By the Silver Wind (49 page)

“She followed Midragur,” Shard said, and Catori glanced to him with a knowing look. He couldn’t meet her gaze, feeling a numb and weary.

“She must have,” Hikaru said. “She came, but she couldn’t speak, and of course the new emperor didn’t know her, and was insulted. One elder knew her, knew her name, and she responded to it. Others tried to tell the emperor of the yearly pilgrimage, of the gifts, of the names. He wouldn’t hear it. He was still angry with Kajar. He and others chased Rhydda back to the nightland. She’d had a new brood, and she showed them to the dragons, thinking they would give her wyrmlings names and gold. Instead they . . . they . . .”

He paused, lowering his head in shame.

Sverin spoke. “Tell us, Hikaru. We all have things in our past we aren’t proud of.”

Shard couldn’t help but looked at him in amazement. It sounded as if he were counseling a gryfon fledge.

Brynja leaned into Shard, her face grim, and Hikaru went on, his voice pitched just louder than the crackling fire. “Instead, they drove the young wyrms down into the mines and demanded they dig. If they came out with dirt, they were punished. If they came out with gold and jewels, they got food. If they tried to come out during the day, they were punished. The emperor and his guard only allowed them out at night.”

“Until they learned never to fly in the day at all,” Shard breathed. “Until they thought daylight itself was dangerous.”

“In a single generation, they learned to fear the daylight as if it burned?” Brynja sounded incredulous.

There was silence. Hikaru, restless and self-conscious, tossed a few damp twigs on the fire. Smoke and popping sap filled the quiet.

With a low, unconscious growl, Shard looked at Sverin. “It can be done. There once was a time I wouldn’t fly at night.”

Brynja looked between them, and Sverin did not lower his gaze, but he didn’t speak, either.

Hikaru looked between them uncomfortably.

It was Ragna who said, “None of this explains why they hunt a red gryfon, which you promised you would tell.”

“Oh, yes. Yes.” Hikaru sat up again, regaining his thread. “The emperor was growing old. They remained with the wyrms almost a full season, until they were obedient, until they had learned.”

“Until they were slaves,” Catori murmured.

“Until they were slaves,” Hikaru said darkly, not debating the point. “To our shame. Then, the emperor decided in his old and bitter age that he wanted revenge on Kajar. He had the craft dragons cast a gryfon in ruby and gold, and showed it to Rhydda. He took gryfon feathers and let her smell them, like a hunting wolf. He pressed it to her that the wyrms should find these gryfons, contain them, keep them from leaving their land. He had such powers, and a seer with them. Shard, she may have been able to dream with Rhydda the way you do, to tell her things.”

All too clearly, Shard remembered Rhydda’s dream, her memory of a gryfon carved in ruby and gold.

“So the wyrms went to the Winderost,” Sverin said. His voice, which had once been so familiar to Shard as ringing in command, sounded odd when thoughtfully quiet. “And they hunted at night.”

“And all we can guess,” Hikaru said, “is that they were so angry, they hunted any gryfon who dared to fly, even though the dragons showed her a red one.”

Sverin stretched out on his belly, his talons flexing against the cold ground. “Yet now, suddenly this Rhydda remembers that she can fly in the day, and so she’s brought her brood here, where she also suddenly knows the last red gryfon dwells.”

“Yes,” said Hikaru, fidgeting with the end of his tail. “Just so.”

“And how is it, I wonder, that she remembers she can fly in day, and she knows where the last red gryfon dwells?”

It was not a question. Shard took his gaze from Hikaru to see Sverin staring directly at him.

“Because of me,” Shard said quietly, and didn’t explain any further. Sverin inclined his head, as if that was all he’d wanted to hear. Shard could tell nothing from his expression, and felt frustrated that Sverin wasn’t surprised to hear it was Shard’s doing.

“So . . .” Ragna’s voice was flat. “All they want here is to kill Sverin?”

Flickers of ash floated up from the tiny fire, and the red gryfon looked at her, Shard thought, in wry amusement.

“Yes,” Hikaru said. “Well, that’s what I think anyway. Maybe they’re just still angry. As soon as I figured it out, I came to tell you, Shard, but you hadn’t arrived home yet. I came across a different sea, a faster way around the bottom of the world. I met your Vanir, Maja, and the others she’d found, when I passed over the starward quarter.”

“About my dying,” Sverin began, and Hikaru flicked his wings dismissively, patting a paw against the mud in a reassuring gesture.

“Of course we won’t let that happen.”

Sverin’s gaze found Shard again, and they stared at each other across the fire.

Hikaru blinked his large eyes, his ears ticking back uncertainly. “Shard, you won’t let that happen.” His voice strained as he looked between them, as he seemed to remember their history.

“No,” Shard said tightly, more to Sverin than to Hikaru.

He had not stopped himself from dragging Sverin into the sea only to hand him over to the enemy now, and it had been an accident that led the wyrms to the Silver Isles, whether Sverin believed it or not. “Of course that’s not going to happen. No one else is going to die for these wyrms.”

“And we don’t know if that’s what they want anymore,” Brynja said. “You said they came and slew gryfons at will.”

Quietly, Ragna spoke. “We attacked first. When they came, we met them combatively. We don’t know what they would have done otherwise. But if they are Nameless, they could have only fought back like witless things.”

Brynja shifted her feet, looking stubborn. “The lions and eagles believe wyrms are nothing but their anger and their hatred. We don’t know if they even remember what they’re angry about. They might be hunting Sverin, or they might be here because of Shard’s dreams, and remember nothing.”

“I think Rhydda remembers,” Shard said, still watching Sverin. “But they don’t know that all their original enemies are dead.”

“So,” said Sverin, “who’s going to tell them?”

“Shard will,” Hikaru said firmly, and all looked to him in surprise. He ducked his head to a stubborn angle. “He will. He’s the Summer King. They’ll listen to him.”

Shard stood, exasperated, loving Hikaru for his faith, frustrated with his innocence. “Why now, Hikaru? Why do you think they’ll listen after they have never listened before?”

Hikaru blinked large eyes at him. “Because now, you know! Now you have the truth. Just as you hunted the truth about the Aesir in the Winderost and the dragons in the Sunland. Now you know everything that happened, so you understand why they’re angry. You understand them, Shard. They’ll listen.”

Shard could only gaze at him, and Catori watched Shard’s face.

Sverin broke the quiet. “And if he fails?”

Hikaru raised his head again, his silver mane fluttering, and showed off teeth as long as Sverin’s wing feathers. “He will
not
fail.”

“In the meantime,” Ragna said quickly, seeing the young dragon’s temper rising, “we should take Sverin underground. Hikaru, thank you for your protection, but he should be underground. Let me take him to Kjorn, let him see his son. And Shard—”

“I need to think.” He stood again. “Mother, Brynja . . .” He looked at Hikaru, at his friends. “I need to think. Take Sverin to safety, and remain safe yourselves. I can’t go in those caves yet. I need to be here, in my old winds, in the forest, and smell the sea. And I need to be alone.”

He looked around, and all appeared, with grave expressions, to understand.

Brynja stood, and shoved her head under his neck. “Be well, Shard. Come to us soon.”

“I will. Thank you. Tell everyone what’s passed. I’ll come to you in the morning, first light, I promise. Tell the Vanir I will come soon.”

His words felt heavy. Soon things would be resolved, one way or another. He would try to dream again, now that he knew the truth of all that had happened. Perhaps, as Hikaru believed, knowing the truth would give Shard more power over Rhydda.

They made their farewells.

Catori paused near Shard. “Where will you go?”

He thought of the high priestess of the Vanhar, and the things she had recommended he try when he needed more strength and clarity. He thought of Ajia, who had helped him remain rooted in himself. A place came to him. A place of power. The first place Stigr had called him prince, bowed to him, the first place he’d been struck by his true birthright, and realized all he wanted in the world was peace.

“To the rowan,” he said. “If it won’t bother the wolves.”

She nodded once. “No. They will understand.” She nosed his ear, then trotted to Ragna. “This way, great lady. This way, to the caves.”

They left Shard with Hikaru, who bent his head low, nuzzling Shard. “What will you do, brother?”

Shard closed his eyes, grateful for Hikaru’s warmth, for his steady, unfailing heart, eternally grateful to see him again. “First, I’ll try to dream. I would ask you to come with me, but I need to be alone, Hikaru. Just for a little while. When all this is settled, I’ll show you every wondrous place on the islands I know.”

Hikaru laughed, and with a farewell, Shard left him, walking deeper and deeper into the ancient forest toward the place the wolves called the First Tree.

C
RAWLING DOWN INTO THE
cold earth only reminded Ragna of earlier in the winter when they’d fled down the wolf tunnels to escape Sverin and his King’s Guard. Now, of course, all Aesir were following Thyra—and Kjorn, now that he’d returned with Shard.

With grim hope, Ragna focused her thoughts on Shard. Oh, how he’d looked like Baldr, truly, grown into his final height and strength, though a bit lean from his travel, a bit worn. She saw new wisdom in his eyes, new care in his words.

And Sverin had bowed to him.

One small, hard part of Ragna’s heart relaxed, though it seemed that what she’d thought would be her greatest challenge had come and gone, and a new one had risen.

She hadn’t slept much in the last days. The wyrm screams at night, the memory of her dead pride members, and the worry over Shard had kept her awake. Now she had her son, they had a dragon on their side, they even had fire. Tyr’s own fire, harnessed and brought to earth. She had to believe they would prevail. And if Shard decided to fight, she would fight, too. She would face the wyrms if he asked her to.

All those thoughts kept her moving forward through the frozen, slick tunnel of mud and stone. She realized that in staying with Sverin and Hikaru, she still didn’t have all the news. She didn’t know all the gryfons who had died, and lived, and who was injured. She thought of Halvden, leaping to her defense, and the blood . . . She had to turn her thoughts away. She would know soon enough.

Catori led them, Ragna next, then Sverin, and lastly the Aesir, Brynja.

Her heart quickened. An Aesir. Not a cursed one, not a conqueror, but nonetheless . . . Shard couldn’t have waited, just a little longer, for his own pride, for a Vanir?

Don’t be foolish. The heart doesn’t wait.

She thought of Sigrun, who loved Caj truly, and others who had found happiness. She also thought of Vidar, and Eyvin.

Brynja would have a chance to prove herself soon enough, and Ragna would see about her quality.

“Brynja.” Sverin’s voice broke their quiet travel through the tunnels. “I knew Mar, we are distant cousins. I’m glad to know you.”

“I . . .” She hesitated, and Ragna could barely hear her voice, muffled in the stone. “I’m glad to know you, my lord. My family has always been loyal to your bloodline.”

Sverin remained quiet a moment, then said with a note of regret, “I hope we will live up to that loyalty.”

“Kjorn already has, my lord.”

Sverin made a low noise of pleased acknowledgement, and they continued in silence after that. Ragna began to notice, with relief, the faint, glowing fungus on the earthy walls that broke up the cold black of the cave.

“It will take us several sunmarks or so,” Catori said, ahead of them, “to walk to where the others are. I wish we could fly there.”

So much time of crawling, walking, ducking. There were some places so narrow that Sverin barely fit through, and Ragna had to squirm about and claw at dirt and roots to help him pass. Ragna could fly nearly a whole day without weariness, but the darkness and cold wore on her.

For a little while, it seemed it would never end, and she would dwell forever in the dark. Her thoughts grew more and more grim.

It had to be evening by then, and they were surely back under the Sun Isle. Ragna feared for Shard, and where he was, and what he was doing. But she took faith the wyrms had so far stayed away from the other islands.

Then, the faint, distant echo of a gryfon’s laughter flitted across the stone.

“A little ways more,” Catori said.

A little ways more turned out to be a longer way than Ragna supposed, and knew that wolves had greater stamina for running and crawling than she did. An entire day of it wore her to the bone.

They passed one dark tunnel, but to Ragna’s surprise, the sweet scent of river water and fresh air came from that direction. She paused, lifting her beak to smell, and Sverin bumped in to her, then Brynja into him.

“What is it?” muttered the big gryfon warily.

“Catori!” Ragna called, for the she-wolf hadn’t slowed. “Is there another way out?”

Paws scuffle on dirt and rock and Catori backed up to them, unable to turn around. “Yes. We sealed that tunnel after . . . my father died. It isn’t large enough for an Aesir, though.”

“I see.” Ragna eyed the dark tunnel, then at Sverin and Brynja’s urging, they crawled on.

At last, to her relief, a gryfon voice barked out, “Who goes there?”

“Catori,” said the wolf amiably. “And with me I have Ragna, Sverin, and Brynja of the Winderost, friend to Shard and Kjorn.”

Catori wriggled free of the narrow tunnel, and Ragna climbed out beside her into a larger cavern, one she hadn’t yet seen. Sverin emerged after, and Brynja, who moved to stand a respectful distance from Ragna.