A Shard of Sun (25 page)

“We have nothing for you,” she repeated. “And as for Hikaru, he is better off not—”

“
Shard!
” A joyous shout cracked through the ice cavern.

Before the empress could react, Shard found himself knocked to the ice floor in a roiling tumble of polished black scales, feathers and gentle claws.

“Hikaru!” He laughed, dizzy with relief even as pain shot up his leg.

“I told them you’d come, I knew you would find me! I knew you were all right!” Hikaru butted his head against Shard’s and then coiled around him, and Shard stared up at the dragonet who had grown to nearly four times Shard’s size during their separation, not even including the length of his neck and tail.

“Careful, Hikaru, my leg is broken. Of course I found you.” He freed his forelegs from Hikaru’s coil and swiveled to see the empress, who regarded Hikaru with the patience of a gryfess watching a fledge chase grasshoppers.

“Forgive me, Ai-hime, Radiant and Gracious One.” Hikaru bowed his head to the empress and splayed his wings, still hugging Shard in his coils. “I didn’t know if my wingbrother was still alive, and here he is, and well. Forgive me for bursting into your hall.”

“It is to be expected,” the empress said, watching them with an indulgent look, “from the young.”

Whispers and mutters broke out through the dragons who peered at them from the various levels and archways, speculating in un-amused tones. Shard’s belly tightened and he pressed his talons to Hikaru’s scales to remind himself why he was there. The empress twitched her soft ears and the hall fell silent again.

“Rashard of the Silver Isles, we understand you have come to see Hikaru. But we have no other interest in affairs outside our mountains, and we can be of no help to you. You may shelter with us, and heal, as long as Hikaru takes responsibility for you. You will not wander alone in our tunnels, nor hunt in our waters or surrounding lands without supervision. You will not seek out our treasure rooms or forges. You will not pester any dragon who does not seek your company. You are here for Hikaru’s sake and because of my good will and in honor of Hikaru’s father and Amaratsu. Do you understand?”

Shard, taken aback, began to speak a protest, but Hikaru squeezed him gently, and his liquid-gold eyes hooded with warning.

“Yes,” Shard said slowly, turning back to the empress. “Yes, my lady. As you wish.”

“I will look after him,” Hikaru said, and the nearly adult depth of his voice, so serious in tone, sent a shiver through Shard. “Thank you for your generosity, Radiant One.” Dipping his head low, he murmured to Shard, “Come with me. Please stay silent. I’ll explain everything.”

Shard inclined his head deeply, to show Hikaru he’d heard, to hide a new wash of frustration, and to show respect to the empress. Hikaru uncoiled from Shard and they bowed again, and Shard followed Hikaru’s lead when he backed toward the ground-level exit, not turning his face from the empress. He ground his beak, wanting to ask when he could see her again, speak his piece and ask for assistance. But the young dragon promised him an explanation.

As they neared the exit, Shard’s feathers prickled with unease. He took a final, quick look up and around and realized, with a growing chill, that it was not curiosity with which most of the dragons regarded him. He met the stare of one young, gleaming red male, and was easily able to read the expression on his face, but it was not curiosity. It was not even anger, and as Shard looked around he saw that every dragon wore the same expression.

Every dragon who watched him leave with Hikaru was watching with disgust.

“V
ANHAR TO ME!”
N
ILSINE
shouted over the wind. “Keep alert!”

Kjorn flew at her right, forming a wedge with four other gryfons and Nilsine, on point as they soared high and toward the vast network of canyons they called the Voldsom Narrows. They’d left the lions of the First Plains a day after Kjorn’s hunting trial, with a promise of friendship should they ever need shelter, and the blessing to cross their lands if needed, again.

Ajia promised to mind her dreams and the winds for sign of Shard, and Kjorn thanked her, though he wasn’t sure what that was worth.

I will raise the Sunwind, indeed.

Flexing his wings, Kjorn snorted. His father would’ve rejected such nonsense, and Kjorn did the same. Aesir made their own destiny. He had no intention of bringing war to the Winderost, only of finding Shard, reconciling, and returning to the Silver Isles and Thyra before spring, before his kit was born.

“Keep alert,” Nilsine said again, and Kjorn realized he’d drifted out of the formation. He flapped twice, steering back into the wedge. Nilsine looked ahead again with an expression of approval.

A thick haze of smoke clung to the rim of every canyon wall and they had to rise high to see over it. Great jagged mazes of golden and red rock split into deep crevices and splintered off from one main artery, at the bottom of which ran a silver slip of river.

The Serpent River Pack…
Kjorn recalled the painted wolf Mayka and wondered if this had been his home, then refocused as Nilsine called orders. He peered forward through the haze, amazed that the smoke from the Horn had drifted so far windward. The wall of haze blocked any view of the horizon, the distant Dawn Spire that Nilsine told him lay a day’s flight dawnward, or the lands they’d crossed to reach the Voldsom over the last days.

“Eagles!” reported one of Nilsine’s warriors.

Kjorn snapped to attention, and admired the scout’s good eye. He saw a smudge of movement through the haze, then it clarified into an entire flight of eagles, formed in a swan wedge similar to their own. Quickly Kjorn sized them up. A third the size of a gryfon, they had broad wings and colors ranging from golden brown to ruddy and spotted cream on the juveniles.

“That doesn’t look like a greeting party,” Kjorn said to Nilsine.

“Don’t be so quick to seek battle,” she answered, though Kjorn saw clearly that the leading eagles’ expressions were narrow, fierce and hostile, and they began to break into smaller formations he was sure meant imminent attack.

“Hark!” Nilsine called to them. “Eagles of the Voldsom, we are of the Vanhar, and we—”

An eagle dropped from nowhere and landed on her back with a battle scream. The other gryfons fell away in surprise, realizing at the same time that the eagles out front had been a diversion, and now they were under attack from above and from the sides.

Kjorn lunged through the air and swiped at the eagle attacking Nilsine.

“We come peacefully!” he snarled, just as two others shot at them from the sides. All around, the sentries fell under attack, and Kjorn saw that they fell on the gryfons in threes, making up for size with numbers and angles.

“Pair up!” he shouted to the gryfons, still wrestling with the eagle on Nilsine’s back as she worked to stay aloft and Kjorn tried not to beat her with his wings. “One above, one below at angles!”

He didn’t know if they heard, but it was the only way to prevent the eagle’s three-pronged attacks of one from above and two from the sides.

What felt like a boulder slammed into him and knocked him into Nilsine, crushing the eagle between them. The bird shrieked and wriggled free, rasping taunts as he dove away. Kjorn, locked between two struggling gryfons, realized the new gryfon who’d knocked into them was
attacking him,
not fleeing attack from the eagles nor trying to help him.

More rogues?
He thought wildly,
rogue gryfons, allied with the eagles?

“Desist,” he growled. He grabbed his opponent’s foreleg and a scruff of russet feathers and wrenched back, dragging them both away from Nilsine. A huntress’s battle scream rang in his ears.

“These are no longer Dawn Spire hunting grounds,” declared the female, a stocky, sturdy gryfess, and snapped at his face. Kjorn shoved her away, trying to see her face clearly.

“We aren’t from the Dawn Spire. We’ve come from the Vanheim Shore, and I from the Silver Isles, we—”

“Silver Isles?” his attacker relaxed for half a breath.

“Prideless wretch!” shouted Nilsine, having doubled back. She grabbed the rogue gryfess and they tumbled away from Kjorn in a knot of beating wings and slashing talons.

An eagle smacked into Kjorn from below, scrabbling at his belly, and he flipped down, grabbing for the smaller bird’s wings. Another landed on his back and a beak sliced at his ears, seeking his eyes. He grasped the first and managed to fling it away, kicking with a hind leg for good measure. Another two eagles shot in at him from the sides. All around gryfons shrieked, the haze stirred by thrashing wings, and eagles zipping in to attack from all sides.

Weighted by his attackers, Kjorn sank, desperate to dislodge the eagles before they delivered serious injury or drove him into the river, but he couldn’t lift his head, or the eagle on top would have his eyes.

“Get off of him!” shouted a young male voice, and someone tore the eagle from Kjorn’s back. Freed of that threat, Kjorn twisted and grabbed the first eagle foot he found, yanked, and flung it and the bird it belonged to away.

“Fraenir,” Kjorn panted as the young rogue dipped lower. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he chirped, seeming thrilled with the fight.

“Where is Nilsine?” Kjorn circled, taking in the scene, and realized that the eagles were falling back. He didn’t think it was because the Vanhar had overpowered them. Someone called them off. A female voice. The gryfess who’d attacked him.

“Fall back! Brightwing eagles fall back, these are not from the Dawn Spire!” The russet gryfess soared above the scene, calling them off. “Fall back, these are allies! Hildr, call them off!”

To Kjorn’s surprise, a female eagle broke from the scattered group and called in shrieking tones. At first, Kjorn heard only witless bird sounds, then he listened more closely , as he’d learned to listen to the wolves of the Silver Isles and the lions of the First Plains, and understood that she called orders, and the others answered with respect. Grateful, Kjorn watched warily as the gryfess winged back toward him.

Nilsine flew up through the haze and joined her, face lit with triumph. “Kjorn!” She quickened pace to reach him first, and Fraenir circled protectively. “You’re all right?”

“I am. And you?” When she nodded, Kjorn motioned around. “What’s all this?”

“A misunderstanding. I think we have friends here after all.”

“Oh,” breathed the strange gryfess as she caught up, meeting them in the air. “You are him. You are…”

“Kjorn,” he said. “Son-of-Sverin.”

“Yes,” she said, and made an awkward midair bow. “I see now. Forgive us. There’s been so much…but you have friends here. We’ve been waiting, and Shard said—”

“Shard?” Hope flared that maybe his search was coming to an end. “I’m seeking him. Is he here? We came to speak with the eagles. You’re a friend of Shard’s?”

“Oh, yes.” She gazed at him as if she’d awakened to find either that a long nightmare had ended, or a great dream come to life. “But forgive me, I haven’t introduced myself.”

“Yes, please,” Kjorn said.

“I’m Brynja,” she said breathlessly. “Brynja, daughter-of-Mar.”

“I see the blood of the Red Kings in you.” Brynja flew on Kjorn’s right, and he on Nilsine’s right, as the eagles led them to their nesting grounds. Fraenir glided just behind them, and Kjorn was certain he eavesdropped, but didn’t see the harm in it. Brynja watched Kjorn thoughtfully. “Though you favor your mother. Shard spoke of you.”

“I hope it wasn’t all bad.”

She chuckled and shook her head. To hear another voice speak Shard’s name at last warmed Kjorn’s heart like the sun. It made his wingbrother feel closer, and alive. For months he’d thought Shard was dead.

Brynja tucked her talons up into the paler feathers of her chest, her gaze set forward in determination. “Though thin in blood, we are cousins, by your distant kin and mine. I’ll help you however I can.”

“I’m grateful for your friendship.” They followed the eagles lower, dipping into the largest of the broken canyons, flying in columns over the winding river below. “Can you tell me what’s passed? What happened while Shard was here, and where he’s gone? There’s so much I don’t know.”

Brynja told him her account of Shard and his uncle’s time at the Winderost, their integration and success within the pride—until the wyrms attacked the Dawn Spire. Kjorn’s cautious hope that he might see his wingbrother soon quickly faded.

“Stigr fell,” Brynja said quietly. “Cut down, a wing severed. King Orn and his warriors would’ve imprisoned or killed Shard for accidently leading the wyrms to the Dawn Spire, so we told him to flee.” She looked over at Kjorn, and the worn lines around her eyes and her angled ears told him of distressing memories. “I saw his face at the end of the fight, when he flew toward the Outlands. I don’t know if he knew himself, knew us, or even where he meant to go.”

“Nameless,” Kjorn said, feeling raw.

“Ashamed.” She tilted her wings as the columns of eagles and gryfons turned a bend in the canyon and slipped lower. The haze thickened within the canyon walls, and Kjorn trusted the eagles to know where they were going. “Grief-stricken. I don’t know what became of him. Then, after a fortnight, the Horn erupted and…Well, the only good thing I can say is that we haven’t see the enemy since that day, nor heard them hunting in the night.”