Winds of Change (51 page)

The gryphons.

Yes, then he would gather in his dearest daughter - and her winged friends. . . .

And the Outlanders as well, the strange ones. The girl, now - she had all the potential for an Adept. When he saw her last, she had but the most rudimentary of tutelage. It was unlikely anyone in k’Sheyna could be persuaded to give her lessons, and the half-taught were the most vulnerable. He would need a plaything when Nyara was dead.

Yes, he would slay the Outland man, but keep the Outland woman. She might do well to carry his seed for the next generation, since Nyara had proved barren, and turned traitor in the bargain. He might even make the transfer without waiting for the death of his body. Yes. That was a good plan. An excellent plan. It would be good to have a young, strong body again, full of vigor and energy.

That left only one question to be answered.

If I am to hurt k’Sheyna, where must I strike?

His lips twisted in a feral smile.

Where else, but at the weakest bird in the flock, the broken-winged, broken-souled Starblade? He will no longer be mewed up away from my power. They surely think me dead. They must be getting very careless at this point.

An attack on Starblade in and of itself would not hurt the Clan as a whole. But if he used Starblade’s link to the Heart-stone, and completed the work that he had begun there-yes,
if I shatter the Heartstone - it might not destroy everything in the Vale, but it will surely destroy most of what is important, and at least half of the mages will die in the backlash of power.

It went against the grain to loose all that power.

But if I cannot control it, then I shall destroy with it.

If he were truly fortunate - although his revenge would be a little less - the gryphons would be destroyed with the rest.

Or better, far better, the gryphons would be
hurt
when the Stone shattered completely. Leaving them weak, and vulnerable.

Yes, that would be the best of all.

He flung himself back down upon his couch, chewed the last pain-spiced flesh from a former servant’s thighbone, and began to plan.

Firesong deemed most of the Vale too near the Heartstone to work in, and although Darkwind agreed with him, this tiny clearing at the far end was a damned awkward spot to get to. It had been made as a try sting-spot, but had gotten overgrown. To reach it, they had to wind their way through tangles of vines and bushes, only to discover when they got there that most of the clearing itself had been eaten up by encroaching vegetation. “So, clear it.” Firesong said casually, and sat down on a stone to await the completion of their task. Darkwind seethed with resentment that he held closely, permitting none of it to slip. He had thought that Elspeth tested his temper; he had never thought that one of his own people would bring it so close to the snapping point.

Except, perhaps, his father.

The Adept did not even watch them; he called in his snow-white firebird and fed it flowers and bits of fruit while they worked, clearing the vegetation by hand since using magic would have been fairly stupid for so simple a task. “Good enough,” Firesong said at last, when the earth of the clearing had been laid bare, and all the seats were free of vines and overhanging bushes. “Now, we return to basics. Darkwind, you will tap into the ley-line beneath us.”

Back to basics? For what? Or doesn’t he trust our training?

“Stop,” Firesong said, with calm self-assurance, as Darkwind obeyed him; he grounded himself carefully, centered his personal power, and prepared himself to grasp for the power of the ley-lines. “What are you doing?”

“I am grounding myself,” Darkwind told him, not adding,
as any fool could see,
for it was obvious that Firesong had some deeper intention in mind. Sunlight trickled through the leaves above them, making patches of brilliance in the Adept’s hair. This morning Firesong wore blue, the same blue as his eyes. He looked good enough to have his will of any female in the Vale, and no few of the males.

“Why?” the Healing Adept asked, flicking his hair over his shoulder with one hand. “Why are you grounding yourself and your shields?”

“Because - because that is the way that I was taught. That - ” he groped after long-forgotten lessons “ - if I am not grounded when I reach for the ley-line power, it will fling me away by the force of its current.” His resentment I continued to seethe at being forced to dredge up those long-ago lessons. What difference did it make? It was something you
did.

“All well and good,” Firesong replied, with that same maddening calm, and a smile that said volumes. “But what if you release your ground
after
you have the power? What, then? And
why
must you always sink your ground into the earth below you? Why not elsewhere?”

Darkwind only gaped at him, unable to answer questions that ran counter to everything he had ever been taught.

“I will show you.” The young Adept centered and grounded faster than Darkwind could blink; seized upon the ley-line beneath them as if he owned the deed to it. He made the energies his own, feeding them into his shields with an ease that called up raw envy in Darkwind’s heart.

Then cast loose the ground. “Now, strike me. Full force, Darkwind, trust me.” The shields stayed where they were, contrary to everything Darkwind supposed would happen.

Darkwind struck - with more force than he had consciously intended, all of his spent-up frustration going into the blow. All of his fury and bruised pride combined to make the blow one that
would
have done harm if it had properly connected. It should have completely shattered Firesong’s shields, the outer one, at least.

But instead of meeting the blow, the shields, no longer anchored by the ground, slid aside. Darkwind watched in complete shock as his angry blast did no more than to bow the shields slightly. The energy of his strike was neither absorbed, nor reflected; it was deflected, routed around the outside, skittering away in bright eddies of flame. Nothing touched the mage inside.

“This
is
dangerous, cousin,” Firesong warned, smugly cradled within his untouched shields. “A clever mage will see at once that without the ground protecting the essential flow of magic energy from the line to myself, that tie is vulnerable. A clever mage could also force the shields toward me, then instead of striking a blow, could lance through them at the nearest, thinnest, weakest point. But until he does that, I sit untouched, allowing all his force to spend itself uselessly. I need not even fear the contamination of his magic, for it never touches me or my shields.” To Darkwind’s great chagrin, Elspeth nodded, her face aglow with admiration. “A clever mage could also create a whirlwind of edged mage-bolts around you,” she pointed out. “Those things can shred a shield in next to no time. And although they can’t touch you physically, that would leave you open to attack.”

“Ah, but that whirlwind would have no effect, Wing-sib,” he said, turning a dazzling smile upon her that caused a shaft of jealousy to stab his “cousin.” Darkwind chewed his lip and looked away, at the tangle of vines behind one of the empty seats. “A whirlwind that would erode a grounded shield would only cause this one to spin with it. It would find purchase but spin freely. Since I am not connected to the shield, it would have no effect on me.”

“I see.” She prodded the shield with a bit of power, experimentally, and Darkwind saw for himself how the shield simply bent away from it. “Interesting. So if the enemy doesn’t know that this is possible, you can let him wear himself out against you.”

Firesong imploded the shield and collapsed it down around himself. “Aye, and a bit of acting, and he’d continue to do so, as I looked ‘worried.’ Now - this is the trickier task. Grounding in something other than the earth.” His face sobered for a moment. “Take heed, cousin. This is something only a powerful Adept can attempt, and never with impunity. I think that you can do this, but it is very dangerous.”

Once again, Firesong centered, grounded, and shielded, all within the blink of an eye. To Darkwind, he looked perfectly “normal,” insofar as a mage of his power could ever look “normal.” But then he took a closer look.

“Where is your ground?” he asked, perplexed.

“You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?” the young mage taunted, “Find it! You already know it is not sunk into the earth at my feet. Look elsewhere! Have I somehow grounded into the air? Perhaps I have only created an illusion of being grounded.”

Elspeth only shook her head, baffled. Darkwind was not prepared to give up so easily. He studied Firesong carefully, ignoring the mage’s mocking smile. Finally he acted on a hunch, and moved his Mage-Sight out of the real world and onto the Planes of Power. There he saw it - and a cold sweat broke out all over him at the Adept’s audacity.

He stared at Firesong and could not believe that the mage simply stood there, calm and unmoved. As if he did this sort of thing every day.

Maybe he did. If so, he was the bravest man that Darkwind had ever seen. Or the most foolhardy. Or even both, at the same time.

“You grounded it - in the place between Gates!” he managed to get out, after a moment. “I can’t believe you did that! You could call a deadly storm that way - or find yourself drained to the dregs!”

Firesong shrugged, and dismissed the shield, ground and all. “I told you, no mage does that with impunity. I would not attempt it while someone else held a Gate near me, or during a thunderstorm. But that Place makes an energy-sink that is second to none. If you wish to drain an enemy, ground yourself in the Place, tie your shields to the ground as always, and let him pour all of his power out upon you. It will drain into the Place and be swallowed up, exhausting him and costing you no more than an ordinary shield.”

He held out a long, graceful hand to Darkwind. “Touch it,” he ordered. Darkwind did so. The hand was as cold as ice. “Therein lies the danger there. The Place is an energy-sink. It will steal your energies as well, and there is no way to keep it from doing so. You had best hope that you can outlast your enemy, if you ground there; work him into an irrational fury before trying it.”

He turned to Elspeth, who was again visibly impressed. “Take nothing for granted, Wingsib. No matter what you have been told, most anything in magery
can
be done, despite the ‘laws’ that you have been taught. The question is only whether the result is worth it.”

It galled him to see the admiration on her face. Oh, Firesong had undoubtedly earned the right to arrogance; his Clansfolk had not exaggerated when they said that they considered him a powerful experimenter. He was, without a doubt, a genius as well.

But none of that meant that Darkwind had to like it.

At the end of the day, when he was exhausted, and Firesong was still as outwardly cool and poised as he had been that morning, Darkwind was ready to call a halt to the entire thing.

But Firesong didn’t give him that opportunity.

“You’ll do,” he said, with cool approval. “At least, you aren’t hopeless. I’ll have a different course of action for you two tomorrow.”

And with that, he simply turned on his heel and left, he and his bird together, melting into the greenery.

Darkwind and Elspeth walked together to her
ekele.
They were going to hers, because it was nearer; Darkwind was so drained that he didn’t think he could go any further without a rest and something to drink. He was glad that it was still mid-afternoon. If it had been dark enough he’d had to conjure a mage-light, he’d have fallen over; he felt that tired.

“So what do you think of Firesong?” Elspeth asked as they crested the gentle curving path between six massive flowering bushes. The flicking tail of a
hertasi
ducked under a trellis, distracting him for just a moment.

He cast her a suspicious glance, gauging the import of her question, but her expression, like her voice, remained carefully neutral. “Well, he’s certainly brilliant,” he admitted grudgingly. “And unconventional. But I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so arrogant in all my life.”

“He’s earned the right to be,” Elspeth replied, to his increased annoyance. “I mean, there are a lot of people who think Weaponsmaster Alberich is arrogant - or Kero. And they’re right, but there’s a point where you’re so good that you’ve earned a certain amount of - hmm - attitude.”

He didn’t reply. He couldn’t. Not and maintain his own calm. In a certain sense, Elspeth was completely correct. In fact, if he mentioned Firesong’s arrogance to Iceshadow or his father, he would probably be told that it
wasn ‘t
arrogance at all, it was simply self-assurance, and a pardonable pride.

Firesong was the best mage Darkwind had ever seen in his life; perhaps the best living mage that there was. Not just a Healing Adept, but an innovator; a brilliant creative genius. Not fearless - at the levels at which Firesong was working, being fearless could get him killed quite quickly - but so knowledgeable that he was able to judge risks to within a hair.

He was worlds away better than Darkwind was now, and what was more, he was better than Darkwind, or anyone known to the Vales, would ever be. And that did not come as a comfortable revelation.

Darkwind was not used to seeing himself as second-best. It stung his pride, even as Firesong’s attitude made him angry. And then, on top of it all, for the cocky mage to be so cursed
handsome!