Owlflight

to suit him. He let it set its own speed without correcting it, poor thing. It was probably used to being ridden to within a breath of foundering, and a little decent treatment would work wonders with it.

“So why are you doing this - the Hawkbrothers, I mean,” Darian asked. “Couldn’t anybody do this - like the Herald-Mages or the Fireflower mages or something?”

“They could,” Snowfire admitted. “And in some places, they probably are. We are doing it here because we know how, because there are very few Herald-Mages and even fewer who are at all powerful enough to do these things, and because there are also Changebeasts and other Changes in these same areas that need attending to. So we are paid by you, our allies of Valdemar, to do work that we are used to doing, and we are serving our own purposes at the same time. We, in our turn, are getting much-needed goods and foodstuffs for our people for our payment, so we are well content.”

No point in explaining too much more. That there were still Vales was something of a miracle, and was due entirely to the superhuman efforts of Tayledras mages to shield their Heartstones during those final Storms. But without the ley-lines to feed the Heartstones, there was much less power coming in than going out, and the Tayledras back in the Vales were having to be very conservative, even frugal, about what they did and did not do with the power contained in the Stones.

That was the main reason why these parties had been sent out; to make certain that as many of the “old” ley-lines as possible were reestablished - and to see to it that an “adequate” amount of power was sent back to the Stones. That was the request of the First Council of Elders - that it be “adequate.” Just what “adequate” meant was being left up to the discretion of the Adepts leading each team.

It means, “don’t be selfish,” I suppose. And if there really aren‘t that many mages in the area who would need node-energy, then what’s the point of allowing it to pool in nodes for Adepts who don’t exist?

“I suppose a bad mage could divert a lot of that power away for himself right now, couldn’t he?” the boy asked aloud. “Like a selfish farmer damming a stream so that only he can use the water for his crops.”

“I must say, Darian - I am impressed. You are very perceptive. Yes. That’s another reason why we are here,” Snowfire conceded. “If we establish the ley-lines - the rivers - we can make sure that it will be available to anyone who needs to use it. But if a selfish or bad mage got to a place first, he could lock all that power away for all time. So we aren’t just working for our own sake.” He chuckled gently. “After all, eventually there will be mages in Valdemar who will need to use that power, and they would be rightfully annoyed if we had arranged things so that they could not get at it.”

“I ‘spose they would,” the boy acknowledged. “Would things have gone back to the way they had been if you left them alone?”

“That, we don’t know,” Snowfire admitted.

“But they went that way the first time, so why wouldn’t they go back?” Darian persisted. “I mean, it’s really hard to change the course of a river; I heard of people who tried, and each time it went right back the way it had been, in its old bed. So, wouldn’t things be the same if you left them alone?”

“Even if they would, there are still the Changebeasts that need dealing with,” Snowfire reminded him. “And the one thing that still could happen if we don’t interfere is that a bad mage could lock the power away from everyone else. We can’t leave that to chance.”

“I ‘spose not.” Darian sighed, and didn’t ask any more questions.

Snowfire made a note to tell Adept Starfall what the boy had said about it being difficult to change the natural course of a river, and how that might apply to the ley-lines. It was something he doubted that the Adept had wanted to consider deeply, and it could spell trouble at some point in the future.

:Any problems?: he asked Hweel, who was still wafting along in their wake, branch to branch every thirty or so horse-lengths, keeping a wary eye on things behind them.

:All quiet,: the bird replied. :Hungry.:

He considered how far they were from the clearing, how many times he had undertaken to break the trail, and how long it might take the barbarians to catch their horses. He concluded it was safe enough for Hweel to take the time to go catch something.

:Hunt,: he suggested to the bondbird, who needed no second invitation. Hweel had heard the call of a covey of quail some little distance back, and was eager to see what he could do about helping to control the population.

Owls often seemed more purposeful about their hunting than hawks, or more especially, the falcons. It was no great amount of time later that Snowfire sensed the burst of visceral bloodlust that meant Hweel had gone in for a kill, followed swiftly by triumph and accomplishment. A little longer, and Hweel was back in the air and catching up, now with a full stomach, radiating satisfaction. For a bird Hweel’s size, a single quail was a reasonable meal, but not a full day’s ration; the owl would probably go out again at night to hunt if Snowfire didn’t provide him with something.

The horse was not nearly as swift as a dyheli, especially not with a double burden, and the light coming through the trees had taken on a distinctly red hue when Snowfire reached the outskirts of the encampment. He whistled the recognition call for the outermost sentry, and a moment later, spotted the flash of a