kill? The only weapon you shall find any use to you here is already on your arm. My head. So be silent, and let me think what we should do next.'
'A rapier does not chop,' she corrected him tersely, feeling more than ever like a fool. Dresh's bland assumption of his superiority rasped every inch of her proud spirit. Worst of all, given the circumstances, he was correct. Ki longed to thump his head down on Rebeke's table and leave him beside that lavender flask. Let his scornful words and irritating ways get him out of that! She savored the image before letting logic cool her anger. She needed Dresh to return to her own world. That she was bound to him by her written sign was another tie, and the opportunity to spite the Windsingers at their own game was an added fillip. Make free with her cargo, would they? Her grudge against the Windsingers was longer than her memory, fading back into her father's unspoken hatred of them and a dim feeling that in some way they had contributed to her unremembered mother's early death. Always before, Ki had suppressed her anger and scrupulously avoided them. Perhaps Vandien was right after all; perhaps the time had come to return their stings and insults. Fate seemed determined to lead her in that direction. So Ki expelled her breath in a harsh rush through her nostrils and awaited the wizard's desire.
SEVEN
D ainty fingers played curiously over the glittering stones set in the black enamel box. Bare toe curled and uncurled impatiently against the thick feathers of a dikidik hide. Within the white robe of the lowest order of initiated Windsingers, a slender young body fidgeted. Grielea felt the mystery of the box hovering at the edge of her mind, an enigmatic formula based on a mathematical concept just beyond her grasp. Again her fingers played over the stones varying their rhythm by one from the combination just tried. Grielea closed her eyes for a moment, as if by concentration she would feel the auras of the stones hear them whisper to her the setting put upon them.
'Rebeke cautioned us not to touch the boxes?'
The lisping voice was half-questioning and half-amazed at Grielea's audacity in disobeying the Windmistress's wishes. Grielea's eyes flew open, and she glared at Liset in irritation.
Liset retracted her pale eyes from the dark sparks of Grielea's. The spidery T'cherian body hunched and quivered beneath the white robe. Grielea wrinkled her scaled nose in disdain at Liset's disapproval. Liset's mandibles twitched.
'To achieve the full rank of Windsinger, Grielea, we must practice the strictest obedience and self-restraint. To rule others, we must first learn to rule ourselves.' Even the clattery lisp of a T'cherian accent could not disguise the piety in Liset's words.
'Tend to your box. I shall tend to mine!'
Liset's mandibles clacked in astonishment. She settled her face abruptly. She wished her transformation to Windsinger would proceed more rapidly. Always the sounds and ingrained movements of her T'cherian body shamed her. If only her shell would begin to scale! No doubt that was why Grielea dared to speak to her so rudely. She had no right. Liset knew they were of the same rank of initiation. She had heard the rumors about Grielea. She had been sent to Rebeke as a last resort. Rebeke was well known to be the strictest and most demanding of the Windmistresses. And Grielea was notoriously headstrong; she had spent a full two turns in this grade already! Liset groomed her cowl smooth, and turned back to the large square box before her. So let Grielea play with her box. It would have its consequences. Liset intended to fulfill her instructions meticulously. Not for her the chilling cell and cold gruel reserved for the disobedient.
Grielea gave a thin smile of satisfaction as Liset's eye stalks swung away from her. She bent again over the box on the low table before her. Her fingers danced over the stones. Nothing. She paused, and then her hands moved again. Another pause.
'A rapier does not chop,' she corrected him tersely, feeling more than ever like a fool. Dresh's bland assumption of his superiority rasped every inch of her proud spirit. Worst of all, given the circumstances, he was correct. Ki longed to thump his head down on Rebeke's table and leave him beside that lavender flask. Let his scornful words and irritating ways get him out of that! She savored the image before letting logic cool her anger. She needed Dresh to return to her own world. That she was bound to him by her written sign was another tie, and the opportunity to spite the Windsingers at their own game was an added fillip. Make free with her cargo, would they? Her grudge against the Windsingers was longer than her memory, fading back into her father's unspoken hatred of them and a dim feeling that in some way they had contributed to her unremembered mother's early death. Always before, Ki had suppressed her anger and scrupulously avoided them. Perhaps Vandien was right after all; perhaps the time had come to return their stings and insults. Fate seemed determined to lead her in that direction. So Ki expelled her breath in a harsh rush through her nostrils and awaited the wizard's desire.
SEVEN
D ainty fingers played curiously over the glittering stones set in the black enamel box. Bare toe curled and uncurled impatiently against the thick feathers of a dikidik hide. Within the white robe of the lowest order of initiated Windsingers, a slender young body fidgeted. Grielea felt the mystery of the box hovering at the edge of her mind, an enigmatic formula based on a mathematical concept just beyond her grasp. Again her fingers played over the stones varying their rhythm by one from the combination just tried. Grielea closed her eyes for a moment, as if by concentration she would feel the auras of the stones hear them whisper to her the setting put upon them.
'Rebeke cautioned us not to touch the boxes?'
The lisping voice was half-questioning and half-amazed at Grielea's audacity in disobeying the Windmistress's wishes. Grielea's eyes flew open, and she glared at Liset in irritation.
Liset retracted her pale eyes from the dark sparks of Grielea's. The spidery T'cherian body hunched and quivered beneath the white robe. Grielea wrinkled her scaled nose in disdain at Liset's disapproval. Liset's mandibles twitched.
'To achieve the full rank of Windsinger, Grielea, we must practice the strictest obedience and self-restraint. To rule others, we must first learn to rule ourselves.' Even the clattery lisp of a T'cherian accent could not disguise the piety in Liset's words.
'Tend to your box. I shall tend to mine!'
Liset's mandibles clacked in astonishment. She settled her face abruptly. She wished her transformation to Windsinger would proceed more rapidly. Always the sounds and ingrained movements of her T'cherian body shamed her. If only her shell would begin to scale! No doubt that was why Grielea dared to speak to her so rudely. She had no right. Liset knew they were of the same rank of initiation. She had heard the rumors about Grielea. She had been sent to Rebeke as a last resort. Rebeke was well known to be the strictest and most demanding of the Windmistresses. And Grielea was notoriously headstrong; she had spent a full two turns in this grade already! Liset groomed her cowl smooth, and turned back to the large square box before her. So let Grielea play with her box. It would have its consequences. Liset intended to fulfill her instructions meticulously. Not for her the chilling cell and cold gruel reserved for the disobedient.
Grielea gave a thin smile of satisfaction as Liset's eye stalks swung away from her. She bent again over the box on the low table before her. Her fingers danced over the stones. Nothing. She paused, and then her hands moved again. Another pause.
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