the kennel, escorted by Minda and the rest of the pack.
“Yes,” Maia replied. “You’ve brought us a leash of greyhounds.”
No one could say for certain what had happened to Triska, but the disordered heap of robes and the unique necklace found inside the Change Circle—and the mangled remains of a rather average-sized lizard just outside that circle—spoke volumes.
The hertasi artisan had known, had heard the warnings of the Elders, and yet she had gone outside the protective shields of the Vale. The residents of k’Veyas, warned by the Alliance Mages, had known that it was coming, this final Mage Storm, had realized that it could destroy them all if the shielding failed. Triska, of course, had known. And she had still gone out.
“The silk waits for no one,” she had been fond of saying, usually just before leaving the Vale in foul weather to harvest cocoons. And the Change Circle where the remains had been found, the locus of mutation formed by the overlap of two rippling waves of magical energy, was not far from her favorite trees, the ones whose silkworms always produced the strongest, finest, smoothest fibers.
When the Elders showed Stardance the broken chain and cracked amber stone retrieved from the pile, the gift she had given to the cloth artisan, she buried her grief after the first stunned moment. Fury was simpler, covering the dark, hollow loneliness that threatened. The anger warmed her, kept her from drowning in that aching emptiness, and she fed it, raging in turn at the Elders, at Triska, and at the implacable Storms themselves, then fled to the most private corner of the Vale, the secret nook she had discovered as a child running from her mother’s death. This time, there would be no Triska to find her, to take her into her care and heal her hurting, bringing her back to the life of the Vale.
Back then, the Elders of k’Veyas had found it amusing, the human child following the hertasi, when usually the lizardfolk were the dutiful aides and helpers of the Tayledras. Since Triska did not seem bothered by Stardance’s presence, the girl had been allowed to spend most of her time in the company of the clothworker, sometimes seeming like a daughter, sometimes an apprentice. Her father lived in his home Vale of k’Lissa, and since at the time he was unable to care for a youngster, k’Veyas agreed to keep her in their Vale. She had always been a solitary child, and with the hertasi to help her she was allowed exceptional freedom.
Even after Stardance showed signs of her father’s Mage Gift, she still stayed with Triska. The Elders taught her, and she was an apt pupil, but she was more often to be found practicing her skills with the threads and fibers in Triska’s cliffside den than in the heavily warded practice rooms. None of the Tayledras were quite certain what a hertasi could or couldn’t do with magic, but since Triska seemed unconcerned about her adopted daughter’s magical “play” the Elders permitted Stardance to remain with her.
After several years of this odd training, Stardance was just old enough for her Mage Gift to truly begin to develop into its full power and potential. Now, though, the Storms had come and gone, and magic was no longer the same. The Heartstones were weakened or empty, their accumulated power drained to maintain the last desperate shields over the Vales, to save the people within them. Outside, caught in a Change Circle, Triska had not been so fortunate.
Winternight stood, and respectful silence fell. The Storms had aged him so that his usual pallor now seemed ghostlike, his energy spent and drained from him just as the once-vibrant Heartstone was now emptied of all but the faintest flickers of magic. His staff, once used to help him direct his considerable power, now served only to provide physical support, and he leaned heavily on it.
“We do not yet know the extent of damage in our own region of the Pelagiris, much less that of the other Vales,” he said, in response to several questioners. “Only the strongest Farspeakers have been able to communicate with them. Our scouts have been taking care of Change-Beasts as they have found them, but our perimeter of safety is much closer to the Vale than ever it was.” He paused to emphasize the reality of the damage done and the isolation of their Vale, off on a western edge of the Pelagiris.
“I propose that we send Mages out with our border patrols and scouts, one Mage with a group of two or three trained fighters. The Mages can begin to assess the extent of the damage to the magical energy around the Vale and help guide Silverheart’s efforts to Heal it. If they encounter Change-Creatures, the Mages will also recognize which might be more than physical threats.”
“What of the students?” someone asked. “Even if all the magic is gone, what should they be doing? We can’t send them out to the perimeters!” An immediate babble followed—some in favor of utilizing every resource the Vale had, others insisting that those who were not confirmed Mages should not even attempt to use magic until the lasting effects of the Storms were completely known.
Winternight raised his hand, and the din drifted back to quiet. “The students will not go to the outer perimeters, but every bit of help is needed.” He paused again. “They will work within the areas where the scouts have already passed at least once, where they are not likely to encounter Change-Beasts. They will be searching these areas for trace magics, studying any changes in patterns, looking for subtle echoes of power.” A few more questions, these from some of the instructors, and Winternight gathered those few around him for private conference.
Stardance shook her head and shifted backward, edging away from the group and drifting between the trees, headed for her too-empty ekele. She did not dare defy the direct command of the Elders that all the Mage-talented and trained of k’Veyas attend the meeting, but she had chosen to stand in a half-hidden spot on the outskirts of the assembly. It is all folly, anyway, she thought bitterly. Of what use were they, now that the magic had disappeared? What good was anything now that Triska was—she shut down the thought before she could complete it, returning to her anger to cover the aching void inside her. What good was magic, anyway? After all, it had been a centuries- gone excess of magic that had caused this nightmare. Maybe there was a lesson to be learned. Maybe their Shin’a’in cousins had the right of it—maybe it was time they did without magic entirely.
She was almost out of view, almost free, when a gentle but firm hand fell on her shoulder.
“You, too, will take part in the search tomorrow.” Windwhisperer’s voice, though quiet, was implacable.
“What would be the point? There’s nothing left!” Hostile resentment lashed through her words.
“We don’t know that for certain. But we need to find out.”
“I can’t be what you want,” she muttered to the ground, unsure what the words meant even as she said them.
“What would you be, then?” That quiet voice held no anger, no demand. She turned to look at him. The Elder’s face was as still as his words, giving her no impression of his thoughts.
She shifted away, her eyes dropping again. “Once, I might have known. Now, there’s no point. It doesn’t matter.” She thought briefly of Triska’s cave, of working with the richly colored fibers and fabrics, creating beauty with functionality, and sharp loneliness arced pain through her heart before she shuttered her face. “Why go out there when it won’t change anything?”
“Perhaps it won’t. Or perhaps it could.” The silence between them lengthened. “Out there, it may be that you could find an answer to my question.” She heard a faint shushing, like a breeze lifting the wide leaves outside her ekele, and she looked up once more, only to find herself alone on the sanded path.
When morning came, Stardance found herself walking beyond the borders of the Vale, one of the first group of students assigned to a small section of the “safer” areas. Just as the confirmed Mages were partnered with experienced scouts and patrols, the students, too, were accompanied by younger fighters. Stardance was the youngest student in the group traveling to the east of the Vale, and the simmering resentment in the oldest scout trainee was palpable as he paced near her. Clearly, he felt that he belonged in the unexplored places, not in the safe areas with the students.
“You don’t need to babysit me,” she finally snapped, knowing she sounded like a petulant child but not really caring. “If you want to go farther out, my Kir will let your bird know if I need assistance.”
The scout, barely five summers older than she, gave her an odd look, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he allowed a little more space to drift between them, no longer matching his steps to hers but lengthening his stride until he moved first beyond her view, then beyond her hearing. She shrugged. If he went too far and found something he couldn’t handle, he would deserve it. He was good enough, at least, that it had taken only moments for her to not be able to hear him. No longer distracted by his angry presence, she frowned and returned her attention to her own task.
The area she was to inspect was a rough wedge shape, curving outward from the Vale between a stand of large pines and a meadowed area and along the cliff edge that dropped down to the stream that would eventually
