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Mercedes Lackey and Larry Dixon - Mage Wars 03 - The Silver Gryphon.txt

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by The Silver Gryphon [lit]


  granite, slate and shale. In the winter, thick sheepskins and wool rugs would

  cover that cold white floor, and the doors and windows would be shut tight

  against the gales, but in the summer all those coverings were whisked away

  into storage so that an overheated gryphon could lie belly-down on the cool

  rock floor and dump some of that body heat quickly. And, in fact, Keenath was

  doing just that, spread out on the floor, with wings fanned, panting slightly.

  “I was just thinking about dinner,” his twin greeted him. “I might have known

  that thoughts of food would bring you home.”

  Tadrith snorted. “Just because you’re obsessed with eating it doesn’t follow

  that I am! I’ll have you know that I only just now escaped from yet another

  yawnsome Section meeting. Food was the very last thing on my mind, and

  escaping Aubri was the first!”

  Keenath laughed silently, beak parted, as his tongue flicked in and out

  while his sides heaved. “That must have been a first, then,” he bantered. “So

  who was she? The pretty young thing that your mind was really on, I mean.

  Kylleen, perhaps?”

  Tadrith was not going to get caught in that trap. “I haven’t made up my

  mind,” he said loftily. “I have so many to choose from, after all, it hardly seems

  reasonable to narrow the field this early in the race. It wouldn’t be fair to the

  ladies, either, to deny my company to any of them. It is only polite to distribute

  my attentions over as wide a selection as possible.”

  Keenath reached out a claw and snagged a pillow, spun it twice as he

  raised up, and expertly hurled it at his brother’s head. Tadrith ducked, and it

  shot across the room to thud against the wall on the other side.

  “You should be careful doing that,” he warned, flopping down on the cool

  stone himself. “We’ve lost too many pillows over the cliff that way. So what

  were you studying that has you panting so hard?”

  “Field treatment and rescues under combat conditions, and specifically,

  blood stanching and wound binding,” Keenath replied. “Why? Don’t ask me;

  we haven’t seen a state of combat since before you and I were born.

  Winterhart’s idea. Probably because I take after Mother.”

  Tadrith nodded; Keenath was very similar in size and build to their mother,

  Zhaneel. Like her, he was technically a gryfalcon rather than a gryphon. He

  was small and light, most of his musculature in his chest and shoulders. His

  coloring and body type were that of a peregrine, his wings long and narrow,

  but most importantly, he had inherited Zhaneel’s stub-taloned, dexterous

  claw-hands.

  This was important, for Keenath was learning the craft of the trondi’irn from

  Winterhart herself, and he needed “hands” as clever as a human’s. Before his

  apprenticeship was complete, he would be able to do anything a Healer with

  no Gift could do. The difference between him and an herb-, fire-, or knife-

  Healer was that, like all trondi’irn, his training was tailored to the needs and

  physiology of gryphons and other nonhumans.

  Zhaneel had been trained as a fighter—and others had come to the

  realization that her small size and lack of fighting talons could be put to other

  uses too late for her to learn a new trade. At that point, she had opted to

  adapt her style of fighting to her body type rather than try to fit the accepted

  mold, and with Skandranon’s help she had made the best of her situation with

  brilliant results. But when Keenath had shown early signs that he would

  resemble her physically, he was encouraged to think of a career in something

  other than the Silvers.

  Nevertheless, it had surprised everyone when he had declared he wanted

  to train as a trondi’irn. Up until now, that had been an occupation reserved for

  humans and hertasi.

  Tadrith stretched and yawned, turning his head so that the breeze coming

  in from the open door could ruffle his crest-feathers. “At least you were doing

  something!” he complained. “I sat there until I thought my hindquarters were

  going to turn to stone, and if any part of me is going to grow stiff on a day like

  this, that is not my primary choice. I couldn’t even take a nap; as usual, old

  Aubri had me conspicuously up front. Have to maintain the tradition of the

  Black Gryphon, of course; have to pretend every Section meeting is as

  important as a wartime conference. Have to act as if every detail could mean

  life or death.” He stretched again, enjoying the fact that he could always vent

  his frustration to his twin. “You should be glad you look the way you do,

  Keeth. It’s bad enough being Skandranon’s son, but the fact that I look like

  him doesn’t even remotely help! You try living up to the legend, sometime! It’s

  enough to make anyone want to bite something!”

  And to display the strength of his own frustration, he snagged the poor,

  mistreated pillow Keenath had lately lobbed at him, and bit at it savagely. It

  was a good thing they had the cushions covered in tough linen-canvas, for the

  pillows had to take a great deal of punishment.

  “Well, if you think it’s hard living up to the legend, just try breaking away

  from it!” Keenath retorted, as he always did. Tadrith’s twin groaned as he

  followed Tadrith’s example, stretching. “Half the time I’m left wondering if

  Winterhart isn’t pushing me so hard expecting me to fail, and half the time I

  think she’s doing it because everyone knows Skandranon never failed at

  anything he tried.”

  Tadrith snorted and mock-scraped his hindfeet, as if burying something

  particularly noxious from a previous meal. “He never let it be known how often

  he failed, which is the same thing to legend-builders.”

  His brother snorted right back and continued. “And if it isn’t Winterhart, it’s

  everyone else, watching, waiting to see if the old Black Gryphon magic is

  strong enough in Keenath to enable the youngling to pull off another miracle.”

  He parted his beak in a sardonic grin. “At least you have a path to follow—I’m

  going through new skies in the fog, and I have no idea if I’m going to run up

  against a cliff-face.”

  Naturally, Tadrith had his own set of retorts, already primed, proving how

  much more difficult it was to have to follow in the wake of the Black Gryphon.

  It was an old set of complaints, worn familiar by much handling, and much

  enjoyed by both of them.

  Who can I complain to, if not to my twin? For all that they were unalike in

  form and temper, they were bound by the twin-bond, and knew each other

  with the twin’s intimacy. There were other twins among the gryphons, and one

  or two sets among the humans, and all the twin-sets agreed; there was a

  bond between them that was unlike any other sibling tie. Tadrith often thought

  that he’d never have been able to cope with the pressure if Keenath hadn’t

  been around, and Keenath had said the same thing about his sibling.

  Finally the litany of complaints wound to its inevitable conclusion—which

  was, of course, that there was no conclusion possible. They ran through the

  sequence at least once every day, having long ago decided that if they
could

  not change their circumstances, at least they could enjoy complaining about

  them.

  “So what has your tail in a knot this time?” Keenath asked. “It wasn’t just

  the meeting.”

  Tadrith rolled over on his back to let the breeze cool his belly. “Sometimes I

  think I’m going to do something drastic if Blade and I don’t get assigned

  soon!” he replied, discontentedly. “What are they waiting for? We’ve earned

  our freedom by now!”

  “They could be waiting for you to finally demonstrate a little patience,

  featherhead,” Keenath said, and had to duck as the pillow made a return trip

  in his direction.

  There might have been more pillows than just the one flying, if Silverblade

  herself, Tadrith’s partner, hadn’t chosen that moment to walk in their open

  door.

  She stood in the doorway, posing unconsciously, with the sun making a

  dark silhouette of her against the brilliant sky. Tadrith knew it was not a

  conscious pose; it was totally out of her nature to do anything to draw

  attention to herself unless it was necessary. Blade was the name the

  gryphons knew her by, though her childhood name hadn’t been the use-name

  she wore now; it had been “Windsong,” so dubbed by her fond parents in the

  hopes, no doubt, that she would grow up to resemble one or the other of

  them. “Windsong” was a perfectly good name for a trondi’irn or even a

  kestra’chern or a Kaled’a’in Healer or mage. But “Windsong” hadn’t had the

  inclination for any of those things.

  The young woman who broke her pose and strode into the aerie with the

  soundless tread of a hunter was small by Kaled’a’in standards, although there

  was no mistaking her lineage. Her short black hair, cut in a way that

  suggested an aggressive bird of prey, framed a face that could only have

  graced the head of one of the Clan k’Leshya, and her beak of a nose

  continued the impression of a hunting hawk. Her golden skin proclaimed the

  lineage further, as did her brilliantly blue eyes. There was nothing of her

  mother about her—and very little of her father.

  She fit in very well with those members of Clan k’Leshya descended from

  warrior stock, however. Despite her small size, she was definitely molded in

  their image. There was nothing to suggest softness or yielding; she was hard,

  lithe, and every bit a warrior, all muscle and whipcord.

  Tadrith well recalled the first time he had seen her stand that way. The day

  she showed her real personality, one month after her twelfth birthday, a month

  during which she had suddenly turned overnight from a lively if

  undistinguished child to a rough and unpolished version of what she now was.

  Amberdrake had been holding a gathering of some sort, which had included

  the children, and of course Tadrith and Keenath had been in attendance.

  Winterhart had addressed her daughter as “Windsong” during the course of

  the meal, and the little girl had unexpectedly stood up and announced to the

  room in a firm and penetrating voice that she was not to be called by that

  name anymore.

  “I am going to be a Silver,” she had said, loudly and with total conviction. “I

  want to be called Silverblade from now on.”

  Silverblade had then sat down, flushed but proud, amidst gasps and

  murmurs. It was a rather dramatic move even for someone with an outgoing

  personality like Tadrith; for one as self-effacing as Blade, it must have taken

  an enormous effort of will—or assertion of the truth, as the k’Leshya believed.

  The willpower to do anything would come, the songs and writings said, if the

  motive was pure.

  Nothing her parents could say or do would persuade her otherwise—not

  that Amberdrake and Winterhart had been so selfish as to attempt to thwart

  her in what she so clearly wanted. From that day on, she would respond to no

  other name than Silverblade, or “Blade” for short, and now even both her

  parents referred to her by that name.

  It certainly fits her better than “Windsong.” She can’t carry a tune any better

  than I could carry a boulder!

  “Keeth! I hear you didn’t kill too many patients today, congratulations!” she

  said as she invited herself into the room and sat down on one of the

  remaining cushions.

  “Thank you,” Keenath said dryly. “And do come in, won’t you?”

  She ignored his attempt at sarcasm. “I’ve got some good news, bird,” she

  said, turning to Tadrith and grinning broadly as he rolled over. “I didn’t think it

  could wait, and besides, I wanted to be the one to break it to you.”

  “News?” Tadrith sat up. “What kind of news?” There was only one piece of

  news that he really cared about—and only one he thought Blade would want

  to deliver to him herself.

  Her grin broadened. “You should have stayed after the meeting; there was

  a reason why Aubri wanted you up front. If you were half as diligent as you

  pretend to be, you’d know for yourself by now.” She eyed him teasingly. “I’m

  tempted to string this out, just to make you squirm.”

  “What?” he burst out, leaping to his feet. “Tell me! Tell me this instant! Or—

  I’ll—” He gave up, unable to think of a threat she couldn’t counter, and just

  ground his beak loudly.

  Now she laughed, seeing that she had gotten him aroused. “Well, since it

  looks as if you might burst if I don’t—it’s what we’ve been hoping for. We’ve

  gotten our first unsupervised assignment, and it’s a good one.”

  Only the low ceiling prevented him from leaping into the air in excitement,

  although he did spring up high enough to brush his crest-feathers and

  wingtips against the ceiling. “When? Where? How long till we can get in

  action?” He shuffled his taloned feet, his tail lashing with exuberance, all but

  dancing in place.

  She laughed at his reaction, and gestured to him to sit down. “Just as

  quickly as you and I would like, bird. We leave in six days, and we’ll be gone

  for six moons. We’re going to take charge of Outpost Five.”

  Now his joy knew no bounds. “Five? Truly?” he squealed, sounding like a

  fledgling and not caring. “Five?”

  Outpost Five was the most remote outpost in all of the territory jointly

  claimed by White Gryphon and their Haighlei allies. When this particular band

  of refugees had fled here, as they escaped the final Cataclysm of the Mage of

  Silence’s war with Ma’ar the would-be conqueror of the continent, they had

  been unaware that the land they took for a new home was already claimed.

  They’d had no idea that it was part of the land ruled by one of the Haighlei

  Emperors (whom the Kaled’a’in knew as the Black Kings), King Shalaman. A

  clash with them had been narrowly averted, thanks to the work of Amberdrake

  and Skandranon, Blade’s father and Tadrith’s. Now White Gryphon jointly held

  these lands in trust with the Emperor, and its citizens were charged with the

  responsibility of guarding the border in return for King Shalaman’s grant of the

  White Gryphon lands.

  It was a border of hundreds of leagues of wilderness, and the Emperor

 
himself had not been able to “guard” it; he had relied on the wilderness itself

  to do the guarding. This was not as insurmountable a task as it might have

  seemed; with gryphons to fly patrol, it was possible to cover vast stretches of

  countryside with minimal effort. Outpost Five was the most remote and

  isolated of all of the border posts. Because of that, it was hardly the most

  desirable position so far as the Silvers were concerned.

  For most Silvers, perhaps, but not for Blade and Tadrith. This meant three

  whole months in a place so far away from White Gryphon that not even a hint

  of what transpired there would reach the city unless he or Blade sent it by

  teleson. There would be no watching eyes, waiting to see if he could replicate

  his legendary father. There would be no tongues wagging about his exploits,

  imagined or real.

  Of course, there would also be no delicious gryphon ladies for three

  months, but that was a small price to pay. Three months of chastity would be

  good for him; it would give him a rest. He would be able to use the leisure

  time to invent new and clever things to do and say to impress them. He would

  have all that time to perfect his panache. By the time he returned, as a

  veteran of the border, he should be able to charm any lady he chose.

  Outpost duty was a long assignment, in no small part because it was so

  difficult to get people to the outposts. Even though magic was now working

  reliably, and had been for several years, no one really wanted to trust his

  body to a Gate just yet. Too many things could go wrong with a Gate at the

  best of times, and at the moment the only purpose anyone was willing to put

  them to was to transport unliving supplies. The consumables and their mail

  and special requests would be supplied to their outpost that way; a mage at

  White Gryphon who was familiar with the place would set up a Gate to the

  outpost. Workers would then pitch bundles through, and the mage would drop

  the Gate as soon as he could.

  No one wants to leave a Gate up very long either. You never know what

  might go wrong, or what might stroll through it while it’s up.

  “You know, of course, that there’s a great deal of uninhabited and poorly-

  surveyed territory in between Five and home,” Blade went on with relish.

  “We’re going to be completely on our own from the time we leave to the time

 

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