The Silver Gryphon v(mw-3 Read online

  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 overnigh
t 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 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.”