manage. I thought my shoulders were going to collapse.'
'The important thing is Starblade,' Elspeth pointed out, 'and it sounds like having Hyllarr around is going to make the difference for him. ' Darkwind nodded, and then the insistent demands of his stomach reminded him that they were both long overdue for a meal.
Both? No, all. Surely Gwena was just as ravenous.
Unless she and Elspeth, too, were suffering from something that often happened with young mages; where the body was so unused to carrying the energies of magic that basic needs like hunger and thirst were ignored until the mage collapsed. just as the impetus of fear or anger made the body override hunger and thirst, so did the use of magic-at least until the mage learned to compensate and the body grew used to the energies and no longer confused them.
'If you two aren't hungry, you should be,' he told them. 'Elspeth, I warned you about that happening, but I don't think I told Gwena; it never occurred- to me that she might be susceptible.' Gwena paused, her eyes soft and thoughtful for a moment. 'I should be starving. Hmm. I think I shall find a hertasi, and have a good grain ration. If you'll excuse me?' With a bow of her head, she trotted up the trail, leaving them alone.
'A wise lady,' he observed. 'Let's drop by Iceshadow's ekele long enough to give him the good news from k'treva, and then take this conversation to somewhere there's food for us.' Elspeth grinned . I think I'm used to magic enough now because my stomach is wrapping around my backbone and complaining bitterly.
Let's go!' Iceshadow was overjoyed at the good news from k'treva and almost as pleased with the news about Starblade. They left him full of plans~ to inform the rest of the mages, and with unspoken agreement, reversed their course, back to the mouth of the Vale.
There were 'kitchens' on the way, but somehow, that 'somewhere wound up being Darkwind's ekele, where his hertasi had left a warm meal waiting. The hertasi information network was amazing; word must have gotten around the moment they'd crossed into the Vale. Before them were crisp finger vegetables and small, broiled gamehens; bread and cheese, fruit, and hot chava with beaten cream for two for desert.
Darkwind dearly loved chava, a hot, sweet drink with a rich taste like nothing else in the world. Sometimes the hertasi could be coaxed into making a kind of thick cookie with chava, and the two together were enough to put any sweet lover into spasms of ecstasy.
And while he had a moment of suspicion over the fact that the hertasi had left food and drink for two, he had to admit that they had done so before. And given his past, perhaps the preparation was not unwarranted.
Until Elspeth had entered his life, he had certainly eaten and slept in company more often than not. This was a lovers' meal, though.
And they knew very well that he had not had any lovers since they had begun serving him. Was this an expression of hope on their part? Or something else?
Well, the chava could be used as bait to tempt Elspeth into his bed, that was certain. He knew any number of folk who would do astonishing things for-even with-the reward of chava.
It was Elspeth's first encounter with chava, and Darkwind took great glee in her expression of bliss the moment she tasted it. Once again, another devotee was created. They took their mugs over to the pile of cushions in the corner that served as seating and lounging area.
'You look just like Hyllarr when Starblade started scratching him,' he told her, chuckling. 'All half-closed eyes and about to fall over with pleasure.'
'No doubt,' she replied, easing back against the cushions with the mug cradled carefully in her hand, so as not to spill a single drop. 'Complete with raptorial beak, predator's eyes, and unruly crest.' She spoke lightly, but Darkwind sensed hurt beneath the words. That was the same hurt he had sensed when she spoke of being afraid that most men were interested only in her rank, not in her. 'Why do you say that?' he asked.
She snorted, and shook her head. 'Darkwind, I thought we were going to be honest with each other. I've mentioned this before, I know I have. Can you honestly say that I am not as plain as a board?' He studied her carefully before he answered; the spare, sculptured face, the expressive eyes, the athletic figure, none of which were set off to advantage by unadorned, white, plain-edged clothing-or, for that matter, the drab scout gear she wore now. The thick, dark hair-which he had never see styled into anything other than an untamed tumble or pulled back into a tail. 'I think,' he replied, after a moment, 'that you have been doing yourself a disservice in the way you dress. With your white uniform washing out your color and no ornaments, you look very functional, certainly quite competent and efficient, but severe.'
'What I said: plain as a board.' She sipped her chava, hiding her face in her cup. 'I like the colored things the hertasi have been leaving out for me, but they don't make much difference that I can see.'
'No,' he corrected. 'Not 'plain as a board.' Improperly adorned.
Scout gear is still too severe to display you properly. You should try mage-robes. Mages need not consider impediments such as strolls through bramble tangles.' Many Tayledras costumes were suited to either sex; Elspeth, with her lean figure, would not distort the lines of some of his own clothing.
There were a number of costumes he had designed and made, long ago, that he had never worn, or worn only once or twice. When Songwind became Darkwind, and the mage became the scout, those outfits had been put away in storage as inappropriate to the scout's life. They were memories that could be hidden.
And, truthfully, he had not wanted to see them again. They belonged to someone else, another life, another time. Their cheerful colors had been ill-suited to his grief and his anger. He had not, in fact, even worn them now that he was a mage again and in the Vale, though he had brought them out of storage, with the vague notion that he might want them.
They were here, now, in this new ekele, in chests in one of the upper rooms. He studied her for a moment, considering which of those halfremembered robes would suit her best.
The mby-firebird first, he decided. The amber silk, the peacock-blue, the sapphire, and the emerald. Perhaps the tawny shirt and fawn breeches-no, too light, they will wash her out. Hmm. I should go and see what is there; I can't recall the half of them.
'Wait here,' he said, and before she could answer, ran up the ladderlike stair to the storage room at the top of the ekele.
Maybe the tawny with a black high-necked undergarment for contrast... He returned with his arms full of clothing; robes and half-robes, shirts and flowing breeches in the Shin'a'in style, vests and wrap-shirts, all in jewel-
