Valdemar 11 - [Owl Mage 02] - Owlsight Read online

  “Eventually” though—that was the key. It would take time for enough magical energy to trickle into those channels and collect again. For now, as Darian’s very first teacher had told him, the powerful magics that Adepts and even Masters had been able to perform were things of the past—there just wasn’t enough readily available, amassed energy available to perform them. He had heard it spoken of as “fog” by Starfall—sure, there might be enough water in a barn-sized mass of fog, but it did you no good if you wanted a drink of water.

  Well—that’s almost true. If three or four mages got together and pooled their personal power, you could do one fairly impressive piece of work. But you couldn’t hold it for long, and the mages would be useless for a week after. Or worse, they’d be dead, which is certainly a scandalously wasteful use of mages and one which the mages would probably object to. The faint sound of a twig snapping behind them made him swivel to peer back along their trail, only to see a deer in the far distance stare back at him, then bound away out of sight.

  By Adept Starfall’s way of thinking, even leaving mages exhausted and drained was just a little too expensive a price for a temporary achievement. Darian tended to agree, at least in principle, though he could think of a few occasions when it might be worth it. On the whole, he preferred Starfall’s precept that it was better and more effective to use small magics cleverly than big ones clumsily.

  :Kuari?: he Mindcalled to his bondbird. :Anything back there but deer?:

  : Fox. Tree-hare. Was squirrel. Tasty, too.: Kuari’s mind-voice was overlaid with sated pleasure, but it wasn’t as intense as it would have been if he’d stuffed himself.

  :Do me a favor and circle a bit, then come back to the line.: Something had caused that deer to come out of cover—it might have been the animal’s own curiosity, but if it wasn’t, Darian wanted to know the cause.

  Kuari gave willing assent, and Darian’s thoughts returned to their original track.

  After helping to defeat a barbarian army that had decimated the countryside and occupied Errold’s Grove, Darian had been formally adopted by Mage-Scout Snowfire as his younger brother, and had left the area he’d known all his life to follow his new kindred. The Tayledras as a whole had made a treaty-agreement with Valdemar to cleanse their land in return for payment; each Clan and Vale that sent one or more teams out would decide just what form the payment for their team would take. In the case of k’ Vala, it would be in the form of raw materials, such as wool, linen, metals, and the like—especially metals. Tayledras disliked mining, and without the magical means to bring metals to the surface, mining was the only way to get them. As to why it was the Tayledras and not the Valdemarans themselves that were cleansing the land—well, as Darian had learned, the Valdemarans were unaccustomed to magic use in the first place, and in the second place, the Tayledras were uniquely suited to the task. In the first set of mage-storms, in the wake of the Mage-Wars of Urtho and Ma’ ar, the Tayledras had taken on the task of cleansing the lands at the behest of their Goddess, and had been given unique traits, skills, and knowledge to enable them to do so. Interesting that they managed to come up with a tradition of running off strangers at knifepoint all by themselves, though, and not at the Goddess‘orders, he thought, casting an amused glance at his adoptive brother’s back. Well, some people take their jobs more seriously than others. I wonder if the Shin’a’ in are just as bloodthirsty?

  The other reason lay in Valdemar itself. In the time of Herald Vanyel, a spell had been set that prevented knowledge of “true” magic from taking hold in the minds of Valdemarans—along with another, guaranteed to send any “true” mage mad if he worked his powers within the borders of Valdemar. Those spells were gone now, of course (they would never have survived the mage-storms, even if they hadn’t been taken down deliberately), but centuries of living without real magic had left the Valdemarans without many mages of their own.

  Darian understood that mages were being trained at the capital of Haven, under the auspices of Adept Darkwind and Herald-Mage Elspeth, among others—and like Darian, not all of those were Heralds—or even human. They were taking things slowly, however. There were many pitfalls to avoid, not the least of which was to make very certain that no ally got the impression that Valdemar was trying to build itself an army of mages!

  There was talk of establishing a fourth Circle, a Mage Circle, just like the Bardic Circle, Heraldic Circle, and Healer Circle, and a proper and separate Mage’s Collegium. I don’t know how far they’ll get with that one, though. Some of the teachers are bound to be mages from established schools; will they be willing to give over students into something like that? Then again, the point was to instill ethics into young mages from the beginning, and what sane mage would argue with that?

  Well, that was all complicated political matters, and not of much interest to him at the moment. Right now he was just glad to be riding beneath the shadow of his much-loved trees, with the familiar pine- and fallen-leaf-scent of home all around him. One of the Heralds they had worked with during their task had once been on the circuit that included Errold’s Grove, and had told Darian that the huge trees of the Pelagiris always reminded him of the huge columns of the Great Temple of Vkandis in Karse. It struck Darian, then and now, that this was a particularly apt description; the hush beneath the trees, with the calls of birds so high above, and shafts of golden sunlight piercing the occasional breaks in the foliage always filled him with peace, pleasure, and a touch of awe or wonder. He couldn’t imagine a temple or cathedral of any kind that deserved the name that wouldn’t evoke a similar set of feelings.

  The group followed a faint but discernible path in the shadows of those trees, riding not the horses of the Valdemarans, nor the Companions of their Heralds, but dyheli, strong and slender deerlike creatures with twin, curving horns and a formidable intelligence. They were, in fact, not beasts of burden, but allies of the Tayledras and their equals in intelligence. Though they did not bond with a particular person in the way that a Companion would bond with a Herald, they did express preferences in riders, and Darian’s mount was, oddly enough, the king-stag of the herd, Tyrsell.

  One would think that the king-stag would be carrying one of the two leaders of the group, either Adept Starfall or Snowfire....

  :Now why should I do that,: Tyrsell asked ironically, :when you are so very much lighter than they?:

  The dyheli turned his head a little on his long neck, so that one wickedly amused golden eye looked back at Darian. He wasn’t at all surprised that Tyrsell had been following his thoughts; dyheli in general were the strongest Mindspeakers of any creature alive, and the king-stags were the strongest of the strong. Dyheli had no concept of the privacy of thoughts either; so they had no scruples about “eavesdropping.”

  Not that Darian cared; in their way, dyheli were so alien in their thinking that having Tyrsell privy to his thoughts was no more embarrassing than sharing them with his owl, Kuari. Certainly he had linked minds so often with Tyrsell that he never really bothered to shield against him. By this time he was so used to sharing his thoughts with dyheli that it came as second nature, as natural as breathing.

  :Because it wouldn’t be true?: he suggested. :I’ve been growing, you know. I’m not the skinny little brat you used to carry around like a leaf. I’m almost a match for Snowfire now.:

  Tyrsell tossed his head with amusement—down, not up, or he’d have impaled Darian on a horn. :Almost, indeed! You may be his match in height, but not in muscle, youngster, and you by no means weigh as much as he does. But you are right, it would not be the entire truth. What is the duty of the king-stag?:

  :To drive the herd from danger, to take the rear and guard, to stand and fight enemies off,: Darian replied promptly.

  : You are one of the stronger Mindspeakers, you are light, and you are a fighter. You and I have linked minds many times in battle. If danger comes on us, you are the most comfortable with me, and are the best combination of skills to pair with mine to keep yo
ur herd and mine

  safe.: Tyrsell’s logic was, as usual, impeccable. Darian could combine his mental strength with Tyrsell’s to overcome panic in the herd, he was a match for any bowman in the group but Snowfire, so playing rearguard was a logical choice for him, and he and Tyrsell had proved more than once in close combat that their skills added together made them formidable foes. Darian was still flattered and pleased, because the same could have been said of some of the others, too.

  : Your Mindtouch is unobtrusive, and when you are thinking, your Mind-voice is pleasant to listen to,: Tyrsell added. :The others sometimes babble most annoyingly, or obsess over trifles. You only obsess over things of importance.:

  That pleased him, too. He took a certain pride in being able to think well; it was a skill Justyn had tried to teach him, and he wanted his abilities to reflect well on his old teacher.

  In spite of the fact that I didn’t value him while I had him. But that was a thought and a shame he kept to himself, under shield. It was his grief, and his alone to expiate.

  By now Kuari must have circled on both sides of our backtrail—He sent a wordless, soft touch back to his bondbird, who responded immediately.

  :Anything?: he asked.

  :Deer, quiet, go from grass to water,: was the reply.

  Darian was glad to hear that; anything on the backtrail would have spooked the entire herd, so evidently his group had crossed the deer’s game trail at the time when they were moving purely by coincidence.

  But there was someone else who’d like to know about a herd of deer behind them. : Stay with the herd, Kuari. You’ll have company in a bit.: He cast his thoughts upward, changing the “feel” of his Mindsending to that of another friend.

  :Kel! Kuari’s got deer in sight, on our backtrail.:

  He got an instant response; the young gryphon was in a growth spurt, and always hungry.

  :Deer!: Kelvren exulted. :Oh, yes!:

  That was all he got, as Kelvren sent his thoughts winging after the owl’s. Kelvren was up ahead of them, and higher in the tree canopy than Kuari. If there was any skill that Kelvren had gained above and beyond any other gryphon, it was the ability to move through the high branches of the great trees with barely a wingbeat. In a moment, though, he would be winging back above the canopy until he came up with Kuari. Then, using the owl’s information, he’d dive blind through the screen of foliage just like a goshawk going for a rabbit in the brush, and with any luck, he’d get a deer before the deer knew he was there. Otherwise, he’ d be in for a tail-chase.

  Kel could catch a deer in a tail-chase, it just wasn’t his favorite form of pursuit—though the injuries that often resulted from tail-chases gave him plenty of extra attention. He’d much rather make a clean kill, and a quick one; chases were a waste of energy.

  Faintly, from behind him, came the noise of something large crashing through the branches, and Kuari’s excited hoots. Kuari loved watching Kel hunt; all bondbirds were far more social than their raptor ancestors, and took pleasure in each others’ company and successes. Breeding that trait into them had been imperative, since without it, Kuari would have happily made a meal off of any of the other birds in the company. Kuari’s talons could easily pierce a cow’s skull; he’d make short work of another bird.

  :Two! Two!: Kuari projected excitedly into Darian’s mind. :He got two!:

  : Two?: Tyrsell chimed in, impressed. :By the horns of the Moon-Doe, that’s amazing!:

  If Kelvren had managed to kill two deer at once, there was no point in letting them go to waste. “Snowfire!” he called ahead. “I sent Kel on the backtrail after a deer, and it seems he’s gotten two instead of one.”

  Snowfire turned, stared at him to see if he was serious, then broke into astonished laughter. “I had no idea he was that hungry!” He called ahead to the rest of the team. “Wintersky! Raindance! Peel off and go back until you find Kel, he’s made a kill too big for him to carry.”

  A short time later, two of the team rode past Darian with a wave, their mounts at a brisk trot, two riderless does from the herd trotting beside them. While Kelvren stood guard, and their own birds circled above as extra protection, they’d field-dress the two deer, strap each to a rough travois, then rejoin the rest. To make it easier for them to catch up, Snowfire slowed the team to an amble. This wasn’t the first time that Kel had made kills too large to eat at once or carry, but it was the first time he’d made a double-kill.

  Nightwind is going to be very proud of him, Darian thought warmly. He’s going to be just as proud of himself! Gryphons, after all, were praise-driven, and what they didn’t receive from others they often enough filled in for themselves.

  Roughly a candlemark later Raindance and Wintersky came trotting back, the riderless dyheli now each dragging a travois with the somewhat-mangled carcass of a fine young buck strapped on it. That would slow them all down, of course, but it wasn’t that long until they were going to make camp, so the prospect of fresh meat would more than make up for it. Kel would dine tonight on one deer, the team would have part of the other, then Kel would get the remains for his breakfast. It took a lot of meat to feed a gryphon, though fortunately he usually managed to supply it himself. In lean times, breads were used to supplement the meat, mostly to provide mass, and luckily for everyone who would have had to hear his complaining, Kelvren had acquired a taste for bread anyway. Hungry gryphons were grouchy gryphons.

  There were no more breaks in the routine of travel until the light beneath the trees had begun to redden and grow dimmer, a sure sign that the sun was about to set. By then, the advance scouts had found a suitable camping spot and those with lighter burdens and the unburdened dyheli had gone on ahead to prepare the camp, leaving the rest to come in at their own pace.

  That, or so Darian thought, was one of the advantages of being the rearguard. By the time he reached camp, it was a camp; the tents were all set up, a latrine pit had been dug, water fetched, and Ayshen, the chief hertasi, had everything ready to make dinner for the entire team. Since the job of rearguard was to make a circuit of the camp before coming in himself, the rearguard never had to do any of the camp chores.

  Some nights, in the winter, for instance, when he was frozen from his nose to his toes, or in the pouring rain, that was a hardship. Being the one who had to make certain that all the territory within their perimeter was clear under those circumstances, with dinner scents on the breeze, was assuredly a hardship. Not tonight, though.

  He dismounted and let Tyrsell go on into camp, to put himself into the capable hands of the hertasi to have his minimal tack removed. No dyheli would ever subject himself to the indignity of a bit and bridle; however, they did allow a modified hackamore, similar to that worn by Companions, and a saddle-pad to cover their protruding backbones. As Darian knew from painful personal experience, riding a dyheli without that saddle-pad was much like sliding naked down a cliff, but not nearly as comfortable.

  He and Kuari made the circuit of the camp without incident, marking good places for sentries with something unobtrusive, natural, but unmistakable to any of the Tayledras—feathers, usually wedged into the bark of a tree.

  When he got back into camp, the first set of sentries had eaten a light snack and were ready to go out. They’d get a second meal when they came back in, but, no Tayledras would stand sentry with a full stomach; it was too easy to doze off.

  Ayshen had his dinner ready and waiting for him: a savory butterflied venison steak and journey-bread, with some mixed, unidentified shoots and greens. Ayshen and the other hertasi knew the forest and what it could provide as well as they knew the patterns of their own scales; they foraged as the team traveled every day, and Darian never knew what they would come up with. They always had something green and growing in addition to meat and bread, even in the dead of winter, for Ayshen took great care with the diet and health of his “charges.”

  Darian knew better than to leave so much as a scrap of that green stuff on his plate, too. Ayshen would show
no mercy to anyone who didn’t eat what was given him.

  Darian sat down to eat in the blue dusk beneath the trees; he polished off the last scrap in full dark. He was the last to eat, and brought Ayshen his empty plate just as the hertasi cleaned the last of the pans.

  “We are not far from the Vale now,” Ayshen told him with a toothy grin. “One day, two at the most. Then you will see! Nothing we passed through in Valdemar compares!”

  “Nothing we passed through in Valdemar was bigger than two or three villages put together,” Darian reminded him. “We were not exactly traversing through the height of Valdemaran civilization, you know.”

  “Oh, indeed.” Ayshen chuckled. “You will see.”

  Darian laughed, and slapped the little lizard-creature on the back. “I’m certain that I will,” he agreed. “But for tonight, all I want to see is my bed.”

  He wouldn’t have thought, back when he was Justyn’s apprentice, that simply riding all day long would be tiring. After all, it was your mount that did most of the work, right?

  Well, that turned out to be only partially true; riding was more work than Darian would have imagined four years ago. Riding literally from dawn until dusk was enough to tire anyone out—riding as tail-guard was exhausting mentally as well as physically.

  So he wasn’t joking when he told Ayshen that all he wanted to see was his bed. He continued to share a tent with young Wintersky; it was a tent made for three, but only the two of them used it now. Snowfire had long since made his union with Nightwind a formal one, which just gave Wintersky and Darian more room.

  Wintersky sat beside a small campfire in front of their tent, contentedly toasting a stick. Darian sat down beside his friend and took another dry twig, breaking it into tiny bits and casting each bit into the heart of the fire. “Ayshen says we’ll be at the Vale in the next day or two,” he said, and Wintersky nodded.