Winds Of Fate

*Chapter Twenty two

Darkwind led the way for this strange parade of Outlanders, winding through the piles of stone on the weed-grown path that led from this end of the ruins to the gryphons' lair. It was a good thing that they had enlarged it; between two Outlanders, their spirit-horses, and Nyara, it would have been crowded otherwise. He wished strongly for something to ease his aching head, or to make him able to forget everything that had happened for the past several days. Or both.

Well, perhaps not everything.

I have my father back again. That was no small gain, even when weighed against all the grief and pain.

He concentrated on staying on his feet; glad beyond telling that this incursion would likely mean there would be nothing more today. If only he were in his ekele-he had begun this day wearied and emptied of all strength, or so he thought. He had not found anyone able to take his patrol for him, so he had taken to the border, resigned to another stretch without rest. It had been two days without sleep, now.

But it had been quiet, amazingly so-until, when (of course) he was at the very opposite end of his patrol, he sensed magic, powerful magic, being used somewhere near the gryphons' lair.

He'd thought it might have been Treyvan, doing something to free the gryphlets from Falconsbane's control. But any hope he'd had of that had been shattered by Treyvan's Mindcall.

There was a massing of Misborn beasts, Falconsbane's creatures, in pursuit of two humans-and one of those humans was using magic to try and drive them off. Without success, as it happened. The gryphons were going to their aid. It was his territory; so must he.

He, and they, had arrived on the spot simultaneously, to play rescuer to Outlanders. That had irritated him beyond reason; he was tired, and he saw no reason to save ignorant fools from the consequences of their own folly. He had intended to send them back where they came from, whether they were still in danger or not-until he actually saw who, or rather, what, he had rescued.

He glanced back over his shoulder at them, trying not to look as if he was doing so. "Unsettled" was the mildest term for the way he felt right now. "Shaken" probably came closer; profoundly shaken.

Well, it is not every day that a pair of Guardian Spirits and a pre-Magewar Artifact fold wings on your doorstep...And when one added the fact that the person bearing the Artifact-and in the charge of the more potent of the Guardian Spirits-was a completely untutored mage of Adept potential-If this is a trial of my abilities-the gods have no sense of proportion.

He was exhausted, bewildered, and one step short of collapsing. All he could think of was to take these Outlanders to the gryphons' lair, where they had left Nyara. Treyvan agreed; and concurred with his judgment that they did not dare let these two-four-five-wander about with things as unsettled as they were. If Falconsbane got his hands on them, as he was so obviously trying to do, Darkwind was not willing to think about what uses he might make of them.

With any luck, the Elders were so concerned with Starblade that they would not find out about these "visitors" until they were long gone.

And meanwhile, perhaps he could find somewhere safe to send them.

To the Shin'a'in? No, they had forsworn magic.

Could these two have stolen that sword from the soil of the Plains?

That horrifying thought nearly stopped him in his tracks, until he remembered that the blade did not have the air of disuse about it that something of that nature would-and that it did have the air of something that was alien to the kind of magics that lay buried in the Plains. Woman's magic; that was it. No, this was nothing that had been created by the thoroughly masculine Mage of Silence-and it did not have the look or feel of anything forged by the Shin'a'in. Weapons made for the servants of the Star-Eyed were as sexless as the Kal'enedral; this artifact was as female in its way as-as Nyara.

He staggered a little as he neared the I recovered himself before the Outlanders noticed. Above all, he had to present a strong front to them. There was no telling what kind of unwitting havoc they could cause if they thought he was less than vigilant, ineffectual-he was certain now that they meant no harm, not with Guardian Spirits hanging about them, but they could cause a great deal of trouble if they chose to meddle without knowing what they were about.

I could wish they were Shin'a'in; then we would have two more useful allies at this moment...Hydona was already in the lair when they reached it; Treyvan waited outside. "In there," he said, shortly, wishing he dared shake his head to clear his eyes. "If you have gear, Hydona will tell you the chamber you may use." When the young man looked from him to the spirit-horse doubtfully, he added, "The white ones, too. We will find them food if you do not have it." He bowed a little to the mare. "Zhaihell-va, lady. You honor k'sheyna with your presence." The spirit-mare looked flattered and surprised-so did the young man.

"You do not look well," Treyvan noted.

"I do not feel well, but I shall survive," he replied. He gave Vree a toss to send him to a perch above the lair "doorway" and stood, leaning (he hoped) casually, against the doorpost. The young man entered with his spirit-horse. The young woman's spirit-horse started to follow, and he averted his eyes with discomfort-Then he found himself sliding dizzily toward the ground, clinging not-socasually to the rock as his knees buckled.

Quickly, the young woman knelt beside him and unsheathed her sword.

"Peace, brother, she means no harm," Treyvan said calmly.

Darkwind wasn't so sure. He tried to get up a hand to fend her off-but instead, she put the hilt of the thing in his hand.

And he heard a strange, gravelly voice in his mind" She says if I don't Heal you she's going to drop me down the nearest well," the sword told him, annoyance warring with amusement in the overtones of its-her-mind-voice. "I think she must have been taking lessons in rudeness from her predecessor. And knowing Her Highness, she probably would." He nearly dropped the thing in shock, and only long training-never, never, never drop a blade-kept his numb fingers clutched to the hilt.

"Huh. Nothing too bad-overwork, under-rest. And-: He Felt the thing probing him and his memory, then suddenly pulling back. "oh, youngling," the sword said, dropping all cynicism. "You've had more heartbreak than anyone should ever face in a lifetime, and that much I can't Heal. But I'll do my best for you. Open your shields to me." She sounded so much like one of his teachers, an old, old Adept who had ordered him about as if she had been his mother, that he obeyed without thinking twice. She took instant action; in the next moment a gentle warmth stole over him, making him relax still further. He closed his eyes gratefully and let it in. Healers had worked on him before, but that had been for a major injury, not for general exhaustion.

First came the warmth and relaxation; then came new energy, new strength. It rose in him like a tide, rather than a flood; a rising tide of warmth and golden-green light that touched him within and without, folding him in great wings of brilliance, sheltering him as he had not been protected since he was a child. But the blade not only filled him with renewed physical energy, she also reopened his long-unused mage-channels, replenishing him with magical power as well.

He was vaguely offended at first, but then practicality took hold. He had said he was a mage. Any reasons for renouncing powers were gone.

There was, in fact, every reason why he should take up mage-craft again.

"Thank you," he told the blade. thank the girl," Need responded. "oh, I was an Adept, but never with the ability she has.

She and her teacher were the first in I don't know how long that fought me and won. And all this power-it's coming through her.

So save your thanks for her. I'll be done soon." The blade was as good as its word; the dizziness and weakness were gone, and shortly after that, he felt as refreshed as if he had never endured the stresses of the past five days.

He stood up and gingerly passed the sword back to its bearer. "That was kindly done," he said, with all the courtesy he could muster, embarrassed by the awareness that his dealings with her had been woefully short of courtesy up until this moment. "Thanks is not adequate, but it is all I can offer." She seemed first surprised, then pleased, then blushed, averting her eyes. "That's all right," she said, "I mean, you looked like you needed help. She doesn't like men much, but I figured I could convince her to do something for you." He looked to the young lady and spirit-mare, nodding gravely. "There have been troubles here," he told her. "There still are troubles-evil

ones-and you have tumbled unwitting into the midst of them. My time is short, my powers are strained, and my patience, alas, never was particularly good. Please, even if I offend you, never hesitate to follow my orders or Treyvan's. It may well mean not only your life but ours." She looked back up at him, resentment warring with respect in her eyes. Respect won.

"I will," she said, a little grudgingly, and he sensed that she was not often minded to follow anyone's orders, much less a stranger's. "You're right, I suppose. We're not from around here; we can't possibly know what's going on." Imperious, he noted thoughtfully. Used to giving the orders, not taking them. the sword called her "Highness." that may well be truth, rather than sarcasm.

"I am Darkwind k'sheyna," he told her. "This ruin is nominally part of k'sheyna territory; Treyvan and Hydona are the actual guardians here. There are few who would care to dispute boundaries with them." He meant that as a subtle warning, but she cocked her head to one side, looked from him to Treyvan and back again, and said accusingly,

"There is something very wrong here. You said we've walked into a situation we don't understand-but everything, absolutely everything I've seen tells me that it's worse than that. You people are in trouble." He narrowed his eyes speculatively. "Why do you say this?" he asked before he thought.

"Well, I'm thinking of you, for one thing," she said. "Need says you were exhausted, that you'd gone days without rest. You don't do that unless you're in some kind of trouble. Everything around here seems-well, it feels like being on the edge of a battlefield, on the eve of a war.

And if that's what we've walked into, I'd like to know." She gulped.

"I think, on the whole, I'd just as soon take my chances with those things you chased off. I'd rather not get caught in another all-out war.

Especially not a war involving magic." Again, he spoke before he thought, with a little more scorn than he had intended to show. "And what do you know of warfare?" She scowled. "I've fought in a few battles," she snapped. "Have you?

And you still haven't answered my question."

"Why should I?" he retorted. He raised his head proudly, planting his fists on his hips. "I know nothing of you, other than that you came across the Plains-and that you likely did without the knowledge of the Shin'a'in" What, you want my credentials?" she scoffed, now obviously very angry, but keeping a firm grip on herself. She turned quickly to her saddlebag and turned round again with a roll of vellum and something else. "All right, I'll give you what you'll recognize. My teacher's teacher was Tarma shena Tale'sedrin. My teacher is Captain Kerowyn of the Skybolts, cousin to most of the Tale'sedrin. She no longer rides a warsteed, but when she did, it was always called Hellsbane. I came to Kata'shin'a'in looking for Tale'sedrin. One found me; a Kal'enedral.

He, she, or it gave me these." She thrust the roll and an enameled copper disk at him. The latter, he recognized. It was one of the Clan tokens customarily used to identify Clansfolk passing through Tayledras lands. And it was, indeed, a genuine Tale'sedrin token. He even recognized the maker's glyph on the back. That they had given this Outlander one meant that they expected her to be passing through both the Plains and Tayledras territory, and had granted her as much safe passage as they could.

But the other thing, the roll of vellum, proved to be as great a shock as the spirit-horse.

It was a map of the Plains. Darkwind had heard of such things, but the normally secretive Shin'a'in had never before let one out of their hands, to his knowledge, not even to their cousin, Captain Kerowyn.

And it was a genuine map, not a fake. It showed every well and spring in the Plains, used the correct reckonings, and showed the correct landmarksat least as far as he could verify. For that much it was priceless.

It showed more than that; it showed, if you knew what to look for, the locations of common camp-sites of the four seed-Clans and the offshoot Clans. Anyone who had that information would know who held which territories, and where to find them...And it also showed the ruins here on the rim, circled in red ink, fresher than anything else on the map.

"That was where I was supposed to go, at least that's what I guessed," she said assertively, stabbing her finger at the red mark. "I don't know what it was I was intended to find, but it certainly looks to me as if I was to come here. If you know better, I'd be pleased to hear where I'm supposed to be."

"No," he replied vaguely, still staring at the solid evidence of Shin'a'in cooperation in his hands. "No, I would say that you are correct."

This incident was rapidly turning into something he was not ready to deal with. It had looked like a simple case of Outlanders wandering

where they didn't belong. Then it became a case of keeping these people out of Falconsbane's hands. But now it looked as if the Shin'a'in had sent these Outlanders here. And what that could mean, he did not know.

"Please," he said, rolling up the map and handing it back to her.

"Please, if you would only rejoin your friend, the young man, I need to speak with Treyvan." She set her chin stubbornly, but he could be just as stubborn. He crossed his arms over his chest and stood between her and the pathway out, silent, and unmoving except for his hair blowing in the breeze.

Finally she stuffed the map back in her belt with an audible sniff and turned to enter the lair.

She went inside-but the white spirit-horse did not.

The mare stared at Darkwind for so long he began to feel very uncomfortable.

It was very much as if she was measuring him against some arcane standard only she knew. In fact, she probably was, given the little he knew about manifesting spirits; Starblade had once seen a leshya'e Kal'enedral, but he never had, and he had been perfectly content to have it remain that way.

Evidently the gods had other ideas.

A word with you," the spirit-mare said. Then she looked up at Treyvan and included him in the conversation. "Both of you," she amended.

Treyvan looked down at the little mare from his resting place atop the lair, and rumbled deep in his throat. "We have many problems and little leisure, my lady," he replied in Mindspeech. "I do not mean to belittle your troubles, but we have no time for yours." She tossed her head and stamped one hoof with an imperiousness that matched her rider's. "that is exactly what I wish to speak with you about, your troubles! You are being very foolish to dismiss us so lightly. I tell you, you need us, and I swear to you that you may trust us..

With every word, she glowed a little brighter to his Mage-Sight, until he finally had to shield against her.

"Lady, I know you think I can trust you," he replied, stubbornly, "but you and she are not of my people; your ways are not ours, and what you think important may mean nothing to us." And please to dim yourself," Treyvan added "You do not need to set the forest afire to prove what you are." Her glow faded, and she pondered for a moment. "It is true that we are not of the same peoples, but I will tell you what brings us here. the child needs tutoring in mage-craft. that is the most important of our tasks. Other than that, we have no agenda to pursue. And we are four more to stand at your side in your troubles." She snorted delicately. "We have departed from the road that had been planned for her. At this point, I do not see how further deviation from that plan can matter." The road that had been planned for her? Interesting words, and ones that explained a great deal about the girl's temperament. I doubt I would much care for being blown about by the winds of fate. In fact-I just might become as belligerent as she has. He began to feel a bit more in sympathy with the girl. And quite a bit more inclined to trust her.

"Lady, we may not agree on what is to be done here," he warned. "This is Tayledras land; we follow the task given to us by our Lady, and nothing is permitted to interfere with that." She shook her mane impatiently. "Does it matter in whose name good is done? Evil done in the name of a Power of good is still evil. And good done in the name of a Power of evil is still good. It is the actions which matter, not the Name it is done for. You stand against evil here; we will help if you will have us. And then-perhaps-you may help us." Well, that seemed reasonable enough. He raised an eyebrow at Treyvan; the gryphon, adroit at reading human faces, cocked his head to one side. "She seems sincere. She is-something that cannot speak falsely.

And Darkwind, we and k'sheyna are not strong enough that we can afford to neglect any form of aid. Especially if we are to free Dawnfire and my children."

He nodded. "If that's the way you feel, then I agree." He turned to the mare. "Lady, we accept your offer with thanks." The spirit nodded emphatically. "Good. Shall we confer on what needs to be done?" Things to be done-the rescue of Dawnfire, for one thing. After Starblade's revelations, he was certain that she was in Falconsbane's hands.

He could not leave her there-he told himself it was for k'sheyna's sake, that the Clan could not afford another like Starblade-but it was as much for his sake as the Clan's. Over and over the thought had plagued him, intruding into everything, that if he had only been more vigilant, if he had only taken the time to explain why he had wanted her to stay clear of the gryphons that day, none of this would have happened to her. He knew now that he was not to blame for the shattering of the Heartstone-but this he was guilty of. He had allowed Falconsbane to lure him into relaxing his guard. And this was the result.

"Bring your people out," he told the spirit..As soon as they are ready to talk. And I will see if I can explain this before night falls. And explain," he added grimly, .just what it is that we mean to do."

To his surprise-although he should not have been surprised-the Outlanders had a very good grasp of the situation once he sketched it. As the young man said, "It's not much different from our position at home.

Except that the scale is a lot smaller." The girl sat with her chin resting on both her hands as she listened, then offered a question. "Why is it that this Falconsbane hasn't made a frontal assault on k'sheyna? He has to know that you're in trouble, and this would be the perfect time to take you." This Elspeth seemed much easier and more relaxed, now that her blade was out of its sheath and away from her. The spirit penned within the sword-"Need" was its name-had stated that there was very little it could contribute. It had never been a tactician or a leader and did not care to begin learning the craft now. Furthermore, there was a great deal she could do to shield the gryphlets from further tampering; so that was what she had been left to do.

Elspeth had been a leader and a tactician-at least in small skirmishesand she had studied her craft under one of the legendary mercenary Captains of the modern times. Word of the Shin'a'in "cousin" had penetrated even into Tayledras lands, via the few Bards that had congress with Tayledras and Shin'a'in. And her pupil's question had merit.

"I do not know," he replied frankly. "I am fairly certain that he has the power to pursue a frontal assault. It may be that he has not simply because he does not think in those terms; because he prefers to weaken from within, and gnaw away from without, until little by little he has wrought such damage that he can overcome his target with little effort or losses."

"That only works if you don't know what he's doing," she pointed out. "Once his victim knows-"

"It may be too late," Treyvan rumbled. "I sssussspect hisss tacticsss have done verrry well in the passst."

"He probably enjoys working that way," the young man-Skif, a very odd sort of name, to Darkwind's mind-put in. "I mean, it's obvious from what the cat-lady said that he positively revels in making people suffer. Seems to me he wouldn't get half the pleasure out of being straightforward." Elspeth bit off an exclamation. "That's it!" she exulted. "That's his weakness! That's what makes him vulnerable! He's so busy with his convoluted plans that if he sees us trying one thing, he might not expect a second attack that was perfectly straightforward. Look, Darkwind, if I were you, that's what I'd do; I'd pretend to try to negotiate with him, and while he thought he was tying me in knots, I'd make a straight assault to get Dawnfire free. I'd also try and do as much damage as I could on the way out," she added thoughtfully, "but then, I'm well known to be a vindictive bitch." She glanced sideways at Skif as she said that, and the young man looked sour. Evidently she was using words he had thrown at her at some point, and he was not enjoying hearing them now, tossed back in his face.

For his part, Darkwind was a little surprised by this interchange. He had been under the impression that these two were lovers, but evidently this was not so. He tucked the information into the back of his mind for later use in dealing with them. There were niceties needed with a pair of lovers that could be disposed of when working with a pair of friends or colleagues.

Such as splitting them up, for instance, sending one on one mission, and the second on another.

"It is a good notion," he told the girl. "Except that we are not supposed to know that Falconsbane even exists, much less that he holds Dawnfire."

"Damn," she said, with a frown. "I'd forgotten that. Well, what about that daughter of his, Nyara? Can she be useful?" Now that was a thought. Treyvan rose, anticipating his next words.

"I sssshall wake herrr," the gryphon said, folding his wings to fit more easily through the door of the lair. "We ssshall sssee if ssshe isss rrready to be morrre frrriend than enemy, asss ssshe claimsss.

Darkwind nodded, grimly. Now was the time for Nyara to show her true allegiances. There was a great deal about her father and her father's stronghold and abilities that she could tell them, if she chose. And-just perhaps-some of his weaknesses.

And if she did not choose to help them-well, she would see the Vale after all, as she had often wished. From inside, as he turned her over to the Adepts to be judged. He wondered what they would think of the creature that had eaten Starblade's bondbird before his eyes. No matter how extenuating the circumstances, he did not think they would be inclined to kindness.

Dawnfire stood on her squeaking mouse, killed it messily, and leaned down to pick it up head-first. She started swallowing it whole, trying her best not to think about what she was doing.

At least I'm not like a poor, stupid eyas that doesn't know which end to start on, she thought unhappily. At least I know enough to kill the things before I try to eat them. And I knew how to kill them in theory, if not in practice.

In fact, she had learned a lot more than she was displaying. She blessed the many times she'd spent in full-bond with Kyrr, and blessed Kyrr's memory for the way the hawk had shared every experience with her.

No, she was not a bird-but she had the memories of what it had been like to be a raptor, and once she had overcome her initial despair, those memories had helped her learn the ways of her new body.

They did not help her overcome her fear.

Fear of Falconsbane was only part of it. There was another fear, a constant fear that never left her, waking or sleeping. She knew what would happen as she remained in Kyrr's body-the longer she remained, the more of herself she would lose, until there was nothing left but the hawk. The fact that she had adapted to the body so quickly was both bad as well as good. The more comfortable she felt, the easier it would be to lose herself.

She tried to hold onto herself, with utter desperation. She tried to remember everything about the scouts, the Vale, Darkwind-and she panicked when she found herself in the midst of a memory and could not remember a face, a name, a setting. Was it just that these things had slipped her mind-or was it that her mind was slipping? There was no way to know.

And what had happened to her body, back in the Vale? What if Falconsbane had killed that along with Kyrr's soul? What would she do then?

The past two days had felt like two months. Time stretched out unbearablyand there was nothing to distract her from fear and brooding.

When those thoughts drove her into a state of frenzy, there was only one way to break the cycle. She plotted her escape. She had been taken outside enough times on a creance to know all the places where escape might be possible. If she could get away-no, when she got away, she would not think "if"-she would head straight up, as high as a redshouldered could go. From there, she would have an unparalleled view of the countryside; her scouting experience would tell her where she was.

If she didn't recognize anything, she would circle until she did see a landmark she knew. And Falconsbane shouldn't be able to touch her.

Planning kept her sane; planning and practice.

When Falconsbane was not in the room, she practiced, as she had seen the fledglings practice; flapping until she lifted herself just above the perch; hopping down the length of her jesses and flying back to her perch. When she had to kill her food, she did so with a clumsiness that was feigned more and more often. She took out her anger on the hapless mice, ripping them with talons and beak after she had killed them.

Though it was still all she could do to force herself to eat the mice afterward.

Falconsbane was not paying a great deal of attention to her, but she continued the charade, lurching clumsily up to the perch and taking a long time to get settled. She watched him carefully as she cleaned her talons and beak. He'd been very preoccupied today; and he had evidently forgotten, if he had ever known, just how wide a field of vision a raptor had. She could watch him easily without ever seeming to pay attention to him.

He had been staring at the scrying stone; no longer relaxed, and no longer so infernally pleased with himself. She had finally decided that the scrying stone wouldn't work anywhere except this room; certainly he never took it with him, and there was nothing else here but her perch, his couch, the cabinets he kept his toys of pain and pleasure in, and the stone. For the past two days he had spent more and more time here; watching the stone, and getting very intent about something. She overheard him muttering to himself; evidently he had also forgotten how sharp a raptor's hearing was.

There was something about "heralds," though what that would have to do with anything, she had no notion. There was more about "Valdemar " and a "queen;"

"Hardorn," and

"Ancar." He seemed very preoccupied with two quite different sets of people. One set seemed to be traveling, and they had something he wanted.

"Wanted?" That was like saying that she "wanted" her freedom. He lusted over this object, whatever it was, with an intensity she had never seen him display before.

The other people were connected with this "Ancar," who seemed to be the enemy of the first group of people. From the pacing and muttering that went on after he had watched this person, she gathered that he was toying with the notion of contracting with this "Ancar" and proposing an alliance.

That was something new for him, or so she gathered. He wanted to-and yet he did not want to chance losing the slightest bit of his own power.

Then, this afternoon, something had changed. The people he had been watching escaped what he had thought was a perfect trap. And they had taken the thing that he wanted with them.

Falconsbane flew into a rage and flung the stone against the opposite wall with such force that he splintered the rock of the wall and reduced the stone to fragments, and she shrank back onto her perch, doing her best not to attract him to her by moving or making a sound. He paid no attention to her whatsoever; he roared for one of his servants to come and clean up the mess, and stood over the trembling boy, looking murderously at him as the terrified child carefully gathered the sharp shards in his shaking, bare hands.

Dawnfire trembled herself, expecting at any moment that he would take out his temper on the boy as he had on the stone. There would be true murder then-With a sick feeling, she watched him reach down, slowly, clawed hands spread wide-But before he touched the boy, the door flew open, and two men in some kind of ornate uniform flung themselves into the room to abase themselves at his feet, babbling of "failure" and "mercy." Falconsbane started, then grabbed the child to cover his surprise. He pulled the boy up to his feet by his hair, and threw him bodily toward the door, showering the shards around him. This time the boy did not try to pick them up; he simply made good the chance to flee. The guards blanched and immediately went back to groveling with more heartfelt sincerity than before.

He listened to them a while, then cut them short with a single gesture.

"Enough!" he growled, the fingers of his right hand crooked into claws, with the talons fully extended.

The two men fell absolutely silent.

"You failed to capture the artifact," he said, his voice rumbling dangerously.

You failed to corner the quarry, you failed to keep them from finding aid, and you failed to acquire the artifact when you had the opportunity. I should take your lives; I should-remake you." The men whitened to the color of fresh snow.

"There is nothing you can say that will redeem your complete stupidity," Falconsbane continued. "You will report to Drakan for your punishment.

I have not the time to waste upon you." The two men started to get up; a single snarl from Falconsbane sent them back to their faces.

"I do have time to retrieve from your worthless bodies a modicum of the power you wasted in this effort." He stretched out his right hand and spread it over the two prone men.

Dawnfire was not certain what exactly he did-but she saw the result clearly. The two men sat back on their heels suddenly, jerked erect like a pair of puppets. Their white faces were frozen in masks of pain, and their limbs trembled and jerked uncontrollably. Their mouths were open, but they uttered not so much as a single sound.

What was truly horrible about the entire tableau was the expression on Falconsbane's face.

He looked like a creature in the throes of sexual ecstasy. He had tossed his long, flowing hair back over his shoulders, and he stared off into nothingness with his eyes half-closed in pure pleasure. His fingers flexed; every time they did, the two men's bodies jerked, and their faces took on new lines of agony. Falconsbane's eyes closed completely, and he lifted his face to the light in obscene bliss.

Finally, he knotted his hand into a fist; the men shuddered, then collapsed.

He opened his eyes, slowly, and gazed down on his victims with a slow, sated smile. "You may go," he purred. "Now.

Limbs stirred feebly; heads raised, and the two men began to move.

Too weak to do anything else, they crawled toward the door, slowly and painfully.

And that wasn't even their "punishment." That was just Falconsbane's way of reminding them that he was their master in all things.

The first man reached the door and crawled out. All of Dawnfire's feathers slicked down flat to her body in fright. She couldn't have moved now if she had wanted to.

"Greden," Falconsbane said, as the second man started out the door.

The guard stopped, frozen; in a macabre way, he looked funny, like someone caught pretending to be a dog.

"Greden, send Daelon to me on your way out." Falconsbane turned, ignoring the man's whispered acknowledgment, and began pacing beside his couch.

In a few moments, another man entered; an older man, lean and fit, with elaborate, flowing garments and dark gray hair and beard. "My lord?" he said, waiting prudently out of reach. Falconsbane ignored him for a moment, his face creased with a frown of concentration. The man waited patiently; patience was a necessity with Mornelithe Falconsbane, it seemed. Patience, and extreme care.

Finally Falconsbane stopped pacing and flung himself down on the couch. "Daelon, I am going to propose an alliance, to King Ancar of Hardorn."

"Very good, my lord," Daelon responded, bowing deeply. "Alliances are always preferable to conflict.

Falconsbane smiled, as if he found the man's opinions amusing."I've been in contact with him for some time, as you know; with him, and some other rulers of the East. He agreed to meet with me in person, but he would not set a time." Falconsbane's smile faded. "When he would not specify a date, I insisted that he must come here, and that it was to be within three months of the initial agreement."

"I assume that he has set a date, my lord?" Daelon asked smoothly.

"Finally." Falconsbane scowled. "He told me just before that disaster Greden was in charge of that he will be arriving in three days' time."

"Very good, my lord. By Gate, my lord?" Daelon asked, with one eyebrow raised.

Falconsbane snorted with contempt. "No. The fool calls himself a mage, yet he cannot even master a Gate. That, it seems, was the reason he would not set a date. He had to travel overland, if you will, and he did not wish anyone to know that he was en route." Daelon produced a superior, smug smile. "Then you wish me to ready the guest quarters, my lord?"

"Exactly," Falconsbane nodded. "I expect I will be able to persuade him to accept my hospitality after several weeks of primitive inns and the like." Dacion raised one eyebrow. "Do I take it he will not be coming directly here?" Once again, Falconsbane snorted. "He prefers, he says, to remain in 'neutral' lands. I directed him to the valley I flooded with death-smoke a while ago. It is secure enough, the horned vermin will not be using it again soon, and if he proves unreliable, well-" the Adept shrugged, rippling his hair and mane. "I flooded it once and can do so again."

"Very good, my lord," Daelon bowed, and smiled. "Better to eliminate a menace than deal with a conflict." Falconsbane chuckled; the deep, rumbling laugh that Dawnfire knew only too well. She crouched a little smaller on her perch. "Ah, Daelon, your philosophy is so-unique." Daelon bowed again, smiled, but said nothing. Falconsbane waved negligently at him. "Go," he said. Then as Daelon started for the door' he changed his mind. "Wait," he called, and scooped something up from beside his couch. As Daelon turned, he tossed something at him; and as the servant caught it, Dawnfire saw it was the falconer's glove.

"Take that bird with you," he yawned. "I am fatigued, and she no longer amuses me. Take her to the mews; it is time for her to learn her place in life."

"Very good, my lord," Daelon repeated. When the servant approached Dawnfire, she tensed, expecting trouble, but evidently he was so unfamiliar with falconry that he did not even attempt to hood her.

He merely took the ends of her jesses, clumsily, in his free hand, and stuck his gloved hand in her general direction.

If he didn't know enough about falconry to hold her jesses properly, he might not know enough to hold them tightly.

She hopped onto his hand as obediently as a tamed cage-bird, and remained quiet and well-behaved. And as he carried her out of the room, and away from Falconsbane's sight, she saw with elation that he was barely holding the tips of her jesses. Of course, she had fouled them; she couldn't have helped that. He evidently found that very distasteful, and he was avoiding as much contact with the chalked leather as possible.

And he was holding the arm she rested on stiffly, far away from his body, lest (she supposed) she also drop on his fine robes. And if that particular function had been within her control, she would have considered doing just that.

He could not find a servant anywhere as they passed through silent stone corridors on the way to the outside door; that elated her even further, even as it visibly annoyed him. He was going to have to take her outside himself...He dropped the jesses, leaving them loose, as he wrestled with the massive brass-bound, wooden door, trusting in her apparent docility.

She rewarded that trust as he got the door open; a real hawk would have bolted the moment a scrap of sky showed, but she was not sure enough of her flying ability to try for an escape. The man was so fussy she was hoping he would take the time to make sure the door was closed before reaching for her jesses again.

Please, Lady of Stars, please don't let him see a servant out here... He looked about him, squinting in the light, as he emerged from behind the bulky door into the flagstoned courtyard, frowning when he found the courtyard as empty as the corridors. He held her with his arm completely extended, away from his body, as he started to shove the door closed.

YES!

She crouched and launched herself into the air, wings beating with all her might, just as she had practiced. With a cry of despair, Daelon made a grab for her dangling jesses-But it was too late. She flung herself into the freedom of the blue sky, putting every bit of her strength into each wingbeat, exaltation giving her an extra burst of power, as Daelon dwindled beneath her, waving in wild despair.