Windhaven

Damen reached the rocks well ahead of his competition, and began his turn. A ragged shout went up from the Woodwingers; Damen was winning. But he lost time on his turn; he came around slow and too wide, faltering at one point when he faced head on into the wind, before he took command of it again. He seemed less steady coming back.

Val began to tack well before the turn, changing his course as he climbed, not all at once but in a series of small increments. He was much higher than Damen now, but substantially behind. When he came around at last, Damen was already halfway back. But Val's turn was sharper and cleaner than his rival's.

"Damen's beating him," Liane called out. Damen swept by above them. "Hey, Damen!" Liane bellowed, hands cupped around his mouth. "Go!" Damen came around slowly — again the turn was too wide — and dipped his wing to acknowledge the cheers, but the gesture cost him. He lost the wind for an instant and slid down sharply and dangerously and when he passed in front of them, suddenly the bulk of the great rock fortress was between him and the prevailing wind. He drifted lazily, losing speed, and had to struggle to pull himself back up again.

Val made no such mistake. He turned tightly, keeping high enough above them so he lost no portion of the wind, however small. And suddenly he seemed to be moving much faster as well.

"Val has won it," Maris said suddenly. She hadn't meant to speak aloud, but no sooner had it come to her than the words were out.

Sena was smiling. S'Rella looked baffled. "But, Maris, look. Damen is well ahead."

"Damen is just riding on the winds," Maris said. "Val is using them. He was searching for the right wind, and now he's found it. Watch, S'Rella."

It didn't take long. Damen's lead shrank steadily as the two flyers moved out toward the rocks once more, and the Woodwinger slid badly off course when he tried to come around more sharply than before. By the time he'd corrected himself, Val had reached the turnaround point. A few moments later, Damen seemed visibly startled as the shadow of Val's wings fell upon his own. Then the shadow moved in front of him.

The students were quiet, even Liane.

"Give him my congratulations," Maris said. She turned and went back inside.

Her room was cold and damp. Maris built a fire in the hearth, and decided to heat the kivas she had bought in Stormtown. She was on her third cup, relaxing at last, when Sena entered unasked, and took a seat.

"How do the practices go?" Maris said.

"He has them all racing," Sena said. "Damen took it well enough, but he had no taste for another race, so he gave up his wings for the afternoon. They were all eager to try him." She smiled, clearly proud of their eagerness. "He defeated Sher and Jan handily, humiliated Kerr and Egon. Egon almost fell into the ocean.

S'Rella flew him a close race, though. Stole all the tricks he used to defeat Damen. She's a clever girl, S'Rella."

"He flew six races?" Maris said.

"Seven," Sena said, smiling. "Liane almost beat him. The wind is gusting now, very turbulent. It knocked Val around a bit. He's lean, not as strong as he could be. I'll have him work on that. Pullups, pushups.

And of course he was tired by then, but Liane insisted. Liane can handle rough winds. He's muscled like a scylla. Sometimes, the way he wrenches his wings around, I think he's yanking himself through the sky on sheer brawn. Val beat him anyway, though. Very close. Then Leya wanted to race, but the storm was about to break and I chased them all inside. What do you think of One-Wing now, Maris?"

Maris poured the teacher a mug of kivas while she thought.

"I think he can fly," Maris said at last. "I still don't like what he did to Ari. And I didn't like that business with his knife today, either. Yet I can't deny his skill."

"Will he win?"

Maris tasted her drink, let the sweet warmth flow down and into her. She closed her eyes briefly and leaned back. "Perhaps," she said. "I can think of a dozen flyers who don't handle themselves as well as he did today. I can also think of a dozen who are better than he, who know all his tricks and more. Tell me whom he's to challenge and I'll tell you his chances. Beyond that— well, speed is only one skill of a flyer.

The competition will judge grace and precision as well."

"Fair enough," Sena said. "Will you help me ready him?"

Maris stared down at the gray stone floor. "You place me in a difficult position," she said. "And for the sake of someone I don't even like."

"So only those you approve of deserve to fly?" Sena said. "Is that the principle you struggled for seven years ago?"

Maris raised her head, meeting Sena's gaze. "You know better. Those who fly best deserve the wings."

"And you admit Val is skilled," Sena said. She sipped at her kivas while she waited for an answer.

Maris nodded reluctantly. "But if he should win, the others will not forget the past. You call him Val, but he'll always be One-Wing to them."