A Shard of Sun (26 page)

“The enemy?”

“The wyrms.”

“And your other allies you spoke of? Your aunt Valdis, Asvander? What of Shard’s uncle, does he live too?”

For a moment she closed her eyes, wind ruffling the feathers of her neck. “I don’t know. Orn turned on all of us and we scattered. If Valdis didn’t remain with Stigr, she probably would’ve gone to the Dawn Reach to find her estranged kin. She told me to flee just as Shard did. Asvander’s family reside at the Ostral Shores and if he wasn’t captured as a traitor then he may have gone there. I’m ashamed that I fled but what could I do? They would’ve imprisoned or killed us, and I thought…” She sighed, ears laying flat. “I thought there was hope Shard would find whatever he was seeking, or that he would find you and return. And I intended to be ready either way.”

A little ember of hope glowed again within him. “And are you?”

She looked sidelong at him, a new spark in the golden eyes that reminded him of his father. “For anything, my lord. My wingsister, my huntresses, and the others who feared Orn would suspect them of treason followed me, and they await good news. Now I have it.”

“If I can help you, I will.”

“As will we.”

Kjorn looked over at Nilsine and she merely inclined her head, though she’d been listening with interest.

After another few moments, they reached the eagle’s nesting cliffs. Brynja bid the eagles farewell there and led Kjorn, Nilsine and the Vanhar band down to the canyon floor, where a series of larger caves and dens riddled the rock face. The scent reminded Kjorn of Mayka, the painted wolf, and it was oddly comforting if only by its familiarity.

“You can sleep in the dens here,” Brynja said as she landed. “The painted wolves who used to dwell here have disappeared. Maybe the wyrms’ blatant attack on the Dawn Spire frightened them or they drove the wolves out, but whatever the reason, they’re gone, and their dens are comfortable enough if you don’t mind the smell. The eagle Hildr who leads this clan knows Shard as well, and has allowed us to remain for now.” She lifted her wings, looking amused. “Strange days make for strange allies.”

“Strange allies to you,” Nilsine said as she settled her wings. “The Vanhar have always been friendly with all creatures of the Winderost.”

Brynja seemed to take a deep breath, her gaze darting from Kjorn to Nilsine, then Fraenir, whose eyes brightened at the prospect of an impending fight. But Brynja inclined her head.

“Perhaps, someday, we of the Dawn Spire will enjoy the same friendships.”

“Perhaps,” Nilsine said, tail flicking. “Where may my band rest?”

“These dens are unclaimed. My huntresses are farther down.”

“Thank you.” Nilsine looked to Kjorn, offering a half mantle, a quick courtesy. “With your leave.”

“Go, thank you. We’ll meet at dawn, speak with the eagles and make a plan.”

Nilsine dipped her head, gave Brynja one last, measuring look, and called her warriors off to find resting places before night fell.

“Go with them,” Kjorn instructed Fraenir, who looked disappointed, but trotted away. After a moment, Brynja chuckled, and walked toward the riverbank. Kjorn followed her to the water. “What’s funny?”

“Now I know why my aunt calls the Vanhar ‘stuffy.’“

“The Vanhar have been a great help to me.”

Brynja waded into a slow pool, close to the bank, and dipped herself, ruffling to remove dust and flecks of blood from the brief fight. “I meant no disrespect. I’ll do whatever I can to help you find Shard, and as long as
you
trust my intentions, I’m not worried about Nilsine.”

“You were good friends with Shard?”

She gave him a sharp look, and he thought he detected a flush of pink about her nares, but perhaps it was the cold water. “Yes.”

“Then I trust your intentions.” He waded into the water and closed his eyes a moment before following suit to wash himself clean of blood, dust and the haze and ash. Evening gathered quickly in the canyon, between the smoky air and the sun dipping below the rim, and with it came a cold wind that reminded them it was still winter.

After a moment, Brynja spoke again, her gaze traveling along the canyon wall. “I can’t believe you’re here, really. Shard spoke so little of his homeland it seemed imaginary, because we had to keep up the pretense that he and his uncle were Outlanders. So the king wouldn’t think they had come to roust him.” She paused, studying Kjorn’s face.

“What is it?”

“Just—something Shard said. Anyway it’s good to know he has friends such as you.”

“What did he say about me?”

She shook her head. “Not as much as he could’ve. He said that you were wingbrothers, and I respect Shard, so that says enough. Though you are much taller than I thought.”

Kjorn laughed. “My father’s side, I suppose.”

“The mighty line of Kajar,” she said quietly. “I thought the stories exaggerated. But I see not.”

Kjorn shifted, feeling as if she expected something from him.

But she looked away, and Kjorn didn’t push her. “I wonder if you could tell me more about the Silver Isles, about yourself, and Shard?” When she looked back to him there was curious hunger in her gaze, and at once he began to understand her a little better, and what Shard might mean to her.

“I would be glad to.”

They waded from the water and shook themselves before stretching out on the bank. Brynja dug a talon into the sand. “Begin wherever you remember.”

“You’re in luck,” Kjorn murmured, watching the swirls and eddies of the river. “For all of my life is tied up with his. I was newborn when my grandfather led our pride from the Winderost. My mother carried me, in her talons, across the sea.” He tilted his head and closed his eyes. “They conquered the pride there. And when I was still a squalling kit, my father’s wingbrother, Caj, took the only other living kit in the pride, and they placed him in the nest beside me, to comfort me. They raised us together.” He opened his eyes, looking toward the sky. “They raised us as brothers.”

Darkness closed on the canyon as he told Brynja of his life and Shard’s, and with darkness came a reminder of winter cold and a light layer of frost. Stars pierced feebly through the gloom of haze just as Kjorn reached the tale of he and Shard’s initiation hunt.

“And then, Shard began calling ridiculous insults, goading him to attack—”

A hollow, discordant roar cracked through the night.

Kjorn startled to his feet and flared, staring around, while Brynja leaped up beside him.

A second roar, metallic and grating, bounded along the canyon rim, so thunderous it reverberated in Kjorn’s chest and the ground under their feet. Kjorn could see nothing, smell nothing, the canyon was a cold, murky void.

He looked at Brynja, feeling breathless as a hollow, witless fear squirmed in him at the noise.

“We must get under cover,” she said. “Now.”

Kjorn didn’t argue. They bounded toward the canyon wall. Just as they ducked into the safety of a cave, a rush of wind from massive wings whistled above the canyon and a sour, reptilian scent drenched the air, blotting out the fresh smell of the river.

Kjorn murmured, “The enemy?”

“Yes.” Brynja’s voice was tight with contained horror. “They’ve returned.”

A
S THEY LEFT THE ICE
cavern, Hikaru gusted a breath in relief. “Oh Shard, there is so much to tell you, to show you!”

“Hikaru—”

“I know, you’re injured.” He looped around Shard and snaked his head under Shard’s belly, and with a quick, rolling bump, had landed Shard neatly across his shoulders. “First I’m taking you to the healer, for your leg. Tell me all that happened since the blackfish attacked us.” He sucked in a breath and paused, one forefoot lifted, and twisted his neck to look at Shard fully.

“And forgive me. If I had listened to you, we wouldn’t have gotten in the fight. And you wouldn’t have been hurt. And we wouldn’t have been separated.” He flicked his ears forward, tilting his head to see Shard’s leg more closely. Then he hung his head. “Forgive me, brother.”

Shard settled himself more comfortably and drew a tight breath against the ache in his leg. “It’s all right now. I learned some very important things in the time we were separated, and I have a feeling you did too. I’ll tell you my tale first.”

“On the way to the healer,” Hikaru confirmed, and turned forward again.

Riding Hikaru felt awkward at first, then comfortable, and Shard told of his journey and tried to keep track of the tunnels and halls of ice and stone. After a while he gave up, and trusted that Hikaru would take him where he needed to go.

Feeling watched, he lowered his voice when he re-told Groa’s tale, certain for the moment that Hikaru was the only dragon interested in hearing it, possibly the only one who would believe him. Spreading it around, Shard sensed, could be more dangerous than he’d realized.

“That is good,” Hikaru said, thoughtfully, his body undulating in warm, rolling movements that lulled Shard to calmness. “Though I don’t like the way the emperor treated Kajar. We should tell the empress now, tell everyone, so that they know.” His voice quieted with worry. “Shard, they don’t like gryfons, here. They only know the story my mother told you, and they don’t understand that you’re not greedy and foolish and barbaric as the old story says.”

“I see,” Shard said. “Maybe we can change their minds. But let us bide our time a little.” They passed through a broad tunnel laced with trickles of silver. The constant torchlight, flickering with the movement Hikaru brought to the tunnel, turned the silver to life with dancing light. It seemed the only fit dwelling for the magnificent dragons that Shard could imagine. “Only while we seek out the dragon that Groa spoke of. Then, when we have more information, and perhaps another dragon who knows the truth, we’ll approach the empress again.”

“Yes. That would be wise.”

He walked on, turning down another silver gilt corridor. In that place the silver was carved into visions of dragons performing various tasks, Shard realized, that had to do with healing. After a moment Hikaru murmured, “I will ask Natsumi if she knows of this dragon who keeps separate the truth and lies.”

Shard perked his ears. “Natsumi?”

In the firelight, he detected a flush at the end of Hikaru’s velvet nose. “She’s a new friend. She tried to help you when the warriors in training were out at sea. That’s who found us—warrior class dragons of my year and their masters, learning to fly during storms, learning to fly out at sea.” He fluffed his wing feathers around Shard. “I told them you were the greatest flier ever, dragon or gryfon, that you had battled a powerful tyrant during a storm at sea.”

Shard sensed a change of subject. He did recall a female voice after the whale attack. “And this Natsumi, is she—”

“Here we are!” Hikaru said brightly, and sat up so that Shard was forced to gently slide to the stone floor in front of a carved stone entryway. “You first,” Shard said, eyeing the tall, tall archway. A reassuring scent of herbs wafted from the archway that reminded him of Sigrun’s den.

“Of course,” Hikaru murmured, and led the way inside.

“Well it was messy, very messy indeed.” The healer coiled around Shard, an older dragoness the color of iron ore, with a bristly, short, white mane. Having broken away his makeshift cast and splint with an air of disdain, she gently examined Shard’s leg while Hikaru curled in the corner, watching with his usual curiosity.

The healer lifted larger silver eyes to meet Shard’s. If she was disgusted by him the way the other dragons were, she hid it behind a healer’s practicality and appeared only to care about his injuries. “You set it yourself, you say?” She looked sideways at Hikaru, who tilted his head, listening.

Shard glanced between them. “I set it and held it with splint and mud,” he said. “It was the best I could do at the time. It’s mostly the flesh I’m worried about.”

“Hmm. Hmmm.” The dragoness glanced at Hikaru once again before prodding Shard’s leg. He flinched and flattened his ears, stifling a hiss. “Forgive me for that. The bone looks to be in good order. The flesh, I’m afraid, will always tell the tale.”

“A scar!” Hikaru exclaimed with relish, as if it was the best outcome possible. “A battle scar.” He laid his head on his forepaws, his whiskers drooping on the ground, making him look forlorn that he hadn’t won a scar, too.

Shard wasn’t as thrilled with the idea of scarring, but was just glad to have his leg.
Though perhaps
, he thought with a fledge-like glimmer of hope,
such a scar would impress Brynja. Someday. When we see each other again.
The thought was enough to make him sit straighter. He
had
battled grown blackfish in the middle of the ocean, in a storm, and lived. He would enjoy telling Brynja the tale. As the healer examined the torn flesh, Shard imagined creating a warm fire to gather around, and watching Brynja’s face as he told of his travels. And Asvander. He would tell the tales with Asvander present. And Kjorn. Someday, when he saw his wingbrother again, they would make amends, and he would love to see Kjorn’s face when he spoke of all he’d done.