Realms of Shadow

A Little Knowledge

19 Marpenoth, the Year of Wild Magic (1372 DR)

Long rays of morning sun slanted through Halruaa's ancient trees, reaching out like tentative fingers to waken the rain-sodden village. But Ashtarahh was already long awake and bustling with activity.

The summer monsoon season was over. The village diviner decreed that yesterday's storm would be the last. Already the rice fields and brissberry bogs were alive with harvesters, moving barelegged through ankle deep water as they sped their task with morning-glad songs.

Mist clung to the fields and swirled around the small buildings, pinned between land and sky by the hot, dense air and the swiftly climbing sun. No one wondered how the moisture-laden skies could absorb yesterday's rains; the answer was in the lush Halruaan landscape, and in particular the tall, thin trees lining the forest's edge, swaying dreamily to music only they could hear.

The vangi trees came with the first rains, sprouting up overnight like verdant mushrooms. They grew with incredible speed-two or three handspans a day. By the end of the monsoons, they were ready for harvest. Several children, agile as monkeys, shimmied up the segmented trunks to pluck the fist-sized purple fruit at the top. These they tossed into the canvas sheet held taut and ready by the four glum-faced, land-bound boys who'd drawn short straws. Several young men stood ready with machetes. Once the fruit was taken, the trees would be cut, dressed into lengths, and dragged to the road. The village streets were cobbled and the forest roads deeply sheltered, but the path leading through the fields was slow to harden. Each year fresh rows of vangi trees were pressed into the muck, forming a bumpy but mostly dry path for market traffic.

This path ended between two shops: the blacksmith and the wheelwright. Smoke rose in billows from the heating forge, and two apprentices busily rolled new wheels into waiting racks. A trip down the vangi corduroy road was a bone-rattling gauntlet, and more than one of the expected market carts would not survive it unscathed. But visiting merchants and artisans shrugged off splintered wheels, unshod oxen, and broken axles as the cost of doing business in Ashtarahh.

The late summer market was especially busy. Market stalls and tents rapidly took shape under the hands of carpenters and minor wizards. The owners of more permanent shops folded back the protective canvases, wielded brooms, and set out their wares. The clack of looms and the tart aroma of ripe cheeses filled the air. Bright glass vials of brissberry cordial stood in lines, looking like enormous ruby necklaces. Lengths of fine white linen gleamed in the morning sun, and skeins of brightly dyed yarn hung in arched windows in deliberate imitation of rainbows. But the most famous of Ashtarahh's crafts were its cunningly woven tapestries. These hung at every third stall, transforming the market into a veritable gallery.

Villagers who were not otherwise engaged strolled along the cobbles, admiring the woven art. Most of the tapestries depicted scenes from Halruaan history and legend. Skyships were commonly depicted, as were the magical creatures common to Halruaa: the brilliantly colored, many-legged crocodilians known as behirs, the winged starsnakes, even the dreaded laraken. Some of the tapestries depicted famous and infamous wizards. Small magical effects enlivened some of these scenes, sending bursts of light arching between spell-battling foes. A large weaving of a quite-literally blazing phoenix- the new standard of King Zalathorm-drew admiring attention. The biggest crowd, however, was the group stealthily converging upon the southwest corner of the square, where Ursault the All-Seeing sat with his crooked, cast-off loom.

Ursault was a thin, unassuming man of indeterminate age. His long, rather stringy locks had gone gray, and his face was unmemorable but for his pale eyes-a hazel more gray than green, an oddity in a land of dark-eyed, black-haired people. The title "All-Seeing" held gentle mockery, though it was rumored that it had once been spoken with respect. Once, it was said, Ursault had been a powerful diviner, one who saw many possible paths with equal clarity. But the vast and various potential of the future was a burden too large to carry, and Ursault had retreated to this sleepy village, content to weave his confused visions into tapestries no one wanted, and only he could understand.

A band of boys wove through the stalls as they crept toward the wizard, their grins wide and white in small dirty faces. Several of them scooped mud from between the cobbles and readied the first wave of attack.

The wizard looked up and smiled in gentle welcome. No knowledge of the coming mischief was written in his pale eyes, but a small, ominous gray cloud appeared directly over the head of the band's leader, a stocky little urchin who answered to Dammet.

The unwitting boy hauled back for the throw. Instantly the cloud exploded into a tiny, belated monsoon, drenching the boy and sending his comrades skittering away, hooting with delighted laughter. Liquid mud dribbled between Dammet's fingers as his weapon dissipated.

A second boy darted back and hurled his mud ball with a deft, side-armed toss. Ursault moved one hand in a vague little gesture and the mud changed in midair to a crystalline white. He caught the snowball and tossed it back to the urchin. The boy yelped with surprise and tossed the ball from hand to hand, marveling at the unfamiliar sting of cold.

"Taste it," Ursault suggested.

Uncertainty flooded the small face, but the mixture of encouragement and taunting from his friends decided the matter. He took a tentative lick, and his eyes rounded with delight.

"Mazganut cream," the boy announced grandly.

He dodged several grasping hands then darted off, his prize clutched possessively. Two of the boys started to give chase but abandoned the notion after their first few steps. There was a bigger game to be played, and their faces were smug with anticipation.

Dammet pushed a smaller boy forward-an ungainly lad with an intense but unfocused stare. Dammet flipped a lock of wet black hair off his face and draped an arm around the boy's tensely-hunched shoulders.

"Here's my man Tad," he announced. He leaned down to scoop up more mud, which he slapped into the boy's hand. "You might say he's skittish. If he kept his mind stuck to one idea for more'n a heartbeat, the shock of it would likely kill him. And he can't throw worth goat dung. There ain't no way you could know where this mud ball's gonna hit."

Indeed, the wizard's face furrowed as he contemplated the possibilities. An expression of near panic seeped into his pale eyes.

"Mebbe not, but you can figure out where I'll hit sure enough," announced a thin, nasal voice. A short, stout man stepped out from behind the stall's tumble-down wall, brandishing a vangi switch. "Now git."

The boys got, scampering off with scant regard for their less agile champion. Tad stumbled after them, howling protests against his abandonment.

Ursault glanced at his rescuer. Though the wizard was seated upon a low stool, he was eye to eye with the newcomer, a man whose barrel-chested torso was supported by uncommonly short, bandy legs. He was about the height of a dwarf but was most definitely not of that race. His face was as beardless as a boy's though he was well into adulthood. There was no hint of any other race about him to explain his stature-he lacked the small frame and hairy feet of Luiren's halflings, and the bulbous nose and blue eyes common to gnomes. Yet some wag had called him a Gnarfling-an unlikely combination of all three races-and the name had stuck.

Something that for lack of a better name could be called friendship had grown between the two village misfits. Gnarfling was the only person who regularly sought out Ursault's company and who actually seemed to enjoy the old wizard's tales. He leaned in and regarded the tangle of thread on the wizard's loom. "What do you make of this?" "Melody Sibar's peacock chicks," Ursault said, pointing to a matted blob of gray thread. They'll hatch today or perhaps tomorrow. At least, those that intend to hatch at all."

"That ought to cover it."

Gnarfling uncorked a flask, which they passed back and forth a couple of times. He belched companionably and settled down, preparing to enjoy the morning's story-telling. His look of contentment faded when he noted a stout woman bustling purposefully toward them.

"Landbound skyship a'comin' under full sail," he muttered.

The description was not far off. Vilma was Dammet's mother, a cheery, chatty woman who frequently-and justifiably-looked a bit flustered and windblown. Wisps of black hair escaped her single braid and her round face was rosy-cheeked from her morning's work. Like her son, she was always busy, never still. But unlike many of the villagers, she made time to chat with Ursault now and again, mostly because he was one of the few people in Ashtarahh who tolerated Dammet's pranks.

With a grateful sigh, the woman shouldered off the straps that held a basket of newly-harvested brissberries to her back. The fruit was heavy, covered with a thick rind and a nut-like shell, and extracting the juice was a long process. She unhooked a small cleaver from her belt-a needed tool for the task ahead-and began to smooth a whet stone over it.

"What's coming to this little corner of Zalathorm's realm, lord wizard?"

"A white dog," Ursault said mildly.

"Fearful doings," she said with a grin.

He nodded somberly. "That dog will be the death of more than half the people in a neighboring village."

A small brindle pup ambled by, not far from the wizard's stall. Vilma gave a good-natured chuckle. "That's Dammet's mongrel pup, and the closest thing we got to a white dog hereabouts. Not much of a threat there."

"Not for several seasons, no, but then the dog will wander far from the village and mate with a renegade wolfwere. Their offspring will have pure white fur and look more dog than wolf. In human form, she will be a comely maid."

Vilma responded with a thin smile. "My man Tomas will enjoy this tale, that's for sure and certain! His eye for a pretty girl will be the death of him." She shook her cleaver, an unconsciously lethal gesture.

"True enough, but his death will not come at your hands," Ursault replied.

The woman's smile faded, and fear crept into her eyes. When a wizard-even a mad wizard-spoke of death, it was time to start kindling the funeral pyres.

"Of course, if your boy Dammet remembers to tie the brindle dog when the harvest moon blooms full, the white maid will never be. A lot of trouble that will save." Ursault cocked his head, as if listening to unseen voices. "But on the other hand, a lot of trouble that will cause. This same wolfwere maid could bring doom to the floating city. A lot of trouble that will save. On the other hand-" He broke off with a grunt, momentarily silenced by a sharp, warning nudge from Gnarfling's elbow.

The woman's smile returned, edged with both relief and pity. "Floating cities now, is it? Here in Halruaa?"

Ursault shrugged. "Sometimes yes, and sometimes no."

"That ought to cover it," Gnarfling said meaningfully.

Vilma's gaze darted toward the short man and moved quickly away. Her tolerance did not quite embrace the odd little man. Everyone in Ashtarahh knew most everything about everyone else, and found comfort in this universal lack of privacy. But not even the most imaginative gossip among them could invent a story that could in satisfactory fashion explain Gnarfling, or define his purpose in coming to Ashtarahh. Vilma had a limited imagination and a healthy suspicion of anything than lay beyond its bounds. She gave Ursault a tentative smile, then hauled up her basket and took off at a brisk pace.

Gnarfling reached for his flask and gestured with it toward the loom. "What else you see in there?"

A forlorn expression touched the wizard's face. "Everything," he said softly, his voice sad and infinitely weary. "Everything."

The small man cleared his throat, uneasy with his friend's pain. "Well, how about you start a new weaving, and let's see where it goes."

Ursault obligingly drew a small knife and cut the tangle from his loom. He made a complicated arcane gesture, and a new set of vertical threads appeared on the crooked frame. For a long moment he studied the warp threads, as if examining and discarding many possibilities. Finally he took up a shuttle and began to layer in the weft.

His hands flashed with a wizard's exquisite dexterity, adding a thread here and a new color there. Before long a pattern began to emerge. Glowing, silvery threads connected in a fine web. The fabric between this web, however, remained a dark and indeterminate color, deep as moon-cast shadows. Gnarfling frowned in puzzlement as he noted that Ursault was threading in some mud-splattered crimson. Even this bright color disappeared into the shadowy gloom.

"What do you make of that?" he demanded.

"That's the Weave," Ursault replied, naming the web of magic that surrounded and sustained all of Halruaa, and for all Gnarfling knew, the rest of the world as well. "At least, it's Ashtarahh's place in the Weave."

Gnarfling leaned in and squinted. Sure enough, he could make out the faint outline of the village, as it might appear to a soaring hawk, carved out of the tightly packed web that represented the jungle. Fainter, thinner silver threads connected the fields and buildings, and tiny glowing dots seemed to mill about the open area-an uncanny representation of the market square and the people who readied it.

This was the first discernable picture Gnarfling had ever seen on Ursault's loom. For some reason that worried him. So did the intense expression on the wizard's face as he tossed colors haphazardly into the pattern, only to have them swallowed by the strange, shadowy void that separated and defined the silvery Weave.

In short order a small tapestry hung on the loom. Ursault studied the weaving intently, and Gnarfling studied Ursault.

"You see something, don't you?" "Everything,'' the wizard responded again in wondering tones. "Everything."

The response was familiar, but there was a new note in his voice, something that sent tiny fingers of cold dancing down Gnarfling's spine.

After a moment, Ursault moved one hand in a flowing circular pattern. The unseen colors shifted, and a man's face took form in a gap between the glowing silver threads, a face depicted with precision and clarity that the best of Ashtarahh's weavers could not match.

The man was young and exceedingly lean. His high, sharp cheekbones leaned precariously over the deep hollows below, and the thin black mustache on his upper lip looked as tremulous and impermanent as an alighting moth. His face was exceedingly pale for a Halruaan, and a sharp contrast to the feverish brightness of his black eyes.

Trouble coming," muttered Gnarfling. He was well acquainted with trouble and plenty familiar with wizards-which, to his way of thinking, was two ways of saying the same thing. "When?"

In response, Ursault merely shifted his gaze from the Iqom to the market square.

The square was filling rapidly. Visiting merchants strolled along the paths, eyeing the tapestries and sampling bits of cheese. The trundle of carts over the corduroy filled the air with a pleasant rumble. Already two of these carts had been hauled off the path to languish by the wheelwright's shop, listing heavily over shattered wheels. A young man stood by one of them, arguing with the apprentices and punctuating his complaints with overly dramatic gestures.

Gnarfling's eyes went straight to a thin young man, narrowing as they took in the too-familiar theatrics. The newcomer didn't have the look of a merchant or artisan. He was tall and thin, not much past twenty summers, and obviously possessed more money than sense. He traveled alone on in an expensive covered cart drawn by matched horses. His emaciated form was draped with fine robes of purple-trimmed black, and jewels flashed on his gesticulating hands. All of these things fairly screamed "wizard."

Even without the trappings, there was an intensity about the newcomer that suggested magic, yet Gnarfling could sense no hint of Mystra's Art about the young man. His nose for such things was as keen as any hound's- and more to the point, as keen as any magehound's. These instincts, and the permanent disguise offered by his stunted form, had kept him alive for over thirty winters.

Why then, he wondered, was he so uneasy?

"He's looking for you," Ursault said, as mildly and as matter-of-factly as if his companion had spoken his question aloud.

The small man shot to his feet as if he'd just sat on a hedgehog. The sudden movement seemed to draw the newcomer's eyes. Recognition flared in his strangely burning gaze, and for a moment Gnarfling stared into the youth's face like a hare mesmerized by a hawk.

Then, suddenly, the young man was standing directly in front of Ursault's stall.

Gnarfling blinked once in surprise, and a few times more to adjust his vision. He instinctively sniffed for the scent of magic, but all he smelled on the newcomer was the cumulative effect of several days on the road: the faint odor of wet cashmere, the musty stench of dirty clothes, and a perfume that smelled of dangerous herbs and pending lightning-a scent no doubt meant to mask the other, more mundane smells.

"I am Landish the Adept," the young man announced grandly.

Gnarfling collected himself and folded his stubby arms. "Good for you. Me, I got no business with the outlandish or the inept. You want I should ask around, and see if someone else might?"

Pure fury simmered in the man's intense gaze, a rage out of scale with the small insult. "Are you certain you have no business with me?" he said meaningfully. "Absolutely certain? Tell me jordain, what am I?"

A small sizzle of panic raced through Gnarfling, quickly mastered. Surely this revelation was nothing new to Ursault the All-Seeing, and no one else was close enough to hear the damning secret.

"What are you?" he echoed. "The back end of an ox, so far as I can tell."

The man's eyes narrowed." 'Outlandish and inept,'" he repeated. "A strange choice of words for someone who purports to be an itinerate field hand."

Gnarfling stared for a moment, then his shoulders rose and fell in a profound sigh.

"A magehound," he muttered. "And here I'm thinking I'd outrun every thrice-damned half-wizard busybody in Zalathorm's realm. Well, even a slow and stupid hound sometimes blunders into a vhoricock's nest."

"A jordaini proverb," Landish said smugly, clearly enjoying himself. "You should guard your words more carefully."

"Don't see what harm it could do at this point. A magehound," Gnarfling repeated in disgust.

No," stated Ursault.

There was a conviction in that single word that dismissed all other possibilities. Gnarfling sent a puzzled look at the wizard and was astonished at the simmering wrath in the old man's usually vague, mild eyes.

"Mirabella," Ursault said grimly.

The small man's heart seemed to leap in his chest like a breaching dolphin. Mirabella was the woman who'd saved an outcast jordaini babe, one whose stunted form was deemed unsuitable for the rigorous physical training given Halruaa's warrior-sages. But there was nothing wrong with his mind, and the soft-hearted midwife charged with his destruction knew enough of jordaini ways to give him a bit of the training. Enough to keep him aware and alive-until now, at least.

Landish's gaze snapped to the wizard's face and for a moment he looked deeply troubled. His face cleared.

"Ah. A diviner, I suppose. You see the results of my work, if not the actual workings."

Tour work? What'd you do with Mirabella?" roared Gnarfling.

He threw himself into a charge, his stubby hands leaping like twin hounds for the man's skinny throat.

Then he stopped, stunned by the white, leprous growth that had appeared on his short digits. As he stared, the small finger on his left hand listed to one side, then broke off entirely and fell to the muddy ground.

"That," Landish said succinctly. "She won't be missed. Just as you weren't missed, until now-and won't be missed after."

"Mirabella is not yet dead," Ursault said as he rose to his feet. "She may not die. The old speckled hen, the one destined for the soup pot, is going to lay her first egg since the last new moon. If she lays it in the hencoop, Mirabella will die. If the hen ventures into the gardens, a tamed hunting kestrel will see her and swoop. This will draw the eye of a passing hunting party. They will follow their hawk and find Mirabella. The hunter has a terrible fear of the plague. If he is the first to see the woman, he will flee in panic and the others will follow, never knowing what he saw. But if his horse throws a shoe-there is a loose nail and the shoe could be lost any time today or tomorrow-his greenmage daughter will be the first to find Mirabella. She can mix the herbs and pray the spells that will cure the woman. The herbs grow near Mirabella's cottage. She may find them, provided that-"

"Enough!" howled Landish, his dark eyes enormous in his too-pale face. "What madness is this?"

"He's mad, that's for sure and certain," Gnarlish said, jerking a leprous thumb toward Ursault, "but that don't stop him from being right. His way of telling the future is like throwing a really big fireball-the target can be found somewhere in the big, smoking black hole, if there's anyone left to look for it."

Ursault turned the loom around, revealing the weaving and the scenes depicted in it. Landish's face was still there, and so was a small, snug cottage, complete with speckled hens and an elderly woman sprawled, facedown and still, in the courtyard. A soft moan escaped Gnarfling. "You named yourself an Adept," Ursault said to Landish, "and so you are. You are a Shadow Adept, though this is not known to your master, the necromancer Hsard Imulteer. You intend to ambush and destroy your master, but fear that your growing powers will give you away before you are strong enough to prevail. Desiring to test your shields, you prayed to dark Shar, the goddess of shadows and secrets, and she led you to a hidden jordain. You wished to see if a jordain could perceive your true nature, and you believed that my friend here presented a small risk. Obviously he is gifted at perceiving magic in others, or how would he evade the magehounds for these many years? If he had been able to perceive you for what you are, what harm could come of it? He could not accuse you without also giving himself away."

The young man's face paled to a papery gray. "This is not possible. No one could know these things!"

"They don't call him Ursault the All-Seeing for no reason," retorted Gnarfling.

Landish began to pace. "Yes, I have heard that name," he muttered in a distracted tone. "A wizard who sees so many possibilities he cannot discern the truth, paralyzed, driven mad, finally fleeing into a hermit's life. Seeing all, knowing all-the possibilities are staggering!"

Gnarfling began to see where this was headed. He'd met wizards before who believed they were the exception to every rule, magical and otherwise.

He sniffed derisively and said, "If you're thinking the bat guano in your spell bag don't stink, think again."

But the Adept was no longer interested in his intended quarry. He stopped before Ursault and fixed his intense black gaze on the older wizard's face. "You can see all possible futures-including those influenced by practitioners of the Shadow Weave. This is a great gift, my friend!"

"Gift or curse?" said Ursault softly. "It is difficult to say."

Landish shook his head vigorously. "Halruaa is famed for wizardry, but few know of the Shadow Weave. We who are blessed by Shar can move in secret."

"But as you gain power, your ability to perceive the workings of Mystra diminish," Ursault concluded. "You may be hidden from wizards, but their ways, in nearly equal measure, are hidden from you."

"You grasp the salient point," the young Adept said, nodding approvingly. "Clearly, you do not want this gift and-forgive me-you have not proven strong enough to handle it. It has become a burden, one I would gladly lift from you."

"A little knowledge," cautioned Ursault, "is a wonderful thing."

Landish let out a sardonic chuckle and dismissed this notion with a wave of one skinny hand. "Come, let us make a bargain. I will give you the herbs needed to cure your short friend and the old dame who raised him."

"No deal," said Gnarfling sternly. "Ursault already knows what herbs are needed. He can find them himself, no help from you."

"Of course he can find them, and of course he can cure you and the old woman-'if this, and if that,'" mocked the Adept. "And let us not forget 'unless this and the other.' Count your fingers-how many remain? Are you willing to trust your life and the woman's to a mad old wizard, and the whims of fate?"

"Same question, back at you." The small man folded his arms. "That mad old wizard could just kill you and have done with it."

"No," said Landish smugly, "he couldn't." The wizard considered this claim for a moment then agreed with a grim nod.

"You see? This discussion is a mere formality. I could simply take this man's powers from him. He knows this, and he knows how. It would be easier for me, and far more pleasant all around, if he yields them willingly."

"Mageduel," Ursault said curtly. "Take the three of us to Mirabella's glen, and we will do battle for the title of All-Seeing."

"Done!" the Adept said gleefully. He stepped behind the wizard's stall and conjured an oval portal, gleaming with dark, purple-black light. He made a mock-courtly gesture for the others to precede him.

Gnarfling charged through the portal and hit the ground running. He bolted toward his foster mother, dropped to his knees, and gently turned her over with hands that felt strangely numb. He recoiled in grief and horror at the ravaged mess the Adept's spell had made of her face. He lifted one hand to stroke the old woman's hair away from her eyes, and grimaced at the sight of his own hand. He didn't look much better off.

He looked to the center of the courtyard. The wizards faced each other, an expression of intense concentration on each face as they attuned themselves to each other and to their competing Weaves.

A sly smile crossed Gnarfling's face as he perceived the wizard's stratagem: an Adept of the Shadow Weave would have little power in a mageduel arena.

Indeed, a dazed expression crossed the Adept's face as he ventured into the older wizard's convoluted mind. His feverish eyes started to dart about, as if tracing the paths of a hundred startled ground squirrels.

Landish pulled himself together with visible effort and said, "As you yourself observed, I am apprentice to a powerful necromancer. There is still enough of Mystra's art remaining to me to vanquish you, old man. Surely you foresee this."

"It is a possibility," Ursault admitted, "but only one of many."

The younger man sniffed. "A cube, fifty paces on all sides. I could manage more, but the smaller the arena, the swifter my victory."

"As you wish." Ursault smiled faintly. "And in defiance of the rules, you may take your spellfilcher gem into the arena with you."

He did not point out that the man was intending to do precisely that, but the meaning was there all the same.

Landish's face flushed at this gentle rebuke, but he spun around and began to stalk off his portion of the arena. Ursault did the same. A translucent, faintly glowing red cube began to take shape around them, growing on all sides as they moved farther apart.

"Just let him rob you and be done with it," muttered Gnarling. "That'll serve him right and fair."

Landish began to mumble the words of a spell. A brilliant golden flame erupted from the ground before him. Bright droplets turned into insects-deadly magical fire gnats whose touch could raise blisters and whose bite could set living flesh aflame.

A faint blue mist surrounded the older wizard as the glowing insects swarmed in. Each one met the aura with a faint, sharp sizzle and flared out of existence.

Tremors shook the ground as invisible fingers of necromantic magic reached deep into the soil. The clearing stirred, and small puffs of dirt and sod exploded upward as long-dead bones fought their way into the light. The older wizard countered with a quick gesture, then he clapped his hands sharply together. A thunderous rumble echoed through the clearing and the old bones shattered to dust.

On the battle raged, and each spell Landish cast was anticipated and countered. The young man's thin, wolfish face contorted with rage, and he hurled his remaining spells one after another, so quickly that spell and counterspell seemed to follow each other as quickly as two sword masters' thrusts and parries.

So intent was Gnarfling on the battle that he did not at first notice the glowing gem on the Adept's hand. A large amethyst, brilliant purple, was taking on light and power with each of Ursault's counterspells.

"The spellfilcher gem," he muttered, cursing Landish as a cheat and coward.

The light intensified until it filled the arena and spilled out into the clearing. Finally Ursault collapsed, falling to one knee and drawing in long, ragged breaths. As Landish has promised, the process of taking his magic from him had not been easy or painless.

The Adept stood triumphant in the eerie light. The hand bearing the glowing gem was fisted and held high, and his eyes shone with the bright, multifaceted dream that was his future.

Gnarfling eased Mirabella from his arms and went over to haul the old wizard slowly, painfully to his feet.

"You shoulda thrown the fight," he grumbled.

"And willingly pass this curse to another, even such a man as this?" Ursault shook his head.

"You knew he was going to win, though."

"It was a possibility. One of many."

With Gnarfling's help, the wizard made his way over to Mirabella. After a moment he shook his head. "She needs more help than I can give her."

The short man sat back on his heels. "If that and if this," he mused.

Suddenly he leaped to his feet, went to the hencoop and kicked it resoundingly. A half dozen hens exploded from it, squawking in protest. One old biddy scurried into the field.

Landish's howl of protest cut through the clearing like a machete. Even before he looked up, Gnarfling knew what he would see.

The small form of a kestrel circled against the clouds. Within moments the hawk went into a diving stoop, tempted by the plump, slow-moving meal below.

The rumble of horses hooves turned thunderous as the hunting party burst from the forest and onto the old corduroy path. Gnarfling blinked in surprise at the size of the entourage: at least six wizards, plus squires and a plain-faced young woman in simple tunic and trews. That would be the greenmage.

Her gaze fell upon the old woman, and she let out a small cry. A bolt of lightning sizzled toward her-and was stopped just short of a strike by an answering bolt flaring from one of the mounted wizards. The hunters spurred their horses toward Landish. They dismounted and began to circle the young adept.

"You didn't mention the other wizards," Gnarfling said. Ursault smiled faintly. "Knowledge is not quite the same as wisdom. It is not necessary or wise to speak of everything you know."

But Landish had not yet acquired this wisdom. He advanced swiftly, his hand fisted and his spellfilcher ring held out to capture the first spell flung at him.

"The first of many," Ursault observed. He sighed in resignation.

"What's going to happen?" Gnarfling asked. He suddenly seemed to hear his own words and grimaced. "Sorry. Old habit."

"The only thing that could happen," the wizard replied. "The ability to recognize several possible futures does not grant a corresponding ability to avoid them.

Gnarfling responded with a nod and an evil grin. When several powerful wizards were concerned, one possible future apiece seemed more than enough to ensure the Adept's thorough and messy demise.

The battle that followed was swift but violent enough to meet Gnarfling's expectations. When all that remained of Landish the Adept was a smoking, greasy circle on the blasted clearing, the greemnage came up and took Gnarfling's hands between hers.

"The same blight," she murmured, her brows pulled down in a deep frown. "It is a necromantic spell, but not one I have seen before."

"Are you not Suzza Indoulur, niece to Lord Basel of Halar?" asked Ursault.

Her eyes widened, and she responded with a nod.

“Your name is spoken as a capable greenmage, but did I not also hear that you are studying for the priesthood of Azuth?"

"News travels swiftly through this forest," she said cautiously.

"The herbal potions and prayer spells of Constandia of Azuth against the leprous blight may prove efficacious," suggested Ursault. "Even a novice priestess might be granted such a spell. I believe I saw some wild priestcap flowers just off the path. Shall I gather some for you?"

She considered this, nodded, then set to work. In short order Mirabella was sitting comfortably, sipping a steaming herbal brew as the greenmage gently smoothed priest-cap ointment over the old woman's face. Gnarfling was grinning like a gargoyle and flexing his ten pink fingers, which were longer and more dexterous than they'd been before Landish's spell and Suzza's healing ministrations.

"I can make more ointment for your legs, if you like," the greenmage offered. "It may lengthen them, as it did your fingers-to match the rest of you," she said hurriedly. "I mean no offense. Everything else seems just fine. That is, a man as handsome of face and form… What I meant to say was…" She trailed off a second time, her lips folded tightly together and her face blooming a vivid pink.

Gnarfling considered this, astonishment and hope dawning in his eyes. "Might not hurt to even things out a mite," he said casually. "Kind of you to offer."

The greenmage sent him a tentative smile and set to work with a wooden bowl and pestle. She scooped the ointment into a small pot and pointed to a curving mark carved into the pottery.

"This is my family sigil. Trace it with one finger and repeat the words I will give you, and it will bring you to our estates near Halar. I would like to see you again to make sure the cure is progressing."

"And if it doesn't?" asked Gnarfling, gesturing to his stubby limbs.

The greenmage's soft smile didn't falter. "Even then." She spoke a short, strange word and had Gnarfling repeat it. When she was satisfied with his pronunciation, she rose in one swift, surprisingly graceful move and strode to the impatient band of wizards. Her father's squire handed her the kestrel, and she tied the little hawk's jesses to her saddle pommel. They rode off without a backward glance, their horses clattering over the rough corduroy path.

Gnarfling watched them go, and for the first time, his future seemed bright with possibilities. He turned to his wizard companion.

Force of habit prompted him to ask, "What now?" Ursault's smile held a world of contentment. "I have no idea."

Astride The Wind

Philip Athans

7Alturiak, the Year of Wild Magic

Astride the Wind tucked his wings close to his body and felt his dive accelerate. Below him, the strange boat grew rapidly as he fell toward it. He could feel Atop the Sky next to him and could feel the cool rush of air from his own wake buffet the other kenku. To his credit, Atop the Sky rode the winds well. His dive was tight and fast- almost as tight and fast as Astride the Wind's.

He focused on the men in the flying boat, and his vision narrowed. The first barrage of arrows from Astride the Wind's brother kenku flashed among the soldiers. The arrow shafts ricocheted off the soldiers' gleaming gold armor, snapping and bouncing uselessly away without harming a single one of the startled humans.

Astride the Wind tightened his grip on his scimitar and continued his fast dive. The arrows shot by the three kenku archers were meant as a diversion anyway, but Astride the Wind was disappointed and concerned that of the three none had found a mark.

Two of the soldiers looked off the starboard side of the flying boat and pointed in unison in the direction of the kenku archers. Astride the Wind risked a glance in that direction and saw the archers-Embracing the Clouds, Whirling on High, and Above it All-fluff their wings to slow and pull to their right and down.

As he watched this, Astride the Wind muttered the ancient words passed from chief to chief for all the history of the Soaring Heights Clan. From the corner of his eye he saw Atop the Sky pull farther away from him, knowing well enough to give him a bit of room. In the air around Astride the Wind appeared first one, then a second, then a third and a fourth identical kenku to himself. The images mimicked his every move, sliding through the air around him in a swirling dance guaranteed to confuse any opponent.

It might have been the sudden appearance of the images or maybe he was just well trained, but one of the soldiers finally looked up. Astride the Wind had always had some difficulty telling one human from any other, but these six men were nearly as identical to each other as the magically conjured images were to Astride the Wind. The soldier who looked up had the same close-cropped black hair as the other five. His eyes, though, were bright green.

Astride the Wind expected the man's eyes to bulge in surprise or even fear. He expected the man to have some reaction to the sight of six kenku is a sharp dive in the direction of the top of his head, but there was nothing. The man with the green eyes took note of them and drew his black sword. He opened his mouth to say something and pulled his sword back to strike, but Astride the Wind was there. The kenku felt his blade take the man's head off, and there was a spray of red as Astride the Wind swished past and down.

The magic images followed Astride the Wind down along the side of the flying boat. An image came within reach of one of the gold-armored soldiers, who slashed back and around without even looking and took the image under its right wing. If that had really been Astride the Wind, the slash would have gutted him. Instead, the image burst painlessly in a flash of green and disappeared.

At the same time, Atop the Sky spun his carved wooden staff in a circular blur at his side, away from his wing and smashed the wood into the side of a soldier with crooked teeth-or he tried to, at least. The soldier with crooked teeth took one quick step back and placed the wide, heavy blade of his black sword into the blur of the spinning staff. The staff was cut cleanly in two. Atop the Sky followed Astride the Wind down and under the boat with a squawk of frustration.

The kenku-Astride the Wind, his three remaining images, and Atop the Sky-pulled their wings out to their sides and twisted them to slip under the boat and begin a gentle arc back up the other side. They were as tall and nearly as heavy as the humans they fought, but they were birds. Astride the Wind opened his beak to taste the dry air over the burning wastelands of Anauroch and sensed a storm brewing in the distance. The clouds were over the mountains and would stay there.

They'll need to be drawn there, Astride the Wind thought to his companion.

To the mountains, Atop the Sky responded directly into Astride the Wind's mind. To the storm, yes?

Draw them there, Astride the Wind told him.

The soldier with the crooked teeth looked over the edge of the boat just in time to meet the last two of the party of seven kenku. Borne on the Drafts and Suspended in Air were coming up from below almost as fast as Astride the Wind and Atop the Sky came down from on high. Suspended in Air's scimitar was out in front of him, and though Astride the Wind was sure his friend was going for the soldier's face, the tip of the scimitar drove hard into the man's chest. The human with the crooked teeth fell back hard into the boat.

As Astride the Wind came up along the opposite side of the flying boat, he saw the man with the crooked teeth sprawled on his back in the bottom of the strange vessel. He was breathing hard but was already starting to stand. Suspended in Air's blade had failed to penetrate the ornate gold armor.

Astride the Wind turned his attention to the human who had eliminated one of his images. Again, this human looked like a copy of the others, but he held his black sword in grotesquely hairy hands, hands like the hands of an ape-which is what these creatures were, after all.

Astride the Wind, his three magical images dancing around and through him, swooped in at the boat. The man with the hairy hands tried to follow them all. His jaw was set, and his eyes were narrow. He was obviously trying to figure out which was the real Astride the Wind but was having no luck. He'd seen one of the images disappear into thin air and didn't seem to want to be fooled again.

Astride the Wind's scimitar rang against the human's black sword, and the blow sent a vibration up the kenku's powerful arm, rattling the humanoid bird's skull and momentarily blurring his sharp vision. The human's grunt made Astride the Wind think he'd felt the same thing.

One of the images passed in front of Astride the Wind, and another passed through him. Astride the Wind turned one wing down to move out of the range of the hairy-handed human's blade. The kenku made the motions of a duel to keep the images active. The human stepped back, still trying to figure out which kenku was real and which illusion.

Astride the Wind took a second to scan the other soldiers and saw one of them, a man wearing a shiny copper ring, pull something small from a belt pouch. Atop the Sky and Suspended in Air were swooping in to engage the other soldiers and were coming in for another pass. For some reason Astride the Wind realized just then that none of the humans were speaking. Astride the Wind's experience with humans was limited, but he remembered them doing a lot of shouting and talking. Atop the Sky, his staff in both hands, shrieked a war cry and pulled around to face the boat. The man with the copper ring threw whatever it was he'd taken out of his belt pouch at Atop the Sky and Suspended in Air. Astride the Wind cracked a peel of kenku laughter realizing it was a small stone. The human was throwing rocks at them.

Atop the Sky ducked the thrown rock easily and Astride the Wind thought to him, Careful, Atop the Sky, they're throwing rocks at The flash was white at first, followed quickly by a roiling mass of orange brilliance. The light burned Astride the Wind's vision and made him close his eyes. He heard Atop the Sky and Suspended in Air scream in unison and felt a wave of thought from them that was the beginning of their dying wishes. It was their good-byes to the Soaring Heights Clan.

The orange fire broke apart in the air to reveal the blackened forms of Atop the Sky and Suspended in Air, feathers gone from their wings. They fell impotently, dead. Atop the Sky's steel scimitar whirled, spinning down next to the bodies. Astride the Wind had come with six seasoned warriors of the Soaring Heights Clan, the clan that called him chief, to confront six of the humans. One of the humans was dead, but now Astride the Wind had lost two of his own.

The man with the hairy hands growled something in his indecipherable human tongue and Astride the Wind saw that another of his conjured images was gone.

Some seventeen hundred years before, the kenku who would one day form the Soaring Heights Clan were an undisciplined, barbaric race who lived high in the Columns of the Sky and hunted in the Myconid Forest north of Shade Enclave. The kenku sometimes harassed the citizens of the town of Conch, which sat on the eastern slopes of the Columns of the Sky.

They could not speak. They had no written language, and their manners were more like the birds they resembled than the humans they stole from. They had mastered fire and were carving crude tools from shale and wood. Strangely, they were devoid of religion and superstition. They had no mythology or philosophy. They had no fear of gods or mortals.

Kaeralonn Jurneille was determined to put an end to that.

He was called "General," though the title was more ceremonial than a real military rank. The men he commanded were assassins, scouts-the sort of soldiers who went in either first or last, but never in the middle, and never in force. Not all of them were human. Kaeralonn drew his operatives from whatever race or construct was most suited for the mission at hand. He employed everything from enormous, powerful, and mindless golems to fickle and wily sprites.

The kenku were brought to his attention by a farmer who sold barley to Shade Enclave and kept an eye on the village of Conch for the Twelve Princes. Kaeralonn paid the farmer well for a dead kenku, then he erased the man's memory and began studying the bird-men in great detail.

Scouts, Kaeralonn thought. These creatures would make exceptional scouts.

Kaeralonn put the dead kenku on ice and started to think. He walked the streets of Shade, sailed through the cool skies on his private skiff, and haunted the libraries of House Tanthul.

The plan formed quickly enough. It was a simple plan and one he'd used before. Kaeralonn was three hundred years old and did very little quickly. It was months before he opened the self-freezing casket and began to thaw the dead kenku.

As the bird-man thawed, Kaeralonn removed the arrows and sealed the wounds. He set the creature's broken wing and helped some missing feathers to grow back. When the time was right, he brought in a priest of Shar, who muttered his prayers and waved his hands and brought the kenku back to life.

The creature burst up from the table and the sound of its wings unfurling echoed in Kaeralonn's laboratory. The priest grumbled and stepped back, but Kaeralonn smiled and stepped forward. It was a beautiful beast, and Kaeralonn knew it would serve him well.

The kenku twitched its head to take in the chamber, crowded with glass and apparatus. It glanced sideways at the priest, then fixed its eyes on Kaeralonn, who had just finished a hastily-cast spell.

Release me, a voice, shrill with panic and indignation, vibrated in Kaeralonn's mind.

"Is that you?" Kaeralonn asked the kenku, then he thought, That was you, wasn't it?

Release me, the kenku repeated into Kaeralonn's mind, the voice less shrill now and more insistent.

Kaeralonn could feel the spell he'd just cast fill his own mind, wrapping around the kenku's silent speech.

You are among friends now, Kaeralonn thought to the kenku. / would like you to stay.

"I will take my leave now," the priest said, almost startling Kaeralonn, certainly annoying him.

Kaeralonn waved the chubby little man away and didn't watch him shuffle out and slam the door behind him.

Who are you? the kenku asked. Kaeralonn stepped closer to the kenku and held out his right hand. I am Kaeralonn Jurneille of Shade Enclave. I would like us to be very close friends. Please, tell me your name and take my hand.

The kenku tipped its head to one side and stared hard into Kaeralonn's eyes. I am known as Amidst the Blue, the creature responded.

Amidst the Blue, Kaeralonn sent. That is a beautiful name.

The kenku reached out with one feathered arm and put its strong hand into Kaeralonn's.

Good, Kaeralonn thought. You will be a leader among your people, Amidst the Blue. Your name will be written in all the histories of the kenku, for a thousand generations to come-a thousand-thousand.

Leader? Amidst the Blue asked, obviously confused. Written? Histories?

Kaeralonn smiled and responded aloud, "First among many… chief… The rest, you'll learn. I'll teach you magic, as well. And you will teach your people."

Teach, Amidst the Blue repeated. Magic. Yes. You are a friend.

Kaeralonn laughed and drew back so the kenku could step down from the table. There was another rustle of wings, and Amidst the Blue sank to the floor, still a good head taller than Kaeralonn.

The human didn't want to give himself away so he kept the words "charmed'' and "enchanted" out of his mind. He never let himself think the word "slave." He knew what the kenku was and what his people would be-the kenku would figure it out soon enough.

Astride the Wind smashed his curved blade at the human's midsection, but the man with hairy hands was fast enough to drop his heavy black sword to his side and smash the kenku's weapon away.

The mountains, brothers, Astride the Wind sent to the other kenku. Withdraw and let the fools follow.

Astride the Wind faked another slice to the man's mid-section, and when the human drew his blade around to block it, the kenku tucked his wings tight against his side. Astride the Wind fell back and kicked up with one thin, bony leg. At the end of the frail-looking leg was a formidable four-toed talon. His own red cape billowed up behind him and momentarily blocked Astride the Wind's vision. The talon scraped against the human's golden armor with a thin shriek that made the fine feathers along Astride the Wind's spine fluff.

The human dodged backward a step, though, so was unable to take advantage of Astride the Wind's ill-considered, failed attack.

Under the clouds, brothers, Astride the Wind sent as he slid his wings through the air and drew himself back up-just in time to see the hairy-handed human whip his black blade at his neck.

Astride the Wind spanked it away with his scimitar and grabbed the flying boat's thick-walled gunwale with one talon, lifting himself up and out of the way of the human's follow-on attack. One of the magical images passed through him and drew itself up as well. The human's sword connected with the image's scimitar. The resulting clang made the savvy human squint with suspicion.

A flash of green and brown drew Astride the Wind's attention sharply upward. Borne on the Drafts passed close over his head and flew fast away. Looking back down, Astride the Wind sent his scimitar fast and hard in an overhand chop at the hairy-handed human's unprotected head. The two images followed, and the human made a startlingly effective attempt at blocking all three of them. The result was that he actually dodged two of the triple chops-including Astride the Wind's very real and very deadly strike. The human slid his sword up the second image's blade and found the weak space under the image's left wing. The image popped out of existence, eliciting a frustrated grimace from the human soldier.

Two of the other soldiers stepped up, their heavy-booted footsteps sending resounding thumps through the dense wood of the flying boat. Astride the Wind turned and flapped his wings furiously at his sides. The remaining magical image did the same, of course, and the result was three startled, confused human soldiers. Unfortunately the confusion didn't last long-at least for two of them. The human with the scar on his cheek danced forward and pushed the tip of his wide black sword into the image's abdomen. The phantasm disappeared, leaving Astride the Wind alone, standing on the gunwale with his wings outstretched behind him.

The human with the hairy hands came on strong and fast, and Astride the Wind parried one attack after another until the human's blade finally found a way in, slashing the kenku across the chest. The cut wasn't deep, but blood and feathers flew, and Astride the Wind cawed in pain.

Astride the Wind's cry turned into a more complex vocalization as he kicked out with the talon that wasn't still locked onto the gunwale. He spun to the right and kicked at the man with the hairy hand. The human dodged back, and the kenku's claws pinked harmlessly off his gold armor. The man with the scar on his face tried to take advantage of Astride the Wind's failed kick and attempted to cut the kenku's wing off. Astride the Wind tucked his wing in and down quickly, sending the man with the scar on his cheek off-balance.

Astride the Wind brought his scimitar around fast into the stumbling human with the scar on his cheek. At the same time he kicked his free talon back up into the face of the recovering man with the hairy hands. The kenku took hold of the hairy-handed soldier's face as the scimitar bit deeply into the throat of the man with the scar on his cheek. Blood flew from the scarred man, and Astride the Wind released the power of the spell he'd cast. The man with the hairy hands kicked impotently, and there was the smell of burning flesh. The man's black hair stood up on end as if he were fluffing his plume in some sort of dying ritual.

Both of the humans fell to the deck, dead. One pumped his blood in ever-decreasing gouts onto the old wood of the deck. The man with the hairy hands shivered and tensed, his face black, and his eyes rolled back white.

Astride the Wind saw the man with the copper ring- the man who'd killed Atop the Sky and Suspended in Air with magic fire-pulling another stone from his belt. The human was stepping backward and was pressed against the rail farther along the boat and on the other side. The human's legs touched the solid rail. The copper ring glinted in the sunlight, and Astride the Wind twitched. The man brought the stone up, and Astride the Wind tensed to spring but felt confident he'd be blown to bits, burned, frozen, or disintegrated before he could cut diagonally across the boat. The human's mouth drew up in an unreadable expression, then his eyes rolled back in his head and his eyelids flittered closed. The soldier slumped back, sitting on the rail for half a second before he flipped back and over the rail.

Astride the Wind opened his mouth in surprise and looked back. The other kenku were riding the currents forty yards or more from the boat. Astride the Wind made eye contact with Whirling on High, who had cast the spell.

My thanks, brother, Astride the Wind sent. Whirling on High's thoughts drifted silently across the distance to echo in Astride the Wind's head, Are you with us?

Without bothering to answer, Astride the Wind folded his wings tight against his body-the soldier with crooked teeth swiped at him with his black sword, but missed-and let himself tip over off the side of the boat. The man with the copper ring, still sound asleep, was spinning to his death thousands of feet below.

Astride the Wind fell after him but not very far. He closed his eyes just long enough to will himself invisible, and he faded from the sight of others. It was something he'd been able to do for a while. It had just come to him- come naturally-one day.

Astride the Wind flew fast toward his brothers, zigzagging tightly in case one of the soldiers had another one of those dangerous stones. The other four kenku were already flying fast and in a wide formation toward the distant mountains. Astride the Wind let himself be seen again just as he slid into the head of the formation. There were only two soldiers still alive of the six. Under normal circumstances, two humans who'd seen four of their friends killed would flee or surrender. Astride the Wind knew, though, that what set his people against these humans in the first place was an old and heartfelt hatred. These humans would not flee, and they would not surrender. Astride the Wind was confident that these soldiers would follow them.

Ahead were the low mountains, dry and brown. The Soaring Heights Clan were from the Turnback Mountains, higher than the dry crags ahead of them. They had spent centuries avoiding contact with humans and hunting in the nearby Frozen Forest. Now the old enemy was back — Netherese soldiers in a flying boat.

Astride the Wind looked back and saw the two soldiers turn their boat. The vessel came about, and they followed the kenku. Astride the Wind sent out a roaring call of challenge that faded into a satisfied, avian laugh.

Amidst the Blue was beginning to understand the human language. He'd been with his new friend Kaeralonn for a year and in that time had brought dozens of kenku to Shade Enclave — the massive flying city of the impressive archwizards. Kaeralonn was his friend and had taught him much, but there were things that gave the proud kenku pause.

They were back in the cage room again. Amidst the Blue had been there four times over the past few months. He was there simply to watch, which was all he did. The first time he'd been brought there Amidst the Blue was unable to understand what he was seeing. The second time he was nervous, and Kaeralonn had to speak to him in soothing tones to help calm him down. The third time he started to understand what Kaeralonn was doing. The fourth time he felt… offended… confused… unhappy.

"They can just fly out through the ceiling," the old man said, waving a hand at the cage with the open roof. Kaeralonn shrugged and said, "They'll try." The old man was visiting and Amidst the Blue understood that Kaeralonn was concerned about the stranger's opinion. Amidst the Blue had never seen his trusted human friend so concerned about the opinion of another. "You devised this… protocol yourself, then?" the old man asked. Amidst the Blue could feel his suspicion and doubt.

Kaeralonn shrugged and said, "There is some precedence in the literature, but it's best when modified where appropriate to the subjects."

Amidst the Blue wasn't sure what the humans were talking about. Spoken language was still uncomfortable for him, and some of the words they were using were too complex for the kenku to understand.

Kaeralonn waved to a young assistant who pulled a lever that opened a steel door in the wall of the cage. Suspicious and twitching, four naked kenku passed through the doorway and into the cage. The door slammed shut behind them, startling them, and they scattered to the corners of the cage. One looked up almost immediately and saw the hole in the ceiling. Amidst the Blue thought the kenku prisoner would soar through the opening and out into the free air, but he'd seen the process happen too many times. Though he knew it pleased Kaeralonn when the kenku responded to his teaching, Amidst the Blue was secretly disappointed when the kenku cowered in the corner. "They'll stay in the cage?" the old man asked. "They've all tried to fly out at one time or another," Kaeralonn explained. "Every time one tries it all four are subjected to low-level lightning magic they find most unpleasant. Eventually they stop trying to get through." "How long does that expensive and bothersome process go on?" the old man asked, rubbing his chin and looking at the trapped kenku in a way that made Amidst the Blue feel bad, despite the fact that this was Kaeralonn's friend.

Kaeralonn shrugged. "Some are more persistent than others, but I think this group is ready to move on," he said, then turned to the assistant. "Send in the new subject."

The assistant nodded and opened a second steel doorway in the cage. A young male kenku burst through the opening with a defiant shriek that made Amidst the Blue's heart leap in response. The strong young kenku grabbed the bars of the cage with both talons and used his wings to shake the bars violently. The cage held, and eventually the vital young male looked up. When he saw the opening in the roof, the young kenku leaped into the air — and all four of the other kenku dived on him. Talons tore and wings buffeted, and soon the young male was overwhelmed, held down firmly to the floor by shrieking, terrified kenku. Amidst the Blue could hear the mind-screams of the attacking kenku-a cacophony of single words lacking the complexity and subtlety of Kaeralonn's human tongue.

Pain.

Stop.

No.

Pain.

"Extraordinary," the old man said.

Kaeralonn smiled and said, "They learn slowly, but they learn."

The old man ran a hand through the wispy remnants of his white hair and said, "But you had the lightning ready just in case."

Kaeralonn laughed. "No," he replied. "No need. Not now. They'll be their own jailers now."

The old man nodded, and Amidst the Blue began to silently weep.

Astride the Wind's laugh was still hanging in the high air when he turned back to look at the flying boat. There were only two soldiers left alive, the one with crooked teeth and the other with sketches of gray in his black hair. They were following quickly. Keep them on our tails, brothers, Astride the Wind told the other four surviving kenku, but not too close.

Ahead of them, deep gray clouds roiled over the jagged tops of the rugged mountains-fertile fields for Astride the Wind's purposes. The soldiers were following them there, and though they'd suffered losses, Astride the Wind had reason to be optimistic. All that was left was for the Enemy to appear. Astride the Wind was sure he would. He had to.

The fog that appeared before them in a supernatural burst of billowing yellow-green set Astride the Wind's feathers on edge. It smelled of poison and foul magic. Astride the Wind tipped the leading edges of his wings down and drew his taloned feet in tightly. His head dipped and the rest of his body followed in a tight, fast dive. He missed the front of the conjured fogbank and twisted in the air so he could see it pass above him. Borne on the Drafts and Embracing the Clouds swerved past it, smart and agile enough to keep even the tips of their wings from cutting the mist. Whirling on High and Above it All were nowhere to be seen. Embracing the Clouds shrieked an audible warning.

Where are they? Astride the Wind asked the minds of his comrades.

They couldn't turn in time to-Borne on the Drafts began then stopped when Embracing the Clouds shrieked again.

Whirling on High and Above it All, proud kenku warriors both, fell from the bottom of the cloud trailing sickly mist and shriveling feathers. Even from a distance Astride the Wind knew they were dead and knew his instincts were correct when he'd avoided the strange fog.

Steel yourselves, brothers, Astride the Wind sent.

The reply was a feeling without words, Borne on the Drafts and Embracing the Clouds would fly with him to destroy the enemy. Astride the Wind never thought otherwise.

Astride the Wind pulled up past the back end of the cloud, facing the flying boat. A breath caught in his throat when he saw the third man there. He was tall and lithe, young but not youthful, wrapped in the confining robes of human mages. His hands were clasped in front of him and his eyes blazed with a commanding light. His face was a mask of jagged scars. The two soldiers were turned to face him and Astride the Wind could see the newcomer's mouth moving. He was giving them orders and they were listening intently. This new human was the Enemy, the slaver, the general.

Jurneille.

He is come, brothers, Astride the Wind told the other kenku. To the mountains. To the heavy sky.

Borne on the Drafts and Embracing the Clouds beat their wings furiously as they passed the slowly sinking cloud of yellow-green poison and tore off in the direction of the mountains. Astride the Wind hung on a thermal and chattered a series of words passed from chief to chief. Bolts of blue-green energy burst from his chest and flashed through the sky faster than the fastest swift. Their path took them unerringly toward the hated enemy.

The human looked up from his soldiers and fixed his eyes on the onrushing missiles.

See them coming, slaver? Astride the Wind thought. The last thing your eyes will The archwizard held out a hand and the bolts of energy, which in Astride the Wind's experience had never failed to hit their mark, veered off and passed only a few inches from the man's blowing robes. The curve of their deflected path brought the missiles slamming into the face of the soldier with the gray in his hair. The soldier's head exploded in a burst of light and his body fell limply onto the deck of the flying boat.

Astride the Wind screamed in frustration and turned back to join Borne on the Drafts and Embracing the Clouds, the mountains now looming close ahead.

Well done, Chief, a voice echoed in Astride the Wind's head.

It couldn't be the human, Astride the Wind thought. But it is, was the man's response. Enemy! Astride the Wind raged back, not turning to look at the man.

The man sent a laugh into Astride the Wind's mind that tickled the kenku's throat.

Your father taught you well, Chief, the man persisted, as his father taught him, and his father taught him, back along the lines of your flea-speck generations to when I taught your savage ancestor the glory of the Weave.

In the name of what your father's father's father did to my people, Shade, Astride the Wind sent, I will send you back to the hell you've been It was me, Chief, the man interrupted. I live now as I lived then. For every spell you cast, for ever sorcery you inherit, I have a thousand more at my command. Only a savage like yourself, a low thing, would think it difficult to live a thousand years, or two thousand, or three.

Astride the Wind beat his wings rapidly to press farther on, his eyes glued to the prize ahead. If what this man claimed was true, his victory would be all the sweeter.

Do you not remember me, kenku? The man sent. Astride the Wind swallowed in a dry throat and saw in his mind's eye the paintings on the wall of the High Cave, the home of his people. The paintings were as old as the Soaring Heights Clan, and told the story of the city on the floating mountain, the soldiers in their flying boats, the misery of servitude, and the disappearance of the hated city just before its neighbors were thrown to the unforgiving ground by the hand of a dying goddess. They remembered. They all remembered. Ahead the blackening air above the ragged mountains beckoned. Astride the Wind flew faster, and Borne on the Drafts and Embracing the Clouds were alongside him.

You are certain, Astride the Wind? Borne on the Drafts asked, a wave of uncertainty accompanying the thought. Astride the Wind did his best to transfer a sense of purpose and confidence, but he couldn't feel if Borne on the Drafts took it all in or not. We are our only hope, he added.

Borne on the Drafts's shiver sent a tremble through the air. Whirling on High was his older brother, born in the same mother's nest three years before. And Whirling on High was still spiraling, inert, to a dismal, lonely death on the desert sands below.

Astride the Wind felt a wave of heat pass up his back and he dropped a couple feet to let whatever it was pass. There was a flash of orange light in front of him-an oblong bolt of fire as long as his forearm had rocketed over him. He glanced back and saw several more arcing toward he and his comrades from the outstretched hands of the Enemy. A bolt of flame narrowly missed Embracing the Clouds and another passed within a handspan of Astride the Wind. Borne on the Drafts cawed when one caught the hem of his tunic and singed it, nearly setting the garment ablaze.

He means to burn us! Borne on the Drafts sent, the thought edged with panic.

I mean to get your attention, hatchling, the man replied, the alien voice like stagnant water in Astride the Wind's mind. It has been a long time, but there is much to do now, and Shade Enclave requires the efforts of all those who serve her now or served her then. You are recalled. Blood boiled in Astride the Wind's feathered head. You ask us to fly into your chains merely because you wish It? And I thought your hateful arrogance mere legend.

The kenku heard the Enemy laugh in both his mind and ears.

I offer you the opportunity to participate in the refounding of the greatest empire this world has ever known. If that's arrogance, then so be it.

Astride the Wind, Borne on the Drafts sent, the thought jittery and unsure, are you certain? If what you said is true, then…

Speak it, hatchling, Kaeralonn prodded. Astride the Wind realized that he and Borne on the Drafts had been circling, the boat gaining on them rapidly. He glanced at Embracing the Clouds, now circling himself some fifty yards or more closer to the roiling, gray mountain air.

The mountains, brothers, Embracing the Clouds urged. Come with us, Borne on the Drafts, Astride the Wind sent. This human would own you. He has nothing to offer us but misery. Come.

But he made us… Borne on the Drafts replied, the young kenku's eyes fixed on the rapidly approaching boat. He gave us what we…

Astride the Wind looked back at Borne on the Drafts as he came around the far end of the circle he was making in the air. The boat was moving with a purpose toward Borne on the Drafts, who twisted in the air and brought his own gentle arc closer to the vessel. Kaeralonn smiled through his scars with a toothy, feral grin. With a curve of one wing, Astride the Wind broke his gentle circle and dived toward Borne on the Drafts, racing the flying boat to his confused, frightened, overwhelmed clanmate. Kaeralonn reached out a hand to Borne on the Drafts, who was passing slowly down toward the boat, his wings ballooned out at his sides to slow his descent. Astride the Wind tucked his wings in tight and reached out with his free left hand to grab for Borne on the Drafts's rustling tunic.

The soldier with the crooked teeth leaned far over the rail of the boat, holding his black sword out in front of him. Astride the Wind, too intent on grabbing Borne on the Drafts out of the way of the Enemy, flew dead into the blade. The sword bit deeply into Astride the Wind's side, but he managed to spin in the air so that the fine edge clicked off a rib.

The maneuver saved his life but made it impossible to grab Borne on the Drafts. Astride the Wind let himself fall a few feet, trailing a spray of blood and looking up. The boat eased past the slowly descending Borne on the Drafts, and the archwizard's fingers brushed the side of the young kenku's beak.

No! Astride the Wind screamed into the minds of friend and foe alike, but there was nothing he could do.

Borne on the Drafts's body stiffened at the touch and the light went out of his eyes. Like his brother, Borne on the Drafts began to fall, stiff and lifeless, to the dry ground below.

Kaeralonn made that hideous human sound they called a laugh and looked down at Astride the Wind. All I want is you this time, Chief, descendant of Amidst the Blue.

No! Astride the Wind screamed again. He shot both wings out to grab the air and turned away from the sight of Borne on the Drafts's falling corpse. With strength born of anger and revulsion, he beat his wings furiously against the uncompromising air and soared to meet the circling, impatient Embracing the Clouds.

We're alone, Embracing the Clouds, the kenku sent to his last comrade. The time has come to finish this.

Embracing the Clouds gave a ragged squawk of agreement and flew fast toward the mountains, Astride the Wind lagging behind.

Fly, Chief, the hated Enemy called. There's nowhere you can go where I can't chase you, no lifetime you can resist that I can't wait out. You will come to me as your ancestor did, and you'll deliver the rest of your people as he did, and you will teach them to serve me as he taught them to do. It's your destiny to serve as it's my destiny to command-in the name of Netheril, in the name of Shade, in the name of common sense.

Astride the Wind's beak clamped shut, his feathers ruffled, and a wave of hot blood flooded through his tingling body. His vision narrowed to a focused point, and he flew faster than he'd ever flown before.

No, brother! Embracing the Clouds called from behind him. This way!

Astride the Wind ignored him. Instead of following his own instructions, his own plan to lead the human to the heavy, energy-rich air above the mountains, he shot at the boat like an arrow and smashed into the side. The flying vessel tipped violently and the impact sent a wave of pain burning through the kenku's injured side. Blood flowed and bright stars exploded in his vision.

The last remaining Netherese soldier fell from the boat but managed to grab the side. His face twisted in a red, sweating grimace, he hung there, his life depending solely on the strength of his left hand. The headless corpse of his comrade-in-arms tumbled over the side and spun madly, trailing blood as it fell.

Astride the Wind recovered quickly from the impact and though the pain in his side was still intense, he managed to get his wings back onto the air. He caught a fast rising thermal at the edge of the mountain range and rode it upward. Behind him, the Enemy snarled through a string of nonsensical words. Astride the Wind honestly couldn't tell the difference between an incantation and the human's normal speech, so he braced himself for anything. He smelled a faint whiff of sulfur and before he took the time to make a conscious decision, he tucked and dived out of the way.

The world exploded in heat and roiling red-orange fire in a rapidly-expanding sphere above him. Singed but not blistered, Astride the Wind swooped out of the way even as the fire burned itself out into a single puff of black smoke that fouled the air.

Astride the Wind looked back at the boat and saw the soldier with the crooked teeth get his right hand onto the edge of the still teetering boat. The soldier's sword was safely in its scabbard at his belt. The man's face was more relaxed, confident that he had avoided a mile-long fall to his death.

An arrow came from behind Astride the Wind and above his head and slammed into the side of the boat. Splinters shot into the soldier's face and he gasped. The edge of the boat broke off and the soldier seemed to hang in the still air an inch off the side of the flying boat. Then he screamed as he fell, his arms twirling and his body spinning.

Astride the Wind looked up and back at Embracing the Clouds, who was banking back toward the mountains holding his longbow in his left hand.

Well shot, brother, Astride the Wind sent.

I serve the clan, was Embracing the Clouds's reply. The mountains? The heavy air?

Astride the Wind flew fast toward his clanmate, glancing back to see an obviously irritated, scowling arch-wizard in the flying boat, giving chase.

The mountains, yes, Astride the Wind responded. The heavy air.

Amidst the Blue twitched under the ministering hands of the human while Kaeralonn paced angrily across the aviary. Behind him, the clear sky sparkled with stars that moved as one as the floating city gently turned. Warmth spread from the human's hands and Amidst the Blue twitched again when the now familiar nettling itch of the priestly healing magic closed his oozing wounds.

There were more than you told us there would be, Amidst the Blue sent to the pacing human.

Kaeralonn stopped pacing and spun on him angrily. "That's what I sent you to determine, you pea-brained fool. You killed as many of your own men as the enemy did. Need I remind you again of the cost to train you feathered savages, to keep you and equip you?"

Amidst the Blue looked away, his feathers ruffling. He had no answer. He'd been sent to lead a flight of his brother kenku against a small flotilla of flying boats set into the sky by a neighboring enclave. The battle had gone badly from the start. The enchanted maidensthigh melons they'd been given to drop on the boats from above instead exploded in the hands of a good dozen kenku- blasting them apart in a blaze of green-white flame. Only two actually managed to land on a boat, neither working the way Kaeralonn had planned. All they did was illuminate the invisible shields with which the enemy mages had encircled their boats. Arrows both enchanted and mundane ripped more kenku apart, and the small spells of the kenku and their weapons and talons took some toll on the enemy, but in the end it was Amidst the Blue who broke off and retreated, with only a quarter of the force he'd flown out with. Kaeralonn had reason to be displeased, but so did Amidst the Blue.

"Silence?" Kaeralonn asked with a sneer. "You have nothing to say for yourself?"

What is there to say, General? Amidst the Blue answered.

"I am finished here," the priest muttered to Kaeralonn, who waved him off dismissively. "Your slaves are well cared for, General."

Kaeralonn stepped closer to the priest and grabbed his arm with a tight, commanding grip. "Hold your tongue, priest," Kaeralonn said through tight lips, "and get out." The priest looked offended but left quickly. Kaeralonn went back to his angry pacing and Amidst the Blue was left to ponder the priest's words. Slaves.

He had heard the word many tunes in the last two years. He had heard it uttered by his own people-kenku whom Amidst the Blue had brought to Shade Enclave himself, brought into the service of Kaeralonn. Amidst the Blue had been confused, baffled by his brothers' inability to see the warmth and friendship in Kaeralonn or the value in service to his cause. The other kenku regarded Kaeralonn with fear and suspicion, even hatred-but why? Amidst the Blue was beginning to understand.

He sat up on the cold metal table and looked next to him at the young kenku, Along the Thermals, who was lying next to him, bandaged and writhing in pain. Their eyes met and Amidst the Blue could feel the emotions of the young kenku, wrapped in a psychic package of pain and pleading.

You're the only one, Along the Thermals sent.

The only one? Amidst the Blue asked, a tear coming unbidden to his bruised eye.

You brought us here, the young kenku replied, and only you can take us out. Resist him. Break our bonds, Amidst the Blue, and we will follow you to "Silence!" Kaeralonn shouted just as a flickering, jagged string of bunding blue-white luminescence leaped from the tips of his fingers and smashed into Along the Thermals hard enough to lift the young kenku off the table and pound him into the mudbrick wall. The wall cracked and the kenku screamed, twitching madly in the hold of the vertical lightning. The bolt was gone in less than the space of a heartbeat, but its path was burned onto Amidst the Blue's vision. Along the Thermals lay dead and smoking, a melting black ruin on the scorched floor.

Amidst the Blue felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Kaeralonn smiling at him in a condescending, twisted, evil way. "Don't listen to these slaves, my friend, they're just-"

Kaeralonn went down hard from Amidst the Blue's kick. The human grabbed at his midsection and tried to breathe in but couldn't.

You, Amidst the Blue dropped into the gasping human's mind, are not my friend.

Kaeralonn reached up with his right hand, his fingers moving through the traces of a spell and he found his voice in time to utter only the first arcane syllable before Amidst the Blue grabbed his face with one sharp-taloned foot. I'm no longer your slave.

The kenku ripped down and tore into the silky flesh of the general's face. Blood flew everywhere and the other kenku-nearly a hundred of them lying around the open room in various states of disrepair and despair-stood up and took notice.

"Stop!" the human gasped, his face a bloody ruin, his hands pressed against his cheeks to hold the flesh on.

Amidst the Blue drew his sword and raised it over the head of the archwizard. You have taught us well, Kaeralonn, but you have taught us too much.

As the blade came down fast and hard at the human's neck, Kaeralonn pulled something from inside his mouth-a tooth, Amidst the Blue saw-and when the sword came down past where his neck should have been, the human was gone.

Amidst the Blue let himself laugh. There will be a time, slaver. We will not forget.

With that Amidst the Blue led his people to freedom.

The jagged brown mountains loomed before them. The sky directly above seethed with potential energy and Astride the Wind and Embracing the Clouds found it difficult to maintain altitude. Astride the Wind's side burned and his head ached, but still he fought on.

Where are you going? Kaeralonn asked the kenku's reeling mind. Leading me back to your nest, in hopes that your clanmates will overwhelm me? You're as foolish and as vain as Amidst the Blue.

Astride the Wind ignored him. Instead, he thought to Embracing the Clouds, This is it. It ends here.

Astride the Wind fluffed his wings, bringing himself up short-and his wings were pressed hard against his sides by some heavy, outside force. He was covered in a mass of white silk like a spider's web, but the web had appeared out of nowhere, in the air all around him. The source of it was obvious, even before Kaeralonn's gloating statement, Wrapped like the gift you are, thrall.

Astride the Wind squawked in defiance and began to fall. Unable to spread his wings, he couldn't fly. He could twist his body enough to control his spin, though, and he managed to see what Kaeralonn was doing. The flying boat was moving fast on a course obviously designed to bring it under Astride the Wind. Kaeralonn had immobilized him so he could drop like a bundle into the open boat.

Arrows whistled through the air from a circling Embracing the Clouds. Kaeralonn didn't even bother to hold up a hand. The arrows-which should have lodged deep in the man's chest-whirled around him and down like water caught in a drain. Embracing the Clouds cawed in frustration, though they both had always known this enemy would be harder to kill than that.

Astride the Wind slammed onto his back on the wooden deck of the flying boat and his vision spun from the impact. Above him were the deep black clouds, below two thirds of a mile of open air then the stony foothills. Astride the Wind struggled against the web, but it held his wings and arms tightly to his sides. Kaeralonn looked down at him and said something in his vile human speech that Astride the Wind couldn't understand.

The bound kenku managed to sit up in the gently rocking boat, and he could see Embracing the Clouds wheeling in the distance against the backdrop of the barren mountains. Embracing the Clouds's bow was around his shoulders and a dagger was in his right hand. His wings arced and he turned to fly fast at the boat.

No, brother, Astride the Wind sent to him. Keep your distance.

Embracing the Clouds whirled around in the air and started back the way he'd come without a moment's hesitation. The human had the audacity to laugh.

Astride the Wind ignored them both, only barely feeling the boat lift and turn in the direction of Embracing the Clouds's flight. The human meant to give chase.

Astride the Wind felt the energy building within him. The human, for all his great power, was still dependant on spells. Spells required hands, a tongue, and sometimes items of focus or power. What Astride the Wind had drawn the hated human here to do required none of those things. It was a natural progression from the seed of power planted in the ancient kenku by Kaeralonn himself, as shortsighted as he was long-lived.

The kenku's reverie was deep, but not so deep that he failed to hear Kaeralonn begin the chanting cadence of a spell-from this close so obviously different from his normal monotone, mumbling speech. Astride the Wind's legs were still free, though not entirely. He could, and did, kick out and up just enough to jostle Kaeralonn's elbow, knock him just enough toward the edge of the boat to startle him-and in the process ruin the spell.

The archwizard spun on the restrained kenku, his scarred face blazing with anger.

Know, the archwizard screamed into Astride the Wind's mind, when you're beaten, slave!

The human reached down and grabbed Astride the Wind's shoulder roughly. The human wore a ring on that hand, a ring that started to burn when it touched Astride the Wind's feathers. Kaeralonn was obviously immune to the heat, but Astride the Wind was being burned painfully. He couldn't help but call out a single pained shriek.

Astride the Wind… Embracing the Clouds sent, concern making the thought spiky and urgent.

Go, brother, Astride the Wind replied. Tell them what happened here.

Indeed, "brother," Kaeralonn interceded. Tell them all that the master has returned and their service is required once more. Your clanmate-or what's left of him-will be waiting for you on Shade Enclave.

No, Kaeralonn, Astride the Wind replied. When Amidst the Blue took your face and your slaves from you, he remembered everything. When that ragged band of kenku flew from your hated aerie and found a home in the high caves far away, they painted his memories and his warning… and his wishes for the future, on the walls. He told us the manner of the death of the slaver, should the day come that he or his kin returned.

The burning subsided and the archwizard smiled in a condescending, unimpressed way. How lovely for you all.

The manner of your death was decreed by your first slave, Kaeralonn. You will share the fate of the martyr, Along the Thermals.

Along the…? Kaeralonn responded, confused. Astride the Wind closed his eyes, the power inside him linked to the heart of the clouds. He could feel Kaeralonn's hand come off his shoulder. The first half of the first syllable of a spell certainly designed to get him away whispered off the tip of the human's lip-and the sky exploded in blinding light.

The lightning bolt held all the fury of the heavy mountain clouds. It slammed into the boat and through Kaeralonn with force enough to blast the archwizard into a spray of flaming gobbets of sizzling flesh. The wood of the boat shattered, exploded from within. Astride the Wind's body tensed and he could feel small bones break in his hands, his jaw, his talons. The web boiled away, taking rows of feathers with it, and Astride the Wind screamed at the pain of his unprotected flesh burning.

He tumbled madly away, laughing through the pain and loss, knowing that he'd taken the slaver with him. The hands that grabbed him grabbed him hard and a flood of emotions flowed into his mind from Embracing the Clouds. Astride the Wind opened his eyes and found that he could only see out of one of them, but he could see his clanmate.

It is done, highest of brothers, Embracing the Clouds told him, his arms gently circling Astride the Wind's burned, limp form. The clan awaits.

Astride the Wind could feel Embracing the Clouds's wings carry them both higher, turning to the west and home.