Storm Warning (18 page)

story goes.
But surely, there were people who would be very unhappy if certain Heralds were to reappear after their demise—and Companions, unlike the Cats, could be killed.

There could be emotional conflicts among the Heralds as well. How would a loved one feel, knowing that the beloved ex-Herald
could return if he chose,
even if in a tather—inconvenient—form? It would be devastating if he
did,
and nearly as bad if he
didn’t.

As he was mulling all this over, he caught sight of Laylan staring back at him over his shoulder—and when he caught his eye, he nodded as if he had been following his very thoughts.

As
if—like Hansa—he
can see what is in my mind—Once again, he sat frozen in place, stunned. Like Hansa. The Cats are like
Companions
—

Once again, he nodded; gravely, but unmistakably.

Only one thought floated up out of the shock.

And he could not for the life of him decide if that realization was a reassuring one.

An’desha stared unhappily out the window of his provisional home. Late afternoon sunset streamed through the branches of the trees around Firesong’s
ekele,
and left patches of gilding on the grass beyond the windows. The silence that must surely be outside was not mirrored within. The indoor garden was full of laughter and talk, even to the point where the burbling of the waterfalls and fountains was overwhelmed by human chatter.

An‘desha sat on a rock ledge in the farthest comer of the hot pool, dangling his feet in the water and trying not to sulk. He could not suppress his bitter unhappiness, though, and by the gods, he wasn’t sure he wanted to! Firesong had
not
consulted him on this; he hadn’t even been warned that there were visitors coming this afternoon. Firesong had simply showed up with all of them in tow, some of whom An’desha had never even met before. It was rude, it was unfair, and he was not in a mood to make the best of it.

This was
supposed
to be his retreat away from all the strangeness of Valdemar—so why did Firesong have to bring half of Valdemar into the retreat and spoil it?

Well, maybe not half of Valdemar, but it certainly sounded like it. The garden
felt
overcrowded, and the fragile peace he had been trying to cultivate was shattered.

An’desha had not had a very good day today; not that everything had gone wrong, but nothing had quite gone
right.
Firesong kept telling him that he needed to get out and interact with other people, to
meet
some of these foreigners, so today he he had gritted his teeth and made an attempt, hoping for Firesong’s approval. Hoping for some success to show him, however small that was.

He’d gone off on his own this afternoon while Firesong taught the young mages. A few days ago he had volunteered to help a group of those youngsters who wore the rust, blue, or gray clothing with one of their lessons in Shin’a’in, and their teacher had gladly accepted his offer. Today was to have been the first of those lessons, and An’desha had some vague idea that he might socialize with them after the lesson. Wasn’t that what these strange children did? First have lessons, then socialize?

The lesson had gone on all right, but afterward, when they accepted his hesitant suggestion that they could ask him questions and he would try to answer them, he’d retreated in bewildered confusion within a few stammered sentences. They were just too—weird. They weren’t anything like the Shin’a’in of his Clan; they seemed avidly, greedily curious about everything, at least to him, and they asked things he considered terribly callous and horribly intrusive. Of course it was possible that they had no idea that they were being so intrusive—and it was possible that with their limited grasp of Shin’a’in they simply didn’t know what they were asking, but why ask him all those prying questions about Firesong? And what in the name of the Star-Eyed was a “Tayledras mating circle?”

Rudeness was bad enough, but they were also shallow, or at least their questions pointed in that direction. To him they seemed selfish and preoccupied with trivialities. He found himself getting angry at them for being so cavalier and carefree, then was appalled at himself for being angry with them simply for acting like children.

A Shin’a’in child was an adult the day he (or she) could ride out on the horse he had trained from a colt, and survive on his own on the Plains for one week. That could be any age from nine up. These Valdemarans, raised in cities, had no such measuring stick for maturity. They
were
children—more to the point, for all that they were not all that much younger than his apparent age, they were sheltered, protected children. He gathered that most of them had never personally been touched by the war that had threatened their land, and certainly none of them could ever even imagine, in their worst nightmares, the kinds of things
he
had gone through. How could he fault them for being what they were?

But they not only had nothing in common with him, they were so very different from him that they might just as well have been gryphons or
kyree.
For that matter, he had more in common with the perpetually ebullient Rris than he did with any of
them!
At least he understood why Rris was always asking questions; he was a historian, and he wanted not only the facts, but the feelings and reasoning that brought the facts about.
Kyree
oral histories took these factors into account; they were important parts of the tale. These children had no such excuses for
their
greedy curiosity.

So he returned in confusion and some distress to the only shelter he had anymore—only to find that Firesong had led an invasion of Valdemar into the place where he sought tranquillity, an invasion planned without his knowledge or consent.

Oh, granted, there were only half a dozen of the strangers, but it seemed like more, three times more. They poured into his garden and inserted themselves into his heated pool, barely stopping long enough in their ongoing conversation to greet him. And if he sequestered himself upstairs, Firesong would want to know why and probably be disgusted with him for not even trying to be polite and sociable. So he stayed and found himself virtually excluded from the conversation anyway, simply because he had no idea what was going on or what they were talking about.

To his right were Elspeth and Darkwind; well, at least he knew them. Elspeth was the daughter of the ruler of this place, and a Herald—she had a spirit-creature called a “Companion” that looked something like a horse and spoke in the mind. A lithe and lively young woman, her dark hair was now more silver than sable, and her eyes a soft blue-gray, turned that way by her use of the node-energy from the Heartstone beneath her mother’s palace. She was that unique creature among humans, strong
and
beautiful, and perfectly self-confident, if rather head-strong. Darkwind was another Hawkbrother, an Adept, though not the equal of Firesong, with the raptoral features of most Tayledras, and the pure silver hair and blue eyes all Tayledras grew into eventually, simply by living around Heartstones. Both Elspeth and Darkwind knew Firesong long before An’desha had met any of them; he got the impression that Firesong had been their teacher at one point.

Beyond them, up to their necks in hot water, were a tall blonde woman they called “Kero” and a man whose name An‘desha hadn’t even caught. It had sounded something like “elder” and that surely couldn’t be right. Both of them were older than anyone else here, but An’desha wouldn’t have challenged either of them to a fight. Their muscles and the way they moved told him that they were a lot more dangerous than they looked. The clothing that the man had shed was of the white kind worn by the Heralds, and though the woman had been wearing dark leather gear, they both seemed to have those same kind of spirit-beasts that Elspeth partnered.

Beyond them was Firesong, holding court, and beyond him, the Shin’a’in envoy and some mage or other this “Kero” knew who looked to have a lot of Shin’a’in blood in him. He was a little younger than Kero was, and although he had the dark hair and golden skin of a man of the Plains, he had emerald green eyes. Besides, he was definitely a mage, and An‘desha knew from personal experience that no Shin’a’in could be a mage, unless he was a shaman as well. He seemed comfortable in this strange gathering, anyway. A lot more comfortable than An’desha, who
belonged
here.

Not a huge group, after all—only six, eight if you counted An‘desha and Firesong, but they were all such vivid personalities that An’desha felt smothered, ignored, or both. They were all chattering away like old friends, which they probably
were,
but they seemed to have forgotten that An’desha didn’t know any of them, really.

This invasion of his private preserve, coming at the end of an uncomfortable afternoon, made him want to throw a very childish tantrum. He wanted to be alone with Firesong—no matter how hard it was to reconcile his feelings about the young mage, at least Firesong was one person he could
understand.
Firesong would make excuses for him and help find answers! An’desha wanted the music of falling water, not insistent chatter. Or, if there must be talk, he wanted to talk to Firesong about his difficulties with these strange, intrusive people of Valdemar. They were nice enough, but nosey.

He would have said that he wanted to go home, except that he had no home, and this was the closest he was likely to get. Now these strangers had just proved that it wasn’t his home, and never would be, simply by being here.

He didn’t want to share Firesong or his place with the group of laughing, splashing invaders.

They were talking like mad things in three languages, only two of which he understood at all well; his own Shin’a’in and Tayledras. They chattered about
more
people and doings he knew nothing about.

That was not all that upset him. There was something about this gathering that set his nerves on edge, something intangible that had nothing to do with the invasion of his place. There was a frenetic, feverish quality to the conversation he sensed, but couldn’t fathom. They acted as if they were trying to drive something unpleasant away by sheer volume of talk.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, it was becoming increasingly clear to him by the moment that Firesong was
flirting
with Darkwind. In front of everyone!

Was Firesong trying to humiliate him?

He pulled his feet out of the water in a fit of sullen fury, and snatched up a towel and his clothing. Furious, he began to dry himself off, ignored by the others. Ignored even by Firesong, who was engrossed in his flirtation.

Oh, gods. How could he not have guessed that something like this would happen? Weren’t the Hawkbrothers supposed to be as light-in-love as their feathered companions?

But must Firesong take on a new conquest in front of him and everyone else? And why Darkwind?

“... and now that you’re properly silver-haired, as an Adept should be, with a decent wardrobe, you’re actually a credit to k‘Sheyna instead of a disgrace,” Firesong teased, while An’desha struggled into his shirt and breeches; a difficult proposition with still-wet skin. “I don’t know how Elspeth was ever attracted to you, with your hair dyed the color of mud and full of bark. You looked like a mad hermit, not a proper Hawkbrother.”

“Oh?” Darkwind arched his eyebrows and grinned, then splashed Firesong with a handful of water. “Really? And who was it told Elspeth he wanted to braid feathers into my hair? I thought perhaps you liked the rustic look. You might have found me challenging.”

“Hmph.” Firesong sent the droplets flying back at Darkwind with a flicker of magic. “If I did tell her something like that, it was because I was
hoping
to induce some sense of proper grooming into you.”

Darkwind pouted. “And here all the time I thought you
wanted
me!”

“We-ell, now that you look like a civilized human being and not a patch of brush—” Firesong fluttered long, silver eyelashes at the lean and muscular k’Sheyna Adept, who smirked and fluttered right back at him.

An’desha stared, aghast, embarrassed, humiliated. Oh, he knew that the Hawkbrothers were free enough with their favors, but—

—but how could they carry on like this! And
right
in front of
him!
They
were
trying to hurt him! He hadn’t done anything to deserve treatment like this!