By the Silver Wind (48 page)

“He lives,” Brynja said firmly, “and has a place of honor at the Dawn Spire.”

“And he’s found a mate,” Shard added quickly, brightening, remembering all the good things about Stigr’s new life. “A huntress of the Dawn Spire.”

Catori’s ears perked. “I would like to hear more, but we should wait for the rest. Your mother will want to hear.”

“They’ll be here soon,” Hikaru said, his gaze roving the dark forest as if he could see much farther than any of them. Perhaps he could. He poked holes idly in the mud with one claw.

Shard took the moment to sit down, and all his muscles seemed to sigh in relief. He opened a wing toward Brynja and the ruddy gryfess gratefully sat next to him. Her gaze remained trained on the sky. Hikaru noticed, and gave her a reassuring flick with the very tip of his tail. At first she winced, as if he might have a deadly sharp spade like the wyrms.

“Don’t worry, Brynja,” Hikaru said. “They haven’t flown over Star Isle yet. They hunt on the Sun Isle, where they last saw gryfons.”

Brynja shuddered. “I hope the others made it underground.”

“They did,” Shard said with certainty. “They had plenty of time.” He turned to the she-wolf, who watched them quietly. “Catori.” He didn’t know how else to say what he needed to, so he simply said it. “I dreamed of the wyrm, who we call Rhydda. I showed her the Silver Isles in my dream and I’m afraid it’s my fault she’s here.”

“That may be,” Catori said, walking over to sit beside them. She didn’t look surprised at all. Her warm presence and thick, red fur made a good buffer against a chilly breeze, and between her and Brynja, he was as warm as if he had a fire.

Catori continued thoughtfully. “But it may also be not a bad thing that she has come.”

“Gryfons have died,” Shard said bitterly. “Istra said they fought a battle, and gryfons died.” Suddenly chilled, Shard wondered who.

Brynja pressed against him, but remained quiet, looking between them. He was grateful to her for understanding how he needed Catori’s counsel. Though the wolf was not much older than he, she was wise in the ways of dreaming, listening, and the earth. Shard hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this friend, the first to suggest he was more than he’d ever known, the first to lead him off the path of serving Sverin blindly and of blundering in his own arrogance, and ignorance. Hikaru watched all of them with huge, worried eyes.

Catori lowered her head, ears flattening. “Yes. I know this. But I feel in these wyrms such an ancient fear, an ancient silence. They have No names, no Voices. Yet they feel anger. They came here hunting gryfons. If they can do that, then they can listen, Shard. They can. And they will listen to you.”

“Yes,” Hikaru said eagerly. “Yes, they will listen to you. I learned more, Shard. I learned more from the chronicler and I came to tell you. But let me wait for the others.”

Shard met Hikaru’s bright gaze, then Catori’s. “You don’t understand. I’ve tried. I’ve tried and failed—”

“Did you fail?” Catori tilted her head, and he thought of last spring in the woods, when he’d met her for the first time. He’d thought she was infuriating, enigmatic. He still knew her to be those things, and wise, for she listened.

And he also knew that sometimes she repeated his questions back to him not to infuriate him, but to make him ask himself, instead of others.

“I must have. Rhydda hasn’t changed at all.”

“That doesn’t mean she hasn’t heard you.
He speaks to all who hear.
” The amber eyes held summer in them, brightness, hope. Shard clung to the hope in Catori’s eyes. “It took you a little time to hear me. Remember that it took Kjorn a long time to hear you, too. It took Stigr time to hear beyond his hatred of the Aesir. Now, he will mate with one. Kjorn recognized Ragna, a Vanir, as queen before he left. Now, even the son of Per has spoken to wolves, Shard. If red Sverin will bow his head to my brother and ask forgiveness, I believe that Rhydda can hear you.”

Beak opening at that news, Shard searched her face, even as she showed the points of her teeth in amusement. She’d meant to spring that on him, to surprise him.

Sverin, speak to wolves? Sverin, bow to wolves?

Movement turned all their heads to the trees, and Hikaru made a warm, purring noise of greeting.

Happiness swept Shard as the scent of familiar wolves drifted to them and he stood again. He saw Ahanu, Tocho, and then, trotting behind them, was Ragna. He had nearly forgotten what an elegant gryfess she was, fit and lithe and pale as sea foam. She looked keen, wary, her ears fully perked as she stared at him hungrily. Her gaze flicked curiously to Brynja, then returned to him, now reserved. “My son. Welcome home.”

“Mother. I’m glad you’re well.” He noted her look, and extended one wing to drape over Brynja’s back. “This is Brynja, daughter-of-Mar, an honored huntress of the Dawn Spire in the windward land. And . . . my chosen mate.”

He said it all before he lost his resolve. For him it seemed easy and natural now, but the surprise on Ragna’s face looked as if he’d told her he might choose to mate with a dragon. Clearly, Brynja’s height, strong build, and ruddy feathers were not of the Vanir, and Shard realized how much Ragna had expected he would choose one.

“Fair winds, my lady,” Brynja said, and mantled to the queen of the Vanir. Then she pressed a wing to Shard, as if for reassurance.

Ragna, still looking struck, wavered between a mantle and bow. “Fair winds, Brynja. We’ll . . . come to know each other soon.” With a hopeful look, she turned back to Shard. “And my brother?”

Again the weight sank onto Shard’s shoulders, his wings, his heart. “Stigr cannot fly home.”

He told her all of it, and of how bravely Stigr had fought and fallen. Her hopeful look changed to one he knew better, the cool, impassive, regal expression of the Widow Queen that hid every other emotion. “I see,” she said softly, and then, nothing more.

Shard stood witlessly, then Brynja nudged him. He knew should do something. It was time, he realized, time to be the son he never yet had the chance to be, to comfort her because her mate was dead, her brother was gone, and she had been waiting for Shard’s return.

Suddenly overwhelmed with relief that she was all right, and grief for all she had lost, Shard bound the short distance between them and butted his head against her. She loosed a soft breath and ducked her head, nuzzling his neck feathers.

“Welcome home,” she whispered again, with more warmth, genuine relief, and love. “I always knew you would come home.”

Any more words would have to wait, for beyond his mother and the wolves drifted another scent, and Shard drew back with a sharp gasp.

Walking slowly forward until he stood beside Ragna, right beside her, dwarfing her with his size, his majesty, his blazing crimson feathers, was Sverin. Shard drew back several steps, taking him in.

Sverin, who had shadowed Shard’s life at every turn, Sverin, who had terrorized the Vanir, poached the islands, and killed the wolf king. The gryfon who once had struck awe and giddiness into Shard’s heart, a gryfon who should have been his greatest enemy, stood before him silently. He wore no gold. He stood beside Shard’s mother like a comrade, stood among wolves with whom he’d clearly just hunted, stood, and waited for Shard to speak. He inclined his head a fraction to Brynja, who offered the slightest bow in acknowledgement.

Once, Shard would have bowed, mantled, groveled. Now he felt nothing at all. It was a strange relief. It was power, it was freedom, to feel nothing at all for the Red King.

Like so many other things, this was not how he’d pictured their next meeting, but here it was happening. He raised his head high, lifting his chest, opening his wings. He was Rashard, son-of-Baldr, prince of the Silver Isles. His last barrier to kingship had already fallen, and now they faced a common foe.

“Sverin.”

Eyes as hard as dragon chains met his, searched him, seemed to scour his body and heart, to see who he was now, a different gryfon than when they’d last met, when they’d battled over the sea in a storm. A faint wind whispered through the tops of the pine trees, plucked at their feathers, stirred wolf fur and Hikaru’s silver mane.

Then, Sverin spoke.

“Your Highness.”

Before Ragna, Catori, Brynja, Hikaru, and all the wolves, the son of Per bent his forelegs, mantled his wings, and bowed to Shard.

T
HE SCREAM OF A WYRM
jolted them all. Hikaru whipped up and herded the gryfons back under the cover of the trees.

Still gathering his wits after seeing Sverin bow, Shard thought they must look a very odd collection of creatures. Hikaru slipped like a stream through the woods, surprisingly nimble, barely brushing the trees. Catori and Brynja flanked Shard, with Ragna ahead, and Sverin ahead of her.

He probably should have said something when Sverin bowed, but there was nothing to say. It was with burning curiosity that Shard observed how Ragna and Sverin regarded each other, with open respect and quiet deference. Shard thought Ragna might be unaware of how she acted toward the Red King. Her attitude, he thought, showed more proof of how Sverin had changed than anything else.

Partially because he couldn’t bear strained silence, and more so because he wanted news, Shard spoke up as they all trailed through the forest.

“We had little time to speak with Istra in detail when we arrived. Ragna—” he paused, corrected himself, “Mother. Will you tell us more?”

So as they walked, Ragna told them of the end of winter, told them frankly of Sverin’s penance, of the Vanir’s return. She spoke of the wyrms, and in her voice Shard heard shame. He tried to reassure her that almost no gryfon could stand up to them, and couldn’t help but look at Sverin. The red gryfon remained in stony, inscrutable silence.

When Ragna had finished, Shard told her their tale, and by the time he was done, they had reached an opening in the woods where the ground was bare, but thousands of branches overhead gave some semblance of color.

Sunlight glanced down through wiry, clutching, rowan branches, and the ground was muddy and all but bare of snow. Best of all, it appeared Hikaru had built a fire earlier, in a large ring of stones. Embers still burned, sending the fragrant scent of smoking pine through the air.

“We will fetch wood for the fire,” said Ahanu quietly. He nosed Shard’s head fondly and Shard flicked a grateful wingtip against him, then the wolf king drew his pack away into the woods. All but Catori, who remained with them.

“Hikaru,” Ragna said as the silver dragon coiled around the fire ring. “You must tell us what you know, now. Shard has returned. Tell us why you’ve come, and why you’ve kept Sverin with you.”

Shard walked to the ring of stones and sat, relishing the heat as it seeped under his chilled feathers and his aching, exhausted bones.

“It was for your protection,” Hikaru said matter-of-factly to Sverin, then to Shard, “I had to keep him close.”

With the warmth from the embers, the long flight over the sea dragged at Shard once again. Brynja laid down beside him, and Ragna drew near but remained standing.

Sverin, in his silence, remained at the opposite end of the stone ring, watching Hikaru now.

Shard realized he hadn’t yet asked Hikaru why his scales were silver—about his spring shedding. Ragna hadn’t told him very much about the returning Vanir. There was so little time, it seemed. He wondered if he would ever enjoy the feeling of peace again, of relaxing, of simply being with friends again and not fearing an enemy attack, or another death.

Hikaru looked around, and the tip of his tail flicked nervously. “Shard, Ume has made me her apprentice. Even though I’m from the warrior class, everyone agreed I was best suited. When she passes on this spring, I will be the chronicler.” He fluffed his wings proudly. “So, I had to come and tell you all I know, and to see the Silver Isles for myself. The new emperor has hatched, and I’ve made sure we’re friends, so that he knows the truth like I do.

“I’ve seen all the histories now. I wish you could have seen the tale of the wyrms and Sunlanders, Shard, it was so intricate. I won’t be able to tell it as beautifully as Ume did when she showed me the pillars, so I’ll make it short, with the important things.”

“That will do nicely,” Shard said quietly.

The others remained quiet, deferring to Shard and the dragon. He realized that he was quickly growing used to the respect others showed him, that he enjoyed it, that he felt he had, most of the time, earned it. Certainly when it came to dragons, he knew more than any other gryfon in the world.

Hikaru sat up on his haunches, his neck curved back and head tilted forward like an egret. He seemed suddenly shy of the others, and spoke mostly to Shard. “You know that Rhydda once flew to the Sunland. So wyrms did, once, fly in daylight. Oh, there were so many details . . .”

“Just the most important things, Hikaru.” Shard lifted his wings in encouragement, and Catori nodded once in agreement.

“The most important things.” Hikaru ran a claw down his belly scales, and ruffled his wing feathers. “In the Second Age, the Sunlanders explored the world and met with the wyrms. They discovered many caches of gold and silver, and other places in the world with gems, and when the wyrms brought them gems, they crafted them treasures in return. They gave them rich food, and names.”

Shard tilted his head. “The wyrms never spoke?”

“No. They responded to food, to beautiful things, and to kindness. They learned that the names referred to them, responded to them, and seemed proud to have them. Every year, the Sunlanders traveled to the nightland of the wyrms and gave them gifts, and named their new broods with names that seemed to suit their tongue.”

Shard thought of the name Rhydda, how it was almost a growl, rich and earthy. He thought of her wild, shrieking brood.

Hikaru seemed to relax to as the others listened respectfully. “Then, one year—”

“The dragons didn’t come,” Shard said quietly, and Hikaru’s gaze grew bright as he nodded in agreement.

“The dragons didn’t come. It was the year Kajar spent with them.” His gaze slid to Sverin. “It was the year we decided never again to leave the Mountains of the Sea. And when the dragons didn’t come, one wyrm came to us. I don’t even know how she found us.