Winds of Change (40 page)

Darkwind shook his head. “The little fellow is ready and eager to go. Let’s get to this, so that he doesn’t have to wait.”

Elspeth couldn’t imagine how he would know that, but she agreed. This was likely to take a fair amount of time.

“Indeed,” Hydona said, nodding. “Rrrisss cannot keep the little onesss quiet forever.”

Elspeth was very glad Gwena had come along and even happier that the Companion wasn’t as tired as she was.

The walk back to the Vale, which had been so pleasant on the way out, was a daunting prospect now.

:Neither of you are heavy,:
Gwena said, as the three of them followed the gryphons out into the snow.
:The Vale is not that far. I can carry both of you, or you can lean against me, if you like.:

The sun was faintly visible through the thick clouds; there was perhaps a candlemark until sunset. “What do you think?” Elspeth asked the Hawkbrother. “Walk, or ride?”

:
I
can get you there by sunset,:
Gwena said, coaxingly.

“Ride,” Darkwind replied decisively. “If you have no objection.”

“None at all.” In fact, this might prove to be an intriguing opportunity. . . .

Darkwind was possibly the single most attractive man she had ever met, and not just because he was so exotic. And once she had figured out that he wasn’t being obtuse in his lessons just to aggravate her, she found him even more attractive.

Admittedly, most of the Tayledras were attractive, either physically, mentally, or both. But Darkwind drew her as no one else had. She wanted to know more about him - and she wanted him to know more about her. It was one thing to be attracted to some one. It was another thing entirely to act on that attraction.

Especially if it proved to be only one-sided.

Horrible thought. But possible.

And her pride would not permit her to go panting after him like a puppy. Skif’s example of slavish infatuation was enough to decide her on that. She would never put herself in the position to be humiliated the way he had been.

She mounted first; Darkwind, less experienced, used a handy chunk of fallen rock to mount up behind her.

:I
promise I’ll be gentle,:
Gwena teased, reminding them both of the uncomfortable jog Darkwind had taken, perched behind Elspeth over Gwena’s hipbones, as they hurried to the aid of another scout.
:Nothing more than a fast, smooth walk.:

“Thank you,” Darkwind said fervently.

The gryphons had already made their weary farewells; as custodians of this node, they had used the most strength in linking into it and feeding the power to Darkwind, Gwena, and Elspeth. The hummingbird was on his way, shooting into the sky like a slung stone. There was nothing holding them here.

Snow continued to fall, but the light was fading, and the ruins had a haunted look to them that made Elspeth’s skin crawl. Gwena responded to her uneasiness by heading out by the most direct route, one that would skirt the
hertasi
swamp but would not go in. That was no place to be in weather like this.

“What happens to the
hertasi
in the winter?” she asked, suddenly. “The ones that live out in the marsh, I mean?”

“They don’t precisely hibernate, but they do not leave their caves much,” Darkwind said into her left ear, while Gwena waded through the soft snow at a fairly brisk pace. His hands felt good on her hips. “They seal themselves into their caves; sleep much, and eat little, stay close to fires. What time they spend awake, they use in making small things. Carvings, mostly. Everything they own is carved or ornamented, at least a little.”

“I gathered they had a fondness for that sort of thing,” Elspeth replied. “You know, they don’t approve of my uniforms. Too plain, I suppose.”

“Precisely.” He chuckled. “That is one reason why they enjoy working with us. They have a number of traditional designs they use, but we are quicker at creating new ones than they are. Or perhaps it is simply that we are more uninhibited. That is part of the trade they have with us; when one of them wants a new design for something, he; goes to one of us craftsmen, and we create it for him. That, and protection and shelter, and we earn their service.”

“Us craftsmen?” she said, puzzled. “I didn’t know you were a craftsman.”

“I do clothing design, or I did. I am no great artist like Ravenwing,” he replied, and she had the impression that he was a little uncomfortable, perhaps embarrassed. “Odd as it may seem, when they are at leisure, the
hertasi
of the Vale enjoy having elaborate clothing to wear.”

She considered teasing him and decided against it. She recalled the festival clothing that he and Starblade had worn; clothing that seemed to have been created by the same hand. Now she knew it probably had been. His hand. Had that been a kind of silent signal of reconciliation? What other signals was she missing?

“You know,” she said slowly, “Back at home there’s an entire set of codes in the flowers people wear, that they give to one another. It’s even more elaborate at Court. People have carried on entire conversations, wordlessly, with the flowers they have worn during the course of a day.”

“Really?” He seemed amused and relieved that she had turned the topic to something else. “Here there is only one meaning to a gift of a flower.”

“And what is that?” she asked.

“The same as a gift of a feather - that one wishes intimacy.” She blinked, now understanding a number of exchanges she had seen but hadn’t understood.

“If the feather is from any bird, the relationship is casual,” he continued. “If it is from one’s bondbird, however, the meaning is that it is to be one of deeper intentions.”

A sudden image flashed from memory, of the shaman Kethra, a string of feathers braided into her hair when she had never seen the Shin’a’in wear feathers before.

“Is that why Kethra - ” she exclaimed, then stopped, blushing at her own rudeness.

But Darkwind didn’t seem to think it was rude. “Yes,” he said simply. “Those were feathers from the birds he bonded to before that raven - a gray owl, and a falcon called a perlin. When our birds molt, we save the feathers. Those we do not need to use for repair when a bird breaks a feather, we keep for special purposes, and for gifts.”

“He needs another bird,” she said, thinking out loud. “You know, watching you and the others with your birds - it isn’t like a Herald with a Companion, but it’s an important relationship. He needs a bird, and I don’t think either he or Kethra realize how much, or the good it would do him to have one.”

Silence then, as Gwena continued to push her way through the snow beneath the barren, gray branches of the forest, as the light slowly leached from the sky and the shapes of trees far away lost their definition, blurring into charcoal shadows. She wondered if she had broken some unspoken taboo among the Hawkbrothers. Or if, perhaps, she had sounded arrogant, as if she thought that she knew it all.

“Odd,” he said, finally. “That is precisely what I have been thinking. Father lost his last bird to Falconsbane, and may hesitate to ask someone to help him find another. Kethra knows nothing of the bond of Tayledras and bird, how important it is to us.
All
of us have a bird of one sort or another, Elspeth. The mages often bond to a small owl, or to one of the corbies, but all of us have birds, and all of enhanced breeding.”

“It seems to me that the buds you have are more like - well - house-cats. They have that kind of independence of thought, but willingness to
be
somewhat dependent.” She shook her head, at a loss to explain what she meant. “They’re not like dogs - well, mostly they aren’t. But they sure as fire are
not
like the falcons and accipitors
I
know! The best you can get from them is tolerance, unless you can Mindspeak with animals.”

“You are very observant. That is very true. They have that capacity for real affection that most of the true raptors lack; they are social, and they are intelligent enough to work together instead of preying on one another. Because of that capacity, the bond between us is as much of friendship as dependence. The only trouble is, this is not breeding season, and all the adult birds within the Vale are already bonded.”

Perhaps the waning light had made her other senses sharper; perhaps it was just that she had become accustomed to listening for nuances in the way Darkwind spoke. “Within the Vale?” she repeated. “Are there birds of Vale lineage outside the Vale?”

“Many. All those that are not claimed by someone as an eyas are left free to follow their own will.” He was silent for a moment. “But without the bond, their wild instincts i come to the fore, and aside from size, it is difficult to tell them from their wild cousins. We could trap a passage bird, perhaps. But that would be a poor way to begin a relationship that is based in trust.”

“I see your point.” And she did. A wild-bred bird never connected the trap with the human that took him from it. In fact, a wild-bred bird often woke to his surroundings when securely mewed, and the falconer began the careful process of manning him. But a bird as intelligent as one of bondbird stock would make the immediate connection between trap and trapper. And he would not be pleased, however good their intentions. “Have you asked Vree what he thinks we should do?”

“Actually, no.” She could tell by the tone of his voice that she had surprised him, probably by saying something one of his people wouldn’t have thought of. But she was used to asking Gwena’s advice, and while she wouldn’t have considered posing a complicated question to the bondbird, this was something he could realistically handle.

The gyre dropped down ahead of them out of the trees, circled about beneath the branches, and chirped at Darkwind before regaining the height he preferred with a few strong wingbeats.

Darkwind laughed aloud. “You pleased him, Wingsib,” he said. “He was very flattered by being asked his opinion. And in his own very direct way, he has the perfect answer. He says that we must wait for one of the birds of the proper lineage to be injured. It is winter; first-year birds are injured all the time, trying for difficult kills. In the normal way of things, they will heal upon their own; sometimes other birds of Tayledras breeding, even their parents, will feed them while they heal. And in the way of things, if they do not heal properly and there is none to feed them, they die. But if the other birds of the Vale know we are looking for an injured bird, they will watch for one such, and we may play rescuer.”

“Giving us a grateful bird instead of an angry one.” She smiled; it was the best kind of solution. “I take it that he’s going to speak to the other birds?”

“Once again, you guess correctly.” Darkwind’s voice was as warm as the gathering night was chill. “Elspeth, if it will not offend you, I would like to say that you are a much easier person to be around now.”

She flushed. “Well . . . Darkwind, some of what you didn’t like was something I
have
to do when I am around my own people. They expect me to lead; they expect me to act in certain ways. That ‘attitude’ you accused me of having is a big part of that. I’m sorry it had become a habit that I wasn’t conscious of. I think some of it was associated with a kind of reflex; if the person I was with wasn’t wearing a white uniform, then I acted a certain way without even considering what I was doing.” Would he understand? Would he even try? “I
am
royalty, Darkwind. No matter that my land matters less to you than one of Vree’s broken feathers, I still am royal, I am expected to act in a certain way, and I can’t escape that. I’ve been bred and raised to it.”

“Ah.” She hoped that what she read into the tone of that single syllable was dawning understanding.

She sighed. “There’s something else,” she said, through painful shyness. “I’m rather the plain-plumaged bird of my family. Everyone else is so handsome it’s like - like living among Hawkbrothers. So the only reason
I
can think of for a young man to be attracted to me is because of my rank. And there have been those. I try to keep them at a distance.”

“I can understand that,” he said after a moment, in which the sound of Gwena’s breathing and the muffled sounds of her hooves in the snow filled the twilight forest and defined the borders of their little private universe. “But, Elspeth, those young men who were blinded by your rank were fools. Or else they failed to see the quiet beauty inside the showy. Or - ” She sensed, rather than saw, the grin behind her. “Or perhaps they were dazzled by the stark white attire.” She groaned. “Don’t tell me
you’re
in on the conspiracy to steal my Whites!”

“Only a little.” She waited for him to continue. “I will admit to advising Lursten on a choice of substitute wardrobe.”

She chuckled, and they passed the rest of the journey in silence, as the twilight darkened to true night and the air chilled further. Before it became too dark for him to see to fly, Vree came winging in to land on Darkwind’s wrist. He held the bird between them, keeping him warmed with the combined heat of their bodies, something
no
raptor of Elspeth’s acquaintance would have tolerated, much less enjoyed.

True to her promise, Gwena brought them to within sight of the Vale just as the last of the dull light of sunset faded from the western sky.

Darkwind slid from her back as soon as they passed the entrance to the Vale, Vree balancing carefully on his wrist. “I am for sleep,” he said with a smile. “Do not take this amiss, Wing-sib, but take it as a compliment, please. I have wished to offer you a feather since the days of our first acquaintance, for
I
find you a very attractive woman. More so when you smile, rather than frowning on me so formidably!”