by Kari Cordis
They’d decided to overnight at the Band because Lirralhisa was still a full day’s ride away, but now that didn’t seem that long at all. With the noise and bustle of town life on the horizon, Ari was already missing the jungle, the constant excitement, the concealment offered by its endless, dank, rich closeness. Maybe…maybe when this was all over, when the Statue was found and the rumors laid to rest, he could come back here.
They headed out as soon as the Torquelord was finished with Traive, even the stags restless under them, their delicate hooves prancing and pawing.
“Why are you putting ribbons on?” Rodge asked Rhuq.
“Honors,” the Sentinel corrected. “Because we will be essentially on parade, my friends, and we want you to be proud of us.” The other Sentinels were also pushing the thin green strips of cloth up their arms to just above the elbow.
The Northerners said nothing to that. Their clothes were limp and discolored, there was sweat and grime lodged into every crevice of their beings, and they were baggy-eyed from lack of sleep, but it wasn’t the Imperial way to admit it.
They weren’t even an hour from the Tor when the jungle began to thin around them, melting away into one huge, gorgeous parkland. The wind brought different smells now, cooking and animals and waste and the mustiness of human habitation. It cooled Ari’s flushed face and ruffled his simmering hair and that old sense of adventure and curiosity began to kindle in him.
Everyone sat up straighter, even Rodge, who usually rode like a half-empty sack of grain. After all the lowering, monotonous closeness of the weeks of jungle, the sudden space and light were invigorating. There was even a horizon. The Sirensong was almost a different river beside them, with a healthy bluish tint and nice, normal green rushes growing in lush profusion along its banks. The tiny dragonflies of Cyrrh swooped and danced over its lily pads, everything catching the light so that the faint mist that drifted dreamily over the morning landscape seemed to sparkle.
The temperature was definitely cooler here, decidedly pleasant, and deciduous trees showing signs of fall color dotted the enormous leagues of lawn stretching out around them. Cerise made an inarticulate sound, pointing off to the right at what looked like…a house. As the mist lifted and more appeared ahead, closer to the road, the travelers could see they were whimsical things, these houses of Cyrrh. Curved corners, irregular, rounded outlines, beautiful woodwork decorating every feature you could think of—one had a doorframe carved so exquisitely into a sitting gryphon that Ari did a double take, thinking it real.
More and more of them appeared as the day wore on, coalescing into wondrous little hamlets…and accompanied by people. Without exception, they would stop and stare—not at the gorgeous stags, whose gold-tipped antlers caught the morning light, or the proud, straight-backed stagriders, but always at the Northerners. At Rodge, no less, whose skin was so genetically deficient of pigment that he’d barely tanned a shade with all his weeks in the sun.
And there were girls. Everywhere.
The boys were dizzy trying to follow them all with their eyes. Golden girls with golden skin and big green eyes, with long hair that hung straight or curling or flowing in waves or tumbling down their backs. You could smell their perfume and hear their quiet sing-song voices and tinkling laughs before you even came into a village.
Rodge, who had never in his life been the subject of female attention in any way resembling the positive, allowed after a few hours, “Maybe this place isn’t so bad after all.”
“Wait until you see the Heart of the Falls,” Rhuq said. Rodge possibly hadn’t been referring to the geography, but he smiled agreeably.
It was an effortless day, compared to any of their previous ones in Cyrrh, but it was made long by anticipation. Ari didn’t see, as dusk settled in, how it could get any more beautiful. His heavy misgivings had vanished, largely from the complete lack of attention he seemed to be drawing. He never thought he’d be so delighted to be treated as almost invisible. And the enchanting magic of the place…! Leaves, yellow and orange and crimson and vermillion, swirled in the glistening evening air, backlit in the rosy grey dusk by the lights of the little cottages. Huge moths, colored like nocturnal butterflies, flitted gently through a scene so dreamy, so homey, so warm that Ari felt a little sentimental for the hearth at Harthunters. People talked and sang and played music and the air was full of contentment.
Then, they turned the corner around a stand of thick-trunked oak and the feeling of comfort vanished—replaced by thrilling awe. Before them, in a breath-taking vista, soared a high and awesome cliff face that stretched for leagues around a deep valley bowl as if embracing it. Three enormous waterfalls plunged thunderously down it at the far end, cataracts of frothing lace in the distance and obscured by the thick mist of their fall near the valley floor. The air was thick with water droplets and the deep, bass song of all that water, a magical sheen over the incredible, softly scintillating scene. For to the left of the falls, the entire cliff face encircling that end of the bowl was covered in bits of winking light, as if all those leagues of stone were buried under an iridescent layer of the tiny dragonflies or set with innumerable gems. It was like some jeweled crown of rock.
Ari felt like an adventurer who’d found the city of lost treasure, like a man wandering the desert who’d finally found a clear, bright river. Like he’d come home.
They breakfasted the next morning with the Skyprincess. They were all gathered in a little room, complete with a verandah and view of the falls, and still not quite used to the stunning, sparkling beauty of the Skypalace, when she floated gracefully into the room.
“I’m Kindhriada, Kindri,” she introduced herself to their gaping faces in a desultory voice. She drifted aimlessly in, like a bored teenager, and after gazing disinterestedly at the loaded table, sank into a chair as if it had taken the last of her energy to do so.
The Northerners, most reluctant to stop stuffing the delicious food in their mouths and all a little taken back at the casual approach to formality in the Skypalace, murmured noncommittal and slightly awed greetings. Even Cerise, whose formulas for protocol were normally a deep and abiding source of pride to her, was a little uncertain in the face of this almost medical-grade apathy.
They were all of them tremendously well-rested, unlike the listless royalty across the table. The fur-covered stone floors or muddy grass of the past few weeks’ bed downs had become high, carved wooden beds with soft mattresses and silken bed linens last night. And that strained tension that was commensurate with traveling the jungle was completely gone, for they were dozens of yards off the ground, in the Skypalace of Cyrrh.
This wondrous structure was basically a warren of caves, though so finely hewn and gorgeously decorated it took some architectural snooping to figure it out, and a lot of dedication to keep in mind. Every surface seemed to be covered with a brilliant tapestry or an ornate work of art—some woven of precious metal, some glittering with jewels—or a gilt mirror. Ari had never seen so many mirrors in his life. Harthunters had one, to his knowledge, and it was a great treasure. They were everywhere in the Palace, not only visually confusing and unpleasant if one had vivid red hair and looked like a Sheelman, but also making the rooms and passageways seem larger than they were. They hadn’t noticed it last night, but in the bright dawn, it became apparent that they were also so cleverly placed as to reflect light far into the depths of the caves. It had been the candles they’d noticed last night, so ubiquitous that it seemed bright as day even deep in the cliff. Unlike the smoky things of Merrani that tended to smell like rendered animal fat, these smelled sweet and nestled in beautifully decorated wall niches or hung from orbs of colored glass. In the finest apartments, they were set in delicate, patterned lanterns of paper or silk, and in the throne room, close to a hundred of them must have hung in that chandelier.
Like the throne room, which had been so exotic, so ornate, that Ari wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it, their breakfast room sat at the edge of the cave syst
em. A carved, twining railing kept anyone from casually plunging over the edge, and the view of the falls, the birds swooping through its mist as the sun came up…well, it was slightly different than what Ari had envisioned when he’d heard ‘city.’
Loren sighed happily next to him—and he wasn’t gazing at the view either, at least not the view outside. He’d never thought he’d see his Cyrrhidean princess again, and here he was eating breakfast with her. Rodge looked at Ari, who thought Loren was being a little obvious, not to mention pathetic, and rolled his eyeballs. Fortunately, the Skyprincess seemed too enervated to notice more than one thing at a time, currently fruit juice.
Cerise finally ventured carefully, “It is a great honor to be here, Highness, and to, er, share your company.”
“The honor’s all mine,” the Princess sighed, so disinterested that the diplomacy on Cerise’s features slipped a little. “It’s a rare thing for Northerners to brave the wilds of Cyrrh.”
“It wasn’t our idea,” Rodge told her baldly. If he thought rudeness would get a sign of life where courtesy failed, he was disappointed. Ari frowned at him anyway. Rodge’s mouth had gotten them in enough trouble on this trip. Loren just sat, blue eyes obliviously fixed on his true love, chewing happily at his ninth little hard-boiled, blue-shelled egg.
“The Dra got in shortly after your party retired last night,” she commented into the awkward silence and the Northerners all looked up brightly. How they’d missed him these past few weeks.
“Dra Kai?” Ari asked.
“There’s only one Dra,” she answered cryptically, dully lifting a tiny piece of sweetbread to her mouth. Rodge watched her drolly—there’d be no end of comments later, Ari was sure. She was fascinating, he had to admit, and not just because it had been weeks since they’d seen a girl. Technically, she should have been a breathtaking beauty. Her face was delicate and elfin, with soft cupid’s-bow lips and fine brows like pale gold arching over the clear, sage-green eyes. But there was no character to her face, no light or life. She was like a doll or a statue.
The mannequin shocked them all by saying next, “There’ll be a Circle of Silk this afternoon once everyone’s rested. I thought this morning you all might like to visit the gryphon eyries.”
Loren almost choked on his egg. Rodge groaned. Cerise looked determinedly polite. It was up to Ari, barely able to conceal the surge of excitement coursing through him, to say, “Yes. We’d be very interested, thank-you.” Possibly the grossest understatement to ever leave his lips.
When Kindri rose slowly to her feet a few minutes later, apparently done with her few crumbs of breakfast, Loren and Ari almost knocked over their chairs jumping to their feet. For a second, they forgot the ridiculous, thin silk tunics and baggy trousers they were wearing. They were acquiring quite a wardrobe, trundling around the Realms, but this latest was way down on the list—pale, filmy colors, even, that no self-respecting Imperial man would be caught dead in.
It was helpful that the Skyprincess looked considerably better in her version. The shiny, dewy grey gown puddled around her feet standing and clung fascinatingly when she walked, which was a head-turning thing anyway. None of that business-like marching of the North, here, just a slow, indolent, languid sway that sent a distracted Loren promptly into a wall trying to follow her. Cerise shot him a look of withering scorn.
They trailed wordlessly after their limp escort through several rooms, until they came to an opening in the cliff face that could hardly be considered a chamber at all. It was more like a bay, a gaping, enormous cavern with an arched ceiling of mirrors and shifting, glorious light. At its edge, leading out into nothing but the sheen of waterfall mist, arched a bridge, disappearing into the dew-laden air. It had to be the most enchanting thing Ari had seen yet, leaping weightlessly away from them in white iron and sprinkled like dew on grass with sparkling pastel gems.
It was surprising that it was so sturdy, and a little intimidating that they couldn’t see more than a few yards ahead of them. Cerise, as she walked with the air of someone who doesn’t want to think about anything else, began a deeply interested survey of the fanciful fretwork spanning the railing. It wasn’t that long of a bridge actually, and on the other side was just a plain rock path carved out of the looming cliff face. You could see the valley bowl of the Heart here, without pockets of mist obscuring everything, and Ari leaned out over the wooden railing to trace their path last night. From this angle, you could see another couple of falls on the back side of the valley bowl, and maybe a third. He picked out the trail they’d come in on, winding broadly south along one of the Fall’s rivers, and there was the ingenious lift that had brought them up to the Skypalace…he stopped, sucking in his breath.
“Loren!” There were sounds of amazement as the rest of the party turned around and followed his gaze. Last night hadn’t just been a trick of the eyes, a deception of the waterfall mist in lantern-light. The entire cliff face was covered in jewel-like bits of light, for hundreds of yards down the bowl, beyond where distance dimmed it into a dull glimmer. You could see the dark half-circles of chamber openings, and here close to them, the fantastic likenesses of trees and vines and dragons and other creatures carved into solid rock. The whole side of the mountain was a blazing glory of art. Surely, though, those were bits of glass that decorated the cliff, not the real-looking gemstones that had sprinkled the fairy-tale bridge they’d just crossed?
Kindri, realizing she had lost something important, came wandering listlessly back to their staring, gesticulating group. “It’s to make the gryphons feel at home.” Her quiet, indifferent voice was more like a disembodied narrator than an interruption; they all continued to gawp, captivated.
“There’s nothing they love more than sparkle and glitter and shine, so when the original settlers built Lirralhisa, they covered it in jewels to draw the gryphons to it. ‘Course, it draws dragons, too, but you can’t have everything.” Four heads swiveled wide-eyed around to look at her.
“Shall we?” She turned and led them on without any indication of having said anything disturbing. It was a short walk along the south-facing cliff to another set of openings, where a young man with a smear of dirt across his forehead and twigs of straw stuck to his leather knees came to meet them.
“Lady Kindri,” he greeted her, bending over his arm in the Cyrrhidean courtesy. Cerise’s nostrils flared. “No ‘Highness?’” she muttered. “No ‘Skyprincess?’”
“Who’s on Ring duty today?” the unoffended royal asked blandly.
“Topaz, Kindri. Let me get Chief Flyr for you.” He moved off quickly into the caverns behind him, where they could hear rustlings and strange, gurgly kinds of warblings. It was so bright out on the cliff edge, flooded with morning sun, that they couldn’t see more than a yard or so into the caverns. Ari’s palms were sweaty with anticipation.
“Kindri!” a bold voice cried. Another young man was striding toward them, rather cleaner than the previous, with an open, ingenuous face and laughing eyes. He was brown from head to toe, brown curls, golden brown skin, brownish-green eyes, brown leathers—a vision of cheerful brown. “And our intrepid visitors from the North,” he added, grinning at them all. After all the unassuming reserve of the Sentinels, this guy was shockingly effervescent.
“I am Flyrcanet, Flyr. Welcome to the Eyries.” He gave a warm, sly smile. “At least, I assume you have some interest in our little beasties…?” He winked at Ari and Loren, whose enthusiasm was more readily apparent than Rodge and Cerise’s. “If I may, Kindri?” he said politely.
She waved apathetically, eyes focused somewhere in the distance, and he gave them a conspiratorial head jerk, bowing them into the Eyries.
They all huddled up on him nervously while their eyes got used to the dimness. He led them through the stirring shadows of the chamber, half-seen presences more sensed than felt, as their feet rustled through straw and their noses were assaulted with the unmistakable stench of concentrated animal life. Ari would never forget that
pungent scent of gryphon, like nothing he’d ever smelled before.
“You’ve come during muck out time,” Flyr apologized, his strong, confident voice, like Traive’s, a tremendous comfort in the dimness, with mysterious shapes shifting just out of reach of discernment. A clod of straw loaded with dark manure came hurtling out of the gloom, landing next to Cerise…who had the look of one whose day is getting irredeemably worse.
Aided by adrenaline, their eyesight was adjusting rapidly, and by the time they’d made it to the back of the chamber, Ari could make out the size of those huge, eerie shadows. Some were sitting upright, hunched and with an intent, watchful air. Some lay curled up in enormous horse-sized balls while their handlers cleaned around them. The sense of awareness, of waiting, came off of them in almost paralyzing waves, worked on by the dry-throating darkness. Ari realized, just as they passed out of the chamber and into another, that they were hooded. That’s why there was such a weird blankness to those big heads, where eyes or beaks or feathers should be reflecting a least a little light.
The next cavern was a large, soaring space, but still made cramped by the size of the beasts in it. These were NOT hooded, most of them sitting in brilliant, bare view at the ledge. Silhouetted by the sun, feathers in gorgeous, flaming color, they brought the Northerners to a wide-eyed halt. Ari didn’t think he’d ever seen a creature so beautiful. Rodge and Cerise were perhaps thinking different thoughts, but Ari was entranced. He’d walked into a dream.
“Right this way,” Flyr said loudly, laughing, in a voice that suggested he’d had to raise it to get their attention. In a speechless huddle, they followed him toward the next chamber on this unbelievable tour. He was walking backward, encouraging them. “Don’t be afraid—these are parade gryphons. They’re bigger, but much more mild-mannered. Just don’t go near their heads…believe me, the only thing they’re interested in right now are those luscious air currents…”