Windhaven

Maris and S'Rella spent the night together in a roughly finished cabin for two not far from the shore, one of fifty such structures that the Landsman of Skulny had had erected to house the visiting flyers. The little village was only half full as yet, but Maris knew that the earliest arrivals had already appropriated the more comfortable accommodations in the lodge house and the guest wing of the Landsman's own High Hall.

S'Rella didn't mind the austerity of their lodgings. She was in high spirits when Maris retrieved her at last from the dying party. Garth had stayed close to her throughout the evening, introducing her to almost everybody, forcing her to eat three portions of his stew after she had praised it incautiously, and regaling her with embarrassing anecdotes about half of the flyers present. "He's nice," S'Rella said, "but he drinks too much." Maris could only agree with that; though it had not always been so: when she'd come to find S'Rella, Garth had been red-eyed and close to staggering. Maris helped him to the back room and put him to bed while he carried on a slurred, unintelligible conversation.

The next day dawned gray and windy. They woke to the cries of a food vendor, and Maris slipped outside and bought two steaming hot sausages from his cart. After breakfast, they donned their wings and flew. Not many of the flyers were in the air; the holiday atmosphere was a contagion, and most were drinking and talking in the lodge, or paying their respects to the Landsman, or wandering about Skulny to see what there was to see. But Maris insisted that S'Rella practice, and they stayed aloft for close to five hours on steadily rising winds.

Below them, the beach was again choked with children eager to assist incoming flyers. Despite their numbers, they were kept busy. Arrivals were constant throughout the day. The most spectacular moment — S'Rella looked on with wondering, awe-struck eyes — was when the flyers of Big Shotan approached en masse, nearly forty strong, flying in a tight formation, gorgeous against the sun in their dark red uniforms and silver wings.

By the time the competition began, Maris knew, virtually all the flyers from the scattered reaches of Western would be here. Eastern would be heavily represented too, although not quite with the unanimity of Western. Southern, smaller and farther, would have fewer still, and there would be only a handful of competitors from the Outer Islands, desolate Artellia, the volcanic Embers, and the other far-off places.

It was afternoon, and Maris and S'Rella were sitting outside the lodge with glasses of hot spiced milk in their hands, when Val made his appearance.

He gave Maris his mocking half-smile and sat down next to S'Rella. "I trust you enjoyed flyer hospitality," he said flatly.

"They were nice," S'Rella said, blushing. "Won't you come tonight? There's to be another party. Garth is going to roast a whole seacat, and his sister is providing ale."

"No," Val said. "They have ale enough and food enough where I'm staying, and it suits me better." He glanced at Maris. "No doubt it suits us all better."

Maris refused to be baited. "Where are you staying?"

"A tavern about two miles down the sea road. Not the sort of place you'd care to visit. They don't get many flyers there, just miners and landsguard and some less willing to talk about their professions. I doubt they'd know how to treat a flyer properly."

Maris frowned in annoyance. "Do you ever stop?"

"Stop?" He smiled.

All at once Maris was filled with a perverse determination to erase that smile, to prove Val wrong. "You don't even know the flyers," she said. "What right have you to hate them so? They're people, no different from you — no, that's wrong, they are different. They're warmer and more generous."

"The warmth and generosity of flyers is fabled," Val said. "No doubt that's why only flyers are welcome at flyer parties."

"They welcomed me," S'Rella said.

Val gave her a long look, cautious and measuring. Then he shrugged and the thin smile returned to his lips.

"You've convinced me," he said. "I'll come to this party tonight, if they'll let a land-bound through the door."

"Come as my guest, then," Maris said, "if you refuse to call yourself a flyer. And put aside your damned hostility for a few hours. Give them a chance."

"Please," S'Rella said. She took his hand and smiled hopefully at him.

"Oh, they'll have a chance to show their warmth and generosity," Val said. "But I won't beg for it, or polish their wings, or sing songs in their praise." He stood up abruptly. "Now, I would like to get some flying in. Is there a pair of wings I might use?"

Maris nodded and directed him to the cabin where his wings were hung. After he was gone, she turned to S'Rella. "You care for him a lot, don't you?" she said softly.

S'Rella lowered her eyes and blushed. "I know he's cruel at times, Maris, but he's not always like that."