Free Windhaven by George R. R. Martin;Lisa Tuttle Page A

kerri blossoms in, instead of honey,” he said. “That should relax you.”
    She felt a sudden flooding of warmth for him. “Thanks.”
    “Do you want to get out of those clothes? You can slip on my robe.”
    She shook her head—it would be too much effort to move now—and then she saw that he was gazing at her legs, bare below the short kilt she wore, and frowning with concern.
    “You've hurt yourself.” He poured warm water from the kettle into a dish, took a rag and some salve and knelt before her. The damp cloth cleaning away the dried blood was gentle as a soft tongue. “Ah, it's not as bad as it looked,” he murmured as he worked. “Just your knees—just shallow scrapes. A clumsy landing, dear.”
    His nearness and his soft touch stirred her, and all tension, fear, and weariness were suddenly gone. One of his hands moved to her thigh and lingered there.
    “Dorr,” she said softly, almost too transfixed by the moment to speak, and he raised his head and their eyes met, and finally she had come back to him.
     
    “It will work,” Dorrel said. “They'll have to see. They can't deny you.” They were sitting at breakfast. While Dorrel made eggs and tea, Maris had explained her plan in detail.
    Now she smiled and spooned out more of the soft egg. She felt happy and full of hope. “Who'll go first to call Council?”
    “Garth, I thought,” Dorrel said eagerly. “I'll catch him at home and we'll divide up the nearby islands and branch out. Others will want to help—I just wish you could come, too,” he said, and his eyes grew wistful. “It would be nice, flying together again.”
    “We'll have lots of that, Dorr. If —”
    “Yes, yes, we'll have lots of time to fly together, but—it would be nice this morning, especially. It would be nice.”
    “Yes. It'd be nice.” She went on smiling and finally he had to smile too. He was just reaching across the table to take her hand, or touch her face, when a sudden knock at the door, loud and authoritative, made them freeze.
    Dorrel rose to answer it. Maris in her chair was in full view of the doorway, but there was no point in trying to hide, and there was no second door.
    Helmer stood outside, folded wings strapped to his back. He looked straight at Dorrel, but not past him into the cabin at Maris. “Corm has invoked the flyer's right to call a Council,” he said, his voice flat and strained and overly formal. “To concern the once-flyer Maris of Lesser Amberly who stole the wings of another. Your presence is requested.”
    “ What? ” Maris stood quickly. “Helmer— Corm has called a Council? Why?”
    Dorrel tossed a glance over his shoulder at her, then looked at Helmer, who was plainly if uncomfortably ignoring Maris.
    “Why, Helmer?” he asked, more quietly than Maris had.
    “I've told you. And I don't have time to stand here moving the wind with my mouth. I have other flyers to inform, and it's a thick day for flying.”
    “Wait for me,” Dorrel said. “Give me some names, some islands to go to. It will make your task easier.”
    The corner of Helmer's mouth twitched. “I wouldn't've thought you'd want to go on such a mission, for such a reason. I hadn't intended to ask for your help. But since you offer . . .”
    Helmer gave Dorrel terse instructions while the younger flyer rapidly winged himself. Maris paced, feeling restless, awkward, and confused again. Helmer was obviously determined to ignore her, and to save them both embarrassment Maris did not question him again.
    Dorrel kissed her and squeezed her tightly before he left. “Feed Anitra for me, and try not to worry. I'll be back before it's been dark too long, I hope.”
    When the flyers were gone, the house felt stifling. Outside was not much better, Maris discovered as she stood against the door. Helmer had been right, it was not a good day for flying. It was a day to make one think of still air. She shuddered, fearing for Dorrel. But he was too skilled and too smart to need