'We all thought-or, we didn't think,' Skif replied, trying to make his thoughts stop spinning in circles. 'We just assumed. Not a good idea where magic is concerned.' Or where Falconsbane is concerned. Next time I won't believe he's dead until I burn the body myself and sow the ashes with salt.
'If there is trouble, we must return, with all speed. And it must be with Nyara or without her, for we cannot delay to argue,' Wintermoon said firmly. 'I had rather it were 'with' but I shall not force her.' The mention of her name seemed to wake Nyara from her trance. 'Of course we go, night-hunter,' she replied. Her eyes still looked a little unfocused, but her voice was firm enough. 'And I go with you. I know too much about my father to remain outside and watch your people struggle to match him again. I shall not hide while he tries to destroy your Clan, hoping he will miss me as he concentrates on you.' She shook her head, then, and hesitated, looking fully into Skif's eyes.
'If I had a choice, I would tell you this when we are alone, ashke,' she said softly. 'But I think that Wintermoon must hear this so he can bear witness if need be.' Skif tensed, wondering what she was going to say to him. Things had seemed so promising a few moments ago.
'I care for you, Outlander,' she said with quiet intensity. 'More than I had ever realized when I saw your face this morn. I would like-many things-and most of all, to share my life with you. But you and I can do nothing until I come to terms with my father. There is much that I have not told you of him-and myself. It must be dealt with.' Skif had seen such looks as he saw in her eyes more than once, before he became a Herald-and after, among some of the refugeees from Ancar's depredations. He saw it in the eyes of a woman who spoke of her father, and horrors between them.
He knew. He knew of many things that decent people would only think of as horrible nightmares, and deny that they truly happened. He knew the sordid tales that could be hidden behind those bleak eyes. She didn't even have to begin; he knew before she started. And he blamed her no more for what had been done to her than he would have blamed a tree sundered by lightning.
She was all the more beautiful for her strength.
Maybe it was just that he was too busy wanting to hold her and tell her that nothing in her past could make him want her any less. Falconsbane was dismissed from any redemption in his mind; to him he rated no more thoughts, not even hate-as his friend Wintermoon had taught him, such emotions can cloud purpose. Maybe that purpose was too important for him to have any room left for anger, now. That might change if he ever actually saw Falconsbane again, but that was the way he felt this moment.
All things could change. If he were the same person he was only a few years ago, he'd have already been sharpening knives, plotting revenge on Falconsbane; now, simply eliminating the Adept was more important.
Revenge seemed foolish somehow, it would not help Nyara at all. How strange, that after a life like his, revenge seemed hollow compared to simple justice.
Nyara deserved far more consideration than her father.
He didn't even think about the sword's propensity to eavesdrop, until she spoke to him.
'Well, bless your heart, boy-I'm beginning to think there's hope for you yet.' Need's harsh mind-voice rattled in his head as she chuckled. 'You are all right! Hellfires, I'd even be willing to nominate you as an honorary Sister!'
He felt his ears redden, as Nyara looked at him curiously 'Uh-thank you,' he said simply, not wanting to offend the blade by adding I think.
'Tell her, boy. Don't go into detail, keep it short and simple, but tell her.
She needs to know.'
'Look, Nyara-' he said haltingly, wishing he could say half of what he wanted to. 'I-I love you; I guess you've figured that out, but I thought I'd better say it. There. Nothing's going to change that. I'm not the picture of virtue- or innocence-I've seen more than you might think. I've spent time on Ancar's Border. I've seen girls-women-who've had pretty bad things happen to them. Who've been-I don't know. I guess you could say they've been betrayed by the parents who should have protected them. I know what you mean. You and I can't do anything about us until we get him out of our lives.'
'A little confused, boy, but I think she got the gist of it. I'll have a little talk with her and lay things out for her later.' Again, that gravelly chuckle.
'I'll let her know you weren't just making pretty talk; you've seen thangs as rough as she's lived through. no ever would have figured me for playing matchmaker. And at my age!' Nyara only stared at him in dumb surprise, clutching the sword to her chest beneath her cloak of fur. But then one hand crept off the scabbard and moved down; searched for his and found it.
She gave him the ghost of a smile then. 'Either you are lying, which Need says not-you are a saint, which she also says not-or you are as great a fool as I.' She shook her head, but her eyes never left his.
'Well, then-let's be fools together,' he whispered, staring down into her bottomless eyes. 'I'm willing to work at it if you are.'
Commotion at the entrance end of the Vale caught Darkwind's attention and broke into his brooding. Darkness had fallen some time ago, but he had not bothered to call any lights. Part of him still wanted to be angry with Firesong-angry at someone-but the rest of him knew that the Adept was punishing himself already. Anything he said or did would be superfluous, and likely cause much harm.
The disturbance was enough to let him know that a larger party than usual had crossed the Veil, and since the second shift of scouts had already gone out, this was not something expected. Something unexpected today could only mean trouble.
He sent a tentative inquiry to Vree, and the answer he received sent him shooting down the stairs of his ekele like a slung stone.
He met the tiny parade just past the first hot pool, and when h~ saw who had met Wintermoon's little troupe, as well as who was riding with it, he thought that he was dreaming.
The Outlander Skif rode his white Companion. Beside him to his right was Wintermoon on one of the two dyheli stags that had gone out with them. But on the left hand of the Herald was the second stag, who also bore a rider, and that was what caused him to stare and question his sanity. Nyara sat astride the dyheli, as if she had always known how to ride. She was clad in a rough bearskin cloak, carrying the blade she had taken across her lap.
