Windhaven

"Don't you dare, Coll," Maris said.

He grinned. "I'm not mad yet, big sister. But if the Landsman likes good singing, a visit might be worthwhile. I might learn something. Just keep Bari safe for me."

Two days later a wineseller brought Evan a patient: a huge, shaggy black dog, one of two such monstrous hounds that pulled his wooden cart from village to village. A hooded torturer had mauled the animal and now it lay among the wineskins, crusted with blood and filth.

Evan could do nothing to save the beast, but for his efforts he was offered a skin of sour red wine. "They tried that traitor flyer," the wineseller reported as they drank together by the fire. "She's to hang."

"When?" Maris asked.

"Who's to say? Flyers are everywhere, and the Landsman's afraid of them, I think. She's locked up now in his keep. Think he's waiting to see what those flyers do. If it was me, I'd kill her and have done with it.

But I wasn't born Landsman."

Maris stood in the doorway when he departed, watching the man and the surviving dog straining together in the traces. Evan came up behind her and put his arms around her. "How do you feel?"

"Confused," Maris said, without turning. "And afraid. Your Landsman has challenged the flyers directly.

Do you realize how serious that is, Evan? They have to do something — they can't let this pass." She touched his hand. "I wonder what they're saying on the Eyrie tonight? I know I can't let myself be drawn into flyer affairs, but it's hard…"

"They are your friends," Evan said. "Your concern is natural."

"My concern will bring me more pain," Maris said. "Still…" She shook her head and turned to face him, still within the circle of his arms. "It makes me realize how small my own problems are," she said. "I wouldn't want to trade places with Tya tonight, though she's still a flyer and I'm not."

"Good," Evan said. He kissed her lightly. "For it's you I want here by my side, not Tya."

Maris smiled at him, and together they went inside.

They came in the middle of the night, four strangers dressed as fisherfolk, in heavy boots and sweaters and dark caps trimmed with seacat fur, and they brought the strong, salt smell of the sea with them. Three of them wore long bone knives, and had eyes the color of ice on a winter lake. The fourth one spoke.

"You don't remember me," he said, "but we've met before, Maris. I'm Arrilan, of the Broken Ring."

Maris studied him, remembering a pretty youth she had met once or twice. Beneath three days' growth of blond beard, his face was unrecognizable, but his piercing blue eyes seemed familiar. "I believe you are,"

she said. "You're a long way from home, flyer. Where are your wings? And your manners?"

Arrilan smiled a humorless smile. "My manners? Forgive my rudeness, but I come in haste, and at considerable risk. We made the crossing from Thrynel to see you, and the seas were choppy and dangerous for a boat as small as ours. When this old man tried to send us away, I ran out of patience."

"If you call Evan an old man again, I'm going to run out of patience," Maris said coldly. "Why are you here? Why didn't you fly in?"

"My wings are safe on Thrynel. It was thought best to send someone to you in secret, someone whose face is not known on Thayos. Being from the Embers, and new among the flyers, I was chosen. My parents were fisher-folk, and I was raised to the life." He removed his cap, shook out his fine blond hair.

"May we sit?" he asked. "We have important business to discuss."

"Evan?" Maris asked.

"Sit," Evan said. "I will make tea."

"Ah." Arrilan smiled. "That would be most welcome. The seas are cold. I'm sorry if I spoke too harshly.

These are hard times."

"Yes," Evan agreed. He went outside to draw water for the kettle.

"Why are you here?" Maris asked when Arrilan and his three silent companions were seated. "What's all this about?"

"I was sent to bring you out of here. You can hardly take ship from Port Thayos, you know. You'd not be permitted to leave. We have a small fishing boat hidden not far from here. It will be safe. If the landsguard seize us, we are simple fisherfolk from Thrynel blown northeast by a storm."

"My escape seems well-planned," Maris said. "A pity no one thought to consult me about it." She gazed at the disguised flyer, frowning. "Whose idea was this? Who sent you?"

"Val One-Wing."

Maris smiled. "Of course. Who else? But why does Val want me taken from Thayos?"

"For your own safety," Arrilan said. "As an ex-flyer living here, helpless, your life might be in danger."

"I'm no threat to the Landsman," Maris said. "He'd have no cause to—"

The young flyer shook his head vehemently. "Not the Landsman. The people. Don't you know what's going on?"

"It seems I don't," Maris said. "Perhaps you should tell me."