Winds of Change (37 page)

When he asked for permission to take the things, Iceshadow had queried with a lifted eyebrow whether they needed it - or were keeping warm some other way. He had answered the same way that the notion was wildly unlikely. He still was not certain about Outlander prejudices in that regard, but he knew his brother well enough to be certain that young Skif was
not
likely to become Wintermoon’s bedmate unless they encountered some wild magic on the borders that wrought a complete change of sex in either of them.

The last gray light of afternoon faded and died away, creeping from the forest by imperceptible degrees, and deepening the shadows beneath the trees. He shivered in a breath of cold air that crept across the Veil and hoped that Wintermoon would arrive soon. It had been a very long day, and he was bone weary. He and Elspeth had tracked and driven
off
a pair of Changelions - perhaps even the same ones that injured that
tervardi,
in fact - and it had not been an easy task in knee-deep snow. Even Elspeth’s Companion had been of little help, not with the snow so deep and soft. The cats, with their snowshoelike paws, had a definite advantage in weather like this.

It had been snow with ice beneath; they had slipped and slid so often that he reckoned they were both black and blue in a fair number of places. He wanted to get back to his
ekele,
to the hot pool beneath it. He thought, briefly, about seeking one of the other scouts for company, then dismissed the idea. There were several women of k’Sheyna who were friends, willing and attractive, but none of them were Elspeth. . . .

Stupid. Don’t be an idiot. Don’t complicate matters. She’s your friend, sometimes your student; be wise enough to leave it at that. You aren‘t living a romance-tale, you have work enough and more to do.

Still - she was a competent partner now as well;
he
felt more confident in his magic, and so did she. As a team, they were efficient and effective. Working with the gryphons had been a stroke of genius.

A white shape flickered through the branches ahead, ghosting just under the branches in silence; a breath of snow-fog, with a twin coming in right behind it.

Vree cried a greeting; not the challenge scream, but the whistling call no outsider ever heard. A long, deep
Hooo, hoo-hooo,
answered him, and one of the two owls swooped up across the Veil and onto a branch just above Darkwind’s head.

The second followed his brother, and as he flew up to land above, Darkwind made out the distant figure of someone riding through the barren bushes and charcoal-gray tree trunks of the unprotected forest.

The
dyheli
waded through the soft snow easily, his thin legs having no trouble with drifts a man would be caught in, his sharp, cleft hooves cutting footholds in the ice beneath. Astride him was Wintermoon. Behind the first
dyheli
came the second, unladen, his breath puffing frostily out of his nostrils.

Wintermoon waved as soon as he saw Darkwind, grinning broadly. Since he was not normally given to such things as broad grins, Darkwind was a bit surprised.

Being with that Outlander has done him some good, then. Loosened him up.

It occurred to him that Wintermoon might have found himself a real friend - rarer still, a close friend - in the Outlander Herald. Could it be mutual? Perhaps they had learned that they had a lot in common; Skif had struck him as rather a loner himself. A close friend was something, so far as Darkwind knew, his brother had never had before.

About time, too.

Wintermoon and the
dyheli
crossed the Veil and the scout slid from the
dyheli’s
back to land beside his brother. “Darkwind!” he said, obviously pleased. “Thank you for doing this yourself, and thank you for fetching the supplies for me at all. What’s all this?” Wintermoon briefly embraced his brother and indicated “this” with a toe to one of the extra bundles. “I did not ask you for nearly so much.”

“And it doesn’t look like provisions, I know.” Briefly, Darkwind told his brother what he had put together for the little expedition.

Wintermoon frowned at that. “I don’t know. I hesitate to use anything magic made out there.”

“I’ve shielded it as best I can,” Darkwind pointed out, “We have been using magic without attracting trouble for many weeks now. And if I were the one doing the scouting, I would weight the benefits of warmth and light very heavily in any decisions I made. Winter is only just upon us, and already it has the Vale locked around with ice and snow. It will be worse out there.”

“It already is worse.” Wintermoon eyed the bundle dubiously, but then heaved it onto his mount’s back. “You were the first of us to object to using magic on the border; if you say it is probably worth the risk, I will believe you. I have very little to return you for your gift, I am afraid.”

“No sign of Nyara?” Darkwind asked, expecting a negative.

“Very little sign, and old,” Wintermoon replied, as he helped his brother tie the bundles securely to the
dyheli
backs. “But there are things that tell me she passed the way we are going. I have some hope that we will find her, though I have not told this to Skif, for I do not wish to raise his hopes with nothing more substantial than old sign. It is a difficult secret to keep, though.”

“That is probably wise,” Darkwind said carefully, balancing the first
dyheli’s
load.

His brother looked up at him from the other side of the stag’s back. “He is a man who has had many disappointments,” the scout said suddenly. “I would not add to them, if I can avoid it. He is Wingsib; more than that, he does not deserve it.”

“We seldom deserve disappointment,” Darkwind observed dryly. “But I do agree with you.”

He fastened the last of the bundles to the second
dyheli,
and straightened from tightening the cinch. “If you are worried about losing time and need someone to meet you with supplies, send K’Tathi again,” he said. “It’s no trouble, | and perhaps I can find you something else useful, rummag- ; ing around in the old stores.”

“You might indeed, and thank you.” Wintermoon peered out into the growing darkness beyond the Veil. “I had best get on the trail; it will take some time getting back with all these supplies.”

Darkwind nodded, and Wintermoon mounted the second stag, so that the work of bearing him could be shared between the two. With a wave of farewell, Wintermoon urged his mount and its brother out of the Vale and into the night; vanishing into the darkness beneath the trees, followed by two silver shadows, ghosting out and above.

Darkwind turned his own face back toward the Vale, figuring to find some dinner, soak himself in hot water, and go to bed. A headache was coming on, and he assumed it was from fatigue. It had been a very long day. Bed, even one with no one in it but himself, had never seemed so welcome.

So when he passed his father’s
ekele
and saw the Council of Elders, even old Rainlance, huddled in conference with most of the mages of k’Sheyna, including Elspeth, he was tempted to retrace his steps before anyone saw him. Such a gathering could only mean trouble. Surely he had done enough for one day. Surely he deserved a rest.

But -

Damn. This looks important. I can do without food and sleep a little longer. I’ve done it before.

The mage-lights above them were few and dim, and if he had gone another way, they would never have known he was there, now that the shadows of night had descended. Elspeth was the: first to spot him, but as soon as the rest realized she was looking at someone and not staring off into the darkness, they glanced his way. Their glances sharpened as soon as their eyes fell on him, and with a resigned sigh, he joined them.

I
guess I was right. It is important.

The very first thing he noticed, once he joined their circle, was that they were all, barring the few scouts among them, drained and demoralized. They slumped in postures of exhaustion, faces pale and lined with pain, white hair lying lank against their shoulders.

All? There was only one thing that would affect them all.

“The Heartstone,” he said flatly. Iceshadow nodded, and licked dry lips.

me ncansiunc, me jc-iuer repneu in
agreement. He passed his hand over his eyes for a moment. “Precisely. We have failed in our attempt to stabilize it. And there will be no more such attempts.”

“The spell not only did not drain the Stone,” one of the others whispered wearily, “It enabled the Stone to drain
us.
We will be days, perhaps even a week, in recovering.”

So that’s why Iceshadow said there would be no more tries . . . if it could do that once, it will do so again. Thank the gods that the mages worked within shields, or we would likely all be in the same condition.

“K’Sheyna will not be defenseless, thanks to good planning,” Iceshadow sighed. “The mages that are also scouts were not involved in the spellcasting, nor you and Wingsister Elspeth. But it is only thanks to that caution that we still have magical defenders.”

There was one face missing from the group, one who
should
have been there. “My father?” he asked sharply.

Iceshadow winced. “A side effect we had not reckoned on,” he replied, averting his eyes from Darkwind’s. “Starblade’s life is bound to the Stone in some way that we do not understand and did not sense until too late. When our spell backlashed, it struck him as well.”

Darkwind tensed. “What happened to him?”

Iceshadow said nothing. Rainlance spoke softly. “It nearly killed him, despite the shaman Kethra throwing herself into the link to protect him.”

“He lives, and he will recover,” someone else said hastily, as he felt blood drain from his face. “But he and the Healer are weak and in shock. The shaman, Tre’valen, is tending them.”

They are in the best hands in the Vale. If I have regained him only to lose him -
“Is this a Council meeting, then?” he asked, keeping back all the bitter things he wanted to say. They were of no use, anyway. How could anyone have known the deep plans that had been laid against them, all the things that had been done to Starblade? They severed his links to Mornelithe Falconsbane, but there had been no reason to look for any others.
Even gone, Falconsbane’s influence lies heavily upon us. Even gone, he left behind his poison in our veins.

“A meeting of the Council and of all the mages,” Ice-shadow replied. “We have determined that we have tried every means to neutralize the Heartstone at our disposal, and all have failed. There is no other way. We must look outside, to other Clans, for help.”

The faces in the dim light showed how they felt about it; that it was an admission of dependence, of guilt, of failure. Darkwind had urged them all for years to seek help from outside, and swallow that pride. Bitter and sweet; victory at last was his, but it had nearly cost the life of his father. Caught between two conflicting sets of emotions, he could only stare at the leader of the Council.

“You must send the call,” Iceshadow said, finally. “You, the Wingsister, and the gryphons. Elspeth has already agreed, as have Treyvan and Hydona. You are the only ones that we can turn to now, you and Elspeth. You remember the way of constructing a seeking-spell strong enough to reach who and what we need.”

He nodded numbly, still caught in a web of surprise and dismay.

“You look ready to drop,” Elspeth said firmly into the silence. “You’re tired - I’m tired - we aren’t going to get anything done tonight.” She stood up and nodded to Ice-shadow. “With respect, Elder, we have had a long day, and we need to rest. We’ll see what we can do tomorrow.”

“It has waited until now, it can certainly wait another night,” Iceshadow agreed wearily. “And there is no sense in exhausting you two as well. Tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow,” she agreed, and signaled Darkwind to follow her down the path.

“I had the
hertasi
bring food and that mineral drink to the pool near your treehouse,” she said as soon as they were out of sight and sound of the circle of exhausted mages. “I thought you would probably need both. And a good soak.”

“You were right.” He rubbed his temple, as a headache began to throb behind his eyes. “When did all this happen?”

“Just at sunset,” she told him. “That was when they had timed the drainage to begin, and that was when the spell backlashed. I didn’t feel it, and neither did anyone else outside of the Working area except Starblade; I first knew something was wrong when two of them staggered out the pass-through looking for help, and I happened to be nearby. Some of them had to be carried out. “

“Gods.” He shook his head. “So there are only four of us to work this seeking-spell.”

:Five,:
corrected a voice in his head.

He had not noticed Gwena’s presence until that moment; she moved so quietly behind them that she might have been just another shadow. “Five?” he repeated. “But lady, I did not know you were Mage-Gifted.”

Elspeth’s glare could have peeled bark from the trees.

“Neither did I, “ she said flatly, her voice so devoid of expression that the lack alone was a sign of her anger. She stopped; so did he and the Companion.

Before Gwena could jerk her head away, Elspeth had her by the bottom of the hackamore. “Look,” she said tightly, “You
know
how important strategy is. That, and tactics. Especially here and now.”