Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar (9 page)

Ammari spent more of her waking hours in the tent with the “gimps,” as they’d now laughingly begun referring to themselves. One of the southerners pointed out—wisely—that a word is only truly an insult if you take it as such. Making it a joke, instead of derogatory, takes the power out of it, and makes it your power instead.

It reached its zenith when one of the fletchers asked Jeft to bring another basket of arrowshafts, and Ammari heard her son answer back, “That’s
Boy
Jeft to you, gimp!” The whole group fell about laughing.

That laughter was what awoke Kelvren. He blinked a dozen times, cleared his mind, and found the pain that had been his constant, unwanted companion had dulled its screaming to barely a whisper. He still felt unbearably heavy, but lifted his head, and found Treyvan was there, and real.

Treyvan spoke to him with respect. “Wingleaderrr Kelvrrren. You have sssurrrvived woundsss that would kill thrrree grrryphonsss. I am imprrresssed by yourrr willpowerrr—and yourrr durrability. And yourrr compasssionate sssacrrrificsse.”

Kel smiled a little at that. Praise from Treyvan! “Wasss it not what ssshould be done? Hallock Ssstaverrrn had hisss Genni to rrreturrrn to. Hisss mate. I have no mate, but I have wissshed it ssso. I would not let him lossse hisss, if it cossst my own life forrr it. He lived the drrream I have. It ssshould not perrrisssh. You—you have Hydona. Can you underrrssstand?”

Treyvan nodded gravely. “I would claw out the hearrrt of the sssun if it meant keeping herrr sssafe. And my young—the sssame forrr them.”

Kelvren looked into the middle distance, as if caught in daydream. “It would be good to have sssuch perrrfect daysss as Hallock Ssstaverrrn and you have had. And young, yesss.”

“In time, Kelvrrren. In time. Yourrr legend grrrowsss.”

“Legend?” Kel looked bemused. “Legend.”

“Yesss. I know that I will tell of you. And you ssshall rrrecoverrr. Whitebirrrd—ourrr
trondi’irn
frrrom Haven—isss on herrr way. In the meantime, if yourrr mind isss clearrr enough, I would like to know yourrr wissshesss.”

Kelvren choked out a chuckle. “I want nothing lesss than to give incssident command overrr to you!”

Treyvan smiled reassuringly. “Verrry well, but I name you my rrresssident advisssorrr. I am currriousss—what arrre thessse people doing with yourrr cassst-off featherrrsss? They trrreat them with—rrreverencsse.”

Kelvren rumblechuckled. “Ssstorrriesss, my Lorrrd Trrreyvan. Belief, and ssstorrriesss.” He sobered and continued. “I told everrryone in thisss camp that would lisssten about ourrr people, ourrr herrroesss, and the deedsss we have accomplissshed. I wasss all but csserrrtain I would die sssoon. I
had
to tell ourrr ssstorrriesss. Yourrr tale wasss one I told. My Lorrrd Trrreyvan, you arrre one of the Grrreat Onesss. When you arrrived, I thought I wasss feverrred. When you deferrred to me, I thought I wasss mad. Beforrre you arrrived, I knew my end russshed towarrrdsss me. I knew that I had to end making a differrrencsse.” He paused to rest for a few moments, then resumed after several deep breaths. “The sssoldierrrsss trrruly believe that to sssome degrrree, I am invincssible. They sssaw I sssurrrvived thessse woundsss, and knew I prrrotected theirrr own. They believe that what I am—what I do—isss magic of a mossst potent kind. Ammarrri and Jeft—they paint thessse featherrrsss of mine in Ammarrri’sss liquid light. The fletcherrrsss—they sssnip thessse parrrtsss of my ssshed featherrrsss and bind them in with the norrrmal featherrrsss. And they shine—to thessse peoplesss’ eyesss, they
look
magical. And the sssoldierrrsss who recsseive thessse arrrowsss believe they arrre now gifted with sssome of my powerrr.”

Understanding dawned on Treyvan, and he sat up straight.

“If thessse sssoldierrrsss go into battle with thessse arrrowsss they will feel morrre confident. It will rrreinforcsse theirrr brrraverrry. It could be enough to help them win, if it comesss to that.” He glanced around the parts of the camp he could see, and spoke more softly. “My lorrrd Trrreyvan. I will confide my beliefsss. We arrre not like otherrr crrreaturrresss, who wonderrr if a deity even carrresss if they exissst,” Kelvren continued. “We grrryphonsss werrre not crrreated by godsss, we werrre crrreated by a man. We werrre made forrr a
purrrpossse
. We werrre not crrreated to fight warrrsss, though we have. We werrre not made to rrressscue, to thwarrrt, to chassse, or kill. I believe we werrre made to
inssspirrre
. With all my bonesss and hearrrt I feel that to
inssspirrre
isss the ultimate of what Urrrtho wanted of usss.”

Treyvan cocked his head, his attention completely absorbed by what Kelvren told him.

“
This
isss what I wasss made forrr. When I sssaw ssso much missserrry herre—felt it frrrom them, felt my own life fading—I had to combine the worrrssst cssircumssstancssess in sssome ssspecial way—I needed to trrransssmute ssso many bad thingsss into good thingsss. It became clearrr to me when I came down frrrom that hill jussst to eat. Sssoldierrrsss wanted to sssharrre theirrr food with me. They wanted to sssupporrrt me, touch me forrr luck. I rrrealized. What bound it all togetherrr wasss
wonderrr
. They believed in sssomething grrreaterrr than they had the day beforrre, jussst becaussse I wasss herrre. And ssso.” He gestures with a few taloned fingers toward the industrious fletchers. “I put sssimple plansss into motion, and theirrr belief imbued the motion with powerrr, and it moved on itsss own.”

“Without a single spell left to you,” Treyvan murmured, incredulous.

Kelvren closed his eyes and with some effort, pushed himself up to a sitting position, wings still flat on the floor. “Thessse people arrre watching usss. What they sssee rrright now will matterrr to them the rrressst of theirrr livesss, and they will tell theirrr children and the hissstorrry will sssprrread. It may be—a minorrr legacssy—but I hope that even if I fall, it will be in the tale that I
trrried
.
Even if I die, I will not have not failed, becaussse to the lassst I did not give up
. I am sssomething extrrraorrrdinarrry to them. Therrre arrre no enchantmentsss on the arrrowsss, but the arrrowsss arrre not falssse. They
arrre
magic becaussse the sssoldierrrsss believe in them.”

The arranged time for Whitebird to arrive was nearing. Treyvan sent word to the mill that, to bring in his
trondi’irn,
he would open a Gate to connect partway to Haven, and that anything they needed to send through in half a minute could pass through after his specialist from the other side arrived. He caught Hallock biting his lower lip as he sat by the slumbering Kelvren.

“What trrroublesss you, Firrrssst?”

“It’s the Gate. A doorway to just step through to be closer to Haven.”

“Clossserrr to yourrr Genni,” Treyvan shrewdly noted.

Hallock nodded. “Closer to my Genni. I miss her so much, it’s impossible not to think of being with her every moment. And returning to her is precisely what Kelvren diced his life on. I could just resign my command, and step through a door to be a few days’ ride from her. But I can’t do it.” He looked Treyvan in the eyes. “I do have a command here, and I owe it to my troops. But as much as that—I have to be at Kelvren’s side.”

Treyvan was silent for several minutes, finally saying delicately, “You mussst rrrealize he isss unlikely to sssurrrvive thisss.”

Hallock held a fist in his hand. “I’m not knotting a yellow ribbon for him yet.” He gestured out toward the rest of the camp. “And I have my soldiers to take care of. They just lost their First, and I’ve replaced her. It would be too much for me to leave now. I can’t risk them getting someone with no field experience in my place.”

“You arrre a good leaderrr, Hallock Ssstaverrrn. The grrreatessst of leaderrrsss arrre at the forrrefrrront of battle, wherrre the powerrr of theirrr prrresencssse can be felt by thossse they command. He isss a parrrt of hisss forcsse, not ssseperrrate frrrom them. The Haighleigh sssay that a wissse chief isss a man who sssaysss “I was beaten,” not “My men werrre beaten.” You sssee the rrreality of battle widely, immerrrssse yourrrssself in it, and ssset yourrrssself apart frrrom thossse who debate it asss theorrry frrrom afarrr.”

“This may be so,” he agreed, “and thank you for the compliment. But just the same, I have to admit there’s a lot of me that wants to go through that Gate of yours.” He turned toward Kelvren. “But I’m not leaving him.”

Three light wagons laden with injured troops, and a courier on back of a pony were lined up, two horselengths behind Treyvan. The gryphon mage sat in front of a rope laid out on the road, which marked where the Gate aperture would be. He stared toward it, but not at it—as if he looked past it deep into the earth. He spread his wings and flapped them slowly, drawing his arms up and tracing talons through several motions, culminating with a wide gesture of two halves of a wide circle.

A short crack of thunder came from in front of the gryphon, and made everyone flinch. The horses looked none too happy, but didn’t run. Then the air simply opened up. Forest, grass, and another road were brightly lit by a column of light on the other side of the Gate, and rippled while the edges of the Gate stabilized. Foreclaws still up, Treyvan sidestepped to its right and called out, “Now!”

The light was eclipsed by three horses running toward the hole, and then they were there in the camp, swerving off to the side at a gallop. “Go!” Treyvan called, and the horses pulling the line of wagons churned hooves toward the Gate and went through. The courier on the pony surged through the hole last, and then the Gate was allowed to collapse. Treyvan dropped back to all fours, swaying and panting.

Two of the horses bore
trondi’irn
Whitebird, her assistant, and a heavy load of supplies. Whitebird’s appearance was striking—she dressed in a half dozen shades of blue, and her hair was past shoulder length and as snowy as the third “horse” that had come through. A swarthy man in a Herald’s uniform was astride a mare Companion, and dismounted to speak earnestly with Captain Stavern. Treyvan walked briskly toward the convalescents’ tent, and the
trondi’irn
fell in behind him.

Whitebird let her assistant take the horses as she walked the rest of the way to the tent. When she saw Kelvren dozing, she stared, mouth open. “Oh, you poor thing,” she gasped.

She rushed to Kelvren’s side, resting her hands on his shoulder, his wing, and down his flank. She leaned in to smell him, taking in his scent from beak to rump. A minute later, her assistant came in laden with cases and pouches. They extracted instruments and vials from them and took samples from the wounds, judged the colors they turned, and set them aside on a complex anatomical chart. Kelvren roused from slumber—barely—and rolled a glassy eye sideways to view the two new people.

“Oh, good,” he murmured, and then drifted back to sleep.

Whitebird glanced at Treyvan with an unreadable expression, then stood to stand near him. She spoke in Kaled’a’in. “Trey—this looks very bad. He has such strong infections I can smell them. I don’t know how he’s lasted this long unless it’s divine providence or pure willpower. We’ll get to work on him immediately, but I’ll be honest with you, it’s definitely a ruin.” She wiped down her hands with a wet cloth that smelled of vinegar. “Right now, it looks like
hirs’ka’usk,
and if you don’t find a way to rejuvenate his magic, he’ll be lost to us in days. I can give him medicine and prime his body for a rejuvenation, but if you can’t infuse him with power, the best I can hope to do is stabilize him as he is. No strength, no flight—for a life of a few months.” The elder gryphon rumbled and nodded, and Whitebird bent to her work on Kelvren. “I’ll be here for four or five candlemarks.”

“She’s beautiful,” one of the men behind her said. “I think I’m in love.”

“Grow some wings and I’m yours,” Whitebird answered without looking up. “Until then, get me some hot water.”