Storm breaking (24 page)

A great deal more of Tarrn was visible. An'desha knew
kyree
from his acquaintance with Rris, but he had not had much opportunity to get to know any
hertasi
. A few had come with Silverfox and the Kaled'a'in delegation to Valdemar, but he hadn't had much to do with them. And of course, Falconsbane was universally despised by both races, in all his lives, so he would hardly have had any congress with them.

At just that moment, the
hertasi
spoke up; the
hertasi
associated with the Kaled'a'in tended to vocalize far more often than they used Mindspeech, the exact reverse of the habits of the ones associated with the Hawkbrothers.

"I believe I am thawed enough to make the dash for the Tower," he said, in a high-pitched voice with hints of a whistling sound underlying the tone.

:Excellent, Lyam,:
the
kyree
replied.
:They tell me our baggage is already there, waiting for us. If we truly make a dash, you won't get too much of a chill.:

"Florian says he'll be happy to carry Lyam, if Lyam thinks he can cling on," Karal spoke up. "Florian can get him to the tunnel mouth faster than he can get there on foot." He turned toward the
hertasi
, polite but a little uncertain in addressing such an odd creature. "A Companion's gait is very smooth, and I've never heard of one losing a rider, and you should see one run!"

"I have never tried riding, but if I can get from White Gryphon to here without the loss of limb or tail, I think I should be able to survive an attempt on a Companion's back," the
hertasi
said with warm good humor. "And almost anything is worth not having to walk through snow myself!"

"We ssshall ssstay herrre overrrnight," one of the gryphons said. "Thisss issss verrry comforrrtable, and we do
not
want to go underrrgrrround even to sssee the Towerrr!" The others nodded with agreement.

"It isss wonderrrful to be wherrre the grrreat Ssskandrrranon once wasss, but he did not have to crrrawl underrrgrrround," said another, flicking his wings nervously. "I do not know how Trrreyvan and Hydona borrre it."

The
kyree
didn't shrug, but An'desha had the impression that if he could have, he would have. "Suit yourselves; you will have to make do with my descriptions, then."

"Yourrr dessscrrriptionsss will be asss if we werrre therrre," the first gryphon said firmly. "I will fly the ssssky that Ssskandrranon flew, and that will be enough forr me."

Tarrn stood up, and shook himself thoroughly.
:One more dash, then, and we will be where no
kyree
or
hertasi
has set foot in thousands of years!:
He seemed to relish the prospect with scarcely-restrained glee, and the air of a creature a quarter of his apparent age.
:Well, friends, let us take these last few paces at the gallop!:

Firesong, who had known many
kyree
and
hertasi
in his life, was comfortable with these two immediately. Tarrn had all of the warmth and wisdom of Irrl, one of Firesong's academic teachers, and Lyam had a great deal more assertiveness than most of the normally-timid Vales-bred
hertasi
. Although Firesong loved to be petted and made much of by his own
hertasi
, he had always found the shyness of the Vale
hertasi
something of an irritation. Someone once suggested that their manner was reflective of the deep trauma they had suffered during the Cataclysm, and that worried him deeply; if that was so, how would they react to another such event?

They'll cope, I suppose; it's the thing they do best. I don't know how they manage.

Both
kyree
and
hertasi
were at heart cave- and den-dwellers, and both of the new arrivals were obviously comfortable in the Tower. They settled into the same room shared by Karal and An'desha with every evidence of content. They had not yet moved in their luggage, but the Shin'a'in had brought appropriate bedding material for both of the new guests—and extra warming pans for both beds. As far as personal belongings went, the two had traveled much lighter than he had expected. Their main luggage consisted of boxes of very special writing materials; books of tough paper with waterproof metal covers that locked over the contents like protective boxes, and ink that would never run once it had dried, even if water was spilled directly on it. Tarrn was a historian; not a traditional
kyree
historian like Rris, who memorized and recited from memory—but the kind of historian like the Chronicler of Valdemar, who attempted to personally view as much as possible of epochal events, and to note the honest and bare facts in record-books called Chronicles. Only when those hard facts had been listed would Tarrn then make his own interpretations of the events, written separately in Commentaries. Tarrn was very serious about his calling; he would rather have the fur pulled out of his tail until it was as naked as a rat's than put a personal interpretation in the Chronicles.

Actually, that wasn't precisely true. Tarrn would dictate, for, having no hands, he could not write. Lyam would do the actual writing. Lyam was Tarrn's third secretary in a long life as a historian, and his relationship with the
kyree
was obviously based on affection and mutual respect. Normally it was Lyam who cared for the
kyree's
needs, but with Lyam just now the one who was in need, Tarrn was seeing to it in a quiet and dignified manner that Lyam got first priority.

Lyam needed warmth more than anything else, and Karal volunteered to take care of him. Firesong had an idea that he knew why, too. At heart, Karal still considered himself to be the young secretary who had ridden to Valdemar from Karse, and he must be feeling a great deal of empathy for Lyam.

That's good; they are both strangers in strange places, and it will do them good to have a friend with the same—outlook? Status? They have a lot in common, anyway.

Tarrn, however, was quite ready for work, and looked it. He had been consulting with Silverfox all the way here from the tent-village. Firesong could not imagine where he was getting the energy.

He approached Firesong with Silverfox still in tow as soon as Karal took Lyam off to be wrapped up in warmed blankets and given something hot to drink.

"Firesong, Tarrn wants to speak with you privately, before we get to work," Silverfox told him, with a quizzical expression. "He says he has something for you, but he can't tell me what it is."

The
kyree
nodded his head as Firesong turned to look down on him with surprise.
:Indeed, Firesong k'Treva,:
Tarrn said with grave courtesy.
:I have. Would you come with me to where they have brought our belongings?:

"Certainly," Firesong replied with equal courtesy. "Would you prefer that I Mindspoke with you?"

:That will not be necessary, but thank you,:
Tarrn replied, turning and walking slowly toward the heap of bundles that the Shin'a'in had left just inside the main room of the Tower.

:It is not that this is a secret matter,:
the
kyree
continued.
:It is simply that I have not been given permission to say anything to anyone else before I discharged my obligation.:

"Oh?" This was getting odder with every moment. Firesong couldn't think of anything or anyone among the Kaled'a'in of k'Leshya Vale who would have had anything to send to him.

Tarrn stopped beside the pile of belongings.
:If you will please remove the three bags of Lyam's clothing there—:
he indicated the drab bundles with his forepaw.
:—you will find what I brought you beneath them. It is wrapped in blue wool, and it is very long and narrow.:
Firesong easily moved the three packages, revealing a long, narrow packet wrapped in blue wool cloth and tied with string. Firesong picked it up.

And it Mindspoke to him.

:Hello, boy.:
The grating, decidedly
female
voice was all too familiar to him, although it was not one he had expected to hear ever again.

"
Need
?" he gasped, as he tore at the wrappings, trying to free the blade within. Lyam must have wrapped it; the string was tied in a complicated knot-pattern only a
hertasi
or a
kestra'chern
could admire. He finally pulled off the string, the fabric fell away, and there was the ancient spell-bound sword. She looked precisely as she had the last time he saw her, strapped to Falconsbane's "daughter" Nyara's side as she and Herald Skif rode out of Valdemar to become Selenay's envoys to the Kaled'a'in and Tayledras, and possibly to the Shin'a'in as well.

"Need, what are you
doing
here?" He hadn't been taken so completely by surprise since—since he'd been kidnapped by his ancestor Vanyel!

:Nyara doesn't require me anymore; she's better off on her own,:
the sword said to him.
:There's nothing at k'Leshya that she, Skif, or the Kaled'a'in can't handle. You, on the other hand, are dealing with very old magics. I am very old magic, and I still recall quite a bit. I helped you once before, and I'm hoping I can help you again.:

Firesong held the sword in both hands, and stared at it. It was very disconcerting to be Mindspeaking with what should have been an inanimate object. A sword didn't have a face to read, eyes to look into, and it was difficult to tell if
it
could read his expressions.

But there's something about all this that doesn't quite make sense yet.

"I find myself wondering if there is something more to this than just an urge to help us here," he said finally. "You've never put yourself in nonfemale hands before."

:Hmm—let's say I've never done it deliberately, but it has happened, and it was usually with lads who had the same taste in men as my "daughters.":
The sword chuckled, but he sensed there was still a lot more than she was telling, and he decided to press her for it.

:Try again,:
he said sternly in Mindspeech.
:You're avoiding my question.:

A sword could not sigh, but he got that sensation from her.

:All right. I could tell you to work it out yourself, but why waste time? You've got mage-storms disrupting magic; you've managed to get them canceled out for the moment, but we all know this is only a temporary respite, not a solution. I'm magic. I've managed to hold myself together this long, but each Storm gets stronger, and sooner or later I'm going to lose to one. I don't know what will happen when I lose, but it's going to happen.:
She paused for a moment
. :Worst case is that I'll go up in fire and molten metal, the way the sword was made. Best case is that the magic will just unravel, and there won't be anything here but a perfectly ordinary sword.:

He had never once thought that Need might be affected by the Storms; she had always struck him as being so capable, so impervious, that it never occurred to him that she might have been in trouble.

This bothered him.
:I can't promise anything,:
he said soberly.
:I don't even know if we're going to survive the end of this ourselves.:

To his surprise, the sword laughed, though rather sardonically.
:You think I don't know that? If I go pfft, I don't want little Nyara to see it happen. She had enough troubles in her life and she shouldn't lose an old friend and teacher in that unexpected a fashion. Besides, if I'm going to go, I want to do it while I'm trying to accomplish something. How could I miss a chance at getting my hand in on what you're trying to do—It's complicated, it's dangerous, it's challenging, it's irresistible.:

"If you say so," he said aloud, but strapped the sword on anyway, for she required his presence to be able to see and hear clearly. Without a bearer, it took incredible effort for her to perceive anything, and at that it was only dimly. He didn't often carry a blade, and she felt very odd, slung across his back in Tayledras fashion. "An'desha will probably be happy to see you, but you're going to have to explain yourself to the rest. They don't know anything about you."

And the gods only know what the Shin'a'in are going to make of her.
Yes, Kethry had carried her, and Kerowyn after that, but still—she was yet another creature of magic inside the heart of the Plains. How much more were they going to be willing to allow?

:I can't wait,:
Need replied, with a bit less irony than he expected.
:There's something rather amusing about the reactions people get the first time I talk to them.:

Amusing? Oh, gods.
Firesong buried his irritation at this particular complication in an already complicated situation; after all, Need was right about her abilities. She
did
know much older magics than anyone here, and that included An'desha. That might be crucial at this point, for there could be something ancient and long-forgotten that would give them all the clues they needed to solve this situation. She was a powerful mage in her own right—something near to an Adept, or she never could have made the magics that bound her human soul to an iron blade. He, An'desha, and Sejanes were the only true mages here; having Need with them gave them a fourth.

And if she is right, and the mage-storms overwhelm her along with the rest of us, she won't have to worry about how she unravels. If she dissolves into flame and melted steel, we here among all these dangerous machines of power will have far more to worry about than her.