We’ve got soul.

We’ve got each other.

We’ve got the whole world to embrace.

This one’s for you.

One

A shrill whistle caught Darian’s attention, and he looked up and over the lake of k’Valdemar Vale, shading his eyes with his hand. As he expected, he saw Snowfire waving at him from his “balcony,” three-quarters of the way up the side of the cliff that edged the far side of the lake.

Actually, it would have been more accurate to say that he saw a tiny figure with white hair waving from the balcony - at this distance he couldn’t have said for certain that it was Snowfire. It wasn’t Nightwind, though; her hair was still raven-wing black.

The sky above the cliff shimmered with a light, pearly opalescence, although it was perfectly possible to see the clouds and blue sky beyond the new Veil, a magic shield that protected k’Valdemar.

I would never have believed we’d get a Veil so quickly, he marveled once again. If anyone had told me that the Heartstone would support a Veil this soon, I would have told him he was wildly optimistic. It wasn’t a full Veil, which would have excluded all weather; this simply kept things at a constant, pleasant temperature, no matter the season. Rain came through, and snow fell to the ground as rain once it passed through the Veil, so they still got some weather. They couldn’t do without roofs yet.

He whistled back at Snowfire, and waved his arm in the direction of the Council House, the newly built structure that housed all Joint Council sessions. It wasn’t much of a structure; now that the Vale had protection, it didn’t need to be much of a structure. It had “walls” of wicker work covered in vines, a roof that was half skylight and half slate, a floor of natural turf which flourished in the light. For furniture, in deference to the Valdemar contingent of the Joint Council, there were chairs and a table, but the chairs were of woven grapevine and wicker with soft cushions, and the table was a compass-rose shape of tree-trunk sections, topped with three rising layers of polished wood with one section for each member of the Council. The Tayledras of k’Valdemar, of course, felt no need for formal furniture, and neither did the tribesmen of the Ghost Cat clan.

Up on the cliff, Snowfire waved both arms back, signifying that he understood the Council was gathering. He disappeared into the dark opening in the cliff face behind him, presumably to fetch his mate, Nightwind. His errand of notifying Snowfire and Nightwind completed, Darian Firkin k’Vala k’Valdemar turned back and entered the shaded and secluded pathways of his Vale, heading for the Council House himself.

An odd and sometimes seemingly contradictory combination of qualities was Darian. A Journeyman-level Mage, from a land which did not have such things until very recently - a citizen of the country of Valdemar, yet also a Hawkbrother of the once-secretive Tayledras, adopted into the clan of k’Vala - even his clothing reflected those contradictions.

He wore soft fabrics of Hawkbrother manufacture; the loose trousers, gathered at the ankle, that both sexes wore, and the wide-sleeved, open-collared shirt that was also a staple among the Tayledras. Good, strong dyes were readily available in the Vale, so the rich gold of his shirt and brown of his trousers were commonplace inside the Vale, though not necessarily in the Valdemaran lands beyond.

But the embroidered, fitted vest he wore, though not of Valdemaran manufacture, was definitely of the local style. Of light brown leather lined in darker brown silk, it was embroidered in a motif of owls. Once again, contradiction - the cut of the vest was Valdemaran, the motif was clearly Tayledras.

So there it was, contradictions implied in his very dress, contradictions that sometimes confused others, but never confused him. For all the contradictions, Darian was comfortable in his dual citizenship, and sometimes took an impish delight in how uncomfort-able it made others.

He looked up at the sound of a crow’s catcall just above his head, laughing when he saw a falcon playing “tag” with a crow, flying in and out of the branches. In open air, the falcon would have had the advantage, but not in among the trees. The streamer trailing from the falcon’s bracelets was less than half its original length, but the crow still had most of his streamer, and mocked the falcon enthusiastically. Both were bondbirds, of course, the specially bred, highly intelligent companions of the Hawkbrothers, and the falcon seemed to be taking his imminent defeat in good humor. Crows took just about everything in good humor; of all the birds bred by the Hawkbrothers as bondbirds, the crows had the liveliest sense of humor. Ravens were more sardonic, most of the falcons tended to be quick-witted but extremely focused, hawks a little slower but more deliberate, and owls somewhat ponderous in their thinking. Darian’s own bondbird was an owl; in fact, it was one of largest birds in the Vale. Kuari was an eagle-owl, a bird which dwarfed all other birds except the bondbird eagles. Since there were no Tayledras with eagles in this Vale, Kuari and his parents Hweel and Huur were the largest birds here.

Now that the temperature was under control, the flora of the Vale was in the process of undergoing a shift from what had been native to this place to plants and even trees that could only be found in Tayledras Vales. There were more flowers; they were not necessarily bigger, but they bloomed all year long, their subtle perfume filling the air. The leaves of these new plants were enormous, and not just green - veins traced scarlet pathways, and pinks, oranges, and even blues made patterns that resembled flowers, enormous insects, or abstract collages on their surfaces.

It would take a very long time before this Vale looked anything like k’Vala, several generations, perhaps, but the beginnings were there, and Darian took a great deal of pleasure in seeing them. As he walked along the sand-softened pathway, he glanced up now and again, catching brief glimpses of new ekeles in the enormous trees. The treehouses of k’Valdemar were a bit more inventive than the ones in k’Vala; perhaps spurred on by hertasi creativity, there were experiments in Hawkbrother housing going on up there. Not all of them were successful, but the failure rate was low, and failures were never disasters. If one plan didn’t work out, would-be home builder and hertasi just put their heads together and tried a new direction.

All this building had been spurred on by the existence of the Veil, making it possible to have ekeles that took full advantage of the constant balmy conditions. The hedonistic Tayledras loved it. So did those ubiquitous residents of established Vales, the hummingbirds and messenger-birds. Strictly off-limits as dinner or snacks for the predatory bondbirds, these feathered gems frolicked fearlessly from the ground to the treetops. The messenger-birds sported feathers of every hue possible, and in combinations that sometimes made Darian blink. Their natural voices were a bit shrill, but fortunately the heavy foliage tended to disperse and muffle their joyful shrieks. The voice they used to repeat messages was a bit more pleasant, a kind of hoarse chuckle, and when they chose to permit someone to scratch or tickle them, they would chortle and chirp their pleasure in a way that was quite funny.

A flock of the messenger-birds hurtled overhead, screaming with delight, apparently in pursuit of the falcon and the crow. A hummingbird hovered at a flower cluster just beside the path, paying no attention to Darian as he walked by.

He should have been contented; there should have been nothing more he could have wanted. But underneath, he was restless and uneasy.

Perhaps it had been the dream he’d had last night, that had sent him up out of sleep with a feeling of something threatening. He couldn’t remember it though, that was the problem. All he could recall were the eyes of the Ghost Cat he had seen so long ago, and an odd sort of raven with the same kind of eyes. . . .

It’s probably just that I’ve gotten used to crisis, he told himself wryly. Once you get to the point that you watch for signs of crisis everywhere, totally innocuous events seem like grave portents. I should be glad that the worst crisis is where we’re going to put the latest batch of “pilgrims” to the “Holy Dyheli!”

That was an ongoing problem; every new group that made it down from the tribal lands of the North seemed to arrive with the potential to spread a new and different illness. Keeping them all quarantined from Ghost Cat and from each other until their ailments were identified and a cure devised required the tact of a diplomat, the organizational ability of the Kingdom Seneschal, and the tactical ability of a general. Although those qualities were not all combined in a single person, among them all, the Council members managed, though there had been a few-emergency sessions in the past.

The meeting planned for today, however, was the routinely scheduled monthly meeting. Lord Breon and his son would be there for Kelmskeep, as would the Chief and Shaman of Ghost Cat for the Northerners, representatives from Errold’s Grove, and from all the races resident at k’Valdemar Vale. Darian didn’t figure he’d hear anything more exciting than progress reports - perhaps some complaints or requests from farmers.

The vague murmur of conversation mingled with the rustle of leaves reached him before he actually saw the Council House. He stepped past the vine-covered, wicker-work screen shielding the entrance, and joined the others in a “room” that seemed very much an extension of the lush forest outside.

Of the representatives for k’Valdemar, only he and the snow-haired, aged Starfall were present at this moment; Nightwind and Snowfire and the others were presumably on their way. Lord Breon and Val had arrived last night, staying overnight in the guest lodge, and now were in their chairs chatting comfortably with Chief Vordon and Shaman Celin of Ghost Cat. Hertasi moved about the table, putting beverages and light snacks within reach of the Council members on the topmost tier of the table. No one shuffled papers on the lowest table tier today, which was a good omen for a short meeting. The table itself was in the shape of an open rose seen from above, with the layers in trimmed wood forming the petals. The original concept had been for a square table, yet someone had observed that only allowed for comfort for four parties. The way things had been going who knows how many more powers might come to stay in this area!

The Lutters were no longer the ones making the decisions for Errold’s Grove - oh, they thought they were, but the real work was done by the Village Council, and two representatives from that body were the new glass-maker, Harrod Dobbs, and Barda of the Fellowship. Harrod was always glad of an excuse to come to the Vale for a chance to use the bigger glass furnaces here and trade tips and lessons from the Vale glass-makers. There was very little overlap in what he produced and what the Vale artisans did; Harrod only rarely made anything that wasn’t utilitarian, as the demand for glass bottles and jars and common drinking vessels would always exceed his output. Still, he liked to turn out a nice set of goblets now and again, and most of what the Tayledras produced was lampwork and blown glass, so he was able to teach them molding techniques. The latest result of that was a series of small, flat medallions to hang in a window that they called “sun-catchers,” formed of colored glass, with a decorative impression molded into each. They were an adaptation of an Eastern style, very popular within the Vale; whether they would become popular outside it had yet to be determined.

The nonhuman members of the group, Kelvren, Ayshen, Tyrsell and Hashi, had not yet appeared either - but just as Darian took his own seat and exchanged greetings with the rest, the hertasi entered, followed by the king stag and the kyree.

And right after them, Snowfire and Nightwind appeared. “Sorry we’re running a bit late,” Nightwind apologized, pulling her ebon hair away from her finely honed face. “Kel will be here in a minute, too - we had to pry the baby away from him and get her put down for her nap.”

As if that had been a cue, the wicker walls shook with the thunder of enormous wings outside, and leaves blew, and Kelvren the gryphon joined the group, shouldering past the screen. He shook his dark brown feathers to settle them after his flight (and the baby Moonshadow’s sticky hands) and looked around.

Ayshen, the leader of the lizard-folk called hertasi, sat beside Nightwind on her left. The Kaled’a’in smiled a welcome and swept her trailing sleeves out of the way for him, and he put the tray of her favorite berry tartlets he had brought on the top tier of her table section. To her right sat Snowfire, and the section of Tayledras concluded with the silver-haired mage Starfall, the eldest of the group. Then came Darian, then Lord Breon’s sturdy son, Val, then the Lord himself. Between Lord Breon and the two Ghost Clan representatives sat Barda and Harrod. The dyheli stag Tyrsell stood beside Kelvren the gryphon along the back wall. Val’s arm was in a sling again; he’d probably managed to sprain it at fighting practice.

“It ssseeemsss everrryone isss herrre,” Kel said genially, and arranged himself along the wall, lying down on the turf out of the way. Hashi the kyree lay down next to him. “Good! I am sssorrry I was delayed. Who will ssstarrrt?”

“Actually, I will,” Lord-Breon said, looking uncommonly cheerful. Although his hair was threaded with gray, no one in his right mind would ever challenge Breon to a fight; he kept his well-muscled fighter’s frame in top trim. “I have some excellent news to start the Council session with - we’re getting our own, permanent, resident Herald-Mage!”

“No, really?” Snowfire exclaimed, blue eyes widening, as the others murmured their surprise. “When did you hear this?”

“Just before we left; news came by messenger.” Lord Breon was extremely pleased, and well he should be. Giving this corner of the world a resident Herald meant that Queen Selenay and her Council judged the land that held Breon’s keep to be of significant importance. That meant Breon’s status had risen from that of a minor noble to that of a key landholder here in the Northwest.

“Actually,” Breon continued, with a shamefaced glance at Starfall, “I probably ought to have told you last night, but - ”

“But there was no point in repeating the story half a dozen times, when you could tell us all at once,” Barda said bluntly, her plain, no-nonsense face showing no annoyance at all. “So, please, give us the details!”

“The Herald-Mage we’re getting is a fellow called Anda; I gather he was trained by the mages that came in with the Princess and her lot, so he’s got some experience in the war.”

That got Kelvren’s attention. “Trrruly?” he exclaimed. “Trrrained forrr warrr-magic?”

“That’s what they told me, Kel; you’ll have to ask him yourself if you want to know more.” Breon nodded at the gryphon, whose ear-tufts were sharply erect with interest.

“Skandranon Rashkae wasss a warrr-mage.” Kelvren turned his head sideways to speak to the kyree who no doubt already knew, and the king stag who likely didn’t care. “I could be one like him, with a good teacherrr.” Hashi licked Kelvren’s beak. Tyrsell just stared briefly at the gryphon, his expression typically unfathomable, then turned back to face Lord Breon.

“War-trained though he is, the Heraldic Circle feels that his experience in dealing with mages of so many different cultures will be useful here among us. I’m told that since the war he’s been riding circuit on the Karse and Hardorn borders, so he’s been running liaison with Sunpriests and Imperials. But that’s not the whole of the news - he’s bringing your Shandi back with him!”

Darian’s eyes widened in surprise equal to Snowfire’s. “Already?” he said cautiously, wondering if Shandi had somehow gotten herself in deeper trouble than she could get herself out of. It had been three years, perhaps less, since she had gone to the Collegium; surely she couldn’t have gotten her Whites yet!

“Already,” Lord Breon said with satisfaction. “The girl’s got her Whites - not the record, maybe, but she’s ready for other duties. Anda hand-picked her himself as his assistant, so she’ll be groomed for permanent service here!”

“Breon! That’s excellent news!” Barda said heartily, beaming at him. “I hope she’s as happy with the posting as her parents will be! Well, heyla, with all this increase in attention, perhaps we can see some funding for better roads and a second bridge!”

“I don’t know why she wouldn’t be,” Breon replied - and behind his back, Val rolled his eyes at Darian, who smothered a grin. Val and his lady were about to take Breon’s place at Court, and Val could hardly wait to get away, out from under his father’s well-intentioned restrictions. Not that Val was going to be irresponsible when the parental ties were severed - he wasn’t the adolescent who’d yearned for “the clash of sword on sword” two years ago. It had been Darian who’d seen how he chafed under the burden of being “only” the son, but it was Starfall who’d suggested that Val would make an excellent representative for his father at Haven and the Court.

That Lord Breon had embraced the suggestion so readily told Darian that he himself hadn’t worked out what to do with a young man full of energy and ideas with nothing to do.

“I want Herald Anda to meet you, Val,” he said, turning to his son, who quickly assumed a more appropriate expression. “But as soon as he’s settled in, it’ll be a good time for you to leave; any later and I might not be able to spare you a proper escort.”

Val grinned back at his father. “I’d have been disappointed if you’d asked me to go to Court before he arrived,” he assured his father. “If there was ever an excuse for a Tayledras celebration, this will be it!”

Snowfire grinned, and Kel chuckled. “What an excellent suggestion, Val!” Snowfire said facetiously. “We would never have thought of that, we are so completely serious-minded. We’ll take it under advisement!”

Val knew the Hawkbrothers too well now not to recognize the teasing for what it was, and just grinned back. “I’d be happy to advise you on the menu as well,” he suggested.

Nightwind raised an eyebrow. “Not that you would ever volunteer to cook any of the proposed menu,” she said dryly.

“You beat me to it,” chimed in Ayshen.

“You wouldn’t even suggest that if you had ever tasted his cooking, lady,” Lord Breon replied with an exaggerated shudder. “I won’t even let him make tea when we are out on a hunt.”

Val opened his mouth to protest, then realized that he might get himself into something he didn’t want, and shut it again. Darian smirked.

“Well, before we get into too many celebration plans, I’ve got a protest to lay before the Council,” Barda announced. “Ard Kilmer and Fern Holl are not happy with Ghost Cat at the moment, and they want me to make a formal objection.”

Chief Vordon looked surprised. “What could this problem be?” he asked. “Not Boys’ Raids again, surely?”

He was referring to the last protest against Ghost Cat, when boys wanting to earn their Manhood status had begun raiding villagers. Everything that was taken was returned, and the items taken were all of little value - but the fact that those items had come from inside people’s homes, and had been taken in the dead of night, had been more than a little unsettling to the good people of Errold’s Grove. They did not like the idea of “half-wild barbarian boys” creeping around in their homes while they slept, and who could blame them? After all, their daughters might be next to be stolen, and the daughters might not want to be returned!

The Chief and Shaman, after long consultation with the Council, had agreed to a new way of earning Manhood tallies that would demonstrate even more raiding skill than snatching things from villagers. Now the boys who wanted to count coups had to slip up close enough to a sleeping dyheli to put a handprint in paint on its side. Tyrsell liked this game; it forced the herd to regain some of the alertness it had been losing since life at k’Valdemar was so unchallenging. The young bucks of the herd appreciated it as well, and had taken to “counting coup” back, sneaking up behind a stalking boy and giving him a sharp nudge with a horn to his backside.

“No, not Boys’ Raids,” Barda replied. “They’ve heard your folk have been buying their chirras with intent to breed, and they’re afraid you’re going to challenge their market.”

“Fair is fair, Barda,” Lord Breon protested. “They wouldn’t have any room to protest if it was someone else from their village that was raising chirras in competition.”

“I know that,” Barda replied irritably, “but it’s my job to present the protest. So I have.”

“If they are so concerned, they could sell us only geldings,” Chief Vordon rumbled, “And then we will take our trade goods elsewhere. Our people came here hungry. The memory of crying bellies has not left us. We seek to breed those animals, so we will have enough food to keep a reserve. If they do not consider our value as peaceful neighbors they help feed, then we will seek out others farther away who will sell to us.”

“That could get ugly.” Val whispered to Darian.

:Competition keeps the breed strong,: was Tyrsell’s only comment.

The Chief looked to Lord Breon for further support, and possibly advice, and Breon was not loath to give it. “I move that the protest is noted but not valid - they’re only protesting because they think the Chief won’t know it’s groundless and they think they can get a settlement from the Council for nothing. In fact, I move the protest be dismissed. All in favor?”

A show of hands (and talons, paws, and hooves) all around - including Barda’s - made it unanimous without Chief Vordon having to get involved at all.

Since Lord Breon was the one on record as putting it to the vote, and countering the protest, it was unlikely that anything more would be said by the two farmers.

Barda sighed. “That was the stickiest bit. Market prices are down, but they can’t blame anything but the good crop of early vegetables. The Fellowship wants to send a parcel of wedding shawls with your boy as presents to people he thinks might do us some good.”

“You mean bribes, don’t you?” Vordon asked slyly.

“Anybody who understands bribery can’t be that much of a barbarian,” Val whispered.

“Presents, bribes, whatever.” Barda shrugged the insinuation away. “We aren’t asking for anything specific, and I certainly don’t want him to go giving them to tariff-officials, or anything of the sort. These are a different design that we’re hoping will catch on, and we’re looking for someone who’ll give us a decent price for the privilege of exclusivity. We made too many agreements back when the village wasn’t as prosperous with traders who are making a great deal of money from our work. We aren’t going to go back on those agreements now, but - well, you know.”

Lord Breon turned to Val. “Think you can handle that?”

Val took his time in answering, his dark brows knitted as he thought. “If you don’t expect results immediately,” he said at last. “If you trust me with this, I need to take my time with it. And I’ll want the use of a couple as outright gifts from Kelmskeep to important people.”

“That’s reasonable,” Barda agreed. “In fact, that might well whet the right appetites, if you give those gifts out first. Nothing like having someone with influence take a liking to your work for getting traders interested. It’s always better for the buyer to come to you.”

“Done, then,” Val said instantly, and another agreement was concluded.

“We want someone as - ” Chief Vordon searched for the word he wanted and finally leaned over and whispered something in Starfall’s ear. Starfall whispered back, and Vordon straightened. “As agent,” he said carefully. “For our goods. Someone who bargains well.”

Barda nodded. “I didn’t want to mention this before, because I didn’t know how your people would feel about it, but I’ve been thinking you could get better return if you had someone in the village working for you.”

Harrod bobbed his round head earnestly, and his lank, blond hair fell into his eyes. “My wife will do it, if you like,” he offered diffidently. “She’s sharp enough that the Lutters complain all the time about the prices they have to pay for jars. If you’d rather pick someone else, though, just say so.”

“No, no, your wife-mate will be good,” the Chief said instantly, giving Darian the feeling that he’d been on the wrong end of a bargain with Harrod’s wife himself a time or two. “Honest and - what was it? - sharp. Good.”

The rest of the meeting was concerned with other such things; requests from the village for Tayledras products and that Lord Breon supply the new village militia with some replacement arms, since the blacksmith of Errold’s Grove, though good with ploughs and hinges, knew little of arms and armoring. The kyree wanted permission to dig emergency lairs in the bluffs along the river near the village, and the hertasi wanted help from Ghost Cat on a fishing expedition. Most meetings were like this, where the details and difficulties of three cultures living in the same area got taken care of and smoothed over. Sometimes there were arguments, and twice there had been a point when Darian thought things might come to blows, but somehow everything got sorted out under the eyes of the Hawkbrothers. They’d even established a Council common treasury as the means of paying for things that all factions needed, and to pay off aggrieved parties if there was no other way to settle a dispute. The cash was anything but petty, but they were all in agreement that when time and diplomacy could not solve a problem, sufficient payoff would. As he had hoped, k’Valdemar was proving to be a neutral ground where the territory’s difficulties could be dealt with. The fact that it was the most pleasant and most relaxing place of all the possible spots where meetings could be held helped tremendously to get things settled peacefully. It was no accident that the Vale had turned out that way either. Tayledras were past masters at the strategic use of pleasure and comfort.

There weren’t going to be any serious arguments today, that was clear enough. Darian suspected that the imminent arrival of this Herald might have something to do with that. Barda had been awfully quick to drop the Errold’s Grove protest, and even voted against it herself - perhaps because she knew that if she supported the protest, it would certainly come up again in front of the Herald.

No one wants to look bad in front of the important stranger, he thought, with a mental smile. As if he won’t have had to deal with arguments just as petty, or even more so, before this. Of all of them, Darian had the most experience with Heralds; when k’Vala had helped the people of Valdemar clean out some nasty pockets of trouble left over from the mage-storms, he’d been the one, as the only Valdemar native, who spent the most time with their Heraldic liaisons. Stories came out over the campfire, often very funny stories, and Darian had about as good an idea of what it was like for a Herald on circuit as anyone who wasn’t himself a Herald.

“Is that it, then?” Lord Breon asked, looking around the table. “Everything taken care of?”

“As much as we can in one meeting,” Harrod replied, and Starfall nodded his agreement to that.

“Well, then, I have a proposition to make. We can take it as read that we’re going to have a bloody great celebration to welcome Heralds Anda and Shandi, right?”

Starfall laughed. “And you can take it as read that k’Valdemar will host it. No one else has the facilities - unless it was held outside, and it’s springtime, and you know what that means. Mud.”

Breon made a face. “Rain. Mud. Guaranteed. If it doesn’t rain on the welcome, it’ll rain on Spring Faire. At least if it rains in the Vale, it’ll be a warm rain.”

“I think we can even spare the magical energy to keep rain out of the Vale for a single day,” Starfall replied evenly. “A little borrowing from some other sources should make up the difference. Clearly, though, you have a request for the plans?”

Breon cleared his throat. “You all remember that I made Val a Knight when we decided he’d go to represent us at Court? Did I ever explain why?”

Snowfire wrinkled his brow in thought as the Errold’s Grove representatives looked blank; they hadn’t sat on the Council at the time. “Not that I recall. I thought it was simply something your people did from time to time.”

“We-e-ell, yes, in a way. A Knighthood confers rank - like Chief, or Warchief, Baron, or Elder. Not equal rank to those, but similar in concept,” Breon explained, using examples familiar to everyone around the table. “Most rank in Valdemar comes with land attached, though - Knighthood is the only one that doesn’t. It matches the ones that do, however - it’s meant to serve as notice to other people that the Knight is someone to be honored and respected, someone with the power to make decisions. It goes to younger sons who won’t inherit, for instance, or someone like Val who is going to serve as a representative for his parents. But it can also be used to reward people who’ve distinguished themselves; there’re Knights in the Guard, for instance. It’s a way of ennobling someone who’s not highborn and make them equal to the nobles.”

“All right,” Nightwind said. “So?”

“So I’d like to make young Darian a Knight of Valdemar.” Lord Breon sat back in his chair and enjoyed the various reactions of the rest of the Council.

Darian paled. He was too surprised - and concerned - to take any notice of the others. His first reaction was elation, but immediately following that was worry. “Lord Breon,” he said, before anyone else could voice their opinion, “I appreciate the honor, but why? And - I’ve already got other commitments; I am adopted into the Tayledras, and I couldn’t take any oaths that would conflict with that - ”

Breon shook his head. “No troubles there, lad. There’re a fair number of Valdemaran Knights that are envoys of other countries - well, there’s the Karsite ambassador, Karal, for one. The oaths you swear aren’t even in the name of a specific god; the phrasing is ‘by all I hold holy and dearest’ and you basically swear to defend the defenseless, uphold the right, that sort of thing. You’re the real liaison between Valdemar and the Hawkbrothers - but without some sort of title, I’m afraid this Herald might overlook you.” He gave a shrewd glance at Starfall, who nodded slowly. “Make you a Knight, though - and do it as part of his welcoming party - well, it’ll say without saying anything out loud that you rank equal with him.”

“Asss it ssshould be,” Kel rumbled.

“I take it, then, that he’s to be stationed within the Vale?” Starfall asked.

Breon nodded. “See what I’m working at, here? It’s an honor, oh my yes, but I don’t want a bunch of city-bred softheads thinking that they can make up for all their neglect by sending us a Herald, or even a Herald-Mage.”

“And if he is expecting to be stationed in the Vale. . . .” Starfall ruminated on that for a bit. “If Darian is his equal, then it is clear that he is in the Vale as our guest, and not as anyone who has any real authority over us.”

Breon looked satisfied, but said nothing. He didn’t have to. So far as he is concerned, the Joint Council is the only body with any right to make decisions around here, Darian reflected. He doesn’t intend to give up the tiniest speck of his authority and autonomy to Haven bureaucrats, and he figures Starfall and Vordon feel the same way.

He was probably right - definitely right, so far as Starfall was concerned. Vordon would side with what benefited his clan.

And as far as I’m concerned, that is right too. Darian understood completely what Lord Breon meant, when he’d spoken of the neglect that this part of the country had suffered. Granted, there had been an excuse for it - the war with Hardorn had drained Valdemar of every able-bodied fighter, putting them out on the front lines - but excuses didn’t make things right, and one Herald-in-residence wasn’t going to make up for it.

“Then I would very much like to accept the offer, Lord Breon,” he replied firmly. Breon smiled broadly.

“Hah!” the Shaman said, getting their attention. “If you make this Knight-business, we will make Darian-of-the-Owl a Clan-brother! Yes, and at the same celebration!”

“An excellent idea!” Snowfire said with enthusiasm. “A very good idea! Let Herald Anda be on the right footing with all of us from the moment he arrives!”

Now Darian was more than surprised, he was stunned. “But - ” he began. Isn’t this an awful lot of commitments to make? Can I honestly honor them all?

Snowfire chuckled, and made a gesture that was supposed to be reassuring. “It’s all right, Darian; Clan-brother is the equivalent of Wingbrother. The ceremony is a bit different, but you’ll enjoy it.”

Darian gulped down his protests. If Snowfire, who had spent more time with the Ghost Cat Shaman than all of the rest of them combined, said it was all right, then he would have to take his word for it.

:While we are at it, perhaps my herd ought to hold the rite that makes him the king stag’s prime doe,: Tyrsell said into their minds, his tone as dry as old papers. :Then again - perhaps he wouldn’t enjoy that particular ceremony.:

Darian blushed a furious scarlet. Lord Breon, Val, Barda, and Harrod, who had no idea what Tyrsell meant, looked blank. But the Tayledras and the Ghost Cat representatives, who had an altogether too healthy taste for the bawdy, laughed themselves into exhaustion. Even Kel howled with laughter.

And Darian was not about to offer the confused ones any kind of explanation. Not then. Not ever.

Two

As soon as the meeting was over, Darian was co-opted by Starfall and Ayshen. He’d expected it; the burden of planning for this celebration would fall on Ayshen’s shoulders, with Starfall handling the rest of the details. Ayshen had no more notion of what would serve to “honor” a Herald than a fish would know how to honor a bird. Starfall had worked with Heralds, but had only a sketchy grasp of what one would expect socially.

Darian was used to the appearance of the hertasi after all these years, but he took a moment to consider what the Herald’s reaction might be. Ayshen was a typical specimen of his race; he came to just about chest-high on a human; his blunt, lizardlike head boasted a formidable set of teeth, a rounded cranium, and eyes set so that he had binocular vision, like an owl or a human. His tough hide, covered with pebble-scales, was a healthy blue-gray. His stubby hands and feet had talons that he had used to good effect in the past. What would Herald Anda make of all that - when the owner of these attributes was also the chief cook for k’Valdemar?

Shandi will have warned him, he reminded himself. Besides, anybody who partners with a talking horse shouldn’t look crosswise at a talking lizard - especially if he wants second helpings.

So Darian allowed himself to be dragged off to Ayshen’s little “den” - a quasi-office space behind the main kitchens, from which he ruled over all things domestic in k’Valdemar. He had maps and models of the entire Vale, with a complex of hertasi tunnels marked out in pale blue - for, like a good general, Ayshen kept careful track of the terrain. His offices had been built, along with the rest of the kitchens, from rock dug from the cliffs. Those who live intimately with forests are uniquely conscious of the devouring power of fire, and there was as little that was flammable in the kitchens as was possible. Water, flour, and sand were near at hand in the event they would be needed to smother any errant flame. The chief piece of furniture was Ayshen’s desk; low, and suited to his size. Besides Ayshen’s desk chair, there were three adjustable stools with hinged seat backs; Starfall and Darian each took one, revolving it until it was comfortable for them to use.

Not that it was any hardship to be ensconced in the hertasi den. Though the aromas of the evening’s supper offerings mingled into a single mouthwatering perfume that would have driven a hungry man mad, Starfall and Darian were not left for a moment to suffer that particular torture. They hadn’t even sat down before hertasi came out of the kitchen bearing platters of their particular favorites, all the tastier for being fresh from the cookstove and oven.

It’s a good thing that Tayledras live in trees, Darian thought, as he juggled a hot filled pastry from hand to hand until it cooled. Otherwise we’d all be as fat as geese ready for market!

Starfall did not look as if he had ever lived on anything more substantial than air, but Darian knew that beneath his fancifully embroidered and cut robes, that body wasn’t thin - it was lean, lean and hard, and superbly conditioned. It took great physical conditioning to handle node-magic; a mage that was flabby in body was likely to be flabby of mind as well. Starfall’s silver hair wasn’t the result of age, it was the result of handling and using node-magic, and the slightly tamer magic of Tayledras Heartstones, all of his life. Starfall would find it no great task to run up the stairs to the highest ekele in the Vale, and run back down again within moments.

“We’ll have a feast, of course,” Ayshen stated, shoving aside recipe books and menus. “You can’t have a celebration without a feast. But should we have high tables and all that? I’m not certain there’s anywhere central that we could set up that many tables.”

“Have the usual sort of Tayledras feast, with food set out all over the Vale, Ayshen,” Darian recommended soothingly. “One thing, though; have a set of our clothing done up in white - Herald’s Whites for inside the Vale. Leave them out in the guest lodge for him.”

“Good notion,” Starfall seconded, nodding, with the customary soft clattering of his hair beads. “Welcoming ceremony first, then we take him to the lodge to get settled. He won’t feel as out of place if he has time to change into clothing of our style.”

“He’ll like our sort of feast, I think; he’ll expect something different, and I think he’d be disappointed if he didn’t get it,” Darian told the hertasi. “Besides, I’m sure Breon will have his own welcoming feast after ours, and he’ll get all the etiquette and high tables he wants there.”

Ayshen’s body language showed relief in the relaxation of his tail and stubby-taloned fingers. “So be it, then. If different is what he’s expecting, we can supply that. What do you say to setting up a particular place just for this Herald fellow - a short platform with food-tables nearby, of course - and move entertainment in and out. We could put him in the Council House, for instance. We’ll have the new roof trim done by then, and it is a good central location.”

“That would be a good idea,” Darian replied, as Starfall nodded. “I remember how easily I got lost the first time I was in k’Vala. When he gets tired, the guest lodge is right on the same path, within shouting distance. Is the deck on the guest lodge finished yet?”

“It will be by the time the Herald arrives; they’re putting the finishing touches on it now,” Ayshen replied without even consulting his schedules. “This afternoon they’re sanding the hand-rails and setting the steps. Tonight the greenery will be placed.”

“We’re the hosts; it would be courteous if we all came to him, rather than trotting him about from entertainment to entertainment,” Starfall agreed. “We can arrange things so that the people he will need to know spend a good portion of time with him in the beginning, then anyone who is curious can come to meet him. Will that make preparations easier for you, Ayshen?”

“Oh, yes, and after I’ve had a look at him, I can decide which hertasi to assign to him.” The hertasi sighed. “Only one fancy, decorated serving table to set up. The rest of you never notice my artistic efforts anyway.”

“We do,” Starfall insisted. “You just overwhelm our ability to praise with a superfluity of talent!”

Ayshen simply gave the Mage a withering look by way of reply. “So - how does this strike you - we have the actual welcoming ceremony at the entrance of the Vale. Everyone will fit there easily enough since the weeds were cleared out last season. Then, we take the Heralds and our other guests to the Council House and feed them. We let them talk for a while, and when it sounds as if the talk is running out, I run in some entertainment. Then a little more food - and so on, until he gives up for the night. We can pick foods that will make him drowsy quickly, which reduces the amount of entertainment needed on such short notice. He’ll leave to doze after just a few hours.”

“Which will be long before any Tayledras would give up,” Darian laughed. “That sounds perfect, Ayshen.” He grinned wickedly. “Then, the next day, when he’s been properly softened up for us, we give him to Tyrsell and have him stuffed with our language, Ghost Cat’s, and Kaled’a’in, all at once.”

Starfall gave him a look of mock-horror. “I thought you liked Heralds!”

“I do - that’s why I suggested the languages come in all at once. It won’t take Tyrsell that much longer to give them all to him, and the headache won’t be that much worse, after. Better to get it over with, I say.” Darian mimicked Starfall’s look of horror. “Well? Wouldn’t you rather have it all at once than strung out over several days? I should think that after the first experience, the subsequent dread would make the next sessions worse.”

Starfall nodded, then turned to face the hertasi upon hearing a low hiss.

“We were discussing the celebration,” Ayshen reminded them pointedly, baring his teeth for emphasis. “Now just how, precisely, would you suggest we greet him?”

“Just that,” Darian replied. “Greet him as our guest. Our welcome guest, our equal, who will be joining the leaders already here in their efforts to foster harmony among otherwise different peoples. He’ll already be on best behavior to impress when he rides up, so having a good turn out but little ceremony would make him feel appreciative that he must not endure trial after trial. Getting his disposition in our favor right away would be valuable.”

“And you thought you didn’t have the talent to become a leader!” Starfall exclaimed. “Listen to you!”

“I’m just quoting what my excellent teachers would say in the same circumstances,” Darian retorted. “Weren’t you just agreeing with Lord Breon that we’re to make certain Herald Anda understands he is one among equals here?”

“Huh. The boy finally pays attention,” Ayshen muttered, but when Darian turned to fix him with a sharp glance, he looked as innocent as could be.

“On the whole,” Ayshen continued blandly, “I am relieved. This is going to be much easier to plan and execute than a wedding, for instance. Should I pull some of the ekele-building crew to go to work on the Herald’s permanent quarters, do you think?”

Starfall exchanged a glance with Darian, who shook his head slightly. “Not yet,” Starfall told him. “Although Breon said he’s expecting to stay here - I presume as a kind of envoy - he may decide that he prefers to lodge in the village, in more familiar surroundings. For all we know, he may decide to establish himself outside all of our enclaves. I can let him know at some point that we have the hands, and the rest will contribute materials, when he wants to have a permanent residence built, and that he can have it constructed where he pleases.”

Darian nodded. “Instead, I suggest you pull a couple of builder crews off to add proper accommodations for the Companion; they’ll want to be close to each other, and this will show that we understand that the Companion is as important as the Herald, and that they work together. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to have Companion quarters attached to the guest lodge for future visiting Heralds.”

Ayshen nodded his blunt snout decisively. “Right, then. Won’t be difficult; knock a two-level door into one of the end rooms, add the stabling, bring water in for a fountain - I can have that finished in a few days.” He scratched his nose. “Sawdust floor, I think. Maybe some mats. Outside door with a rope latch, so the Companion can let himself in and out.”

“That sounds perfect to me,” Darian replied, very much impressed with Ayshen’s forethought.

“So . . . just the welcome to plan for now, and the extra building.” Ayshen wrote out a note in silverstick, folded it into a pyramid, and stuck it on the model of the guest lodge as a reminder. “That’s manageable. Well, are you two going to sit there all day, eating everything in the kitchen? Shoo! I have work to do!”

Laughing, Darian and Starfall left the hertasi to his own devices, as he began rummaging about for more paper, muttering about menus.

Keisha stood at the open door of Darian’s vine-covered house, hefting first one wicker pannier basket, then the other, to judge roughly which was heavier. Above her head, the trees met to form a ceiling over the house and path; songbirds and colorful messenger-birds chattered and sang, and hummingbirds chased each other around the branches. She had not gone to the meeting; as the chief Healer to both Vale and village, she spent roughly equal time in each - and that left her feeling a bit odd about representing either. Instead, Nightwind served as the mouthpiece for the Healers unless there was some pressing reason for Keisha herself to be there.

She had to check her packs anyway, for she was about to make another trip back to the village to make sure anyone who needed her services was properly tended to. The baskets were laden with various medications, most of them for animals rather than humans. The villagers were uncommonly healthy this summer, with half the normal number of accidents, even among the children. Perhaps that was due to increasing prosperity; well-fed and well-rested people resisted disease and didn’t have nearly so many mishaps. Ever since the events of recent times, the Crown had sent more funding for rebuilding and renewing the area than it had ever received before in half a decade. Newer tools were invariably more reliable, safer tools out here. Even the old mill had been rebuilt into a safer operation - she had not had to deal with a single injury from it since its reopening.

She wore full Greens now, the forest-hued colors of a full Healer, with a silk scarf serving as a sash around her waist, laid over a matching one of cotton. Healers always had a use for a scarf - to sling an arm, tie off a cut artery, or dry a child’s tears. They were not official parts of Healer’s uniform, but their use was so common they might as well have been. Keisha paused, considering the Healer’s uniform she wore. It had taken her a while to get used to that - and some persuasion as well. It was finally the argument that it would be better for her patients to see her in the colors of a Healer, because they would be under less stress, that tilted the balance. She refused to don anything elaborate, though; the loose trews and long-sleeved tunic were fancy enough for everyday wear - and when she wanted something festive, she opted for something that didn’t display her status for all to see.

The good thing about being in the Vale was that she no longer had to make her own medicines unless she really felt like it; all she had to do was give the hertasi instructions, and they would see to the preparation for her, presenting her with neatly labeled pots and jars of anything she needed or wanted. A great deal of her time in the past had been spent in the actual concoction of medicine, time she now had leisure to spend in other ways.

So now I spend it riding to and from the village, instead! she thought wryly, as she made sure the two pannier baskets that her dyheli would carry were finally balanced as evenly as she could manage without actually weighing them.

She shared Darian’s quarters - and yes, his bed - when she was in the Vale, and since he had never yet accompanied her to Errold’s Grove when she went on her weekly visits, the touchy problem of whether he would share her home had never come up. Her parents, of course, had no idea that they were anything but friends, and everyone else had the sense not to betray their ongoing relationship to the village. It was true that she was old enough to do as she wished; it was also true, as Kerowyn had remarked before she left, that no child is “old enough” in her parents’ eyes. She could own an estate, command a dozen servants, and have gray hair, yet she would not be “old enough.”

She ducked back inside for a moment to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, then returned to wait in the sunshine for her dyheli to arrive. It’s a given. If Shandi were to come back for more than a fortnight, she’d be treated the same way - as if she was no more than fourteen, and unable to make any decisions for herself. The only reason she doesn’t get treated that way is because before Mother has a chance to get her lectures set fair in her head, Shandi’s gone again.

Besides, Keisha wasn’t entirely sure how long this particular liaison was going to last. Darian was a very handsome lad, and every village female unspoken for (and some who were) had made it very clear that they found him fascinating. There were plenty of girls who would be only too happy to find out what life was like in a Vale. What if he got tired of her?

What if I got tired of him? Well, she couldn’t see that happening, but she had a lot of responsibilities, more than she had ever had before.

And so did he.

That was part of the problem. His responsibilities kept him here, but that was not so with hers. Yes, she was - for now - the chief Healer for k’Valdemar. She was also still the Healer for Errold’s Grove, and she wouldn’t blame him if he got tired of finding her gone half the time. She couldn’t devote herself to him the way her mother had devoted herself to her family. It just wasn’t going to happen that way.

She rubbed her temple with one finger, and stifled a sigh. Sooner or later, the Vale would get a Tayledras Healer as well, and then all her energies would go to the village. She wouldn’t have a reason to stay in k’Valdemar anymore. He certainly wouldn’t move back to Errold’s Grove. Then what? She couldn’t keep going back and forth between here and the village when she didn’t need to be here. People would start to wonder why. Saying she was studying under the Tayledras Healer would hold for a while, but what then?

She bent over to tie her baskets closed, certain now that she had everything she intended to take with her. Her vision was suddenly blocked by a pair of hands in front of her eyes; she seized Darian’s wrists and spun herself around to meet his merry brown eyes and cheerful grin, reflecting dappled sunlight.

There was a crumb of pastry tangled up in a lock of his hair - and he was too fastidious to have left it there for very long. He must have just eaten minutes before. She sniffed, experimentally. “You’ve been eating garlic sausage rolls!” she accused.

“Well, you weren’t going to be here tonight, so the garlic wouldn’t matter, would it?” he retorted, and gave her a redolent kiss. “If you change your mind, there’s still time to help yourself, and we’ll both have garlic breath. Besides, you know how good garlic is for you!”

Not that she minded garlic breath, at least not when they both had it. Her main objection was that he would have been perfectly happy if everything he ate was spiced with garlic, and she didn’t like it that much. . . .

Another thing we don’t share. . . .

“Not a chance; if I don’t make my trip, the Trilvy family will probably come get me. Rana Trilvy is that close - ” she replied, holding her thumb and forefinger an infinitesimal distance apart. “And even though I’ve told her a hundred times that she’s fine, she’s still convinced that if I don’t see her every week, something is bound to go wrong and her baby will be born with nine heads. Never, ever, try to argue with a nervous mother-to-be; you haven’t the chance of a pigeon in a cattery of winning the argument.”

Something about his expression made her wary; he had that devilish look he always got when he was keeping a secret, that made his sharp features look even more fox-like. “What happened at the Council meeting?” she continued, as if she hadn’t noticed.

“Mostly the usual, but Breon had some news.” He was much too casual; something was definitely up. Whatever Lord Breon had brought in the way of news was something he knew she’d want to hear.

She decided that two could play that game of feigned indifference. “Oh? Anything important, or can it wait until I get back?” She fooled with the baskets a bit more, taking care not to look directly at him.

“You’ll probably hear it on the way back anyway, since you’re going with Barda and Harrod. We’re getting resident Heralds.” He watched her closely, and she knew from the way he was acting that although this was momentous news, it wasn’t the biggest part of his secret.

“Really?” she exclaimed anyway. “Heralds? As permanent residents? More than one?”

He nodded. “Two of them; an older, experienced Herald-Mage, believe it or not, and his personally selected trainee. Or maybe I should say, protege, since she’s got her Whites, and this is taking the place of her ‘first circuit.’ “

“A Herald-Mage! That’s certainly something!” It was, too; there still weren’t that many Herald-Mages about, and to have one of them assigned permanently to Errold’s Grove said a great deal for how the status of this area had risen. “They must think we’re high on their list of priorities now!”

“But it’s not the biggest news, not for you, anyway. The other Herald is your sister Shandi.” He grinned as her jaw dropped, and she looked at him in disbelief. “No, really, it is! I suppose they figure that they might as well assign her here, since she’s likely to assign herself here, given half a chance. Even without half a chance, she’s likely to turn up anyway.”

“But - it hasn’t been much more than two years - ” She still couldn’t believe it; Shandi had said nothing of this in her letters! She’d only complained now and again of how busy she was and how much she was expected to absorb.

Is that why she hasn’t spent more than four weeks here in the last two and a half years? Because she’s been rushing - or rushed - through her studies?

“Breon said she hadn’t gotten the record for graduating quickly, but she was close. He was fairly impressed.” Darian grinned at her reaction. “Mind you, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Look at how well you’ve done, and you haven’t had a Collegium full of teachers to help you! When I first met you, you would have barely qualified as a Healer trainee, at least as far as your Gift went. Now even the Sanctuary Healers call you their equal.”

“Pfft.” She dismissed her own prowess with a wave of her hand, not the least because she was not nearly as impressed with her “accomplishments” as he seemed to be. “How soon will they be here?”

“Cut your visit to Errold’s Grove as short as you can; I got the impression it’s just a matter of days before they arrive. For now, they’ll be staying at the Vale. We’re going to put on a celebration for them. Oh, the senior one’s name is Anda; I don’t suppose you recognize it, do you?” He tilted his head to the side, curiously.

She thought for a moment. “It sounds vaguely familiar; Shandi must have mentioned him now and again.” She kissed him quickly, then pushed him gently away, and turned back to her baskets, tying them shut deftly. “The sooner I’m gone, the sooner I’ll be back. Don’t work too hard while I’m off; but do try to see that Ayshen doesn’t try to do everything.”

He sighed melodramatically, then bent to help her with her baskets. “You ought to know by now that keeping Ayshen from overwork is beyond my powers. I suppose it’s of no use to ask if you’d like to stop all this, find a replacement, and settle down permanently here with me, is it?” he asked.

“When someone is getting ready for a journey, it’s the wrong time to ask about settling down, Darian.” She told her stomach to stop bouncing, and put on an air of calm. “The answer still hasn’t changed.”

“I didn’t think it had, but a fellow can ask. It’s just that we’re awfully good together. . . .” To her intense relief, he didn’t pursue the subject. She was saved from having to say anything more by the arrival of her dyheli, a young buck this time.

He didn’t ask the question every time she left, but it was at least once a month. Was it only a sense of duty that kept him asking? He couldn’t possibly understand what it meant to be bound to a calling; being a Healer meant being tied into her avocation even more tightly than being wedded.

Without being asked, Darian saddled the dyheli and fastened the baskets on either side of the arm-thick pad seated just over the stag’s rump. She grabbed hold of the handle that was built in place of a saddle-horn, put her foot in a stirrup, and swung herself up into place. Dyheli had no reins to take up; they would never have permitted so undignified a contraption as a halter on their heads.

:Good day, Healer,; the buck said formally. :I am Talen.:

:Thank you for your help, Talen,: she replied just as formally. :Are Barda and Harrod ready to return yet?:

:They await us at the Vale entrance. Shall we go?: Talen responded, his thoughts glossed with a skimming of impatience. The bucks were almost always a little impatient; it seemed to go with the gender.

“I heard - go and come back soon, Keisha.” That was all Darian said, but beneath the words was a great deal more that Keisha just didn’t want to have to deal with. Talen felt her assent, and leaped away, keeping her from having to do anything more than wave back over her shoulder.

Within the Vale, the dyheli kept to a fast lope, but as soon as he burst through the tenuous curtain of the Veil and caught up with the other two, he stretched out into a full run. Dyheli often seemed as tireless as Companions; he’d have all of them in Errold’s Grove well before suppertime.

Barda and Harrod hung on grimly; they were used to travel by dyheli-back, but not as accustomed to it as Keisha was. Although she could not (as Heralds were rumored to do) have fallen asleep in Talen’s saddle, she moved easily with her mount.

If only she could have been as easy with her own thoughts.

Firesong k’Treva finished the last of his stretches, moving smoothly and slowly, while his partner Silverfox watched, alert for any sign of strain. Such alertness was as natural for him as breathing, after so many decades of body study. They shared this ritual every morning; Silverfox insisted on it, and Firesong had to admit he’d felt more like his younger self since he’d begun.

Being limber does have its advantages.

“Well?” he asked, as he finished the exercise and stood, arms hanging at his sides, completely relaxed, yet energized, tingling with the song of the body rather than of magic, on the uppermost deck of their ekele.

“You’ll do,” Silverfox replied, smiling slightly. “You might even be in better shape than you were before the Storms. I told you this would loosen you up, and you wouldn’t believe me.”

“I didn’t have you to keep me active, before the Storms,” Firesong pointed out, slipping on a robe of scarlet silk, embroidered with white-and-gold firebirds, over his form-fitting sleeveless tunic and trews.

“In other words, you were a lazy sluggard,” the kestra’chern replied, and ducked as Firesong mimed a blow at him. The Healing Adept’s firebird, Aya, who had been watching all of this activity with keen interest, let out a derisive squawk. The bird opened his snowy wings and dropped down onto Firesong’s shoulder, fixing his talons carefully into the padded fabric. The long white tail trailed gracefully down Firesong’s back, curling around the thick, silver braid of Firesong’s hair.

“Whose part are you taking, mine or his?” Firesong asked, looking into his bird’s diamond-dust eyes. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

“And Aya is too smart to answer, anyway,” the kestra’chern laughed. “Not when he knows he can get treats from both of us this way.”

It was Firesong’s turn to make a noise of derision; Aya stretched his head and neck under Firesong’s chin, and the Adept answered the silent request by scratching the firebird’s chin. Aya crooned with pleasure. “Don’t listen to him, little one,” he said into Aya’s ear. “He thinks everyone is as self-centered as he is - or more.”

“Of course I do - since I’m not at all self-centered,” Silverfox replied matter-of-factly. He took Firesong’s elbow, and steered him in the direction of the staircase that curved around the trunk of their tree. “And don’t look now, but your pet is trying to coax me into tickling him, too.”

Aya opened one eye and gave Silverfox a withering look at the word “pet,” but did not pull his head away from Silverfox’s fingers.

Firesong felt a smile stretching the stiff, pitted and scarred skin of his face. Although life was nothing like he’d anticipated when he left his home Vale, it was very good. What’s more, I’m not sure if I’d be willing to do any of it over, since the end result is so - comfortable. It’s amazing now that I can wear so many faces here without any of them being a mask - and wear a mask without hiding my feelings.

Silverfox followed him down past the bedroom to the main public room of the ekele. The tree wasn’t large enough to support an ekele very high off the ground, or for more than one room to be on a single level, but now that the Veil was in place, he’d had the hertasi construct an external stair linking all the rooms, so that the area that had been used for the internal staircase could be converted into usable space. Wide decks circled each level of the ekele, and the staircase threaded its way around and through them. All the windows were open to the balmy air, and flowering vines grown from k’Vala cuttings had been trained around each of the windows to scent the breezes.

There were plenty of masks hanging on the walls, but Firesong didn’t trouble to reach for any of them as he and Silverfox entered the room. Here in his own home, no one would trouble him who had not been invited - and no one who had been invited would be shocked or disturbed by his burn-scarred appearance.

Some of Silverfox’s handiwork hung on the walls as well - gryphon feathers, shed by some of the residents of k’Valdemar when they molted. These were all primaries, secondaries, or tail-feathers, and the smallest was as long as Firesong’s forearm. Silverfox decorated the quills with beadwork, and painted the broad expanses with sinuous designs echoing the colors of the beads. Dyed leather and ribbons of strong textures complemented the interlace and lilt of the line-work. Feather artworks hung between each mask, and Firesong never tired of resting his eyes on them.

He lifted Aya off his shoulder and set the firebird down on a perch mounted in the wall, one indulgently made of silver in the form of a vine-wrapped branch with a hammered brass reflector behind it as tall as a hertasi. Aya roused all his feathers and shook himself vigorously; bits of fluff flew off of him and rode the air currents of the room like wayward insects, and sparks of false fire crackled around him.

“Wasn’t the Joint Council meeting this morning?” he asked Silverfox, as he sank into his favorite chair and reached for a book. Before he could even make up his mind that he wanted something, one of his hertasi appeared at his elbow and left a tall glass of cooled juice on the table where his book had been.

“Yes, and Keisha was going back to Errold’s Grove with the village representatives, so Darian will probably be a little late.” Silverfox sighed, but didn’t say anything more; Firesong assumed that the sigh was for Darian’s situation with the girl. And it was too bad; but it was also Darian’s and Keisha’s choice to keep things hanging this way. Darian didn’t allow it to affect his mage-studies; only if it had, would Firesong have had any right to stick his own nose into the affair.

It was later than Firesong would have expected, though, when Kuari came in to land on the railing of the porch, signaling that Darian could not be far behind. Lunch was long over, and Firesong was well into his book by then; Silverfox had already gone below to his workrooms at the foot of the tree to administer to some of his massage clients.

The Healing-Adept laid his book aside after reading a passage that made him smile, since it echoed his own teaching philosophy so well. Teach what you know, regardless of when you have learned it - teach what you learned yesterday sagely, as if you have known it all your life, and teach what you have known for decades with enthusiasm, as if you learned it only yesterday. He marked that page with a scarlet-jay feather and waited for Darian’s step on the stair, and saw by the young man’s face that there was unexpected news.

“Lord Breon said we’re going to get a permanent, resident Herald,” were the first words out of the young man’s mouth.

“Really?” Firesong was a little surprised at the “we.” “I take it he is expected to reside here? In k’Valdemar?”

Darian picked a seat and settled into it. “So Lord Breon says - unless the Herald decides it would be more politic to actually live outside the Vale. He’s supposed to be a Herald-Mage, too. Keisha’s sister Shandi just got her Whites, and she’s coming too, as his protege. I don’t know if that’s for the long term, but she’ll certainly be here for a year.”

“Hmm. We’re having a welcome, obviously.” Firesong knew there was something more, but Darian would get to it quickly enough; it was his nature not to hold anything back, for good or ill.

“Yes, and I - well, I suppose you could say that I’m going to be the chief entertainment,” Darian replied ruefully, his expression a comical mixture of chagrin, embarrassment, and pride. “Lord Breon got this idea - ”

He related exactly what had happened at the Council Meeting with remarkable facility - but then, the young man hadn’t been out of the circles of power since he was about fourteen or fifteen. Starfall is probably only waiting for him to reach the status of a full Mage before resigning from the Council, having Snowfire take his place, and graduating Darian into Snowfire’s slot.

‘Well, if that was indeed Starfall’s plan, Firesong’s own plans fit right into that. And now was a good time to set those plans in motion.

“Well, in that case,” he said casually, “it is a pleasant enough day. I have had a good breakfast. Before you get too involved in all these other ceremonies, perhaps we’d better put you through your Mastery Trial.”

Darian’s face went completely blank; Firesong had the satisfaction - which was not happening often, these days! - of catching the young man completely by surprise. Firesong may as well have said, “I had a nice nap, so let’s dig up this forest and make a pretty lake, eh?” The look on Darian’s face was delicious.

“So, let’s get that little exercise taken care of, shall we?” he continued, with mischievous casualness, as he got to his feet. “Come along.”

He didn’t stop to see if Darian was following as he headed for the stairs; Darian would follow, because Firesong hadn’t given him any time to actually think about what he was going to do. Darian was ready - but the more time he had to stew about the Trial, the more likely it was that he’d work himself up into a nervous state over it, and risk failure. Firesong had never intended to give him that chance. Too many young mages froze up and couldn’t even remember the simplest of spells when allowed to dwell on the upcoming Trial; it was a mistake some teachers made that would not happen with Darian.

The steps behind him creaked under Darian’s weight, and Firesong smiled to himself. By this evening, the Vale would have yet another piece of news to talk about. Or at least they would, if Firesong had anything to say about it. Firesong usually got his way - although these days, when he didn’t get what he wanted, he just changed his mind until he was happy with what he had.

Darian, however, would do very well in the coming trial, he knew. Firesong could feel intuitively that he would get exactly what he wanted. He had confidence in his pupil, and the Vale would have something more to celebrate by nightfall - the first new Master Mage of a new Vale. His student. Magnificent!

Three

Darian shivered as he followed Firesong down the stairs to the dome complex nestled at the foot of the tree. Most of that structure belonged to Silverfox, but Firesong kept one private room for himself, protected with the tightest permanent shields inside k’Valde-mar. Layer upon layer, unseen buttress against invisible firewall, every sort of stabilized, strengthened magical protection known to the Adept had been firmed up. Over the past years they had been cast and enchanted into virtual patterns of stone, as if mortared by an expert, with the equivalent of pockets and drains for excess power to collect. This was Firesong’s workroom, where he had taught Darian for two years; many of the shields were not meant to keep anything out but rather, to keep Darian’s “mistakes” from escaping.

There hadn’t been a great number of those mistakes - no more than three, all in his first few months with Firesong, and all minor ones - but the existence of those shields allowed him to work without worrying about the consequences of an accident to the rest of the Vale. The first had resulted in no worse than a burned hand and singed eyebrows, the second a splitting headache for both of them, and the third, a scorch mark on the floor surrounded by frost, which resulted in an intensive series of lessons on why resilient shields were more important than rigid ones. Darian had known all along that every lesson would lead up to a Mastery Trial, but he’d assumed he would have time to prepare for it, and undergo days of special readiness rituals.

Why now? Why not give me some time to work up to this? he asked himself, anticipation setting his nerves afire. He had no idea just what was going to be expected of him -

And it was too late for second thoughts. Firesong had reached the bottom of the staircase, palming something from one of the dozen narrow shelves of ornaments and oddities, and held open the door to the workroom for Darian. His scarred face showing nothing except pleasant anticipation, quite as if this were just another, perfectly ordinary lesson. Darian entered the door into the windowless room, lit from above by a blue-tinted skylight, and Firesong closed the door behind them both. He dropped a latch that all but seamlessly blended into the interlaced trim that ran around the room.

With the closing of the door, the shields sprang up and into place all around them, creating a kind of hum in the back of his head and a tingle along his skin. Firesong leaned casually against the doorframe, folded his arms across his chest, and nodded. “The usual,” was all he said laconically.

So Darian began with “the usual,” the building of his own shields, spreading them outward to encompass the room, then integrating them with Firesong’s shields that were already in place, leaving some layers fragile so they could collapse back in case of a surge. He could have done this much in his sleep; it took scarcely a thought to shape his own energy to his will now. It hadn’t always been that way.

But next came an addition to his shields, a shunt to drain off excessive heat. He had never actually needed this shunt before, but unused mage-energy, if not properly grounded and sent back to its source, or energy that came in to the mage at a rate greater than he could handle, manifested in waste heat. At the level a Journeyman worked, this was a trivial concern; the worst that happened was that the area got a bit too warm for comfort - or the occasional flash, like the earlier accidents. In fact, if working in the dead of winter and there was energy to spare, some Journeymen deliberately eliminated the shunt so as to warm the area they worked in. This ability to deliberately create heat made mages very popular in cold climes and seasons, and some weather-work was based directly on that effect.

But at the level a Master worked, improperly handled energy could be deadly; the shunt was a necessity - as Firesong’s own scars testified. At the end of the Mage Storms, when trying to avert magical catastrophe, Firesong and his allies had done everything right, but the energies they had dealt with had been greater than any mage before or since had ever faced - even Adepts working in concert with Avatars of the Star-Eyed Goddess of the Shin’a’in had not been able to prevent all the damage such an overwhelming force could conjure.

“Now locate all the Heartstones of all the Clans,” his mentor told him. Darian nodded, and unfocused his eyes to better invoke Oversight and see into the plane of mage-energy, searching out each active Stone and tracing the intricate web of ley-lines that surrounded them. First, his own - k’Valdemar was a lesser Stone by any estimation, but it was growing, its power increasing daily. He was rather proud of that, for some of the energies invested in the Stone were of his harvesting. Each bit of power he had added over the past two years had made the Stone stronger and more stable, so that now it was possible to turn this into a real Vale by all Tayledras standards.

Then - the Heartstone under the Palace at Haven. This one was a bit peculiar; very old, very powerful, but quiescent. The shields had held through the last of the mage-storms, making it just about the only magical artifact outside of a Vale that had survived complete and untouched. There wasn’t much pull on it at the moment, for there were not that many Herald-Mages about who could use it. Someday, perhaps, Haven would be the Valdemar version of a Vale - but for now, the Stone slumbered. Like a war horse asleep in its stall, it wouldn’t take much to rouse it to fury, but the proper hands could control it with a mere touch of the reins or a whisper in its ear.

However, his were not those hands; that power was there for the service of the Heralds. It was theirs, and theirs alone. They were sealed to it by their very nature, and by the bonds they had with their Companions. It helped to maintain a different sort of web of power, one that linked all Heralds and Companions together.

Next, k’Vala Vale, the nearest to k’Valdemar. Its Stone was old, too, though not nearly as ancient as the Palace Stone, and unlike that Stone, this one was fully awake and active, with much power flowing out as well as into it. There were plenty of demands on the k’Vala Stone, and it responded to those demands as smoothly as a masterful juggler kept an impossible number of toys in the air. It wasn’t quite alive, not quite sentient, yet there was a quality of “life” and “personality” to it that was the hallmark of every Heartstone. That wasn’t surprising, considering how closely linked to the life of a Vale the Heartstone was.

Darian found and identified all of the stones, holding them all balanced within his mind, shining points of brilliant light in the web of life-energy. Firesong followed his work closely, and nodded when Darian found and touched the last of the lot, and the farthest, the Stone of k’Treva Vale.

“Good.” Firesong seemed satisfied that Darian had done the job with a minimal expenditure of his own energies. As a Journeyman, that was all he could really draw on for sustained and heavy use; the energies he himself produced or stored. He could recharge himself with the little trickles of power produced by all the living things around him, but that was akin to filling a cup with the dew collected on leaves. He could also make use of the tiny rivulets of energy as the living power collected in trickles and flowed toward the ley-lines. But not until he reached Master could he use the lines themselves - or the Heartstone.

Most schools of mage-craft built and maintained pools of power available to their Masters, but none except the Tayledras invested the energies not only of their own members but actually ran ley-lines into their power-pools and terminated them there. That was perhaps because only the Tayledras knew how to construct the Heartstones, to keep energy flowing out so that it never overloaded; of all of those outsiders who had tried, only one had succeeded - and that one was the legendary Herald-Mage Vanyel, Adept, and Tayledras-trained. Hundreds of years ago, Vanyel had invested the energies in the web that linked his Heralds, and a spell that had kept (or, more truthfully, irritated) “foreign” mages out of Valdemar, providing that steady drain; the Vales invested the excess in weather-control, shielding, and luxuries like the hot pools. When anyone else tried, the focus of power quickly destabilized in a manner quite destructive and usually fatal to all concerned.

“Now,” Firesong continued, unperturbed, “without disturbing the ley-lines in any way, link yourself to the ones feeding our Stone.”

He knew how to do that. He’d “watched” Firesong do it a thousand times - he’d practiced everything short of touching the lines themselves - and now was the moment of truth. He would either be able to call this hawk he’d trained back to his gloved fist, or fail - and feel its talons sink into his flesh, or watch it soar away out of reach forever.

He noticed that Firesong had no personal shields up whatsoever in case of failure. Knowing Firesong, that might be just another way to increase Darian’s confidence, but it was a trust that touched him deeply.

Except for a brief stab of something sharp, a mingling of fear and excitement, he didn’t let himself think or feel. He just acted.

He “reached” out, moving surely, but not too quickly. He caught hold of the nearest ley-line, and without permitting himself to hesitate, seized it, opening himself to it.

He knew enough to brace himself for the shock, but it still rocked him; it was like opening up his veins to a flow of white-hot glass! For a fraction of a second, he was immersed, blinded by the fiery incandescence, as pathways within him felt the caress of energies they had never known until this moment. Every breath seemed thicker, and every color more intense. All at once, he was drunk, delirious with power, dizzy with its intoxicating song, and disoriented.

Then everything he’d learned, from Starfall, from Firesong, from the mages of k’Vala Vale, came surging to the fore, and it was he who was in control, not the power.

It was still dizzying, still intoxicating, but the heady draught no longer overwhelmed him. He’d ridden horses in Valdemar, some very spirited and powerful horses. This was very like riding such a horse. He commanded; the power obeyed, but only because he had the skill to command and the strength of will not to succumb to the seductive song and be lost in it.

Darian still remembered that lesson outside k’Vala Vale when he’d nearly gotten lost in the shift and flow of the simple life-powers of everything around him. Having experienced that, he knew would not make that mistake again. He made sure that he was still anchored in himself and let his channels become accustomed to the new sensations. Then, metaphorically, he sat back and allowed himself to experience the moment. The wonder of Tayledras teaching was that it permitted the student to accept those things, to comprehend them, but never to become numbed to them; it was a way of understanding, not just using. Now he understood as a Master would. It would never happen like this again, this first taste of power, this seductive latent drunkenness; Darian wanted to be able to remember it, however dimly.

:A remarkably mature sentiment,: came a dry mental voice, after an interval. :But you, my young student, are a Healing-Mage. So what else do you see, feel, or sense?:

What else? Was there anything else?

But even as he asked himself that, his own Mage-Senses answered him, and he knew that, of course, there was. Within the stream of power that was the ley-line, there were a myriad of little subcurrents, and each of those threads told him of the health of the place it originated from. Eddies and obstructions in the flow as he traced it back out of the Vale showed him where the line itself needed alteration or mending. Two other mages - both Hawkbrothers - had tapped into this particular line; he sensed their presence at the same moment they sensed his. They acknowledged each other briefly, and went on with what they were doing. As did he; his touch moved by instinct and, sure from long practice, he mended the line, smoothing out the eddies, altering the flow until it ran swift and unimpeded.

:Good. So, then, catch!: Just as he completed this work, Firesong flipped something at him. Before it had gone half the distance between them, he lanced out a coruscating line of force and caught it in a gentle net of power, holding it in midair. It was only a river stone, but as he met Firesong’s eyes and saw the approval in them, he was very glad that he had chosen to cradle it, and not blast it aside.

:Well done. Now tap into the Heartstone,: the voice commanded. :You’re keyed to it. Now use it. Without dropping the rock, that is.:

Without releasing his hold on the line or the rock, Darian did exactly as he had been ordered, reaching for the Heartstone, touching it, then melding with its outer edges. He sensed it test him (or was it “taste” him?) and recognize him. That was all there was to it; he joined with the Stone, and all its power was his for the taking.

He’d expected an even wilder rush than the ley-line had fed into him; instead, this was like sinking into a peace-filled globe of light, or a blissfully hot pool of water. There was no sensation of heat, no exquisitely flickering inflow of energy; just the presence of enormous power, and the knowledge that he could do whatever he wanted with it.

This was no spirited horse, obedient to his will, but a kind of partner; a reservoir with a mind of its own, that acknowledged his right to drink of it.

Some mages signaled their achievement of Mastery with the production of “fireworks” that other mages of the same school could see and identify. But the Tayledras considered themselves no more than temporary custodians of their power. The Star-Eyed had granted them the use of that power for the purpose of healing the land after the Mage-Wars, and it wouldn’t even have occurred to them to make such a frivolous use of it as a peacocklike display of achievement with that power.

Theirs was a different tradition; to leave their mark upon the Vale itself, creating some change that would improve the lives of all those dwelling within. And Darian knew just what his mark would be, as the first new Master of a new Vale. He had been thinking about it for some time, ever since he had been told of the tradition, and the last time he’d been in Ayshen’s office, he’d checked the maps and models carefully for a place that would be open and suitable for his gift.

The lake at the far end of k’Valdemar was fed by several springs; he examined each of them in turn, to determine which would be the best candidate for his purpose. When he found one whose source was deeper than any of the others, he persuaded it to change its channel, to sink a little deeper, move nearer to the white-heat at the root of the Heartstone, before bubbling again to the surface.

Now with its waters warmed, it would serve as the water source for the first of the outdoor bathing pools. It wouldn’t take the hertasi long to notice the change, and within days they would cap the new flow and be building great pools to receive the hot waters. By the end of the month, there would be Tayledras soaking in the soothing waters under the stars, and there would be room for anyone who needed a hot soak to come and take one. The current hot pools were all inside one of the first buildings to be constructed here, and there wasn’t enough room to accommodate everyone at the same time.

:A fine choice of gifts to your Vale, Master Dar’ian.:

Firesong’s mind-voice held a smile of approval, and Darian blushed a little.

Just as carefully as he had taken control of Heart-stone and ley-lines, he released them, but not before he replenished the power he had used to create his hot spring. He opened his eyes on Firesong’s little workroom to see his mentor’s eyes full of warmth and congratulations.

Then he took a deep breath, and sat down carefully, right there on the floor, as exhaustion hammered him with a blow that made his legs go weak. He put out his hand and caught the river stone squarely in his right palm, as it dropped.

“Put it all back, did you?” Firesong asked rhetorically. “Well, that’s proper, but you didn’t have to put all the energy back at one time. You could have ‘borrowed’ some of it.”

“I didn’t?” he asked. “But with all the preparations for the celebrations, we’re going to be strengthening the Veil for a few days, and I thought we’d need every bit of energy now.”

“Hmm. A kind thought. Never mind, you’ll recover by this evening,” Firesong interrupted, helping him up and keeping him on his feet with a hand beneath his elbow. He dismissed his shields, and Darian recaptured his own, feeling a little better as he took the power he’d expended on them back into himself again. Firesong didn’t take him far, only past the door and into one of Silverfox’s consultation rooms.

This was a very small room, used only for counseling. It had both a large window and a skylight, but the furniture was minimal. There was a soft, dark-green sling couch there, though, and Darian was very happy to lie down on it, dropping onto the silk-covered, down-stuffed cushions with his head spinning a little.

“Just lie there, and don’t move,” Firesong cautioned. He needn’t have bothered, as Darian had no intention whatsoever of moving. He felt as if he’d run all the way to Errold’s Grove and back.

Maybe a few magical fireworks would have been a better idea, he thought as he closed his eyes.

He woke again, suddenly, sweating, out of a dream that, like the one last night, he could not recall. His heart pounded in alarm, his hands were clenched on the fabric of the couch. An irrational feeling of dread hung over him, and he opened all of his senses in an effort to discover if there was anything wrong in the Vale at all.

But there was nothing. The Vale was as it had been; crafters working at their tasks, hertasi scuttling about, gryphons dozing in the sun. His heart slowed, the sweat dried, and he was too weary to maintain his state of alarm. Gradually he relaxed, and slept again.

The next time he opened them, he was feeling much better, and both the skylight above him and the open window beside him were dark. Someone had come in and covered him with a light blanket, then left a sweetly scented candle burning in a blue glass holder mounted on the wall. He felt better - but he didn’t much feel like moving.

There didn’t seem any real reason to move, either; Firesong knew where he was, and had presumably told anyone else who needed or wanted to know. Silverfox wouldn’t mind him taking over the consultation room. And since Keisha wasn’t going to be home, there was no great urgency to get back to his own ground-bound ekele. He was perfectly content at the moment to lie surrounded by warmth and softness, let his thoughts drift, and listen to the night noises outside.

Keisha’s going to be surprised. Pleasantly, he hoped. This would put him on an equal footing with her, rankwise, though he very much doubted that would change anything in their relationship. She’ll be happy for me, that much I know for sure. All the other honors that had been planned for him were really nothing more than titles to impress other people; reaching the rank of Master meant a real achievement of his own, felt in his heart.

“And how is our new Master Mage doing?” Firesong asked from the doorway, and Darian let out a little yip of startlement.

Firesong chuckled, and moved out of the shadows of the hallway and into the dim light from the candle.

“Serves you right for all the times you’ve sent me out of my skin,” Firesong said. “Especially that time you shaved a year off my life when you managed to sneak up on me in my own ekele. How are you feeling?”

“Tired and hungry,” Darian replied, suddenly feeling that hunger rise up and growl in his gut. “Very hungry, actually.”

“No headache? Nausea? Dizziness?” As Darian shook his head at each question, Firesong smiled in satisfaction. “Good. Then you not only pass, you pass with all honors. And tired is easily fixed - find a ley-line.”

“Now? Without shields?” Darian asked dubiously.

“You’d already integrated your shields into a coherent whole once you became a Journeyman; now you don’t need to protect anyone from your mistakes anymore, because you aren’t going to make any.” Firesong sounded more confident in Darian’s ability than Darian was, and he looked impatient for the first time as Darian wavered. “Look now, do you bother with special shields anymore when you use Oversight? Or gather low-level energy?”

“Well, no . . .” Darian took himself in hand without any further prodding. Firesong was right; by now, everything he’d learned was as familiar to him as the act of speaking or reading. Drawing on that confidence he’d had this afternoon, he closed his eyes, invoked Mage-Sight, and reached for the nearest ley-line, then opened himself. As thirsty earth drank in rain, his power-depleted self soaked in the raw strength of the line, and when he opened his eyes and released it again, he felt as good as he had when he’d awakened this morning.

Firesong gave him a lopsided grin. “Next time, don’t wait to be reminded. I won’t always be around, you know.” He stood up, and Darian finally noticed that he’d changed his clothing from this afternoon. Now he wore blue and green, a loose-sleeved, body-hugging tunic with a high, embroidered collar, and skin-tight trews with matching soft boots. And in one hand he carried one of his many masks, a delicate thing of green scales and wispy blue plumes, that dangled loosely in his long fingers.

“Are you going somewhere?” he asked, for Firesong seldom donned a mask unless he planned to leave the shelter of his ekele. He didn’t wear his masks to spare himself - he did it to spare others the sight of the burn scars that pockmarked his face from scalp to chin, but for a strip across his eyes where his equally burned forearm had saved his vision. But there was also the very real possibility that he had another reason as well; if there was one thing that Firesong loved to cultivate, it was an aura of mystery, and the wearing of his masks was an integral part of that mystery.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” Firesong replied. “I’m taking you to your party.” He grinned again. “You don’t for a moment think we’d pass up such a fine excuse to have at least a little celebration, do you? It wouldn’t be Tayledras!”

Firesong was inordinately proud of his pupil, though he wasn’t about to let Darian know that. At least, he didn’t want Darian to know how proud he was. One of the reasons he’d been contemplating giving up taking on pupils was because the last couple had, for one reason or another, never quite come up to his expectations of them. They were not bad people at all, nor stupid, just . . . less than optimal. Perhaps part of that had been a failure to mesh their personalities, or that some of his pupils had been as interested in him as they had been in learning what he taught. Part of that, of course, might just have been that they were discouraged; it would be a very long time before anyone was able to casually work the kind of large-scale magics that had been possible before the Mage-Storms disrupted everything. His pupils would be very old before they had power available to them to duplicate Firesong’s own feats as a young and headstrong Master. It was likely that it would take another generation before there was the abundant power on hand to duplicate the lesser feats of an Adept. Gating was out of the question for at least a hundred years - safe and reliable Gating, anyway. It was no wonder they saw no reason to acquire proficiency in skills it was unlikely they would ever be able to use.

But Darian had a touch as sure and skilled as a fine craftsman, and he never left loose ends, or a job unfinished. Firesong was not yet certain he would reach Adept status, but as careful a worker as he was, given the current state of things and barring disaster, he would become one of the best mages of this generation. Darian was willing to follow brusque or peremptory instruction without thinking of Firesong as a tyrant; he had confidence that when he had done what he was told, it would be explained to him.

Always provided, of course, that nothing happened that interfered with his continued learning.

So Firesong decided that it was time to do a little delicate prodding. Not meddling - more on the order of information gathering. He never called his meddling by that unflattering name. Unsolicited guidance, discreet help, a “nudge,” but never meddling.

“So, how do you think Keisha will feel about this?” he asked, as he walked beside his protege, past the outer door of Silverfox’s workrooms and out into the cool half-light of the Vale at night. It wasn’t dark beneath the trees; lanterns tended by the hertasi and set along the path at intervals saw to that. They tried to replicate the blue of twilight, just after the sun has set and the sky to the west is luminous with afterglow, and Firesong thought that they succeeded very well.

“She’ll be pretty pleased, I think,” Darian replied. “She’ll probably pretend to be annoyed that I don’t have to wear uniforms, though. She’s still awfully self-conscious about being in Greens.”

“Mmm.” Firesong made a noncommittal sound. “She did make rank before you did, though. There was an imbalance.”

“That’s probably why she’ll be pleased; she’s not very comfortable with being at a higher rank than people around her.” Darian sounded as if he found that difficult to understand, but then, Darian was, beyond any doubt, a natural leader himself. Which means he doesn’t yet really understand Keisha’s motivations. That could be a point of potential conflict, especially if she is put into a position where she has to make a leader’s decisions.

Firesong continued to probe, interspersing his personal questions with those of a much more casual nature, and got the distinct impression that Darian was having some difficulty with the young Healer. It wasn’t enough to break their pairing - yet - but any time that conflict didn’t get resolved in one way or another, there was always the potential for it to happen. An unhappy Master Mage was a potentially reckless or careless one, and there was a long Hawkbrother tradition of taking good care of compatriot mages. More than that was the fact that Firesong genuinely liked young Darian on a friendly basis, and he did not want to see him troubled.

While he continued to exchange banter with his student, half of Firesong’s mind was elsewhere, pondering what, if anything, could be done. Goddess help me, I’ve turned into an inveterate matchmaker, he thought with a mingling of amusement and dismay. If I don’t watch my step, I’m going to have anxious fathers coming to me yet. Well, I have before, actually, but daughters weren’t involved. . . . Nevertheless -

I’ll ask Silverfox to look into the matter and have a word with one or both of them, he decided at last. Silverfox was infinitely more skilled at such things than he - as well he should be, since it was one of the duties of a kestra’chern, to keep all the interpersonal relationships running smoothly within the group to which he or she belonged, be it city or Vale, army or Clan.

Let Silverfox make what he can of it, he decided. And at that point, it was past time to do any more thinking of his own - he stepped aside at a particular point in the path marked by a lamp-standard shaped like an elongated gryphon, holding the glass globe of the lamp in one extended claw. Darian paused when Fire-song did, looking faintly puzzled, and Firesong drew aside the curtain of flowering vines that had hidden a clearing at the foot of a tree too small as yet to support an ekele. He gave Darian’s shoulder a push, sending him into the center of the clearing, where he was surrounded by friends and well-wishers, all eager to congratulate him on his new status. Hertasi had been waiting for just this moment, and as soon as Darian was escorted to a seat of cushions piled up against the trunk of the tree, they swarmed him with offerings of food and drink.

Firesong stayed for a time, but kept his silence, as those who were mages monopolized the conversation. Those of Master rank and above - Starfall, Snowfire, and others - related their own Mastery Trials, as those who had not yet attained the rank of Master listened eagerly and a little enviously, then pelted the others with questions.

It was altogether too much like a gathering of scouts comparing the latest skills of their bondbirds. Each and every nuance and tactic was described and debated in staggering detail. When anyone asked Firesong a question directly, he answered it, but otherwise kept silent.

Although he hid it well, he was just as tired as Darian, and with as much reason; he had cultivated an appearance of calm, even indifference, but beneath it he had laid careful safety precautions, planning for the very worst. All of those safeguards had been integrated into his shields, of course, ensuring that Darian wouldn’t notice them - it was good for the young man’s confidence. Doing so had cost him a great deal in terms of work. The energy could be replaced, but the physical labor meant he needed his own rest. He’d also had an emotional stake in the trial that had worn him out; he was ready for relaxation, not a seminar.

So he waited until the celebration was well underway, and he knew he would not be missed, before he slipped out.

Once on his own, he took off his mask and used it as a fan - not that he was very hot, but it was pleasant to feel the cool air on his face. He walked slowly back to the ekele he shared with Silverfox, taking note as he walked of all of the improvements that the hertasi had made along the trail. He liked to be able to compliment them on specifics; it made them very happy when their handiwork was noted in detail.

For instance, the lamps had been replaced recently, so that they all matched. Much effort had gone into color matching the opaque, blue glass globes that protected the flames of the lamps from being blown out. All of the oil reservoirs matched, too - now they were made of green porcelain that harmonized with the blue glass. It was a very effective touch.

A Vale to match my outfit. How nice.

The standards themselves remained the same. Along this path they were all in the shapes of living things, inhabitants of the Vale. The gryphon at the entrance to the clearing was just one example; the standard Firesong was just passing was in the shape of an elongated hertasi, and the one just ahead in the form of an attenuated dyheli. Sometimes Firesong wondered if they were portraits of particular individuals, but he had never asked, and since none of the standards were of humans, he couldn’t tell by examining them in passing. Individuals of each species had distinctive markings and proportions, of course. Representations of those weren’t apparent, not in the ones he had seen, at any rate. It certainly didn’t detract from their beauty.

The path he was on crossed with another - the hertasi had not yet gotten around to replacing the lamps here to make them match. The bell-shaped glass covers were also blue, but they were of differing sizes and shapes, and were not all of the same color of glass. The standards, however, were all similar; simple wooden poles with vines trained to climb up them. The effect was more rustic and less baroque, and reminded him of all of the makeshifts that they had used when the Vale was first settled.

Two lamps marked the entrance to Silverfox’s home, a structure very much like Darian’s, a dome made of stone with rounded corners on the added chambers. It was covered with vines, so that it looked from outside as if there was nothing there except a heap of greenery. Somewhat to Firesong’s surprise, Silverfox was waiting for him, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Well, stranger, what are you doing out here?” he asked, pausing to admire the view. Silverfox had always been a handsome fellow, but in Firesong’s opinion, he had improved with age. He had lost some of the softness along his jawline that had made him look younger than he actually was, and the silver streak running from his temple all through his waist-length hair had grown wider by no more than a finger’s-width. Somehow he always managed to wear garments that harmonized with Firesong’s - blue and black, for instance, to Firesong’s current blue and green.

“Waiting for you; I knew you wouldn’t be too late at the party,” came the easy reply. “You never did care much for discussions of technique, and that’s all they’re going to get into tonight - hmmm. Well, you won’t be involved in - magical power technique, anyway.” He cast his eyes upward a little, as if he was calculating something. “By now I expect they’ve reached the stage of drawing diagrams on whatever surface is available.”

Firesong laughed. “I expect you’re right,” he replied. “I’d rather keep discussions of technique for lessons; it’s not my notion of conversational material.”

“Come on, then,” Silverfox said, standing up straight and beckoning. “I have refreshments cooling on the top deck, and there’s a good breeze.”

By the time Firesong got to the upper deck of the ekele, his weariness had completely caught up with him, and he was perfectly happy to sink down into a chair next to Silverfox and accept a cool drink. “I’ve got a bit of a favor to ask you, ashke,” he said, as Silverfox took the chair next to him, pulling his hair over his right shoulder to avoid sitting on it. “Would you keep an eye on Keisha and Darian? I’ve got the feeling that all is not comfortable between them, and I think they could use a little advice.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Silverfox replied easily. “I’ll be glad to look into it. You mustn’t be angry at me, though, if the outcome is that they decouple themselves.”

That took Firesong aback. “Why should they?” he asked, a little more sharply than he intended. “Do you already know something I don’t?”

Silverfox shrugged. “No, actually, I don’t. But remember, my job is to get the best possible outcome. I’m not a matchmaker. If our chief Healer and eventual Vale Elder are better off apart than together, that’s what I’ll counsel them. Short-term unhappiness is much better than long-term misery, and very few liaisons are lifebonds.”

Firesong was a touch disappointed in that answer, but he had to admit that Silverfox was right. “Well, if that’s what happens, I can’t promise you that I won’t be upset, but I won’t be angry, and certainly not with you.”

“Very sensible of you - and I’m only reminding you of the worst possible situation.” Silverfox reached over and took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “We could have the very opposite here, with both of them wanting a committed relationship, and both holding back because of some idealistic nonsense or other - ”

“Like, for instance?” Firesong put a teasing note into his voice, knowing what Silverfox was likely to say. “Idealism is always nonsense when it isn’t your idealism, eh?”

“Pest. Like, for instance, that they both are under the illusion that all successful relationships have to be lifebonds,” Silverfox replied.

“You mean they don’t?” Firesong asked innocently.

“Oh, no, no, no. Spells aren’t needed to make magic, and lifebonds aren’t needed to make love. Here - ” Silverfox put his drink down, and stood up in a single fluid, gliding motion, to lean over Firesong’s chair. His long hair made a curtain that shut out the rest of the world. “Allow me to demonstrate. . . .”

Four

Darian watched the shadows dance among the lamp-lit leaves overhead, supremely relaxed and content with his lot. The talk had settled to a murmur over to one side, with the rest of the small gathering of friends simply enjoying an all-too-infrequent moment of doing absolutely nothing.

“This isn’t really a proper party,” Wintersky complained, for after the drowsy laziness that inevitably followed a round of excellent food and drink set in, bodies sprawled over cushions as if in the aftermath of a massacre, and no one was inclined to do much more than listen to crickets sing. It had been a massacre, of sorts. The refreshments and supper brought by eager hertasi had been slaughtered down to the last drop and crust. Darian was wondering if he would make it to his bed after all, or just give up and fall asleep where he was, when Wintersky’s complaint broke the silence.

The bodies stirred and sat up, but no one replied to Wintersky, who continued in a firmer tone of voice. “No, it’s just nothing like a real party, and if anyone among us deserves a big celebration, it’s you, Dar’ian,” Wintersky stated authoritatively. “We ought to have one, that’s what we should do!”

“What, on top of everything else we’re planning?” Darian replied, appalled at the very idea. “Aren’t you all going to make me enough of an entertainment as it is? And think of the poor hertasil They’re already working their tails to stubs just to get ready for the Heralds, and now you want to add another party to their burden?”

“He’s right, Wintersky,” Sunleaf responded from the far corner of the clearing. Sunleaf, a contemporary of Snowfire, had been eager and willing to assist Darian in his studies when none of the greater mages were available, and the two had become good friends. “But Dar’ian, Wintersky is right, too,” he continued, nodding his shaggy head. “Keisha isn’t here, for one thing, and it doesn’t seem fair to me that we leave her out. Why don’t we just do this all over again as soon as she gets back? We’ll just call this a practice for the real party - or better yet, just a little gathering of friends. Say we just made a spur-of-the-moment picnic to congratulate you, and it’s not a party at all. Because really, that’s all it was.”

Darian didn’t have to think about it. He knew that Keisha would be hurt if she thought she’d been left out of the celebration. He did not want to hurt her feelings, nor did he want to make her think that he had forgotten all about her in the rush of euphoria after passing the Trial. “I’m glad you thought of that,” he replied gratefully. “So long as we don’t overburden our hertasi friends, that’s what we ought to do.”

Sunleaf laughed. “Oh, trust me, it’s in my own best interest,” he answered, and from across the clearing, Darian saw him wink. “I know what she’d do to me if she found out we had a party without her!”

“Do to you? Have pity, I have to sleep with her - what do you think she’d do to me? I’d be afraid to close my eyes!” Since the attendees at this little celebration were all males, and mostly bachelors, the entire gathering laughed at both of them, and Darian was momentarily ashamed to speak so of Keisha. On the other hand, Snowfire has said the same thing about Nightwind, to her face, and she just pretends to threaten him. “We should keep it very casual, but give Keisha and the other girls a chance to dress up.” There; that should make up for his lapse.

One of the hertasi that had adopted Darian and Keisha - a young striped male called Meeren - was picking up discarded and empty cups. At this sally, he hissed a laugh of his own. “Very well, then, do not worry about the preparations,” the leather-capped hertasi put in. “It is of manageable difficulty. In fact, with this much notice, we can have a few delicacies set aside for you. I will arrange for the official party to take place when Keisha returns.”

Darian relaxed; Meeren was one of Ayshen’s most valued assistants, a specialist in logistics. Whatever Meeren organized was certain to be a success.

Now the young hertasi turned to sweep the clearing with his gaze, his tail counterbalancing his movement as he turned. “And what Dar’ian has said makes me think. Do you young Tayledras think to be inviting some females, so that Keisha will not be the only one of her gender here? It will not only be Keisha who is disappointed to learn that there was a gathering to which no one thought to bring a friend.”

“That’s an even better idea - how did this end up as an all-male party, anyway?” asked Wintersky, looking around himself in astonishment. One of the shaych scouts replied with a laugh, “We were just lucky?”

“Don’t ask me - I was the last one to be invited,” Darian countered, tossing a cushion at the scout. “It wasn’t any idea of mine!”

Keisha was unusually glad to see the entrance of the Vale ahead of her. The twin pillars with the shimmer of the Veil between them beckoned her with all the warmth and welcome of an old friend. She was equally glad to ride through the cool shadows under moss-covered trunks and dismount at her very own door again. She removed the panniers resting across the back of her dyheli, but before she could touch the tack, a hertasi had come and taken it, and the dyheli trotted off to rejoin his herd.

How do they do that? Appear out of nowhere and just take over things? She stared at the retreating hertasi tail. I am never going to get used to it. It’s like they are always around, and always watching, no matter what we do - and then they know what we need next. She picked up the empty panniers, one in each hand, and with her foot nudged open the green-painted door.

It wasn’t that she was tired - that was far from the case; she had enjoyed the ride back enormously. Spring was her favorite season, and this spring was turning out to be particularly lovely. So far it had rained just enough, and only at night, so that blue skies graced the daylight hours. Everything was growing or in bloom. There were already spring vegetables coming in to the market, weeks before the usual time. It hadn’t been too cold or too hot. In fact, if the entire region had been seated beneath a Veil, the weather couldn’t have been more perfect.

No, the problem was not that Keisha was tired - unless it was that she was tired of Errold’s Grove. When she returned to her childhood home, she increasingly felt as if she was trying to squeeze into clothing that she had long since outgrown. Every time she made her weekly visit it was the same thing, whereas the Vale was constantly changing. The only change in the village was the occasional new pile of rocks, a fresh border around a flower bed, or a new shirt worn out-of-season so that everybody noticed. Other than that, it was the same little complaints, the same village gossip -

The same lectures from Mother about still being single.

She dropped her panniers into their corner, and frowned, feeling a sullen anger well up in her again. Back in Errold’s Grove she had fought it down, but now she allowed herself to admit it. I wanted so badly to tell her exactly what I thought. What was so bad about not being married? It wasn’t as if she was the only one in the family expected to produce grandchildren - there were already two squalling infants bearing the Alder name and features, one each from her two oldest brothers. What on earth could she do as a married woman - besides produce legitimate grandchildren - that she couldn’t do as a single one? Could she be any more valued? Would she have any higher rank?

If she doesn’t stop giving me the “you’ll grow old, lonely, and abandoned” lecture every time I’m ready to leave, I swear, I’m going to stop visiting her, Keisha thought sullenly. What’s more, I’ll let everyone in the village knoiv why I stopped visiting her!

She wouldn’t and she knew it, but the idea was very, very tempting. As she walked into the outer room with its comfortable furnishings of woven branches and overstuffed beige cushions, its walls of soft cream, and tiled floor, she took her first completely free breath since she’d left. This was home, from the mask and decorated gryphon-feather hanging on the wall, gifts from Firesong and Silverfox, to the flowering vines around the skylight of the bathing room.

I’m stale, that’s what it is. All I ever see these days are farm animals, idiot men as dumb as farm animals, women as stubborn as farm animals, pregnant mothers-to-be, cuts and scrapes, and the occasional sniffle. It wasn’t that she wanted Errold’s Grove to suffer a disaster. Nothing of the sort could be farther from her mind! But she didn’t even get to see the interesting diseases the Northern tribes brought down with them anymore. The Sanctuary Healers got all of those. All she was left with were the all-too-ordinary problems.

Havens, people are taking such care these days that I never even see an infected puncture anymore!

She dropped all of her soiled clothing from the trip into the basket-hamper they kept for the purpose just outside the bathing-room door. She stripped off the tunic and trews she wore, and added them to the pile, then entered the bathing room. In the echoing room, tiled floor-to-ceiling, she knelt beside the square tub sunken into the floor and drew herself a bath. They had hot water now, although it came from a tank perched up in a tree, shared by several other ekele and heated by the sun rather than by magic.

Maybe we’ll get that, too, in a few years, though it seems a pity to waste the sun’s heat when it costs us nothing. She was no mage, but she was acutely sensitive to the cost in magical energies of every act of magic. Living here in a new Vale as much as living with Darian had made her very aware of such things. Darian was in superb physical shape, even to a Healer’s eyes, and when she saw the physical exhaustion he bore after some of his lessons, she had no doubts remaining about magic’s costs.

When the tub was full, she added herbs and scented salts, and soothing fragrance rose in the steam that condensed on the leaves of the vines planted in boxes around the skylight above her. She eased into the tub, to just over her breasts, and soaked for a good long time, allowing herself to run through all of the emotions she had repressed. Nightwind had told her that holding them in did no good and much harm, so she let them run their course. Disappointment led to anger, which gave way in turn to a seething despair.

What am I doing with myself? Nothing, that’s what! Is Mother right? Am I going to die a cross old maid, lonely and abandoned? How long is it going to be before this makes me sour, and Darian gets tired of me and starts looking for a prettier girl? It was going to happen; she was just sure of it. Then what?

Then, I suppose, I’ll go back to my little house in the village. Eventually they’ll start to treat me the way they treated Justyn. . . .

A hard lump of self-pity rose in her throat, a sob that she choked down lest one of the hertasi was about. If they caught her in this mood, they’d be upset and concerned, and entirely sure it was their fault that she was unhappy.

The hertasi like me anyway. . . .

She couldn’t get herself out of this mood; it felt as if she had fallen into a pit and was too tired to climb out. She squeezed out a few bitter tears, a distillation of it all, and then, suddenly, felt much better. It was as if those few tears had taken all of her self-pity with them.

Not that crying had changed anything.

But with the tears out, she started to think past them, realizing how silly she would have sounded to anyone else, and in a moment, she laughed weakly at her own absurd thoughts. In the very worst case, it’s not as if I would lose everything! Even if Darian gets tired of me, we’ll still be friends, I’d still be a full Healer, and I’m entitled to ask to be sent wherever I want. And Shandi is coming back, so how bad can things be, really? Darian gave no hint that he had lost interest in her, anyway - so why was she borrowing trouble?

Worry about that when the time comes, if it ever happens at all. And if it does - well, there’s no reason why I can’t exchange positions with one of the Sanctuary Healers, is there? I’ll bet one of them would be willing to take over the village for a few months’ rest! Or even longer - there’s no telling how any of those Trainees are going to turn out, and if any of them turns out like old Gil Jarred, with a weak Gift, then Errold’s Grove is the right place for him and I can take his place in the Sanctuary permanently. That will give me plenty of excitement! The very fact that she had come up with an alternative to moldering in the village cheered her up immensely.

So what if Darian has more and more duties - and Firesong keeps heaping him with more complicated lessons. I might end up being sent off by the Healer’s Circle, too - things happen. Crying about them before they’ve happened isn’t going to stop them.

She stopped herself before she could step off the edge again, and fall into that pit of depression. I think I’d better talk to Nightwind.

She scrubbed off the sweat and dirt of the journey, feeling as if she was scrubbing away all her frustrations as well. She washed her hair, then ran more clean water for a thorough rinse. Sometimes it seemed like water was her best friend of all; it was nearly impossible to feel too badly when in a refreshing soak or a warm rain. When she emerged from the bathing room, cleansed and wrapped in thick towels, she found that one of the hertasi had been in the bedroom before her, and had laid out - a garment she didn’t recognize.

What - Havens, what is this?

She lifted one sleeve of the dress that had been put out for her to don. A springlike leaf green, it was absolutely charming - of light Tayledras-made silk with billowing sleeves caught into long cuffs, and a high collar. Both collar and cuffs were ornamented with silver embroidery, and there was a second, sleeveless gown of a slightly heavier weight in a darker green to wear over it. This sleeveless gown had a beautiful embroidery of silver-thread vines, leaves, and flowers running from the left shoulder to the hem, and all around the bottom.

This was not the simple green tunic-and-trews she had expected. She did not recall that there had been anything special planned for her return.

But next to the dress was a note attached to a new hair ornament - one of Aya’s sparkling white tail-feathers with green crystal beadwork ornamenting the shaft. She picked it up and read it.

You are invited to share a small celebration in honor of Darian Firkin k’Vala k’Valdemar on the occasion of his attaining the rank of Master Mage, follow the firebird feathers. And there was a postscript, in a rougher hand. We decided to postpone this until you came home; it wouldn’t be a proper celebration without you. She didn’t need a signature to recognize Darian’s handwriting on the postscript, and only the elegant Silverfox could have penned the invitation.

She forgot her anger completely. Surprise was followed immediately by such a rush of cheer that she might as well have downed an entire beaker of wine by herself.

She dropped her towels on the floor and hurried into the lovely gown, fastening the hair clasp into her damp hair. The feather trailed down along the side of her face, brushing her cheek in a graceful curve. Although the feather ceased to drip false sparks once it was no longer attached to Aya, it did retain the ability to sparkle as if it had been dusted with minute particles of gemstones.

With her skirts caught up in one hand, she ran out the front door and caught sight of the first of the firebird feathers. This was a smaller, body-feather; it hung from a strand of beads fastened to the lamp-standard marking the beginning of the lefthand path, fluttering and twisting in the light breeze.

The feathers were easy enough to spot - each one was within sight of another - and she soon met someone else following the same trail.

Wintersky’s current partner, a Tayledras scout called Ravenwing, waved to Keisha just as Keisha caught sight of her. She, too, was dressed for a celebration, in tunic of gold deerskin and trews of black silk. The tunic had beading in black and metallic gold across the shoulders and around the collar, with fringes along the sleeves and bottom hem that cascaded past her knees. Her bondbird, a handsome little cooperihawk, perched on a light gauntlet she wore on her left hand.

“Heyla!” Ravenwing called cheerfully. “Have you any idea what’s been planned? I got out of my bath to find an invitation next to my clothing!”

Keisha shook her head, admiring Ravenwing’s new hair patterns. Many of the Tayledras had snow-white hair by their early twenties at least, simply because they lived within a place where extremely powerful mage-energies were a part of everyday life, but the scouts often had their hair dyed in camouflage colors so that they blended in with their surroundings. Ravenwing’s patterns were brand new, the colors and edges crisp and unfaded - and it was obvious to Keisha’s experienced eyes that the reason she’d been in the bath was because she had been washing out the excess dyes.

“I love your new patterns!” she exclaimed - for Ravenwing’s hair had been dyed to resemble the wings of the enormous brown-eye butterflies that thronged the Vale. It was still camouflage, but it was anything but drab.

“You do? Thank you!” Ravenwing looked pleased, and ran her fingers through her loose hair with obvious pleasure. “I just got so tired of looking like I had a nest of old leaves on my head!”

“Once the others see it, they’ll want to copy it,” Keisha assured her. “It looks wonderful!”

Ravenwing caught her up on the news as they followed the trail of beaded feathers at a brisk walk. Keisha learned that she hadn’t missed much, other than Darian attaining Master status. “Everybody’s too caught up in getting ready for the Heralds to arrive,” Ravenwing concluded, and looked curiously at Keisha. “Is it true that one of them is your sister?”

“So they tell me! I’ll be glad to see her. Until she was Chosen, she was my best friend besides being my sister.” Keisha fingered the feather in her hair thoughtfully. “I hope she hasn’t forgotten that.”

“How could she? Don’t be silly.” Ravenwing seemed very sure of that. “She’ll be just as happy to see you as you are to see her. And if she’s anything like you, I can’t wait to meet her. There aren’t enough girls our age around this Vale, not nearly enough to get into the kind of trouble we used to cause back in k’Vala!”

Ravenwing’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she said that, and Keisha had to laugh. The Tayledras girl had been very free with her tales of the scrapes she and her gang of friends had perpetrated, and Keisha had, more than once, wished she had gotten a chance to join in the mischief. “Believe me, Shandi can cause enough trouble for three! If she hasn’t gone all sober on us now that she’s a Herald, we’ll have a fine time - oh, look - ” She interrupted herself. “That must be where the party is!”

Meeren, her own hertasi, stood beside the path, holding aside a curtain of vines for someone who had come from the opposite direction. He saw them, and beckoned them on; they hurried their steps and he grinned, showing all his teeth, as they reached him.

“Ah, the final pair!” Meeren exclaimed. “With you, we are ready to begin the celebration at last!”

Keisha ducked under the slant of vines, and was seized from behind by a pair of strong arms. “Keisha!” Darian crowed, spinning her around and around until she was dizzy. “You found my presents!”

“What? The dress? The feather?” she asked, trying to catch her breath, her head swimming as he finally stopped whirling her around. “Never mind, thank you for both - oh, Darian, congratulations! This is - wonderful!”

She cupped both her hands around his chin and pulled his head down for a long, heartfelt kiss. She heard the others whooping behind her, and for once, was not embarrassed by their rowdy attentions. She was wholeheartedly proud of him, and happy for his achievement, and she wanted him to know it beyond a shadow of a doubt. His arms closed around her as he drew her close, and for a time the cheers and hoots faded into a faint murmur as her ears filled with the pounding of both their hearts.

Then he let her go, and she took a step backward, smiling breathlessly up into his wide grin. She hadn’t even gotten her scattered wits together when he seized her hand and led her ceremoniously to a seat on the far side of a little clearing, where two enormous cushions had been braced against backrests placed on the ground. “My lady,” he said, gesturing broadly as he bowed to her, his grin as wide as ever, “if you will choose your seat, we can begin.”

She took the seat to the right; he dropped onto the cushion at the left, and a steady stream of hertasi moved into the clearing, each carrying a platter. As was usual at these casual celebrations, the hertasi carried each platter around the circle of diners, and they helped themselves. If the platters still had anything left on them, they made the rounds a second time. Hertasi then returned bearing drink, pouring each cup full of a light spiced wine. There was very little alcohol in this wine; Tayledras drank it for the taste, not with the purpose of intoxication. That was one of the things that Keisha liked so much about living among the Tayledras. Celebrations in the village inevitably ended in drunks staggering about and making themselves nuisances, and the morning after inevitably brought a parade of hung-over sufferers to her door. But the rare intoxicated Hawkbrother took himself away to sleep it off as soon as he or his friends realized the extent of his intoxication, and he either found his own hangover remedy or quietly suffered the punishment for his overindulgence.

Every morsel was delicious - even though most of it wasn’t special “feast” food. She quickly gathered that this was not a formal celebration, probably to spare the hertasi from any more extra work. The few special dishes could very well have been culled from the ones already in progress for the Heralds’ welcome. That made her feel easier; like Darian, she knew how hard the hertasi worked, and like him, she had not grown up accustomed to having them around. Putting any extra burden on them made her feel guilty.

As the dinner proceeded, each of Darian’s friends in turn voiced a wish for the new Master, and when it came time for Keisha to give hers, she knew precisely what she wanted to say.

“I salute our own Darian,” she said. “May he always be properly recognized for his accomplishments, and may he never regret a moment spent in achieving them.”

She raised her glass, and the others joined her. Now, if this had been the kind of celebration one would find in Errold’s Grove, now would be the time that Darian made a speech. But the Hawkbrothers didn’t have that particular tradition, and Keisha was just as glad; Darian didn’t much care for making speeches, and he already had plenty he was going to have to produce when the Heralds arrived.

Instead, those of the participants who cared to took turns entertaining the rest. About half of the population of this Vale were amateur musicians, and three of Darian’s guests had brought their chosen instruments with them - Silverfox being one, blindingly quick-fingered with a hand drum. One scout got up to teach a sculptor a step, and in no time at all, impromptu dancing had started. Keisha began to tap her fingers in time to the infectious beat, and Darian’s left foot did the same, until Darian could bear inactivity no longer.

“Come on!” Darian urged her, jumping to his feet and holding out his hand to her. She loved dancing, and did not hesitate a moment in allowing him to help her to her feet, and joining him in the circle.

They danced until the musicians were tired of playing, pausing only for cold drinks and a moment to catch their breath. She had danced with every male at the celebration, including Firesong (in a striking mask made of Aya’s feathers and polished quartz beads), and was just about out of energy. By that time, it was late enough that everyone agreed it was time to bring the party to an end. A final round of iced teas and juices - the ice cut during the winter and stored deep in hertasi-dug caves during the warmer months - allowed the heated dancers to cool down.

Keisha leaned against Darian’s shoulder, tired, permitting herself the luxury of forgetting all about the duties of a Healer, and giving herself up completely to the pleasure of the moment. And the moment was glorious; glimpses of a sky full of stars appeared as the great tree above them moved its branches in a light wind. The air, perfumed faintly with night-blooming flowers, had cooled just a trifle since sundown but was still perfectly comfortable. Now that the musicians were done in, the murmur of conversation and the song of insect and bird provided another sort of melody.

“So, Keisha, how was your visit?” Darian asked, shifting just a little so that she could settle more comfortably against his shoulder, and putting one arm around her to hold her steady.

She groaned. “Mother managed to get me into a corner again. Other than that, it was the usual, nothing of any great urgency. I think they don’t need me so much as the potions I bring with me.”

“We could always send your medicines over with the Council members,” he suggested. “You could cut your visits to every other week or so, instead of going once a week.”

The idea was tempting. “Perhaps after Rana Trilvy’s baby comes. I wouldn’t care to upset a first-time mother.” Darian’s shoulder was warm, and his arm around her comforting. She shoved all of her doubts and misgivings into a corner of her mind and shut a door on them. “This was lovely; thank you for waiting for me.”

His arm tightened slightly around her; she squeezed his hand in reply. “I knew you’d be disappointed if I didn’t. Besides, you don’t get nearly enough of a chance to simply enjoy yourself. When the village has a celebration, you spend most of the time dealing with accidents and drunks, and the next day with hangovers and belly-aches.”

“Well, thanks to you, I’m going to get quite a few chances to do so in the near future,” she said, and laughed when he sighed. “Come on, it won’t be that bad, will it?”

“I’m not so sure. The easiest is likely to be the Ghost Cat ceremony - and for that, all of the men will be stripping down and cramming into the sweat house until we’re equally parboiled. Then I exchange blood with the Shaman - I gather we each cut our palms and clasp hands - he declares that I’m his true son, with his blood in my veins and mine in his.”

“That doesn’t sound too difficult,” Keisha observed. “Other than the parboiling part. By all the men, are you just talking about the Ghost Cat folk?”

She heard the grin in his voice. “Oh, no, this includes Lord Breon and Val - Snowfire and Wintersky have to get in on this too, and maybe Starfall - and certainly Herald Anda. Should be very interesting to see how he reacts.”

She giggled. “It should be very interesting to see how Lord Breon takes it!”

The rest of the guests had started to slip away, by twos and fours, while they talked. She took a quick glance around, and realized that they were completely alone; not even a single hertasi had remained behind.

He was still caught up in thinking about the ordeals he was about to undergo. “Before that, there’s the knighting thing. I’ve got to do a night-long vigil, then Breon gets to put on his show, which is supposed to take the rest of the day. Oathtaking, knighting, ceremony following the knighting, speeches, tournament, feast, more speeches. The Ghost Cat people are probably going to be bored silly - and I know I will be, at least during the speeches.”

“You will not - you’ll be making mental notes like you always do,” she retorted. “You’ll be figuring what people are thinking by what they say and don’t say, and who they look at while they’re talking. You’ll tuck all that away in your mind, and when we most need it and least expect it, you’ll pull something out in a Council session that will solve everything.”

“Oh, come now!” he protested, laughing, “I’m not anywhere near that good!”

“You only think you aren’t. The rest of us know better.” He didn’t say anything, but she could tell he was embarrassed. “You’d better get used to it; people rely on you, Darian, and you’re good enough to be depended upon,” she added. “I know, and Starfall, Firesong, and Snowfire know, that you’ve got the instinct. You read people beautifully.”

“I don’t like to think that I’m manipulating them, though,” he replied, his voice uncertain. “That seems so unethical.”

She chose her words carefully. “It isn’t that you’re manipulating them, it’s that you’re getting them to see things they wouldn’t think of for themselves. Eventually, when the problem is over, they do see, and the next time you won’t have to prompt them or coax them into it. I don’t think that’s manipulation, that’s education. Besides, in a sense, we all manipulate each other; that’s what happens when you are friends, when you trust and love someone. I manipulate people as a Healer, but it’s with skill and good intent. Sometimes I have to trick them in order to make their medicine work.”

“I don’t know. . . .” He still sounded reluctant. “It just seems that I’m getting people to do things they’d rather not do at the time, and I wonder if that’s right.”

“But aren’t they more inclined to do the same thing on their own, later, once you’ve persuaded them into it the first time?” she countered. “Think of Val! If you hadn’t shown him how awful fighting and warfare really is, he’d have been inclined to throw himself into the thick of battle the first chance he had! Now he takes the time to think things through, and see if there isn’t a way to solve a situation without killing anyone. I don’t doubt for a moment that if fighting turns out to be the only answer, he’ll still be right up in the front of it - you didn’t turn him into a coward, because that’s not in his nature. All you did was bring out a part of his nature he hadn’t bothered to develop before you talked to him.”

“But what if he had been fearful, and I had turned him into a coward?” Darian replied.

“What’s better? That he discover that he was really timid about fighting when he was in the middle of a fight, or when he was sitting safe at home?” she said instantly. “Which does the most harm - or the least? It seems to me that if he’d discovered he couldn’t bear the battlefield, he’d have had plenty of opportunity to cultivate courage or find an alternative place to be useful where he didn’t have to actually fight. But you know what kind of havoc a single fighter can wreak just by turning and running.”

Darian sighed. “I guess you’re right.”

She clasped both her hands over his and squeezed them. “You know I am, you mean. You never use your abilities with people to make them do something that’s alien to their nature - you just make them see alternatives and then try those alternatives. Some day it might happen that you run up against someone who doesn’t like the alternative you offer, and goes into it reluctantly, but you don’t nock an arrow to your bow and force him into it. He can always say no.”

“But people don’t want to say no when I ask them to do something,” he protested. “It makes them feel guilty to turn me down, so they go ahead and do what I ask even though they don’t want to - ”

“Then it’s their job to grow a stronger spine.” As far as she was concerned, that was the end of that argument. “And here we are, wasting a perfectly lovely evening by agonizing over things that haven’t ever happened! I can think of much better things to do with our time.”

She hadn’t expected an immediate response, but she was very pleased when she got one. “So can I,” he replied, and turned so that she was no longer resting on his shoulder so that he could kiss her.

Her body began to tingle pleasantly as he prolonged the kiss, nibbling delicately on her lip as she responded. She shifted a little so that she could put both her arms around him, losing herself in sensation. Meeren will see that the “privacy” sign is set up by the time we need it, she thought - and gave herself up to loving.

Five

Darian stepped back from the golden-oak wall panel he’d been holding up, and admired all of the new hertasi-work ornamenting the Companion stables. The structure was finished just in time. Thank goodness for gryphons. If we hadn’t had warning, we could have been caught in mid-addition.

For the past several days, especially swift gryphons had been patrolling the main road to Errold’s Grove, on the watch for the approaching Heralds; even at the speed a Companion moved, a gryphon in the air traveled faster. A rough calculation gave them about a day’s warning before the visitors arrived. Last night the two had finally been spotted just before sunset, and the gryphon in question, a gyrfalcon-type with amazing speed, had come rushing back to the Vale as fast as she could with the news. She was exhausted when she arrived, but two more gryphons had been eager to take the news to Errold’s Grove and Lord Breon’s Keep, giving everyone advance notice that their very special guests were soon to appear.

The basic structure of the attachment to the guest lodge meant to house the Companions had been finished quite quickly, but Ayshen (no mean architect) had planned for the ornamentation and elaboration to be completed in stages. No matter when the new residents arrived, the stables would appear finished. The first change had been to the fountain that supplied fresh running water; the initial installation had been a simple trough with water constantly flowing through it running along the rear of all three stalls. Utilitarian, but not very impressive; certainly not Tayledras. “There is power in style,” was all Ayshen would say concerning the redesign. Now each of the three stalls held a separate handsome terracotta basin, with a constant flow of fresh, clean water bubbling up from the bottom and drained by a pipe just beneath the rim at the rear. Outside, the pipes joined into one, which drained into an ornamental pond. Ayshen figured the fish wouldn’t mind secondhand water.

The second change had been to add separate mangers for different sorts of foodstuffs; a hay rack just for hay, and smaller mangers and basins for oats, sweet-feed, and hot mashes. The hay rack had been fastened at the front of the stable for all three to share, but each stall had its own “special treat” containers; the latter were actually more terracotta basins which fitted into twisted-wire racks. The basins were removable, so that they could be taken away to be cleaned after use. The old wooden mangers that served for all food and were not removable for cleaning had been left in place, but trimmed with braided rope.

Then the dirt floor was replaced with brick, laid over a layer of gravel, over which in turn first sawdust, then clean straw was spread. Since Companions weren’t horses, a “latrine stall” with a slanted brick floor was added, with a sluice to wash the waste away, and a drain to carry the waste to the waste tanks to be purified and turned into fertilizer. The Companions themselves could operate the sluice with a pull-rope, as they would be able to open all doors with a pull-latch and could come and go as they liked.

The last set of improvements was to give the place ornamentation; paneled woodwork, carvings along the beams, shelves and a proper tack room. Whenever Darian found himself with a moment to spare, he’d gone to help the building crew, and he’d been holding a wall panel in place when the news had come that the Heralds were within a few hours of arrival.

I’d be perfectly happy to live here, he thought, looking around at the fine carvings, the solid appointments, the beautifully made door into the guest lodge itself, which was actually a double door. It was a regular door divided in half, so that the upper half could be left open for the Companions to stick their heads into the room.

“You’ve done a terrific job, friends,” he said aloud to the crew of hertasi picking up their tools. “I can’t see anything that could be improved upon.”

One of the nearest looked up at him. “I can,” the hertasi responded. “And if I can, you know that Ayshen will, too.”

“This is better and far more gracious than anything outside of Haven,” he told the hertasi firmly. “I’ll tell Ayshen that myself. Besides, I think any further changes ought to be made after you consult with the Companions themselves, not before.”

The hertasi, who appeared to be the work-crew chief, looked around, and nodded after a moment. “You’re probably right,” it admitted. It (it was usually impossible for humans to tell which hertasi was male and which female) stowed the last of its tools in its toolbox, then bent and picked up the heavy box as easily as if it had weighed no more than a basket of eggs. The other hertasi cleared out as the crew chief took a last look around and nodded again. “It’s solid,” the hertasi said, the ultimate compliment that any hertasi would ever pay to its own work. “Even Ayshen will agree to that.”

It trotted out with a wave of farewell to Darian, who shook his head and had to laugh.

He left through the door into the guest lodge just as more hertasi arrived, bearing bales of hay and bags of grain. More were following, carrying cleaning supplies, although he could not imagine how the place could possibly be any cleaner. But then, he wasn’t a hertasi.

The guest lodge had been cleaned and polished until every surface gleamed; the mattresses taken out and restuffed, new linens made for the beds, new blue gauze curtains hung on the windows. There were flowers in all the rooms, scented candles in holders on every table, with bundles of additional candles tied with a ribbon stocked in an open cabinet in the main room. Last year a bathing room had been added to the guest lodge since not every guest cared to bathe in company; like Darian’s, this bathing room was supplied with sun-heated water from a tank above the roof. He took a quick peek, and saw that everything possible had been supplied here, as well. In two of the rooms, a set of white clothing designed by the hertasi was laid out on the bed. Presumably one set had been made to Shandi’s measurements. As for Herald Anda, perhaps the hertasi had simply guessed at the size for the other set. It was easy enough to tell which room had been designated for each Herald, though. The room that was to be Shandi’s held some of her old possessions brought from Errold’s Grove, and a specially chosen basket of sewing and embroidery supplies.

Obviously there was nothing more he needed to do here. As Darian walked out onto the covered porch that surrounded the Lodge, he nearly ran into another hertasi, an adolescent by its build. “Dar’ian - you are to prepare!” the youngster blurted out before he could apologize for his clumsiness. “The guests are less than two hours distant!”

He glanced up at the sky, trying to tell where the sun was through the trees, and judged that it was early afternoon. The Heralds had made good time, but the Vale was ready for them.

All except me! he reminded himself, and bolted up the trail to his ekele.

It was empty when he arrived; Keisha had probably gotten ready hours ago. He had seen her outfit earlier; the hertasi that had adopted the two of them had outdone themselves in the way of clothing for her. She now had a set of Greens that would be the envy of every Healer who saw them. There would be plenty of Healers to impress, too; every Sanctuary Healer that could get away had been arriving all morning. Even if they hadn’t been anxious to meet the new Heralds, no one wanted to miss a Vale-wide Hawkbrother celebration. K’Valdemar had a far-flung reputation for its hedonistic hospitality on such occasions.

The hertasi hadn’t exactly shirked when it came to Darian’s outfit either, but at the moment he wasn’t concerned with his clothing. After helping with the stables since early morning, what he needed most was a bath.

Once clean, he hurried into the first of his four sets of “welcoming” garb. This first set, the most exotic and ornamental of the lot, was for today, when the Heralds were formally -greeted and welcomed into k’Valdemar Vale. This was to mark his primary allegiance to his Vale and Clan. Tomorrow, he would wear Valdemaran formal military garb, although it would not be in Guard blue, but in brown, with badges of owls rather than the winged horse of Valdemar. This outfit included light ornamental armor and came complete with embroidered surcoat displaying his new arms. But the arms were not in Valdemaran style, but in the mode of the Hawkbrothers - the fluid, sinuous curves and stylization they had developed over the course of centuries. And the device itself was not Valdemaran either, for there was not a single noble family in all of the land that used an owl for their device. It seemed odd to him, but it was so. Lord Breon told him that owls were considered ill-omened in some parts; it was said that if an owl landed on one’s house three nights in a row and called, someone in the house would die. Others swore that owls were the eyes of evil spirits, because they flew so silently and attacked in the darkness when no other creature could see. There were plenty of nocturnal creatures besides owls, including animals no one thought of as evil - but there was no arguing with superstition. The good part was that there was no one to argue with when he planned his device around a stylized portrait of Kuari coming in to land, wings spread wide.

He would spend the night in that outfit, in vigil. The next morning he would change into his third outfit, Valdemaran Court garb, with a more elaborate version of his embroidered surcoat, this one sparkling with gold-and-silver thread and tiny gem-stones. He had no idea how the hertasi had managed to get not one, but two embroidered surcoats done in time, yet they had. There was always the belief that there were more hertasi than anyone ever actually saw, down in their burrows - and since so many looked alike to human eyes, who could count for sure just how many there were to make the goods they brought? That outfit was for the feast celebrating his knighting. Hopefully they’d let him get a nap before he had to endure hours of a formal Valdemaran feast. . . .

But that wasn’t the end. On the fifth day - they were going to allow him a day to rest before he took up the trial again - he would don a set of clothing that was a blend of Ghost Cat and Hawkbrother styles. Crafted mostly of supple leather, it was decorated with Kuari’s feathers, ornaments of carved bone harvested from Kuari’s kills, beadwork with an owl-and-feather theme, and finished with a belt and dagger-sheath carved with a frieze of standing owls. Under it all was a draped loincloth, woven with a decorative pattern of feathers. He would put it all on only to take it off again (except for the loincloth), for this was his costume for his presentation at the Ghost Cat sweathouse.

At least both Heralds would have to keep him company through most of this. They would stand guard to make certain he didn’t fall asleep during the vigil, and Anda would join all the men in the sweat-house ceremony while Shandi waited with the women in the drum-circle outside. The women had their own rituals, which were held secret from the men; all he knew was that they involved drumming for the men in the lodge.

Right now, however, he had best concentrate on today’s ordeal.

This was not the sort of outfit he would have chosen to wear to a celebration, but fortunately, like the clothing that Snowfire and Nightwind wore for their wedding, he was going to be able to abandon part of it once the most formal portions of the evening were over. The base was a comfortable, soft sleeveless tunic of silk the color of red amber, and a pair of dark brown silk trews. Over this went a hip-length vest woven with a pattern of owl feathers, buttoned with amber toggles. Over that went an ankle-length coat, this cut of and lined with silk the color of honey amber, with a high collar, sleeves scalloped to resemble great wings, and so completely embroidered with owl feathers that very little of the original silk showed through. It was belted over the hips with a belt made of plaques of tiger-eye stone carved with more owls, no two of which were alike. The belt clasp was the mask of an owl, made in two halves that met so perfectly that it looked like a solid piece when buckled. The eyes were amber, the beak of creamy shell all the way from Lake Evendim, and the owl mask of carved horn, each feather individually carved and fitted to a metal backing plate. His boots of warm brown leather were inlaid on each calf with a design of an owl feather in four different shades of brown deerskin.

The coat was infernally heavy; not hot, but heavy. The weight of all that beading and embroidery hung on his shoulders like the heaviest pack he’d ever had to hike with.

Once the entire outfit was on, he waited for Meeren to return to inspect him and put the finishing touches on his appearance.

He certainly couldn’t put the finishing touches on himself; he could hardly move without knocking something over with his sleeves.

It wasn’t long until Meeren trotted in the door, clad himself in a coat made of thousands of tiny black octagonal scales of metal, forming a “fabric” as flexible as silk. Meeren examined him closely, looking at him from all angles, before pronouncing his satisfaction. “You’ll do,” the hertasi said. “Now sit, and let me make you presentable.”

Darian sat gingerly on a low stool, and Meeren moved in, brush and comb in hand. Despite his apprehension, Meeren did not pull every hair out of Darian’s head; in fact, he was remarkably gentle. Darian had allowed his hair to grow long, Tayledras-fashion, so that he could braid feathers and beads into it as his Clan-brothers did. It took a defter hand than his to achieve the kind of effects that Firesong or Starfall managed, and that was where Meeren came in.

He sat patiently as Meeren worked, wondering what was going on, but unable to tell anything from the gentle tugs and pulls on his hair. Meeren didn’t take long, not as long as the hertasi must have taken with Keisha, but Darian was very impatient to see his handiwork, and shifted restlessly on his stool.

“All right, all right, I’m finished!” Meeren exclaimed. “Go ahead and look - but don’t admire yourself too long; they’re waiting for you at the Vale entrance.”

He got up carefully, mindful of his costume, and moved into the bedroom to peer into the only mirror in the house.

It was a pleasant surprise, for he had been a little afraid that Meeren would overdo the decorations; Meeren had worked Kuari’s feathers, a few strands of amber beads, and leather thongs finished with tiny silver feathers and figurines into his hair without making him look like a walking display of hair-jewelry. In fact, with his hair pulled back from his face and given a little more discipline, he looked a few years older than he actually was. That was exactly the effect he’d hoped for, but when he turned to thank the hertasi, Meeren was already gone.

It’s time for me to be gone, too. He took a last look at himself, satisfied himself that everything was fastened in firmly and wasn’t going to come apart, then headed for his destination at a trot that would have been a run if not for the weight.

The Veil distorted the view past the entrance, but there was no doubt that everyone who could possibly appear to greet the Heralds had made it his business to come. As he passed the Veil itself, the tingle along his skin and down his spine seemed a bit stronger than usual; that probably meant Starfall and Firesong had gotten the Veil strengthened enough to keep out rain and inclement weather. Of course, now that they’ve got the “umbrella” up, it won’t rain.

When he emerged on the other side and surveyed the crowd beneath trees that were only large by the standards of those who lived outside a Vale, he saw Keisha wave at him, then run to meet him. She looked a great deal more comfortable in her Greens than he was in his costume; her outfit was a butterfly-sleeved, calf-length tunic over long trews, belted with silver. Silver embroidery of leaves and vines on all hems was the extent of ornamentation, for the real emphasis in her costume was the fabric, which somehow managed to ripple through every possible shade of green as she moved. She seized his arm and tugged him to the right, looking relieved. Out in the crowd, there were at least two brightly painted inflated kick balls being tossed about randomly from person to person.

“Are they here yet?” he asked, wondering if he had missed the ceremony somehow.

“No, no, not yet, but Kel has them in sight.” She gestured upward, and he followed her pointing finger to a patch of blue sky in the canopy of leaves. A small black speck rode a thermal in a slow, lazy circle overhead. Kel is obviously planning on making an impressive entrance, he thought with amusement. His favorite hobby, besides being preened.

But Keisha was tugging on his arm again, and he followed her obediently out past the restless mob of his fellow Hawkbrothers. Anticipation hung thickly in the air, and mingling with the Tayledras were members of Ghost Cat, villagers from Errold’s Grove, and Lord Breon’s people. Errold’s Grove would get its own chance to greet the Heralds, but that wouldn’t take place until the sixth day, and Darian intended to avoid that particular festival if he possibly could. He fully expected to be passed out in his bed then by the time all parties involved had gotten done with him.

There was no elevated platform setting the greeting committee apart from the rest, but one wasn’t needed. If nothing else, the costumes marked all of the principal players out; the last time Starfall, Snowfire, and Nightwind had worn their elaborate outfits had been at Snowfire and Nightwind’s wedding. Since then, the heavily embroidered and embellished items had been serving as wall art, as Darian’s own costume eventually would. Firesong had outdone all of them; if sheer magnificence of clothing was the standard of importance, Herald Anda would surely think that he was the leader in this Vale. Silverfox lacked Firesong’s impressive mask, but that was all he lacked; in every other respect, he was Firesong’s reverse-image twin. The two of them were clad in blue and gold; where Firesong had gold in the patterns of beading and embroidery, Silverfox had blue, and vice versa. What first appeared to be subtle streaks of gold or blue in their hair became, on closer inspection, strings of tiny beads, ending in minute feathers. Aya sat on Firesong’s shoulder, and as Darian neared, Kuari hooted a greeting from a branch above Starfall. His parents, Hweel and Huur, sat beside him. Starfall’s falcon was on his gloved fist, and even the glove was beautifully made, with appliqued designs made of layers of dyed deerskin set into the cuff. Birds called, crowed, or screamed to each other, and a yellow kick ball bounced off Kuari’s branch, making him hoot in indignation.

“Sorry!” someone called.

“Well, the boy cleans up rather nicely,” Firesong said to Starfall, with a wink. “Perhaps we won’t have to pretend he’s a servant after all.”

“Hey!” Darian protested, pointing an accusing finger at Firesong. “I’d been working on the stables all morning. What were you doing?”

“Making certain that rain would not interrupt our greetings,” Firesong replied blandly, with a toss of his head that made the beads chime together like tiny bells. “Delicate work, that, requiring the skill of an expert.”

Starfall rolled his eyes and snorted in derision. “Yes it did, which is why you helped,” he corrected. “Or at least, you called it helping.”

Firesong pretended to be greatly offended, and Silverfox just shook his head at both of them. “Indeed! I was there to make certain that instant corrections could be made if you upset something with your blundering. After all, Father, you are getting a bit forgetful lately.”

“Forgetful? My blundering!” Starfall exclaimed. “What about - ”

“Enough, you two,” Nightwind interrupted them, then giggled. “Some of the outsiders might begin to believe that you two hate each other.”

Starfall grinned, and behind the mask, Firesong mock-pouted. “Oh, Mother - ” he began, in imitation of a whining child.

“Don’t!” Nightwind warned, hands on hips. “Just don’t. Act like the baby, and I’ll send you to your room like a baby!”

Firesong chuckled. “She’s getting rather good at that, isn’t she?” he said in an aside to Snowfire. “That whole mother thing, I mean.”

Snowfire nodded ruefully. “It’s a good thing, too, since the baby has me completely under her control. One teary-eyed look, and any resistance I had just evaporates.”

He might have elaborated on that subject, but a shout of “Here they come!” interrupted him. There were several whistles, and the kick balls mysteriously vanished amid the crowd.

The entire group peered up the trail; Firesong and Darian both shaded their eyes with their hands. At first Darian couldn’t see anything, but then a ray of light falling slantwise through the branches glanced off something white, which resolved into two distant riders.

Was it only two years ago that I stood here waiting for my new teacher, only to find out that he was the famous Adept Firesong? So much had happened since then; he had been so busy he hadn’t even had much time to visit the village except for the seasonal Faires. When I’m not off settling minor disputes, arbitrating trades, or helping the Vale understand the village, I’ve been caught up in Firesong’s training. No wonder time has gotten away from me!

He wished for a breeze, feeling the weight of his coat even more; for once, a breeze sprang up in answer to his wish. The riders neared at a steady pace, and he broke off his musing to examine them at his leisure. They both wore the Herald “working garb” of leather trews, a leather jerkin, and a plain white shirt tied loosely at the neck; it was pretty clear that they hadn’t been expecting a formal reception or a major celebration. It had been a year since he’d last seen Shandi, and it seemed to him at least that she had gotten taller. Her face had thinned out a bit, but aside from that, her new status didn’t seem to have put much of an outward stamp on her.

However, her Whites were obviously new, compared to the well-worn costume of the man riding beside her. So was her Companion’s tack, and Darian made a mental note to have one of the hertasi look it over for stiffness and give it a good oiling with the special lanolin they used on hawk-furniture.

Herald Anda had probably not been very young when he demonstrated Mage-Gift and was selected for training by Darkwind and Elspeth. Now he was in late middle age, brown hair generously streaked with gray, and his weathered face as wrinkled as any shepherd’s of the same age. He was in perfect health and excellent condition, however; despite a ride of many days’ duration, he sat his Companion easily with little hint of fatigue.

The crowd behind Darian stilled, with hardly more than a murmur or two from those waiting. The two Heralds rode up in silence, with only the music of the forest behind them and the sound of their Companions’ hoofbeats to punctuate it. They didn’t use their reins, but the Companions came to a graceful halt about two wagon-lengths from Starfall. Herald Anda was in the lead, but by no more than a pace; neither he nor Shandi looked surprised at the size of the crowd waiting for them. While they probably weren’t thinking about a big, formal reception, I suppose they would be expecting a big crowd - this is one of the most important things to happen around here since we established the Vale. Besides, Heralds are rare enough around here that even an “ordinary” Herald draws a crowd.

Karles, Shandi’s Companion, tossed his head and looked around at the huge crowd with deep interest. The Heralds dismounted together, in a movement as perfectly timed as if they had rehearsed it. There were some murmurs of admiration from the crowd; Ayshen was right, there was power in style. But of course, they don’t have to practice moving together - not when they’re Mind-linked to their Companions, and perhaps to each other as well. It certainly gave a good impression, however, making it look as if they had been a team for a very long time.

Again, Shandi remained a pace or two behind Herald Anda, who approached the little group that stepped forward to welcome him. Firesong and Silverfox in their turn lagged a little behind the rest, as Starfall took the lead with Darian beside him.

All right, here I go. Darian felt Anda’s eyes rest on him for a moment, before the Herald turned his attention to Starfall.

“Herald Anda, we bid you and your Companion welcome to k’Valdemar Vale,” Starfall said gravely. “Shandi and Karles, of course, we already know. We are glad to welcome them as well. We hope this new partnership will be a fruitful one for all of us, and we are pleased to be part of this new venture with Valdemar.”

Darian stepped forward with his own well-rehearsed words. “We of k’Valdemar Vale invite you to partake of our hospitality and fellowship for as long as you desire,” he told them. “We hope, in fact, that you find it so welcome that you take up residence permanently within the Vale. Now, if you will permit - I am Darian Firkin k’Vala k’Valdemar.” He gave his full name with permissible pride, and bowed his head in the brief nod of equal to equal. “This is Adept Starfall k’Vala, this is his son Healing-Adept Firesong k’Treva.” Starfall nodded, and Firesong moved forward a little and did the same. They had agreed on the order in which they would be introduced when they decided that Darian would make the introductions. “With Firesong is the kestra’chern Silverfox k’Leshya of the Kaled’a’in. I also introduce to you Mage-Scout Snowfire k’Vala and trondi’irn Nightwind k’Leshya of the Kaled’a’in.”

Anda nodded to each of the people introduced, and if he didn’t know what a kestra’chern or a trondi’irn was, he didn’t show it.

Now the nonhumans came forward; Hashi wearing a collar and breastplate of appliqued leather, Ayshen in a coat of metal-scale like Meeren’s, and Tyrsell sporting jeweled caps to his horns and a jeweled collar. “Here also are Hashi, chief of the kyree, Ayshen, leader of the hertasi, and Tyrsell, King-Stag of the dyheli of k’Valdemar Vale.”

Evidently Anda had been warned, or had seen enough of intelligent nonhumans that he showed no sign whatsoever of surprise. He was, however, about to get a bit of a start.

Because just as Darian had figured, Kel had planned all along to make an impressive entrance. So he did - plunging through the branches of the trees with folded wings, to open them with a sudden snap at the last moment, and thunder in to a perfect landing. He kicked up such a wind that the Heralds both had to protect their eyes with their hands from the flying debris, and the Hawkbrothers, male and female alike, seized their hair to avoid ending up with a tangled mess.

Kel settled back onto his haunches, and regarded the Heralds with a mild gaze. He was in the full panoply of a Silver Gryphon; harness, collar, gems on his ear-tufts, and feathers painted and gilded. “And this is Silver Gryphon Kelvren, chief of the k’Valdemar gryphons,” Darian finished, determined to look as if Kel’s entrance had been planned from the beginning. Kel bowed his head regally - then lost every bit of his dignity at Anda’s reply.

“I am very pleased to meet all of you at last,” the Herald replied. “As is my Companion Eran. I am sure you already know that Shandi and Karles are overjoyed to be here as well. I am personally pleased to meet again with gryphons, since I was taught the use of magic by Treyvan and Hydona; I came to know them well, and consider them to be two of my best friends.”

Kel’s beak opened, and his eyes pinned in surprise. “You were taught by Treyvan and Hydona? You arre frrriends with the great onesss?” he gasped, and could not manage to say more, so overcome he was with the shock. Darian smoothly took up his speech again, covering Kel’s dumbfounded astonishment.

“We comprise the Elders and Council of k’Valdemar,” he told Herald Anda. “And as such, we open the Vale to you.”

That was all that he was supposed to say, and as he stepped back, Starfall took over. “If you will allow us, we will conduct you and your Companions to your temporary home.” He followed his speech with a gesture. “When you are settled and refreshed, we have planned a welcome feast and festival in honor of your arrival. We hope our customs will soon seem comfortable to you.”

“Thank you, for all four of us,” Anda replied, and took his place at Starfall’s right, with his Companion Eran following. They all turned to face the gathering waiting behind Starfall, who had been holding their collective breath the better to hear the speeches.

That was the signal for everyone assembled to greet the new Heralds with a rousing cheer that shook the leaves and probably frightened every bird for furlongs about into silence.

The gathering split in two, making a path for Starfall and Anda. Behind them followed everyone else, with Shandi, Karles, and Keisha bringing up the rear. Shandi had her head together with Keisha, and Darian figured that they wouldn’t miss his presence, so he stayed right behind Starfall. He was easily within hearing distance, and so caught most of the men’s conversation.

“I am quite glad to take up this position, Adept Starfall,” Anda was saying earnestly. “I have had enough traveling for two lifetimes. It will be good to finally settle into one place.”

“I was under the impression that Heralds generally did not settle, is that true?” Starfall asked.

“In the past, yes, that has been true,” Anda admitted. “Our saddles were usually our homes. We certainly spent more time on roads than in bedsteads. However, it occurred to Her Majesty that those with Mage-Gift would be of less use to the Crown in an emergency if it was impossible to lay plans knowing where they were, or if they were too far into the hinterlands to do any good. She decided that, insofar as it was possible, it would be better for Herald-Mages to assume permanent residencies, especially since there are so few of us. She has stationed about half of us as instructors at the Collegium, made Elspeth, Darkwind, and myself ambassadors, and the rest will be taking new stations such as mine, in important places along the Border.”

“So you are intended to become the permanent ambassador here?” Starfall’s satisfaction at that admission was evident in his voice.

“When you have gone to the trouble of creating a perfect place for all of the peoples of this area to come together, we would have been rather foolish to ignore the tacit invitation,” Anda said dryly, and Starfall chuckled. “And to be blunt, in doing so, you saved Haven the trouble of making such a place and even better, saving them, if not a king’s ransom, certainly a duke’s!”

I think he’s going to fit in just fine. He certainly has the right sense of humor, Darian mused.

“Now, did I understand your young spokesperson to say that our quarters are temporary?” Anda continued. Starfall nodded, and gestured to Darian to join them.

“We didn’t want to assume your requirements, so we’re putting you in the guest lodge until you have decided what you want,” Darian said diffidently. “You’ll want to see the Vale, of course, and we took into consideration that there is always the possibility that you might decide you would rather have your permanent headquarters outside it.”

“Possible, but unlikely; why put the embassy in the countryside rather than the diplomatic capital?” Anda smiled slightly. “By the way, I’m given to understand that you have some method of imparting language in a candlemark or so. I would be very grateful if you could arrange for me to undergo the ‘lesson’ as soon as possible.”

Starfall coughed slightly. “It leaves one with a dreadful headache,” he warned.

Herald Anda shrugged. “Extended use of any mind-magic leaves one with a dreadful headache,” he replied, as Darian stifled a grin of triumph. “The cost, however, is well worth the benefit. If you can arrange for this, I should like very much to have all of the languages in use here. I understand that Shandi has already acquired the necessary tongues.”

“I will arrange for it with pleasure,” Starfall told the Herald. “And you will curse me for it afterward. Meanwhile, we do have a great deal scheduled for you over the next few days.”

Darian watched Herald Anda very closely, and thought he detected a faint hint of dismay as Starfall outlined all of the ceremonies ahead. Surely he must have expected something of the kind. Or maybe not. Although Heralds were important people, he hadn’t seen a lot of ceremony involving them or honoring them - maybe because they tended to swoop in, take care of their business, and ride out again.

Poor Anda! He has no idea of what he’s in for now! For the first time since all this had been planned, Darian felt a little better about his role as “entertainment.” If his guess was right, Anda was just as dismayed at the prospect of a week of “performing” as Darian was. There was some small comfort in shared misery after all.