Mercedes Lackey - Winds of Fury (The Mage Winds, Book 3)

Winds of Fury [112-066-4.2]

By: Mercedes Lackey

Synopsis:

Exciting conclusion to the Mage-Winds trilogy. Elspeth & Darkwind return to Valdemar for a final confrontation with Ancar of Hardorn, the evil Adept Hulda, and a surprising ending for Falconsbane!

NOVELS BY MERCEDES LACKEY available from DAW Books

THE MAGE WARS

THE BLACK GRYPHON*

THE BOOKS OF THE LAST HERALD-MAGE

MAGIC'S PAWN MAGIC'S PROMISE MAGIC'S PRICE

VOWS AND HONOR

THE OATHBOUND OATHBREAKERS

KEROWYN'S TALE

BY THE SWORD

THE HERALDS OF VALDEMAR

ARROWS OF THE QUEEN ARROW'S FLIGHT ARROW'S FALL

THE MAGE WINDS

WINDS OF FATE WINDS OF CHANGE WINDS OF FURY

DARKOVER NOVELS (with Marion Zimmer Bradley)

REDISCOVERY RETURN TO DARKOVER*

*forthcoming from DAW Books in Hardcover

Winds of Fury Book Three of The Mage Winds

Copyright 0 1993 by Mercedes R. Lackey. All rights reserved. Jacket art by jody Lee.

For color prints of Jody Lee's paintings, please contact: The Cerridwen Enterprise P.O. Box I0I6I Kansas City, MO 64III Phone: 1-800-825-1281

Interior illustrations by Larry Dixon.

All the black & white interior illustrations in this book are available as II ' x 14 ' prints; either in a signed, open edition singly, or in a signed and numbered portfolio from:

FIREBIRD ARTS & MUSIC, INC. P.O. Box 14785 Portland, OR 97214-9998 Phone: 1-800-752-0494

Time Line by Pat Tobin. Maps by Victor Wren.

DAW Book Collectors No. 921.

DAW Books are distributed by Penguin USA. Book designed by Lenny Telesea.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

First Printing, August 1993 DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED U.S. PAT OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES -MARCA REGISTRATION. HECHO EN U.S.A.

PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

Dedicated to the teachers of the world.

chapter One.

Ancar, King of Hardorn, slumped in the cushioned embrace of his throne and stared out into the empty Great Hall. Empty, because he no longer bothered with holding audiences. He was not here to listen to the complaints of the people of Hardorn. When he wished them to learn of his will, there were better ways to inform them than to gather them together like a mass of milling sheep and declaim it to them.

He did not serve them, as one petty bureaucrat of his father's reign had whined that he must-just before he had ordered the man given to his mages. They served him; his pleasures, his will, his whims. That was what his mother had taught him before she died, and Hulda had simply confirmed those lessons. Now, after all these years, they were finally learning that. He was their ruler by right of arms and strength; he had the power of life and death over them, and all that lay in between.

It had certainly taken them long enough to realize that.

The servants had lit the candles ensconced along the birch-paneled walls, and the dancing flames reflected from the polished graygranite floor and the varnished maple beams above. Wavering spot's of flame twinkled at him from gilt trim and gold fittings, from crystal ornaments and the metal threads of battle flags hanging from the beams. This had been a court of weaklings, once. His few decent enemies had been subdued or annihilated, and their families and lands with them. Now all that remained of them were the flags of their conquered holdings, and a few trophies Ancar kept to remind others of his grasp.

Echoes of his movements came back to him like a whisper. He found a peculiar irony in this empty chamber; a poignancy, yes. He found all of his pensive thoughts poignant. He had run out of challenges.

This hall was as empty as his own conquests.

Oh. of course, he had all of Hardorn trembling at his feet-but he could not extend the borders of his Kingdom more than few shabby leagues in any direction. Even he dared not look Eastward, of course; to the East was the Empire, and the two-hundred-year-old Emperor Charliss. Only a fool would challenge Charliss-or someone who was stronger than Charliss. Ancar knew better than to think that he could boast of that.

To the North was Iftel, and he frowned to think of how his single attempt to invade that land had ended: with his armies transported bodily back to the capital and deposited there, and not a memory of crossing the border among them-and with his mages vanished utterly, without a trace. There was an invisible wall stretching along the Iftel-Hardorn border, a wall that would allow no one to pass.

No, whatever guarded Iftel was as powerful as the Emperor, and there was no point in making It angry.

To the South was Karse. Ruled by priests, at war with Valdemar for hundreds of years-he would have said that Karse was a plum ripe for his picking. Except that he had been unable to gain more than those few leagues; after that, it seemed as if the very land itself rose up against him. and the Sun-priests certainly called up demons against his armies, for scores of men would vanish every night, never to be seen again. And it had become worse since the Priesthood had been taken over by a woman; he had lost even those few leagues he had gained.

But he could have coped with the losses in Karse. It was all hill country, rocky and infertile, of little use. He could have even coped with the humiliation of Iftel. If it hadn't been for Valdemar.

If he lowered his eyes, he would see the map of Hardorn inlaic in the granite of the floor just in front of the throne. The Empire in black terrazzo, Iftel in green marble, Karse in yellow marble, and Valdemar in its everlasting white. Valdemar would be at his left hand; the hand of sorcery, or so the old-wives' tales had it.

Valdemar, the unconquered. Valdemar, that should have been first to fall.

Valdemar, the ripe fruit that Hulda had promised him from the beginning.

He felt his lips lifting in a snarl and forced his face back into his mask of calm. And if the truth were to be admitted, he could not have told whether the snarl was meant for Valdemar and her Bitchqueen, or for Hulda, the Bitch-Adept.

He shifted uncomfortably and the echo whispered back at him, a p e him Valdemar from the time she began to teach him black sorcery, had promised him the pretty little princess Elspeth, had vowed that he would have both within moments of seizing the throne of Hardorn from his senile old father. He liked tender little girls; at sixteen, Elspeth had been a little riper than he preferred but was still young enough to

make a good plaything. At a single stroke, he would have doubled the size of his kingdom, and created a platform from which to invade not only Karse but Rethwellan as well. Then, with both those lands firmly in his fist, he could have challenged the old Emperor or simply consolidated his power, making himself Emperor of the West as Charliss was of the East. Hulda had promised him that. She had sworn she was the most powerful Adept in seven kingdoms!

She had pled d h she had certainly ac and in teaching him the secrets of her body! He had had no reason to doubt her at the time-Except that it had never happened. Somehow the damned Heralds sent to negotiate a marriage with Elspeth got word to their Queen of his plans and the death of his father. Somehow one of them even pliantom rustling of fabric. Hulda had rnrne A ge im her help and her teaching; not been h would have tolerated the former if she had not brought him the latter. But she had the attitude without producing results, and if she weren't an Adept, he'd have had her slow-roasted alive by now.

When he was younger, he had accepted the fact that she virtually ruled him without a thought. But then, he had accepted many things back then without a thought. He was older now.

escaped Ancar's prison cell, warned the Queen, and stopped him and his hastily-gathered army.