Windhaven

"Oh!" Maris looked quickly around. The crowds had thinned and all but vanished. The docks were empty except for a group of traders standing on a gangplank, and a work-crew of stevedores unloading chests of cloth. "I sat down to wait," she muttered. "I must have closed my eyes. I didn't get much sleep last night."

There was something naggingly familiar about him, Maris thought groggily. She looked at him more closely. His clothing was Eastern in cut, but simple: gray fabric without ornamentation, thick and warm, a hood hanging down behind him. He had a canvas bag under one arm and wore a knife in a leather sheath at his waist.

"You said you were from the ship?" she asked. "Pardon, I'm still only half awake. Where are the other sailors?"

"The sailors are drinking or eating, the traders off haggling, I would say," he answered. "The voyage was difficult. We lost one ship to a storm, though all but two of the crew were pulled from the water safely.

Conditions afterward were crowded and uncomfortable. The sailors were glad to come ashore." He paused. "I am no sailor, however. My apologies. I made a mistake. I do not think you were sent to meet me." He turned to go.

Suddenly Maris realized who he must be. "Of course," she blurted. "You're the student, the one from Airhome." He had turned back to her. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'd forgotten all about you." She jumped down from the barrel.

"My name is Val," he said, as if he expected it to mean something to her. "Val of South Arren."

"Fine," Maris said. "You know my name. I'm sure—"

He shifted his bag uneasily. The muscles around his mouth were tense. "They also call me One-Wing."

Maris said nothing. But her face gave her away.

"I see you know me after all," he said, a bit sharply.

"I've heard of you," Maris admitted. "You intend to compete?"

"I intend to fly," Val said. "I have worked for this for four years."

"I see," Maris said coolly. She looked up at the sky, dismissing him. It was nearly dusk. "I've got to get back to Seatooth," she said. "They'll be thinking I fell into the ocean. I'll tell them you arrived."

"Aren't you even going to speak to the captain?" he asked sardonically. "She's in the tavern across the way, telling stories to a gullible crowd." He canted his head at one of the dockside buildings.

"No," Maris said, too quickly. "But thanks." She turned away, but stopped when he called after her.

"Can I hire a boat to take me to Seatooth?"

"You can hire anything in Stormtown," Maris answered, "but it will cost you. There's a regular ferry from South Landing. You'd probably do best to stay the night here and take the ferry in the morning." She turned again and moved off down the cobbled street, toward the flyers' quarters where she had stored her wings. She felt a bit ashamed of leaving him so abruptly when he had come so far in his desire to be a flyer, but she did not feel ashamed enough to turn back. One-Wing, she thought furiously. She was surprised he admitted to the name, and even more surprised that he would come to try again at a competition. He must know how he would be met.

"You knew!" Maris shouted, angry enough not to care if the students heard her. "You knew and you didn't tell me."

"Of course I knew," Sena said. Her own voice was even, and her good eye was as impassive and fixed as her bad one. "I did not tell you earlier because I expected you would react like this."

"Sena, how could you?" Maris demanded. "Do you really intend to sponsor his challenge?"

"If he is good enough," Sena replied. "I have every reason to think he will be. I have serious qualms about sponsoring Kerr, but none whatsoever about Val."

"Don't you know how we feel about him?"

"We?"

"The flyers," Maris said impatiently. She paced back and forth before the fire, then paused to face Sena again. "He can't possibly win again. And if he did, do you think it would keep Woodwings open? The academies are still living down his first win. If he won again, the Landsman of Seatooth would—"

"The Landsman of Seatooth would be proud and pleased," Sena said, interrupting. "Val intends to take up residence here if he wins, I believe. It's not the land-bound who call him One-Wing — only you flyers do that."

"He calls himself One-Wing," Maris said, her voice rising once more. "And you know why he got the name. Even during the year he wore his wings, he was never more than half a flyer." She resumed her pacing.

"I'm less than half a flyer myself," the older woman said quietly, looking into the flames. "A flyer without wings. Val has a chance to fly again, and I can help him."

"You'd do anything to have a Woodwinger win in the competition, wouldn't you?" Maris said accusingly.

Sena turned up her wrinkled face, her good eye bright and sharp on Maris. "What did he do to make you hate him so?"

"You know what he did," Maris said.

"He won a pair of wings," Sena said.