Darkwind and Elspeth walked together to her ekele. They were going to hers, because it was nearer; Darkwind was so drained that he didn’t think he could go any further without a rest and something to drink. He was glad that it was still mid-afternoon. If it had been dark enough he’d had to conjure a mage-light, he’d have fallen over; he felt that tired.
“So what do you think of Firesong?” Elspeth asked as they crested the gentle curving path between six massive flowering bushes. The flicking tail of a hertasi ducked under a trellis, distracting him for just a moment.
He cast her a suspicious glance, gauging the import of her question, but her expression, like her voice, remained carefully neutral. “Well, he’s certainly brilliant,” he admitted grudgingly. “And unconventional. But I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so arrogant in all my life.”
“He’s earned the right to be,” Elspeth replied, to his increased annoyance. “I mean, there are a lot of people who think Weaponsmaster Alberich is arrogant - or Kero. And they’re right, but there’s a point where you’re so good that you’ve earned a certain amount of - hmm - attitude.”
He didn’t reply. He couldn’t. Not and maintain his own calm. In a certain sense, Elspeth was completely correct. In fact, if he mentioned Firesong’s arrogance to Iceshadow or his father, he would probably be told that it wasn ‘t arrogance at all, it was simply self-assurance, and a pardonable pride.
Firesong was the best mage Darkwind had ever seen in his life; perhaps the best living mage that there was. Not just a Healing Adept, but an innovator; a brilliant creative genius. Not fearless - at the levels at which Firesong was working, being fearless could get him killed quite quickly - but so knowledgeable that he was able to judge risks to within a hair.
He was worlds away better than Darkwind was now, and what was more, he was better than Darkwind, or anyone known to the Vales, would ever be. And that did not come as a comfortable revelation.
Darkwind was not used to seeing himself as second-best. It stung his pride, even as Firesong’s attitude made him angry. And then, on top of it all, for the cocky mage to be so cursed handsome!
Elspeth openly admired him. That was just as difficult to take. How short a step was it from admiration to something else more personal - more physical?
It was only then, when he caught himself seething with completely unwarranted jealousy, that he realized the trend his thoughts were taking. All right. Stop right there. Think whatever you like, but be careful about anything you say. Right now it would be the easiest thing in the world to say something that would completely alienate her - to make accusations that you have no right to make.
Elspeth wouldn’t react well to that. And never mind that it galled that Firesong’s power and beauty were enough to make anyone inclined to throw themselves at his feet. If Elspeth chose to join the crowd, Darkwind had no say in the matter.
You don‘t own her. She consented to share pleasure with you. That gives you no rights, remember that. She can continue to share your bed and Firesong‘s and you have no right to demand that she cleave only to you. She can throw you over for Firesong if she wants. That is up to her. “You’re thinking very hard,” Elspeth said, glancing at him.
“I’m thinking that – l am likely to be very irrational about Firesong.” That was all the warning he could bear to give her. But hopefully, it would be enough. “He is right when it comes to magic, anyway. I’ve never seen anyone as skilled or as powerful as he is, except maybe Falconsbane.”
“He’s going to try something different with the Stone, no one even guessed could be done,” she said. “We knew he was going to be doing something like that, but I honestly didn’t think he was going to include us in it.” She gave him a lopsided smile. “I guess we must be good for something after all.”
Darkwind suddenly saw a way to get some of his own pride back, especially if the Adept planned on training the two of them together. Firesong wasn’t the only one who could be innovative.
Gwena joined them a moment later, and Darkwind swallowed down some of the things he wanted to ask Elspeth. Is she attracted to him? Just how attracted is she? Is she thinking of asking him to continue her teaching? And if he’s teaching her magic, does that mean she goes to k’Treva after the Stone is dealt with?
He shouldn’t care, and he couldn’t help himself. He had no holds on her. She shared his bed sometimes. He shared hers. She was not truly of the Vales; she was an Outlander. All the arguments against Skif and Nyara’s success together held true for the two of them, too.
Tayledras simply didn’t leave their Vales. How could he continue the work he had sworn to do, if he left the Vale? He was a Hawkbrother; a Pelagirs healer of ruined lands. He could never leave the Vale, the Pelagirs - it was impossible. She was the Heir to a throne, vital to the safety and government of her land. She couldn’t stay here. That was impossible.
She would go, and he would stay, no matter what happened here. He began building himself a kind of emotional bulwark to save what was left of his pride and heart. He would have to watch his tongue, and not drive her away - she would be leaving soon enough. He would deal with that when it came. He would fight back the tears that he knew, somehow, would come when his Wingsib Elspeth left.
There was little enough in his life now. No need to act like his namesake - Darkwind, an approaching storm-cloud. It made no sense to ruin what there was, least of all by voicing his own foolishness.
“Elspeth,” he said, with cheerfulness that didn’t sound too forced, “Once we recover from being run like rabbits, did you have any plans for this afternoon?”
Starblade eased himself down onto the couch beside the huge block-perch Hyllarr had taken for his own, and scratched beneath the hawkeagle’s breast-feathers. Hyllarr all but purred, pulling one foot up in complete contentment.
In this alone, Hyllarr was like Karry, but in no other way. Starblade was grateful for that. There were no poses, no lifts of the head, nothing to haunt him. Hyllarr was Hyllarr, and unique. Uniquely intelligent, uniquely calm, uniquely charming. He had succeeded in charming Kethra, who had been immune to the blandishments even of Darkwind’s flirt-of-a-bird, Vree. Hyllarr had her securely enchanted.
Kethra settled beside him, with an amused glance at the bird. “I have no idea how you’re going to carry him around once he’s well, ashke,” she said. “He’d be a burden even for someone like Wintermoon. I can’t even begin to think how you’re going to have him with you.”
“I shall worry about that when the time comes,” he told her serenely. He already had some notions on the subject. Perhaps a staff across the shoulders. ... “Is your kinsman coming?”
“He should be here at any moment,” she began, when footsteps on the staircase heralded their visitor. And, as Starblade had expected, it was Tre’valen who appeared at the doorway - a Tre’valen who, to Starblade’s pained but keen eyes, was a young man in serious emotional turmoil.
Starblade had been seeing the signs of trouble in Tre’valen’s face for some time now, but it had never been as obvious as it was now. So, he had been right to ask the shaman here. There was something going on, and the Clan needed to know what it was.
“Sit, please, shaman,” he said mildly.
Tre’valen obeyed, but with a glance at Starblade that told the Hawkbrother that this shaman was quite well aware Starblade had not asked him here to exchange pleasantries.
Good. In these times, it was no longer possible to hide behind a veil of politeness. Some of the others of the Clan had relaxed, thinking that now that the Adept was here, as their troubles would be over. They had not stopped to consider the fact that Firesong was here to solve only one of the Clan’s problems. When he had dealt with the Stone, he would be gone. Then there would remain the rest of the puzzle-box. How to safely reunite the Clan. What to do about Dawnfire. What to do about this Territory. How to deal with Falconsbane’s daughter, who was a danger - and in danger - as long as there was any chance her father was still alive.
How to discover Falconsbane’s fate. What to do about him if he still lived. . . .
“There was a time,” he began, “when I could afford to hint, to be indirect. I no longer have the strength for such diplomacy. Tre’valen, your Wingsibs of the Clan know why Kethra is here, why Kra’heera asked us to allow her to stay. She was already a Wingsister, and there was obviously a great need for her help.”
Kethra’s left hand found his right, and she squeezed it, but said nothing.
Starblade smiled at her, and took strength and heart from her support. “Kra’heera asked us to grant the same status to you, and the same hospitality, but with no explanations. I had not pressed you for such an explanation, but I think the time has come for one.”
Tre’valen looked very uncomfortable and glanced at Kethra.
“You need not look to me for aid, Clanbrother,” she replied to his unspoken question. “I am in agreement with Starblade.”
Tre’valen sighed. “It is because of Dawnfire,” he said, awkwardly.
Starblade nodded. “I had already surmised that,” he said dryly. “I should like to hear what the reasons are.”
Tre’valen was clearly uncomfortable, more so than Starblade thought the situation warranted. “Kra’heera wished me to seek her out - if I could find a way to bring her to me - and speak with her as much as I might. It seemed to him quite clear that she has become some kind of avatar of the Star-Eyed, but it is not an avatar we recognize. But it also does not seem to be anything your people had seen before, either. He wanted me to discover what the meaning of this was, if I could. This is a new thing, an entirely new thing. We have had no direction upon it. Kra’heera does not know what to think.”
He paused, and rubbed the side of his nose, averting his eyes from Starblade’s unflinching gaze.
“New things simply do not occur often in the Plains, ashke,” Kethra put in. “The Star-Eyed has been a Lady more inclined to foster the way things are rather than bring on changes.”
But Starblade was watching Tre’valen very closely, and there was more, much more, that Tre’valen had not told j them. For a moment he was at a loss as to what it could be.
Then the memory of the young shaman’s face, gazing up at a bird that might have been Dawnfire, suddenly intruded. He had not seen that particular expression of desire very often, but when he had, it always meant the same thing.
“You long for her, do you not?” Starblade asked quietly, and to his own satisfaction, he watched Tre’valen start, and’ begin to stammer something about emotions and proper detachment.
“Enough,” Kethra interrupted her younger colleague. “Starblade is right, and I should have recognized this when’ I saw it. You have become fascinated - enamored. With Dawnfire. I think perhaps you may have fallen in love with her.”
“I - have - ” Tre’valen looked from one to the other of them, and capitulated, all at once. “Yes,” he replied, in a low, unhappy voice. “I have. I tried to tell myself that I was simply bedazzled, but it is not simple, nor it is bedazzlement. I - do not know what ‘love’ is, but if it means that one is concerned for the other above one’s own self - I must be in love with her, with that part of her that is still human in spirit. And I know not what to do. There is no precedent.”
It was one thing to suspect something like that. It was quite another to hear confirmation of it from Tre’valen’s own mouth. Starblade looked to his beloved for some kind of an answer, and got only a tight-lipped shrug. She did not know what to make of this, either.
A nasty little tangle they had gotten into ... a worse thing still to offend a deity. If indeed, they were doing so.
“Do I take it that the Star-Eyed has offered you no signs?” Starblade said delicately. “No hint as to how Her feelings run in this matter?”
Tre’valen shook his head. “Only that She has permitted us to continue to meet, either in this world or in the spirit realms. And she has granted Dawnfire the visions that I told you, the ones I do not understand, about ancient magic returning. And about the need for peoples to unite and change in some way.”
Starblade closed his eyes for a moment, but no answers came to him, so he analyzed the few facts in the matter. Dawnfire was not dead, at least not in the accepted sense. But she was no longer anything like a human being. Mornelithe Falconsbane had destroyed her body, but left her spirit - her soul - alive and in her bondbird. Such a tragedy would have meant a slow fading until at last there was nothing of the human left, leaving a mentally crippled raptor to live as long as it could. But in this, there was a powerful being that had shown Her interest in the situation by creating some kind of different creature out of Dawnfire. Dawnfire was not like the leshy’a Kal’enedral, who were entirely of the spirit-world, yet could, on occasion, intervene in the physical realm. And not like a mage, who could on occasion intervene in the spirit world. She seemed to dwell in both worlds at once, and yet truly touched neither.
The Shin’a’in face of the Goddess - her Warrior face, in fact - seemed to have created her, then abandoned her. It was most unwise to second-guess a deity; what appeared to have been abandoned may have, in fact, been left to mature.
“All that I can say is that I warn you to be careful,” he said at last. “These are strange waters that you swim in, and I know not what lurks beneath the surface. Whatever it is, is fearsome, shaman.”
“I know,” Tre’valen said at last, after a long pause. “I know this. The Star-Eyed marked Dawnfire for her own, but to what purpose, She has not revealed. She might not approve of my - inclinations and intentions.”
Starblade could only shrug. “I am not a shaman,” he pointed out. “You are. I say only - be careful and consider first what is best for Dawnfire and those you have sworn to serve.”
“I shall.” Tre’valen stood, and moved toward the door. “I will keep you closely informed from this moment of what I see. And - of what I feel.”
He bowed, turned, and descended the stairs quickly, but the air of trouble he had brought with him remained. Kethra held Starblade’s hands wordlessly for a long time afterward.
Darkwind tossed his head, and sent his soaking-wet hair whipping over his shoulder. Sweat poured down his forehead and stung his eyes, but external vision did not matter. Internal vision did.
No matter that he had picked a quarrel with Elspeth not half a candlemark before they joined Firesong in the glade that he had made into their Working Place. No matter that I he had left her without a reply to the hurtful words he had not truly meant, but said anyway. Once across the invisible I boundary, he and Elspeth were two halves of a working whole, and there was no quarrel dividing them.
He frankly had not expected that of her. He had been faintly surprised when her power joined to his with no hesitation. But he could not be less than she, his pride would not permit it.
But he wondered, in a tiny, unoccupied section of his mind, if he had deliberately quarreled with her in hopes that she would storm off, making it impossible for them to practice with Firesong driving them?
Firesong lived up to his use-name; his power-signature crackled with illusory flames, and he used music, drumbeats, to focus it. That made it easier, rather than harder, for Darkwind to follow him; all of his training as a dancer came to the fore, guiding him where he might otherwise I have stumbled blindly. So Darkwind had gone Firesong one better; now in the circle he danced his magic, eyes closed, moving in place.
I am going to be much leaner before this is all over . .. and a better dancer.
Elspeth, interestingly enough, chose to follow his dancing with a manifestation of power he had heard of, but had never seen; lightweaving. She created patterns of energy that matched his dancing and Firesong’s drums, uniting them, in a way that he didn’t understand, but fit well.
It seemed that Firesong didn’t understand it either, for the first time Elspeth had woven her light-web he had been drilling them in the creation of a kind of containment vessel that was meant to contract down around something and hold it -
Firesong had been startled and had lost the beat - Darkwind had seen only the pattern and danced it - and the web contracted around Firesong.
The Adept had managed to extract himself from it before it closed convulsively and vanished with a little pop, but it had clearly been a near thing. They had afforded him a bit of a thrill. Ever since then he had guided them through a refinement of this technique; honing it down and making a weapon of it. Sometimes making a real weapon of it; Darkwind Felt something beginning to form before him. Firesong was about to create an enemy for them to face - a very real enemy, for all that it was made of mage-energy.
He changed his steps, and Felt the light above him weaving into a protection. And he sensed Firesong’s surprise. He guessed that Firesong had intended Elspeth to weave a mage-blade, or even two, for them to fight with. But Elspeth had her own ideas. Perhaps the weariness of his dance steps had told her that defense would be better than offense. Whatever; he followed the pattern she sketched, and the power wove about them into an hourglass-shaped flow, a double-lobed shield, and the fire-creature Firesong had conjured hissed about the outside in frustration, unable to burn a way through. Since the walls of energy flowed, it could not focus its flames on any one place long enough to do any significant damage; the lances of energy dissipated and swirled, but did not burn through.
It sends out extensions of itself, as tongues of flame. Hmm. I think I can work with that.
The next time the creature attacked, Darkwind changed his steps. The protection suddenly became “sticky,” if energy could be sticky.
An attractant, perhaps. Whatever the name of his defense might be, Darkwind caught the tongue of the creature’s energy, and before Firesong had a chance to react, he spun the fire-shape into his shields, integrating it and making its power his.
The drumming stopped; Darkwind danced on for a moment, letting the power return into the flow of the ley-line beneath them, rather than permitting it to drain away into the air to hang like lightning threatening to strike. Then he stopped and opened his eyes, to gaze somewhat defiantly at their instructor.
“That was not at all a bad solution,” Firesong said, calmly. “Not what I had in mind, but not at all bad.”
“Darkwind couldn’t have fought that thing off,” Elspeth said flatly, with no inflection at all. “He was already exhausted from everything else you’d sent at us today.”
“So you improvised a defense and solution in one; I like that.” Firesong smiled at Elspeth, and Darkwind fought down a surge of irrational anger. “The Shin’a’in say - when you do not like the fight, change the rules. I have often found that to be a useful solution.”
Firesong looked no more weary than if he had just taken a fast walk across the Vale. Not a hair was out of place, nor a thread of clothing, for all of his furious drumming.
I should have known. Perfect, as always.
As Darkwind had anticipated, Firesong had been - very popular among the k’Sheyna, human and non. Power and beauty are both powerful attractants, and Firesong had both in abundance. He, in return, accepted the attentions as only his due - and his devotees seemed to find his very insolence appealing.
Including Elspeth.
And as for the hertasi - well, his borrowed ekele swarmed with them. He would not even have had to dress, feed, or bathe himself if he had chosen otherwise. Perhaps he hadn’t.
Now, Darkwind, your claws are showing.
But how could he have gone through this past training session without a hair out of place?
Because he’s a greater mage, a greater Adept, than you or anyone in your Clan has ever seen, that’s how. He’s likely enhanced his endurance for year upon year. Elspeth and the rest are perfectly right to admire him. And there is nothing wrong with him being proud of himself and what he can do. . . .
“I think that you are near to ready,” Firesong said, standing up, and putting the drum away in the elaborate padded chest he used as a seat. “You work remarkably well together. We can begin planning what we will be doing with your rogue Stone tomorrow, hmm?”
Darkwind nodded, but Firesong wasn’t done yet. Elspeth headed straight out of the clearing, going for the hot spring and a long soak, but Firesong caught Darkwind by the elbow before he had a chance to leave.
“There is trouble between you and the Outlander,” he said, making it a statement rather than a question. Darkwind couldn’t meet his eyes, nor could he say anything. “There are also thorns between you and me.”
Darkwind faced him, resentment smoldering. “Nothing I cannot deal with,” he said - keeping himself from snarling.
Firesong gave him a most peculiar look as he retook his position on the padded chest. He crossed his legs and intertwined his slender fingers across one knee.
Then he spoke.
“Darkwind, I have been working magery since I was barely able to walk,” the Adept said slowly. “My hair was white by the time I was ten. I have ever had a fearsome example to live up to, for my great-great-many-times-greatgrandfather was one Herald Vanyel Ashkevron out of Valdemar. Even as Elspeth’s was, though she knows it not.”
“But - ” Darkwind was surprised he managed to get that much out, stunned as he was, “ - how?”
“A long tale, which I shall make as short as I may.” The Adept held up his hand, and his firebird came winging out of the tree cover above, a streak of white and gold lightning that alighted haughtily on his wrist. “This is the tradition, as it was handed down from Brightstar’s foster-parents, Moondance and Starwind. One of k’Treva wished a child and there was no one in the Clan she favored. Moondance and Starwind also longed to be parents. Vanyel was well favored by all within the Clan, and consented to be father to twins, one of whom was my forefather, Brightstar. But in Valdemar, also longing for a child, was the King’s Own and lover of the Monarch, Shavri. Vanyel obliged her in part so that it would seem that Randale was able to father children, which he was not. That child, Jisa, wedded the next Monarch, Treven, a cousin of the King, and from that line of descent springs yon Outlander.”
Firesong chuckled at Darkwind’s expression.
I must look like a stunned ox.
“Nay, cousin, we of k’Treva are not so well-versed in Outlander doings as you think. It is simply that Brightstar knew of his half-sister and her young suitor, and that the Ashkevron blood calls to blood; we know each other, though she does not know how.” Now Firesong raised one wing-like eyebrow. “That may be the source of the Outlander’s fascination with my humble self.”
Darkwind snorted. “As if you could ever be humble,” he said sardonically.
“It has happened a time or two, but not recently.” Firesong shrugged, and transferred his firebird to his shoulder. “I thought a word to you was appropriate. I have much more training than you, more thorough, and more consistent. I have never abandoned my magic. Considering all you have - experienced - you do far better than I had expected. Take that for what it is worth. There is more I would say when the time is appropriate.”
He hung his head for a moment, then raised it again and brushed the moon-white hair from his forehead. Then he stood, an inscrutable expression on his face, and left by the trail Elspeth had taken, white-feathered firebird on his shoulder.
I should at least apologize to her, if he is not with her, Darkwind thought, finally. Or even if he is with her . . . though I doubt I could.
So eventually he, too, followed the pathway out of the clearing to the end of the Vale where Elspeth’s ekele stood. He waited for a moment, listening at the entrance to the hot spring near her tree. There were splashing sounds; someone was definitely in there. There was no “in use” marker at the entrance. . . .
He hesitated a moment longer, then went in.
For a moment he thought he had made a terrible mistake, for Elspeth was lying beside the pool, wrapped in a lounging robe, head was pressed against another, crowned with flowing white -
:Oh, for Haven’s sake, don’t be more of a young fool than you are already,: Gwena snapped. He recognized, just before he backed out of the clearing, that it wasn’t Firesong she was lying against, it was her Companion.
“Do you - mind if I use the pool?” he said awkwardly. She propped herself up on one elbow and gave him a long, penetrating look.
“I mind only if you plan on being as hateful as you were this morning,” she said, levelly.
“I didn’t exactly plan on being hateful,” he replied weakly. “It just happened.”
“Hmm,” was all she said, and she laid herself back down again on the cushions.
:If you don’t mind, I’m going to leave you two alone,: Gwena said, getting gracefully to her feet. :I suggest whatever in the nine hells is bothering the two of you, that you get it dealt with before it shows up in the magic. That youngster and I agree on one thing, at least - that you ‘d better not bring your emotional upheavals into the reach of the Stone.:
And with that, she melted into the undergrowth.
Darkwind stripped hastily, and slipped into the water. Elsspeth stayed where she was, neither moving nor talking. He finally decided to break the silence before he got a headache from it.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be nasty.”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” Elspeth replied. Then she turned on her side and met his eyes. “Something occurred to Gwena, and she pointed it out to me. You’re getting a dose of what your brother gets all the time, did you realize that?”
“What?” he said cleverly. “Wintermoon?”
“Certainly.” Elspeth turned over onto her stomach, and pillowed her head on her arms. “Think about it. You were always the Adept, the one with all the power. The one who had anything he wanted, from Starblade’s approval to his pick of lovers in the Clan. He was a lowly scout, no magic, and in a position of risk, so that even if someone had considered getting close to him, they were afraid to because he was as likely to die as return every patrol. Even when you gave up the magic and no longer were the darling of your father’s eye, you still had high rank, a place in the Council, the friendship of the gryphons, and Dawnfire. Now you’ve taken the magic up again, and you have it all back. And there stands good old reliable Wintermoon, upstaged again.”
“I never thought of it that way,” he said, slowly. “It never occurred to me.”
“I didn’t think so. Ever wondered why he spends so much time outside the Vale - why he volunteered to go wandering about the countryside with Skif in tow?” She rubbed her forehead on her sleeve. “I did. Gwena says she thinks he does it so that he won’t get jealous of you. He really loves you, just as truly as any brother - but hellfires, Darkwind, it must be awful to stand around and watch you, and see everything you want just fall into your hand like a ripe fruit!”
“Oh,” he replied, feeling very - odd. Very taken aback.
“So, now you’re confronted with Firesong, and you’re feeling the same way Wintermoon has since you started j showing Mage-Gift.” Her bright brown eyes regarded him soberly from beneath a lock of hair. “Doesn’t feel very good, I’d imagine.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he admitted. “But - you - ”
“Oh, I’m used to not being the best.” Elspeth shook her hair back. “Talia was better than me at classes, Jeri was better than me at swordsmanship, Mother is much prettier than me, Kero’s better at strategy, Step-father at diplomacy, Skif at being sneaky - the only thing I was really good at was pottery, and I didn’t deceive myself into thinking I was the best in the Kingdom.” She spoke airily, but Darkwind sensed that old hurt under her words.
“Elspeth, I think the thing that bothers me the most is that Firesong has your admiration,” he said, unhappily. “I am jealous of him. He is so much more my master at magic - I feel like a bare apprentice. But it is the fact that you admire him so that angers me, and I cannot help myself.”
It truly cost him in pride to admit that, and she stared at him a moment longer. “You know, Kera told me something, once. She said - ‘you’d think being able to speak mind-to-mind would put an end to all the misunderstandings between people, but it doesn’t.’ She was right, too.”
He shook his head ruefully. “I have often found that when there were misunderstandings, both parties found reasons not to share their thoughts.”
“Exactly.” She widened her eyes, and he felt the delicate touch of her mind on his. :Firesong has Power. Firesong is too beautiful to be human. Firesong is worth admiring. But from a distance. He’s not called Firesong for nothing - he breathes in the admiration and everything else around him. Fire can warm you from a distance, but it burns when yon get too close to it.:
There was no doubting the truth of the feelings behind the words. He ducked under the water for a moment, then emerged and hoisted himself up onto the bank beside her, “Then you forgive me for being a beast?”
She grinned. “I think you could persuade me to.”
Tre’valen soared the spirit-skies in a new form; that of a vorcel-hawk. Smaller than Dawnfire - as was only appropriate for a tiercel - and with nowhere near her power, he still hoped that in this form she would see that he was trying to meet her halfway. She had avoided him for days now, and he was not certain if the reason was anything to do with him, or if it was something outside of both of them.
Surely the Goddess knew of his feelings toward Dawnfire. Could She not approve, to let him continue to pursue Dawnfire? It would take the barest blink on Her part to slap him to the ground, away from Her Avatar - yet Tre’valen sought Dawnfire still. Surely the Goddess knew that he was still devout, that he searched always mindful of serving Her people better. No matter how his heart might cry to him of how Dawnfire needed him, and he needed her - he was still a sworn shaman, and owed his loyalty to Her and Her purposes.
Hold, though - had he truly just assumed Dawnfire needed him? He did not know for certain if he read her emotions or his own. Her eyes were no longer human when he saw her. Could he believe the desire for companionship he saw in them? It was all so complex, and he had so few real facts to work with. He could only do the one thing a shaman ultimately must: trust in who he was and let his long-learned morals determine his actions.
He had always been bright-eyed and adventurous; the Goddess had not been displeased by it when She took him as Her shaman. It would be senseless to deny his nature-better to act on it.
He had walked the Moonpaths to no effect - so now he tried a desperation move. He left the Paths altogether, and turned his flight into the starry night between them.
Prudent Kra’heera had never left the Paths in all of his long life as a shaman. Tre’valen had heard of some - a very few - who had, and lived to do so again. They were not many, but their adventures had been in times calmer than these. There were new things happening, strange and promising and frightening at once, and risks were somehow more appropriate. The risk of leaving the Moonpaths paled before the danger of his courting the Goddess’ own Avatar.
Still, if Dawnfire would not come to him, he must needs go to her.
He felt the lift in his “belly” as he lifted from the Paths, on wings made of glittering golden Stardust and lit by his own life. A shiver as though from a cold wind, a knifelike wash through his sunlight-feathered body, and the Moon-paths dropped away below him.
Foolishness it might be - but glorious it certainly was.
He soared and wheeled above and under the Paths, able now to See the patterns upon patterns they coursed into, and the colors and layers as far as his spirit-eyes could discern.
But she was nowhere to be found.
Perhaps he was looking in the wrong place entirely? Well, there was nothing keeping him from using this form in the “real” world - and if she soared the physical skies in her hawk-form, she would surely see him in this guise.
He closed the eyes of the hawk, then turned within-sought the twist that brought him home -
And opened them again as warm sun flooded through him. Through, because as a spirit-hawk in the real world, he was slightly transparent. A tiercel-vorcel of golden glass. . . .
Was it not exactly like a lovesick tiercel to court a mate with fancy flying? Leaving the Moonpaths, diving from the starry soul-sea into the physical world - was that not the equivalent of skimming a cliff face to attract a lover’s eye?
He couldn’t help but laugh at himself over it all, still a little giddy from the feel of the soul-sea between the Paths. Should he continue with the analogy and hope that Dawnfire would be impressed? Could they be enough alike somehow that she would fly with him? So many mysteries, but then, there were few answers to begin with in his life’s work. That was, he felt, part of its appeal - in searching for Truths, he’d found few absolute ones and thousands of personal ones. He’d follow his heart, wherever it led.
Perhaps his willingness to risk was only adaptability. He felt at home in this Vale of summer nestled amidst cruel winter, as he did wherever he traveled. So many times he’d been berated for his brashness by Kra’heera; perhaps his brashness was but unrefined bravery?
He increased his physical mass, steadied in the chilly breeze above his brothers’ Vale. They, too, followed their hearts as certainly as they followed the Goddess’ laws. He admired them. They fought for a goal that would come many centuries from their own lifetimes as though it would be enjoyed at day’s end.
They were not so different from his own people, who guarded the Plains and the deadly things under it. The Hawkbrothers actively fought; the Shin’a’in had the equally difficult tasks of unending vigilance and precise response. The Kal’enedral and the Hawkbrother Adepts were alike in some respects, were they not? Different but complimentary.
He had seen history drawn in tapestries in Kata’shin’a’in. Was it time now for a new tapestry to be woven?
Ah, if his thread and Dawnfire’s could be woven together, it would be like the satisfying ending to a tale, and he would feel reborn. . . .
He angled over the Vale, careful of the sense of wonder that he felt. He couldn’t let it blind him to his goal. The point of taking flight this way was to find Dawnfire, to speak with her. Tre’valen scanned the skies, widened his view - and saw something bright hurtling toward him and the Vale.
It was without physical form, a fiery spear of crackling magical energy, larger than two men. It came roaring toward him, rushing, unrelenting, like a storm-driven grass-fire across the Plains - and struck him full in the chest. A shower of splintered mage-energy burst around him and he screamed out.
He fell half a furlong, stunned; recovered; held himself in place with unsteady wingbeats. The next blow was coming, and he warded against it as best he could.
For one moment, he thought that his fears were coming to pass, that the Star-Eyed herself had decided to punish him for his audacity. But no -
No, he was not even the object of the attack. He had been in its bound-path, and it had diverted to him - and through him. He had only been in the way. The second strike was approaching differently; it struck at him, hurt him, but lost little of its power, continuing to its true target. That target was below him, in the Vale.
Starblade -
He Saw the Adept taking the force of the blow and falling to his knees while his bondbird screamed in anger and frustration; Saw him recover. Even as he folded his wings and dove to add his own small - and probably futile - strength, he Saw Kethra fling herself physically over the Adept, and magically join her power to his. Then he watched in astonishment as Starblade gave up control to Kethra, letting her spread the force of the attack over both of them.
It is Falconsbane!
A third blow came, and then a fourth; the pair sagged beneath the force of the brutal attack, their shields eroding. Kethra cried out, face toward the sky, fists clenched, transmuting the attack-energies into another form. A circle of intense cold spread out from her, covering everything it touched with a thick layer of frost. Furniture split and shattered as it was overcome; drinking vessels and pitchers burst; the very structure of the ekele was warping and cracking as it was engulfed in bitter cold.
Falconsbane -
Hyllarr shrieked in agitation and abandoned his perch, falling to the floor and backing against the wall of the ekele as the lethal white circle spread. Already, Tre’valen knew the victims were in pain from the deadly cold - which told him that withstanding the effects of the attack must have been worse even than its transmutation.
Even without ForeSight, the next few moments were writ clear for anyone to see. Help would not come from the rest of the Vale in time. Falconsbane had been merely testing their strength. The next blow would rip through their defenses, and surely channel through from Starblade inside the Vale, into the Vale -
And pour into the Heartstone, shattering it, and sear the country for leagues. The devastation would kill everyone, and unleash a score of wild ley-lines to tear through the landscape.
I must stop this -
He knew he would die.
It did not matter. Too many would be hurt -
:Here!:
He Looked up; Dawnfire was above him in her hawk-form, a blazing creature of glory. She had more than enough power to shield Starblade from the next attack. Whether he would survive the encounter, he could not know, but his brethren must be saved. And here, with him, was Dawnfire. . . .
She had the power. He had the knowledge.
:Now! Together!: he cried, and folded his wings to plummet down. She fell beside him, both of them rushing just ahead of the blast of power that they felt hot on their necks....
Firesong took up the drum and faced the Heartstone, his fingers pattering a little anticipatory run on the taut skin. Darkwind shook out his muscles, a chill of nervousness running down his spine. This was only to be an exploratory venture, a preliminary, to see what the three of them could do with the rogue Stone.
:Haiee!:
It was not so much a call, as a mental shriek of pain. And Darkwind knew immediately whose pain it was.
:Father!: He Reached for power, blindly.
But Firesong reacted first, reaching, clenching fists until his knuckles whitened, flinging the tightest shield Oarkwind had ever seen around -
- the Heartstone.
What -
Darkwind had no time for anything other than a gasp of outrage. It was Starblade and Kethra who needed protection, not the damned Stone!
Firesong fell to his knees, hands spread wide, muscles straining as he built shield after shield around the Stone. The Stone flared and a dozen fire-red tendrils stabbed out toward Starblade’s ekele, to be stopped short by Firesong’s shields. They sought purchase in the inner shields, and half of them penetrated; Firesong built another layer and another, sucking in Power from all around him.
The tendrils were all reaching out to Starblade.
Darkwind’s Sight clearly showed him the next huge fire-bolt coming in through the Vale’s shields. Streaking down before it were two sun-bright vorcel-hawks. They dove wing to wing, turned as one above Starblade and Kethra’s ekele -
- and caught the fire-bolt together. Power flared around his father and his lover, and then all was still, except for the hoarse protests of Hyllarr and a subsiding thrum from the Heartstone. Firesong constricted the shields, his eyes closed tightly in concentration. The tendrils receded.
Darkwind reached his power to Elspeth, without conscious thought of it - and found her doing the same toward him. They wove a counterattack, Lanced it up into the sky - and let it sputter off into nothing. The enemy - Mornelithe Falconsbane, he knew - had aborted his remaining attack and dispersed its power into a huge, flickering mantle over the Vale.
There was no path for a counterattack to follow.
Mornelithe Falconsbane had escaped again.