding the arm she rested on stiffly, far away from his body, lest (she supposed) she also drop on his fine robes. And if that particular function had been within her control, she would have considered doing just that.

  He could not find a servant anywhere as they passed through silent stone corridors on the way to the outside door; that elated her even further, even as it visibly annoyed him. He was going to have to take her outside himself...He dropped the jesses, leaving them loose, as he wrestled with the massive brass-bound, wooden door, trusting in her apparent docility.

  She rewarded that trust as he got the door open; a real hawk would have bolted the moment a scrap of sky showed, but she was not sure enough of her flying ability to try for an escape. The man was so fussy she was hoping he would take the time to make sure the door was closed before reaching for her jesses again.

  Please, Lady of Stars, please don't let him see a servant out here... He looked about him, squinting in the light, as he emerged from behind the bulky door into the flagstoned courtyard, frowning when he found the courtyard as empty as the corridors. He held her with his arm completely extended, away from his body, as he started to shove the door closed.

  YES!

  She crouched and launched herself into the air, wings beating with all her might, just as she had practiced. With a cry of despair, Daelon made a grab for her dangling jesses-But it was too late. She flung herself into the freedom of the blue sky, putting every bit of her strength into each wingbeat, exaltation giving her an extra burst of power, as Daelon dwindled beneath her, waving in wild despair.

  *Chapter wenty-three

  Skif sat very quietly in his corner of the gryphons' lair and made up his bedroll with meticulous care. Elspeth had complained a few days ago that she felt as if she were being written into a tale of some kind. Now he knew how she felt. Strange enough to see gryphons this close-but to be rescued by them, hear them talk-No one at home is ever going to believe this.

  The fighting had been real enough, and he'd seen plenty of misshapen things in the ranks of Ancar's forces. Too many to be surprised by the creatures that had been sent against them. But talking gryphons, Hawkbrothers No, they're going to think we made this up.

  He tried not to show his fear of the gryphons, but one of his friends was an enthusiastic falconer, and he knew what a beak that size, and talons that long, could do.

  The bigger of the two gryphons was already inside the roofed-over ruin when he entered it. The place was ten times larger than his room at Haven, but it seemed terribly crowded with the gryphon in it.

  "Excuse me, my lady," he'd said humbly, hoping his voice wouldn't break, "but where would you like me?"

  "Hydona," said the gryphon.

  He coughed, to cover his nervousness. "Excuse me.

  "My name isss Hydona, youngling," the gryphon said, and there was real amusement in its voice. "It means 'kindnessss." You may put yourrr thingsss in that chamberrr. The Changechild will ssshow you." That was when he noticed a girl in the next chamber over, peering around the edge of the opening; obediently he had hauled his saddlebags and bedroll across the threshold, wondering what on earth a "Changechild" was.

  Then the girl moved out of his way, and fully into the light from the outer door, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

  She didn't have fur, and she didn't walk on four legs-but she had sharply feline features, slit-pupiled eyes, and the same boneless, liquid grace of any pampered housecat he'd ever seen.

  He managed to stammer out a question about where he was to put his things. She answered by helping him; and that was when he noticed that once the initial shock of her strangeness wore off, she was very attractive.

  Quite pretty, really.

  He smoothed his bedroll and watched her out of the corner of his eye as she brought armfuls of nest-material to put between it and the hard rock. She was more than pretty, she was beautiful, especially when she smiled.

  "Thank you," he said, just to see her smile again. Which she did, a smile that reached and warmed those big golden eyes. There hadn't been a lot of smiles out of Elspeth lately... it was nice to see one.

  "Let me aid you," she said softly, and knelt beside him to help him arrange a more comfortable bed without waiting to hear his answer. there hasn't been a lot of help out of Elspeth either, lately, he thought sourly. In fact, this girl was Elspeth's utter opposite in a lot of ways.

  Quiet, soft-spoken, where Elspeth was more inclined to snap at the most innocent of questions.

  "What's your name?" he asked her, as they took the opposite ends of the bedroll, and laid it over the bedding prepared for it.

  "Nyara," she said and looked shyly away.

  That was when Elspeth came in and put her own gear away, efficiently and without a fuss, but it broke the tentative conversation between himself and Nyara, and the girl retreated to her corner.

  She's so-mechanical. She's like a well-oiled, perfectly-running clockwork mechanism. She's just not human anymore.

  In fact, for all of her exotic strangeness, Nyara seemed more human than Elspeth did.

  He stripped off his tunic and changed his filthy, sweat-sodden shirt for a new one, with sidelong glances at Elspeth.

  She changed tom shirt and breeches, both cut and stained with blood, although there was no sign of a wound on her. She took no more notice of him and Nyara than if they had been stones.

  No heart, no feelings, no emotion. No patience with anyone who isn't Perfect. As cold
as... Nyara is warm.

  A sound at the door made him start, as he laced the cuffs of his shirt.

  The man who had rescued them-Darkwind-stood shadowing the door.

  Skif had not heard him until he had deliberately made that sound. He spoke with gryphons, moved like a thought, hid in the shadows-he was far more alien than Nyara, and colder than Elspeth.

  He-looked slowly and deliberately into Skifs eyes, then Elspeth's, then Nyara's. "Come," he said, "it is time to talk."

  "Why does it seem as if a whole week has passed since this morning, and a year since we first entered the Plains?" Elspeth asked, her dark brown eyes fixed on the horizon as the last rays of the sun turned the western clouds to gold and red streaks against an incredibly blue sky.

  The young man called "Skif" was contemplating Nyara, as he had been since she had been awakened.

  Darkwind was watching Elspeth and her friend-though mostly Elspethrather than the sunset. She had washed and changed into another of those blindingly white uniforms, and he found himself wondering, idly, how she would look in one of the elaborate robes Tayledras Adepts favored. In better days, he'd had time to design clothing for his friends; Tayledras art had to be portable because they moved so often, and clothing was as much art as it was covering. His designs had been very popular back then; not as popular as Ravenwing's feather masks, but she had been practicing her art for longer than he'd been alive.

  In fact, he had been proud, terribly proud, that his father had worn some of his designs. One of the things that had hurt him had been finding those outfits discarded soon after he had joined the scouts, in the pile of material available to be remade into scout-camouflage. Now he knew why his father had done that; discarded the clothing where he would be certain to find it. He'd meant to drive Darkwind farther away, to save him- The knowledge turned what had been a bitter memory into something more palatable.

  As he contemplated Elspeth, he imagined what he would design for her. Something hugging the body to the hips, perhaps, showing that magnificently muscled torso, then with a flaring skirt, slit to properly display those long, athletic legs-definitely in a b~t emerald green.

  Or maybe something that would enable her to move and fight with complete freedom; tight wine-red leather trews laced up the side, an intricately cut black tunic, a soft red silk shirt with an embroidered collar and sleeves...What in hell am I doing? How can I be thinking of clothing right now?

  Maybe it was that she cried out for proper display. white was not her color. The stark uniform only made her look severe, like a purposeful, unornamented blade. After talking with her at length, there was no doubt in his mind that she was a completely competent fighter-that this was an important part of her life. But there was more to her than that; much more. Her outer self should mirror her complicated inner self.

  She needed that kind of setting, with her spare, hard-edged beauty.

  Unlike Nyara, who would never look anything other than lush and exotic, sleek and sensuous, no matter what she wore.

  Nyara sat on the opposite side of Skif, glancing sideways at him; Skif couldn't take his eyes off her. She had proved, once revived, not only cooperative but grateful that all Treyvan had done was put her to sleep.

  Her reaction-completely genuine, so far as Darkwind was able to determinehad shamed him a little for behaving with such suspicion and cold calculation toward her.

  On the other hand, she herself had confirmed what Darkwind and Treyvan had suspected; that she was a danger. She confessed that she could be summoned by her father at any point, and if unfettered, she would probably go to him, awake or asleep. She did not know if he could read her thoughts at a distance, but was not willing to say that he couldn't.

  "If you have any doubt, you must send me to sleep again, and tie me," she had said humbly. "Do not waste shields upon me that you may give to the little gryphons." That last had won Treyvan; Darkwind was still not so sure, but his own misgivings were fading. She had given them an amazing amount of information about Mornelithe's stronghold; the problem was, the place was a miracle of defensive capability. Nyara bitterly attributed her easy escape now to the fact that her father had wanted her to get away. Extracting Dawnfire from that warren was looking more and more difficult.

  Active discussion'ad died before the sun sank into the west.

  But Elspeth was still thinking about the problem and not simply admiring the sunset. "Darkwind, she's a bird, right? What about getting in, turning her loose, and making some other bird look like her?" Elspeth turned toward Darkwind as the last sliver of sun vanished. "One person, maybe two, could get away with that."

  "Now that is the kind of sortie I know how to run," the sword put in.

  Darkwind looked pointedly at Nyara.

  She coughed politely. "This would be a good time for me to absent myself. Could I take a walk, perhaps?" she asked. "Could someone go with me?" And she glanced significantly at Skif, who flushed but did not look as if he would turn down the invitation.

  Darkwind found himself torn by conflicting emotions. He knew very well what was likely to happen as soon as those two found themselves alone, and while on the one hand, he was relieved that Nyara had found herself a safer outlet for her needs than himself, he also was unreasoningly jealous.

  He didn't trust himself with her. He didn't trust her; she had already told them that Falconsbane had ordered her to seduce and subvert him.

  Doing anything except exchanging pleasantries with her was the worst possible idea at the moment.

  That didn't stop his loins from tightening every time she looked at him.

  And it didn't stop him from being envious of anyone else she cast those golden eyes upon.

  "I've done my share of breaking into buildings in my misspent youth," Skif said hesitantly, with one eye on Nyara. "But I have the feeling you're thinking of using magic, and that's where you lose me. I suppose we could go take that walk, out of earshot. If only one person goes in, I guess it wouldn't be one of us Heralds-so what I know is pretty superfluous." Darkwind glanced at Elspeth; he thought he saw a little smile playing at the corners of her mouth, but the light was fading, and he couldn't be sure. He wondered if she would be so amused if she knew what he knew about Nyara.

  But there didn't seem to be any reason to object. "Stay within the ruins," he said, curtly. "Skif, I hold you responsible for this woman.

  Remember what she's told us; she can't even trust herself." Skif nodded, but he also rose to his feet and courteously offered Nyara his hand to help her rise as well. Nyara took it, though she didn't need it any more than Darkwind would have. And she held it a moment longer than she needed to.

  I don't think he has any idea of what he's in for. She just may eat him alive.

  He stopped himself before he could say anything. She isn't my property.

  She's too dangerous right now for me to touch. It doesn't matter what I want. Acting on what you want is something only children think is an adult prerogative.

  So he held his tongue and watched the two of them walk slowly into the shadows of the ruins, side-by-side, but carefully not-touching.

  The sexual tension between them was so obvious that they might just as well have been bound together by ropes.

  "I know I'm being incredibly obnoxious to ask this," Elspeth said behind him. "But were you two lovers?"

  "No, lady," he said absently, as he struggled to get his jealousy under control. "No, we weren't. She has that much control of herself; her father ordered her to seduce me, therefore she would not. Otherwise-" he paused, then continued, sensing that this particular young woman would not misinterpret what he was saying. And sensing that he could somehow reveal anything to her, without fear of coming under judgment." Otherwise we might well have been. She was created for pleasure, I think you know that, or have guessed. It drives her before hunger or pain. She is probably quite-adept at it. She has had most of her life to learn it, and practice." Elspeth considered his words for a moment, as he turned back to
face her. "You aren't angry at Skif, I hope." He uttered a short, humorless laugh. "Angry, no. She cannot help what she is. Envious-yes. Much as I hate to admit it. Envy is not a pretty trait. And you?" Her soft laugh was genuine. "I am so relieved that he has finally found someone to-well-"

  "Drag off into the ruins?" Darkwind suggested delicately.

  Exactly. I can't tell you how relieved I am. He has been a very good friend for many years," she said, tilting her head to one side as she sat silhouetted against the indigo sky. "And he has been under a great deal of strain lately." ' And were you lovers?" Darkwind asked sharply, in a tone that surprised even him. Why should I care? he wondered. They're Outlanders. they'll get what they need and leave, like the breath of wind on a still pond. the only impression they can make is a fleeting one.

  She didn't seem to notice. "I haven't been entirely candid with you, Darkwind-though mostly it was because I didn't think rank was going to impress you any, and might have made you reject us out of hand." Ah, so my surmise was right.