Banewreaker(14)

"Arduan," Tanaros said slowly. Relinquishing the rhios, he ran a hand through his hair, still damp from his bath. The Archers of Arduan, which lay along the northern fringes of the Delta, were renowned for their skill with the bow. "Does his Lordship know?"

"Yes." Ushahin's eyes glittered in the lamplight. "He knows."

The taste of fear was back in Tanaros' mouth, the triumph of the day's exercise forgotten. "Does he think it has to do with—"

"The lost weapon of the Prophecy?" the half-breed asked bluntly. "How not?"

Both were silent, at that.

Dergail's Soumanie had risen in the west.

Dergail the Counselor had been one of three, once; three that Haomane First-Born had sent against Satoris in the Fourth Age of the Sundered World. And he had been armed, as they all had. Armed with the Soumanie, polished chips of the Souma with the force to Shape the world itself—and armed also with weapons of Haomane's devising. One, they knew well; the Helm of Shadows, that Ardrath the Counselor had borne, which had fallen into Lord Satoris' grasp, and been changed. One other, they knew and feared; the Spear of Light, that Malthus had hidden.

But the last was the Arrow of Fire, that had vanished when Dergail was defeated and flung himself into the sea, and no one knew where it was.

"Ravens bore it away," Tanaros said at length. "Do they know?"

Ushahin shook his head again. "They are as they are, cousin," he said; gently, for him. "Brief lives, measured against ours; a dark flash of feathers in the sun. They do not know. Nor do the Were, who remember. Ravens bore it east, but it did not reach the fastholds of Pelmar."

When it came to the Were, Ushahin alone among Men—or Ellylon—would know. Oronin's Children had raised him, when no one else would. Tanaros considered. "Then Malthus knows," he said.

"Malthus suspects," Ushahin corrected him. "And plots accordingly."

Tanaros spread his hands. "As it may be. I command troops, cousin. What would you have me do?"

"Do?" The half-breed grinned, his mood as mercurial as one of his madlings. "Why, cousin, do as you do! I have come to tell you what I know, and that I have done. You spoke, also, of ravens."

"Ravens." Tanaros smiled. "Is it time?"

"Time, and more." Ushahin uncoiled from the carpet, straightening as he rose. "There is a wedding afoot, after all, and the ravens have come home to roost, with their eyes filled with visions. Your friend is among them. Will you come with me to the rookery on the morrow, ere his Lordship summons them?"

"I will," Tanaros said, "gladly."





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THREE





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A LIGHT MIST WREATHED THE beech wood, and their steps were soundless on the mast of fallen leaves, soft and damp after winter. New growth was greening on the trees, forming a canopy overhead.

It was a deeper green than the beeches Tanaros had known as a boy, the leaves broader, fanning to capture and hold the cloud-filtered sunlight. The trunks of the trees were gnarled in a way they weren't elsewhere, twisted around ragged boles as they grew, like spear-gutted warriors straining to stand upright.

They were old and strong, though, and their roots were deep.

Blight, the Ellylon said; Satoris the Sunderer blighted the land, the ichor of his unhealing wound seeping like poison into the earth, tainting it so no wholesome thing could grow.

Tanaros had believed it, once. No longer. Wounded, yes. The Vale of Gorgantum had endured the blow of the Shaper's wound, as Lord Satoris himself endured it. Deprived of sunlight, it suffered, as Lord Satoris suffered, driven to earth by Haomane's wrath. Yet, like the Shaper, it survived; adapted, and survived.

And who was to say there was no beauty in it?

Ahead, a rustling filled the wood. There was no path, but Ushahin Dreamspinner led the way, at home in the woods. From behind, he looked hale, his spine straight and upright, his step sure. His gilt-pale hair shone under the canopy. One might take him, Tanaros thought, for a young Ellyl poet, wandering the wood.

Not from the front, though. No one ever made that mistake.

There, the first nest, a ragged construction wedged in the branches high overhead. Others, there and there, everywhere around them as they entered the rookery proper, and the air came alive with the sound of ravens. Ushahin stopped and gazed around him, a smile on his ruined face.

Ravens hopped and sidled along the branches, preening glossy black feathers. Ravens defended their nests, quarreled over bits of twig. Ravens flew from tree to tree, on wings like airborne shadows.

"Kaugh!"

The sound was so close behind him that Tanaros startled. "Fetch!"