Author's Note
This story is set in the Pelagir hills about a generation after Vanyel's adventures in the Last Herald-Mage trilogy. I chose the Tayledras very deliberately to reflect the characters I was writing. After finishing the story, I discovered other characters in other stories who share names with some of my characters. This is pure coincidence, and is not intended to infringe upon any other stories. I simply invented names that suit my characters. I would also like to thank Mendeia for agreeing to be my beta.
Warning: contains some male/male romance (nothing beyond what you might see in a PG-13 movie) as well as suggestions of torture and non-consensual seduction.
Disclaimer: Although the characters are my own, the world belongs exclusively to Mercedes Lackey, and I do not make a profit from this story. I am just borrowing her world and a few phrases from her writings for my own purposes.
Chapter 1
As birds from Winter's gloom awoke to sing
And early flow'rs their perfume forth did fling
A solitary horseman outward rode—
Behind him on his horse a lute was stowed.
His clothes of Scarlet to the world displayed
A Bard he was and at each stop he played.
His golden voice the list'ners mesmerized
His chestnut curls his audience all prized.
From Haven southward wended he his way
At Kata'shin'a'in his songs to play.
Yet ere his journey brought him to its end
Waylaid he was by beasts with claws to rend.
—From "The Defeat of Sasseth" by Summersong k'Vala
Kamren lounged in one of the hot pools of k'Vala Vale, trying to soak some of the tension from his sore muscles. He had only been out of bed for a few hours when the Council meeting had been called, and he was still recovering from his wounds. And the meeting of the Council of Elders hadn't been all that relaxing, either. It was now past sunset, and the Council had met first thing in the morning to discuss the strange creatures that had attacked Kamren right on the edge of Hawkbrother territory. He shivered despite the steam rising from the surface of the pool. He could still see all too clearly the sharp serpent fangs and pointy ferret faces of the three creatures that had chased him for what felt like months, though it had really only been a few long days before they cornered him.
Fortunately for Kamren, a Hawkbrother patrol had happened to be nearby, and had come running to his rescue. Even more fortunate, one of the members of the patrol had been a Healer. Not that he remembered being rescued; it hadn't taken the creatures long at all to render him senseless. Kamren remembered nothing of the journey to k'Vala Vale. Winddancer, the Hawkbrother who had been tending him, told Kamren that it had been a journey of three days, and that he had lain in a delirious fever for three more before he finally awoke to find himself in one of the strangest places he had ever seen. It seemed at first to be a room made entirely of wood, with beams made of whole, uncut logs, branching in realistic tree-like patterns across both the ceiling and floor. The whole room seemed slightly unsteady, as if it rocked at anchor on a calm sea. It was not until Kamren was able to rise from his bed and make his wobbly-kneed way to the window that he realized that the room was actually built in a tree, with living branches forming the supports for floor, walls and roof. This prompted another wave of dizziness, and Kamren had hurried back to his bed as quickly as his injured body would take him there.
Kamren shook off the memory, wondering at how quickly he had become used to the tree houses of the Hawkbrothers. The Council had been called together as soon as Kamren had been well enough to attend, though his body now protested the long hours of argument. He had not participated much in the Council session, mostly just describing his nightmarish journey into the Pelagir Hills, pursued by the strange creatures. Listening to the arguments about what the creatures were (for Kamren's benefit, they used the tradetongue commonly used by the people of Rethwellen when they did business with the Shin'a'in), whether they had been artificially created and by whom, and where the mage who created them could possibly live had been exhausting and more than a little frightening. In the end, the council had determined that the misborn, as they called them, were indeed Changebeasts, created by some powerful mage hitherto unknown to the Hawkbrothers. It was agreed that something must be done, but first they had to find out where this mage was hiding. To that purpose, scouts and mages had been sent out past the edges of Hawkbrother territory. The rest of the Vale would stay and wait for news, concocting plans of what to do about the mage once he could be found.
Kamren, of course, knew little or nothing about mages or Changebeasts, though he had learned more than he cared to at the meeting. His head swam with everything he had heard, and the steam rising from the pool made his eyelids droop. Slowly, the steam rising from the pool began taking on the shapes of hideous beasts with long, serpentine necks, until Kamren lost track of everything but the half-feline, half-serpent forms.
He looked forward again, just in time to avoid the branch that aimed itself directly at his head. Sweat rolled down his forehead and dripped into his eyes, making them sting. His normally unruly curls were plastered against his neck, except for the one that bounced maddeningly against his nose. He couldn't spare a hand, either to restrain his hair or to wipe the sweat out of his eyes; both hands were busy clinging desperately to the saddle. The horse stumbled, righting itself quickly, never slowing his headlong rush. Kamren risked another glance over his shoulder, and immediately wished he hadn't. The three beasts were now so close that he could hear their panting breaths. The leader's tongue, long and snake-like and forked at the end, lolled from its mouth between two-inch fangs. The face itself, though vaguely feline with tufted ears, was narrow like a ferret's, with cruel slitted eyes. Legs like a greyhound's carried it as fast as Kamren's horse could run.
Kamren knew he couldn't outrun them much longer. His horse was exhausted from three days of relentless pursuit. The creatures were unwilling or unable to continue the hunt by night, but they drove Kamren from sunrise to sunset. Kamren didn't think his horse would make it until evening; he could feel its flanks heaving between his knees and it was barely noon.
The horse stumbled again, this time going to his knees before he regained his footing. Kamren lurched forward out of the saddle, hitting his nose painfully on his mount's neck. His lute jarred against his spine, and he hoped it was padded well enough to avoid damage. Not that it looked as if he would ever play it again. He had no illusions about what those teeth could do to human flesh if given the chance. He really needed to find a defensible place in which to turn and fight. Running was quickly losing its status as a viable option.
As if some kind deity had heard his wish, they burst into a clearing. There was a small hill with two large boulders side by side, and he urged his horse to one final spurt. His pursuers were so close he could feel the heat of their breath. The smell of rancid meat wafted over him. His heart pounding so loud he could barely hear anything else above it, he threw himself toward the crack between the boulders and tried desperately to wrench his sword free of its sheath, trying to ignore the scream of terror and pain from his horse behind him. There was no room between the rocks for an animal that large. By the time he had drawn his sword and turned himself face outwards in the crevice, bones, tail, and saddlebags were all that was left of the horse. Even as he watched, those were devoured, as well.
Kamren stood panting, the sword shaking in his trembling hand, his heart hammering so hard it made him dizzy. Three pairs of slit-pupiled eyes stared at him for a moment that seemed to stretch on forever. Then the leader, snake-like tail lashing in horrible imitation of a cat that has cornered a mouse, opened its mouth in a hissing scream of rage and triumph. As one, the creatures leaped forward. Kamren waved the sword wildly, terror making him forget what little training he had managed to acquire. Claws and teeth, too many to count, raked at him. The stench of rotting meat came to his nostrils and hot pain erupted across his cheek. He tasted blood as the world went dark and he felt himself falling…
Suddenly he felt himself lifted by the armpits and hauled half-way out of the pool. His eyes snapped open and he turned his head sharply to see who had grabbed him. His head throbbed with the sudden movement, and his vision momentarily blurred.
"What's going on?" he asked, bewildered, then remembered that no one here spoke Valdemaran. He repeated the question in the Shin'a'in tradetongue.
"You very nearly fell asleep at the bottom of this pool," the voice of his caretaker, Winddancer, laughed. "You are tired, and not yet used to the heat of the soaking pools. Come, we should put you to bed."
Kamren, weak-kneed from the heat and his long convalescence, not to mention his nightmare, had some difficulty climbing from the pool. Winddancer offered his hand to Kamren, who took it gratefully and scrambled out of the pool, blushing scarlet as he suddenly realized that he was completely naked. Winddancer politely turned his back, an amused smile playing at the edges of his mouth, while Kamren toweled off and dressed as hurriedly as he could.
"My apologies, Kamren," he said sincerely once Kamren was dressed. "We in the Vales are so used to nudity because of the communal soaking pools that I had forgotten most other people come from more modest societies."
Kamren blushed again. "No problem," he said shortly. "I am just unused to it. As long as I am a guest in your Vale, I should get used to your customs."
The two men started up the slope toward the tree in which Winddancer made his home. "Well, we'll just keep you in private pools until you're more comfortable with the idea," Winddancer said with a smile. "Now be careful while climbing the ladder. Don't forget, you've been essentially asleep for the past six days, and your body needs to regain some strength. I'm right behind you in case you slip."
Kamren climbed slowly and painfully up the wooden ladder leading into Winddancer's dwelling. Once at the top, he collapsed onto a pile of cushions in one corner to rest a moment. He looked around the room, bare of furniture except for the large perch in the other corner by the window. A huge, snow-white owl sat there, blinking slowly at him. The owl had faint grey barring on breast and wings, but this just added to the overall impression that Kamren was looking at the ghost of an owl. Even the eyes were pale, shining faintly pink in the dim light.
Winddancer emerged through the floor a moment later, and following Kamren's gaze, looked over at the owl. He held out his arm, and the large bird silently glided over and perched on it, moving quickly up to Winddancer's shoulder. Even so, Winddancer had to brace himself as the weight of the bird settled on his wrist, and he ducked his head to allow the owl to fold his wings. He grimaced, but there was fondness in his tone when he spoke.
"This is Hwaar, my bondbird. All Tayledras bond to at least one bird, though most do not bond to one this large. I don't usually carry him long, though most bondbirds are able to ride on their bondmates' shoulders fairly comfortably. Sometimes I wonder why I chose to bond with the second-largest breed available. I often think I should have chosen a smaller owl or a falcon," he added with a sidelong glance at his bird. Hwaar made an indignant-sounding squawk and bumped Winddancer's head with his beak. Winddancer shifted his weight slightly with the push, though it was obviously playful. He laughed, and moved closer to Kamren, near enough that Kamren could have reached out and touched the enormous bird. He had never seen an owl that big.
"He likes to have his chest stroked," Winddancer offered. "Though I should warn you now: don't offer to handle any bondbird unless you have permission. Some of them can get defensive. Hwaar doesn't mind as long as you don't try and get too familiar. Just keep to the chest area and you'll be fine." Kamren reached out tentatively and ran a couple fingers down the bird's snowy chest feathers. They were even softer than they looked, and he carefully stroked him a few more times. From this distance, Kamren could see that from underneath, the owl was completely white. Just a few faint grey stripes showed on the tops of the wings. Hwaar rumbled softly deep in his chest, and Kamren jumped, then resumed the stroking at the encouraging look on Winddancer's face.
"He likes you," the Hawkbrother said. "He makes that sound when he's content." Winddancer allowed Kamren to pet the bird another minute or so, then stood up and extended his arm.
"All right, deadweight. I should take care of my guest. And you should go hunt. Aren't you hungry? You've been sleeping all day." Winddancer launched the bird with practiced coordination as Hwaar sidled down his arm, allowing the weight of the owl to add momentum to the movement. Hwaar glided straight out the window, clearing it with an inch to spare on either side. Kamren now realized why the window was so wide. The bird's wingspan was easily five feet.
Winddancer watched him go, then went into another room briefly before returning with two glasses containing what looked like some sort of fruit juice. "Here, this will help you recover your strength; it's quite nourishing," he said, offering one of the glasses to Kamren. "I think you'll like it, but be warned: it's very sweet."
Kamren sipped cautiously at the bright yellow-orange liquid, then took a longer swallow as he found that it was, as Winddancer had predicted, quite tasty. The drink was very refreshing, and after a few minutes Kamren felt he could make his way back to bed. Winddancer followed watchfully, ready to catch Kamren should he exhibit any signs of returning dizziness, but the Bard made it to the bed without mishap.
As he crawled under the light covers, Kamren suddenly realized that he had only seen one bed in the house. From the outside, at least, the tree house did not appear to be large enough to contain another bedroom. Suddenly contrite, he asked, "Have I been using your bed all the time? I do not wish to exile you in your own home!"
Winddancer reassured him. "I am quite comfortable sleeping on the floor. There are plenty of pillows and blankets in which to make a nest. Until quite recently, you were in such a state that it was necessary to give you the bed. Had you been a Tayledras, and not injured, I would probably have simply shared the bed, but I did not wish to make you uncomfortable." He smiled again, and Kamren noticed how Winddancer's entire face lit up when he smiled.
Kamren marveled once again at his caretaker. Winddancer, and indeed all the Hawkbrothers, or Tayledras as they called themselves, looked so different from the Valdemarans Kamren was used to seeing. Many of the Hawkbrothers wore their hair long, some past the waist. Most of the Hawkbrothers Kamren had seen, Winddancer included, had pure white hair, though it did not seem to be a symptom of age. Winddancer was certainly no older than Kamren. Some of the other Hawkbrothers dyed their hair mottled brown, in a pattern that Kamren imagined would blend in very well with the forest surroundings. All the Hawkbrothers had pale blue eyes and light golden skin, similar to the stories Kamren had heard about the Shin'a'in. They, too, it was said, had golden skin, blue eyes, and wore their black hair long. If Kamren had known the turn his journey would take, he probably would not have tried to visit the Shin'a'in. He shivered, and focused his attention back on his new friend.
Winddancer's hair hung to his waist. Into it he had braided a wide assortment of beads, bells, and feathers of various brown and golden hues, standing out sharply amid the silver-white. When he moved, the beads and bells tinkled musically, almost like an exotic wind chime. His outfit was equally outlandish to the Bard's unfamiliar gaze. He wore a robe of amber and brown silk, cleverly embroidered to imitate the plumage of an owl. "Feathers" of silk hung from his shoulders and the undersides of his sleeves, and the hem of the robe was sharply scalloped, imitating the appearance of feathers. The sleeves and front of the robe were still somewhat damp, reminders of his rescue of Kamren from the pool earlier. Kamren, watching as Winddancer prepared his nest of pillows on the floor, fell asleep to the gentle tinkling of hair ornaments.
* * *
A few evenings later, Winddancer invited him to attend or, if he felt up to it, participate in a Tayledras-style musical concert. Kamren was delighted, not only at the chance to perform for a new audience, but also at the opportunity to listen to and maybe even learn some Hawkbrother music.
"Only…" Kamren hesitated, looking down at his travel-worn garments. "Most of my clothes were in the saddlebags. I do not think any of it survived those…things." He shuddered, suddenly very grateful that his lute had been strapped to his own back, rather than with the rest of his luggage.
"I might be able to find something that would suit you; you are slimmer than I am, though nearly the same height," Winddancer assured him. "Am I correct that you would prefer red, as the symbol of your office?" he asked, obviously having noticed Kamren's red tunic and cloak.
At Kamren's surprised nod, Winddancer disappeared into an upper room, returning shortly with red and blue silks spilling out of his arms. "Here, try this," he suggested, offering a scarlet tunic and leggings to Kamren. The tunic laced up the front, leaving the neck free, and ample sleeves were gathered at the wrist in cuffs wide enough to keep the surplus fabric from getting in the way. The leggings laced up the sides as well, and Kamren pulled the laces as tight as they would go, feeling a little embarrassed to show that much skin. Fortunately, it seemed that his legs were less well-muscled than Winddancer's, and Kamren was able to pull the edges of the fabric almost completely together. There were knee-high boots and a long vest of soft leather, also dyed bright scarlet, with fringe hanging halfway down his calves. The vest and tunic were intricately embroidered with gold threads. On the whole, Kamren was actually quite pleased with his outlandish garb.
He looked up to find that Winddancer had also changed, into a flowing tunic that somehow gave the impression of a waterfall in various shades of blue and white. Fringe hung past his knees and off his shoulders, stirring in the smallest breeze. At the moment the fringe was swaying wildly as Winddancer braided matching fringe and small feathers into his long hair, heightening the impression of a waterfall.
Winddancer led Kamren across the Vale to the clearing where the Council had been held. "We thought," Winddancer observed just before they entered the clearing, "that, as you are a musician, this would be an appropriate way to welcome you to k'Vala Vale."
The first thing Kamren noticed was that the clearing was lit softly by globes of light that hung in the air under the branches of the trees forming the perimeter of the circle. The globes floated free, bobbing slightly though there was no breeze. Kamren noticed that they were variously hued in shades of pale green, blue, yellow, or white. But before he could give in to astonishment, his attention was captured by the brightly-clad Hawkbrothers sitting under those trees on roots that were too conveniently shaped to be coincidence, or on similarly handy rocks. Bondbirds perched on the overhanging branches. Even as Kamren stared in amazement, Hwaar came gliding in to perch on one of the larger boughs, settling himself with a silent flip of his wings beside a slightly larger, though not as ghostly white, owl.
As they entered the clearing, Kamren realized that the "concert", if it could be called that, was already underway. All eyes were fixed on the Tayledras woman standing in the center of the circle. Her hair was much shorter than Winddancer's, hanging just past her ears. It was dyed mottled brown, proclaiming her to be a scout, and the ends were ragged, as if she had cut it herself. Her outfit, while definitely wilder than anything Kamren had ever seen in Valdemar, was tame compared with Winddancer's or even his own. She wore a midnight blue tunic and loose trews, with darker silhouettes of birds of prey barely visible against the dark fabric. There was no fringe, and somehow the outfit gave the impression of being easy to move it. Should she need to go somewhere in a hurry, or defend herself against an attack, her clothing would not impede her. Under the short sleeves of her tunic, Kamren could see the well-defined muscles of her arms.
Like most Hawkbrothers, the scout woman was breathtakingly beautiful, but what captured Kamren's attention were her eyes. She looked around the clearing slowly, waiting until she had everyone's attention. Her ice-blue eyes swept across the faces at the edge of the clearing, but they didn't seem to see anyone but the two men who had just entered. There was no warmth in them. Kamren suddenly felt very self-conscious in his unfamiliar garb, clutching his lute in front of him. Beside him, Winddancer ducked his head, motioning toward a wide up-thrust root that seemed perfectly positioned as a bench. Around them, absolute silence reigned as the other Hawkbrothers waited motionless.
As Kamren and Winddancer quietly seated themselves, the woman began to sing, accompanying herself on a small hand drum. Though Kamren didn't understand the words, he found himself lost in the melody. It was a thoughtful, almost sad, song, with the drumbeats punctuating it like raindrops falling on wet leaves, or a steady, slow heartbeat. Her voice was sweet and lyrical, and the song she sang flowed through the clearing, catching up her audience as if in an irresistible current. Kamren allowed himself to be carried along, though a small part of him that would always be a Bard couldn't help but pay attention to her musicianship. Try as he would, Kamren could not tell if she had a slight hint of the Bardic Gift, or if she was simply an excellent musician who understood and felt the music strongly. As she finished, she glanced at Winddancer with an unreadable expression in her cold eyes before turning to take a seat across the clearing, leaving Kamren still wondering about the possibility of a Gift.
There was a moment of silence before the Tayledras applauded, then another rose and shifted the mood with a livelier tune. Kamren watched and listened with delight as others followed, each taking a turn at performing whenever they wished, some vocally and some instrumentally. Some prefaced their music in the trade tongue or in Tayledras (which Winddancer translated for Kamren), while others performed with no introduction. Several of the instruments resembled those that Kamren was familiar with, but some were completely unlike any he had ever encountered.
After several Hawkbrothers had performed to the applause of their fellows, Kamren rose, taking his lute with him into the center of the circle. He paused there a moment as an expectant hush fell, waiting until he had their full attention, then started with the song that was most often requested back home: "My Lady's Eyes". It wasn't, as love songs went, the best written or even the most clever, but the tune was catchy and it allowed him to show off his skills, as it required some intricate fingering. Fortunately the lyrics, which honestly were the weakest part of the song, were in Valdemaran and therefore unintelligible to this group. Nevertheless, the Tayledras seemed to enjoy it as much as most Valdemarans did; Kamren found them a wonderfully responsive audience.
As Kamren returned to his seat, Winddancer favored him with a dazzling smile of approval. After a few more performances, Winddancer rose to take a turn. He drew a small flute from somewhere beneath the fringe of his tunic, and began play. The sound was thin and haunting, like wind whistling through rocks and over empty plains. As he played, Winddancer swayed in time with the music, making the fringe on his garment move like…well, like what Kamren imagined the wind would look like if given shape. As with the first performance Kamren had witnessed, there were a few moments of silence before the applause, broken only by a soft breeze that rustled through the leaves in a ghostly echo of Winddancer's flute.
Kamren waited until Winddancer was seated, then rose and took center stage once again, as a few others had already done. "I first heard this song when I was quite young, almost before I knew I wanted to be a Bard," he began, choosing his words with care as he was not as fluent as he would have preferred in the tradetongue. "I was attending a festival in our capital city, and the most famous Bard of all time, Stefen, was performing. It was a rare opportunity for a youngling, and that performance is forever impressed in my memory. I remember how surprised I was to see such an old man; though I knew his adventures with the Herald Vanyel Ashkevron, his lifebonded, had taken place many years before, my child's mind expected still to see the young Bard of the tales. He wrote this song about his beloved, and of all that happened at that festival, this is the memory I most treasure." With that, Kamren started to play. The song was "Magic's Price", which told of Vanyel's final battle—romanticized and exaggerated, of course, but the song was all the better for that. Vanyel was, after all, a legend even by the time Stefen wrote the song. As he sang and played, Kamren used his Bardic Gift, evoking Stefen's fear, and grief at the loss of his lover, but also the glory of Vanyel and the heroism he had shown in his final battle to defend Valdemar. The words might be lost to the Hawkbrothers, but at least they could get a sense for the meaning behind the song.
Once again the audience sat spellbound before showing their appreciation. However, it was the rapt expression on Winddancer's face that warmed Kamren the most. Taking his seat beside him, Kamren watched as Winddancer visibly shook off the spell Kamren had woven with his words and his Gift, and joined the applause. Kamren's response was all out of proportion to Winddancer's appreciation.
During the rest of the concert, Kamren occasionally darted a sideways glance toward his seatmate, trying to sort out why, exactly, Winddancer's reaction had meant more than anyone else's. It was possibly that the reason was simply that Kamren knew him better than he did any other Hawkbrother. Tayledras, he corrected himself absently. Somehow, though, Kamren didn't think that was it. Though they were very quickly discovering many things in common in spite of their very different backgrounds, and were becoming fast friends, there was a suspicious tightening in his chest and flutter in his stomach that Kamren recognized all too well as having little to do with friendship. His breath caught as the idea took hold. Stop it, he chided himself sternly. You have no idea of their customs here. If same-sex pairings are cause for embarrassment in Valdemar, they may be strictly prohibited or even offensive here. Any rumors I may have heard back home to the contrary could be just make-believe and wishful thinking. And you certainly don't want to offend these people who rescued you, so put it out of your mind! With those thoughts, Kamren firmly turned his attention back to the concert, and was soon lost in the strange, delightful music.
* * *
With an effort, Winddancer pulled himself out of the spell of the music, noticing that Kamren was making his way back to the seat he had vacated to perform, and looking quite pleased with himself. And well he should, Winddancer thought as he smiled at the Bard and added his applause. That was music as I have never heard before. There must have been mind-magic behind it. Interesting. Winddancer pretended to watch the rest of the concert, but he was preoccupied and kept finding himself sneaking glances at the man next to him. The Outlander, though quite different in appearance from the Tayledras, was quite attractive, his brown eyes shining with interest and his unruly curls bouncing slightly in time with the music. The outfit Winddancer had lent him brought out the color in his complexion, as well as flattering his slender, almost delicate, figure. Winddancer shook his head ever so slightly, making the blue and white fringe in his hair ripple. Don't be a fool, he thought as he realized where his thoughts were taking him. He's an Outlander, however pretty he looks all dressed up like one of us. Besides, he added to himself as the flutter in his stomach refused to listen to reason, he's probably not shay-a-chern. For all I know, his people may regard it as a perversion. Many cultures do. Though his body was not convinced by logic, Winddancer did his best to ignore it, but he still found it difficult to keep his attention on the concert. He tried a breathing exercise he often used before working magic to bring his body back under control. It helped, though he still felt somewhat unsettled sitting so close to Kamren. Belatedly, he wished he had chosen a seat that allowed for a little more distance between them. Winddancer tried to pretend he could not feel the heat of the Bard sitting beside him, refusing to allow Kamren's body heat to ignite an answering fire within himself.
After some time, Winddancer noticed Kamren's eyes glazing with fatigue, and he belatedly realized that Kamren had not been out of bed until recently, and had not yet been awake this far into the night since his injury. He gently took Kamren's elbow and maneuvered him quietly out of the clearing, the Bard clutching his lute possessively. :I stay. Good company. Good music,: Hwaar Mindspoke him, Sending an image of the owl perched side by side with his mate. :Good. You stay and enjoy yourself,: Winddancer answered. :I'll put our friend to bed.: Hwaar Sent back wordless agreement, overlaid with the image of a pair of hawks spiraling upwards in a mating flight. :No!: Winddancer protested, perhaps a bit too strongly. :Nothing of the sort at all!: The owl Sent Winddancer the mental equivalent of a chuckle, and Winddancer realized that Hwaar was teasing him. Being teased by a Bondbird, he thought with disgust. What's next? Still, if he's teasing me like this, he must have picked up on some of what I'm trying not to feel. I should be more careful. Winddancer firmly shut the bird out of his mind, refusing to listen to any more sallies from that direction.
Unfortunately, Hwaar's teasing was fairly accurate to Winddancer's state of mind at the moment, and only served to make him more aware of that fact. Maybe there's a chance… Winddancer mused, then dismissed the thought with some irritation. He concentrated on steering the exhausted Bard back to his ekele, which he'd been sharing with Kamren. He followed Kamren up the wooden ladder, grateful for the Bard's sake that he had chosen an ekele in the lower branches of the tree. I don't think Kamren will be able to make the climb up to some of the higher dwellings for at least another few days.
Winddancer emerged through the floor to find that Kamren had already collapsed, winded from the climb, onto a pile of cushions Winddancer kept next to the "door". The Bard sprawled, unconsciously provocative, looking like a ruby dropped amid the amber silk. When Kamren opened his eyes and sat up, Winddancer could see that they were shining with excitement. "I am sorry I just do not have the energy tonight," the Outlander said as soon as Winddancer's head and shoulders appeared through the trapdoor, "but tomorrow I have to learn more about your instruments. I have never seen anything like some of them before! And the singing! I wish I knew your language, but the music is so expressive I almost feel I don't need to. I would like to learn some of those songs. And, if I have time, I want to learn your language! It is beautiful."
Winddancer smiled at the Bard's enthusiasm. "Not many Outlanders have ever heard our music. Is there any song in particular that impressed you?" He settled himself on a cushion at the edge of Kamren's pile, carefully taking the lute from the tired Bard and buckling it into the padded traveling case. He couldn't help but notice the tiny stitches where the hertasi had repaired a long gash in the leather cover. Kamren didn't need to know how close he had come to losing his precious instrument to the creatures that had also nearly taken his life. Idly, Winddancer wondered if the Vale's wood craftsman would be able to duplicate it.
"Hmm…" Kamren's eyes grew thoughtful. "There were several, not least of which was your performance on the flute. It was beautiful, like wind and sky and empty plains." Winddancer felt himself flush, and he bent over the lute as if checking to make sure the buckles were secure to hide his confusion. He had been hoping for that response, but his reaction to it was all out of proportion to the praise, and he reminded himself that the Bard was simply giving a professional opinion. "As for singing," Kamren continued, "I was most impressed by that woman we heard when we first arrived in the clearing. The one in dark blue."
Winddancer quickly suppressed a grimace. Rainsong was quite a good musician, one of the best. She always handled her responsibilities as leader of the scouts with commendable diligence, but Winddancer had never been comfortable with her. It was no secret in the Vale that Rainsong was attracted to him. Once, long ago, she had courted him to no avail. Though he had rejected her advances as gently as he could, Rainsong had never quite given up on the possibility. Perhaps, Winddancer admitted to himself for what seemed the hundredth time, it's more than simple attraction. The fact that Rainsong knew he was shay-a-chern made no difference to her, except to make her unhappy that she could never be with him. This led to some inevitable discomfort between the two of them, which was not made any better by the fact that she was the only scout who flew an owl as a bondbird. And not just any owl; Rainsong was bonded to the only other Eagle Owl in the Vale, the mate of Hwaar. This meant that when Winddancer took his turn at scout duty, as all the mages did, he was invariably paired with her. As leader of the scouts, Rainsong could have arranged things differently, but they were the most logical pair, and they both knew it. So they both suffered through the inevitable awkwardness with what grace they could manage, and avoided each other as much as possible when they were not scouting together. Usually that wasn't hard, since Rainsong was often out on scout duty, but as leader of the scouts, she also had a number of responsibilities within the Vale. They had both become adept at looking past each other if they chanced to meet.
"Many in the Clan are of the opinion that Rainsong is the best human singer in or near the Vale," Winddancer answered, keeping his tone light with an effort.
"The best human?" Kamren echoed, looking puzzled by Winddancer's phrasing, obviously uncertain that he had interpreted correctly.
Winddancer smiled. "If you like her singing, you should hear the tervardi sometime." Seeing the blank look on Kamren's face, he added, "the Tayledras work with several non-human species as allies. Legend has it that they were created by the great mage that the Tayledras once served, back before the Mage Wars. There were few then who could create new creatures rather than warping existing ones, and none now possess the art. The tervardi are somewhere between human and bird. Some of them are extraordinary singers. There wasn't time on such short notice, but if we have another concert or celebration while you are here, we will certainly have to include the non-human musicians from among our allies outside the Vale. Though," he added, with a sidelong glance at the Bard, "I doubt that any of the Clan or our allies could match your performance tonight. Were you using a form of mindmagic?" He tried to ask the question innocently, but he was half afraid that the answer was a closely guarded secret.
Kamren looked surprised. "I have been told by my teachers that the Bardic Gift is similar to Empathy, so yes, I suppose it is. Have you not encountered it before?"
Winddancer shook his head and set aside the lute case he was still holding, using the motion to slide a little closer to Kamren in the nest of pillows. He was fascinated by the conversation, but more so by the nearness of the slight young man next to him. He attempted to focus solely on the words, but that led him into an unsettling fascination with the Bard's lips. They looked soft, and curved slightly upwards at the corners. Winddancer dragged his attention back to the conversation. "To my knowledge, no Tayledras possess this particular form of mindmagic, though Empathy and Mindspeech, as well as a few others, are well known among us." In spite of his earlier resolutions to ignore his body's promptings with regard to this unfairly handsome Outlander, Winddancer inched slightly closer, watching carefully for any sign of fear, rejection, or disgust. The reaction he got was entirely different. He stifled a sigh of disappointment as Kamren yawned hugely.
"Much as I would like to stay up and talk about music and the Bardic Gift, I fear I will fall asleep if I try," Kamren apologized, extricating himself from the pillows. "We will have to continue this conversation at a different time. Goodnight." Winddancer watched regretfully, but with a certain amount of appreciation for the bard's figure, as Kamren made his way into the bedroom. Tayledras-style clothing really does suit him very well, Winddancer thought as he allowed himself to sink back into the pillows. And even exhausted, he is graceful. At last, fearing for his sanity and his resolutions should he stay any longer in such close proximity to the tempting young man on the other side of the curtain, and certainly not ready for bed, he settled for a long soak in the pool at the foot of the tree.
* * *
Over the next few weeks, Kamren familiarized himself with the Vale, exploring it with Winddancer as a guide, or by himself when the Hawkbrother was busy. He started learning Tayledras, as not all Hawkbrothers spoke the tradetongue, and Kamren felt awkward not being able to communicate with them. Besides, he wanted to be able to understand the songs he had heard. He did, at one point, seek out some of the musicians he had seen playing instruments that were strange to him. And he learned, entirely by accident, that the feelings he'd been discovering toward Winddancer were more acceptable in k'Vala Vale than in Valdemar. Once he recovered from his embarrassment, and finished thanking whatever luck or deity had ensured that the participants had not been aware of his inadvertent intrusion, he found himself a quiet (unoccupied) corner of the Vale in which to sit and think.
Knowing that such relationships were not completely forbidden, Kamren finally admitted to himself that he was attracted to Winddancer and started thinking seriously about the possibility of acting on those feelings. There were three possible obstacles Kamren could see to such a relationship. The first one, of course, was whether Winddancer himself would be interested in that sort of pairing at all. Kamren tried to think back on all the interactions he could remember witnessing between Winddancer and any women they had encountered. None of them stood out in his memory, but then, neither did any men. It was possible (and here Kamren's breath caught in his throat) that Winddancer didn't currently have any lover.
Which led directly to the next question. Assuming Winddancer was amenable to that sort of relationship with a man, what would he think of pairing with an Outlander? Kamren had no idea (and no way of finding out short of asking someone, which he was certainly not going to do) if that was even permitted. And then, assuming that it wasn't forbidden, would Winddancer be interested or attracted to Kamren personally (again assuming he didn't have a lover)? Kamren was suddenly painfully aware of his pale skin, curly brown hair, and scrawny figure, so unlike Tayledras features. Unlike enough to be unattractive? Winddancer had certainly been kind and attentive, but that could be attributed to his current situation of being both Kamren's Healer and his host.
With a sigh, Kamren realized that the only things that could provide answers to his questions were time and patience. In Haven, he knew the moves of this intricate dance, and knew the sort of hints and questions that would get him the answers he sought; here, he was far out of his depth.
* * *
After a few weeks, once Kamren felt that he was conversant enough in the Tayledras language, he sought out Rainsong, intending to ask her about her music the night of the concert. He found her in a small clearing beside a waterfall near the head of the Vale, surrounded by several baskets of differently colored silk ribbons. She was weaving them into an intricately patterned strip about a thumb-length wide. Kamren guessed it to be a belt or a strap for an instrument.
The Hawkbrother seemed not to have noticed Kamren's approach; she was wholly absorbed in her work. The little waterfall tinkled merrily into a small pool, and the sun glittered on the water. The sweet scent of unfamiliar flowers was heavy in the afternoon air, and hummingbirds darted in and out of the shadows like tiny sparkling jewels. Kamren cleared his throat, and Rainsong looked up quickly, her short hair swinging across her face with the sudden movement. For a fleeting moment, Kamren thought he saw her unguarded, but her eyes quickly hardened as she recognized him. Flustered, Kamren forgot the words he had planned to say, and stammered out an apology in the best Tayledras he could muster.
"Pardon," he said. "I did not wish to…intrude. I merely wanted…er…I mean…I wondered if I might ask…if you would…tell me about…you sing beautifully," he finally blurted out. Rainsong stared at him, waiting. Kamren continued awkwardly. "I wondered if you would tell me about your song. The one you sang the night of the concert. I did not know your language at all when I heard you sing, so I did not understand the words. But it moved me, and I want to learn what it is about, if you would be willing to speak with me."
A hint of a smile touched Rainsong's lips; a sad one, Kamren thought. "It is a very old song," she said, "from just after the Sundering." Kamren settled himself in an attentive attitude on a handy rock near the edge of the pool. The sunlight was warm on his back, and the mist from the waterfall felt refreshing on his neck. Rainsong paused, as if considering what to tell him, then launched into an explanation of the song.
"Long ago," she began, "the Clans of the Tayledras and the Shin'a'in were one people, serving the Mage of Silence. After he died, a rift formed among the Clans, causing them to split into two factions and go their separate ways, each with the blessing of the Goddess, as we are today. The reason for the separation is not important to the song; it is sufficient to know that the Shin'a'in remained in the Plains, while the Tayledras took to the hills and forests of the Pelagirs. The song tells the story of a girl from one of the Clans that became Tayledras, Brightsparrow, lamenting because her lover Taral belonged to the Shin'a'in. She swears an oath to the Goddess that she will never love another, as her lover rides out of sight across the plains, and she changes her use-name toe Lonesparrow. Their paths never cross again, but she keeps her vow. A few years after the Sundering, the Goddess takes pity on the two lovers, and their spirits are reunited beyond this world. Some say this song is symbolic of the Tayledras and Shin'a'in peoples and that some day the Clans will reunite. I think it is simply a song of love that cannot be in this world."
Rainsong fell silent, the only sounds the musical cascade of the waterfall and the buzz of hummingbirds. At some point during the story, her hands had stopped their work. Now she picked up the strands of silk again.
Kamren thought for a minute, wondering how to ask his next question. "It is a sad story and a beautiful song," he said quietly. "You sang it very feelingly. I hardly felt I needed to understand the words." He hesitated, then plunged ahead, determined to find out for sure if she had the Bardic Gift. "You seemed to really understand the emotion of the song, and make the audience feel it with you."
Rainsong looked at Kamren with an unreadable expression, and he hoped he hadn't been too blunt. Finally, she spoke. "You are observant, Outlander. Everyone else in the Vale knows my sorrow; you may as well also know the tale. Better, perhaps, that you hear it from me than from another." There was bitterness in her voice, though her face remained stony, expressionless. Rainsong paused to gather her thoughts, and Kamren waited patiently. As a Bard, story gathering was something he had been trained in, and patience was a big part of it.
"Long ago," she finally began, "before I had chosen my use-name, I was much sought after. Many young men paid court to me, but I would have none of them. I only had eyes for one, and he never offered me any of the attentions the others showered me with. For a long time I waited, creating chance encounters and dreaming up any excuse to be in his company. I fear I made something of a fool of myself, but I didn't care so long as he noticed me. He would have to have been blind not to see what I was doing, how I felt. But he never treated me with anything more than courtesy.
"Finally, I could play the game no longer. I caught him alone in one of the small clearings dotting the Vale and laid my heart bare. I shall never forget the look on his face as he politely tore my heart apart and made his escape.
"After that, I redoubled my efforts. I had resolved to win him over, and I did my best. I brought him gifts and did favors for him. Three times I offered him my feather, and three times he rejected me, each time more polite than the last. I couldn't understand how I could love him so much and he could have such utter disregard for me. I was so blinded by my own hurt and determination that I could not see what everyone else already knew.
"One day I followed him into a clearing much like the one in which I had first declared my passion, intending to offer my feather again, when I was pulled up short by what I saw. I had thought to find him alone, but I saw him locked in the arms of another man, and the truth suddenly became clear to me. He would never love me, because I was female. I must have made some sound, for they both looked up.
"All I could do was stare. 'I tried to tell you,' he said softly, pityingly. 'You refused to understand'. Still polite, but at the same time he now begged for my forgiveness. He never meant to hurt me, but I am doomed to love him without any hope of return. So you see, I understand the song quite well. I am Brightsparrow, and Winddancer is unwillingly my Taral."
Kamren was struck speechless by her last statement. His surprise must have shown on his face, for Rainsong laughed mirthlessly.
"Yes, Outlander. It is Winddancer I love, and Winddancer who will never love me. And just to rub salt in the wound, my bondbird has succeeded where I have failed. Kytha is mated to his Hwaar, so I cannot simply go to a different Clan, or live forever outside the Vale."
Kamren finally found his tongue. He almost couldn't believe his good fortune. "Then Winddancer is…" He stopped, realizing that, while this information was certainly in his favor, it would not be kind to continue his question. He cast about for another, safer subject, but Rainsong was quicker.
"He is shay-a-chern, yes," she finished for him. "You have a better chance of winning him, Outlander, than I ever did." Kamren blushed, wondering if the entire Vale knew how he felt.
"How do you…I mean…what makes you think I'm even interested in him?"
Rainsong once again picked up the forgotten strands of her weaving. "Your reaction when you learned that Winddancer is shay-a-chern gave you away, as did your blush when you feebly attempted to deny it." She looked directly into Kamren's face, and her icy eyes pinned him. "I bear you no ill will, Outlander," she said. "But you will forgive me if I do not desire to be your friend." She dropped her gaze to her weaving, carefully pulling another strand of silk from one of the baskets and deftly adding it into her pattern. She paid no further attention to the Bard, and Kamren left the clearing in confusion, hurrying down the path until he could no longer hear the waterfall behind him. He had a lot to think about.
* * *
"Well, the scouts have returned," Winddancer reported. He had just returned from another Council meeting, and he and Kamren were sitting on a pile of cushions in one corner of the living room in the Hawkbrother's ekele. Hwaar napped on his perch in another corner by the window. Occasionally, a stray breeze would stir in their hair as the two men sat discussing the new developments.
"Were they able to find the Blood-mage responsible for creating those awful 'Beasts?" Kamren asked with a shudder of revulsion. Even after living in the Vale for the past few weeks, Kamren still had nightmares involving long sharp teeth, serpentine tails, and the rotten, breath of carrion-eaters.
"Well, no one went inside to check, if that's what you're asking," Winddancer admitted with a wry smile. "But they're pretty sure it's the place. It's about a day's journey outside of our normal territory, where we have not cleansed the lands and tamed the magic, which is why we never found it before. The mage's dwelling itself is cleverly hidden and difficult to reach, because of both natural rock formations and illusions, but our mages who went with the scouts report that the taint of blood magic is unmistakable if you look for it."
"So you're pretty sure you found the place. Now what? It sounds pretty unpenetratable. Is that the right word?" It didn't sound quite right, and Kamren's brow furrowed for a moment, then he dismissed the issue and returned to the discussion at hand. "What are you going to do about this mage? Is there any way you can use magic to destroy his fortress?"
Winddancer smiled gently. "I wish it were that easy," he answered. "But there are several reasons why that won't work. First, he certainly has magical defenses in place, beyond the illusions that keep it hidden. Second, even if he didn't, it would take an enormous amount of magical energy to cause a stone fortress to be ripped apart. And third, the sudden release of whatever magic he has stored or that is being used to maintain his defenses and illusions would cause a magical backlash that would create yet more distortions to this area than have already been created. This would not only create more disruptions and harm to the area, but it would also make more work for us. That is exactly the type of thing we are supposed to fix. It would be better if we could find a way to catch these magical forces and then slowly release them back into their normal flow paths."
Correctly interpreting Kamren's blank look, Winddancer explained, "Magic occurs naturally, and follows natural laws just as anything else does. All living things, from the smallest blade of grass up through humans and other intelligent beings, create magical energy, which flows over the land. These trickles run together to form 'streams' of magic, which we call ley-lines. The ley-lines come together to form nodes. The more lines flowing into it, the stronger and more powerful the node. Only a very powerful mage, an Adept, can use the energy in a node, and it takes a very powerful Adept to use a node that has many ley-lines feeding it. Does that make sense so far?" Kamren nodded, and Winddancer continued. "Now, imagine what would happen if you were to set up a system of pipes to draw water out of a lake, and put up mills and dams on many of the rivers feeding the lake. The amount of water in the lake would go down, and the strength of the rivers feeding it would decrease. If you suddenly remove all these pipes and dams at once, the lake would flood and cause some destruction on its shores. The more devices you had drawing on the lake in the first place, the greater would be the destruction when you remove them. Imagine the lake as a node, and the rivers feeding it are the ley-lines. We know already that this mage is an Adept, and that he is maintaining magical defenses, almost certainly using magic for other things as well. So if he dies…"
"…the magic will be released all at once, causing a sort of magical flood." Kamren finished, comprehension of the problem suddenly dawning.
"Exactly," Winddancer answered, obviously pleased with Kamren's quick understanding. "The magical backlash could be contained and allowed to drain slowly back into the land without causing physical overflow, but only if there are enough Adepts available and they have a chance to prepare. Now, this is a simplified situation; in addition to 'putting back' all the power he is drawing from local sources, his death would also add all of his own personal and stolen power to the mix, increasing the size of the flood."
Kamren pondered what he had just learned about magic. He was still astounded by the magic he saw everywhere in the Vale, but he could no longer doubt its existence. Perhaps Stefen hadn't really exaggerated Vanyel's power, and that was an exciting thought. Finally, pulling himself back to the current problem, he spoke up hesitantly. "Is there another way to negate him? Some way to strip him of his powers? I mean, do we really have to kill him, if it will cause so many problems?"
Winddancer's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair. "After all you've been through, I would have expected you to be leading the charge. Kamren, he is evil. Once a mage turns to the Blood path, I have never heard of one turning away from it. He is tainted forever. I explained how the magic released by all life trickles into streams and pools that can be tapped by most mages. There is a faster, easier way to get that energy, and that is to take it by force from a living being, bypassing the natural cycle entirely. Pain, fear, and violent death release the energy quickly, allowing the mage to become very powerful if he has a steady supply of victims. This energy is much easier to use than node energy, or even the energy from ley-lines if the mage knows what he is doing. But it leaves the user irreparably tainted. So, to answer your question, even if we were to somehow strip him of his power without killing him, this Blood-path Adept would forever retain the taint. If he could, he would find a way to regain his powers, and I promise you, he won't be scrupulous. He gains power by torturing and killing intelligent beings; no one in this area is safe from him until he is dead. If we exile him, he will simply prey on whoever or whatever lives near him, until he has regained his power and influence. Making him someone else's problem is not a solution that would sit well with any Tayledras. We fix problems, we don't divert them elsewhere."
Kamren sat silent for a few minutes, chastened. "You mentioned that catching and safely releasing the magical backlash takes preparation," he said at last, convinced by Winddancer's vehemence and greater experience in such matters. Obviously, the Mage would know more about this than a Bard from Valdemar would. "So if you can't just wander up to his lair and destroy it, and you can't strip his power and send him into some lonely region far away, what are you going to do? I imagine that the preparation will take some time and possibly nearness to his fortress, and I guess he would have some way of knowing if you got close."
Winddancer sighed and looked down at a stray feather, carried to this end of the room by the breeze through the window, that he had been toying with. "We don't know yet," he admitted reluctantly. "We thought of a few ideas at the meeting today, but none of them are good. We will be meeting again tomorrow and," he suddenly looked up and met Kamren's eyes, "the Council requested that you attend this meeting."
Kamren was surprised. "Me? What could I possibly add? I know nothing about magic, except what you just told me. I barely even speak your language!"
"Don't worry about that. I'll translate anything you don't understand, if the Council members themselves cannot," Winddancer assured him. "But I do not think that will be necessary; you are a quick learner. You have picked up much of our language in only a few weeks. As for why your presence is requested tomorrow, well, the Changebeasts did chase you into the Pelagirs. There must be something about you that attracted his attention. It may be that we can discover what that is and use it to our advantage. Since we found you, scouts have been on the lookout for signs of other attacks. As far as we can tell, no other traveler has been molested."
Kamren glanced down, watching as Winddancer alternately ruffled and smoothed the feather. "I suppose you're right. Any idea at all why I was chosen?" Kamren looked up again and met Winddancer's incredibly blue eyes. He discovered that he didn't want to look away.
"I don't know," Winddancer's voice was grave. After a moment during which he, too, seemed reluctant to break eye contact, he teased, "Maybe it was your vibrant personality that he sensed across the miles. Or," he added breaking into a sudden grin, "maybe it was your bright red cloak."
Kamren's heart lurched. Could Winddancer be flirting with him? He grinned back. "Scarlet is what marks me as a Bard. It is supposed to protect me, and I can't very well do away with my uniform, especially while traveling and doing my job. Anyway, it's hardly more noticeable than your wildly colored outfits and magic-bleached hair," Kamren retorted, reaching out to touch the silvery-white strands spilling onto the cushion Winddancer was reclining against. He felt his face growing warm, and his heart hammered in his chest. Kamren looked up to find those silver-blue eyes fixed on his face, and met them. Again, neither one of them seemed to want to look away, and they remained motionless for seconds that seemed like ages. Hoping he was reading the signals right, Kamren carefully moved his hand up to gently caress Winddancer's cheek without breaking eye contact. He lost himself in Winddancer's eyes, and wished he could remain like this forever. Slowly, Winddancer moved toward Kamren, his own hand traveling toward Kamren's face as he did. As their lips touched, Kamren felt an arm slide around his waist, and he melted into the embrace.