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“I’m almost positive they will do it,” said Rikash, bating. “Don’t forget, we Stormwings know them best—our eyries border on the Dragonlands. They are proud. One or two of Skysong’s kin will feel they must repay you for what you’ve done, and one is all you need to go home.” He looked at Numair and grinned. “Well, it may take two. There’s so much extra of one of you.”
The girl smiled, then asked, “How do we find them?”
The Stormwing looked at Weiryn. “I’m sure a map can be drawn—unless you plan to cage them?”
“Da, Ma, please listen,” pleaded Daine. “Humans and People need us. I’ve friends that would risk their lives for me and Numair. If you won’t help us, then we’ll muddle along on our own—but we can’t just sit here, seeing them in visions, and laze about.”
The god sighed and rubbed his antlers. “No—no, I won’t cage them.”
Sarra wiped her eyes. “Not even a day I’ve had to talk to you. But I know you can’t sit idly by when them you care for are in trouble.”
“Lord Rikash,” the house cat said, “they will need help to cross the Sea of Sand.”
The immortal sidled, digging into his perch with steel claws. “I will see what can be done. It will take persuasion.” He looked from Daine to Numair, frowning. “Be careful,” he told them. “The Divine Realms are perilous. Maybe Queen Barzha is right, and I am getting sentimental, but I would hate to see anything happen to either of you.” Jumping into the air, he took flight, blowing waves of stench over the table.
FOUR
TRAVELERS
“Forget sentimentality,” the badger grumbled. “I’d like to see him lose that smell.”
“And from a badger, that’s saying a great deal,” quipped Queenclaw.
“I will go with them,” said Broad Foot. Everyone stared at him. “I can’t transport them, but I can act as guide and protector. The three of us should manage.”
“The four of us,” the badger told him. “I will come as well. I haven’t put so much time into looking after this young one to stop now.”
“Lord Weiryn, will you and Sarra come with us?” Numair asked.
Daine’s mother smiled wistfully. “As a new goddess, I’m bound to Weiryn’s lands for a century.”
“As am I, for requesting her admittance here,” added Weiryn. “You will do well with the badger and Broad Foot.”
“If we’re to leave today, I’d best get a little extra hunting done,” commented the duckmole, and vanished.
“I will join you tomorrow morning,” the badger said. “There are a few things to deal with at my sett before I go.” He, too, vanished.
“Ma, Da,” the girl said thoughtfully, “are there horses we might trade for, or buy? We’d go faster than afoot.”
“No, dear one,” Sarra replied. “Every horse in the Divine Realms belongs to itself, or its herd. They do not serve anyone.” She rose. “I’d best pack your things—no, Daine, I don’t need help. You’d only be in my way.”
“Besides,” added Weiryn, also getting to his feet, “I need you both to come with me.” He led Daine and Numair inside.
“What about making horses?” Numair asked. “Could you—”
“No,” Weiryn said flatly. “Any being created in the Divine Realms belongs to itself and serves no one else. You would be lucky if such a horse only dumped you in the dirt. It might take you for a ride that would last a century of mortal time.”
In the main room, he opened a door that the girl was positive hadn’t been there the day before. It gave onto a small, dark chamber that was more like a shed than a room. Here, to her surprise and delight, she saw a wood-carver’s tools, staffs, boxes of feathers, boxes of arrowheads, coiled strings, and completed bows.
Weiryn ran long brown fingers over the finished weapons, checking the feel, rejecting this one and that. “These are my gifts to those I favor.” He selected an ebony-colored bow with startlingly pale horn nocks over both tips. “And if my own daughter isn’t one I favor, who is?” He laid the stave across his palms, and offered it to Daine.
It was air-light in her grip at first, but it got heavier, until it reached the exact weight she looked for in a bow. Weiryn offered a string. Fitting the loop over the lower nock, she braced that end against her instep. She drew the upper nock down and slipped the other loop over it in a flash. “She’s sweet, Da,” she told him, smiling.
The god offered her a quiver full of arrows. “I should have given you a proper bow long before this,” he told her, wrapping extra strings in a square of oiled cloth.
Handing that to Daine, he went to the staffs in the corner. “Here, mage.” Weiryn selected one that was six feet of thick, knotted wood. About to hand it over, he frowned. “A moment.” He looked at Numair, then cupped the top of the staff in one hand. White fire shone from his palm; when he drew it away, a fist-sized crystal knob sat on top of the staff, embedded in the wood. He gave the staff to Numair.
The mage took it and stood for a moment, one hand wrapped around the wood, the other around the crystal. Daine saw no magical fire but knew he examined the staff with his Gift, looking for its secrets. When he looked up again, his eyes were filled with respect. “Thank you. I’ve never had something that was so—attuned—to me.”
Weiryn scowled, and went to a wooden counter along one wall. “Come here, both of you.” An ink pot and brush appeared on the surface next to him. The god wet the brush, and began to paint symbols directly onto the wood. “Here we are,” he said, tapping the brush against a painted square. “Here’s the stream, and the pond where Broad Foot stays. And this is the path you must follow.”
Daine, following the brush, thought for a moment she saw trees and streams along the dotted line of ink. When she blinked, she saw only glossy black dots sinking into the stained wood.
“If you walk steadily, you will spend the night beside Temptation Lake,” Weiryn informed them, drawing that body of water close to the trail. “Do not drink from it—unless you desire to be tempted, of course.”
A vision of Numair reclining among three naked, lovely women who fed him grapes, or rubbed his feet, or finger-combed his hair, filled the air over the counter. From Numair’s deep blush, Daine could tell that he saw it, too.
“Not funny, Da,” she told her father, her voice very dry.
“Neither of us is in the mood for temptation, Lord Weiryn,” the mage added quietly.
“Hmpf,” snorted the god. “Well, just don’t drink the water there. It’s a go
od place to stop—no dweller of the Divine Realms may harm another within a league of Temptation Lake.” He rewet his brush and continued to draw. “The trail will carry you to Long Drop Gorge, which you will cross on the First Bridge.” Briefly Daine glimpsed a wood-and-rope bridge in the air over the counter, like the bridges that filled the mountains of Tortall and Galla.
Weiryn continued the line of the path for an inch or two, then stopped to create a blurred area around it. “This is Mauler’s Swamp.” The vision in the air over the map showed a pair of yellow, slit-pupilled eyes sticking out of murky water. They moved. A ripple of passing square ridges like those on a crocodile’s back cut through the image of water, followed by the snakelike curving of a long tail. “Give no offense to Mauler, if you can avoid it.
“Here is the Stonemaze.” The vision was one of rocky canyons and a distant, small river, as seen from high overhead. “Watch your footing, never leave the path in the maze, and harm no stones.”
“Lord Weiryn,” said Numair, “it would help if you were to explain what will happen if we make a mistake in these places.”
Weiryn looked at him, leaf-colored eyes glinting. “Who can tell?” he asked. “The gods in most places never punish a trespass in the same manner twice. Mauler once ate the mortals who disturbed his afternoon nap, but that was a while ago. He may not choose to eat the next intruder. Of course, he may have young to share his swamp, and they always need a meal. Just use caution. Cut no green wood. Take no fruits without asking the bush or tree. If you don’t, you might spend a century with wild pigs trying to dig you up by the roots. Blackberries in particular have a very nasty streak.”
“Wonderful,” Daine whispered.
“Where was I?” asked her father. He rewet his brush, and sketched another blurred area on the wood. “Oh, yes. At last you will come to the Sea of Sand.” The vision revealed dunes; for a moment Daine’s face was hot and painfully dry. “If the Stormwing can’t find help, the winds will strip your body of moisture in the time it takes your mother’s pan bread to bake. Don’t you see what folly this is?” he demanded, eyes on Daine. “The Divine Realms are too dangerous for a pair of mortals!”
