By the Silver Wind (33 page)

Whatever Orn had in store, Shard was certain he wouldn’t expect so many gryfons, and they would be ready. Ready, if Kjorn was injured or . . . worse.

The horror of the thought chilled Shard’s muscles. The notion that he might have led Kjorn to his own execution and been far, far away when it happened sent cold and fury through him, and sharp, gnawing panic.

Then, an impossible glimmer snapped him from his growing dread.

An orange star winked and twitched some leagues ahead of him. Shard shook his head. Had he never seen fire, he would have mistaken it for a spirit, a spark, a reflection of starlight on water.

But he knew it to be fire. Since there had been no skyfire this far starward that he knew of, Shard guessed that Kjorn had made it, for Kjorn had the dragon firestones.

“
Kjorn!”
Surging forward, Shard rose higher and beat the air, plunging fast in great scoops and dives. Of course he was too distant to be heard yet, but the relief that burst open had to be voiced. He shouted his friend’s name again, and the gryfons behind him strained to keep pace.

“Caution!” Asvander called, and Shard agreed.

They spiraled higher as they approached.

“Only one fire,” Brynja observed, maintaining a circle just under Shard. “What shall we do, Shard?”

Shard hadn’t expected fire, which surely meant Kjorn was alive.

Or Orn stole the dragon stones and figure how to spark a flame . . .

“If I may,” Asvander said, beating the air near Shard.

“Yes, please.”

“Let most of us land and approach on foot, where sentries are less likely to be watching for us. They’ll expect us from the air. And they won’t be able to see as well beyond the firelight. We can see what’s happening and how best to approach, and leave our main force in the dark.”

“Yes,” said Shard, relieved he’d brought his friends after all. “Approach the fire, see what’s happening. I’m going to stay aloft.”

“I’ll stay with Shard,” Brynja said.

“Let’s do it,” said Shard, and Asvander peeled off, communicating their plan more quietly to the larger company, who followed him to the ground.

For the next moments as Shard and Brynja flew, it was silent. They couldn’t see the rest of their fellows once those gryfons landed, and Shard was grateful.

“It looks awful,” Brynja said quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Shard said, looking toward the Dawn Spire.

“It wasn’t you.”

In the glow of a single bonfire, he made out the broken spires and bridges, and shuddered at the memory of lashing wyrm tails and powerful bodies smashing rock.

They glided closer, as silent as their wings would allow, and flew high above the Wind Spire and the fire that burned on the ground.

If there were sentries posted, they paid no mind to Shard and Brynja, if they saw them all.

As they drew nearer, Shard spied Kjorn, gold awash in orange flame, throwing great logs of juniper onto the bonfire at the border of the aerie. Recalling the stores of wood the gryfons of the Dawn Spire had once collected for their nightly fires, Shard wasn’t surprised he was able to create such a blaze. Other gryfons worked with him—Shard made out Nilsine, the exile Rok, and Brynja’s father.

“Oh, Father,” Brynja breathed, her voice a mix of relief and pride.

Shard didn’t see Dagny, and his heart quickened again.

He appeared to have arrived at the beginning of whatever was happening. Shouts rose, night sentries staring from their posts, but too amazed to move as Kjorn built his bonfire.

Brynja and Shard circled above the firelight, high above the Wind Spire, but were able to hear what happened next.

“Gryfons of the Dawn Spire, behold!” Kjorn’s voice boomed in the dark, as if the fire itself had a voice. “Wake!”

“We fear the night no more!” roared Mar, leaping up to shower bark and kindling onto the roaring blaze and sending up a spiraling wave of sparks and spitting flames.

Movement in the air caught Shard’s eye and his heart stuttered to his throat as he whipped around.

“Ssst, Shard! Brynja!”

In the growing, golden light he glimpsed Dagny, circling over them.

“Oh, Dagny!” Brynja exclaimed, flying up to meet her wingsister. “You’re all right!”

“I knew I saw something,” Dagny said, and didn’t seem worried about the volume of her voice. Shard could see why, with the bonfire and Kjorn, big and golden and yelling, holding everyone’s attention. “I thought you were just a very small wyrm,” she chittered in amusement.

He saw that she held an unlit brand, of the kind the fire-keepers of the Dawn Spire used to light the nightly fires.

“What’s happening?” Shard asked.

“The king has returned,” Dagny said, at once with a grave and impish air. “I think he would’ve been subtle and polite, had Orn not knocked him in the head and imprisoned him. Now he’s going to make a show of it.”

“Oh.” Shard looked down at the bonfire, casting Kjorn in molten gold, and listened to the cries of amazement ring out from all quarters of the aerie, and thought his wingbrother had succeeded. Fledges romped forward to behold the blaze, grown gryfons climbed or glided down from their nests, but the sentries remained at their posts. Shard could imagine their dilemma—attack the gryfons who returned fire to their home, or not?

Clearly they waited on Orn, who had yet to arrive.

“I’m going to him,” Shard said, readying his wings to dive.

“No! Shard, wait, please.” Dagny stretched her talons out to him. “You’re a little late, but he won’t mind.”

“Late? Who won’t mind?” Shard stared at her.

Dagny laughed. “Oh, Kjorn knew Ketil escaped. He knew once you heard he was captured, you would be on your way. He asked that when you show up, you help me.”

Brynja laughed beside him, and Shard felt flustered to know his wingbrother knew him so well. She swooped a happy circle around Shard. “Help him with what?”

“Fetch a brand,” Dagny crowed, holding out her talons to show that she held the dragon fire stones. “We’re going to make the sun rise.”

Rather than meet the fire and strangeness with hostility, gryfons of the Dawn Spire poured from their nests, some dragging nestlings. A great throng ringed the bonfire, and Shard glanced back once during his task to see Kjorn outlined by the blaze, standing still and solid as a figure carved of gold.

The sentries, by that time, abandoned their posts. Dagny, Shard, and Brynja flew unimpeded to the great towers that still stood and still held remnants of kindling from the fires that had once burned every night, until the wyrm attack put them out.

While Kjorn waited for the aerie to gather to his silent beacon, Shard and the others rebuilt the pyres, but waited to light them until Dagny gave the word. Since Kjorn was being dramatic, she’d said, it was all in the timing.

“Here,” Brynja said, gliding down to toss a load of branches on the top. “That should do it.”

Shard dragged one last crackling juniper log and stuffed it into place. They stood on the pyre together for a moment, and Shard butted his head against Brynja’s wing. “Thank you. For coming with me.”

She ruffled her feathers, nipping his ears in reproach. “I told you once, Rashard, I’m not letting you fly from me again. But I’m glad you went after your wingbrother.” She swiveled, and in the distant firelight, he could see her eyes gleam. “You wouldn’t be the gryfon I fell in love with if you hadn’t.”

From the edge of the aerie, Kjorn’s voice boomed like a rock-fall. “Orn, son-of-Throsver!”

Shard tensed, crouching and ready to fly. Brynja laid her wing over his back. “No. This is his to do.”

Dagny swooped down to land with them. “Here,” she whispered to Shard, though they were well out of earshot of the bonfire and Kjorn’s audience if they spoke at normal volume. She handed him back the pouch with the fire stones. “I was going to do it, but it’s better if it’s you.”

Shard slipped the leather thong over his neck and murmured his thanks, and felt better for having them. Not only were they the key to his fire, but in a way, they were his only remnant of Hikaru, even though a spirit had given them to him.

“We should get word to Asvander,” Shard said, remembering the Lakelander waited just beyond the firelight.

“I think he’ll figure out what’s going on,” Brynja said dryly.

Dagny nodded. “Once we light the fires, he’ll know we’re here.”

They huddled then, in silence, watching below. Dagny waited for a signal.

Kjorn paced a circuit around his bonfire, and the whole aerie of the Dawn Spire stared as if he had walked out of the very flame.

Off to one side, Shard spied the exile, Rok, wearing his gold chain, his stance proud as a warrior now. His gaze was trained warily on Kjorn and the gryfons who surrounded him. Eyes gleamed in the fire, beaks opened, talons scuffed the dirt, but none made a sound except brief whispers, excited fledges and the smallest kits, who didn’t know better.

Kjorn halted, tail whipping, and opened his wings. The firelight bounced gold off his feathers and Shard heard gryfons actually gasp and whisper his name before he spoke.

“I am Kjorn, son-of-Sverin, and I have come home. Where is your current king? Will the regent of the Dawn Spire not come and greet me?”

“I’m here.”

Shard crouched, tail tip flicking, and pricked his ears as the throng parted for their current king. Brynja lowered herself next to Shard, with a glance at Dagny, but the other gryfess shook her head once. It was not time to light the pyres yet.

Shard had to admire Orn. The gryfon looked as Shard remembered him, bulky, tall, his feathers a modest, tawny hue with the faintest hint of sage green in the firelight. He was drawn more haggard by the long winter and the deaths during the Battle of the Dawn Spire. In facing the grandson of the king who’d left these Aesir in his care, the blazing flame and all it meant, Shard thought he looked admirably calm.

“Such theatrics, grandson of Per.” Orn’s gaze traveled up the pillar of flame, and a rush of whispers went in the wake of his words.

Theatrics indeed,
Shard thought.
He brought your fire back to you.

Expressions turned dark. Muttering rippled through the gathering, but Shard couldn’t hear if they were against Orn, or in agreement.

Orn’s cool look returned to Kjorn, and he didn’t look as if he planned to acknowledge the miracle of the fire at all, but changed the subject. “Grandson of the coward who left us to the scourge of—”

“Speak of cowardice,” Dagny muttered, and Brynja and Shard both hushed her.

“Yes,” Kjorn snarled, cutting Orn off. “Let us speak of cowardice. Let us speak of how I was attacked, and dragged back to the place of my birth like a pronghorn carcass—”

“Enough.” Orn drew himself tall. “Back to your nests, all of you.” He whirled, wings open. “All of you, now! Walk on your own, or be
escorted!
”

“I say let them stay,” Kjorn declared. “Let them stay, and hear us speak.”

Slowly Orn turned back, every hackle feather on end, the odd shadows from the waving fire flaring and shifting over his features. “Very well.”

“And let us meet in a more suitable place.”

“Now,” Dagny jabbed Shard with a talon. “That’s my cue. Now, Shard, light the fire.”

Quickly Shard withdrew the firestones, talons fumbling so he nearly dropped and lost them in the dark. He drew a breath, slowed down, and struck sparks while turning an ear to the kings.

Orn hesitated, then answered. “Yes. A fine idea. To the Dawn Spire itself. All of you.”

Shard struck the stones together again. Sparks jumped, caught, and little flames licked up and trickled through the pyre. Quickly, Dagny brought forth brands she had built from their old stores of pitch and rough matter, lit them, and handed one each to Shard and Brynja.

“Brynja, light the crescent. I’ll handle the rest. Shard—”

“I can’t. I have to go to Kjorn, now.”

The great mass of gryfons below had turned, following Orn as he led the way, with Kjorn shortly behind him. They were silent, walking toward the namesake of the aerie, the massive, twisting, crescent tower of stone.

Dagny hesitated, but must have seen something in Shard’s face that told her not to argue. She took the flickering brand from him. “I’ll see you after, then!” With that, she hopped off the tower and glided toward the inner aerie.

Shard looked to Brynja. “I’ll see you after.”

“Be careful. Please.” She looked him up and down, then flew toward the next pyre, the flaming torch grasped carefully in her talons. Shard had taught her to fly with fire, and it took some willpower not to stand and watch her proudly. As she paused near each, lighting the masses of stick and brush, flames licked up high. Then the next, and the next.

So in that way, as Kjorn, the mass of gryfons who followed in a daze, and Orn, walked, fires leaped up in their wake. Gasps of delight filled the night, along with exclamations of surprise and wonder.

Shard flew first to the outskirts to quickly gather Asvander and his band and catch them up, though they’d surely seen for themselves from where they’d waited. Then they winged fast to meet Kjorn and the mass of gryfons at the Dawn Spire itself, as fire sprang to life around them and the whole aerie glowed like sunrise.