By the Silver Wind (9 page)

Shard approached Frar, who laid on his belly in the grass with his face toward the dawn light. The air was clear and sweet, and the sky clear of clouds, paling to daylight blue.

Shard sat beside the old gryfon, the last he would speak to. He hadn’t wanted to gather them all and make a speech, but simply wanted see each of his fifty assorted exiles, reassure them and share a moment so he would stay real in their minds.

“Frar,” he murmured.

“My king,” he said, not opening his eyes. Rather than seem healthier by his days of eating well and the better comforts around the lake, the old exile seemed more weary, as if he’d been clinging to the edge of a cliff and was gradually relaxing his grip. Shard was determined to see that he made it home.

“Our plan to leave, to fly and be home by the Halflight is still in place. I hope you understand why I’m going with Kjorn.”

“I do now. I didn’t at first, but Stigr and I had a good long chat.”

Shard tried to picture what that chat would’ve looked like, and chuckled quietly. “I’m glad you have a friend in him. Frar, trust that I will return, and trust that everything I do is for the Vanir. I will return, and take you home.”

Slowly the old Vanir turned his head to gaze up at Shard, then made an abortive movement to stand and bow.

Shard shook his head. “Rest. Ketil told me you’re concerned about being sent into battle.”

“Ketil has a wide beak. I don’t complain. I will do whatever you ask of me.”

Shard ducked his head to hide his amused expression. “She cares. I admire and need her strength. But know this, I will send no Vanir against the wyrms who doesn’t wish to fight. Only
I
owe Kjorn my loyalty.”

The old gryfon looked doubtful. Shard stood, lifting his wings a little in the morning light.

“Frar, son-of-Eyvar, you who were first to come to my beacon, I
pledge
to you that your days of struggle are over. When my business is done here, all I ask of you is the flight home.”

Frar gazed at him, and Shard wondered if he was thinking of Baldr. Then he did push with some struggle to his feet, and bow. “Thank you, my lord. Anything else I can do in your service, I will.”

“Watch over the Vanir while I’m gone. With Stigr, teach them the old ways. Assure them I’ll return.”

“I will do it.”

Shard inclined his head. For a moment, they stood together to watch the sunrise, then Shard heard the commotion of others at the edge of the Vanir nests, and left him.

Closer to the water, Shard found Vanir gathering on the wet beach. Ketil spotted him and loped over, opening her wings in greeting. She looked preened and refreshed and determined.

“My lord. I understand that you said any Vanir who wish to accompany you, may do so.”

His stomach twisted. “Yes, I did say that.”

“Excellent.” She called two names over her wing, and looked back to Shard, eyes glittering as two huntresses his own age walked self-consciously forward. “Ilse, Keta, and I offer our talons to you and the conqu—prince Kjorn’s mission.”

Shard looked at Keta, a shorter and more compact version of her mother, still filling out from her days of exile in the Outlands. Truly a lovely Vanir overall, with feathers of gray, touched at the wings and face with a hint of pearly rose. Ilse, her nest-sister, had been adopted by Ketil in the Outlands, though she was an Aesir whose family was exiled from the Dawn Spire. She stood taller than both, rich dun and russet in coloring, with hints of iridescent orange.

“My lord,” Keta murmured, dipping her head and not quite meeting his eyes. Whatever she thought about her mother’s meddling, she’d never said, and Shard didn’t want to put her on point by asking. “I’m happy to help you.”

“And I,” Ilse said, “am happy to help the Vanir prince, and the heir of Kajar.”

Together, they bowed, and Shard could only say, eyes narrowed at Ketil, that he was glad to have them.

The sun stood at first quarter, and Shard gathered at the sloping council bluff with those who had volunteered to accompany him and Kjorn as they treated with the creatures of the Winderost.

In all, their traveling party had swelled to nearly fifty. Ketil and her daughters, Toskil, and two other, older exiles who had been friends to Shard’s father. Brynja and nine of her huntresses who’d been exiled from the Dawn Spire, twenty exiles from the Dawn Reach who answered to Valdis and went for Brynja’s sake, Dagny, Asvander and ten of the Lakelanders who felt an unwavering loyalty to Asvander and to Kjorn’s bloodline all waited to depart.

All in all, Shard thought they made a respectable company, a good escort for the future king of the Winderost, and large enough to handle almost any trouble. He took a moment to thank the other Vanir who had chosen to come, though he wondered, in the bottom of his heart, if Stigr and Frar had not insisted they go just to watch over Shard.

Given all he’d been through, he almost didn’t mind, though it still took him off guard to be bowed to, and addressed as ‘my lord’.

“Shard.” Stigr approached and mantled. He eyed the company of gryfons and nodded once, looking satisfied. “Fair winds. We’ll see you again at the Narrows.”

“Take care of yourself, Uncle.”

“Don’t worry about me. And Shard . . .”

“Yes?”

He looked thoughtful, then fluffed his wing. “Be careful.”

It was so simple, Shard laughed, then took a deep breath against the pang of regret that Stigr would not be at his side on the journey. “I will.”

“Good. Then I’ll see you soon.” He stepped back and mantled his good wing, fanning the end of his long tail. Shard dipped his head.

Brynja approached them, and Shard realized she’d been standing off, waiting for them to finish speaking. “All stand ready, my lord. My huntresses, those of the Reach, and the Vanir. Asvander and Kjorn are speaking to the clan leaders of the Ostral Shore, arranging our meeting at the Narrows.”

“If they actually show up,” Stigr muttered.

“I have no doubt,” Brynja said, “that they will honor their oath.”

Shard nodded once, and Brynja cast him a reassuring glance as Asvander and Kjorn approached.

Kjorn caught Shard’s eye, looking encouraged at the site of their traveling band, and nodded once. “All stand ready?”

“All ready,” Shard and Brynja chorused.

Kjorn opened his great, golden wings to the sun. “Then we fly.”

R
AGNA FLEW WITH HALVDEN
to a long cliff on the coast, where last summer the pride had attempted to begin a colony of gryfons on the Star Island. She recalled being bitter when Sverin had put Shard in charge of it, for it was practically exile from the nesting cliffs. Now, she thought Sverin had inadvertently granted Shard the opportunity to learn some leadership.

Ragna hoped it was serving him now, wherever he was, whatever he was doing.

“Fresh snow,” Halvden remarked as they landed. “This will be good for spotting tracks.”

Ragna said nothing. She had never hunted on land, always in the sea. After the Aesir forbade fishing, others had brought her red meat so that she wouldn’t have to. She let Halvden show off his knowledge, and tried to look thoughtful.

“Hopefully the deer will be less skittish, since we’ve been gone from the isle for so many days.” Halvden didn’t appear to notice her silence, and trotted toward the tree line. A long swath of snow stood between them and the trees, soft on top and crunchy with ice below. The first indication of spring, Ragna thought, the melting and refreezing of the snow. It would be a grueling trek through the forest.

“Wait.”

Halvden stopped at her voice, looking back. Snow still fell, speckling his emerald feathers.

Ragna lifted her beak and mimicked a raven’s call, then, the best she could manage, a wolf’s howl. Halvden’s feathers puffed and he laid his ears back, looking disturbed.

“What are you doing?”

“This isn’t our land.” Ragna scanned the tree line. “Did you think I would hunt here without speaking to the wolves?”

Halvden didn’t answer, but looked warily toward the trees. Though he had worked together with Caj and a young wolf to track down Sverin less than a moon ago, he was no friend to wolves.

Ragna made her calls again. A black shape flapped up from the trees, chortled, and dove again. A raven had heard her. She sat in the snow, closed her eyes, and waited. Slowly, Halvden followed her example.

A light wind licked up as they waited, and Ragna breathed in the mingled scent of pine forest and ocean. She glanced toward the horizon, but there was nothing to see but endless gray ocean. She heard Halvden shifting impatiently in the snow.

“We usually hunt in threes,” he said.

Ragna didn’t open her eyes. “As I said, no one else would hunt with me. We’ll have to make do.”

“You should have ordered them. You should have told Thyra to order them. Are you not queens?”

At those words, her temper flared, but she would not give him the pleasure of seeing her baited. She held still, eyes closed, and spoke softly. “Tell me who in this pride, who is actually able, should I force to hunt for Sverin anymore? Males of your year, driven so hard to hunt and kill wolves this winter they turned on each other and neglected their own mates?”

She sat still, but opened her eyes to stare at him, ice closing over her heart again. “My wingsister, the healer, who treated all the wounds caused by his tyranny? His own Aesir, driven here by his cowardice? Eyvin, who’s son died at Sverin’s talons? Who, Halvden, shall I order to hunt for this warmonger? I will not become a tyrant to feed one.”

Halvden ducked his head, ears slicking back, and didn’t answer.

It was just as well, for Ragna caught sight of movement in the trees.

She stood, lifting her ears, though she couldn’t yet see who stalked close. “Hail, wolves of Star Island! I am Ragna, daughter-of-Ragr, and I come to ask a great boon.”

A cluster of ravens shifted in the trees and Ragna’s gaze snapped to them. She hadn’t noticed them before. Halvden stood, feathers prickling up with unease.

“Stand proud,” Ragna told him. “Show respect. These are friends.”

“Forgive me,” Halvden rumbled. “From the time I was whelped to just this winter, I’ve been taught they are enemies.”

“Learn quickly,” Ragna said, feeling cool and not at all sorry for him. He was more cunning and ruthless than most gryfons of his year. “I trust you can.”

From the woods fluted a rich female voice. “Hail Ragna, queen of the Vanir. Welcome back to the Star Isle.”

It was with relief Ragna saw a red she-wolf step from the trees, her paws making little sound even in the deep snow. Two long, black feathers flicked at her neck, braided into the thick fur there. Ragna knew them to be Stigr’s. Another wolf moved behind her, and Ragna recognized him as Tocho, who had helped Caj in his hunt for Sverin. A quick flash of blue at his neck confirmed this—a small, cobalt feather given as a sign of trust.

“Catori,” Ragna said. “You are a good friend to the Vanir, and to my son, and my brother. I wish your brother was here for me to ask a favor. Might I see him?”

Catori stood still as a reed in ice, having grown a bit taller over the winter, Ragna thought, filling out long legs and a graceful neck. She stood out like a fox against the snow, her amber eyes impeccably peaceful. “He sent me, and I can grant you what you wish. He means you no disrespect.”

“None is taken,” Ragna said.

Halvden shifted and Ragna glanced at him sidelong, relieved and surprised to see him maintaining a pose of respect, his tail low and ears lifted.

“Fair winds,” he said, very quietly, when the wolves looked his way.

“Halvden,” greeted the gold wolf from the tree line.

“Tocho.”

Ragna looked back to Catori, feeling marginally better. “The ravens brought you my word? We seek red meat to sustain Sverin until his son and my son return, and he can face justice.”

Catori canted her head, watching for a long moment while falling snow frosted her blazing fur. “Ahanu wishes to know if the War King will face any justice
before
Shard returns, or if that whole duty falls to him, to the Summer King.”

Ragna shifted, surprised, and managed to keep her tail from twitching. “Sverin is imprisoned, bound. There is little else I can do to make him face his crimes yet.”

“If the chance comes, Ahanu hopes you will take it. Spring is in the wind, but winter is still in his heart. I fear, without justice, there will be no thaw.” Catori dipped her head and sniffed lightly at the snow.

Ragna lowered her head in acknowledgement. She hadn’t expected a request in return, but perhaps she should have. Halvden remained mercifully silent.

“I will consider what punishments I can offer,” Ragna said quietly. “But starvation and mockery of his grief is not one I consider honorable. Will you permit me to hunt here? Oaths older than I prevent me from hunting on our home island.”

Catori lifted her head again, and now Tocho emerged fully from the trees to stand beside her. A handsome pair, Ragna thought, unable to avoid motherish thoughts. She wondered if Catori would have pups of her own, or if that duty fell only to Ahanu’s mate. It seemed impossible that such a huge pack would have a single mating pair. All very nosy questions for another time.