we return.”
“What, no lovely gryphon ladies and human stallions to wile away your time
of exile?” jibed Keenath, and shuddered realistically. “Well, never mind. I can
guarantee that in the case of the ladies, I can make certain that they will not
notice your absence, twin.”
“They are more likely to cry out in pain at your I poor attempts at gallantry,
Keeth,” Tadrith told him and turned back to Blade. “You realize that this shows
a great deal of trust in our abilities, don’t you? I mean, the usual first
assignment is something like—”
“Like guarding the farms, I know,” she replied smugly. “That must have
been why they kept us behind the others, training and overtraining us. They
wanted to be sure we were ready, and I bet they decided to send us out there
because we’re the only people who really want to go. In fact, I would bet my
favorite armband that Aubri plans to send us out on long outpost duty every
chance he can get!”
They grinned at each other with relish, for there was another aspect to
outpost duty they both anticipated with pleasure. Those so posted were
expected to do a certain amount of exploring, and sometimes the explorers
found something valuable. The Emperor Shalaman got a share, of course, as
did the treasury of White Gryphon, but the generous portion remaining went to
the intrepid explorers who made the discovery. Not that Tadrith was greedy,
of course, but he did have a certain love of ornamentation, a pronounced
interest in the finer things of life, and finding something extremely valuable
would make it possible for him to indulge his interests. And it didn’t hurt to
have the wherewithal to impress the ladies, either, and ornament them a bit
now and then.
“Just how much exploring has been done up there?” he asked.
Blade’s eyes widened knowingly. “Not all that much,” she replied. “And
there are more ways to explore than sailing over the tree-canopy, hoping
something on the ground will show itself.”
He nodded, following her thoughts. Probably most of the Silvers assigned
to Outpost Five in the past had been gryphon teams; that made sense,
although it probably wore them down terribly, not having humans and hertasi
to tend to them. A human on station, though, could make a detailed survey of
a particular area, including the smaller animals and plants living there, and
take mineral samples. That was something a gryphon was ill-suited or, for that
matter, ill-inclined, to do.
“There’s been no trouble from that sector for years,” she mused. “We
should have plenty of time for surveys.”
“But most of all, you’ll be on your own,” Keenath said enviously. “I wish I
could find some way to escape for a few months.”
Blade patted his shoulder sympathetically. “And miss all the benefits of
trondi’irn, hertasi and kestra’chern fawning on you every spare moment? The
horror! You could ask to be taken on by the Silvers once you’ve finished
training under Winterhart,” she suggested. “Then you’d get some assignments
elsewhere. Down with the embassy at Khimbata, maybe; you could go as the
trondi’irn taking care of the Emperor’s gryphon-guards.”
Keenath’s eyes lit up at the idea, and Tadrith knew how he felt. For a
chance to get out of White Gryphon he would have put up with just about
anything.
The problem was that there was literally nothing that he said or did that
Skandranon didn’t eventually find out about. It wasn’t that Skan was
purposefully spying on his sons, or even deliberately overseeing them—
Well, not much, anyway. And not overtly.
—it was just that everyone told the Black Gryphon everything that went on
in this city. A mouse couldn’t sneeze without Skandranon finding out about it
eventually.
Neither can we—except that it’s guaranteed that if we sneeze, someone
will go running to Father with the news. Not only that, but the report would be
detailed as to how, when, and how well we sneezed.
It wasn’t exactly tale-bearing, for people made certain to bring Skan the
most flattering reports possible. Skan was a very proud father.
He can’t get enough of hearing about all the marvelous things Keeth and I
are doing, especially now that we aren’t in the family aerie to bully into making
reports on ourselves. The trouble is, he is fully capable of blowing the most
minor accomplishment up into the equivalent of a brilliant piece of wartime
strategy or heroism.
It was embarrassing, to say the least.
And, of course, anyone who wanted to curry favor with the Black Gryphon
knew the fastest way to his heart was to praise his sons. Skan would go out of
his way to see that someone who flattered the twins got a full hearing and
careful consideration. That was all he would do, but often enough, that was
sufficient.
As Keeth continued to look envious and a little pained, Tadrith preened his
short eartufts in sympathy. “I wish there was a way to send you out of the city
for trondi’irn training, Twin,” he murmured.
Keenath sighed. “So do I. When we were all choosing the subject we
wanted to study, I tried to think of some discipline I could enjoy that would
also get me out of the city at the same time, but I couldn’t. I think I’m going to
be good at this, and it certainly feels right, but it means I’m stuck here.”
Blade wore as sympathetic an expression as Tadrith.
“There is this, Keeth,” the gryphon said to his twin. “You can just go on
doing what you are doing and you will have earned every right to be
considered unique and special. You’re writing your own definition of a
trondi’irn. You don’t have to stand there, blushing at the nares with
embarrassment when someone comes in acting as if running the obstacle
course was the equivalent of stealing one of Ma’ar’s magical weapons.”
But Keenath ruffled his neck-feathers and clicked his beak. “That’s true up
to a point, but there is another problem. Father literally does not understand
me. We have absolutely nothing in common. When I talk about what I’m
doing, he gets this strange look on his face, as if I were speaking a foreign
tongue.” He laughed weakly. “I suppose I am, really. Well, I’ll get my chance
eventually.”
“You will,” Blade promised, but she made no move to rise to her feet. “I’m
going to have to break the news to my parents, assuming that they don’t
already know, which is more than likely. Tad, you’d better figure out how to tell
yours.”
“They’ll know,” Tadrith replied with resignation. “Father is probably already
telling everyone he thinks will listen how there’s never been anyone as young
as I am posted so far away on his first assignment.”
Blade laughed ruefully. “You’re probably right. And mine is probably doing
the same—except—”
She didn’t complete the sentence, but Tadrith knew her well enough not to
pressure her. They each had their own set of problems, and talking about
them wasn’t going to solve them.
Only
time would do that.
Or so he hoped.
Silverblade sat back on her heels when the twins began to argue over what
Tadrith should pack. She was in no real hurry to get back home; since she
was still living with her parents, she did not even have the illusion of privacy
that her own aerie would have provided. The moment she walked in the door,
the questions and congratulations—bracketed by thinly-veiled worry—would
begin, and at the moment she did not feel up to fielding them.
She breathed in the scent of salt air and sunbaked rock, half closing her
eyes. I love this place. The only neighbors are other gryphons, quiet enough
that the sound of the surf covers any noise they might make. And I love the
fact that there are no other humans nearby, only tervardi, gryphons, and a few
kyree.
How she envied Tad his freedom! He really had no notion just how easy a
parent Skandranon was to deal with. The Black Gryphon had a. sound, if
instinctive and not entirely reliable, knowledge of just when to shut his beak
and let Tad go his own way. He also attempted to restrain his enthusiasm for
the accomplishments of his twins, although it was difficult for him. But at least
he showed that he approved; Amberdrake had never been happy with the
path-choice his daughter had made, and although he tried not to let his
disapproval color their relationship, it leaked through anyway. How could it
not?
Perhaps “disapproval” was too strong a word. Amberdrake understood
warriors; he had worked with them for most of his life. He respected them
most profoundly. He liked them, and he even understood all of the drives that
fueled their actions.
He simply did not understand why his child and Winterhart’s would want to
be a warrior. He can’t fathom how he and Mother produced someone like me.
By all rights, with everything that they taught me, I should never have been
attracted to this life.
That was a gap of understanding that probably would never be bridged,
and Blade had yet to come up with a way of explaining herself that would
explain the riddle to him. “Blade, would you play secretary and write the list for
me?” Tadrith pleaded, interrupting her reverie. “Otherwise I know I’m going to
forget something important.”
“If you do, you can always have it Gated to us,” she pointed out, and
laughed when he lowered his eartufts.
“That would be so humiliating I would rather do without!” he exclaimed. “I’d
never hear the last of it! Please, just go get a silver-stick and paper from the
box and help me, would you?”
“What else are gryphon-partners for, except doing paperwork?” she
responded, as she rose and sauntered across the room to the small chest that
held a variety of oddments the twins found occasionally useful, each in its
appointed place. The chest, carved of a fragrant wood that the Haighlei called
sadar, held a series of compartmentalized trays holding all manner of helpful
things. Among them were a box of soft, silver sticks and a block of tough
reed-paper, both manufactured by the Haighlei. She extracted both, and
returned to her seat beside Tad. She leaned up against him, bracing herself
against his warm bulk, using her knees as an impromptu writing desk.
As the twins argued over each item before agreeing to add it to the list or
leave it out, she waited patiently. Only once did she speak up during the
course of the argument, as Keenath insisted that Tad include a particular type
of healer’s kit and Tad argued against it on the grounds of weight.
She slapped his shoulder to get him to be quiet. “Who is the trondi’irn
here?” she demanded. “You, or Keeth?” Tad turned his head abruptly, as if he
had forgotten that she was there. “You mean, since he’s the expert, I ought to
listen to him.”
“Precisely,” she said crisply. “What’s the point of asking his opinion on this
if you won’t take it when you know he’s the authority?”
“But the likelihood that we’d need a bonesetting kit is so small it’s
infinitesimal!” he protested. “And the weight! I’m the one who’s going to be
carrying all this, you know!”
“But if we need it, we’ll need exactly those supplies, and nothing else will
substitute,” she pointed out. “We don’t know for certain that there’s a bone-
setting kit at the Outpost, and I prefer not to take the chance that the last few
teams have been as certain of their invulnerability as you.” Keenath looked
smug as she added it to the list, unbidden. “I’m going to insist on it. And if it
isn’t in that basket when we leave, I’ll send for one. We may be in a position of
needing one and being unable to ask for one to be Gated to us.”
Tad flattened his ears in defeat as he looked from one implacable face to
the other. “You win. I can’t argue against both of you.”
Gryphons could not smirk like humans could, but there was enough
muscular control of the beak edges at the join of the lower mandible that one
could be approximated. More than a touch of such an expression showed on
Keeth as they continued on to the next item. Part of the reason why Blade felt
so comfortable in the Silvers and with the gryphons in particular was that their
motives and thoughts were relatively simple and easy to understand. In
particular, they made poor liars; gryphons were just too expressive to hold a
bluff effectively once you knew how to read their physical cues, such as the
lay of their facial feathers and the angle of their ears. Although they were
complex creatures and often stubborn, gryphons were also exactly what they
appeared to be. The kestra’chern, her father in particular, were anything but.
Their job was to manipulate, when it came right down to it. The whole point
of what they did was to manipulate a client into feeling better, to give him a
little more insight into himself. But she wasn’t at all comfortable with the idea
of manipulating anyone for any reason, no matter how pure the motive and
how praiseworthy the outcome.
Oh, I know things simply aren’t that black-and-white, but—
Ah, things were just simpler with the Silvers. Issues often were a matter of
extremes rather than degrees. When you had only a single moment to make
up your mind what you were going to do, you had to be able to pare a
situation down to the basics. Subtleties, as Judeth often said, were for times
of leisure.
She noted down another item, and let her thoughts drift.
I can’t wait until we’re away from here. I wish we could go without having to
talk to my parents.
Once they were away from White Gryphon, she would finally be able to
relax for the first time in several years. And once again, it was her father who
was indirectly responsible for her unease of spirit.
He knows too much, that’s the problem. When she had been a child, she
had taken it for granted that Amberdrake would know everyone of any
importance at all in White Gryphon. She hadn’t known any reason why he
shouldn’t. But as she gradually became aware just what her father’s avocation
really entailed
, she gained a dim understanding that the knowledge
Amberdrake possessed was extraordinarily intimate.
Finally, one day it all fell together. She put the man together with the
definition of kestra’chern and had a moment of blinding and appalling
revelation.
Not only did her father know everyone of any importance, he also knew the
tiniest details about them—every motive, every desire, every dream and
indecision. Details like that, she felt deep in her heart, no person should ever
know about another. Such secrets gave the one who held them too much
power over the other, and that would weigh as an unimaginable responsibility.
Not that Father would ever use that power. . . .
Or would he? If he had a chance to manipulate someone for a cause he
thought was right, wouldn’t he be tempted to do just that? And wouldn’t the
fear of having such secrets revealed to others be enough to make almost
anyone agree to something that Amberdrake wanted?
She had never once seen any indications that Amberdrake had given in to
the temptation to use his tacit power—but he was her father, and she knew
that she was prejudiced on his behalf. For that matter, she was not certain
she would know what to look for if he had misused his powers.
Oh, it’s not likely. Father would never do anything to harm anyone, if only
because he is an Empath and would feel their emotional distress.
She ought to know; she was something of an Em-path herself, although in
her case, she got nothing unless she was touching the person in question.
That was one of the reasons why Amberdrake was so confounded by the
idea that she wanted to be a Silver. How could an Empath ever choose to go
into a profession where she might have to kill or injure someone?
Easily enough. It’s to prevent the people I must take care of from killing or
injuring others.
He would never accept that, just as he would never accept the idea that
she would not want to use her Empathic ability.
She shuddered at the very idea. He knows every nasty little secret, every
hidden fear, every deep need, every longing and every desire of every client
he has ever dealt with. How he manages to hold all those things inside
without going mad—I cannot fathom it. And that he actually wants to know
these things—I could never do that, never. It makes my skin crawl. I don’t
Mercedes Lackey and Larry Dixon - Mage Wars 03 - The Silver Gryphon.txt Page 3