By the Silver Wind (40 page)

Between himself, Stigr, Kjorn, Asvander, Nilsine, and the other leaders of eagles and wolves, they managed to avoid any more arguments that evening.

Then dawn brought no word from the scouts.

Nerves and tempers flared as cool, damp wind gusted through the canyons and along the river. Impatience and suspicion showed itself in duels that became brawls which turned deadly, and most over misunderstandings. A young lion was nearly slain in a duel with a gryfon of the Dawn Reach.

Kjorn stepped in then, ordering all gryfons unable to control themselves to keep to their own camps. He posted level-headed sentries around, those trusted to soothe tempers and stop fights before they began.

Ajia set the young lion right—their healer, their priestess, and Mbari forbade any lions from mingling with gryfons again, for the time being.

Shard and Kjorn passed the rest of time with the leaders by planning strategies for facing the wyrms with the best strengths of their gathered warriors, but that ended in arguments too.

The Vanhar attempted to sing some of their old songs, and were silenced by loud and boorish complaints from the Lakelanders. Shard watched the goodwill and battle-frenzy stretch taut, tighten, and begin to fray.

A second night brought a gloomy, strained silence over the Voldsom.

A second dawn brought back Shard’s Vanir scouts, and they had no word of the wyrms. That afternoon, the eagles returned. The Lakelander scouts and those of the Dawn Spire returned with the same reports.

The wyrms were nowhere to be found, and no fresh tracks, scat, or kills. Shard wanted to feel vindicated, but he only felt worried. He thought of the Silver Isles. Once or twice when he was near Kjorn, he noticed the prince’s smooth, cool expression faltering, and seeking Shard out with growing apprehension.

The last of the scouts, the painted wolves, returned at dusk. They came at a lope, breathlessly, with the same news as the rest. They brought this word to their leader, Ilesh, who sent a messenger to the bonfire of the Ostral Shore gryfons, where Kjorn had chosen to spend his evening.

Shard sat with him, Brynja next to Shard, with Stigr and Valdis to one side. The leaders of the Lakelanders had claimed spots nearest the fire, and they stared at Kjorn after the painted wolf gave her report.

“I will tell my leader you know all that we know,” she murmured, “and we will wait for your word.” She slipped away into the shadows again.

In the silence, fire popped and hissed along nodules of sap, sending a sweet, sharp aroma. Shard stared at Kjorn’s face, which appeared to have hardened into true gold, for all Shard could read his expression.

“Don’t,” he breathed, for Shard’s ears alone.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Shard began.

Lofgar, the big, scarred, rough Lakelander that Shard recalled from the last meeting at the Ostral Shores, made a rough, derisive noise. Kjorn’s gaze flicked to him, but he did not move as the big Lakelander stood. The firelight threw a massive shadow on the canyon wall behind his massive frame.

“Well, my friends.” His powerful, burred voice reverberated with unfortunate clarity up and down the canyon walls, and his beady eyes fixed on Kjorn. “
Someone
has made fools of us all.”

“T
HAT ISN’T TRUE.” KJORN
remained seated, but Shard stood, eyeing the Lakelanders warily.

“You knew the wyrms were gone!” Lofgar shouted.

Shard eyed Kjorn, wondering, after his challenge with the Vanhar, if he would answer that honestly. Kjorn glanced to Shard, and then back to Lofgar.

“When I summoned you, and all the rest of these warriors here, I didn’t know if the wyrms were still here. I had suspicions, but you must believe that I thought they remained.”

Around them, Shard sensed Stigr and Valdis moving forward to flank Kjorn. Brynja stepped around behind. Asvander and Dagny parted from their company across the fire and walked casually to stand behind Shard, as if the heat was too much for them.

Lofgar gnashed his broken beak. “I knew this was a terrible idea from the start, allying ourselves to the Dawn Spire after it was their ilk who brought the enemy on us, then refused to fight them. Then, he promised a grand war, and now the enemy has fled.”

“Funny.” The steely voice was Valdis, and Shard looked to her warily. So did Lofgar. “I thought the Ostral Shores broke ties with the Dawn Spire when Orn refused to fight the wyrms. Kjorn wants to fight the wyrms and now you’re angry with him?”

“Because he lied,” Lofgar hissed. “I see no wyrms here.”

“I didn’t lie,” Kjorn said, his voice low. Shard pressed close to him.

“And other reasons,” declared a female Lakelander, from behind Lofgar. “You seem to weigh the opinion of savage painted dogs and grass cats equal with ours. We don’t like it.”

“Your reasoning seems muddled,” Valdis said, dangerous and silky, “like your mind. Let those wiser and with a better memory plan your battles for you.”

Shard thought Lofgar would leap. His feathers puffed out and his tail whipped back and forth, actually slapping the gryfons behind him until they stepped back. “Say that again, arrogant, Dawn Spire vulture—”

Valdis stood, hackle feathers lifting. “Your reasoning seems—”

“Enough,” Kjorn said.

Nilsine, followed by Ketil, and the she-eagle Hildr, glided down and landed several paces away from the fire, approaching quietly, as if they’d heard the commotion. In the light, Nilsine’s strange red eyes glowed like gems.

“Nilsine,” Shard greeted, using her as a distraction to stay the tension. “We were just discussing what to do, now the scouts have confirmed the wyrms are gone.”

Nilsine looked between all of them, clearly noting the tension. “I see.”

“Oh good,” Lofgar grumbled. “The fishmongers are here to smell up our camp.”

Nilsine’s ruby eyes flicked to him. “Better a fishmonger than a warmonger. Live by war, and you will die by war.”

“Better to die by war than old, limp, and flea-bitten in my nest.”

“Lofgar,” Asvander admonished, eyes narrowing. “You insult our allies.”

“Don’t address me, son-of-Asrik. You can’t even keep hold of a mate for more than a fortnight.” He whirled back to Nilsine. “Why are you even here? Pacifist, cloud-chasing—”

“Watch your words,” Kjorn said, his voice low and grating. “The Vanhar are friends to me.”

“My lord,” Nilsine began, but Lofgar cut her off.

“I thought
we
were friends to you as well,
my lord.
” Mocking Nilsine’s respectful address, Lofgar furthered the insult by mantling low, dipping his head to them both. “She insulted me, too. But I see, like your father, you’re brave when there’s no real enemy, and your words are the only thing impressive about you.”

Shard growled and moved forward, but Stigr, who had been sitting in silence, beat him to it. Apparently unable to stand further insult to his new chosen monarch, he leaped and swiped his talons through the embers at the edge of the fire, splattering Lofgar’s bowed head with burning coals and sparks. The big gryfon scuttled back with a choked gurgle of surprise, batting at his face, though Shard could see that nothing was truly burning.

“Wretch! Wingless, one-eyed—”

“Show respect to the prince!” Stigr demanded. “You gaumless, thin-feathered jaybird. I’ve a mind to show you what I can do with one eye and one wing and if you don’t shut your broken beak. You saw Prince Kjorn fight at the Battle of Torches, you saw Nilsine, Valdis, and all here prove their mettle against our common enemy. Why stand here now and throw insults? This pointless nattering is why your cursed land is broken.”

“Enough of this,” Kjorn said, holding himself tall, though he flicked a look of gratitude to Stigr. Shard stood next to him, quiet, wishing he could will strength into his wingbrother. “We will hold a council at dawn, with representatives of
all
of my allies present, at the top of the canyon above these dens. If anyone has concerns before then, you know where I’ve made my nest.”

Without even a look at Shard, Kjorn turned from the firelight and walked into the dark, with so heavy a step and grim an expression, not even Shard dared to follow.

A ring of creatures gathered in the sun’s first light. Shard had slept little, so weary he couldn’t even pursue Rhydda in his dreams to see where she might be.

He looked now with unease at the faces before him, a great circle near the canyon rim. Shard had started a fire in the center so everyone would know where they gathered, to offer warmth and perhaps some sense of fellowship. To his left stood Kjorn, who Shard was certain hadn’t slept at all. The golden prince’s blue eyes were dull with weariness and his tail hung low.

Beside Kjorn, and ringing left, stood his aunt Esla, tawny and blue-eyed, Nilsine, Asvander, the rogues Rok and Hel,  and three leaders of the Lakelanders—Lofgar, Asrik, and a female whose name Shard hadn’t learned.

To Shard’s right sat Stigr, Valdis, Brynja, Ketil, and the she-eagles Hildr and Grunna, who spoke for the Brightwing aerie, the strongest and largest of the eagle clans. Next to them stood two painted wolves, Ilesh and his mate, their rangy, spotted coats exotic in the morning light, their dark faces shadowed and enigmatic.

Mbari the lion chief lounged with Ajia, and from the corner of Shard’s eye their crests of feathers made him think of gryfons. The lioness caught him looking, and held his gaze before lifting her eyes briefly. Shard looked up, heart thudding as if he might see wyrms there. But vultures circled, curious at this gathering of enemies, hopeful, perhaps. Beyond them, silver clouds feathered a pearly sky, not yet blue with morning.

May we rise higher,
Shard thought, closing his eyes, though the voice in his mind sounded more like Ajia than his own.

Kjorn’s deep voice gathered his attention. “Welcome, friends, allies, warriors.” Low murmurs answered him. All watched, ears lifting, heads tilting to regard him. Lofgar was looking away toward the canyon.

Subtly, Shard touched his wing to Kjorn’s. If he felt it, the big gryfon didn’t respond, but continued. “As all of you know, our scouts have found no trace of the wyrms in the Outlands. It is my . . . it is our belief they have left these lands.”

“Truly,” Hildr the she-eagle exclaimed, opening her broad wings to look larger amongst all the large creatures, “we put the fear of bright Tyr into their hearts at the Battle of Torches. We should have known that when they fled, it was forever!”

Kjorn dipped his head to her. Shard noted disgruntled looks on some of the Aesir faces—the Lakelanders, Queen Esla herself. He realized they still couldn’t understand half of what Hildr said. He had grown so used to listening deeply to understand creatures other than gryfons, he’d forgotten not everyone listened so. Nervous, he glanced around for signs of understanding, even as Kjorn spoke.

“Yes,” Kjorn agreed. With a look around, he seemed to note what Shard had, and repeated what she’d said. “It seems we did, and they have fled. And now—”

“Now, we’re better off without a battle,” said Hel, and Shard remembered that she had called herself a coward. “If any of you can’t see that, you’re bigger fools than I thought. Though we could have told you the wyrms were gone.”

“Then why didn’t you?” asked Lofgar, glaring.

“They wanted to see us all fly out here for nothing so they could laugh,” muttered the female beside him. Hel crouched back, narrowing her eyes.

“I
would
expect an exile to come running at the promise of a meal,” snipped Valdis from beside Stigr. The black gryfon eyed her reproachfully, for he had been an exile from his own pride, and not out of opportunism. She flattened her ears and looked away as she appeared to realize her sharp tongue would not aide Kjorn’s cause.

“I am disappointed,” rumbled Mbari, though the lion chief didn’t stand. His tufted tail dusted the ground, and he watched Kjorn with hooded eyes. “Very disappointed indeed that this battle did not come. We would have sung of it for many generations.”

“But,” added Ajia, eyeing Mbari sternly, “we do not believe you deceived us, Prince Kjorn. As healer and singer of my pride, I am glad not to see battle. I will say it, and proudly. In my dreams you raised the Sunwind, but now a new wind is blowing. I hope it will lift your wings higher, beyond war.”

Kjorn inclined his head to her, and was about to speak, but Lofgar barked, “What are they saying? Tell them to stop grumbling like savages and speak properly. Tell those eagles to quit chittering.”

“Tell him,” Hildr rasped, a warning look in her eyes, “he may not understand us, but we understand him.”

Mbari stood, and his full height and girth was nearly a match for Lofgar. “Yes, tell him we understand his disrespect all too well.”

“Gibberish.” Lofgar watched the big lion stand, looking smug. “Maybe it’s the soft muzzle that does it . . .”

Mbari bared his long, shining fangs. “Tell him he will not find my muzzle soft, if he does not shut what remains of his beak.”

“Lofgar,” Kjorn warned.

“Why is he here?” growled Ilesh, suddenly, the painted chief’s round ears laying back. “He has no wish for harmony in these lands, only fighting. Many times we tried to speak to the gryfons of the lake, but they do not hear. I will not speak to those who cannot hear.”