Author's Note: shamefully short, I know.... just a quick little update.
I don't usually respond to reviews in the story text, but this is for
a_lady_who's_sure: I don't know whether I've been more stunned by your
praise and support or frustrated that I can't contact you! Why not leave a
signed review, OK?
Chapter 7
Soaring over the fief, Daine changed her eyes to an owl's for the time being, and was pleased to see the land below illuminated in her night- wisdom, as the People called it. An owl would not be as well equipped for defense against the hurroks, though; she kept the rest of the falcon's body. It was a grim prospect.
Meanwhile, she wasn't completely sure what exactly she was looking for, much less what she could reasonably hope to accomplish. All she wanted were answers -- answers to what these hurroks were doing, what was behind them, if something was, and what that strange magic she'd felt briefly was. High over the plains, she called out to her scouts once more.
It seemed to take them forever to reply, finally giving her a vague location -- about a mile north. *This* was strange, the birds being less cooperative than usual. She called again, asking to their welfare, but they said shortly that they were fine. Their reluctance stuck in her head even as she tried to focus on her task; it seemed almost as though they didn't want to talk to her. She prayed fervently something had not come between her and the People. Her stomach twisted. More and more she was finding bruises in her power. The thought made her want to hide.
In the meantime, she still couldn't sense the hurroks, though ordinarily they should have been screaming in her senses. Now they came into her sight -- about twenty survivors after the battle -- scattered over the plain, some wheeling in the air. The birds' reports yesterday had been correct; the monsters were indeed fighting one another. Claws and teeth inflicted cuts that stained their hides red.
Daine paused as she drew closer, watching the hurroks trotting about the plain on huge claws that tore gashes in the earth or pushing through the night air on their great leathery wings, tossing their heads and screaming challenges. It's their nature, she reminded herself. Even after all her years of experience with such immortals, the sight of such creatures -- so physically perverted, so naturally malicious -- made her recoil. Now, the sight of them again, when she still felt no trace of their bloodthirsty magical selves, made her heart falter.
Grimly she shook off the fear and drew closer. As a falcon, she'd probably be faster than the hurroks, if it came to that, and more maneuverable given her form and size. Still, she was not about to plunge into battle against such a large herd (or flock? she wondered with vague amusement). It would be best that they didn't know she was about, and hopefully she could reach into their minds, as she'd tried before, without them sensing her presence. Immortals, she knew, could communicate with the People -- and she didn't want them to suspect she was anything more than a normal bird. She'd have to play the part, then. First, she sorrowfully relinquished her non-falcon eyes. Letting the raptor shape take over, she sank into a falcon's being, letting thoughts of hunting and soaring over the plain rise to the surface of her mind. This was something she'd developed over the years, adopting an animal's spirit as well as its body. Often the People were thoroughly convinced she was one of them before she lowered the veil; she hoped it worked similarly with the hurroks.
Now Daine was practically on top of the hurroks, soaring above the mountain-seamed plain. She forced herself to circle casually above them, ignoring the pounding of her heart. The beasts were just a dive away, and she still couldn't feel them -- as if they were closed off to her. She dropped some air from her wings and wheeled closer.
Suddenly, a tickle registered at the back of her mind. The hurroks? She scrutinized them again, then focused on the magic she sensed, trying to draw it out. No, it was certainly not hurrok magic as she would recognize it. It didn't even seem to be coming from them -- rather, it seemed to generate from a point to the southeast, closer to the fief. She banked and headed in that direction.
She followed the sensation, which grew stronger as she drew towards its point of origin. She was over the soaring sandstone peaks now, flying along the rocky spine. The strange magic hummed in her senses. She only knew it wasn't the People, or any other immortal she'd encountered. This power felt more silvery, yet hard, like steel. Memory flared: this was what she'd felt that moment on the East Tower -- at the heart of that magical whirlwind she'd sensed. This was what was beneath the hurroks' magic, strengthening and enhancing it. The Wildmage flexed her wicked claws. *This* was what she was fighting here at Ravenpeak. She was drawing nearer to the source.
The steely magic flared up like a bonfire heaped with kindling. She stopped, pulled up short above the craggy cliffs. There it was -- that malicious force. It was radiating from somewhere in the mountain directly below her. A cave? She flew to the edge of the cliff and swooped down, studying the choppy side of the peak. The steely presence hummed and pulsed.
After perhaps twenty minutes of searching, she spotted a recess at the base of the stone face. There -- behind a clump of sagebrush sprouting valiantly out of the rock -- it seemed there was a large boulder pushed into a gap in the mountainside. Examining it, Daine decided it was indeed a cave entrance, blocked off by a formidable ovular piece of stone. This was definitely not a natural occurrence; and she felt that alien magic surging inside, like the dancing flames of a fire. Now to get inside -- maybe if she changed back to human she could move the boulder....
Something phantom-like yet persistent brushed her mind, a finger digging through her consciousness. She clapped falcon wings to her head, trying to brush away the obtrusive probe. When the feeling vanished, she was trembling. Something had breached her magic, searching her. Who it might have been -- and what they sought to find out -- could not be good.
A feral scream from behind her cut through her thoughts like a dagger. Daine spun around to find a hurrok, away from its herd, swooping down on her. Her breath froze in her throat -- no time to get off the ground -- the hurrok would be on her --
Through the panic, she snatched at a wildcat's form and bounded off across the moonlit plain, underneath the hurrok's line of flight. She heard it scream its frustration and rage; she knew without looking back that it had banked and would be chasing her. She couldn't outrace it on the ground, could she? Sneaking a look back, she saw it eating up the distance between them, wings the size of bedsheets breathing a *whoosh* sound with each beat, yellow eyes burning like beacons in the night. It screamed again, baring cruel predator's fangs.
Daine's blood pounded in her ears. She didn't have a chance on the ground. Coiling her powerful muscles, she leapt from the sun-yellowed grass, taking shape in the air as before. Once more a falcon, she grabbed at the air with angled wings, speeding away from the hurrok. It screamed once more with twice the fury, seeing its prey escape. Daine's mind settled somewhat with the knowledge that she was faster in the air, and she could outmaneuver it if necessary.
More hurrok's calls rent the air. Her head whipped around involuntarily, her skin prickling. Four more hurroks had joined their herd-mate and were speeding toward her with equal intensity. Two of them gradually move out to the sides, cutting off her escape. Fear chilled her as she realized they were boxing her in. More, they were herding her back towards the rest of the flock.
Thank the gods I'm a falcon, she thought. She cut her speed and dropped straight down. Diving was what falcons did best; they could reach unimaginable speeds. Now, she dropped away, and her pursuers swept on overhead, carried on by their momentum. Daine pulled up in the air, flapped back to an elevation to take advantage of the wind, changed her eyes to an owl's, and headed back to Ravenpeak. The fief's sandstone towers were pale in the moonlight, standing out from the surrounding plain like a beacon. Daine's breath caught as she prayed fervently to her parents and any god who would listen to let her reach safety before the hurroks caught up with her.
Another hunter's scream *very* close behind her told her that the gods had missed the appeal. She could feel the wind from their wings now, smell their putrid stench of old blood and long-dead meat. She risked a look behind her.
It was not a wise choice. The movement bruised her speed and balance. She cursed mentally and flapped harder to try and pick up her lost speed; a hurrok screamed its triumph --
Pain seared her back as the hurrok swiped her with its claw. Desperate, she dove again, dropping a dozen yards below her attacker. Faintly she knew she had taken a bad wound; she felt blood creeping through her feathers. She flapped harder, and for an agonizing minute sped on the fuel of adrenaline, torturously managing to put her pursuers behind. She was a mere two hundred yards from Ravenpeak now -- surely she'd make it. Her beak gaped in a raptor grimace as the pain of her wound gripped her. She'd lost so much blood, and flown so hard... her wingbeats began to falter and she gasped for breath. I can't die, she thought frantically. I promised Numair. Goddess strike me down if I don't come back to him.
And then, somehow, she was passing over the proud walls of Ravenpeak, and the hurroks on her tail screeched their fury but fell back from the archers still lining the ramparts. She was dizzy now, faint from blood loss and fear and exertion. She could barely keep her wings moving; surely she'd tumble from the air any moment now. She almost laughed at the maternal voice scolding her in her head: you'd better not let him see you like this!
But there was no where else any divine force could have gotten her to go. She struggled to focus on the castle, navigating around its countless towers. Why did Gregory's castle have to be so gods-curst *complicated*? Her head was spinning now.
But then there he was, standing on the balcony at the railing, waiting for her. A sparkling globe of magic overhead lit the deck; she saw his eyes light at the sight of her, and he leaned forward over the railing. For a moment she doubted she'd make it; darkness flared across her vision and her ears roared. But if she fell here, there was nothing between her and a very long drop. Just one -- more -- wingbeat --
She took it and fell the last few yards to him, succumbing to the ordeal. He caught her gently and she melted back into her human self, slumped in his arms on the cold flagstones, her blood staining his clothes, limbs pale in the moonlight.
Chapter 7
Soaring over the fief, Daine changed her eyes to an owl's for the time being, and was pleased to see the land below illuminated in her night- wisdom, as the People called it. An owl would not be as well equipped for defense against the hurroks, though; she kept the rest of the falcon's body. It was a grim prospect.
Meanwhile, she wasn't completely sure what exactly she was looking for, much less what she could reasonably hope to accomplish. All she wanted were answers -- answers to what these hurroks were doing, what was behind them, if something was, and what that strange magic she'd felt briefly was. High over the plains, she called out to her scouts once more.
It seemed to take them forever to reply, finally giving her a vague location -- about a mile north. *This* was strange, the birds being less cooperative than usual. She called again, asking to their welfare, but they said shortly that they were fine. Their reluctance stuck in her head even as she tried to focus on her task; it seemed almost as though they didn't want to talk to her. She prayed fervently something had not come between her and the People. Her stomach twisted. More and more she was finding bruises in her power. The thought made her want to hide.
In the meantime, she still couldn't sense the hurroks, though ordinarily they should have been screaming in her senses. Now they came into her sight -- about twenty survivors after the battle -- scattered over the plain, some wheeling in the air. The birds' reports yesterday had been correct; the monsters were indeed fighting one another. Claws and teeth inflicted cuts that stained their hides red.
Daine paused as she drew closer, watching the hurroks trotting about the plain on huge claws that tore gashes in the earth or pushing through the night air on their great leathery wings, tossing their heads and screaming challenges. It's their nature, she reminded herself. Even after all her years of experience with such immortals, the sight of such creatures -- so physically perverted, so naturally malicious -- made her recoil. Now, the sight of them again, when she still felt no trace of their bloodthirsty magical selves, made her heart falter.
Grimly she shook off the fear and drew closer. As a falcon, she'd probably be faster than the hurroks, if it came to that, and more maneuverable given her form and size. Still, she was not about to plunge into battle against such a large herd (or flock? she wondered with vague amusement). It would be best that they didn't know she was about, and hopefully she could reach into their minds, as she'd tried before, without them sensing her presence. Immortals, she knew, could communicate with the People -- and she didn't want them to suspect she was anything more than a normal bird. She'd have to play the part, then. First, she sorrowfully relinquished her non-falcon eyes. Letting the raptor shape take over, she sank into a falcon's being, letting thoughts of hunting and soaring over the plain rise to the surface of her mind. This was something she'd developed over the years, adopting an animal's spirit as well as its body. Often the People were thoroughly convinced she was one of them before she lowered the veil; she hoped it worked similarly with the hurroks.
Now Daine was practically on top of the hurroks, soaring above the mountain-seamed plain. She forced herself to circle casually above them, ignoring the pounding of her heart. The beasts were just a dive away, and she still couldn't feel them -- as if they were closed off to her. She dropped some air from her wings and wheeled closer.
Suddenly, a tickle registered at the back of her mind. The hurroks? She scrutinized them again, then focused on the magic she sensed, trying to draw it out. No, it was certainly not hurrok magic as she would recognize it. It didn't even seem to be coming from them -- rather, it seemed to generate from a point to the southeast, closer to the fief. She banked and headed in that direction.
She followed the sensation, which grew stronger as she drew towards its point of origin. She was over the soaring sandstone peaks now, flying along the rocky spine. The strange magic hummed in her senses. She only knew it wasn't the People, or any other immortal she'd encountered. This power felt more silvery, yet hard, like steel. Memory flared: this was what she'd felt that moment on the East Tower -- at the heart of that magical whirlwind she'd sensed. This was what was beneath the hurroks' magic, strengthening and enhancing it. The Wildmage flexed her wicked claws. *This* was what she was fighting here at Ravenpeak. She was drawing nearer to the source.
The steely magic flared up like a bonfire heaped with kindling. She stopped, pulled up short above the craggy cliffs. There it was -- that malicious force. It was radiating from somewhere in the mountain directly below her. A cave? She flew to the edge of the cliff and swooped down, studying the choppy side of the peak. The steely presence hummed and pulsed.
After perhaps twenty minutes of searching, she spotted a recess at the base of the stone face. There -- behind a clump of sagebrush sprouting valiantly out of the rock -- it seemed there was a large boulder pushed into a gap in the mountainside. Examining it, Daine decided it was indeed a cave entrance, blocked off by a formidable ovular piece of stone. This was definitely not a natural occurrence; and she felt that alien magic surging inside, like the dancing flames of a fire. Now to get inside -- maybe if she changed back to human she could move the boulder....
Something phantom-like yet persistent brushed her mind, a finger digging through her consciousness. She clapped falcon wings to her head, trying to brush away the obtrusive probe. When the feeling vanished, she was trembling. Something had breached her magic, searching her. Who it might have been -- and what they sought to find out -- could not be good.
A feral scream from behind her cut through her thoughts like a dagger. Daine spun around to find a hurrok, away from its herd, swooping down on her. Her breath froze in her throat -- no time to get off the ground -- the hurrok would be on her --
Through the panic, she snatched at a wildcat's form and bounded off across the moonlit plain, underneath the hurrok's line of flight. She heard it scream its frustration and rage; she knew without looking back that it had banked and would be chasing her. She couldn't outrace it on the ground, could she? Sneaking a look back, she saw it eating up the distance between them, wings the size of bedsheets breathing a *whoosh* sound with each beat, yellow eyes burning like beacons in the night. It screamed again, baring cruel predator's fangs.
Daine's blood pounded in her ears. She didn't have a chance on the ground. Coiling her powerful muscles, she leapt from the sun-yellowed grass, taking shape in the air as before. Once more a falcon, she grabbed at the air with angled wings, speeding away from the hurrok. It screamed once more with twice the fury, seeing its prey escape. Daine's mind settled somewhat with the knowledge that she was faster in the air, and she could outmaneuver it if necessary.
More hurrok's calls rent the air. Her head whipped around involuntarily, her skin prickling. Four more hurroks had joined their herd-mate and were speeding toward her with equal intensity. Two of them gradually move out to the sides, cutting off her escape. Fear chilled her as she realized they were boxing her in. More, they were herding her back towards the rest of the flock.
Thank the gods I'm a falcon, she thought. She cut her speed and dropped straight down. Diving was what falcons did best; they could reach unimaginable speeds. Now, she dropped away, and her pursuers swept on overhead, carried on by their momentum. Daine pulled up in the air, flapped back to an elevation to take advantage of the wind, changed her eyes to an owl's, and headed back to Ravenpeak. The fief's sandstone towers were pale in the moonlight, standing out from the surrounding plain like a beacon. Daine's breath caught as she prayed fervently to her parents and any god who would listen to let her reach safety before the hurroks caught up with her.
Another hunter's scream *very* close behind her told her that the gods had missed the appeal. She could feel the wind from their wings now, smell their putrid stench of old blood and long-dead meat. She risked a look behind her.
It was not a wise choice. The movement bruised her speed and balance. She cursed mentally and flapped harder to try and pick up her lost speed; a hurrok screamed its triumph --
Pain seared her back as the hurrok swiped her with its claw. Desperate, she dove again, dropping a dozen yards below her attacker. Faintly she knew she had taken a bad wound; she felt blood creeping through her feathers. She flapped harder, and for an agonizing minute sped on the fuel of adrenaline, torturously managing to put her pursuers behind. She was a mere two hundred yards from Ravenpeak now -- surely she'd make it. Her beak gaped in a raptor grimace as the pain of her wound gripped her. She'd lost so much blood, and flown so hard... her wingbeats began to falter and she gasped for breath. I can't die, she thought frantically. I promised Numair. Goddess strike me down if I don't come back to him.
And then, somehow, she was passing over the proud walls of Ravenpeak, and the hurroks on her tail screeched their fury but fell back from the archers still lining the ramparts. She was dizzy now, faint from blood loss and fear and exertion. She could barely keep her wings moving; surely she'd tumble from the air any moment now. She almost laughed at the maternal voice scolding her in her head: you'd better not let him see you like this!
But there was no where else any divine force could have gotten her to go. She struggled to focus on the castle, navigating around its countless towers. Why did Gregory's castle have to be so gods-curst *complicated*? Her head was spinning now.
But then there he was, standing on the balcony at the railing, waiting for her. A sparkling globe of magic overhead lit the deck; she saw his eyes light at the sight of her, and he leaned forward over the railing. For a moment she doubted she'd make it; darkness flared across her vision and her ears roared. But if she fell here, there was nothing between her and a very long drop. Just one -- more -- wingbeat --
She took it and fell the last few yards to him, succumbing to the ordeal. He caught her gently and she melted back into her human self, slumped in his arms on the cold flagstones, her blood staining his clothes, limbs pale in the moonlight.
