Winds of Fury (14 page)

A vague shape developed, a sculpture of fog—except that it was glowing, and the energies of this place were definitely centered around it. Now that she knew what to look for, the lines of force were as clear as ripples in a pond. This—thing—was a part of the forest—of the energies that lay under the forest.

But it was still changing; it blurred, or perhaps her eyes blurred for a moment. And then, the figure solidified. It was not at all what she had expected.

It was a handsome man, silver-haired, silver-eyed, handsome enough even to cast Firesong into the shade, of no determinate age.

And he was dressed in an antique version of Herald's Whites. He looked like a glowing statue of milky glass, or like—

The hair on the back of her neck rose with atavistic fear, and she backed up another pace, holding out one hand as if to ward the thing off.

As if she
could!
This was not the first spirit she had encountered, but how could she know what this spirit could do? How could she hope to hold it off if it chose to attack her?

A crisp, clean breeze rose and fell. It sounded like the forest was sighing.

:Bright Havens!:
said a cheerful, gentle voice in her head.
:You all look as if you'd seen a ghost!:

A quick glance showed her that everyone else had heard that mind-voice as well. Darkwind looked startled; the gryphons were mantling and the little ones hid under their wings. Skif was white—and round-eyed with astonishment, for he was
not
a strong Mindspeaker, and it would take a powerful Mindspeaker indeed to make him Hear. Nyara simply looked frightened and puzzled. The Companions—there was no reading them. They stood as stock still as if they had been carved of snow.

Firesong was as pale as his hair—or the apparition. This was the first time that Elspeth had ever seen the Hawkbrother truly frightened. She'd seen him worried, yes. Anxious and even apprehensive. But never frightened.

Still, it was Firesong who recovered first. He regained a little more color, drew himself erect, and approached the—man.

The apparition simply smiled. For a revenant, this one was remarkably good-natured. Weren't ghosts supposed to rattle chains and moan curses or warnings? But she had never heard of a Herald coming back to haunt anyone before.

“And have we not?” Firesong asked, stopping within touching distance of the spirit and looking challengingly into its “face.” “Have we not seen a ghost, Forefather?”

Forefather?
“Firesong, what are you talking about?” Elspeth asked in a whisper, as if she really thought the thing wouldn't hear her if she kept her voice down.

Firesong's voice shook, and he was clearly having a hard time keeping it steady. “Don't
you
recognize him, Elspeth?” he asked tremulously. “Have you never seen those features before? Are there no portraits in your home in Valdemar of your ancestor and mine?”

The spirit folded his arms over his chest. It looked, perversely, as if he was enjoying this. It was hard to feel frightened of someone who had that kind of mischievous twinkle in his eyes—or whatever passed for eyes.

“My ancestor?” she repeated, feeling remarkably stupid. “I mean, it looks like he's wearing old Herald's Whites, but I don't—I mean, there isn't anyone in the royal family who looks like—there's no one in the Royal Gallery who—”

Firesong regained a little more color. “Elspeth, have you no eyes in your head?” he asked, in a much steadier—and rather impatient—tone. “Look at him. Look at me! This is
Vanyel
. Your great-great-many-times-great grandfather, and mine.
Herald
Vanyel. The last Herald-Mage, Elspeth. Ally of the Clans.”

Her mouth dropped open. The apparition winked broadly.
: Very good, Firesong,:
he said.

:Close your mouth, granddaughter,
: said a voice she knew was only in
her
mind this time.
:You look very pretty, but not overly bright that way. There is no Veil to hold insects out; something might fly right down your throat.:

She snapped her mouth shut and blushed in confusion.

She was not the only one with a reaction to the identification. “If
that
is Vanyel,” Skif said, and gulped, “then
this
must be—the Forest of Sorrows!”

She knew even as he said it that Skif was right. But how? How had they gotten here? Skif might well gulp, for she had thought there was a reasonable limit on how far one could Gate—and this was well beyond that limit. As nearly as she could reckon, they were more than the length of Valdemar off-course, and
none
of them had ever been up here before, not even Skif.

This was insane. Or else,
she
had gone insane. Or it was a dream—

:It's not a dream,:
Gwena said, lipping her to prove it.

:No, it's not a dream,:
the spirit said, still smiling.
:And you haven't all gone mad. This is Sorrows and I am Vanyel Ashkevron. I am still in the service of the Goddess and Valdemar. I brought you here.:

She could only blink. If this was Vanyel—no, who else could it be? It must be. If her mage-senses weren't supporting his claims, she would have thought he was just someone playing a trick on all of them. “Ah, I'm sorry, but—I've never seen a ghost before—I—” she stammered in confusion.

Firesong continued to stare at the spirit, but there was a certain expression of growing accusation on his face. And well there might be, since this ghostly Vanyel had just run roughshod over their plans with this little excursion.

Elspeth tried to shake her thoughts loose. If this was Vanyel, then
this
was the spirit of one of the most pivotal Heralds of all time. His death had ended the age of Herald-Mages. And if her researches in the Archives were correct, he was also personally responsible for the fact that it was impossible for magic to be performed or even
thought of
inside the borders of Valdemar. She had a million questions in her mind, and was afraid to ask any of them.

But another thought occurred to her suddenly. What if this was still some kind of trick? Just because he was a Herald,
then. . . .

:It
is
Vanyel,:
Gwena repeated, in reply to the unvoiced suspicion. Elspeth could sense that she was seriously shaken.
:And this is not a trap or, at least, not a trap of an enemy. Trust me in this.:
Then, as if to herself, she added,
:This was not in the plan. . . . :

Before Elspeth could react to either statement, the spirit himself replied—his smile fading, and being replaced with a look of stern seriousness.
:There have been many things done that were not in the “plan, ” sister,:
he said, without apology.
:And for the better. I have many reasons to be less than fond of predestined paths. And it would be wise for you and Rolan to recall that plans seldom survive the first engagement with the enemy. A plan that has been in operation as long as this one of yours should never have lasted as long as it did.:

Gwena's head came up, and her eyes widened, as if she had not expected to be chided. She staggered back a step.

Vanyel's smile returned, this time for Elspeth.
:Personally, I think you have been doing well, especially for someone who had to constantly fight “plans” that had been made without her consent or knowledge.:
He glanced from Elspeth to Darkwind and back.
:I think you will upset a few more plans before you're through. Things should be very interesting for you, at any rate, once you reach Haven. For what it's worth, you have my sympathy.:

“This is a fine family chat. I'm having a delightful time. May I interrupt and ask how in the silver skies did you bring us here?” Firesong demanded.

Elspeth felt a chill run up her back at his words. There were some who had held—sentimentally, she had always thought—that Vanyel somehow protected Valdemar, haunting the Forest of Sorrows. It seemed the sentimentalists were right.

Treyvan's feathers were slowly smoothing down; he clicked his beak twice, and said—with remarkable mildness, Elspeth thought, considering the circumstances—“I did not know you could change the dessstination of a Gate.” He cocked his head to one side, and continued, making no secret of his surprise, “I know of no one alive who can do ssso—”

Then he stopped short, as he realized that he was not precisely talking to someone who was
alive.

“Urrr. Apologiesss.”

:No need to apologize, Treyvan. I've had a great deal of time to research the subject,:
Vanyel replied, actually sounding a bit sheepish.

As he spoke, Elspeth noticed that he faded in and out, as if the amount of power he was using to maintain himself, or his control over it, fluctuated.

:I would imagine you have,
youngster,: Need's dry mental voice replied.
:Although Gates are not precisely my specialty, I recall someone in my time learning how to kidnap the unwitting by interfering with their Portals.:

:Ah. So I have not discovered anything new.:
Did he sound a little disappointed?
:Well, that means that the rest of you can uncover this “secret” for yourselves, later. Right now, you need to hear some things, and I am the one to tell you. That is why I diverted you.:

Vanyel did not exactly sigh, but Elspeth did get a sense of impatience.
:Then perhaps Firesong ought to send a message telling them you will be all right, shouldn't he?:

Now it was Firesong's turn to look impatient. “You haven't exactly given me a chance to, Forefather!” he snapped. “If you all don't mind, I shall do exactly that!”

He turned and stalked off into the forest, the white
dyheli
following. His firebird flapped its wings a little to keep its balance as he turned, and favored Vanyel with a contemptuous look and a chitter.

:Oh, dear. I seem to have put my foot in it—and he's as touchy as I used to be,:
the spirit said, chagrined.
:I hope he'll accept an apology.:

“Oh, don't worry too much about it,” Darkwind said unexpectedly, giving Vanyel a half grin. “I think he's more upset by the fact that he
isn't
the most powerful Adept around anymore. And it doesn't matter whether you really are what you claim you are, the fact that you played with his Gate proves you're stronger than he is. Besides—you made a better entrance than he did.”

Elspeth favored her lover with an odd look. He was certainly taking this apparition rather well—better than she was, in fact. She still wasn't entirely certain that this spirit was who and what he said he was.

No matter what Gwena said. Companions weren't infallible. Could they be fooled?

:Still, I seem to be as bad at handling people's feelings as I was back in my own time. . . . :
This time the spirit
did
sigh.
:Shall we take this from the beginning? I need to speak with all of you, but the ones I need to speak with the most are Elspeth and Darkwind—:

Some of her growing skepticism must have shown, for he stopped and looked only at her.

:You still are not certain that I am genuine, or of my motives. I think you've gotten much more cautious than you once were,:
the spirit said at last.

:She's had a good teacher,:
Need said gruffly.
:Me. I wouldn't believe the spirit of my own mother if she showed up with as little proof of who she was as you've given us. “Trust me” doesn't fly. If you want her to believe you're what you say you are, you'd better give her some proof she'll recognize.:

The spirit actually laughed, then turned to Elspeth.
:Will it constitute proof if I answer some questions?
Things no one outside of Valdemar could know the answers to except me?:

She nodded, slowly. It would certainly be a start, anyway.

She did, although she hadn't ever heard the name before she came to k'Sheyna. “The little air-elementals that we call to set the Truth Spell,” she replied.

Vanyel nodded vigorously. She noticed then that although his feet touched the ground, the grass stems poked right through them. Hard to counterfeit that effect. . . .
:Exactly. And before you ask, even though it is true magic, since you are Heralds they know not to pester you when you cast the spell that calls them. Heralds casting true magic will never be bothered; I couldn't have them swarming every Herald-Mage in the Kingdom, after all! My aunt would never have let me hear the last of that.:

Considering what the Herald-Chronicler of the time had to say about Vanyel's formidable aunt, Herald Savil, Elspeth had to chuckle a little at that. She had apparently been a match for Kerowyn.