Winds of Change (10 page)

“I thought not.” Tre’valen nodded. “Your people escaped the hand of Falconsbane by a very narrow margin. Whether it was the hand of the Goddess or of chance, or both together, there was little they could have done of themselves to free this Clan from his influence. I wondered if they knew how narrow their escape was. Your father, for instance - ”

“They know,” Darkwind replied, carefully steering the conversation away from his father. That was another whole situation he was not quite ready to deal with yet. “They simply don’t dwell on it. And they know that our troubles are not yet over, which accounts for that desperate enjoyment you noted.”

“But the urgency iss lesss,” Hydona said. “All that hass oc-currred, hass bought k’Sheyna time. Thisss celebration - it wass a good thing. It iss a relief from the tenssion. Bessidesss . . . other changess arre coming.”

Darkwind decided to leave that typically gryphonish - meaning cryptic - remark alone.

“You could be reading Iceshadow’s mind,” he smiled. “After all the troubles, the fear - ”

 
-
and the other things no one wants to talk about, like discovering what had been done to my father
-

“It was just a good idea to give everyone something pleasurable to think about for a little while. A relief.” He scratched Hydona’s neckruff absently, and she half-closed her eyes with pleasure. One of the gryphlets rolled over, chirring contentment in its sleep. “A day or two of rest isn’t going to alter the Heartstone question, but it might make all the difference in letting us gain a fresh outlook.”

Tre’valen raised an eyebrow, but said only, “Some look as if they need a rest more than a fresh outlook. Starblade, for instance.”

Don’t ask too many impertinent questions, shaman. I might answer them, and you might not care for the answers. I am not altogether certain that the Shin‘a‘in are ready to embrace the problems of their cousins, no matter how many Wingsib Oaths are sworn. What you do not officially know, you need not act upon.

Treyvan raised his head from his foreclaws.
“You
look rrready for a frresh outlook, Darrkwind,” he said, as Darkwind tried unsuccessfully to suppress a yawn. “The outlook you may have frrom yourrrr bed.”

“I think you’re right,” he admitted, glad of the excuse to escape from a conversation that was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
He
didn’t particularly want to discuss the problems of k’Sheyna, at least not now, when his tired mind and tongue might let things slip he would rather were not revealed.

The way he felt about Starblade, for instance. His heart was still sore and shaking from the revelation that the cold, critical “father” of the past several years had
not
been the father who had taught him his first lessons in magic - and who had worn the costumes his son had designed for him with such open pride.

The fact that Starblade had worn one of those costumes tonight, which was not only the Wingsib Oathing, but the first time he had taken part in the social life of k’Sheyna since Darkwind had freed him, had left him on very uncertain emotional ground. In a very real sense, he had a new father - but Darkwind was years older, and there was deep-set pain between them. It was going to take some time before his feelings were reconciled.

He imagined it was much the same for Starblade. The only difference between what he and his father had to cope with was that Starblade had known the truth but had not been able to act upon it, while Darkwind had been able to act but had not known the truth. Equally painful situations.

He yawned again, and this time did not take the trouble to hide it. “I think I must be getting old,” he said. “My ability to celebrate until sunrise is not what it once was. And I did promise young Elspeth that her lessons would continue when we both arose from sleep - ” He ignored Tre’valen’s suggestive smirk, “ - so rather than finding her waiting at the foot of my
ekele,
I think I will seek my own bed and see if I might wake before she does.”

“A good plan,” chuckled Tre’valen.
“Zhai’helleva.“

“And to you, all,” he replied, and rose from the soft turf beside the pool, brushing off his seat. He retraced his steps, this time heading for the path that ultimately led out of the Vale. Even though he was reconciled with Starblade the fluctuating power of the Heartstone made him uncomfortable, and he disliked having to sleep near it. Starblade and the rest understood, and his “eccentricity” of maintaining a dwelling outside the safe haven of the Vale was no longer a subject of contention.

His path tonight, however, was not a direct one. Three times he had to interrupt his path with detours to avoid trysts-in-progress. He should have expected it, really; the end result of a celebration was generally trysting all over the Vale, of whatever tastes and partners.

So why am I going back to my
ekele
alone?

He’d never lacked for bedmates before. Actually, if he hadn’t been so choosy - or was it preoccupied - he wouldn’t have lacked for bedmates tonight.

He could say that he mourned for Dawnfire, and that would have been partially true. He missed her every time he thought of her, with an ache that he wondered if he would ever lose. She had been the one that he’d thought would actually work out as more than a bedmate; their interests and pleasures had matched so well. The fact that she hadn’t
died
made the situation worse, in some ways. She had become something he could see, but could not touch. Now at least, after much thought, the first, sharp sorrow had passed, the sorrow that had been like an arrow piercing his flesh. Now what he felt was the pain of an emotional bolt lodged in place, poisoning his blood with regret.

He also knew that Dawnfire would have been the first to tell him to get on with his life. If she had been with him, if he had lost another lover, she would whisper to him to take a bedmate, and some pleasure, to ease the pain. That was just her way, another thing he had loved her for.

So why hadn’t he taken one or more of those offers for companionship tonight?

Because he didn’t
want
any of them. They simply didn’t fit his real, if vaguely defined, desires.

And to tell the truth, he wasn’t sure what he wanted. Elspeth was the only person tonight who had attracted him. But along with every other way she made him react, he was afraid - afraid that she might draw him into a deeper relationship than he intended.

She would leave the Vales and return to her Valdemar; and his people were here. There could be nothing lasting between them emotionally, save wistfulness over what might have been. But they would be spending most of their time together, now that she was a Wingsister; it was his duty to teach her, and hers to help defend the Vale for as long as she dwelled here. The Council had made it clear that
he
was responsible for her. If it turned out that Elspeth was equally attracted to him - that her ways were similar to his people in the matter of loveplay and they became more than casually involved - perhaps they could pursue some of the techniques in which sexual magic could be tuned and sublimated, and in so doing -

No. I couldn‘t do it. I just lost Dawnfire, I can’t lose another lover. I’m not made of such stern stuff.

He finally reached the path to his
ekele
without incident - without encountering anything more hazardous than a flight of moths. That in itself was a pleasant change. The sharp bite to the air and the faint aroma of leaves in their turning reminded him that there were other changes on the wind that were not so pleasant. Autumn was at hand; winter would follow, and although the Vale would remain green and lush, outside it, the leaves would fall, and snow and ice-storms would come. Winter would bring a new set of dangers from outside; predators would grow hungry, and the fear that kept them away from the Vale in the summer might not be enough to overcome their hunger’s insistence. Winter would make it difficult for infatuated young Skif to track the Change-child. And it would be much harder for the remains of k’Sheyna to trek across the country in search of the rest of the Clan, if that was ultimately what they had to do to reunite.

Despite the fact that k’Sheyna territory was now much safer than it had been before the confrontation with Mornelithe Falconsbane, Darkwind had reverted to his old habits the moment he passed the barrier at the mouth of the Vale. It only took one slip at the wrong time to make someone a casualty. Tayledras had been killed even in tamed territories, simply by thinking they were secure. He kept to the deepest shadows, walked silently, and kept all senses alert for anything out of the norm. The moon was down beneath the level of the trees by the time he reached his
ekele;
he kindled a tiny mage-light in the palm of his hand and - with some misgiving - loosed the ladder from its support above and lowered it by means of another exercise of magic. With a tiny spell, he tripped the catch that held the rope-ladder in place.

If this had been in daylight, he’d never have used magic, he’d have had Vree drop the trigger-line to him. He still felt uneasy about using anything except mage-shields outside of the Vale. True, Falconsbane was no longer out there, watching for the telltale stirrings of magic-use and waiting to set his creatures attacking anything outside the protection of the Vale. But caution was a hard habit to break, especially when he wasn’t certain he truly wanted to break it.

Still, the presence of the mage-light made climbing the ladder a lot easier, and the use of the spell eliminated the need to scale the trunk in the dark to release the ladder. It was worth the risk, at least tonight.

Perhaps, now, there were many things that were worth the risk of attempting them. . . .

Skif could hardly believe what he’d just heard. He rubbed his tired eyes, and stared across the tiny firepit at his new friend. The conversation had begun with knives in general, proceeded to other things, such as forging, tempering, balance and point structure, throwing styles - but it had just taken a most unexpected turn. “Forgive me, but I’m not - ah - as good in speaking Tayledras as Elspeth. Did you say what I think you said?”

Wintermoon chuckled, and passed him a cup of a spicy - but, he’d been assured, nonalcoholic - drink, poured from a bottle he’d asked one of the
hertasi
to bring. “I will speak in more plain words,” the scout told him, slowly, reaching for one of the sausages warming on the grill above the coals of their fire. “I wish to help you to find the Changechild Nyara. If you tell me ‘aye,’ I shall come with you. You say you have no true learning in woods-tracking; I am not a poor scout. I think I would be of real help.”

:He’s one of the best scouts and trackers in k’Sheyna, Chosen,:
Cymry told him. Her ears were perked up, showing her excitement and interest.
:He‘s being very modest. The
dyheli
told me he’s one of the few that can even hunt and track by night, maybe even the best.:

He wanted Wintermoon’s help - wanted it badly. He
needed
it. Without it, all he’d do would be to crisscross k’Sheyna territory, virtually randomly, hoping to come across some sign of Nyara. With Wintermoon’s skillful help, he would be able to mount a systematic search. But was this a test of his oaths and his loyalties?

“I - uh - I don’t know what to say,” he stammered, watching the tall Tayledras with his strange hair and pale eyes. “Wintermoon, I want your help more than I can say, but you’re a scout, a hunter, a good one. What about the Clan? Don’t they need you? I mean, I’m a Wingbrother, but doesn’t that mean I need to think of the good of the Clan first?”

Wintermoon blinked slowly, and turned away toward the trees. He held up a gauntleted wrist. That was the only warning Skif had that something was happening; a heartbeat later, a huge white shape hurtled by his ear, soundlessly. As he winced away, the shape hit Wintermoon’s wrist and folded its wings. It resolved itself into a great white owl, which swiveled its head and stared unblinkingly at him before turning back to Wintermoon, reaching down with its fierce, hook of a beak and nibbling the fingers of his free hand gently.

“This is K’Tathi,” Wintermoon said, stroking the owl’s head gently. “Corwith is in the tree above. There are not many Tayledras who bond to the greater owls.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Skif said pointedly.

“Ah, but I did.” Wintermoon transferred the owl from his wrist to his shoulder, where it proceeded to preen his hair. He sighed, and gave Skif a look full of long-suffering patience.

“There are not many Tayledras who bond to the greater owls. While my bondbirds can hunt by day, they prefer not to. They are also a different species from the hawks and falcons, and there is instinctive dislike between them and the birds of other scouts. It can be overcome, but it requires great patience.” He shrugged, as the fire flared up for a moment from the cooking. The flare flushed the owl with ruddy light. “More patience than I care to give. Thus, I hunt by night, and mostly alone. That makes me something that can be done without when times are not so chancy.”

“In other words, your absence won’t cause any problems?” Skif persisted, clutching the cup.

The owl found Wintermoon’s ear, and began nibbling it. Wintermoon sighed, and gave it his finger instead. “The new plan is for mages to help the scouts,” he explained. “There will be more watchers. Your friend, Elspeth - she is clever, and will make up for my absence. So, I am free to aid you.”

:There is a hole in this, somewhere,:
Cymry said.