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

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by The Silver Gryphon [lit]


  that.

  She gulped down her cooling tea to cover her embarrassment and guilty

  conscience, as Amberdrake toyed with a piece of bread, reducing it to a pile

  of crumbs.

  He’s trying to pretend that he isn’t worried; trying to put on a brave face

  when I know he’s feeling anything but brave. Why? Why is he so worried? If

  he’s transparent enough for me to see through, he must be all of a knot

  inside.

  Finally Amberdrake looked up at her, slowly chewing on his lower lip. “I

  know I probably seem as if I am overreacting to this situation, ke’chara,” he

  said quietly. “I shouldn’t be so worked up over the simple fact that you and

  your partner are going off on a normal, peaceful assignment. I realize that I

  am being quite foolish about this, and I can’t even pretend that I have some

  mysterious presentiment of doom. It’s all due to old—well, I suppose you’d

  have to call them habits, habits of feeling, perhaps.”

  Winterhart stood behind him and put her hands on his shoulders, gently

  massaging muscles that must have been terribly tense. Outside, seabirds

  cried, greeting the dawn and the winds that would carry them out to their

  fishing grounds.

  Amberdrake reached up and covered one of his mate’s hands with his own.

  “I have two problems with this assignment, really, and neither of them is

  rational. The first is that it is you, my daughter, who is going off for six months

  to a place that is unsettlingly far away. And you’ll be all alone there, except for

  a single gryphon. If it were someone else, I would see him or her off with a

  cheerful heart, and go about my business.”

  “But it isn’t,” she stated.

  “No.” He sighed, and patted Winterhart’s hand. “Your mother is handling

  this better than I.”

  “I have perfect confidence in Aubri and Judeth,” Winterhart said serenely.

  “They wouldn’t send anyone that far away who wasn’t prepared for any

  contingency.” Her tone turned just a little sharp as she looked down at him. “If

  you won’t trust Blade, dearheart, at least trust them.”

  “Intellectually, I do” Amberdrake protested. “It’s just—it’s just that it’s hard

  to convince the emotions.”

  He turned back to Blade, who was even more embarrassed at her parent’s

  decision to bare his soul to her. She struggled not to show it. And underneath

  the embarrassment was exasperation.

  Can’t he learn that I am grown now, and don’t need him to come haul me

  out of difficulties? Can’t he just let me go ?

  “The other problem I have is very old, older than you, by far,” he told her

  earnestly. “And it has absolutely nothing to do with your abilities; it’s

  something I would still feel even if you were a warrior out of legend with

  magical weapons at your side. It doesn’t matter to my heart that this is peace

  time, that you are simply going off to man a wilderness outpost. The point to

  my reaction is that you are going out. When—” momentary pain ghosted over

  his expressive features. “—when people used to go out, back in the days of

  the wars, they didn’t always come back.” She opened her mouth to protest; he

  forestalled her.

  “I know this is peacetime, I know you are not going forth to combat an

  enemy, I know that there is no enemy but storms and accident. But I still have

  the emotional reaction to seeing people going out on a quasi-military mission,

  and that fact that it is my daughter that is doing so only makes the reaction

  worse.” He smiled thinly. “You cannot reason with an old emotional problem, I

  am afraid.”

  She looked down at the polished wood of the tabletop, and made little

  patterns with her forefinger, tracing the grain of the wood. What on earth did

  he expect her to say? What could she say? That was years and years ago,

  before I was even born. Can’t he have gotten over it by now? He’s supposed

  to be the great magician of the emotions, so why can’t he keep his own

  trained to heel? What could possibly go wrong with this assignment? We’ll

  have a teleson with us, we ‘II be reporting in, and if there is a life-threatening

  emergency and they can’t get help to us quickly, they ‘II take the risk and

  Gate us back!

  But that wasn’t what he wanted to hear, and it wouldn’t help anything to say

  it. “I can understand. At least, I think I can. I’ll try,” she finished lamely.

  True, it is nothing but wilderness between here and there—but when we

  get “there,” we’ll be in a fortified outpost built to withstand storm, siege, or

  earthquake. And, granted, no one has even tried to explore all the rainforest in

  between, but we’ll be flying, not walking! What could possibly knock us out of

  the sky that our people or the Haighlei wouldn‘t have encountered a long, long

  time ago ?

  It was—barely—possible that some mage-made creatures of Ma’ar’s

  survived from the Cataclysm. It was less likely that any of them could have

  made it this far south. And even if they did, there had never been that many of

  them that could threaten a gryphon. The last makaar died ages ago, and there

  never was anything else that could take a flying gryphon down. We’ll be flying

  too high for any projectile to hurt us, and even if we weren‘t, there‘II be the

  mass of the carry-basket and all our supplies between us and a marksman.

  “Father, I promise you, we’ll be fine,” she only said, choking down a last dry

  mouthful of bread. “Makaar are extinct, and nothing less could even ruffle

  Tadrith’s feathers. You’ve seen him; he’s one of the biggest, strongest

  gryphons in the Silvers!”

  But Amberdrake shook his head. “Blade, it’s not that I don’t trust or believe

  in you, but there is far more in this world than you or Tadrith have ever seen.

  There were more mages involved in the Mage Wars than just Urtho and

  Ma’ar; plenty of them created some very dangerous creatures, too, and not all

  of them were as short-lived as makaar. I will admit that we are a long distance

  from the war zones, but we got this far, so who’s to say that other things

  couldn’t?”

  He’s not going to listen to me, she realized. He’s determined to be afraid for

  me, no matter what I say. There was more likelihood of moving the population

  of the city up to the rim of the canyon than there was of getting Amberdrake to

  change his mind when it was made up.

  “What’s more, as you very well know, the mage-storms that followed the

  Cataclysm altered many, many otherwise harmless creatures, and conjured

  up more.” His jaw firmed stubbornly. “You ask Snowstar if you don’t believe

  me; some of the territory we passed through was unbelievable, and that was

  only after a year or so of mage-storms battering at it! We were very, very

  lucky that most of the things we encountered were minimally intelligent.”

  “Sports and change-children die out in less than a generation,” she

  retorted, letting her impatience get the better of her. “That’s simple fact,

  Father. There’re just too many things wrong with most magic-made creatures

  for them to live very long, if they’ve
been created by accident.”

  He raised an elegant eyebrow at her, and the expression on his face told

  her she’d been caught in a mistake.

  “Urtho was not infallible,” he said quietly. “He had many accidents in the

  course of creating some of his new creatures. One of those accidents was

  responsible for the creation of intelligence in kyree, and another for

  intelligence in hertasi. And neither race has died out within a generation.’ ‘

  She had already spotted the flaw in his argument. “An accident may have

  been responsible for the intelligence of the creature, but not the creature

  itself,” she countered. “Creature creation takes great thought, planning, and

  skill. An accident is simply not going to be able to duplicate that!”

  He looked as if he were going to say something, but subsided instead.

  “Besides,” Blade continued, taking her advantage while she still had it,

  “people have been going to this outpost for years, and no one has seen

  anything— either there or on the way. Don’t you think by now if there was

  going to be any trouble, someone would have encountered it?”

  Amberdrake dropped his eyes in defeat and shook his head. “There you

  have me,” he admitted. “Except for one thing. We don’t know what lies beyond

  that outpost and its immediate area. The Haighlei have never been there, and

  neither have we. For all we know, there’s an army of refugees from the wars

  about to swarm over you, or a renegade wizard about to take a force of his

  own across the land—”

  “And that,” Blade said with finality, “is precisely why we will be there in the

  first place. It is our duty to be vigilant.”

  He couldn’t refute that, and he didn’t try.

  Blade extracted herself from her parents with the promise that she and Tad

  would not take off until they arrived. With one pack slung over her back and

  the other suspended from her shoulder, she hurried up the six levels of

  staircase that led in turn to the narrow path which would take her to the top of

  the cliff. She was so used to running up and down the ladder-like staircases

  and the switchback path that she wasn’t even breathing heavily when she

  reached the top. She had spent almost all of her life here, after all, and ver-

  ticality was a fact of life at White Gryphon.

  Below, on the westward-facing cliff the city was built from, she had been in

  cool shadow; she ascended as the invisible sun rose, and both she and the

  sun broke free of the clinging vestiges of night at the same time. Golden

  fingers of light met and caressed her as she took the last few steps on the

  path. It would be a perfect morning; there were no clouds marring the horizon

  to presage storms to the east. Red skies were lovely—but red skies required

  clouds. If I am going to be traveling, I prefer a morning like this one; not a

  cloud in the sky and the air dry, cool, and quiet.

  At the top of the cliff a great expanse of meadow and farmland composed

  of gently rolling hills stretched out before her. It was completely indefensible,

  of course; like Ka’venusho, Urtho’s stronghold, there was no decent “high

  ground” to defend. This was why the city itself had been built into the cliff, with

  the only access being a single, narrow path. You couldn’t even rain boulders

  down on White Gryphon from above, for the path had been cut into the cliff so

  cleverly that it channeled objects falling down from the edge away from the

  city entirely.

  Judeth’s idea, but it took some very clever stonecrafters to put her idea into

  solid form.

  At the edge were large constructions of wooden frames and pulleys that

  could lower huge amounts of material down to the first level of the city; that

  was how food was brought down from the farms up here. Those could be

  dismantled or destroyed in mere moments by a very few people. Nothing that

  was up here would be left to be used by an enemy if there ever was an attack.

  The farmers used to live in White Gryphon and travel up each day to tend

  their flocks and fields; now they didn’t bother with the trip. There was a

  second village up here on the rim, a village of farmhouses and barns, a few

  warehouses and workshops, and the pens where herds were brought during

  the few days of each year that the weather was too bad to keep the herds in

  the fields. If severe winter storms came from the sea instead of the landward

  side, the herds could be driven into the shelter of the forest, and those who

  were not sent to watch over them could take shelter within the rock walls of

  White Gryphon.

  The stockade and supply warehouse of the Silvers was up here as well.

  Space was too precious in the city for any to be wasted on bulk stores except

  in an emergency. And as for the stockade, most punishment involved physical

  labor in the fields with the proceeds going to pay back those who had been

  wronged. Since most crime in the city involved theft or minor damage, that

  was usually acceptable to the victims. There had been those—a few—who

  were more dangerous. Those were either imprisoned up here, under bindings,

  or—dealt with, out of the sight of the city. After Hadanelith, no one was ever

  exiled again. The possibility that another dangerous criminal might survive

  exile was too great to risk.

  Just outside the stockade was a landing platform. Sitting squarely in the

  middle of it was what appeared to be a large basket, about the size of a six-

  person expedition-tent. There was a complicated webbing of ropes attached

  to it, and standing nearby was Tadrith, with a hertasi helping him into a heavy

  leather harness. As usual, he was carrying on a running dialogue with his

  helper, trying to get his harness adjusted perfectly. She knew better than to

  interrupt; her life would depend on that harness and whether or not he was

  comfortable in it.

  This was the carry-basket that would take her and all their supplies to the

  Outpost. It looked far, far too heavy for Tadrith to fly with, and it was. Even the

  strongest of gryphons would not have been able to lift her alone in it unaided.

  But magic was working reliably enough these days, and there would be a

  mage somewhere around who had made certain that the basket and anything

  that might be in it would “weigh” nothing, with a reserve for changes in

  momentum and speed. He would essentially have made the basket into a

  variant of one of the Kaled’a’in floating-barges. Tadrith would not be “lifting”

  the basket, only guiding it.

  The spell was a complicated one that Blade couldn’t even begin to

  understand. Anything inside the basket—like herself—would still have its

  apparent weight. If that wasn’t the case, everything not tied down would be in

  danger of drifting off on a stiff breeze. But to Tad, although the basket had no

  up-and-down weight, it would still have a certain amount of side-to-side mass

  and momentum. He would not be lifting it, but he would have to exert some

  strength in pulling it, just as teams of dyheli and horses pulled the floating

  barges.

  Blade hurried up to check the supplies lashed down inside the basket. As

  Aubri had promised, the sup
ply sergeant had taken care of everything she

  and Tad would need except for their own personal gear. Most of the supplies

  they had requisitioned—the ones for after they reached the outpost—had

  already been sent on via Gate. So only what they would need for the trip,

  what there had not been time to send by the Gate, and what she had brought

  with her would actually travel with them.

  That’s certainly going to relieve Tad.

  It had also relieved Tad when she told him that she was nothing like her

  father when it came to wardrobe. She could manage very simply, actually; but

  Aubri had once described Amberdrake’s floating-barge and if gryphons could

  have blanched, Tad would have, at the thought of having to help move all that

  mass of clothing, gear, and furniture.

  She tossed her two bags into the basket, and waited quietly beside the

  platform for the last of the adjustments to be made. The hertasi in charge was

  Gesten’s daughter Ghana; as thorough and meticulous as her father, she

  would not leave Tadrith’s side until they were both satisfied with the fit of

  every strap. Blade knew that every buckle would be checked and rechecked,

  every rivet and every ring subjected to the most exacting scrutiny. Ghana

  would leave nothing to chance, and there was no possible compromise with

  safety in her view.

  Finally, she stepped back. “It’ll do,” she said, in her hissing hertasi voice.

  “Try to bring the rig back in one piece.”

  Blade suppressed a laugh, for the remark was so like Gesten that it could

  have been he who was standing there. Like her father, Ghana would never

  admit to concern for the trainees she served, only to concern that the

  equipment return intact. But of course, it went without saying that if the

  equipment came back to the warehouse in pristine condition, the trainee

  would certainly have arrived at the landing platform in like shape.

  Tad waved her over, as Ghana began hooking up his harness to the basket

  itself. “We’re waiting for the parents, I presume?” he said casually.

  She sighed. “Much as I would like to simply slip away, if we leave without

  allowing them their fanfare, they may not let us come back.”

  “Or we may not want to,” he groaned, and flexed his claws restlessly.

  “Because when we did, they’d make our lives sheer misery with guilt.”

 

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