'He should go set up shop on a mountaintop somewhere,' Cymry said.
'He'd make a prime Wise Old Teacher. He's already got the part about tormenting the students down perfectly.' Wintermoon drew himself up and stared at her in mock affrontery.
'I heard that,' he protested.
'I meant you to.' Skif grinned, and the grin turned into a yawn. Wintermoon caught it, and pointed an admonishing finger at him.
'We still have work ahead of us, and that work requires rest. As you both know.' He spread out his bedroll by way of making an example, and climbed into it. 'Stars light your path, Wingsibs,' he said pointedly, and made a show of turning on his side and closing his eyes. 'Wyrsa have no respect for crisis of conscience.' Well, that about sums the evening up, he thought as he rolled out his own bedroll and crawled into its warmth. And then he thought nothing more, for sleep crept up and ambushed him.
*Chapter Six - Nyara and Need
Nyara slicked back her sweat-soaked hair, hardly feeling the cold as the chill breeze dried her scalp. She licked salt from her lips and crouched in the shelter of the bushes for a moment, surveying the open expanse of cracked and crazed pavement that kept the forest from encroaching on the foot of her tower. Though the stones were fragmented, even melted in places, they must have been incredibly thick, for nothing but grass grew in the cracks. It looked similar in construction to the ruins around the gryphons' home, though the tower's age and makers were unknown to her.
There was no sign of anything waiting for her, but she had learned to leave subtle telltales, things easily disturbed by interlopers. The 'random' lines of gravel, for instance; not so random, and placed so that one or more of them would be scuffed by anyone crossing the paving.
The faint threads of shields that would vanish if breached-or, just as importantly, if even touched by a mage's probing. With her feeble command of magic, she could scarcely hope to build a shield that would hide her presence from a greater mage, so she didn't even try. Instead, she concentrated on things that would let her know if she had been discovered, so that she had the time to run and hide somewhere else.
But once again, her refuge seemed secure; the threads were still in place, the pavement clear. Nevertheless, she stayed in the shelter of the evergreen bushes, and sent a careful probe up into the heart of her shelter.
Well?' That was all she Mindsent. Anything more could reveal her location to lurkers. There were creatures- some of them her father's-that were nothing more than compasses for the thoughts of those who could Mindspeak. Normally only the one Spoken to could Hear, but these creatures could Hear everything, and could follow the thoughts of a Mindspeaker from leagues away.
'All's clear,' came the gravelly reply. 'Come on up, kitten. I trust you had good hunting.' Now she relaxed; nothing got past her teacher. 'Quite good,' she replied shortly. 'No visitors?'
'None,' came the answer
She padded quickly across the paving, taking care to avoid her own traps. The less she had to redo in the morning, the sooner she would be able to get out to hunt. The sooner she got out to hunt, the more practice she would have. She was under no illusions about her hunting successes; the colder the weather grew, the scarcer the game would become, and the harder it would be for her to catch it. She had never truly hunted for her meals before this, and was no expert. She was lucky; lucky that game was so abundant here, and lucky that she was getting practice now, while it was abundant, and a miss was not nearly so serious as it would be later in the winter.
The wall of her tower loomed up before her, the mellowed gray of weathered granite. The tower had that look about it of something intended to defend against all comers. She took the neck of the pheasant she had caught in her teeth, and set her finger- and toe-claws into the stone, and began climbing. The scent of the fresh-killed bird just under her nose made her mouth water. just as well there had been no blood, or she would have been in a frenzy of hunger.
As she climbed, it occurred to her that it was not going to be pleasant, if indeed possible, to make the climb in winter. Ice, snow, or sleet would make the rock slippery; cold would numb her hands and feet.
The prospect daunted her.
Well, no point in worrying about it now; truly dismal weather was still a few weeks off, and anyway, there was nothing she could do about it at the moment. Not while she was clinging to sheer stone, three stories above the pavement, with another to go.
Perhaps a ladder, like the Tayledras outside the Vale use for their treehouses.
True, she did not have a bird to let the ladder down for her, or to hide the line that pulled it up, but she had magic. Not much, but she was learning to use every bit of what she had, and use it cleverly. A bit of magic could take the end of such a ladder up, and drop it down again when she returned.
So many trips up and down that stone had taught her where all the holds were, and now she didn't even need to think about where she was putting her hands and feet. This was the most vulnerable moment in her day- this, and the opposite trip in the morning. There was a staircase up the inside of the tower, but although it looked sound, appearance was very deceptive. It was, in fact, one more of her traps and defenses, and anyone chancing it would find himself taking a two- or three-story drop to the ground, depending on how far he got before the weakened stone gave way beneath him.
But then, she privately thought that anyone trusting his weight to an unproven stair-in a ruined tower, no less-probably deserved what he found.
Her mind wandered off on its own, planning lightweight ladders and imagining what she might use to make them, discarding idea after idea.
She came to the conclusion that she might be trying to make things a little too elaborate; after all, by virtue of her breeding she was a much better climber than the best of the Tayledras. A simple, knotted rope might serve her better.
