talked, but there his connection with humanity ended. Long silky hair poured uncut down his back, the color a tawny gold that he maintained magically, else he would have been as bleached-silver as any Tayledras Adept. Long, silky hair grew on most of his face, carefully groomed and tended by a made-servant whose only role was to brush her master whenever he called. His slit-pupiled eyes were a golden-green, like watery beryls; his canines sharper and more pronounced than hers. His pointed ears were tufted at the tips, and the silky hair continued down his spine in a luxurious crest, ending at the clefts of the buttocks. For the rest, he was as perfectly formed and conditioned as a human could be, with a body any sculptor would have wept to see.
As Nyara knew, intimately. since he had emerged from his stronghold to call her to the border of k'sheyna and the beginnings of his domain, he had chosen to dress for the occasion in soft, buckskin leather that perfectly matched his hair. Darkwind's disparaging comments to the contrary, Mornelithe seldom wore elaborate costumes; in fact, within his own quarters, he went nude as often as not.
Which Nyara also knew, intimately.
She knelt before him until her legs ached from the stones and bits of branch beneath them-which he would not permit her to clear away. He lounged on a blanket of fur spread over a fallen tree trunk by a servant, making him an impromptu throne. The golden mage-light above his head glistened on his hair, the tips of the fur, and on the bat-wings of his two giant guardian-beasts, half wolf, half something she could not even name, creatures whose heads loomed even with his when he stood.
Some of her scars had come from the teeth of those beasts, lessonings in her proper place in the scheme of things, and the proper demeanor to display. Thus she had learned not to move until told, or speak until spoken to.
'Well,' he said at last, his voice deep, calm, smooth and soothing.
There was a wealth of warm amusement in his voice, which meant he was pleased. She soon discovered why.
'You took my invitation to flee to the Birdfools as if you had thought of it yourself, dear daughter,' he chuckled. 'I am proud of you.' She burned with humiliation. So it had all been his idea, from the inattentive guards, to the captive dyheli herd. Without a doubt, he had planned everything, knowing how she would react to anything he presented in her path. She should have known...'You followed my plan to the letter, my child,' he said with approval. 'I am very pleased with you. I assume that they invoked a Truth-Spell upon you?'
'Of a kind,' she whispered, shivering with shamed pleasure as his approval warmed and excited her. 'The Birdkin do not trust me, yet.
They keep me in a dwelling of sorts at the border, with hertasi and one Birdkin scout to watch.'
'One scout only?' Mornelithe threw back his head and laughed, and the guardian-beasts hung out their tongues in frightening parodies of a canine grin. 'They trust you more than you think, little daughter, if they set only one to watch you. Are there no other watchers on you?' She could not help herself; she was compelled to answer truthfully.
But she could make him force it out of her a word at a time, and perhaps he would grow tired before he learned all the truth. Let him think it was fear that tied her tongue. 'Two,' she whispered.
'Hertasi?' She shook her head. He frowned, and she trembled. 'Tervardi, then?' She shook her head again, hope growing thin that he would lose interest.
Surely not dyheli? No?' His frown deepened, and she lost any hope of hiding her friends' identities. 'What are they? Speak!' He reached out a tendril of power to curl about her. A hand of pain tightened around her mind, though not so much that she could not speak.
Her body convulsed. 'Gryphons,' she whimpered, through tears of agony and anger. 'Gryphons.' The pain ceased, and she slumped over her knees, head hanging, hands clasped together tightly. she fought to control her tears so that he would not know how she had come to like the pair, and so have yet another weapon to hold over her.
'Gryphons.' His voice deepened, and the guardian-beasts growled.
Gryphons, here. This requires-thought.
I will have more of these gryphons out of you, my child. But later.'
She looked up, cheeks still wet with tears. He was looking past her, into the dark forest, his mind elsewhere than on her. Then he took visible hold of himself, and gazed down on her, sniffing when he saw her tears. He leaned down, and lifted a single drop on a long, talon-tipped finger, and licked it off, slowly, eyes narrowed as he watched her closely.
She shook with a desire she could not control, and that only he could command. He smiled with satisfaction.
'This Birdfool,' he said, leaning back into his fur. 'His name.'
'Darkwind,' she told him.
