By the Silver Wind (39 page)

“Help them,” she gasped to Caj. “Do not leave anyone for these monsters to find, alive or dead.”

“We won’t, my lady.” His gaze strayed to the smaller dragons, wrestling and fighting over gold. They would surely find the rest in the cliffs, and take over Ragna’s home.

“Go,” Caj urged, his gaze searching the sky for his wingbrother. “Thank you.”

Without looking back again, Ragna focused her gaze on Sverin’s distant red wings, and shoved from the battleground into the storm.

T
HE SCOUTS SHARD AND
Brynja had arranged before Shard left for the Dawn Spire had not returned. Eagles reported the gryfons had flown farther into the Outlands to search for signs of the Wyrms.

Kjorn sent out his own. So did the Lakelanders. So did the Vanhar, and the painted wolves, and the eagles, each believing their eyes and ears to be superior.

The lions did not deign to send scouts, but made sure Kjorn was aware they
would
send scouts, if he thought it necessary. As it was, they seemed content to share in the afternoon meal and made a point of saying that certainly the eagles and gryfons had the situation covered, though lions would have been faster, if it were not so difficult to cross the canyons of the Voldsom.

The painted wolves met that statement with derision and howling laughter, then made a point of taking excursions up and down their labyrinths of trails through the canyon and calling to the lions from the opposite rim.

Shard lost track of Kjorn after they had to part ways—Shard to meet with his Vanir, and Kjorn to treat with the leaders of each group. He hadn’t even had a chance to speak with Stigr, who, along with Asvander and Valdis, attempted to keep the Lakelanders of the Ostral Shores and the gryfons of the Dawn Spire from arguing.

Shard observed all this with growing tension, until he felt his wings might cramp and fall off.

The Vanir gathered to Shard, waiting on his word, seeking him out for orders—in general, he thought, keeping him in their line of sight. He busied himself and them by making sure everyone had a den, or at least an overhang under which to duck if the weather turned again. With the painted wolves returned, the empty dens Brynja and her huntresses had used for a while that winter were reclaimed, so they moved farther downriver into the canyon.

After the battle, they would depart for the Silver Isles.

Shard checked in with each member of his pride. Shadows kept the canyon cool down near the river, and many of the Vanir worked at the river, fishing to help feed the multitude of animals. Nilsine’s Vanhar joined them, not inclined to arguing or empty boasting. This put them in good graces with the eagles, to whom fish was a great delicacy.

Shard found old Frar lounging by the bank, calling advice to the younger, fishing gryfons.

“Not bad, not bad, but if you angle so your shadow throws upstream they won’t see you coming!”

“Frar,” Shard said respectfully. The old gryfon looked up in surprise and shifted as if to stand. “No, rest. How was the journey?”

“Fair, my lord.” He looked grimly toward the canyon walls, and they heard shouting among the Lakelanders. “That’s a talon-happy bunch, I’ll tell you. I think they like nothing more than being insulted so they can fight.”

“I’m inclined to believe you. But don’t worry.” Shard touched his beak to the old gryfon’s wing. “We’ll be going home soon.”

“Good, very good, my lord. You’ll find your Vanir strong and ready.”

“Thank you,” Shard said. He watched the gryfons fishing for a moment, and considered joining them, then decided he was better off watching and keeping an eye on things.

Tension swelled between the canyon walls. Small, brief fights broke out along the river at least once a sun mark as the long, long day stretched on. Old enemies meeting again, rivals, friends who didn’t trust each other as they once did. Some blamed others for the wyrm attack on the Dawn Spire, and the different creatures barely maintained peace with each other.

The painted packs called challenges and boasts to the gryfons of the Dawn Spire. Not everyone clearly understood each other, Shard saw. Not everyone was truly listening. Some only heard gryfons snarling, or wolves barking, lions growling.

Shard remained close to the Vanir, feeling stubbornly that it was not his place to keep anyone from fighting. Kjorn had chosen this. For now, Shard would protect his own.

The great roar of talk and commotion that had filled the canyon to the brim during the day faded off as night closed in. It seemed scouts had ventured so far into the Outlands that none would return that night.

Each group posted their own sentries along the wall of the canyon, the river, and a few on the far rim to cast their gazes toward the Outlands. No one flew once darkness fell.

Stars pierced the night. Brynja and Shard lit a great bonfire near the Vanir camp by the river, and Shard was grateful for her quiet company.

“You’re not happy,” she said as he drew out his fire stones.

“No, I’m not happy.” He sat near the bundle of grasses and twigs. Some enterprising Vanir had been smart enough to set some grass out in the sun, giving it time to dry from the rain the previous day, and now Shard used it to light the first fire. “I believe the wyrms are gone, and Kjorn still insisted on bringing everyone here.”

The sparks flared, raining from the stones in his talons and lighting a grim expression on Brynja’s face. Then it was dark again. Shard struck the stones again, again, until an ember caught and glowed. In that whisper of light he felt Brynja watching him. He waved his wing gently at the ember, fanning it to a trickle of flame, and stuffed the little tinder nest under their kindling.

“I can speak to him.”

Shard wanted to shake his head, to growl, to ask her why she thought she might have a better chance than himself, but he didn’t. “If you think it will help.”

“Shard. What aren’t you telling me?”

He tucked the fire stones away in their pouch and glanced to her, backing away from the kindling as his blaze grew, spilling heat and light. “You know what I think. The wyrms have gone. They could very well be searching for the Silver Isles right now. There’s no reason to have summoned everyone here, and now we can barely keep them from fighting with each other.”

She inclined her head, and he couldn’t help but admire the gold of the fire on her face, the splash of red flecks along the paler feathers near her beak. Her eyes, stern, made him check his skepticism. “What would you have done, in his place?”

“With my wingbrother arguing against me? I . . .” Shard trailed off. He and Kjorn had advanced a long way since they’d both left the Silver Isles. They saw each other more clearly. They saw themselves more clearly. “I would have . . .” Shard sighed, digging a talon against the dirt. “I would have wanted to check for myself.”

“There’s trust,” Brynja said quietly, “and there’s leadership. Kingship. If Kjorn hadn’t doubted that the wyrms were gone, someone else would have. He’s doing it to stay everyone’s doubts, not just his own.”

“But I would have checked for myself,
then
brought my army.”

“Fair enough.” Her tail twitched back and forth as she watched him. “Would you like me to speak with him? We share distant bloodlines, we are both Aesir of the Dawn Spire.”

“Thank you, Brynja, but we’re already here. We must fly out this wind where it takes us, and hope it doesn’t end with all these armies fighting each other.”

“Well aren’t we the hopeful bunch.” Stigr approached Shard from the river, Valdis at his side. She almost never left his side, like ballast, as if her presence somehow balanced his missing wing. Maybe it did. “Meanwhile, the rest of the camps are getting jealous of this blaze. The Lakelanders and the lions have kindling gathered for their own bonfires, if you have time.”

“Give me the stones, Shard.” Brynja stepped forward, ducking her head. “I will light a few more fires while you two catch up.”

Shard hesitated, then took the leather thong from his neck and slipped it over hers. As she raised her head, she brushed her feathered ear along his and nibbled lightly with her beak in a way that washed a shiver down his back.

“Be of a bright heart, my lord.” She drew back to watch him sternly. “It’s one of your traits that I fell in love with.”

“Yes, my lady,” Shard said quietly.

“Valdis,” Brynja said with more air, “will you join me? I’ve missed you. We can find my father and catch up.”

Valdis eyed Stigr. “I suppose I can trust you not to get into trouble for a few moments?”

“I’ll give it a try.” They grazed beaks in a fond gesture and the huntresses left, leaving Shard alone with his uncle at last. “Let’s have a walk by the river, and you tell me what’s got your ears flat.”

They reached a place where the river widened and the choice was turn around, swim, or fly. They turned, now standing well in darkness beyond the fire. More fires winked to life in the moments Shard and Stigr stood in silence. Three in the canyon, two above for the lions and for the gryfons of the Dawn Spire who didn’t wish to nest so closely to the wolves and eagles.

“We heard no wyrms either,” Stigr said at length, staring at the river. The muttering and rumor that the wyrms were no longer in the Outlands had clearly spread—or perhaps began on its own. “On the journey from the Ostral Shores.”

Shard’s gaze slid to his uncle’s shoulder and the thick scar where his wing used to be. The last time he’d made a mistake, his uncle had paid a horrific price. Now everyone cried out for battle, for justice, for war, and Shard felt squeamish and uncertain. He didn’t know what was right anymore.

“I don’t know what to do, Uncle.” Shard sat as close to Stigr as he could without nudging his uncle into the water. “If the wyrms are gone, I know Kjorn will deal with the consequences here. We will, together. Then I must take the Vanir home. And then? If the wyrms are nowhere to be found? I spoke to Rhydda. I’m learning her past. Do I pursue her until we understand each other?”

“That’s a lot of questions about things that haven’t happened yet,” Stigr said quietly. “Why don’t you focus on the wind that’s under your wings now.”

“The wind of war,” Shard said sourly, dipping his talons idly into the slow waters of the river. Farther downstream he knew it broke into dangerous rapids, but this area flowed full and slow, and soothed him.

“You’re a good warrior,” Stigr said. “What do you fear?”

“It isn’t fear so much as . . . I know that the Winderost has been terrorized by the wyrms, and that they seem to kill out of hatred and without mercy. I know I should wish to fight. But I don’t. I don’t want to fight the wyrms. I don’t want to fight anyone. But I know Tyr looks highly on brave warriors, and I fear I’m becoming a coward.”

He held his breath after this admission, and waited, shamed, fully expecting his uncle to call him on his cowardice. He watched the older Vanir’s face, edged in starlight, the scar of his missing eye a testament to his own courage and warrior heart.

“Well.” He sighed, and Shard flinched a little. “Who really knows what Tyr looks highly on. We all seem to die, lose wings, eyes, love, and friends without much regard for who is a better gryfon and not. There is a difference between being a coward, and not wanting to fight.” Stigr’s tail swept the sand, back and forth. “Shard, I will always look highly on you for following your heart, for trying so hard to do what you think is right, and by that I mean, what you think will be best for everyone.”

Shard sat very still, ears tuned to his uncle’s every breath. It wasn’t the answer he had expected, but perhaps it should have been. “The Summer King is supposed to bring peace.”

“That’s not exactly what the song says, actually,” Stigr said. He went on, looking down and digging a talon into the sand of the riverbank in a fidget similar to Shard’s. “Shard, we can’t always know what’s best for everyone. These warriors of the Ostral Shores, for instance, they’ll never feel worthy and whole if they don’t see battle. That is in their hearts.”

He looked down the river toward the distant bonfire. “The Vanhar, on another wind, seek peace and wisdom. We Vanir like our harmony too, but we will fight if needed. I believe bright Tor blesses those who seek understanding and peace, but for a worthy cause, I’ll go to battle with Tyr’s light in my heart.” Stigr tilted his head to eye Shard with his good eye. “Knowing all that, who’s to say what’s best for me?”

“Valdis?” Shard joked weakly, and Stigr’s rough laugh was a balm.

Once again, Shard’s throat locked to know that he would be leaving Stigr in the Winderost, the closest gryfon to his own father that he’d ever known. Briefly, with regret and guilt and a touch of anger, he thought of Caj. But he could not fly that wind now.

“Rashard. Son of my wingbrother.” Stigr stood, walking around to stand between Shard and the river. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

“No," Shard admitted, almost laughing, until Stigr gusted a growling sigh.

“I’m telling you that you aren’t a coward. And you haven’t failed. You’ve done all we could have ever asked, and more. The Summer King listens to all, speaks to all, his wing beats part the storm. He is borne aloft by the Silver Wind, by the truth, by understanding, as you are.”

The black gryfon raised his head, eyeing the twinkling stars, and the fires on the rim. “This will be Kjorn’s kingdom now, and he’ll win it, and rule it, as he sees fit. You can do your best to avert him from evil air if you see it, you can stand by him if you wish it, but in the end, you can only serve your own heart. I follow and help you because you are my prince, and, I believe, my Summer King, and because that’s all my heart has ever told me to do.”

Shard closed his eyes, grasping the sand and gravel in his talons as if it would keep him from flying apart. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Come now.” Stigr perked his ears toward the fires. “I think I hear another argument breaking out. What do you suppose it’s about this time? Wingspan, or the advantage of beaks over fangs?”

Shard managed a laugh, and walked close to his uncle, and for a few moments he felt like himself again. For a few moments the stars seemed clear, his path felt right, and beyond it all he knew he would be going home soon.