Nyara was going to be the arrow striking for Falconsbane's heart.
That was a task Elspeth did not envy her, and she could not imagine how the Changechild managed to be so calm about it. Perhaps it was Need's steadying effect. Perhaps it was because she knew that if she betrayed any nervousness, Skif would probably fall to pieces.
Meanwhile, as Nyara crept closer and closer to her father's stronghold, she and Darkwind got to play target to distract him, if they could.
The Shin'a'in could no longer play that role; he had started to look for them, and had laid traps for them that would catch them. They had no magic to disarm those traps, not as Darkwind and Elspeth had. The leshya'e Kal'enedral would be occupied in another way; helping Kra'heera and Kethra, confusing Falconsbane's Farsight and Farvision spells with their shamanic magic, so that he would not See the newcomers to the Vale, and the special energies of all the new mages there. That was vital to their purposes; if Falconsbane had any idea who and what had arrived to augment the powers of k'sheyna, he would not hesitate, he would throw everything at them that he had, knowing their massed power could take him. Even with the help of the Kaled'a'in, there was no one in all of the new Council who thought the Vale and the three peoples there would survive that unscathed.
So Darkwind and Elspeth were on their own in supplying a needed distraction. Without distractions, Falconsbane might well notice the gryphons, Nyara, or both. If he noticed them-She shuddered. Better not to think about it.
With Need's help, she had fashioned a blade that would counterfeit Need at a distance. It had no real power whatsoever-like the sword meant to select the rulers of Rethwellan, all it did was burn mage-energy in a spectacular fashion, radiating power to anyone with Mage-Sight.
Gwena would supply the energy for that blade. Elspeth would go imperfectly shielded, at least on the surface, looking as ill-trained as possible.
Darkwind would simply be himself. That alone should bring Falconsbane down on them.
They would ride north and west, skirting the edge of what was probably Falconsbane's territory, as if they were heading in search of something.
Any time they met with one of the enemy's traps, they would destroy it. Any time they found one of his power~sinks, they would drain it. Meanwhile Firesong and the Kaled'a'in mages would be moving the proto-Gate, but with none of the speed they were capable of.
Darkwind hoped that Falconsbane would assume the obvious-that tthheeryefworeerchetrwyionugldtootdil stract him from diverting the proto-Gate-an ov iur something else they were distracting him from.
"I really ought to be used to playing target by now," she said, as sh tightened Gwena's girth and prepared to ride out into the snow and cold with Darkwind. They looked like a pair of fancy-dress Heralds, the two of them; he wore winter scout gear, which was just as white as any Herald's uniform, and she had finally pried her Whites out of the grip of the disapproving hertasi. Gwena was champing at her nonexistent bit, ready to go-and Darkwind was going to be riding Firesong's very dear friend, the dyheli-mage, Brytha.
What was even more amazing than a dyheli mage, was the fact that Brytha had instantly volunteered for this, before Darkwind could ask any of the other stags to carry him.
"I am not much of mage," Brytha had said, in the stilted thought-forms of his kind. "I channel power, like Companion. I channel to you; you are less tired, then." No one could deny the truth of that; any power that could be given to Darkwind without effort on his part increased his stamina tremendously.
But now Elspeth knew why Brytha was white-and why Firesong could accomplish some of the incredible things he'd already done. With that extra reserve of power available, one Healing Adept could act like two, or even three.
That was the edge they had needed to turn this from suicidal to merely horribly dangerous, in Elspeth's opinion. Or at least, to less suicidal "I suppose you should be used to being a target, in those 'here I am, please, shoot me," uniforms you wear," he replied with a grin, carefully tightening Brytha's girth.
"Not you, too," she complained. "Kero calls them the 'oh, shoot me now ' uniforms. There are perfectly good reasons why we wear white!"
"I like you better in colors," he said simply and reached out to touch her hand, briefly but gently. "They suit your quiet beauty. White only makes you look remote. An ice-princess. Your spirit is brighter even than my best scarlet." She flushed and hung her head to cover it. "Thank you," she replied carefully. Slowly, she was learning to accept his compliments without any of the doubt she'd have had if they had come from anyone else. And for a moment, she was back in his ekele in memory, surrounded by color and soft silk, warmth and admiration.
Then she shook off the memory. For now, all that was important was the task ahead of them. And for that task, she could not have asked for a better partner than the one she had now. Should they come out of this well enough, they would celebrate in the ekele again, in a similar way.
She mounted up; he followed a moment later, and looked into her eyes. She nodded, and he took the lead, riding out through the Veil and into the quiet cold and the snow.
The gauntlet was cast. There was no going back now.
Treyvan launched himself into the wind, his wings spreading wide to catch the updraft, spiraling higher above the Vale with every wingbeat.
Behind and below him, Hydona echoed his launch, and once she reached height, the others followed. It was good to see other gryphons taking to the air again; better still to know that they were here to stay. Counting himself and Hydona, there were thirty-two gryphons in the Vale now, a full wing. The little ones would have many teachers, and doubtless there would be playmates for them before too long. The gryphons who had volunteered for this settlement were all paired, and the balmy temperatures of the Vale had sent several of the pairs into pre-courting. It should be very interesting to see the effect on the Tayledras if they had not moved by the time the true courting began... But that was for later; now there was a job to be done.
They all knew what they were to do. Seven were to go to the south, seven to the north. The web of power gleamed to their inner sight, seen from far above the world; a construction of entirely artificial lines of energy and their anchors, overlaying the natural ley-lines and often conflicting with them. Not exactly a web in shape, only the power-poles were connecting-points. That was what held the whole construction stableit was all that held the whole construction stable.
That would be to their benefit and Falconsbane's detriment. Anything that ran counter to the earth's own ways was subject to extreme stress.
Maintaining this web would be much like flying against a headwind.