By the Silver Wind (16 page)

As night deepened and the rain continued in long, lashing strokes over the ocean, noise and commotion dwindled. The Vanhar curled up under the shelter of the cliff and Shard and Kjorn’s company joined them. Shard and Kjorn remained in their grotto, calling good night to those who passed them. Shard saw Brynja, but she only glanced their way, gave him a fond look and dipped her head, moving on to nest with Dagny.

“I wonder why she didn’t join us for supper.”

Kjorn glanced out at the rain. “I have an idea.”

Shard watched him expectantly.

The golden prince stood, stretched languorously, and tossed his half-eaten fish out toward the beach. “You’ll think it’s self-indulgent.”

“Most likely. Tell me anyway?”

Flopping again next to Shard, wings pressed together, Kjorn offered, “I think she’s giving us as much time as possible, together before . . .” His tail twitched, and Shard made a quiet noise of understanding.

“Before we’re parted.”

“Yes.” Kjorn sighed. “She gets you for the rest of your life together, each night and day, until you drive each other mad. You and I have only until my kit is old enough to be carried home.”

Home,
Shard thought, his chest constricting.
This is his home now.
“But surely, it isn’t as if we won’t ever see each other after that.” He thought of Hikaru, he thought of how at last he had true friendship, honesty and respect within his realm of closest family and friends, and how fleeting their time together would be.

“Of course not,” Kjorn murmured, resting his head over Shard’s shoulders, as if they were fledges again settling in for an afternoon nap. “I hope that our kits will know each other. But it’s a long flight, Shard, and perilous. I think we’ll see each other, but not often. Not really. She’s giving us time now, my brother, because after this, it won’t ever be the same.”

“No,” Shard whispered. “I suppose it won’t.”

Suddenly grateful for Kjorn’s uncomfortable weight against him, and his wing at an odd angle under the gold head, Shard shifted only slightly to avoid numbness. He would’ve said more but apparently the rain had exhausted Kjorn, and the gold prince was already asleep.

Kjorn returning to his birthright in the Winderost had seemed the best possible answer to Shard, but that didn’t make it the happiest one.

Shard didn’t move, and couldn’t sleep then, as the rain fell on over the waves.

“T
HIS GOLDEN SUNRISE BODES
well for you, Kjorn, son-of-Sverin.”

Kjorn stood once again before the half ring of twelve Vanhar elders, the high priestess at its center. But this time he was not alone. Shard sat to one side of the semi-circle and Brynja sat beside him, as did Asvander, Valdis, and Ketil, as chosen representatives of Kjorn’s allies. Nilsine stood with them, which Kjorn saw the elders noting with sideways looks.

“It makes me hopeful,” Kjorn said, looking at the sky. “We have moved into a hopeful time.”

Rain-washed wind sent the long grass around them dancing, and Kjorn breathed deeply, smelling the fresh air and the salt waves. Behind them, the cliff dropped down to the glimmering sea, and the air smelled fresh and clean. All things seemed possible.

The high priestess circled slowly around Kjorn until she stood again before him. “When first you came here, you spoke only of finding your wingbrother. This you have done. We are all honored to meet the prince of the Silver Isles, whom the lions and painted packs call the Star-sent. We are glad to know that you two are wingbrothers, for this makes us hopeful that you will indeed rid the scourge of the wyrms from this land.”

Kjorn bowed his head, glancing furtively to Shard, who twitched his wings encouragingly. “And we plan to do just that,” Kjorn said. “We’ve come to ask your help.”

“But that isn’t all. My elders, the most aged, knowing, and wisest among the Vanhar, sat before you this winter past when you claimed to have no other aims in the Winderost but to find your wingbrother. They have questions for you now.”

As the wind shifted around them like a playful kit, one of said elders stood, a graceful, hale-looking male whose feathers had paled with age.

“Son of Sverin. You claim to want to rid the land of our scourge, but that isn’t all. Say with your own words what your final aim will be.”

With another glance at Shard, Kjorn raised his head and opened his wings just a little, to catch the light. He’d often watched the effect his father’s presence had on his pride, and if the Vanhar thought the sunrise boded well, let them see his golden wings.

“I’ve come to claim my birthright here as Per’s heir, Kajar’s heir. One who brought a blight on you, and one who fled it. I mean to rid this land of the wyrms, and take my birthright at the Dawn Spire.”

“And you seek loyalty of the Vanhar,” hissed an even older female, who looked too weary to stand, but her voice cut bright and clear ice. There was no weakness or frailty in the minds of the ruling council that Kjorn could see. “You seek submission, to bring the Winderost under one talon, answering to your whims.”

“No.” Surprised at her vehemence, Kjorn inclined his head, folding his wings again so as not to intimidate her. “No. I seek your alliance to drive out the wyrms. I seek your recognition, your friendship. Perhaps, one day, your fealty, but for now—”

“You lied,” another male said bluntly.

From the corner of his vision Kjorn saw Shard begin to stand, looking indignant, and flicked his tail to stop him. It wouldn’t do for his friends to rile, and Kjorn look too defensive. The words were true, if unfair.

“I didn’t lie. At the time, my only hope was to find Shard and reconcile, which I’ve done, and now our aim together is to drive out the wyrms so this land can heal.”

“And you can be lord over all.”

Kjorn looked back to the female who’d spoken. “Not in the way Kajar’s line was. But to take the Dawn Spire, to know alliance from all the gryfon clans, the wolf packs, lions, and the eagles, yes.”

“Is this a promise as it was a promise that you had no other aims, before? Is your truth fluid, son of Sverin? Will you have a new truth, once the wyrms are gone? Will you bring warriors to the Vanheim Shore and demand that we bow to you and your heirs and come and go from the Dawn Spire on your whim?”

A claw of frustration curled in his chest and Kjorn narrowed his eyes. His friends shifted, looking from the council to him, and he forced himself to keep his wings folded, his tail still.

“No. That isn’t my wish.” He raised his voice, speaking to each of the dozen in turn. “I hope for gryfons to be united in brotherhood, to live at the Dawn Spire if they wish, or in their own homeland, and come together in times of need.”

“Times of need,” scoffed the pale, elder male. “In war, you mean.”

“The lions have told us their vision,” the priestess said quietly. “That you will stir the Sunwind. What do you say to this?”

A shiver nearly made him ruffle his feathers, but he grasped to his poise. He remembered the night. “I respect their vision. But I believe this Sunwind portends my battle with the wyrms, not gryfon against gryfon.”

“It isn’t for us to know,” a wizened female remarked, glowering at him.

“No, it isn’t.” He turned to her, forcing himself to transform his needling frustrations with them into a sense of determination. He would not become Sverin, making speeches and promises meant to intimidate. It had worked on the Lakelanders and he’d meant every word, but the Vanhar were very different gryfons. “It isn’t ours to know what the winds will bring us. But it is for us to choose how we fly them
.
” He searched the faces of the council, and found only three who looked at all thoughtful and not stubborn. “If you choose not to join me in the coming battle, I respect that choice. I’m not threatening, I’m asking, offering. I am offering the chance to help, to be there to drive out the enemy, to give you back the nights you hold sacred—”

“And then?” broke in the male who’d called him a liar, standing. “After the dead are honored, you’ll be here with wing and talon demanding that we bow! Mark my words, everyone—”

“That isn’t—”

“He had no interest in this land until he came and saw opportunity.” He turned his glower in Kjorn. “You are here to conquer, just like your cowardly forefathers!”

“No!” The shout broke from him, and he immediately took a step back, lowering his head.

A strange, buzzing quiet fell, and the Vanhar who’d managed to snap his temper sat back, looking smug.

At a loss, Kjorn sought Shard.

His wingbrother stood slowly, walked to his side.
He looks like a king,
Kjorn thought, a little dismayed that his wingbrother could be at once hapless and halting in accepting shows of fealty, and then a noble prince when required.

“I told Kjorn about the need for a king here.” He spoke quietly. “A new king.” The elders turned their gazes to him warily, and the high priestess perked her ears to his firm voice. “I left my homeland to find the truth of the Aesir coming there, and I found the Winderost, in turmoil. I know Kjorn better than you. I grew up with him, quarreled with him, made amends. For what it’s worth to you, I know his sense of honor, and justice, and courage.”

Shard looked at him with such faith and loyalty that Kjorn could only bow his head, breath catching. “Let me speak for him, though you don’t know me. Let me promise that we are striving to find a way to make peace with the wyrms, but if that fails, it will be war. And let me speak as one who shares your desire for peace, for harmony, and tell you that if you choose to ally with any king of the Dawn Spire, it should be Kjorn.”

In the silence, Kjorn heard voices down at the shore. Vanhar, going about their morning fishing, gossiping, happy in the fresh wind and the smell of the sea. He felt a fierce sense of wanting to protect it, them, all of them, though they weren’t his. A few councilors muttered to each other, eyeing Shard.

“You do not know Shard, but you know me.” Nilsine stepped forward to stand on Kjorn’s other side. “This winter, the high priestess asked me to accompany Prince Kjorn on his quest to find his wingbrother, asked me to judge his character and his honor. I did this.”

Kjorn watched her, grateful and not quite surprised. He had thought she’d had other aims when she joined him, but hadn’t guessed it was to bring a report to the council.

That means that at least the priestess suspected I would eventually want my birthright . . .

The high priestess, orange eyes bright in the morning, dipped her head. “Tell them what you told me.”

Nilsine’s voice was flat, honest, unemotional. “I believe he is the true blood of En of the Second Age, daughter of the first Dawn Spire kings to rise above petty clan wars and our Nameless, brutal fight for survival.” Her eyes, like red embers, scoured the elders. “I believe he comes in the name of peace, though that may mask itself in battle. We honor Tor above all, but it is bright Tyr who lends our talons strength in times of war, and it is Tyr who has sent Kjorn to us, Tyr who raises the Sunwind. The sun shone on Kjorn the first time he entered the Vanheim, and it shines on him still. I urge the council to consider these omens.”

Kjorn stared at her, and saw Shard doing the same. Over her back, he caught Shard’s gaze, and even he looked awed.

A female, younger than the rest but still older than Kjorn’s father, made a show of clearing her throat. “Daughter of Nels, there are some here concerned than you are too fond of legends, and that you seek a hero from a song, not a king. I was your age in the time of Per, and it was no better then.”

“Kjorn is not Per.” Nilsine turned to her, but otherwise looked locked to the earth, like a stone. “And why should a king not be a hero from a song? All of my sentries will witness that Kjorn led us to battle against the great enemy, and others are already singing of it. Don’t be blinded by your contempt for the old kings. This is a new day. We must fly to it with new, open eyes and hearts.”

The elders exchanged looks, bent their heads, whispered. Kjorn flexed one shoulder idly, wondering how they managed to get anything done, ever, with so many making decisions and giving opinions.

Shard and Nilsine remained at his sides, lending their silent support, and Kjorn leaned on a hind paw to resist pressing to Shard for strength and patience.

When it seemed they might keep whispering and arguing until the middle mark, the high priestess raised her wings for their attention. “I have a proposition for the council.” Her voice hushed them, but she watched Kjorn. “The council is concerned about your aims, about your desire for leadership. We have a ritual for any who wish to serve on our council. Since you hope to be a high king, I say that performing this ritual should satisfy their concerns.”

The elders considered, began nodding, murmuring agreement. Hope glowed in Kjorn’s heart. The priestess observed her council until they fell silent, then spoke to Kjorn.

“They are agreed. Will you do this?”

Kjorn perked his ears, invigorated by the promise of taking action. “Yes, I will. I would be honored to perform any task to satisfy the Vanhar as to my intentions.”

“Good. Then I dismiss the council. The rest of your company is welcome to roam the shore as they wish, join us in meals and otherwise make themselves feel at home.”

The council rose, stretching and speaking of breakfast, and Kjorn stood there, slightly confused. He glanced at Shard, who appeared at a loss, and Nilsine, whose red eyes gleamed.

“Did I . . . did she not say there was a ritual?”

“Yes,” said Nilsine.

“What is it? When?”

“You’ll know,” Nilsine said quietly, and Kjorn suspected her of being amused at his expense. “Or you won’t. Either way, it will happen.”

“Can you help me?”

“I already did. And will continue to, if I can.”

Chagrined, Kjorn dipped his head to her. “Yes, you did. Thank you for speaking on my behalf.”

Her gaze traveled out over the sea, and to the horizon. “I meant every word. Fair winds, I’m sure we’ll see you later in the day. Prince Rashard, the priestess would like to speak with you.” With that, she left, loping and opening her wings to fly and, Kjorn assumed, perform her duties as sentry.