Windhaven

"He might," Sena said, "but I will not sponsor him. One week he soars like a nighthawk, and the next he stumbles and tumbles like a child thrown into the air for the first time. No, Maris. I want to win, but a victory by Liane would be the worst thing that could happen to him. I would venture to bet that he would be dead within the year. The sky is no safe haven for one whose skills come and go with his moods."

Reluctantly, Maris nodded. "Perhaps you are wise," she said. "But who is your possible fifth, then?"

"Kerr," Sena said. Setting her bone needle aside, she inspected the shirt she had been working on, then spread it across her table and sat back to regard Maris evenly with her one good eye.

"Kerr? He is nice enough, but he is nervous and overweight and uncoordinated, and his arms are not half as strong as they need to be. Kerr is hopeless, at least for the present. In a few years, perhaps…"

"His parents want him to race this year," Sena said wearily. "He has wasted two years already, they say.

They own a copper mine on Little Shotan, and are most anxious for Kerr to have his wings. They support the academy handsomely."

"I see," said Maris.

"Last year I told them no," Sena continued. "This year I am less certain of myself. Without a victory in this competition, the academy may lose its support from the Landsmen. Then only wealthy patrons will stand between us and closing. Perhaps it is best for everyone to keep them happy."

"I understand," Maris said. "Though I do not entirely approve. Still, I suppose it cannot be helped. And it will do Kerr little enough harm to lose. At times he seems to enjoy playing the clown."

Sena snorted. "I think I must do it. Yet I hate it. I had hoped you could talk me out of it."

"No," said Maris. "You overestimate my eloquence. I will give some advice, however. During these last weeks, reserve your wings solely for those who will challenge. They will need the seasoning. Occupy the others with exercises and lessons."

"I have done so in past years," Sena said. "They also race mock contests against each other. I would have you contest with them too, if only to teach them how to lose. S'Rella challenged last year, and Damen has lost twice, but the others need the experience. Sher…"

" Sena, Maris, come quick!" The shout came from the hall, and a breathless Kerr suddenly appeared in the doorway. "The Landsman sent someone, they need a flyer, they…" He panted, struggling with the words.

"Go with him, quickly," Sena told Maris. "I will hurry behind as fast as I am able."

The stranger who waited in the common room among the students was also panting; he had run all the way from the Landsman's tower. Yet speech seemed to burst from him. "You're the flyer?" He was young and obviously distraught, glancing about like a wild bird trapped in a cage.

Maris nodded.

"You must fly to Shotan. Please. And fetch their healer. The Landsman said to come to you. My brother is ill. Wandering in the head. His leg is broken — badly, I can see the bone — and he won't tell me how to fix it, or what to give him for his fever. Please, hurry."

"Doesn't Seatooth have its own healer?" Maris asked.

"His brother is the healer," volunteered Damen, a lean youth native to the island.

"What's the name of the healer on Big Shotan?" Maris asked, just as Sena came limping into the room.

The old woman immediately grasped the situation and took command. "There are several," she said.

"Hurry," the stranger implored. "My brother might die."

"I don't think he'll die of a broken leg," Maris began, but Sena silenced her with a gesture.

"Then you're a fool," the youth said. "He has a fever. He raves. He fell down the cliff face climbing after kite eggs, and he lay alone for almost a day before I found him. Please."

"There's a healer on the near end named Fila," Sena said. "She's old and crotchety and doesn't care for sea travel, but her daughter lives with her and knows her arts. If she can't come, she'll tell you the name of another who can. Don't waste your time in Stormtown. The healers there will all want to weigh your metal before they gather their herbs. And stop at the South Landing and tell the ferry captain to wait for an important passenger."

"I'll go at once," Maris said, with only the briefest of glances for the stew pot that was steaming over the fire. She was hungry, but it could wait. "S'Rella, Kerr, come help me with my wings."

"Thank you," the stranger muttered, but Maris and the students were already gone.

The storm had finally broken outside. Maris thanked her luck, and flew straight across the salt channel, skimming a few feet above the waves. There were dangers in flying so low, but she had no time to try for altitude, and scyllas rarely came so close to land anyway. The flight was short enough. Fila was easy to find but — as Sena had predicted — reluctant to come. "The waters make me sick," she muttered sourly.