Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  Furs, ha! What did he know of furs? Of course he'd failed! The locals had, as the saying went, seen him coming. And no one had thought to warn him about the bandits who called the wilderness home.

  Leryn shivered. Of his troop, only he remained alive, and that only because he'd been lucky enough to outrun those bandits.

  Lucky. He was alive, yes—but thoroughly lost in the wilderness with nothing more than his belt knife and the clothes on his back. Yes, and with a storm like the end of the world raging all about him.

  And did you want to live? a voice deep within his mind wondered. Wouldn't it have been better to die at once and rejoin Elenya!

  "No," Leryn said aloud, then laughed without humor.

  What difference did it make? He'd probably wind up dead anyhow, more slowly, of starvation or cold.

  At least the horrendous storm seemed finally to be wearing itself out. A few more rumbles, one last flash of light, a final burst of rain, then... silence.

  Almost too stiff to move, Leryn uncurled out of his cramped shelter, stretching complaining muscles. And for all the burden of chill fear within him, he stood looking about for a moment, almost in wonder. Gods, it was beautiful out here, even in the middle of all his trouble, he had to admit that: rocks and sturdy northern forest all clean-washed and glittering in the first rays of sunlight breaking through the dissipating clouds. The air was so clear and cold it made him cough.

  Eh, well, all this nature worship was fine, but it wasn't helping his plight a bit. He had a goodly way till sundown, judging from what he could see of the sun, and Leryn shrugged in wry bravado. If he headed due south, he must, eventually, come out on the shores of Lake Evendim, and from there, eventually, if he followed the lake along eastward, maybe some friendly settlement.

  And if he didn't, well, at least moving was better than standing around waiting to die!

  But Leryn hadn't gotten very far before he let out a startled yelp and dove in the prickly shelter of a thicket. What was that? Something large, tawny-gold... a gryphon? Had he actually seen a gryphon? Leryn freely admitted he knew next to nothing about the magical, intelligent beings, other than what probably fantastic stories the locals had told him. All he could remember right now was that gryphons were definitely carnivorous!

  But the gryphon ahead of him wasn't moving in the slightest, and after a wary moment, Leryn struggled out of hiding. And, much to his surprise, he heard himself gasp aloud in pity.

  What a beautiful creature this was, all lovely, graceful sleekness—or rather, what a beautiful creature it had been.

  The poor beast must have been caught in the storm. Either the lightning struck it, or the winds dashed it to the ground.

  But why would such an experienced flyer (judging from its enormous wings) have taken such risks? Leryn saw the carcass of a deer still clutched in the gryphon's claws, and realized with a shock that it—she? The gryphon was slender enough to be a she—she, then, could only have been bringing food to her offspring. But where was her mate? Didn't gryphons mate for life?

  Ah well, there wasn't anything he could do. Even if he could, by some wild chance, find where she'd hidden her young, there wasn't any way he could help them. Leryn shook his head (his own loss, his Elenya, and the child who had died with her—No!) and turned brusquely away. But then he turned again and hesitantly approached the dead gryphon.

  "I hate to rob you, but I need this more than you."

  His belt knife wasn't the best tool for the job, but at last, wincing at the messiness of the whole process (remembering days at home, when servants bought and butchered and served his meat to him), Leryn managed to cut off a good hunk of venison. What could he wrap it in? Leaves, yes, nice broad leaves like these... there. It made a squishy package, slung over his back like this, but at least he wasn't going to starve right away.

  Feeling a bit foolish, Leryn saluted the gryphon. "Thank you. You've given me life."

  He headed on, picking his careful way through a tangle of rocks.

  But then something wriggled away from him. Something screamed in alarm, a long, shrill skree of fright that shot right through Leryn's head.

  "What in the name of—"

  The terrified screaming broke off abruptly at the sound of his voice. A bright-eyed, curved-beaked little head poking up out of the rocks. "A gryphon!" A gryphon cub, rather, or pup or—or whatever the babies were called. "You belonged to that poor creature, didn't you?" Leryn murmured, and the baby stared. "Poor little one, you can't possibly understand that she's dead."

  The baby trilled softly, such a quick, inquisitive little sound that Leryn smiled in spite of himself. "You've never seen a human before, have you? No, you're probably far too young for that. Probably never even left the nest before—before this."

  The gryphon trilled again, impatiently this time. I'm hungry! the sound seemed to say. I'm hungry and lonely, and what are you going to do about it?

  What, indeed?

  You shouldn't feed it, Leryn warned himself. You'll only be postponing the inevitable.

  But the baby trilled yet again, wriggling out of the rocks. Leryn froze, enchanted. What a funny, chubby, furry little thing! It was about the size of a hunting hound—though no hound ever bore those silly little downy wings or that spotted, striped, yellow-brown-tan baby fuzz. The gryphon must be very young, indeed, because it was still just a touch unsteady on its too-big-for-its-body paws.

  Damn. I can't just walk away. "Uh, well, I do have some meat," Leryn told the baby. "I only hope you can eat solid food."

  Gryphons didn't nurse their young, did they? No, not when even the babies sported those sharp, curved beaks! Leryn unwrapped the slice of venison, and the baby let out its ear-splitting scream.

  "Hey, stop that! I'm moving as fast as I can!" Using his belt knife, Leryn cut off a tiny sliver of meat, wondering aloud, "I hope you don't need your food regurgitated, the way birds feed their chicks. There are limits."

  Judging from the way the little gryphon practically tore the sliver of meat from his hand, that wasn't going to be a problem. It paused only long enough to gulp down the fragment, then started to scream again.

  "Hey, hey, I told you, I'm cutting it up as fast as I can!"

  That didn't stop the ear-splitting complaint. Leryn tapped the baby gently on the beak with the tip of his knife, and the astonished gryphon fell silent, staring at him in innocent wonder. The man winced.

  "Oh, don't look at me like that. I'll give you a good meal, but that's it. After this, you're on your own."

  The baby continued to stare.

  "Stop that! Don't you understand? I can't stay here to take care of you, and I can't take you with me; you'd never be able to keep up. Ha, you can barely walk steadily as it is!"

  But the gryphon continued to watch him even as it gulped down meaty sliver after sliver. At last it seemed to be full, its little belly gently rounded. With a satisfied little churr, the baby collapsed on Leryn's feet, staring adoringly up at him.

  "Wonderful. Just wonderful. Now what am I going to do with you?"

  He reached a tentative hand down to the spotted baby down, wondering if the little beast would let him touch it. When it didn't even flinch, he stroked the gryphon gently, enjoying the fuzzy feel of it. The baby smelled faintly of spices—cinnamon, was it?—and of that delicate newness that all young things seem to have in common.

  And for a moment, Leryn's hand paused in its stroking as he remembered another baby, and Elenya—

  Not I will not—No! "Ah, gods," Leryn murmured to the gryphon. "I can't leave you here to die."

  The baby churred again, almost as though it understood, and Leryn sighed. Maybe this would work. The little thing was about dog-sized, after all, and he doubted it weighed much more; a creature meant for flight couldn't be too heavy. Leryn sighed again, knowing he'd already come to a decision.

  "All right, baby. We travel together, at least till I can find an adult gryphon to take care of you. Assuming the creature doesn't try
to rend me apart first as a baby-thief!"

  Ah, well, one problem at a time. The gryphon had curled up on his feet, sound asleep. Leryn continued to stroke the warm, fuzzy fur. And after a time, he realized, much to his astonishment, that he was smiling.

  He stopped smiling about midway through the next day. The gryphon had tagged along after him nicely enough for a while, but it was a baby, with a baby's limited attention span and lack of sense. First, Leryn had to rescue it from a pond into which the little thing had fallen while chasing a butterfly. Then he had to pry it out from between two rocks which were just a bit too close together to allow the gryphon to pass. In between, the baby would plop itself down with a baby's suddenness, instantly sound asleep, or complaining with ear-splitting pathos that it was hungry.

  Leryn glanced at the rapidly diminishing chunk of venison and winced. It wasn't going to stay fresh much longer or, for that matter, judging from the gryphon's appetite, last much longer.

  And what do I do when it's gone? I'm no hunter; I'm not even carrying a decent knife! Gods, I don't even have any way of starting a fire!

  At least, now that that spectacular, deadly storm was past, the weather remained dry. But the air was cold, and it grew colder as night fell. Leryn tried to sleep curled up in as tight a ball as he could manage, struggling to ignore his aching, hungry body, but the earth was as chill as the air. And for all his weariness, he couldn't get comfortable enough to sleep.

  But then a fuzzy little body, warm as a furnace, pushed itself against him: the gryphon, whimpering softly. Leryn drew the baby to him, glad of its warmth, and the two lonely beings at last slept

  * * *

  Leryn sank wearily to a rock, head down. The gryphon pushed against him, trilling anxiously, but the man ignored it, too worn to care.

  How many days had it been of endless walking, of hunger and aching muscles and skin chafed raw from the clothes he couldn't change? How many nights of broken sleep and cold, never-ending cold? The last scraps of the by-now-barely-edible meat had been devoured by the baby a day ago, and though the gryphon had managed to snap up enough bugs along the way to feed it—or at least keep it from that ear-splitting complaining—there hadn't been anything for a human to eat. Leryn had tried to fill his complaining stomach with spring water, but the water had been so cold it chilled him to the bone.

  You knew it was going to come to this sooner or later. You knew you didn't have a chance of surviving....

  "I just didn't know it was going to take so long."

  The gryphon cut into his bitterness, pushing anxiously against him, trilling and trilling in panic till at last Leryn roused himself from thoughts of death. He stared at the small, frantic baby. And slowly it came to him that he couldn't die, not yet, not while this small, so-very-alive creature was depending on him.

  Leryn reached out a weary hand to ruffle the gryphon's fur, then staggered to his feet.

  "Come on, baby. We'll see how much farther we can get."

  The gryphon shrilled in sudden alarm. Leryn stumbled back, staring blankly at the men who'd come out of hiding and into whose arms he'd almost walked.

  For a moment Leryn's mind simply refused to function, noting only that these strangers were warmly clad, and looked well-fed. But the gryphon continued its shrill screaming, stubby wings fluttering, trying its baby best to defend him against:

  Bandits, Leryn realized through the haze of weariness. Maybe even the same who attacked me the first time.

  What difference did it make? He certainly didn't have anything on him of value, and if they just waited a bit, he'd probably die of hunger or exhaustion and save them the trouble of—It was the gryphon they wanted. They were going to kill his little friend for its fur, or carry it off to captivity.

  "Like hell you are!" Leryn roared (or at least thought he roared), and charged.

  The first bandit was so astonished by this rush of strength from such a worn-out creature he didn't defend himself in time. Leryn tore the club from his hands and laid about with it with half-hysterical fury. The gryphon baby, shrilling a childish battle scream, fought with him—small, sharp beak nipping, small, sharp talons scratching. But of course they hadn't a chance of winning, not one weary man and one little gryphon.

  At least this'll be faster than dying of hunger, Leryn thought wryly.

  Thunder deafened him, wild wind buffeted him. For a dazed moment, swathed in sudden shadow, Leryn could only wonder how a storm could have struck so swiftly.

  But the storm was moving, shrieking, and all at once he realized that what was looming overhead was a gryphon, two gryphons, and he forgot all about the bandits as he stared in wonder at the living golden wonders soaring down at him.

  The bandits didn't waste time in staring. They scattered in all directions, racing off into the underbrush like so many terrified rabbits, and Leryn could have sworn he heard one of the gryphons hiss in soft, fierce laughter.

  They landed in a wild swirling of wind and dust. The baby gryphon let out one startled little yelp and ducked behind Leryn, then took a wary step out from hiding, gaping, every line of its small body rigid with astonishment. For a long moment, Leryn stood frozen as well, staring, too weary for fright, at the savage, splendid, vibrant size of them, at the wise, keen, alien eyes watching him, at the beaks, wickedly elegant as curved swords, that could snap him in two, at the gleaming talons that could rend him apart as easily as he might tear worn-out fabric. He should be afraid, Leryn thought, he really should.

  But the last of his desperate strength was ebbing from him. Leryn felt his exhausted body crumple to its knees.

  And then he knew nothing at all.

  He woke slowly, languorously, to warmth, wonderful, spicy-scented warmth. Meat was being pushed at his lips, and if that meat was raw, at least it was fresh and full of the promise of life, and he chewed and swallowed without protest, feeling the dawn of strength returning to him.

  Then Leryn came to himself enough to realize he was cradled like a baby against a gryphon's side, a golden wing sheltering him, and it was a deadly beak so gently offering him food. The beings must have known he was half-dead for want of food and warmth.

  Ah, warmth, yes... it was so good to be warm again... warm and fed and cozy...

  ...cozy as he'd been with Elenya, his own sweet wife cuddled beside him in their bed, and the promise of new life growing inside her.

  The promise that had gone so terribly wrong.

  The memories hit him without warning, hit him so hard that Leryn, still too weak to control his will, broke as he had not during all the long, empty, dry-eyed days of mourning. Broke and wept against the warm, tawny side, sheltered under the soft, golden wing while the gryphon churred ever so softly, stroking his hair with a gentle beak as though he were her child.

  Her. He had no doubt of his protector's gender. And Leryn heard, or felt, or sensed, he couldn't have said how, the gryphon's own grief. She who had died in the storm had been this one's sister, long lost from the nest: too proud, too sure of herself, heeding no one's advice, taking an aging mate, one who'd died and left her and her young one alone.

  Race, species were forgotten in their mingled grief. And out of mingled grief came at least the seeds of healing.

  "Eleyna, Eleyna, I still miss you, and shall miss you all my life. But... I am alive. And I must go on being alive."

  He could almost have sworn that somewhere, far beyond space and time, she'd heard, somewhere she'd smiled.

  Leryn sat bolt upright. The gryphon raised her wing to free him, and he found himself staring into the wise, amused eyes of her mate.

  "ssso. You live."

  "You speak!" Leryn reddened. "I—I mean, of course you speak, it's just—I didn't expect—I don't know what I expected."

  The gryphon chuckled. "We hardly expected you to ssspeak our tongue."

  "Uh, no. I... uh... I'm not familiar with your kind." Leryn glanced about, seeing a neat-walled cave—no, not a cave, a ruin of some sort, human-built but pla
inly now the gryphon pair's nest. "But the baby!" he suddenly remembered. "The little gryphon. Where is—"

  A small thunderbolt sent him staggering back into the side of the female gryphon. The baby leaping at him, churring with delight, wriggling like a happy puppy, until a quiet word in the gryphon tongue made it reluctantly settle to the floor.

  "You've brought my sssissster's child to me," the female gryphon murmured. "For that we thank you."

  "You kept the little one alive," said the male. "And that," he added with a chuckle as the wriggling baby eyed then pounced on his tufted tail, "could have been no easssy thing. For that we thank you, too."

  "I could hardly have let a—a child die!" A little shiver ran through Leryn at the memory of his own son, who'd never known the touch of life, but he continued resolutely, "Besides, the child kept me alive!" It was true enough. "Without this little ball of fur, I would have given up a long time ago."

  "Yesss, but now the quessstion isss: What do we do with you?"

  "Ah." What, indeed? No funds, no weapons, not even a change of clothes. "I don't know. In my home town, I'm a merchant of gems, but—"

  "Gemsss? The pretty ssstonesss you humansss like? Then thessse mussst belong to you."

  "My gem pouches! Where did you—"

  The male gryphon licked his talons with a lazy tongue. "I chasssed the banditsss," he murmured, eyes glinting dangerously. "It wasss good sssport. And asss they fled, they dropped everything they bore."