zone is a freak of nature. No matter what she thinks, it might have a traceable
cause, and that cause might be one of the mages who escaped the Wars.”
Skan nodded; he was certain that Judeth had already thought of that.
“I’ll go find Drake,” he said. It was going to be a long night, and one he was
certain none of them would be able to sleep through. They might as well start
getting ready for deployment.
At least that was something useful.
Aging and hedonistic you may be, stupid gryphon, but you’re also effective.
Eight
Amberdrake did not sleep that night. Despite the feeling that he was
working at a fever pitch, he got precious little accomplished. Most of what he
did was to go over the same scenarios, in his mind, on paper, in fevered
conversation with whoever would listen—usually the long-suffering Gesten.
But no matter how tired he became, the weariness was never enough to
overcome him, not even for a moment.
Insomnia was only one of the physical effects he suffered. He simply could
not be still; he would sit or lie down, only to leap to his feet again as another
urgent thought struck him. The muscles of his neck and back were so tense
that no amount of soaking would relax him—not that he stayed long enough in
a hot pool to do any good. He had not eaten since the news. His throat was
too tight to swallow, his stomach a tight, cold knot, and as for his nerves—if
he’d had a client as wrought up as he was, he would have recommended
immediate tranquilization by a Healer. But if he had submitted himself to a
Healer, he would be in no condition to accomplish anything thereafter. He
could not do that.
Amberdrake recalled Zhaneel’s words of so long ago, as if they were an
annoyance.
Who heals the healer?
Skan and Snowstar had not commandeered all of the mages in the city—
there was always one whose sole duty was to oversee magical
communications. Those communications were between both White Gryphon
and the Silvers posted outside the city—in Shalaman’s bodyguard, for
instance—and with Sha-laman himself, via his priests. There could be no
speaking with Shalaman directly, of course. There was no such thing in
Haighlei society as a dirept link to anyone important. The messages would
have to go through the priests, who were the only people permitted the use of
magic, then to Shalaman’s Chief Priest Leyuet, and only then to Shalaman.
Amberdrake tracked down the mage in question and had him send his own
personal plea for help to the Haighlei in addition to Skan’s—but after that, he
was at loose ends.
There was only so much he could do. He was no mage, he could not
possibly help Skan in trying to locate the children. He could pack, and did, for
a trek across rough, primitive country, but that did not exactly take much time,
even with Gesten coming along behind him and repacking it more efficiently.
He certainly couldn’t do anything to help the rescue parties of Silvers that
Judeth and Aubri were organizing.
Even if he could have, it might only have made things worse. He suspected
that after his threats, overt and covert, Judeth would not appreciate seeing his
face just now. Aubri would be more forgiving, but Judeth had lived long under
the comfortable delusion that she no longer had to cope with the vagaries of
“politics.” As with most true military leaders, she had always hated politics,
even while she used political games to further her own causes. She had
thought that without a King, a court, or a single titular leader among them, she
was at last free to do what she wanted with a policing branch. She tried to
keep the Silvers autonomous from the governing branch, and that was largely
what she had accomplished.
Now Amberdrake had made it very clear to her that there was no such
thing as an environment that was free of politics, that under duress, even
friends would muster any and all weapons at their disposal. And she had just
learned in the harshest possible way that no one is ever free of the politics
and machinations that arise when people live together as a group.
No one likes to have their illusions shattered, least of all someone who
holds so few.
Judeth would be very difficult to live with for some time. He only hoped that
her good sense would overcome her anger with him, and that she would see
and understand his point of view. Hopefully Judeth would see Amberdrake as
having used a long-withheld weapon at a strategic time, rather than seeing
him as a friend who betrayed an unspoken trust to get what he wanted. If
not—he had made an enemy, and there was nothing he could do about that
now. Nor, if he’d had the chance to reverse time and go back to that moment
of threat, would he have unsaid a single word. He had meant every bit of it,
and Judeth had better get used to the idea that people—even the senior
kestra’chern—would do anything to protect their children. That was one thing
she had never had to deal with as a military commander before, because a
military structure allowed replacement or reassignment of possible mutineers.
Parental protectiveness was a factor that was going to be increasingly
important as the children of the original settlers of White Gryphon entered the
Silvers. Perhaps it was for the best that the precedent had been set in this
way.
And no matter what happens, knowing myself, I will have simultaneous
feelings of justification as a concerned and desperate parent, as well as guilt
over not having done better and had more forethought.
So there was nothing more he could do, really, except to wait. Wait for
morning, wait for word from Shalaman and from the mages, wait, wait, wait. . .
.
Just as it was when he had served in Urtho’s ranks, waiting was the
hardest job he had ever held. He had been in control of at least part of the life
of this city for so long that, like Judeth, he had gotten accustomed to being
able to fix problems as soon as they arose without anyone offering opposing
force. Now, as the number of emergencies died down and new people came
into authority, his control was gone. All of his old positions of influence were in
the hands of others, and he was back to the old game of waiting.
Finally he returned home, since it was the first place where anyone with
news would look for him. As he paced the walkway outside the house, unable
to enter the place that now seemed too confining and held far too many
memories of his lost daughter, his mind circled endlessly without ever coming
up with anything new. Only the circling; anger and fear, fear and anger. Anger
at himself, at Judeth, at Blade—it wasn’t productive, but it was inevitable, and
anger kept his imagination at bay. It was all too easy to imagine Blade hurt,
Blade helpless, Blade menaced by predatory animals or more nebulous
enemies.
And once again, he would be one of the last to know what others had long
since uncovered. He was only Blade’s father, as he had only been a
kestra’chern. Yet hanging about in the hope that someone would take pity on
<
br /> him and tell him something was an exercise in futility. So he alternately paced
and sat, staring out into the darkness, listening to the roar of the waves
beneath him. In the light falling gently down onto the harbor from the city, the
foam on the top of the waves glowed as if it was faintly luminescent. A
wooden wind-chime swung in the evening breeze to his right, and a glass one
sang softly to his left. How often had he sat here on a summer evening,
listening to those chimes?
Caught between glass and wood, that which breaks and that which bends,
that which sings and that which survives. So our lives go.
Winterhart joined him long after the moon had come out. He turned at her
familiar footstep, to see her approaching from the direction of the Council Hall,
the moonlight silvering her hair. In the soft light there was no sign of her true
age; she could have been the trondi’irn of Urtho’s forces, or the first
ambassador to the Haighlei so many years ago. Only when she drew close
were the signs of anxiety and tension apparent in her face, her eyes, the set
of her mouth.
“They’re putting together the last of the supplies,” she said, before he could
ask. “Skan and the mages haven’t come out of Snowstar’s work area yet, and
Shalaman hasn’t replied. Don’t worry, he will before the night is over;
remember how long his court runs at night.”
He did remember; in the tropical heat of the climate around Khimbata,
Shalaman’s people all took long naps in the afternoon, and then continued
their court ceremonies, entertainments, and duties until well after midnight.
And he had no fear that Shalaman would refuse help; the Emperor could send
off a hundred hunters or more from his forces, and they would never be
missed. No, the only question was how soon the hunters could be somewhere
that they could do some good. First the priests would have to approve the
departure, then they would have to travel across many leagues of forest
before they were anywhere near the place where the children had vanished.
All that would take time, precious time. . . .
Blindly, he held out his arms and Winterhart came into them. They held
each other, seeking comfort in one another’s warmth and presence. There
was no point in talking; they would only echo one another, each saying what
the other was thinking. They both knew that, and knew that talking would ease
nothing, soothe nothing.
So they simply sat down on the smooth, cool stone bench outside their
home, and held each other, and waited beneath the stars. Neither of them
were strangers to waiting.
That did not make waiting any, easier—except that it removed the
additional pain of loneliness.
Judeth must have gotten over her own anger by dawn, for she showed no
signs of it when a messenger summoned both Amberdrake and Winterhart to
what the young Silver called a “planning session.” The two of them had
bathed and changed clothing, hoping that clean bodies would restore their
minds a little. Amberdrake had shunned his usual finery in favor of something
very like Winterhart’s practical working garb, hoping that there might possibly
be something he could do once the sun rose. When the summons came, both
of them had been sitting over a breakfast neither of them had been able to
touch, and it was a relief to rise and follow the youngster back to the Council
hall.
Skan and Zhaneel and, their other son Keenath were already there,
showing just as much strain as Amberdrake felt, although only someone who
knew gryphons well would have recognized the signs of strain in overpreened
feathers, plumage lying flat against the body, posture that showed their
muscles were as tense and knotted as Amberdrake’s. He doubted that they
had slept, but the sight of Keenath made a moment of intense anger flash
through Amberdrake’s heart.
He still has a child. And if his other had not been so intent on leaving the
city, mine might not have gone either!
But that was irrational and entirely incorrect, and he knew it. He
suppressed it immediately, and he and Winterhart maneuvered through the
group crowded in here so that they could form a united block with the other
set of parents.
Judeth did not look as if she had slept either. Deep shadows touched the
swollen pouches under her eyes, and she looked twice her real age. Aubri
didn’t even pretend to be calm; he chewed incessantly on one of his old, shed
feathers, presumably to keep from shredding his current plumage.
There were thirty or forty people in the group; Amberdrake noticed that at
least six of them were mages and he, Winterhart, Skan, Keenath and Zhaneel
were the only non-Silvers. Ikala was among the Silvers gathered here, and
Amberdrake was irrationally pleased to see him, as if the tall young man
represented more than just a local expert on the rain forest.
The Council Hall was the only room large enough to hold all of them, and
Judeth had completely taken it over, strewing maps and other documents all
over the table. It looked as if she had been here for some time. “Snowstar and
the mages have uncovered something damned peculiar,” she said, when they
had all gathered around the map-covered table. She tapped a darkened,
irregularly shaped blob on the map in front of her. “This area here has no
signs of magic. None, and they tell me that’s practically impossible. The
missing patrol was due to pass along this line—“ She drew a swift mark with a
piece of charcoal which crossed the southern end of the irregular-shaped
area. “—and if there’s something in there that’s negating mage-energy, you
can imagine for yourself what that would mean for both their carry-basket and
their teleson.”
Amberdrake was all too able to imagine what that would do to a carry-
basket; and from the way Winterhart suddenly clutched his arm, her fingers
digging into the muscle, so was she. In his mind, he saw the two figures he
had watched fly off into the distance suddenly stricken for a moment, then
plummeting to their deaths on the unforgiving ground below.
“That means we’re going to have to come in somewhere near the edge and
walk in,” Judeth continued, without any hint that she had envisioned the same
disaster that had played itself out behind Amberdrake’ s eyes. “Our Gate
probably won’t work inside this area, and we’ll have to suppose for now that
nothing else magical in nature will work either. We’ll have to operate by the
old rules of working without magic, although yes, we will be taking mages, just
in case magic does work after all. Though—if there’s no local mage-power
available, Snowstar tells me that the mages will be just like Journeymen and
Apprentices, and limited to their own personal power. That’s going to put a
serious crimp in their activities, and any mages that go along had better start
thinking in terms of budgeting themselves before they act.”
She leveled a sharp glance across the table, to the point where the mages
of the Silvers had bunched together.
“What about the gryphons?” someone wanted t
o know. “Can’t they just fly
overhead and scout the way they always do?”
She closed her eyes for a moment, and sighed. “If I wanted a sign that our
luck has turned truly wretched, I could not have conjured up one more certain.
This is the rainy season for that part of the world—and the weather-mages tell
me that storms will be unceasing over this particular area for the next several
days to a week. Thunderstorms have already grounded the original pair that
was out looking for our missing Silvers; they are on the ground and we know
where they are. It might well be a side effect of the loss of magic over the
area; we just don’t know for certain. But what that means is that there won’t
be any flying going on. I’m not going to ban any gryphons from the search-
parties, but they’ll be strictly on foot unless the weather improves drastically.”
“I’m still going, and so are Zhaneel and Keeth,” Skan spoke up firmly.
Judeth nodded, as if she had expected as much. “In that case, since I’m going
to divide the searchers into three parties, each gryphon can go with one. I’ve
already sent out a gryphon with a Gate-mage; but he’ll be coming straight
back, and so will the two still out there while weather cooperates.” Judeth
cocked an eyebrow at Skan as if she expected him to object to this, but he
didn’t. Amberdrake could certainly understand why. A gryphon on the ground
was severely handicapped; Skan, Zhaneel, and Keenath would be as much a
hindrance as they were a help. The two who had been on patrol would be
exhausted, and the one who had ferried the Gate-mage even more so.
Judeth continued. “Now, here’s the current plan. We’ll Gate in here—that’s
the closest I want to get to this area with anything that depends upon magic.”
She stabbed down with her index finger. Here, the point where her finger
indicated, was on the line that Blade and Tad had been expected to fly.
“The Gate-mage and a small party will stay here, at a base camp, holding
the area for the rest of you. We’ll divide up; the party with Skan and Drake in it
will go north, up to the top of the area, and then in. The one with Ikala leading
it, including Keenath, will go straight in. The one with Winterhart and Zhaneel
will go south, then in. That way we’ll cover the maximum area in the shortest
Mercedes Lackey and Larry Dixon - Mage Wars 03 - The Silver Gryphon.txt Page 29