Windhaven

The Landsman thought it over for a minute. "Well," he said, "I could accept that. Jirel can fly in Garth's stead. If this girl can outfly her, then she has earned her place, though it will not make me happy."

Shalli looked immensely relieved. "An excellent suggestion," she said, smiling. "I knew we could count on Maris for good sense."

"Are we agreed, then?" the Easterner said quickly.

All of the judges nodded except the Outer Islander, who shook his head again and muttered, "The girl should get the wings. The man fell into the ocean." But he did not dissent too loudly.

Outside the lodge in the cool night air, a thin rain had begun to fall. But Sena stopped them anyway, looking troubled. "S'Rella," she said, leaning on her cane, "are you certain this is what you want? You might lose the wings this way. Jirel is said to be a good flyer. And perhaps we could have won the judges to our side, if we had argued longer."

"No," S'Rella said gravely. "No, I want it this way."

Sena looked her in the eye for a long time, and finally nodded. "Good," she said, satisfied. "Let's get you home, then. Tomorrow there is flying to be done."

On the third day of the competition, Maris woke before dawn, confused by the dark and the cold and aware that something was wrong. Someone was pounding on the door.

"Maris," S'Rella said from the next bed. "Should I get it?" Maris could not see her; it was well before dawn, and none of their candles were lit.

"No," Maris whispered. "Quiet." She was afraid. The pounding went on and on, without letup, and Maris remembered the dead rainbirds that had been left for them and wondered who was on the other side of the door at this hour, trying so angrily to get them to open it. She climbed out of bed and padded across the room, and in the dark she managed to locate the blade she had used to pry free the birds. It was nothing, a little metal table knife, not a fighting blade at all, but it gave her confidence. Only then did she go to the door. "Who's there?" she demanded. "Who is it?"

The pounding stopped. "Raggin," said a deep voice she did not recognize.

"Raggin? I know no Raggin. What do you want?"

"I'm from the Iron Axe," the voice said. "You know Val? The one who's been staying with me?"

Maris felt her fears drain away, and she hurried to open the door. The man standing in the starlight was gaunt and stooped, with a hook nose and a dirty beard, but he was suddenly familiar to her: the barkeep from Val's tavern. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"I was closing up, and your friend hadn't been in yet. Thought he'd just found some pretty to sleep with, but then I found him outside, lying in the back. Somebody hurt him bad."

"Val," S'Rella said. She rushed to the door. "Where is he? Is he all right?"

"He's up in his room," Raggin said. "I dragged him up the stairs, and it wasn't easy. But I remembered he knew people up here so I thought I better come and ask around, and they sent me here. You gonna come down? I don't know what to do for him."

"Right away," Maris said urgently. "S'Rella, get dressed." She hurried to collect her own clothes and slipped into them, and shortly they were hurrying down the sea road. Maris had a lantern in one hand.

The road ran along the seaside cliffs for part of its length, and a misstep in the dark could be fatal.

The tavern was dark and shuttered, the front door braced from inside with a heavy wooden beam.

Raggin left them standing in front of it and vanished around back to enter by what he called his "secret way." When he opened the door from the inside, he said, "Got to lock up good, lots of hard types around here. I got customers you wouldn't believe, flyers."

They hardly listened. S'Rella ran up the stairs to the room she had sometimes shared with Val, and Maris came close behind. S'Rella was lighting a candle by Val's bedside when Maris caught up with her.

Flickering ruddy light filled the small room, and the shape huddled beneath the blankets moved with a small animal whimper. S'Rella set down the candle and pulled off the blankets.

Val's eyes found her, and he seemed to recognize her — his left arm clutched at her hand desperately. But when he tried to speak, the only sounds he could make were choking, pain-wracked sobs.

Maris felt sick. He had been beaten savagely about the head and shoulders, and his face was an unrecognizable mass of swelling and bruises. A gash along one cheek was still bleeding, and he had dried blood all over his shirt and jaw. His mouth was bloody too, when he opened it and tried to speak.

" Val!" S'Rella cried, weeping. She touched his brow and he shrank away from her hand, trying to say something.