Winds Of Fate v(mw-1 Read online

  Dawnfire-what were they going to do about her? She was still trapped in the body of a bird.

  Even the Shin'a'in seem to feel sorry for her-or something.

  The Shin'a'in were returning from their hunt by ones and twos, all of them gathering as if by prearrangement on the area below Dawnfire's perch, all of them silent. They seemed in no hurry to leave, and Elspeth mostly ignored them in favor of the task at hand despite the growing tension in the air. Even if something was about to happen, there wasn't much she could do about it.

  Then Cymry's nervous snort made her look up.

  As far as she could tell, all of the Shin'a'in had returned and now they were standing in a rough circle below Dawnfire. All but the shaman, that is; he had left Skif and now knelt beside Darkwind, with an odd expression as if he were waiting...this is it. this is what I've been feeling-this is the cause of all the tension and pressure Were they glowing slightly, or was that only her imagination? There seemed to be a hazy dome of light covering them all.

  One of the Shin'a'in, a woman by the build, finally moved.

  Kra'heera grabbed Darkwind's shoulders and physically restrained him from standing up, as the woman put up a hand to Dawnfire. The bird stared measuringly at her for a moment, then stepped down from her perch onto the proffered hand, and the woman turned to face the rest.

  Like all the others, this one was clad entirely in black, from her long black hair to her black armor, to her tall black boots. But there was something wrong with her eyes... something odd.

  Darkwind struggled in earnest against the shaman, but he was too weak to squirm out of Kra'heera's hands. "Be silent, boy!" the shaman hissed at him as he continued to fight. "Have you any life to offer her?

  Would you watch her fade before your eyes until there is nothing left of her?" Elspeth paid scant attention to them, concentrating instead on the black-clad woman who had taken Dawnfire. There was something very unusual about her-a feeling of contained power. Elspeth Felt the stirring of a kind of deeply-running energy she had never experienced before, and found herself holding her breath.

  The woman raised Dawnfire high above her head and held her there, a position that must have been a torment after a few moments, and as she did so, the entire group started to hum.

  Softly, then increasing slowly in volume, until the ruins rang with the harmonics-and Dawnfire began to glow.

  At first Elspeth thought it was just a trick of the setting sun, touching the bird's feathers and making them seem to give off their own light.

  But then, the light grew brighter instead of darker, and Dawnfire straightened and spread her wings-and began to grow larger as well as brighter.

  Within heartbeats, Elspeth couldn't even look at her directly. In a few moments more, she was averting her face, though Darkwind continued to stare, squinting, into the light, a look of desperation on his face. The light from the bird's outstretched wings was bright enough to cast shadows; the black-clad Shin'a'in seeming to be shadows themselves, until the bird appeared to be ruling over a host of shades.

  The Shin'a'in shaman caught her staring at him. He met her eyes, then returned to gaze fearlessly into the light, and seemed to sense her questions. "Dawnfire has been chosen by the Warrior," he said, as if that explained everything.

  Oh, thanks. Now of course I understand. I understand why a hawk is flaming brighter than any firebird; I understand why Darkwind looks as if he's at an execution. what in Havens is going on?

  Gwena looked at her as if the Companion had red those thoughts. "It's business," she said shortly, .And not ours." And I suppose that's going to tell me everything.

  Darkwind's eyes streamed tears, and she longed to comfort him, but she sensed she dared not; not at this moment, anyway.

  The light was dying now, along with the humming, as she looked back toward the circle of Shin'a'in.

  The bird on the female fighter's fist was no longer a red-shouldered hawk; it was a vorcel-hawk, the emblem of the Shin'a'in Clan Tale'sedrin, and the largest such bird Elspeth had ever seen. The light had dimmed in the bird's feathers, but it had not entirely died, and there was an other-worldly quality about the hawk's eyes that made her start with surprise.

  Then she recognized it; the same look as the female fighter's. There were neither whites nor pupils to the woman's eyes, nor to the bird's-only a darkness, sprinkled with sparks of light, as if, rather than eyes, Elspeth looked upon fields of stars.

  That was when she remembered where she had heard of such a thing.

  The Chronicles-Roald's description of the Shin'a'in Goddess.

  Her mouth dried in an instant, and her heart pounded. If she was right-this was a Goddess-And Dawnfire was now Her chosen avatar.

  And at that moment, she found she couldn't move. She was frozen in place, as a string of bridleless black horses filed into the clear area, led by no one, each going to a Shin'a'in and waiting.

  The Shin'a'in mounted up, quite literally as one, and rode out in single file; the woman and the hawk last, heading for the path that wound around the ruins and led down into the Plains. Those two paused for just a moment, black silhouettes against the red-gold sky, sunlight streaming around them, as they looked back.

  Darkwind uttered an inarticulate moan. It might have been Dawnfire's name; it might not.

  Then they were gone.

  Sunset did not bring darkness; Darkwind and Treyvan used their magecraft to kindle a couple of mage-lights apiece, and they all crowded into the lair. Right now, no one wanted to face the night shadows.

  Darkwind looks as if he's lost. Not that I blame him. He and Dawnfire were... were close. whatever happened to her, I have the feeling she's pretty well gone from his life.

  "Where's Nyara?" Skif said, struggling to sit up, the bandage around his head obscuring one eye.

  "Right there." Elspeth glanced at the niche among the stones by the door that Nyara had been occupying since the fight, Need on her lap, only to find her gone. And she didn't recall seeing the girl move.

  Darkwind glanced up at the same time, on hearing Skif's voice; their eyes met across Nyara's now-empty resting place.

  "I didn't see her leave," Darkwind began.

  "Nor did I," Elspeth replied grimly. "And she's got my sword." What do you mean, your sword?" Need's mind-voice asked testily, the quality hollow and thin, as if crossing a bit of distance. Elspeth had started to get to her feet; she froze at the touch of the mind-voice, and a glance at Darkwind showed he had heard it, too.

  "I'm not your sword, Elspeth, I'm not anybody's sword. I go to whom I choose. And frankly, child, you don't require my services anymore. You're a fine fighter; a natural, in fact. You're going to be a better mage than I am.

  And you are ridiculously healthy in mind and body. Nyara, on the other hand... A feeling of pity crept into the sword's tone. "Let's just say she's a challenge to any Healer. And if she's not going to fall back into her father's hands, I figured I'd better take an interest in her. she needs me more than you ever would." The mind-voice began to fade. "Fare well, child. We'll see you again, I think." Then it was gone.

  Elspeth stared at Darkwind with a mingled feeling of relief and annoyance.

  At least this meant there was one less thing to fight, but she'd gotten used to having the blade around to depend on.

  I'd gotten used to it-well, maybe she was right. If what she told us was the truth, she never let anyone depend on her powers..."Do you think the artifact will be strong enough to keep Nyara out of his hands?" Darkwind asked, worriedly.

  Elspeth shrugged. "I don't know. She was strong enough to turn Falconsbane's spell against him." Darkwind nodded, slowly; his face was in shadow so that Elspeth could not read it, but she had the feeling he was somehow at war within himself. As if he was both relieved that Nyara was gone, and regretting the fact.

  Then he moved a little, and the cold light showed a look of such naked loss and loneliness that Elspeth looked away, unable to bear it.

  She turned to Skif in
stead, who was still trying to sit up. "Nyara," he said fretfully, squinting at her. He was doubtless experiencing double vision, and a headache bad enough to wish he were dead. "Where's Nyara? Is she all right?"

  "Need's taking care of her," Elspeth told him, giving him the bare truth. "She's fine." Satisfied, he stopped trying to fight his way into a sitting position, and permitted her to feed him one of the herbal painkillers she had picked up in Kata'shin'a'in. Shortly after that, he was snoring; and she looked up to find Darkwind gone as well, taking his thoughts and his pain into the night.

  She hugged her knees to her chest and waited for a while, but he did not return. Finally she went to bed, where she lay for a long time, listening to Skif's drug-induced snores and the young gryphlets making baby noises in the next room.

  It was a long night.

  Darkwind returned to the gryphon's lair late the next morning; it had been a long night for him, as well, and it had ended with a morning session of the Council of Elders.

  He had found himself in the odd position of Council Leader; he was not certain he liked it. Virtually anything he thought to be a good idea would be adopted at this point, when his credit was so high with the rest of the Elders, but how was he to know whether what he wanted was going to be good for the rest of the Vale?

  Especially where these Outlanders were concerned.

  But he wanted them to stay. Although he was tired, heartsore, and uncertain of many things, of that much he was sure.

  He found the young woman outside the Lair, taking advantage of a cool breeze and a chance, at last, to rest in the open without fear of attack. She rose on seeing him, and he made idle talk for a moment before finally coming to the subject. ' Falconsbane is gone; perhaps for good. Your sword is no longer with you. I can and will direct you to a teacher among the Vales, and k'sheyna is not likely to be a comfortable place to live for a while. So what is it you would do now?" he asked, refusing to meet Elspeth's eyes. "There is no need for you to stay." She set her chin stubbornly. "You promised to teach me magic; are you going back on that promise?"

  "No," he replied slowly. Is this wise? Perhaps not-but I am weary of being wise. "But" Does the Council want us to leave?" She looked very unhappy at that idea; he rubbed his hand across his tired eyes. Was it only she thought there would be opposition that she would have to fight without an advocate if she went to another Vale?

  "No, not at all," he said wearily. "No-it is-I thought perhaps you and Skif-"

  "Skif isn't going to leave here unless you force him to," she told him bluntly. "It's that simple. He can't travel any time soon, and after that-" She shrugged. "He may go home, he may decide to stay, that's up to him. Nyara's out there somewhere; he may decide to try to find her, and personally, I think he will. But I plan on staying, if you're still willing to teach me."

  "I am," he replied soberly, "But I must warn you that I have never taught before. And you are a dangerous kind of pupil; you come late to this, and you wield a great deal of power, very clumsily." She bristled a little. "I haven't exactly had a chance to practice," she retorted. "I don't think you'll find me unwilling to work, or too inflexible to learn."

  "I, too, will be a kind of pupil," he reminded her. "I have not used my powers in a long time; I shall have to relearn them before I can teach you.

  But it is easier for two than one. And my friends are few enough. Elspeth has become one.

  She shrugged. "If you don't care, I don't. What I do care about is that you can teach me as quickly as I can learn. I don't have a lot of time to spend here." Dark thoughts shadowed her face; he guessed they were thoughts of home, and all that could be taking place there. He softened a little, understanding those worries only too well. "If you will give me your best, I will give you mine," he replied.

  She met his eyes at last. "I never give less than my best," she said.

  He glanced at the slumbering Skif out of the corner of his eye. "Not even to him?" he asked, a little cruelly, but unable to help himself. You must know yourself, strengths and weaknesses, before you dare magic.

  "I gave Skif my best," she replied instantly, without a wince."

  "It just wasn't what he thought he wanted. He's still my friend." He nodded, satisfied, and rose, holding out his hand to her. "In that case, lady, gather your things again." This time she did wince. "Why? Did you change your mind just now about throwing us out?" She sounded a little desperate.

  "No." He stared at the forest for a moment, wondering again if he was doing the right thing.

  But he was doing something, and his heart told him it was right. And that was infinitely better than doing nothing.

  "No... no, Elspeth," he replied after a moment, tasting the flavor of the strange name, and finding he liked it. "I have not changed my mind. As soon as you are ready, I will have Skif brought to the Vale, and conduct you there myself." He turned toward her and found himself smiling at the look of complete surprise she wore. "You have succeeded in winning a place where no Outlander has been for generations."

  He clasped her forearm in his hand, searching in her eyes for a moment ... then speaking to her softly.

  "As Council Leader of Vale k'sheyna, I offer you the sanctuary and peace of the Vale; I offer you the honor and responsibility of the Clan.

  If you will take it, I give you the name Elspeth k'sheyna k'valdemar...

  Somewhere overhead, a forestgyre called his approval as he rode the winds, watching over the forest; for Vree's bondmate had begun his healing at last.

  Author's Note"

  Just as the Companions are not horses as we know them, so the Tayledras bondbirds are not hawks and falcons. They have been genetically altered to make them larger, more intelligent, telepathic, and far more social than any terrestrial bird of prey. The "real thing" bears the same resemblance to a bondbird as a German Shepherd does to a jackal The ancient art of falconry can be thrilling and enjoyable, but the falconer must be prepared to devote as much or more time to it as he would his job. The birds must be fed, trained, and exercised every day without fail, and frequently will not permit anyone but their handler to feed them. For the most part, the falconer must make all his own equipment.

  And in order to obtain the licenses for his sport, he must pass a lengthy Federal examination, and the facilities for his bird must pass a Federal inspection. The licenses themselves must be obtained from both the Federal and State governments. All native birds are protected species, and possession without a permit is subject to a Federal fine as well as confiscation of the bird. The Apprentice falconer is only permitted to train and fly the red-tailed hawk or the kestrel (North American sparrowhawk), and must do so under the auspices of a Master. This is not a hobby to be taken on lightly, nor is it one that can be put in a closet on a rainy day, or if the falconer doesn't feel well that day. For the most part, birds of prey are not capable of "affection" for their handler, and the best one can expect is tolerance and acceptance. Falconers speak of "serving" their bird, and that is very much the case, for this is a partnership in which the bird has the upper hand, and can choose at any moment to dissolve the relationship and fly away. And frequently, she does just that.

  Falconers are single-handedly responsible for keeping the population of North American peregrine falcons alive. They were the first to notice the declining numbers, the first to make the connection between DDT and too-fragile eggshells, and the first to begin captive breeding programs to save the breed from extinction. They are intensely involved in conservation at all levels, and are vitally interested in preserving the wilderness for all future generations.

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