After a candlemark of reassuring talk and gawkers coming to see the beast that saved the captain, the Healers arrived to tend to all the self-named “gimps.” In the hours that passed, a couple of dozen soldiers asked the captain if they could touch Kelvren, and after the first one scratched at his brow ridges for half an hour, Kel consented to all.
The cloud cover broke and Treyvan and Pena found themselves in searing sunlight. They’d made a short Gating to shorten their flight time, but then found themselves with a strong tailwind and Treyvan calculated it’d be quicker to fly directly for as long as that lasted. Despite the desperate circumstances, Treyvan found himself feeling good about it. He hadn’t been on a truly long flight since the return to Haven from the Plains. Now feeling the sun on his back, the magic tingling through his feathers, watching the terrain roll on below, he exulted in the glory of flight.
:Pena,: he Mindspoke. :You don’t need a rest soon, do you? I have good thermals ahead.:
:Oh, no, you go on ahead. I’m thinking about new tunnels around the Collegium and the embassies, and where to tap a new hotspring. And where to set in a new baking oven.: Treyvan felt the hertasi pat his back. :An idle mind is my workshop. But, Treyvan, aren’t we due to make another Gate attempt?:
:Soon,: he replied. :If I recall my maps right, we should be in range of a clean Gating within the candlemark. I’ll try to anchor high up to correct for any targeting drift. We can fly the difference from there. I’ll find us a good landmark by the main road, mark it with a lasting mage-light, and send word to Whitebird by teleson. We’ll set an arrival time. When she gets there, I’ll try another Gate to bring her in to where the gryphon is.:
:Aren’t you the clever one!: Pena chuckled in his mind.
:Just trying to keep up with you,: Treyvan answered, and laughed out loud as he soared higher.
Kelvren dozed off and on, as best his wounds would let him. The humans were given drugged drinks to reduce their pain, but Birce was not willing to risk mixing such stuff with a gryphon’s unknown anatomy. It was very hard to get good rest when parts of your body were simply screaming at you and throbbed with every breath. Still—the attention, the full belly, and the company gave him new strength. When he was able to, he answered questions and shared scores of stories about his exploits and his people with dozens of eager listeners. He related the story of Hallock’s Healing, but felt a pang of wistfulness when Hallock’s wife Genni was brought up, because Kelvren was acutely aware he had no mate to go back to should he survive this. And by this age, he should.
The night swallowed up the sky, and he lost all track of time between naps. Most of the rest of the convalescents were asleep, their night dosages in full effect. He raised his head, looking up to the starry sky, seeded by sparks from the camp’s fires. He whimpered softly.
This wasn’t what Skandranon was like—he would never have been laid up with such injuries, wasting away. And they have to be looking for me—Darien and Firesong and the others; they must be able to send me help or bring me back. I know that great legends usually involve great funerals—but I don’t want to die.
“Sir? Y’there, sir? You awake?” He heard Jeft’s voice at his side and turned an eye that way without lifting his head. “Oh, good, you’re awake. Sir, I, uh, my mum wanted to see you. I fetched her here.” The young man waved someone in. A woman in trews and blouse carrying a large basket knelt beside him, and licked her lips.
“My lord gryphon,” she said in a voice gentled down as if talking to a scared child, “Jeft’s talked so much about you, I wanted to see you myself. You—” and she glanced at where Jeft stood back by Kel’s flank, “—you’ve treated him well, better than most people ever have. I—wanted you to know it is appreciated. He’s never really had many friends, and even then they didn’t consider him an equal. But then here you are, this—wonder dropped into our lives—and you talk to him as a person. Not as a servant. You’ve done us a great honor.”
Kel listened to every word and raised his chin up then laid his head sideways. “The honorrr isss mine, Lady. . . .”
“Ammari. Not a Lady, though, my lord gryphon. I am just a seamstress and artisan.” She looked down at her hands when she said this. There was something in her tone that was deeply sad for a moment.
“Hurrrh. Jeft isss a brrrave—” and he paused, “I won’t sssay ‘boy.’ But he isss brrrave. Sssmarrrt.” He brought his head up and shifted his weight from his sideways slouch, which sent lightning shots through his body from each stitch and scab deep into him. “Urrrh. Ssso. Welcome to my palacsse.”
Ammari pulled back the cloth cover from the basket, and hesitantly pulled out a scrub brush. “Jeft said that—that you didn’t look—uhm, that you needed some cleaning up. And he knew you were in pain. When he gets hurt, he comes to me, so he thought if you were in pain—I should come to find you.” She asked, apprehensively, “You won’t bite me if I do this badly, will you?”
Kel smiled but took his time to answer. “Haven’t the ssstrrrength to bite, Ammarrri. You have no fearrrsss frrrom me. But. You arrre herrre forrr morrre than tending to my filth.” He glanced back to where Jeft was pinching and toying with the tattered feathertip of one of his primaries. “And it isss not jussst about him, isss it?”
Ammari swallowed and nodded to Kel. “It’s—about both of us. I’ve never been like this before—I feel so lost. My husband—” She caught Kel’s eye. He nodded. “You know, then? Jeft must have told you. I’ve been alone with Jeft all this time, and we work so hard, but—when all of this happened, it just—it’s just been too much for us. I’ve been trying to find work here at the camp—honorable work, I mean. But it’s so hard.” She reached out to Kelvren’s face, but let her touch fall instead along his neck. His hackles looked black in the dim light. Flakes of dirt crumbled away off of feathers. “I’m sorry—words don’t come easily about this. I feel selfish being here, when you’re so badly hurt. But, with what happened—you’re magic. And—magic does bad and good in this life, and you—you’re good magic. Everyone talks about what you could do. What you did do. I don’t know where else to turn, and Jeft thinks so much of you.” Ammari pulled her hand back and wiped her eyes, where tears had welled up. “I just—is there any work I could do for you—is there anything you can do to help us?”
Kelvren let out a long, descending sigh and rested his head again. “Sssoldierrrsss have been coming herrre all day. My flessh issss brrroken, but my earrrsss arrre sssharrrp. They come to sssee the oddity—the thing that sssaved sssome of them. Sssome come in, want to touch featherrrsss orrr talonsss. They want to have sssome luck rrrub off on them. Hurrrh. Foolisssh—they want luck frrrom sssomeone who had all of thisss happen to him?” He snorted.
“Lord gryphon, any of those injuries would have killed a man. You survived how many? A dozen? Two? Cut, shot, stabbed, lanced through, even? And still you can speak? Even walk?”
“Hurrrh. I am ssstill dying,” Kelvren replied distastefully.
“Lord gryphon, we are all dying. But if you’ll forgive me for being so bold, sir, until you are dead, you are still living.”
Kelvren stayed silent for a while, and Ammari started brushing out feathers while Jeft picked away at the larger clumps of dirt around Kel’s hindlegs. “You know, my husband would have loved to have been here with you. He loved birds and kept feathers when he found them out on his travels. Yours would be a prize, if you dropped one.”
Kel looked sidelong at the woman.
“Jeft sssaid that you werrre about to be rrrich. What of that? Isssn’t money what sssoothesss illsss in Valdemarrr?”
Ammari smiled a little—a flicker of pride, then the sadness again. “When the Changecircle came—we—had just lost my husband. I was unconsolable. I ran into the circle in my grief. I just—clawed at the ground, crying out for someone to bring him back. Somehow. I knew there was magic there—else how could it have appeared?—but by morning, there was still no help. I clawed at the ground while I cried—I cried so
much.” She paused in her work. “When daylight came, I saw that my hands were—different. There was something in that soil that made my hands glimmer in the light.” She resumed brushing. “My man was not back. But maybe he provided for us in his own way. I found a way to sift this from the soil and bind it, so that it would adhere to cloth and leather. No one but Jeft and I would go into the circle—so it remained ours alone. Almost all the money I had I spent to buy the land the circle was in. I made jars and jars of my solution. And there it sits.” She sighed. “Before all of this strife, traders were going to carry some to Haven, and Deedun, and—well, you understand. I staked all I had on a luxury item, and now no one wants it and no traders will come for it.”
Kelvren rumbled a little and then asked, “Thisss—sssubssstancsse of yourrrss. Do you have any to ssshow me?” The glint of speculation was in his eyes.
Ammari set the brush down and brought out a kerchief from her blouse. Even in the meager light, it shone with an irridescence like oil on water in bright sunlight. Jeft beamed when he saw it. “My mum’s special. She’s smart. An’ I helped, with the makin’ of the stuff.”
Kel admired the cloth as Ammari twisted and turned it around, showing its shimmer. “And thisss—ssubssstancssse. Isss it expensssive? Doesss it poissson, or ssstink, or come off easssily? Doesss anyone elssse know of it?” He added, with a hint of shrewdness, “And doesss it bind to featherrrsss?”
By noon of the second day, Kelvren’s plan was in motion. Through Hallock, he arranged the purchase of several jars of Ammari’s mixture. It positively blazed in the full light of day. Small wonder she knew it would make her wealthy! With his guidance, several of the convalescents trimmed away particular stray and partial feathers from around his wounds, painted them with the bright substance, and set them aside to dry.
Transmutation, he thought. Though I fade, I still have resources. When he had time to rest, the pain actually sharpened his thoughts—it was only when he moved that it overwhelmed him completely. I can turn what little we have into something important, whether I can fly—or even walk—again. He had to be of use—he couldn’t bear to slide off into oblivion meekly. So, then, what was there to do? Assuming he couldn’t move, he had to somehow use what he was rather than what he could do. He was unique in the camp—an oddity. He had reputation here, even a growing mystique.
The elements were there: the soldiers’ superstitions about how he was good luck. A tent full of invalids making arrows. And to bring it all together, Ammari’s secret, beautiful mixture, that shone like—
Magic.
The history was told lovingly, in the way only someone who loved tales, and had actually experienced a part of them, could tell a story.
Far off to the west, there was a city made of hope and light. It was made to honor its peoples’ savior, and named for him. White Gryphon was built of terraces and sweeping walkways carved from a white cliffside overlooking a perfect bay. In the centuries since its founding, its wings had gradually spread out around the bay, enfolding it as a loving protective bird would cover its nestlings from cold or rain. Its wings, in fact, truly did appear to be wings—canopies and promenades swept in complex curves on a massive scale, to outline individual feathers when seen from the sea and barrier islands. The city center was a huge complex of overlapping towers making the hackles, breastfeathers and lower mandible. The highest and widest complex, crested the whole of the city in a stylized beak, with its eyes and ears facing north. In summer, the sunrise cast the shadow of a raptor across the bay waters, and at noon the eyes of the beast were completely concealed by shadow. At sunset the water reflections shimmered upon the creation and the sun’s colors blazed upon it while the thousands of small lights and fires came up one by one to greet the stars for the oncoming night.
To the immediate east was the more conventional side of the city that had sprawled out as more housing, workshops, and trade centers were needed—but past that, the terrain became terrible indeed. Forest that became impassable. Trees as broad as eighty men thrust up to a canopy three hundred feet tall, above treefalls and hidden rivers as deep as oceans. Deadly ravines lurked under simple ground cover, and nightmarish beasts hunted anything that ventured in.
Past that came hundreds of miles of marshlands and desert, two entirely different kinds of forest, and then mountain ranges and a jungle. Then grassland, and finally after all of that, the other great forest. The Pelagirs.
Gryphons need the help of trondi’irn, though, like me, sometimes gryphons learn some healing along with other powers. Yet, one pair endured the venture for over six years, alone, blazing a trail eastward from White Gryphon, until they found their city’s long-lost brethren.
“. . . That pairrr was Trrreyvan and Hydona. When I call them the Grrreat Onesss, it isss becaussse they arrre the brrravessst explorerrrsss of ourrr time. And they arrre herrre, in Valdemarrr. They helped everrryone sssurvive the Ssstormsss. And Hallock Ssstaverrrn knows them. Essscorrrted them around Haven—perrrrsssonally!”
Jeft looked up at Kelvren in amazement, having utterly forgotten the bow-wrapping he’d been tasked with, tangled between his fingers. The few other locals and Guard in attendance, and all of the convalescing soldiers had similar expressions. It wasn’t just that they had a six-hundred-pound, taloned, killing fury telling them fireside stories, it was that these stories were uplifting. His tales fired the imagination in ways no one had expected. Most of the soldiers would probably never see active duty again, but instead of being stuck with the wasting-away grousing of lousy encampment and the same old blather, this creature they’d first thought would be an intrusion instead had become needed because all of his tales were new.
“And you got here because of that trail they found?” one of the horsemen asked. Kelvren nodded. “An’ so did all these strange allies that came with th’ Hawkbrothers?” Kel nodded again. “An’ these trondi-urn people could fix you up?”
There was a collective holding of breath as that question halted the mood.
“Yesss. But that isssn’t to be. Ssso. Let usss sssee just how tough I rrreally am, mmm?” The gryphon tried to play it off. “We ssspend time togetherrr herrre. It isss a good exchange. You learrrn about farrr-away landsss and amazing culturesss. I learrrn about mud and sssmoke.” People laughed. “And fletching. I finally get to sssee some arrrowsss that arrren’t going into me.” There were a few chuckles at that, and someone in the back cracked, “Oy, I never really aimed at you, y’know!” The jovial mood was returning.
“Hah! You asssume you could!” he retorted. “I have dodged arrrows, you know. Jussst not enough of them. The one the city was named for, Ssskandrranon, talesss sssay he could fly thrrrough whole brrrigadesss of archerrrsss and emerrrge unssscathed.”
“You ever notice that the older a story gets, the more invulnerable the heroes are?” one of the enlisted women snickered.
Kelvren answered in complete seriousness, “Oh, no. No, thisss isss trrrue. Thessse thingsss . . . they arrre important for usss. Grrryphonsss—we need to be known. Trrreyvan and Hydona, Kuarrrtess and Ussstecca, and Tusssak Kael the Elderrr. Zhaneel the Ssswift and Aubrrri the Ssstalwart, and Kecharrra—herrr name came to mean “beloved” in ourrr language. They have meant asss much to usss by legend asss they did in life, and accomplisssh asss much by legend asss by deed. Ssskandrrranon Rrrassshkae isss known to all of usss becaussse he wasss that amazing. And now—he isss known to you.”
Kel’s facial feathers fluffed and he held his head high for a few moments. With his stories, he had done his part to make his heroes immortal.
Above the mill, at midday, there was suddenly a bright flash. What appeared to be a hole in the sky, rimmed by an everchanging glimmery edge, showed through to a landscape of low grass beside a wide roadway. The light came from a column of mage-light the height of two men on the other side of the hole, bright enough to be noticed by people below. A hulking shadow eclipsed the light, and observers below shouted and pointed up. The shadow burst throu
gh the hole and huge wings snapped outward to stop its arcing fall. It flapped ponderously to level its flight before circling over the encampment. Whatever it was, it wanted its outline to be clearly seen before landing.
Treyvan spied the Command flag at the mill, circled the Guard camp four times, and glided to land in the road between the rows of carriages. The door guards readied pikes and called for reinforcements, and a junior officer went pale when he popped his head out. Treyvan stood with his wings up, then sat on his haunches to be received. Pena stayed on his back, as yet unseen, and appeared to be simply another bundle of cargo.
Then a familiar figure stepped into the road from the mill’s entry. Hallock closed on the gryphon and hailed. “Ambassador Treyvan! This is unexpected! It has been too long since I saw you last.” He gestured for the door guard to go back to vigil, and waved off questions from junior officers, still walking forward with the aid of his walking stick. “Welcome. Are you here about Kelvren? He’s in a bad way. Because of me, I fear, I was the one he Healed.”
“Kelvrrren, you sssay? The wingleaderrr frrrom k’Valdemarrr?” Treyvan’s knowledge of gryphons was encyclopedic. He could recite the names and positions of hundreds. “Hurrrh. Wherrre isss he? Frrriend of Firrresssong’sss. A badly wounded grrryphon isss harrrd to find by ssspell. If Firrresssong hasss not aided Kelvrrren, the sssituation mussst be grrrave indeed.” Treyvan turned to accompany Hallock, and paused for Pena to dismount. She peeled off her helmet and goggles, and tucked them under an arm while she walked alongside the others. Hallock filled in the senior gryphon on what he knew of Kelvren’s condition, talking continuously until they neared the convalescents’ tent.
They heard singing. Not just from inside, but from the eighteen soldiers standing outside, lacquering sheaves of arrows. In the middle of the song, a gryphon voice—thin and strained—nonetheless boomed a line, and made the others grin. The soldiers outside halted singing one by one, and moved backward as one as Treyvan, Pena, and the captain approached. Only a few remembered to salute. They had come to know Kelvren, a terribly wounded gryphon—but this was a fully healthy gryphon stalking toward them, bedecked in regalia of rank, all but dwarfing the captain beside him, with a little lizard creature padding along beside them.
Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar Page 5