Not to mention what would happen to him without female gryphons about. He only thinks he’s nothing like his father. He has as wild a reputation among the fair flyers as his father ever had, if not more so. I had better check in on him to make sure he gets some sleep before we leave.
She chuckled to herself, and Tad looked back at her for a moment in curiosity.
And as far as that went, she was no chaste virgin, untouched and unawakened. She might well go quietly insane if she lived too long away from civilization.
For one thing, after too long out there, some very disturbing things might begin to look attractive. Tension can do that. When I find myself eying snakes and fondling branches, I’ll know I’ve been away too long. Still, that’s only one thing to miss, and easy enough to simulate—it is far more difficult to replace a lover’s concern. For another complication—well—there is Ikala.
She sighed. Ikala was important to Blade, and she had kept her parents from finding out about him only through plotting and planning that would have done a spymaster proud.
Haighlei Kings with more than one son—and most of them, ceremonially wedded to a new priestess-bride each year, had many children—sent those sons off to be the personal guards of other Kings. This ensured that there would be no warfare and no assassination attempts, for every King had hostages from every other King. Furthermore, every King had the opportunity to win the loyalty of the sons of his fellow Kings, giving him an ally in the courts of his neighbors. It was a good system, and in the highly structured and rigid culture of the Haighlei, it worked well.
Ikala was one of those younger sons, twentieth in succession behind the actual Crown Prince of Nbubi. But instead of being sent to serve in one of the other Courts, he had elected to come to White Gryphon instead, to be trained by Aubri and Judeth and serve in the Silvers.
The culture of the Haighlei was a strange one by Kaled’a’in standards. Every action was tightly bound up in protocol; every moment cemented with custom. The Haighlei lived in the most rigid society that the Kaled’a’in had ever seen or heard of; change was only permitted when decreed by the Emperor and his chief priests and then only at the Eclipse Ceremony. . . .
How anything gets changed at all is a mystery. There was a hierarchy for everything, from the gods to the poorest beggar, and no one was ever allowed to leave his place in that hierarchy except at approved times, under rigid circumstances. And that was why Ikala, son of a King, was here in White Gryphon.
Ikala cannot bear the constraints of his people any more than I can. Ikala had found relief here, as she hoped to find it in the wilderness. Perhaps that was why she had felt so drawn to him from the first. They were both trying to escape from lives that others wished them to lead.
Ikala was not the only Haighlei here; many found an escape in White Gryphon from the intolerable rigidity of their own culture. Although there were not as many as Blade would have expected, they were generally young, for the old were content to wait for their next lives to improve their lot. They were also more often female than male, even though there was no real difference in the way that men and women were treated by Haighlei law and custom. This was just as well, since there were more Kaled’a’in men in White Gryphon than women—an accident that Snowstar and Cinnabar thought might be due to one of the more subtle effects of the mage-storms following the Cataclysm that destroyed Ka’venusho. Perhaps that was the reason why so many more young Haighlei women came here than men; the perfectly ordinary reason of husband hunting!
The Kaled’a’in had been nearer the source of the blast than the lands of the Black Kings, and nearest when the storms were at their worst. Many other subtle changes had taken place during their migration here, not all of them as obvious as a superfluity of male children.
There were changes that affected the mages, for instance. We had more than half of the mages associated with Urtho’s army. You’d never know that now.
The mage-storms had made it very difficult to practice magic, for the strength of spells literally varied from storm to storm. But once the last of the storms had passed, it became evident that they had not only affected magic, they had affected the mages as well. Some, formerly powerful, had lost much of their ability. One or two who had only been at the level of hedge-wizard before the storms were able to aspire to the rank of Master. Some had undergone personality changes so subtle that the effects did not come to light for months or years, growing slowly odder and less social, until at last they would gather their belongings and vanish into the wilderness alone. One had caused a great deal of damage before he left, both physical and emotional.
That one was not Hadanelith, though Hadanelith had caused a fair share of emotional damage himself. It was generally granted, however, that Hadanelith had not been warped into what he was by the mage-storms. All evidence seemed to indicate he had always been quite mad, and quite dangerous.
Only the mages of k’Leshya were so affected, at least, as far as anyone knew.
Then again, perhaps Shalaman’s Nameless Brother was turned into what he became by the storms as well. We’ll probably never know for certain.
At any rate, since now the rate of birth for boys and girls was about equal again, the next generation would not have the trouble finding mates that this one had until Haighlei women started coming in by curious ones and twos.
Ikala had intrigued Blade, however, because he was very much different from the other Haighlei that had drifted into the city. He had kept to himself and simply observed for several weeks, after accepting hospitality at the hostel set up for visitors. He had not made any secret of his lineage, but he had not attempted to trade on it either. He had gone about the city quietly watching everything and everyone— while the Silvers were watching him, as they watched all newcomers. Then, one day, he presented himself to Judeth and asked to be taken into the Silvers as a trainee.
Had he been making up his mind if he wanted to stay? Had he already known he intended to remain and was only looking for a place where he could earn his way? Not even Blade knew—unless he had told Judeth, which was possible—and he had spent more time talking to her than to anyone else.
This was a fact that she had taken great pains to conceal from her loving family, as was her growing affection for him. She wasn’t certain what she was going to do about that yet. As with many things, it would have to wait until she returned from this assignment.
But having a Silver well acquainted with another court than Shalaman’s would mean that White Gryphon could open up a second embassy in Nbubi. Ikala could prove invaluable there, as an expert in the background, able to advise the ambassador as Silver Veil had advised Amberdrake in Shalaman’s court. And that would be a fine place for Blade and Tadrith to be posted—and perhaps even Keeth.
Unless, of course, Amberdrake managed to get himself appointed as Ambassador there—or Winterhart did—
No. No, that couldn‘t possibly happen, she reassured herself hastily. Father’s needed too much here. Mother wouldn’t go without him, not after the mess that almost happened the last time. And he knows that there’s no one here that could replace him.
Of course he could always train someone as his replacement. . . .
Oh, why am I making up these stupid scenarios when I don’t even know where I’m going after this, or whether Ikala and I would ever be more than close friends, or even if Judeth would consider Tad and me for posts with the Embassy! She realized that she was making up trouble for herself out of nebulous plans that weren’t even a possibility yet!
Things must be going too well if I’m planning for opposition that doesn’t exist and problems that would take a thousand variables to come up!
Just about then, Tad spoke to her. “I can’t think of anything else,” he said. “What about you?”
“I haven’t had any great inspirations for the supply list, but then I haven’t been really thinking about it,” she confessed, and frowned at the scrawled document in her hands. “I’ll tell you what; l
et’s go talk to Judeth or Aubri, and see if either of them have any suggestions.”
Tad clicked his beak thoughtfully. “Is that wise?” he asked. “Will it look as if we aren’t capable of thinking for ourselves?”
“It will look as if we are not too full of ourselves to accept advice from those older and wiser than us, and if we tell them that, they’ll adore us for it,” she responded, and got to her feet, stamping a little to ease a bit of numbness. “Come on, bird. Let’s go show the old dogs that the puppies aren’t totally idiots.”
“Not totally,” Tadrith muttered, although he did get to his feet as well. “Only mostly.”
Two
“Outpost Five, heh?” Aubri stretched both his forelegs, one at a time, regarding the blunted, ebony talons on the end of each claw with a jaundiced eye. Wind rattled the wooden wind chimes harmoniously in the open window behind him, and Tad watched golden dust motes dance in the beam of clear sunlight lancing down to puddle on the floor beside the old gryphon. “Let me see if I remember anything about Outpost Five.”
Tad sighed as Aubri went through the whole of his dry, impish, “absentminded” routine, first scratching his rusty-brown headfeathers meditatively (which made more dustmotes dance into the light), then staring up at the ceiling of the dwelling he shared with Judeth. His head moved again after a long moment, and Tad hoped he was finally going to say something. But no—he looked down at the shining terrazzo floor, inlaid in a geometric pattern of cream and brown that to all outward appearances fascinated him. That is, he seemed to be staring at those places; like any raptor, a gryphon’s peripheral vision was as good as his straight-on sight, and Tad knew very well that Aubri was watching them—well— like a hawk.
“Outpost Five,” the elder gryphon muttered, shaking his head so that the fragments of feather-sheath dislodged by his earlier scratch flew in all directions. A single headfeather, striped in brown and cream and as large as a human’s palm, drifted down to lie in the pool of sunlight beside him. Its edges were outlined in light, and the white fluff at the base glowed with a nimbus of reflected sunshine. “Outpost Five . . . now why does that sound familiar?”
This could go on for some time if Tad didn’t put a stop to it. He fixed Aubri with a look that said wordlessly, I know just what you’re doing and I’m not falling for it. In tones of deepest respect, he told his superior, “You and Commander Judeth took Outpost Five three years ago, sir, when we first took responsibility for it from the Haighlei. You said the tour of duty was a vacation from trainees who couldn’t molt without explicit written instructions.”
Aubri blinked mildly, but his great golden eyes were twinkling with hidden amusement. “Did I say that? I’m cleverer than I thought. Well, yes, I think I remember Outpost Five, now that you mention it. Pretty remote; it’s hard to find volunteers to man it. Good place for a vacation if what you want is thunderstorms every evening, fog every morning, and just enough of the sun to taunt you about, its existence. There’s a reason why the Haighlei call that kind of territory a ‘rain forest.’ It is wetter than a swimming kyree.”
Well, good. That’s one thing that wasn’t in our lessons on manning outposts. And there’s nothing in the briefing Blade read me that says anything about the weather there. “Would you say the weather is difficult enough to become a hindrance to our duties, sir?” he responded politely.
“Hindrance? I suppose if you’re the kind that thinks he’s going to melt if he has to fly in the rain.” Aubri’s mild manner turned just a trifle sharp, as if giving Tad subtle warning that he’d better not be thinking any such thing. His pupils dilated and constricted rapidly, another sign of warning. “No one promised sunny beaches and half-day duty when you volunteered for the Silvers.”
“It is dangerous to fly during thunderstorms, sir,” Blade put in politely, verbally maneuvering Tad from under Aubri’s talons. “And it can be dangerous to take off during heavy fog. We won’t be doing White Gryphon any favors if we get ourselves bunged up doing something stupid and they have to send in replacements and a rescue party. If the weather can become difficult enough to be dangerous, we ought to know about it in advance and know what warning signs to watch for. We can always ground ourselves and wait out a dangerous storm.”
“Well, now, that’s true enough.” Aubri was back to being the bumbling, genial old “uncle.” “But I don’t think I said anything to give either of you the impression that the weather was going to make it impossible to fly your regular patrols. You’ll just have to be careful, the way you were taught, and be diligent in watching for developing problems, that’s all. The thunderstorms aren’t violent, just briefly torrential, and the fog is always gone an hour after dawn.”
Both of which would have made his bones ache, if he’s having the same problems as my father. Aubri might be the oldest surviving gryphon from Urtho’s forces; he was certainly older than Skandranon. He looked it, too; his feathers were not as sleek or as perfectly preened as Tad’s were; in fact, they were a bit ragged, a trifle faded from what must have been his original colors of dark, warm brown and tan. Now he was rusty-brown and cream, and even feathers just grown in looked a bit shabby. Like Skandranon, he was of the broadwing variety, hawklike rather than falconiform, but he was huskier than Skandranon. His raptoral prototype was probably the umber-tailed hawkeagle, rather than the goshawk. There were signs of age in the delicate skin around his beak and eyes, a webwork of faint wrinkles, though those wrinkles were not as pronounced as the ones that humans got with increasing age. There was no sign of age in the mind, although you could not have told that from the way he was acting now.
“Acting,” indeed. It’s all an act, first to last, the old fraud. He never forgets anything; I’ll bet he remembers the order in which every trainee finished the last run on the obstacle course two weeks ago.
Aubri and Judeth were adept at playing the ally-antagonist game, with Aubri playing the absentminded and easily-fooled ally and Judeth the sharp-edged antagonist. Tad had caught onto the game in his first day of training, but then he had seen both Aubri and Judeth all the time when he was growing up. In particular, he had watched “absentminded” and “bumbling” Aubri best Skandranon time and time again over a game of stones, so it wasn’t likely that he would ever be fooled into thinking that Aubri wasn’t as sharp as his human partner.
Not that Father would ever admit to losing a game to Aubri except on purpose.
“Where is Commander Judeth, by the way?” he asked, for the white-haired human co-Commander of the Silver Gryphons had not been in evidence when the two of them arrived a few moments ago. Aubri jerked his beak toward the door, still standing open, as it had been when they arrived. On warm, pleasant days like this, most of the inhabitants of White Gryphon preferred to keep all doors and windows open to the sea breezes, and Aubri was no exception.
“Meeting with the Haighlei; they’re picking out the next set of Silvers to be in Shalaman’s personal guard when Sella and Vorn come back.” He preened a talon thoughtfully, chewing on the very end of it, his beak making little clicking sounds as he did so. “They’ll probably take Kally and Reesk,” he added. “They can’t resist matched sets.”
“You think so?” Blade asked skeptically; like Tad, she was aware that there were several pairs available for the duty whose skills were greater than the partners named.
Aubri snorted his contempt for anyone who would choose the looks of a set of guards over their ability. Not that Kally and Reesk were bad; no one was offered for Shalaman’s guards who was bad. For that matter, anyone who wasn’t up to Aubri’s standards was generally asked to find some other vocation long before they got out of training—and exceptions had better prove themselves within six months or they would have to return that coveted silver badge. But by the yardstick of these that Judeth and her partner picked to represent White Gryphon in the service of the Haighlei Emperor, these two were just average.
Nevertheless, they were showy, their plumage of ruddy gold and bronze wo
uld complement the gold and lionskins of Shalaman’s Grand Court, and they could stand at perfect attention for hours without moving a feather. Tadrith pointed out all of those attributes.
“The Emperor’s Chief Advisor has other things to consider, sir,” he finished politely. “It is very important, protocol-wise, for the Emperor’s guards to be as still as carvings all during Court. That stillness implies his power and control.”
“It’s not as if they’re ever going to have to do anything, sir,” Blade said injudiciously. “Even assuming an assassin or madman got as far as the Emperor’s Guard, he’d take one look at a pair of gryphons in full battle rage and pass out.”
Tad winced. That was not a bright thing to say— not to a veteran of the Great Wars and the Migration. There was a slight grating as Aubri’s talons reflexively scratched the terrazzo.
“Maybe,” Aubri replied with a narrow-eyed glare in her direction that thoroughly cowed her. “Maybe. Never assume anything, young Silver. Assumptions get you killed. Either you know, or you make your plans for the worst-case contingency. Always. Never count on the best happening. I thought we taught you better than that.”
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