By the Silver Wind (10 page)

“You have our permission to hunt here,” Catori said. “We recommend you range along the dawnward quarter of the woods, remaining close to the river. Though the deer remain secretive, the snow draws them out, and we have had luck there.”

“Thank you.” Ragna let out a slow breath, and bowed her head. Halvden followed her lead.

“Good hunting,” Catori murmured, then held very still, sniffing the wind. “Also, you should know . . . while I have not had dreams of Shard, I do hear him in the wind. I know he is well. I know he will return before the spring.”

Ragna’s heart quickened and she stepped forward, lifting her wings. “How do you know this? Please, tell me anything you can of Shard.”

“I did.” Catori looked regretful, as much as a severe wolf face could, and flicked her ears as if to banish nagging thoughts. “I do wish I could tell you more. I miss him too, and Stigr, who was a good friend to me. I hope for their return, and for Shard to bring harmony to all of us.”

Halvden made a low noise that Ragna thought was a derisive snort, but when she look over, his head was bowed in apparent respect.

She looked back to Catori. “I hope for this too.”

“I wish we could stay to help, but we have our own hunting to do for a hungry pack.” She crinkled her nose, showing the points of her teeth. “We won’t interfere with your hunt.”

“Thank you,” Ragna said. “Good hunting.”

Catori turned to go, then paused and circled around to step toward them, looking solely, deeply at Ragna. “Know that I miss Shard, and I believe he is the Summer King, and he will help us to achieve peace. Ahanu believes this too.” She seemed to hold a breath, watching Ragna, and Ragna’s heart quickened. “But he allows you to hunt here because he believes we should not wait for Shard to begin.”

With a glance at Tocho, she bowed to Ragna, and so did he. Before Ragna could answer, they loped and disappeared into the trees.

“What did she mean by that?” Halvden demanded, speaking in a full voice again and fluffing his feathers.

“She was clear.” Ragna turned to walk toward the tree line, dawnward as Catori had suggested. “Let us treat each other well now, and make peace now, before Shard even returns.”

“Have you thought what will happen if Shard doesn’t return?”

Ragna managed to keep walking, and said quietly, “No.”

“You should.”

She paused, only glancing back at him for a long moment, until he looked away with narrowed eyes. Ragna resumed walking, and didn’t speak again.

Once they entered the trees and began carefully scenting and searching, it was Halvden who picked up the first deer trail. He alerted Ragna with a flick of his bright tail, and they followed the tracks easily through fresh powder. At the sight of new droppings, Ragna’s blood leaped. It felt almost the same as seeing a flash of silver under the water. She wrestled with a squirm of shame at hunting on land, but hoped that bright Tor knew her heart.

Halvden’s movement caught her eye and he jerked his beak up to indicate a meadow three leaps ahead of them. Through the falling snow, Ragna made out the rough shape of a deer. She thought it was a young buck, though its antlers were long since shed.

“Go around,” Halvden breathed. “I’ll signal you with a crow call. You leap out and frighten it, get its attention, and I’ll come from above before it can run.”

Ragna nodded once, though she wanted to correct him on what to call the buck.
He,
she thought.
He probably has a name. A father. A mother.

But so did the fish in the sea, though she didn’t know them to speak or act beyond instinct.
I eat meat,
she thought, prowling through the snow as she waited for Halvden’s signal.
I must always respect the life I take.

She found a patch of shallow snow under a sprawling pine and huddled beneath a bough. The buck, unaware, stripped at bark on trees at the edge of the meadow. Ragna realized if she leaped out from where she was, he would bolt immediately into the tree line. Rising slowly, she slunk through the snow. Every touch of her talons made her wince, though the deer didn’t seem to hear.

A crow called in the woods. Ragna froze, ears flicking, and looked up. She didn’t see Halvden in the air. Perhaps it was a true crow. Creeping forward, she tried to slide her talons and hind paws in silence. The call came again, louder, from the air that time, but it held the rasp of a gryfon voice.

The buck’s head flew up, his body stiff and straight and ready to leap. Ragna knew she was in a poor position, so rather than leap from where she was, she bolted forward around the trees, skirting the clearing. The buck would be alert for scent and sound. He didn’t catch sight of her at first, her white feathers against the woods and snow, but he heard her.

He sprang, sprinting not to the middle of the meadow, but around the line of trees, probably trying to catch sight of what he’d heard. Ragna sprang from her spot with a shriek, trying to force him to the middle where Halvden could dive at him.

“No!” Halvden shouted from the air. Now Ragna saw him, green and diving fast through the flurries of snow. The buck dodged, swerving toward the trees. Halvden swore from the sky.

Ragna leaped straight up and flapped hard, hoping to land on the other side of the panicked buck. She would be too slow. She swooped forward, swiping talons, as he leaped between two pines and was gone into the trees.

“Curse it!” Halvden swung an angry circle above her. “I called twice! You didn’t trust—”

“I was in a bad position.” Ragna dropped to the ground, shaking snow from her wings. “We’ll get the next one.”

“The next one?” Halvden shrieked. “You don’t have any idea how hard it is to find one in the open! This was a gift from Tyr himself, a grown buck in a clearing, and you ruined it!”

“I?” Ragna shook herself, containing her temper, for she had ruined it. Halvden was right and she knew it. She knew nothing of hunting in the woods, hunting running game through the snow.

“You did it on purpose,” Halvden snarled, landing hard in the snow. “You never wanted to feed the king.”

Ragna looked at him coldly. “That isn’t true—”

Just then, the buck burst back into the meadow as if driven by demons. Ragna stumbled back in the snow, amazed. The buck saw them just before it ran them over and shied up, flashing his hooves in threat.

Before Ragna could blink, Halvden pivoted and leaped like skyfire. He swiped to block the flailing hooves and slashed the deer’s throat with his beak, knocking the big body to the snow.

A swift, clean kill.

Ragna stared at him. Her blood slammed through her body and she flattened her ears, embarrassed, amazed. Then she shook herself and jumped forward to the buck’s head.

“Thank you,” she whispered, though certain she was too late. Perhaps his spirit would hear. Halvden watched her, but said nothing. Flashing, copper movement caught her eye and she saw a gryfess loping toward them from the woods.

“I thought you might need a third,” Eyvin said as she trotted into the meadow.

Ragna ducked her head in gratitude. “We did. Thank you.”

“I did it for my own honor,” she said, then eyed Halvden. “You’ve come far, son of Hallr. Very far. A good kill.”

Halvden looked pleased, and dipped his head.

“This will see Sverin through some time,” Eyvin said to Ragna, though she looked at the meat longingly. All of the pride, Aesir and Vanir alike, had vowed not to hunt on land again unless granted permission.

“Why did you change your mind?” Ragna asked, still feeling numb with surprise. The whole ordeal was very different than fishing. Blood stained the snow, making her think less of food, and more of battle.

“I could not accuse you of cowardice and then withhold my help.” Eyvin held her head at a proud angle. “The Aesir don’t dwell in the past. I’m not loyal to Sverin, but to Kjorn now, who I’m sure wouldn’t wish for his father to starve.”

Ragna nodded once. Halvden began quartering the meat, butchering limbs with quick, violent jerks of his beak and talons.

“Thank you.” Ragna watched Eyvin’s cool, hard face, and thought of Catori’s words.
Let us begin now.
“I had spoiled the hunt. I haven’t the skill and I know we couldn’t have done it without you. I’m grateful.”

Eyvin eyed her, perhaps deciding if she meant it. After a moment, she nodded once, satisfied, and set to help Halvden with his work. Ragna moved in to help where she could, and Eyvin quietly instructed her in where to separate the joints, and how best to use one’s talons to slice the meat cleanly.

Halvden spoke, green feathers nearly white with snow, except for his red beak and talons. “With three of us, we should be able to carry it all in one flight.”

“Yes, true.” Eyvin looked at Ragna doubtfully, as Ragna was nearly two heads shorter than both of them. “If the queen is feeling strong.”

Ragna lifted her wings, feeling more fierce than strong. “I am. If you can pull a fish from the sea, I can fly meat between the islands.”

“Well enough. Gather your pieces, then.”

“I wonder,” Halvden said as he sank his talons into the heaviest quarters.

Ragna, gathering slender strips and the heart, paused, watching him. “Yes?”

“I just wonder what everyone will say when they see that Sverin is getting red meat while they’re still reduced to eating fish.”

“Reduced?” Ragna asked. “It isn’t a punishment. It’s our agreement with all the creatures of the islands.”

Halvden tilted his head, peering through the snow flakes. “Forced, then. I just wonder.”

Ragna narrowed her eyes. “We’ll soon find out.”

Without further comment she crouched and sprang, and the other two followed, all dragging their share of the kill.

A
S EARLY MORNING WORE INTO
blue day and then cool, late afternoon, they reached the plains between the Ostral Shores and the Dawn Reach. Kjorn counted a few trees and some scattered boulders.

“This might make a good camp,” he said to Shard, who flew beside him.

“Tired already?” Shard asked.

Kjorn laughed. “Not a bit. I’m hoping Ilesh is still hunting here. If we speak to them now and they decide to join us, they can travel with Stigr and the Vanir to the Voldsom and meet us with everyone else.”

Toskil, one of Shard’s Vanir, flew back from scouting and turned, gliding alongside Kjorn and Shard. “We spotted painted wolves. They look to be hunting, but they know we’re here now.”

“We shouldn’t approach when they’re hunting,” Shard said over the wind.

“No,” Kjorn agreed, studying the landscape below. “And especially not with this many gryfons. Let’s settle, make fires, and send scouts. They’ll either come to the fires, or we’ll find them.”

Kjorn noted with approval that Toskil looked to Shard, his own prince, for the final word, and Shard nodded him along.

They chose a place to land where they might have some boulders at their backs, and a view of the sweep of grass and stunted trees windward. Kjorn and Shard called the order to land, and it rippled back through the flight until the rustle of folding wings and paws hitting the earth was all Kjorn could hear.

“Gather kindling!” Shard called.

“Post sentries!” Kjorn said, trotting in a circle to gain attention. Others echoed them and Kjorn watched their band fall into order.

“Shall I go scout?” Shard asked. “I get along with the painted wolves.”

“No, Shard. You stay here. I know it’s hard,” he added quickly, to cut off argument. “Believe me, I do. But you must. You’re a prince. You need to remain where they can find, see, and hear you.”

Shard hesitated, then his gaze traveled over the gryfons as they moved about, falling into their own patterns. The Vanir gathered kindling. Gryfons of the Ostral Shores asserted themselves as sentries and defined a perimeter, and Kjorn saw Brynja, Dagny, and Ketil talking to the huntresses.

“I know it,” Shard said quietly at last. “Stigr said much the same thing.”

“Good. Asvander!”

The big Lakelander left a group to trot over to Kjorn, and mantled. “My lord?”

“Choose scouts who you believe will make a good appearance to the painted wolves. By that I mean—”

“Someone who won’t pick a fight?” Shard cut in. “That’s why you should send me.”

Kjorn flicked Shard with his tail. “There are other capable gryfons, your Highness. I know it’s difficult to believe.”

“I’ll see to it,” Asvander said, looking amused.

“And what do we do?” Shard asked. “Sit and look handsome?”

“Well I’ll do that,” Kjorn said. “I don’t know about you.”

Shard snarled playfully, then Brynja trotted up to them. Now that she and Asvander’s arrangement was officially null, Kjorn watched as she enjoyed showing Shard her affection more openly. She nipped his ear, then stood back as Ketil and Dagny trotted up behind her.

“Shall we hunt?” Ketil asked Shard, though Dagny looked to Kjorn.

Kjorn was glad Shard didn’t check with him for approval, but nodded. “But Toskil spied painted wolves nightward of us. Go in the other direction, so they don’t mistake our purpose here.”

“We’ll do it,” Dagny said brightly. “I used to know this land fairly well.”

“Good.” Kjorn lifted his wings. “Plenty of time before dark. Know that there might be painted wolves in our camp by the time you return. If you don’t find game before dark, come back.”

“We won’t fly at night,” Brynja assured him, though with a hesitant look to Shard, who dipped his head. Only in the Winderost, when the wyrms hunted by night, did the Vanir prince hesitate to fly under the stars. Kjorn understood why his own father had abolished the Vanir practice, but still saw how it nettled Shard not to have the freedom.

“Off with you then,” Shard said, commanding with false sternness. “We’ll see you by sunset.”

“Miss us,” Dagny said, mostly to Asvander, who ruffled his feathers and stretched a wing to brush against hers. Kjorn thought she might burst with glee, and she bounded off, leading the other huntresses away.

Kjorn watched Asvander curiously. The big Lakelander flicked his tail nonchalantly. “Oh, you know. When we were fledges, we . . . well. Before Orn and others decided Brynja and I should mate, Dagny and I had big plans to mate, have a whole pride of kits and take over the Dawn Spire and conquer the wyrms.”