I know you are an Outlander . . . but I know not how much my son has told you of our troubles here,” Starblade began, with a sober glance at Darkwind, “so I shall tell my tale from the outset, and beg your patience if I repeat what you know.” He glanced down at the pond, with its patient, colorful carp skimming just below the surface of the water. “I shall be as brief as I can.”
He paused for a moment, clearly organizing his thoughts. “Mornelithe Falconsbane,” he said at last. “It all comes down to him.”
Darkwind nodded grimly, but said nothing.
“The Heartstone - ” Starblade closed his eyes, but not before Elspeth had seen another shadow of pain pass across them. “Its shattering is his doing, but by my hand. I was foolish and vain; I thought myself clever, and I found out differently. He caught me through my foolishness, and my pride. He broke me, and he used me.”
Terse speech, but obviously each word cost him dearly. “Through me, he set his darkness upon the Heartstone, disrupted our magics, broke it from the inside, and in so doing, caused the deaths of many of our mages. Because of me, three-fourths of the Clan are lost somewhere in the wilderness.”
How?” Elspeth asked, puzzled. “I mean, how could you lose that many people?”
Starblade toyed with a glass-beaded feather braided into his hair. “When a Clan moves, it is our way to establish the children, the lesser mages, the weak and the old, with the bulk of our scouts and warriors to protect them, at a new site. We send them by means of a Gate, we drain the Stone of its power and send it to the new Stone, then we follow. But when we filled the Stone with all the Clan’s power in preparation for diverting the power to the new site, the Heartstone shattered, and the Adept holding the Gate open died with the shattering. We had no one among us who could use the Heartstone, damaged as it was, to go to them by Gate. We barely know the true location of the rest of the Clan, for the scouts who had found the new place were with them.”
“And they couldn’t reach you without sending badly-needed fighters,” Elspeth supplied. “I take it none of the lesser mages were able to build these Gate things?”
“Only an Adept can master the Gate Spell,” Iceshadow replied. “And we fear that even if they had one who could cast it, the Stone is too unstable and there may be no way of bringing a Gate near to it.”
“All the scouts that knew the overland way to the new Vale are at that Vale,” Darkwind repeated. “Our number would be decimated trying to get to them by foot - leagues traveled are hard-won going North - and they cannot come to us, burdened with the old, the young, the sick.”
His father nodded. “Indeed. So - to make the bad much the worse, Falconsbane continued to work through me, keeping the Clan from reaching for help, keeping the Adepts still remaining from stabilizing the Stone, and keeping those who knew me well at a distance.” Starblade averted his eyes from Darkwind, but the reference was plain enough. “He hoped, I think, to wear us down until he could penetrate our defenses at his leisure and usurp the Stone and the power it still held. But he had not reckoned on our clever allies, the gryphons - and he had not reckoned on the courage and good sense of my son.”
“He couldn’t have guessed Nyara would turn against him, either,” Skif put in, with a hint of pride.
“No - nor the appearance of you and all that you represented,” Tre’valen told him, his eyes showing a hint of sardonic humor. ‘ ‘To tell you true, there was an unexpected marshaling of powers from all sides. Falconsbane certainly did not plan on that, nor the involvement of the Shin’a’in. That was his downfall.”
“If he lives still, he cannot be prospering,” Iceshadow put in. “Shin’a’in arrows found a mark in him; that much we know. And he has lost much in the way of power and creatures.”
“I wonder at that; Shin’a’in do not often miss in such attacks, their Goddess oft assists the arrow to the mark. But, despite that, I doubt that he lives,” Starblade sighed. “I think that the arrows of the Shin’a’in found their mark; that he fled only to die. There has been no sign of him or his creatures, and his escape was by blood-magic . . . with his own blood. That is an act of finality among mages.”
Elspeth shrugged. “I don’t know one way or the other about him, but the point, it seems to me, is that he has left the Vale in one snarled mess.”
Starblade nodded, and smoothed his braided hair back behind his ears. “My son has said he will teach you in the use of your Mage-Gift; that is a good thing, I think - but he will need to relearn much as he teaches you. It would be hazardous for you to do much practice of that learning within the Vale itself; though you would be protected from threats that are outside the Vale, the Stone is yet dangerous.”
Gwena stamped a hoof and snorted agreement, bobbing her head vigorously. Elspeth nodded; she felt the same. Starblade bore many years’ experience, and knew the magics involved as only a Tayledras Adept could. Better to err on the side of safety.
“I think,” Darkwind said slowly, “that we may practice outside the Vale for some time in relative safety. It will only be as we approach the greater Adept-magics that we will need the shieldings of the Vale.”
“By then, the Council and I should have come to some decision on the Stone,” Iceshadow told them. “Either we shall have begun to heal it ourselves, or we shall have found a way to deal with it.”
He glanced at Elspeth, with a certain amount of expectation in the look. She sighed, knowing what that look meant. “If you’re wondering if you can count on my help with this Heartstone of yours, I do remember those oaths I just took,” she said, with a little shake of her head. “I can’t say I like the idea of mucking about with that much power gone wrong, but what I can do, I will.”
Both Iceshadow and Starblade gave her nods of approval, but she wasn’t quite done. “What I need to know, here, is this - how much more trouble from outside can we expect while we’re doing all this? Starblade, I hope you’ll forgive my asking this, but you were a point of weakness before. Just how vulnerable are you to more meddling?”
Starblade wet his lips with the tip of his tongue before replying. “To meddling - I would say not at all. Even il Falconsbane still lives, and as I said, I do not think that he does, Iceshadow and Kethra have changed all the paths that made me open to him. To have me so his slave again, he would have to have me in his hand. He would break me faster - for I am that much more fragile than I was - but he would have to have me to break me.”
“And?” Elspeth raised an eyebrow.
“And I shall not leave this Vale until I walk through the Gate to a new one,” he told her. “I have been broken and am mending, but I am still weak to be broken again, and will not chance it, for the sake of all of us.”
Elspeth nodded, satisfied, but Skif frowned. “What about attack?” he asked. “Are you weaker to attack than - say-Iceshadow?”
Starblade looked mildly surprised by the question. “I - think not,” he said immediately. “The weaknesses I have still require someone who knows me to exploit, and to have me, if not within physical touching, certainly within sight.”
Skif glanced over at Tre’valen, who shrugged. “The only magics I know intimately are those of the Goddess,” he said. “I am of no help nor hindrance in these things. These are good things to know, Starblade. I thank you for telling them.”
“I can’t think of any more questions,” Skif admitted. “I’m no mage, and I’m no help to you. Frankly, I’ll be a lot more help in finding Nyara and that damned sword she carries.”
“Now that I need to know something of,” Starblade said immediately. And Elspeth found herself the focus of every eye in the little clearing.
She fidgeted a little, uncomfortably. “I don’t know much about Need as I’d like,” she replied, reluctantly. “She predates the Mage Wars, I think. At least, I didn’t recognize anything she showed us when she let us into her memories, So she’s either very old, or from awfully far away.”
“I would say, very old,” Darkwind opined, toying with a feather in a gesture uncannily - and probably unconsciously - like his father. “I would say, she is as old as the oldest artifact I have ever seen. She gave me the impression of great age, as great as any of the things I have stumbled upon in the ruins.”
Elspeth tilted her head back and took a deep breath of the cool, flower-scented air, using the moment to think. “What I do know is she was a member of some kind of quasi-religious order, with gods I never heard of - male and female twins.”
She gave the Hawkbrothers a glance of inquiry; all three of them shrugged as if the reference meant nothing to them either. “Well, even though at one time she’d been a warrior, she called herself a Mage-Smith.” Elspeth closed hei eyes for a moment, to call up the memories that Need had shared with her and Skif. “As to how she became a sword in the first place - someone attacked the Order while she was gone - wiped out the older members, enslaved the young girls, stole everything they could carry. The only ones left were Need, who was too old to fight, and a young apprentice. So Need took a special sword that she’d forged spells into, spells of healing and luck - and forged herself into it as well.”
“How?” Iceshadow asked, genuinely interested.
Elspeth shook her head. “It wasn’t something I’d have done. She did some kind of preparation, then she killed her human body with the blade so that she could move her spirit into the sword. Then as long as the girl carried her, Need could give her both the skills of a fighter and of a Mage-Smith.”
All three of the Adepts looked startled at that. “How could that be?” Starblade asked.
“Well, she could operate on her own as a mage, or through her bearer,” Elspeth told him. “Or she could direct her bearer, if the bearer was Mage-Gifted - that was how she worked with me, after I refused to let her take me over. But for fighting skills, you had to let her completely take control of your body.” She grimaced. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t let her, artifact, mage, or no. She didn’t much care for my attitude.”
A hint of smile appeared around Starblade’s mouth; Darkwind grinned openly. “Why am I not surprised by that?” the younger mage said, to no one in particular.
Elspeth was glad that the darkness hid her flush; Darkwind seemed to have an uncanny ability to poke pins into her pride. Maybe it was just ill-luck, or bad timing.
She licked her lips and kept her temper. “I think that she wasn’t used to being thwarted,” she said carefully. “Captain Kerowyn, who had her before I did, told me that I would have to be prepared to counter her, that she’d have me hating off to rescue whatever female nearby was in trouble, whether or not it was a good idea to poke my nose into her problems. That, though, was while she was still - ” Elspeth thought a moment. “As I remember, she called it ‘being asleep.’ I gathered that the personality was dormant, unconscious for a long time. Need never told me why.”
“The blade may not have wanted you to know why,” Tre’valen said smoothly. “Certainly, if you contradicted her will, she would not be so free with revealing secrets.”
“That’s true,” she acknowledged. “Anyway, she didn’t start to wake up again until I was at Kata’shin’a’in. So I don’t know as much as I’d like to about her. I think she is likely to take over Nyara; I think that after years of her father molding her to his whim and will, Nyara is inclined to be manipulated like that.”
Skif bristled, and started to say something. Darkwind’s thoughtful statement forestalled him.
“That would not be entirely ill for her,” the Hawkbrother said quietly. “Especially since - it seems, at least to me - Need has no intention of doing anything detrimental. I think she seeks to make her bearer a stronger woman. It is just that she does not like to have her will thwarted.”
Elspeth smiled ruefully. “I can testify to that,” she said.
“It seems to me this might be a good thing for the Change-child,” Starblade added thoughtfully. “Despite what has happened, I - I can feel pity for Nyara. She and I - ” he faltered “ - we have much, much in common. What Falconsbane did to her - it is very like what he did to me. It may be that this sword, if it has healing magics like those of Kethra and Iceshadow, can reverse some of the things that were done to the girl, even as Kethra is aiding me. I hope that is so. For her sake, and for ours.”
There didn’t seem to be anything else to say; Elspeth sat there awkwardly for a moment, until Iceshadow cleared his throat conspicuously. “If there is naught else that we can tell you - “ he said.
Elspeth shook her head; so did Skif. “Not that I can think of,” she replied. “Although I probably will come up with a dozen questions I should have asked just before I drop off to sleep tonight. ‘ ‘
Iceshadow chuckled; Starblade nodded knowingly. “If you can recall them when you wake, feel free to ask them,” Iceshadow said, rising. “In the meantime - we hold celebration, to welcome you to the Clan and Vale. Your fellow k’Sheyna are anxious to see you; they are as curious about you as you are about them.”
In a way, that statement was something of a relief. It meant that the secretive Hawkbrothers were human enough to be curious. For all the time she had spent in Darkwind’s presence, there was more that was a mystery about him and his people than there was that was familiar.
“In that case,” she replied, rising from her own seat, “let’s not keep them waiting any longer.”
Elspeth followed Darkwind’s direction, as Iceshadow escorted Starblade in another direction - presumably, to rest. “We have had little enough to celebrate, of late,” Dark-wind told the two Heralds and their Companions in a quiet voice, as he shepherded them down yet another path bordered by wild growth. “The stalemate with the Stone, the constant harassment on our borders, the separation - it has been difficult for everyone here. Add to that my father’s attempt to foster dissension between the scouts and the mages, and there was more tension than many could bear.”
“That particular dust-up was all because of Falconsbane, wasn’t it?” Skif asked. “I hope that’s been settled. I’d just as soon not find myself in the middle of a private quarrel.”
“You won’t,” Darkwind actually chuckled, as Elspeth hid a sigh of relief. “It’s been settled. I can pledge you, everyone is ready for a good celebration. The fact that you are the cause of it - and are strange Outlanders into the bargain - will make you very popular. “
That gave Elspeth a bit of a qualm; not because she was ill-at-ease at the idea of being the focus of so many strangers, but because of what Darkwind had called her.
Outlander.
She was a stranger here. There was nothing in this place that would remind her of home. If Darkwind seemed alien to her, his words were a reminder that she must be just as alien to him, and by extension, to his people. She wasn’t used to being the stranger; it made her feel disconnected and unbalanced.
And now, for the first time since she had arrived, she felt completely alone, completely without roots. And felt a wave of terrible homesickness wash over her.
At that moment, she was within a breath of weeping. Her throat closed, and she couldn’t speak. Her eyes clouded, and she stumbled -
But when she looked up, she found herself on the edge of another clearing, but this one was full of light - people.
Her training took over; there were people waiting to meet her out there. She was the Heir to the Throne, she was a Herald. Her homesickness could wait. She must put on a good face for them, impress them, so that they would see that Valdemar was worth aiding.
She blinked once or twice, clearing her eyes. The Companions, Skif, and Darkwind got a pace or two ahead of her, giving her the chance to compose herself further. She took a deep breath, another, then followed them out into the radiant clearing.
She had expected mage-lights, and mage-lights there were in plenty, but the chief illumination came from the moon. The soft, silvery light blurred and softened details; and as she looked around her, she suddenly realized that not all of the exotic occupants of the clearing were human.
Hertasi, the shy lizardlike creatures that were roughly half the height of a very tall man, she had seen once or twice before, in colored beads and satins - and the gryphons of course.
Their presence was a welcome surprise, and she waved at Treyvan when she knew he had seen her. She hadn’t known that the gryphons were coming, and Treyvan’s wide-beaked grin from across the clearing chased away the last of her homesickness. She couldn’t help herself; the gryphon grin was so contagious it left no room for such trivialities. Hydona saw that Treyvan was staring in their direction and turned to see what he was looking at. When she saw them, she nodded; her smile matched her mate’s and welcomed the newcomers with a warmth that surpassed species boundaries.
The gryphons occupied one entire nook of the clearing all by themselves, but beside them were three graceful, horned creatures that Elspeth guessed must be dyheli. And scattered among the Hawkbrothers were a handful of two-legged creatures whose feathers were real, and growing from their heads, not braided into their hair.
Tervardi! Elspeth’s years of protocol schooling kept her from staring, even though she would dearly have loved to. Along with the gryphons and the hertasi, these creatures were the stuff of legend in Valdemar. Legend said the tervardi were shapechangers, that they sprouted wings and turned into real birds when they chose. One of them turned, and Elspeth caught sight of a still, serene face with a mouth rimmed by something that was either a small, flexible beak, or hard, stiff lips. The creature gestured before she turned back to her conversation-group, and Elspeth saw the stunted, colorful feathers, the last vestige of her wings, covering her arm.
As she moved hesitantly into the clearing, she realized that the previous occupants were - not ignoring her, but permitting her politely to fit into their group. That was certainly more comfortable than being mobbed and was exactly what a similar gathering of Heralds would have done.
She looked around; there were birds everywhere, some sleeping on perches, some awake and perched on shoulders or poles. The Companions both had joined a small group of mixed humans and nonhumans, along with Tre’valen; somehow, Darkwind and Skif had vanished, she had no idea how, but it left her on her own. With all those people carefully, politely, not looking at her, she felt more conspicuous than she would if they had been staring at her.
She hurried across the rest of the grassy space between her and the gryphons. Odd that of all of that gathering, they were the strangest physically, and the most familiar in every other way. . . .
“Sssso!” Treyvan greeted her, extending a taloned fore-claw in a token of welcome. “You are now Tayledrasss, Clansssssib! Do you feel any different?”
“Well, yes and no,” she replied. “No - I mean, I’m still a Herald, and I’m still everything I was before.”
“But yesss?” Hydona spoke gently. “I think perhapsss it isss homesssicknesss?”
She blinked, surprised, and in an odd way, grateful. “How did you guess?”
The female gryphon nodded at the rest of the gathering. “We arrre the only two of our kind herrre asss well, except for the little onesss. We know how ssstrange you musst feel.”
She flushed, embarrassed that she could have missed something so very obvious. “Of course. It’s just that you and Darkwind are such friends, it never occurred to me -”
Treyvan laughed. “If it neverrr occurred to you, then I would sssay that iss a compliment on how well we have come to fit in herrre!” he exclaimed. “And trrruly, the hu-mansss of the Valesss arrre not that unlike the humansss of our own landsss.”
“Ah,” she replied vaguely, not knowing what else to say. “Oh, where are the little ones?”
“Therrre.” Hydona indicated another corner of the clearing with an outstretched talon; there, in the shadows, the two young gryphlets were sprawled on the grass, listening sleepily to what appeared to be -
A very large wolf?
- except that it wasn’t speaking, so how could they be listening?
“That isss a kyree; they arrre not often in thisss Vale,” Hydona said, as if she had heard Elspeth’s unspoken questions. “It isss a neuter. It hasss taken a liking to the little onesss and hass been kind enough to tell them taless sssince we arrived. I believe it iss called - ” She turned to her mate for help.
“Torrl,” Treyvan supplied promptly. “It wass a great friend of Dawnfire, and iss sstill a great friend of Darrrkwind. Kyree neuterss are often yerry fond of little oness of any speciessss; it iss a good thing the childrren arrre both sstrong Mindspeakersss.”
And that, of course, was how the kyree was “telling tales” to the young gryphlets; directly mind-to-mind, as the kyree who helped Vanyel at the last had spoken to Stefen. Elspeth’s mouth had gone very dry; this was like being inside of a tale herself, the experience being made even more dreamlike under the delicate illumination of mage-lights and moonlight.
She managed not to jump, as something tugged at the hem of her tunic. She looked down quickly; it was one of the hertasi, carrying a tray laden with fruits and vegetables that had been carved into artful representations of flowers. It offered the tray to her, and she took one; she hadn’t the faintest notion of what she’d taken, but she didn’t want to offend the little creature by refusing.
It slipped into the crowd, and she bit cautiously into her “prize.” Crisp and cool, it had a faint peppery taste, and a crunchy texture; encouraged by her success, when the next hertasi came by, this one with a tray of drinks, she took a glass with more enthusiasm.
This proved to be a light wine; she sipped it and continued to chat with the gryphons, deliberately keeping the subject light, asking innocuous questions about the kyree and the other nonhumans, until other Tayledras drifted up to join the conversation. Gradually she began to relax, and to enjoy herself.
When a touch on her elbow made her turn, she found that Darkwind had found his way back to her. He handed her a slice of something breadlike, with something like a tiny, decorative flower arrangement atop it, and slid into the group beside her.
“Your friend Skif and my brother seem to have discovered that they have much in common,” he said by way of joining the conversation, “And they have gone off to discuss weaponry. Knives, I think.”
She shook her head. “That figures. Offer to talk about knives, and you’ll have Skif’s undivided attention for as long as you like. Do I eat this, or wear it?”
He chuckled. “You eat it. I think you will like it; it is smoked fish.”
She nibbled the edge of it, tentatively. The smoked fish she was used to generally had the consistency and texture of a slab of wood, and tasted like a block of salt dipped in fish oil. She was pleasantly amazed at the indescribable blend of delicate flavors. As Darkwind chuckled again at her expression, she devoured it to the last shred.
“I have been asked,” he continued, both to her and to the gryphons, “to request the presence of my good friends Treyvan and Hydona at the waterfall, and my wingsib Elspeth at a gathering of the scouts.”
“Ssso?” Treyvan replied. “What isss at the waterrfall? And whom?”
“Kethra, Iceshadow, and my father, among others,”
Darkwind told him. “And, I am told, a very large selection of fresh fish and uncooked meat and fowl. Some of our more sensitive guests, like the dyheli and tervardi, might be distressed by refreshments of that nature, so we took them out of the way.”
“Wissse,” Hydona acknowledged. “But the little onessss - ”
“Toni assures me that they are not too far from falling asleep,” Darkwind answered, “And when they do drift off, the hertasi have promised to keep an eye on them.”
“I amfamisshed,” Treyvan said, with a look of entreaty at his mate.
Across the clearing, Elspeth noticed the kyree raising its head from its paws, and looking directly at them.
:Every parent deserves some time without the young,: she heard, just as clearly as if the kyree was her own Companion. :They are too tired to get into mischief that I cannot distract, and anything that wishes to harm them will have to come at them through not only me, but all the defenses of the Vale. And, I suspect, the large white hooved ones.:
Hydona gave in; Elspeth readily understood her reluctance to have the gryphlets out of her sight, considering all that had happened to them, but the kyree was right. If the little ones weren’t safe here, none of them were. They rose to their feet, folded their wings tightly against their sides to avoid knocking anything or anyone over, and took their leave.
Darkwind led the way up and down yet another path; this one ended beneath one of the enormous trees she had only glimpsed through curtains of bushes and vines. There were quite a few Tayledras gathered beneath it, but for the first few moments, all her attention was taken up by the tree itself.
Simply put, it was so large that an entire house could have been built within the circumference of its trunk. A curving staircase had been built around it, leading up to a kind of balcony three stories above the clearing. Soft lights hung from the bottom of the balcony, preventing her from seeing anything above that level, but she had the feeling that the staircase continued upward. When she shaded her eyes and peered upward, she caught sight of other, fainter lights near the trunk, half-obscured by the enormous branches. The Chronicles had once referred to the Hawkbrothers as the “tree-dwelling Tayledras,” and she knew that Darkwind lived in a kind of elaborate platformed treehouse. So it looked as if that was the norm for the Hawkbrothers, rather than a concession to danger.
At least now she knew why they made a point of cultivating those enormous trees. Such marvels could support not one, but several dwellings.
When she turned her attention back to the gathering, she discovered that most of the Tayledras here were dressed very like Darkwind; in relatively “plain” clothing, and with hair either cut or bound up to be no longer than just below the shoulders, dyed in patterns of mottled brown and gold. They looked more like the Shin’a’in than the mages did, and it wasn’t just that their hair wasn’t white. . . .
It’s because they‘re scouts, fighters, she realized, after a moment. Like Darkwind, they couldn’t wear clothing that interfered in any way with fighting movements, nor could they afford to indulge themselves with elaborate hairstyles. Like Darkwind, they had a certain economy of movement; nothing dramatic, nothing theatrical - nothing done just for the effect. There were strong, well-trained muscles under those silken tunics, hard bodies that saw furlongs of patrolling every day.
She felt herself relaxing further in their presence, even before Darkwind began introducing them to her. These were people who, although they were familiar with magic, had very little to do with it; they were somehow more down-to-earth than the mages in their sculptural robes. And they were more like Heralds than anyone she had met yet.
She took careful note of the names as they were introduced to her, the habit of someone born into politics. Win-terlight and Stormcloud, Brightmoon and Daystar, Earthsong, Thundersnow and Firedance - she matched names with faces, with smiles shy or bold, with personality quirks. Darkwind had explained the Tayledras habit of taking use-names, names that described something of what the person was like. She had to admit that it wasn’t a bad system; it was much easier to match a name with a face when Winterlight (one of the few scouts to grow long hair) had a thick mane that, when he was persuaded to unbraid and unbind it, looked like moonlight pouring down on snow - when Daystar was as sunny of disposition as the twins - and when Firedance was always in motion, never quite still, mercurial in temper and bright with wit. She wondered if she ought to take a use-name as well, though it shouldn’t be hard for them to remember Elspeth, Skif, Gwena, and Cymry. Four names were easier to remember than an entire Clan-full.
“These are the k’Sheyna scouts,” Darkwind said, when he’d finished the introductions, confirming her guess that there wasn’t a mage among them. “Not all of them, of course; we still have a full patrol out tonight. But enough for now, I think; any more of us, and you would be overwhelmed with names and faces.”
She smiled, but said nothing. This wasn’t the time to point out that she’d coped with four times their number at ordinary state dinners. True, she had Talia’s and Kyril’s help, and the nobles and dignitaries didn’t look quite so alike. . . .
“You are lucky, Elspeth,” the young fellow called “Stormcloud” told her. “Truly. We are in festival gear now. If you were to see us tomorrow, you might find it hard to tell one from the other.”
Earthsong nodded vigorously. “There is a tale among Outlanders that we are all mage-born copies of a single Tayledras.”
“I can see how they would think that,” she replied after a moment of consideration, imagining them all garbed in Darkwind’s drab scouting clothing, with their hair bound up against snags. If the women - already slender and athletic-bound their breasts, it would even be difficult to tell male from female. “Of course, I’m sure you don’t do a thing to encourage that now, do you?”
She was pleased when they laughed at her sally; sometimes the most difficult thing about dealing with a new people was finding out what they considered funny. And as she had discovered on her own, knowing what made someone laugh was the surest shortcut to making him your friend.
“Oh, no, of course not!” Firedance exclaimed, eyes wide and round with mock innocence. “Why would we ever do anything like that?”
The others laughed again at his disclaimer, then settled themselves back where they’d been before Darkwind brought her into the clearing. “We were just having some music and a little dancing,” Earthsong said, as he picked up a flat drum. “We thought you might like to see and hear some of it, so we asked Darkwind if he’d go pry you away from the gryphons.”
“Not that we’re great artists,” Winterlight spoke up quietly, “But we do enjoy ourselves, and I think music is better than any amount of words at telling people about each other. A language that needs fewer words.”
“That’s what our Bards say,” she replied, looking for an inconspicuous spot to put herself, and finally giving up and taking a seat on one of the tree’s enormous roots.
Winterlight gestured in agreement, and picked up something that she didn’t recognize; a trapezoidal box strung like a harp. He set it on his lap and pulled a couple of hammers from under the strings, then glanced at Earthsong. The young scout evidently took that for a signal; he began to produce an elaborate rhythm on his flat drum with a single, double-ended stick; Winterlight listened for a moment, then joined him, not by plucking the strings as Elspeth had expected, but by striking them deftly with the hammers. Within a few moments, others had joined in, either on instruments of their own or simply by clapping. Some of their instruments were things that Elspeth recognized; most weren’t, with sounds that were not - quite - like anything she knew.
The music was far from unpleasant. There were unexpected bellsounds in the rhythm, a wailing wind instrument that added an unearthly element like a singing hawk’s scream, and the occasional whistling improvisation by one of the scouts. It was quite infectious, and she found herself clapping along with it.
It wasn’t much longer before the Tayledras got up to dance. Here was another difference between the Hawkbrothers and her own people. At home, folks danced in groups-ring dances or set-pieces, with a definite sequence to the steps. The Tayledras danced singly, or in couples, or trios at most, and there was no set-pattern to the dance steps. The nearest she had ever seen to this kind of exuberant chaos had been at a Herald celebration when a number of the younger Heralds just in from the field had gotten involved in a kind of dancing contest, demonstrating the wilder steps from their various home villages.
Two or three songs later, she noticed that some of the original contingent had vanished somewhere, and there were a few additions, wearing costumes more like those of mages than of scouts.
She started watching the onlookers as well as the dancers, and figured out from overheard bits of conversation that there were dozens of these little gatherings, scattered all around the Vale, although this was probably the most lively. Several scouts turned up in the next few moments with wet hair, attracted by the sounds of the music from the pools in which they had been swimming. That, it seemed, was the essence of a Tayledras celebration; to roam. People came and went; sampling little bits of this and that, food, music, conversation. . . .
She decided to do as the natives were doing, taking the opportunity to explore the Vale a little, and slipped off by herself, wandering down a randomly chosen path until she heard the sounds of a softer melody than the dancing music.
She discovered a single singer, a woman in silvery-gray, slender as a birch tree, playing a huge diamond-shaped wire-strung harp. There were a half dozen of the mages listening to her, sitting on benches arranged in a half-circle around her, and Elspeth stayed through three songs before moving on.
She found her way back to the original clearing. By now the gryphlets were sound asleep, oblivious to all the light and movement and the sounds of conversation around them. Both Companions were still there, with that relaxed attitude and cheerful, ears-up, tail-switching pose that told her they were enjoying themselves. Their conversational partners were Toni, the kyree, two of the mages, one of the scouts, and an old hertasi. Seeing them, she relaxed as well, since they were enjoying themselves. As she wandered off again, it occurred to her that this was the one thing that was often missing from parties that the Heralds held - Dirk and Talia’s wedding had included the Companions, but all too often, they were left out of things. As she watched Gwena and Cymry, she made a mental note; when she got home again, that was one thing that would change. She’d find a way to make certain they weren’t left out again. They were as responsible for the success of the Heralds as the Heralds themselves. Surely they deserved that much consideration.
Gwena turned around at that moment and gave her an unmistakable wink before returning to her conversation.
Even if they do snoop in our heads.
But she was smiling as she chose another path, not looking for anything in particular, but thinking that a swim might be nice.
She heard water trickling, off to one side, and someone giggling; she didn’t really stop to think, she just started to make her way down the little path.
Suddenly Darkwind slipped in front of her, stopping her before she could part the branches that shielded the end of the path. “Pardon,” he said apologetically. “The marker beside the path - it was turned to face red. It means that - ”
The giggling changed to an unmistakable gasp of pleasure. Elspeth found herself blushing. “Never mind,” she whispered, backing up hastily. “I think I have a good idea what it means.”
She turned, and started back toward the clearing; Darkwind intercepted her again. “Oh, no,” he said earnestly. “No, if they had not wanted to be disturbed, the marker would have been blue. No, the red marker means that they would welcome - ah - all other - ” he coughed “ - participants - ”
She blushed even deeper; her ears and cheeks aflame. She’d always been told mat the Heralds were uninhibited. It seemed that the Hawkbrothers had even fewer inhibitions.
“I thought perhaps no one had warned you,” he continued. “If, perhaps, you might want to enjoy one of the hot springs, I can take you to one where there is nothing more active than hot water.”
What else could she do but accept gracefully, and hope that by the time they reached this spring, her blushes would have cooled?
A curtain of steam announced the location of the spring, but when Darkwind pulled aside the branches at the entrance and waved her into the area around the pool, she found herself flushing all over again. There were about ten of the Hawkbrothers she remembered seeing at the dancing, all soaking muscles that must certainly be complaining, but they weren’t wearing much except hair.
“Darkwind!” one of them hailed. “Fifteen split-jumps! Beat that, if you can!”
“Oh, yes,” the young woman next to him said mockingly. “Fifteen split-jumps indeed - and now you see him soaking here, because he could scarce walk when he completed the fifteenth!”
“Sunfeather!” the young man exclaimed indignantly, “You weren’t supposed to tell him that!”
Darkwind peeled off his tunic, as Elspeth averted her eyes and slowly took off her boots. “Perhaps you should think less about split-jumps, and more about what Sunfeather’s expectations for the evening were before you tried to displace your hipjoints,” he suggested mildly. “Then you might have the answer as to why she revealed your secret.”
As the rest of the Tayledras teased the discomfited dancer, Darkwind removed the rest of his clothing and slid into the water beside Sunfeather. The spring-fed pool was quite a large one; the dozen Tayledras were scattered about the edge of it, each one of them lounging at full length, and they were hardly taking up more room than a dozen peas in one of the Collegium kitchen’s biggest pots.
The analogy to a pot was a lot more apt than she had thought; when she finally got up enough courage to shed the rest of her clothing, she slid into an unoccupied niche. The hot spring was a good deal hotter than she had thought; not quite painful, but not far from it.
Steam rose about her face and turned her hair limp, but after a moment she stopped thinking she was about to have her hide boiled off, and began to enjoy the heat.
She slipped out again, after a relatively short time; she was not used to turning herself into a scalded turnip. Much to her surprise, someone - perhaps one of the ubiquitous and near-invisible hertasi - had left a towel and robe beside her clothing.
For the rest of the evening, she alternated between the larger clearing, and the one the scouts had taken for their dancing. One of the mages treated the group to a guided flight of befriended firebirds - like the fireworks displays at home, except that these fireworks didn’t fade or die. Gwena loved every moment of it, although Elspeth would have liked to have seen the firebirds come closer. The demonstration was very impressive, especially when they flew among the branches of the huge, shadow-shrouded tree. That wouldn’t have been possible with real fireworks.
She lost track of time, wandering around the Vale, as fatigue caught up with her and her nerves relaxed. Finally she found herself back beneath the tree; most of the lights hanging from the balcony had been extinguished, but there were more people, human and not.
They were all “people” to her now, after an evening of trading jokes with hertasi, commiserating with tervardi on the likelihood of a bad winter, and telling the dyheli exactly what had happened to Nyara. So far as the dyheli were concerned, Nyara was still their heroine. She hadn’t known that their entrapment had been a set-up by her father, to ensure that the k’Sheyna would look on her favorably. She had acted in the belief that she was saving them. They knew that, and honored her for it.
So the facts of her disappearance were of great interest to them; they promised Elspeth that they would watch for signs of the Changechild, and report anything they learned back to the Tayledras scouts.
All but the most die-hard of dancers had given up by now; Elspeth found herself a seat in the shadows. Tre’valen was the center of a cluster of the scouts, who were trying to persuade him to dance. Finally he shook his head, shrugged, and gestured to the musicians. “Hawk Dance?” Iceshadow called back.
Tre’valen laughed. “Indeed!” he said, taking a stand in the middle of the illuminated area. “What else would I do for you? But only on condition that Darkwind follow with a Wind Dance.”
Elspeth hadn’t seen Darkwind before Tre’valen called out his name, but when he waved agreement from across the clearing, she saw that he had stripped off the fancier over-tunic, and now looked more like the Darkwind she knew, in a deep-cut sleeveless jerkin and tight breeches, his only ornaments the feathers in his hair.
Tre’valen had changed after the ceremony into his Shin’a’in finery of scarlet, black, and gold; embroidered vest with fringe to his knees, fringed and belled armbands. Loose breeches with fringed kneebopts, all of it topped with a horsehair and feather headdress like some strange bird’s crest - he was a striking sight.
The drummer began first; Tre’valen marked the time with one foot, the fringe shivering with each beat. When the instruments came in, Tre’valen leapt into action.
Elspeth soon saw why it was called the “Hawk Dance.” Tre’valen was aloft more often than he was on the ground; whirling, flying, leaping. He never paused, never rested; no sooner did his foot touch the ground than he was in the air again. His arms curved like wings cupping the air. Elspeth’s heart kept time with the beat, her eyes unable to leave him. He didn’t seem much like a human at the moment - more like a creature akin to the tervardi or the firebirds. But then, perhaps that was the essence of being a shaman.
The dance came to an end on a triple beat and one of the highest leaps of the dance that left Tre’valen standing still as stone, exactly in the same place where he had begun the dance. Elspeth had no idea how he had known the music was about to end; she had heard nothing to signal the end of the piece. It left her staring, dumb with astonishment and delight.
Tre’valen sat down on a root amid the shouts and applause of the others. Darkwind took the shaman’s place in the center of the circle; composed himself, and nodded to the musicians.
This time the music began slowly, with a glissando on the odd hammered instrument, followed by another on the harp, a softer echo of the first. Then Darkwind began to dance.
The Tayledras and Shin’a’in music were related; that much was obvious from a root similarity of melody, but dancing and music had changed from the time the two races were one. Either the Shin’a’in had gotten wilder, or the Tayledras had become more lyrical, or both.
Darkwind didn’t leap, he floated; he didn’t whirl, he flowed. He moved as if he had no bones, flew like his own bird, glided and spun and hovered. There was nothing feminine in the dance, for all of that; it was completely, supremely masculine. Besides his supple grace, what Elspeth noticed most of all were his hands - they had to be the most graceful pair of hands she had ever seen.
Darkwind finished the dance like a bird alighting for the night; coming to rest with a final run from the harp. There was a faint sheen of sweat over his body and face, shining in the moonlight. As he held his final pose, he was so completely still that he could have been a silver statue of a forest spirit, looking up in wonder at the stars.
That was the image that Elspeth took with her, as she slipped out of the clearing and found one of the hertasi. She asked the little creature to show her the quarters Darkwind had promised were waiting for her here.
The little lizard grinned at her, and led her down so many twisting, dark paths that she was soon lost. Not that it mattered at the moment. Darkwind had also pledged that he would send someone to lead her about until she knew her own way.
She recognized the area, once they got near it; they were very close to the entrance to the Vale, the farthest they could be from the Heartstone and still be inside the Vale shields. The hertasi showed her a staircase winding up the side of a tree. For a moment she was afraid that she would have to climb up several stories, and she wasn’t sure she had the head for it.
But the hertasi scrambled up ahead of her, and her waiting quarters proved to be a mere single story above the floor of the Vale, a set of two rooms built just off the stairs, lighted and waiting for her.
She fell into the bed as soon as the hertasi left her - but for a surprisingly long time she lay looking at the moon, as sleep deserted her.
She felt a little less like a stranger, but no less lonely. Skif had Nyara - or at least, he had the dream of Nyara, wherever he was now. She still had no one.
Only her duty, her omnipresent duty. To learn everything she could about magic; learn it quickly, and bring it home to Valdemar.
That was cold comfort - and no company - on a silvered, moonfilled night. . . .