Winds of Change (67 page)

But tension had her stomach in such sour knots that she had not been able to eat much; her back and shoulders were knotted with anxiety, and she was terribly aware of the burden of the sword at her side and what it meant. Need was cloaking her, presumably, as well as itself, but she absolutely required that cloaking, and she would require every bit of her mentor’s skill and learning to come through this alive.

The alarms and traps should not react to me,
she told herself, once again.
Father has been otherwise occupied. In no way would he ever expect me to return to him of my own will after attacking him and betraying him. Surely he will not have tampered with the defenses since I left him last. He has been beset by the Shin‘a‘in, launching his own attacks - when has he had time to reset them? Once I leave Skif and Wintermoon at the border, there should be no difficulty in getting within the territory or the stronghold
-

 
-
so why am I as frightened as a rabbit walking into the den of a Changelion?

She shivered, though not with cold, and touched the hilt of the sword unconsciously.

:I’m here, little one,:
the sword said calmly.
:I’m screening us both for all I’m worth. You can do this; I trained you, and I know.:

Some of the sword’s calm confidence seeped into her own soul and eased the cramps in muscles and stomach. There was no point in getting so knotted up that she would accomplish nothing, after all. No point in worrying until it was time to worry.

The trail widened at that point, and Skif rode up beside her; she turned to smile at him, but it was so dark that although she could see his face, she doubted that he could see hers.

:We should talk like this, Wintermoon says,:
came his mind-voice deep inside her head. Although she had never heard it, she knew it for his and it gave her unexpected comfort, like feeling his hand holding and steadying her.
:I’m not
-
very good at it, I should warn you. Have to be this close to you.:

:I will
-
try,:
she replied the same way, stumbling a little despite her practice with Need. Her father had never spoken mind-to-mind with her; he had only used his mind to coerce her, and to hurt her.

:You‘d like Valdemar, I think,:
he said unexpectedly.
Especially the hills in the south. They‘re very beautiful in the winter. You‘d probably like the Forest of Sorrows, too; that’s way in the north. There are mountains up there so tall that some of them have never been climbed.:

She Saw the image of the mountains, and the forest at their feet, in his mind; saw it drowsing in the heat of summer, alive with birds in the spring, cloaked in flame in the fall, and sleeping beneath a blanket of snow in winter.
:Why so sad a name?:
she asked.

:Oh
-
that’s because of Vanyel,:
he replied, and told her the tale, embellished with images out of his own experiences and imagination. That tale led to another - and another - and soon it was midnight and time to stop for a bit of a rest and a chance to check their bearings against the stars.

Wintermoon oriented himself; she and Skif dismounted and walked a short distance.
:This
-
being a Herald, I do not understand,:
she told him, as he held her within the warmth of his arms and coat, and they waited for Winter-moon’s two bondbirds to report with their findings.

:Sometimes I don’t understand it either,:
he admitted.
:I suppose the closest I can come is to say that it’s something I have to do - just as what we‘re doing now is something you have to do. But what I do is not because of hate, or anger, or the feeling that I owe it to anyone.:

She moved her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes.
:Then why?:
she asked simply, longing, suddenly, to understand.

:Would it sound entirely stupid to say that it was out of love?:
he asked.
.’That’s not the whole of it; that’s not even the largest part, but it’s the start.:

She waited, patiently, for the rest of the answer, and it came, in bits and pieces. They were pieces that did not yet fall together to make a whole, but like the pieces of a mirror they reflected bits of
him
that made her see him a little more clearly. When one assembled a broken mirror, one could still discern an image. . . .

Some of his reason was gratitude - the Heralds had literally saved his life and given him something like a real family. That revelation made her feel kinship and a bitter envy; she had known only brief affection and never any sense of real family. She had, now and again, spied upon the lesser creatures of her father’s stronghold with wonder and jealousy. She had seen fathers who caressed their children with nothing ever coming of those caresses but care; she had seen children greeting their fathers with joy and not fear. And she had seen that strange and wondrous creature, a mother ... a creature that could and would die to save the offspring she had given life to. A creature that gave life and love without asking for anything other than love in return - no matter what the child became, no matter what darkness it turned to.

Skif had not known a mother like that either; in that much, they were kin.

Yet he received that kind of unquestioning love from - his Companion.

She suppressed another surge of envy. To have that kind of love - what did he need from her?

Somehow he sensed that doubt, and answered it. Not with words, though; with feeling, feelings that she could not possibly doubt. In her mind, he held her close and wanned her.

Their peaceful reverie was broken by his Companion, who stole up beside them and nudged his shoulder. He turned to her after a moment of silent dialogue.

:Cymry says that Elspeth and Darkwind have managed to attract some attention by springing a trap. She doesn‘t think Falconsbane is personally involved yet, but now would be a good time to move on while his guards are occupied with trying to catch them.:

She nodded and sensed Need’s agreement as well.

The moment passed, but something of it remained. She examined herself carefully, trying to figure out exactly what it was, and finally gave it up.

The terrain became uneasily familiar, and she felt that cold fear rising up her spine and chilling her throat. Soon now - soon. The first of the border-protections was not that far from here; soon she would have to dismount, shed cloak and coat, and key herself up to the point where she could ignore pain and exhaustion, and run like one of the
dyheli
herself.

By dawn, if all went well, she would be inside the fortress itself. Alone. . . .

: Alone, like bloody hell,:
the sword snorted scornfully.
:What am I, an old tin pot?:

The image that Need sent to her, of Nyara wielding a tin pot against fearful guards, made her smother a giggle, and completely dispelled the fear. Of course she wasn’t alone! She had Need beside her, Skif behind her - she would never really be alone again!

:That’s the spirit. Just keep thinking that way.:

And somehow, she did, as she and Skif followed Winter-moon deeper into the forest, past the valley where the
dyheli
herd had been caught by one of her father’s traps so long ago, closer to the border and the first of the barriers that she must cross.

Elspeth had been feeling eyes on the back of her neck for the past league and more, ever since they had sprung the trap meant for a bondbird. A particularly nasty thing, Brytha had spotted it and had alerted them to the fact that there were both physical and magical defenses in the trees as well as on the ground. If Vree had encountered such a thing unprepared, it would certainly have caught and hurt him and might well have killed him. But then, Falconsbane was well aware that harming the bondbird meant harming its bond-mate.

The night-shrouded forest had held plenty of traps, not all of them Falconsbane’s. Rocks and roots lurked beneath the snow, to trip even the wariest. Shadows could hide anything - or nothing. Elspeth’s night-sight was not of the best, and she was forced to rely on Gwena’s physical senses entirely - although, truthfully, that meant she could devote most of her attention to her mage-senses, spying out trouble.

Trouble there was, right enough, and it increased the closer they got to Falconsbane’s lands. Alarms, and more traps, some meant to hold, and some meant to kill. Places where Falconsbane’s underlings had simply left things to trip up the unwary, to make them delay. Nothing living, though; Elspeth was not sure if that was a good or bad sign.

Now, with the gray light of dawn creeping over the forest and Vree scouting overhead, she was so tense with anxiety that she felt like a spring too tightly wound - and would have been starting at every little sound, if she had not held herself under careful control. This was the first time she, personally, had played decoy - the Heir to the Throne of Valdemar was far too important to risk as a decoy or bait - and now she knew how Kero and the Skybolts had felt when they were playing this little game.

I can’t show I know we’re in danger, or we stop being such attractive targets. . . .

If everything was going according to plan, the gryphons would be completing their task if they had not already done so. Nyara would be deep inside her father’s stronghold. And very soon
they
would be free to sprint back for the shelter of the Vale and the protections of a Vale full of mages and Adepts.

Nyara was already inside her father’s lands, if not his stronghold; Skif had relayed that via Cymry just past midnight. He and Wintermoon had seen her safely past the first line of defenses, and had gone to the rally-point, the place she would reach if she could when this was all over. But there was no way of knowing how far she was at this point.

Please, whatever gods there be
-
Star-Eyed, Kernos, Astera, whatever you call yourselves
-
let us all come through this with bodies and minds and hearts intact -

Elspeth was exhausted and getting wearier with every passing moment; this business of springing traps was not as easy as it had sounded. Yes, they could use the power of the ley-lines to augment their own -
when
they could reach them. Some of Falconsbane’s own lines overlaid the natural ones, rendering them inaccessible. And some of the lines were protected against meddling by Falconsbane’s own power. No, nothing was as simple as it had sounded when they first made this plan, and it had not truly seemed all that simple then!

She caught Darkwind’s eye; he smiled at her, but it seemed more than a little strained.

:He’s in about the same shape you are,:
Gwena said gently.
:And your imagination is not acting up. You
are
being watched. Imperfectly
-
the Shin’a’in are doing what they can
-
but Falconsbane knows you‘re here and he knows
who
you are. :

Well, that was the object of this little excursion, wasn’t it? To take the attention off of Nyara and the gryphons? Nevertheless, she felt a chill run up her back as the feeling of
being watched
increased, and the malevolence behind the watching “eyes” made itself felt.

:Vree says the gryphons are done!:
Darkwind exulted, suddenly.
:The last line is loose!:

Distance-Mindspeech was a hazard around Falconsbane - the kind he was watching for, at any rate. But they had something he didn’t; the gryphons Mindspoke to Vree, and he in turn to Darkwind - and all at a level it was doubtful Falconsbane was even aware of, much less could eavesdrop upon.

She and Gwena turned, following Darkwind’s lead as if they had decided they had come far enough on an ordinary patrol, and were turning back.

Ice crawled up her spine, her stomach was one huge knot of fear and nausea, and she kept looking out of the corners of her eyes for the first signs that Falconsbane was going to attack.
We can’t run. If we run, he’ll chase us. We can’t hold him off if he goes all-out against us. So we have to look as if we ‘re just changing directions, and hope that he doesn‘t lose interest. . . .

Huh. Better hope that he doesn‘t decide he‘s not going to let us slip away when he realizes we ‘re headed away from him!

At least we know the gryphons succeeded.

If only they had some such bond with Nyara. She licked lips gone dry with a tongue just as dry with fear, and felt her stomach tighten a little more.

Nyara crept along the dusty passages between the walls of her father’s stronghold, moving as quietly as only she could. In this, she was her father’s superior; he had never mastered the art of moving without noise, without even the sound of a breath. Then again, he had never had need to. He had never had anyone to fear or avoid.

In all his life, he never had to hide from anyone.

Not like a certain small girl, who had huddled for hours in these passageways to avoid him - to avoid what he had in store for her.

She felt fear starting to cramp her stomach, and sternly told it to relax.
Deep breaths. Slowly. Tension brings mistakes; fear is
his
weapon.