“I assure you, Aubri and I came here solely to make certain that your loving relatives did not do any such thing,” she said crisply, and cleared her throat.
“All right, troops!” she called out in a voice that had once commanded thousands, just as Amberdrake and Winterhart appeared at the end of the trail. “Let’s get up here and get your good-byes said and over with! This isn’t a holiday trip, this is a military departure! Move your rumps!”
“Thank the gods,” Blade breathed, as her parents and Tad’s scrambled to obey. “We just might actually get out of here before noon!”
“In a quarter-mark,” Judeth replied sternly. “Or every one of you will be on obstacle-course runs before midmorning.”
Blade chuckled; not because Judeth wouldn’t make good on that promise—but because she would.
What had promised to be a difficult departure was already looking better, even with emotionally-charged families approaching. After this, things could only start looking up.
CHAPTER THREE
Skandranon continued to peer off into the blue, cloudless sky for a long time after Tadrith and Silverblade were out of even his extraordinary range of vision. Even after fooling himself several times that some speck or other was them, he gazed on, feeling his eyes gradually go out of focus as his thoughts wandered.
He was torn now between pride and anxiety. Their takeoff had been a very good one by anyone’s standards; stylish, crisp, and professional. There had been no exhibitions of fancy flying, but not a single mistake in maneuvering either. With so many people watching, he would have been tempted to indulge in some theatrics, when he was Tad’s age.
And the odds were fairly good that I could have pulled them off, too. But on the other hand, I did have my share of foul ups. With the rising sun in his eyes, though, it didn’t make any sense to keep staring off after them. He suppressed a sigh, and told his knotting stomach to behave itself; a gryphon’s bowels were irritable enough without encouraging cramps through worry.
Well, they’re gone. My nestling really has fledged, gone past the brancher stage, and now—well, now he’s on his way to have his own adventures. Real adventures, not just high scores on the obstacle course. He’ll be making a name for himself now, just like I did.
He dropped his eyes to meet Zhaneel’s, and saw the same pride and worry in her gaze that he felt. She wouldn’t show it in front of the boy and, in fact, had kept up a brave and cheerful front, but he knew this sudden departure had her upset.
He tried to look completely confident for her, but it was a struggle that he wasn’t certain he had won. Adventures. Huh. Now that he wasn’t the one having the “adventures,” he wasn’t so sure whether or not looking for adventures was such a good idea. Was Tad ready? With the war, there had been no choice but to go and face the dangers—whether one was ready or not—but this wasn’t war, and it seemed to him that they could all afford to be more careful of their young.
His wings twitched a little as the temptation to follow them rose before him. I could use some exercise. Lady Cinnabar is always telling me to get more flying time in. And if I happened to parallel their course—
“You promised not to fly as the children’s wingman all the way to the outpost,” Zhaneel whispered, quietly enough that no one else could have overheard her. “Remember. You did promise.”
Drat. He had. And she could read him like a child’s primer. He twitched his wings again, ostentatiously settling them. “I’m glad I’m not making that trip,” he said, not precisely as a reply, but to reassure her and to show her that he had heard her and he remembered his promise. Granted, she had caught him in a moment of extreme weakness and vulnerability last night when she extracted that promise, but that did not negate the fact that he had made the promise in the first place. If the Black Gryphon’s word to his mate wasn’t good, how could anyone trust him?
Aubri sniffed derisively. “You couldn’t make that trip, old bird,” he retorted. “They’re a lot younger than you, and in better shape on top of that.”
Skan bristled and started to retort, but paused for a moment to rethink his position. Aubri was not going to get him going this time. “Oh; in theory I could,” he replied, as mild as a well-bred matron. “You did, and I’m in better shape than you—what’s more, Tad’s towing that carry-basket, and that will slow him down to a pace even you could hold. But what would the point be? What would I have to prove? That I’m stupid enough to make a pointless journey to show I’m still the equal of a youngster? It would be a complete waste of time, and I don’t have enough time to waste.”
Aubri looked surprised and chagrined that he hadn’t managed to egg Skan on to rash words or a rasher boast.
Zhaneel cast him a look of gratitude which promised another interesting evening, and more than made up for the faint blow to his pride administered by Aubri’s taunts.
Judeth had listened to the conversation with a wry half-smile, and now put her own opinion. “So, now the next generation goes off hunting adventures,” she said, combing her fingers through her hair, “while we stay home and see to it that when they come back, they won’t find anything much changed. Personally, I don’t envy them in the least.”
“Nor I,” Skan said firmly. “Adventures always seemed to involve impact with the ground at a high rate of speed, and ended in a lot of pain. Maybe my memory is faulty sometimes, but I haven’t forgotten that part.”
Amberdrake finally came out of his own reverie and sighed. “Your memory isn’t faulty, old bird. I remember picking quite a few pieces of broken foliage and not a few rocks out of your hide, and more than once.” He patted Skan’s shoulder. “I don’t know why you couldn’t have picked a gentler way of collecting souvenirs.”
Skan winced, and Aubri grinned at his discomfiture. From the look in his eyes, Aubri was about to make another stab at puncturing Skan’s pride.
But Aubri had reckoned without Winterhart, who had been listening just as intently to the conversation as Judeth had.
“And I recall that rather than collecting souvenirs of enemy territory, Aubri specialized in attracting enemy fire,” she said, with a little smirk and a wink at Judeth that was so fast
Aubri didn’t catch it. “In fact, he did it so often that his wing used to refer to getting hit by flamestrike as ‘being Aubri’ed.’ As in, ‘Well, I’ve been Aubri’ed out until my primaries grow back.’ Or, ‘Well, you certainly got Aubri’ed back there!’”
Aubri met this piece of intelligence with his beak open in a gape. “They did not!” he gasped indignantly.
Of course they didn’t. Skan, who had known every piece of gossip there was to know back then, would have heard of this long before Winterhart ever had. In fact, Winterhart would probably not have heard any such thing, since before she was Amberdrake’s lover, she had tended to treat the gryphons of her wing as little more than intelligent animals. Such an attitude was not likely to make anyone tell her anything.
But Aubri’s reaction was so delightful that everyone fell in with the joke. For once, someone besides Skan was going to come in for a share of abuse.
Is it my birthday! Or has the Kaled’a’in Lady decided to bless me, however momentarily!
Judeth rubbed the side of her nose with her finger. “I’m afraid they did,” she confirmed impishly, and then elaborated on it. “When I deployed your wing, they always liked to fly formation with you on the end since it just about guaranteed that no one else would get hit with lightning or mage-fire. Once or twice I heard them talking about ‘Old Charcoal,’ and I think they meant you.”
Aubri’s beak worked, but nothing came out; the muscles of his throat were moving, too, but he didn’t even utter as much as a squeak.
“It could have been worse,” Winterhart continued, delivering the final blow. “I did succeed in discouraging the nickname of ‘Fried Chicken.’”
Aubri’s eyes widened; his head came up and his beak continued to move, but all he could manage to say was, “Well!” over and ov
er. Since he sounded exactly like a highly-offended old matron, he only managed to cause the entire gathering to break up into laughter. And if the laughter was somewhat nervous, well, there were four nervous parents there who drastically needed the release of laughter.
They laughed long enough to bring tears to the eyes of the humans and make Aubri’s nares flush bright red. Before Aubri managed to have an apoplectic fit, though, Winterhart confessed that she had made it all up. “Not that you didn’t deserve the nickname, after all the times you came back singed,” she added. “But no one ever suggested pinning it on you.”
Aubri growled, his hackles still up. “They wouldn’t have dared,” was all he said, and Judeth led him off to ease his ruffled feelings and ruffled feathers.
“I don’t think he liked being on the receiving end of the teasing,” Amberdrake remarked mildly.
“Then perhaps he will stop treating Skandranon to so much of it after this,” Zhaneel responded, her voice quite tart. “A little is amusing, but he makes a habit of sharpening his tongue on Skandranon, and I am weary of hearing it! Skandranon does not deserve it; and if Aubri continues in this way, there may be trouble with younger gryphons believing in his so-called teasing. They will think that anything Skan says he has done is only wind and empty boast!”
Skan turned to her in surprise; she didn’t often spring to his defense this way. “Aubri doesn’t mean anything by it,” he said on his old friend’s behalf. “He’s getting old and cranky, and he just likes to tease. And I don’t think I’m going to lose any respect from the youngsters just because he tries to raise my ire now and again.”
Zhaneel sniffed and twitched her tail with annoyance. “That might be, and I will not be rude by chiding him in public, but I have had enough of it, and he can expect to get as good as he has given from now on.”
“I agree,” Winterhart put in firmly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Skan deserves a great deal of respect, after all. Maybe not as much as you’d like, you vain creature, but more than Aubri gives you.”
Skan cast a look at Amberdrake, who only shrugged. “Don’t get me involved in this,” he said. “I don’t think Aubri means anything of what he says, and I don’t think anyone else takes him seriously either—but I think I’m outnumbered here.”
Winterhart made a little face, and put her arm over Zhaneel’s gray-feathered shoulders. “Come along, my dear,” she said to the female gryphon. “I think we should discuss this at length, just the two of us, since the men don’t seem to take this situation with the gravity we think it merits.”
“I concur,” Zhaneel said agreeably, and the two of them sauntered off toward the cliff rim and several pleasant lookouts that had been constructed there.
Skandranon turned a face full of astonishment on Amberdrake—who was gazing after the two females with equal puzzlement.
“What prompted all that?” he asked, trying very hard to get his thoughts back on track. Amberdrake shook his head.
“I haven’t any more idea than you do,” he confessed. “Maybe with their chicks gone from the nest, they both feel they have to defend something. I might be considered something of an authority on human emotions, but I have to admit to you that sometimes my lady Winterhart baffles me.” He nodded with his chin toward the head of the trail. “Care to walk down with me so we can both worry about the youngsters together?”
Skan let out a deep breath; so Drake was just as troubled about Tad and Blade as he was! “Yes, I would,” he admitted mournfully. “Zhaneel made me promise not to go with them, not to follow them, and not to talk about them with her unless she brings the subject up. I wish I had her confidence that everything is going to be all right, but I keep thinking of all the things that can go wrong.”
Amberdrake followed his mate’s example by draping an arm over Skan’s shoulders. It felt very good there; the support of an old and trusted friend, even if the friend was just as much in need of support himself. Tradition spoke of an elegant half-arch being only a fallen pile of stones without its counterpart to make it whole.
“So much can go wrong, even in the most peaceful of times. I fear the worst, too,” Amberdrake told him. “But as Blade very rightfully reminded me, their job is not to confront danger directly. They’re only scouts, of a sort. If something dangerous appears, they are supposed to send a warning by way of the teleson, then keep themselves intact so that they can get home and brief us in detail.”
Skandranon took care not to step on Amberdrake’s feet, and snorted in reply to his statement. “And just how likely do you think that is to happen?” he demanded. “They’re our children! Do you think there’s even half a chance that they wouldn’t see themselves as the front line of the White Gryphon defenses and go confront something dangerous if it appeared?”
He maneuvered Amberdrake into the inside position, between himself and the cliff, as they started back down toward the city. Drake needed to walk on the protected inside, since if one of them was to slip on the trail, it had better be Skan; he could fly and Drake obviously couldn’t.
“I honestly don’t know,” Amberdrake admitted. “My daughter baffles me more often than my mate does. I sometimes wonder if the midwife switched babies with someone else when she was born. She doesn’t seem anything like either of us, and believe me, I have tried to find common ground with her.”
“I know what you mean,” Skan replied with chagrin. “Although Keenath affects me more that way than Tadrith does. Still. Just because we’ve never seen either of them act the way we did at their age, it doesn’t follow that they wouldn’t. If you understand what I’m trying to say.”
“I think so.” Amberdrake picked his way over a rough spot in the trail before continuing. “Children tend to act differently around their parents than when they’re on their own. At least, that’s what I’ve observed, both professionally and nonprofessionally.”
Of course he wouldn’t remember himself being that way; he lost his own parents and all his family when he was hardly fledged. But he’s right; I went out of my way to be the opposite of mine. They never wanted to be anything but followers, and I wanted to be the one others looked to for leadership. Sometimes I wonder if they weren’t smarter than I was. “I wish we had some other way besides the teleson to keep track of them,” he fretted. “It’s very tempting to wish that Urtho was here to give us another Kechara…”
He couldn’t finish the sentence; the pang of loss he felt even when mentioning the name of the creator of his adoptive “daughter” was enough to still his voice for a moment.
“It’s more than tempting to wish she was the way she used to be,” Amberdrake sighed, “and not just because she’d be useful now. I’d gladly continue all the evasion and diplomatic garbage we had to concoct for the Haighlei if it meant she was still such a powerful Mindspeaker. She is such a cheerful little soul, though; I don’t miss her powers at all if it means we get to see her alive and happy.”
Kechara had been one of Urtho’s rare “mistakes,” although Skan had never discovered what his leader, mentor, and friend had intended when he created her. Had she simply been a first attempt at the “gryfalcon” type, of which Zhaneel was the outstanding example? Was it possible that she had been a deliberate attempt to create a gryphon with tremendous ability at mind-magic? Or had she simply been a “sport,” something Urtho had not intended at all, an accident that Urtho saw and carried through, then hid away for her own protection?
Whichever the case had been, little Kechara had been what the other gryphons referred to as a “misborn.” Severely stunted, slightly misshapen, with wings far too long for her dwarfed body, her mind had been frozen in an eternally childlike state. But her pure strength at mind-magic had been without equal. Adorable little Kechara had been able to reach her mind-voice as far away as the Haighlei capital of Khimbata, which was how she had discovered where Amberdrake and Skandranon had been made prisoners long ago. The madman Hadanelith and his two Haighlei allies had captured them in the last st
age before the attempted assassination of Emperor Shalaman during the Eclipse Ceremony. Without Kechara, Skandranon would never have been able to get away in time to save him, and Amberdrake most certainly would not even be alive at this moment. Impelled by danger to him that even she had been able to perceive, her mental “shout” had sundered magical shields and incapacitated Hadanelith’s two allies across all that distance.
Urtho had known just how powerful her abilities were, and had kept her close-confined in his Tower for safekeeping. He had known that she might be viewed as a prize to be captured or a weapon to be used, and had thought to protect her from that fate. But in confining her, he had assumed that she would not live very long, an assumption that had proved incorrect.
Skan shook his head. “I agree. And I also know that I would never want to take the chance that another one with worse problems than hers might be born—we just don’t have the skill and judgment that Urtho did. We all love her, but Kechara’s flaws were too high a price to pay for her gifts, objectively speaking. Quite frankly, I think that it is only because she still doesn’t understand most of what she saw in other people’s minds that she hasn’t been driven mad by it all.”
He had done his best to make certain she never lost her trusting nature—and so had Judeth, Aubri, and anyone else in White Gryphon who ever came into contact with her. In her turn, she served the city and its people faithfully and joyously. She carefully relayed messages she barely, if ever, understood to and from all of the Silvers with even a touch of mind-magic of their own. It was a task they had all tried to ensure was never a chore for her, and she had loved the attention and approval.
Skan reflected that it was odd, the way the Haighlei had acted concerning her. For them, a creature with the mind of a child and the ability to read anyone’s thoughts would have been a blasphemy. For a year or two after the Eclipse Ceremony, Skan was fairly certain the Kaled’a’in had been able to keep Kechara’s existence secret from their allies—but eventually they surely had discovered just what she was. There had been many, many circumspect little hints, diplomatic tail-chases and discreet suggestions. Finally an official communique from High King Shalaman had come, advising the “permanent elimination of the long-range communicator of White Gryphon”—referring to Kechara—making it clear by its phrasing that it was not an idle request, and that not doing so would have grave consequences. Skandranon, Zhaneel, and Amberdrake went to Khimbata to appeal to Shalaman in private, and returned to White Gryphon with a delegation of mages led by Advisor Leyuet. Between various nervous ceremonies of state, “Papa Skan” explained to Kechara that it was time for her to rest from her work, and that they were going to make sure nobody was ever scared of her. Kechara trusted Skandranon completely, of course, and gleefully greeted the delegation. The grim-faced Haighlei, who were steeling themselves to meet a monster and fight against its horrible soul-invading power, instead faced a little creature who only thought they were very funny and demanded their absurdly elaborate and colorful hats to play with.
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