Page 18 of Gryphon in Light

Treyvan conferred with Whitebird and all the mages he knew, still amazed by what had happened. They finally deduced what Kelvren had done. When the power of the Heartstone dissolution surged upward into him, Kelvren Healed himself, but there was too much chaotic raw power, flooding in too quickly. Kelvren used the simplest, but most stable, spell that any mage knew—mage-light—and quelled the chaos of raw power into a tuned current. Instead of ending the spell, as mages normally did when they had enough light, he let it flow through him. The ordeal of having no magic in his body had left his channels and conversion organs needy, and the magic filled them to capacity, then flowed into his bones, then into the feathers themselves. Then with so much free-floating energy in the air, his every movement brought in more.

The road of light was far more than a psychological ploy. The rate he cast it matched the rate the power was absorbed as he flew, and it burned off enough energy for his system to stabilize.

Firesong reported by teleson that Kelvren returned to k’Valdemar the night after his rejuvenation, still as bright as a sunrise. He flew over the Clan fires, Kelmskeep, Errold’s Grove, and the Vale purely for effect.

And so the mill was gradually emptied of officers, and the village was freed from the Guard camp, and trade was re-established along the great glowing Road. The light faded slowly over the fortnight after Kelvren’s flight, but it wouldn’t leave anyone’s memory anytime soon.

Before long, it was time for Treyvan, Whitebird, Rivenstone, and Pena to go back to Haven. They said their goodbyes, and with a small bow, Pena gave an oilskin-wrapped package to Jefti.

Jefti opened it up, and inside were three gryphon feathers, bound with strips of leather, a folded scrap of paper, and a small leather pouch attached to them. Inside the pouch were six gold coins. His mother read the message.

“Jefti Roald Dunwythie. My friend. If you grow tired of being ‘Boy,’ with this you will be welcomed into Hawkbrother lands and accepted as our own. Your mother will be welcome also. So speaks Wingleader Kelvren Skothkar of k’Valdemar Vale, Ally of the Crown of Valdemar.”

Ammari felt tears in her eyes, and she hugged her son as strongly as she ever had. They gazed up at the encompassing sky, and listened to the birds together.

Darkwind handed over a paper slip to Elspeth. “Mmm. Oh, this is good. Repercussions from the Kelvren affair. Says here, some mayor demands reparations for gryphon’s presence in his village. Cites him as a hazard, detrimental to the town’s morale, and an insult to the dignity of his office.”

Elspeth browsed the slip, shrugged, and handed it off to a passing clerk to be handled. “Sounds like a healthy gryphon to me. What’s next?”

What a sight I must be! What an amazing sight! Kelvren thought as he approached k’Valdemar Vale. Two gryphons surged upward through the Veil when he was leagues away, and now they banked in behind him, level, one on each side in an escort formation. Gleefully, Kelvren called to them. Kelvren felt like he was in a scene from a story—a legendary story—returning triumphant, blazing with magic, magnificent and battle-proven, and handsome, with an honor guard!

He led the pair in a wide circle over the Vale, and Kelvren could see humans, hertasi, tervardi, even dyheli looking up at the spectacle. The Veil around the Vale distorted with the flyover, creating a rainbowed halo of light on its surface that followed him toward the Vale entrance. Excellent! Kelvren thought. I didn’t even plan that part. It must have looked great! I hope the artists were paying attention. And the songwriters. I could always do another flyby if they need it for reference. Kelvren’s escorts followed his lead, falling back further so the glide to the entry road would be unobstructed for the lead gryphon. Kelvren slowed and backwinged, creating dazzling flashes and shadows against the trees and decorations, despite the brightening sky. The hundreds of rods that surrounded the Vale, used here as posts for a burgeoning vineyard rather than buried or disguised, glowed when he coasted down to lightly touch the stonework. His flight was so effortless that he simply stepped down to the paving. The Vale’s rods gave off the illusion of a glow, bending toward him, through the twining of grapevines.

That doesn’t seem natural, but then again, neither am I right now. I am something new! Maybe they’re bowing to me. Maybe someone’s making them look like they’re bowing, as some welcome-home gesture! That is adorable.

His escorts landed more firmly, carrying their momentum into a distance-closing stride. Kelvren didn’t recognize either of them, but then again, he had been gone a long time and must have missed new gryphons’ arrivals. “We will escort you further,” the nearer of the two gryphons said as she approached. She was a breastplated and badged Silver Gryphon, umber and white with a narrow black crest. “The trondi’irn want to see you immediately, and the senior mages too.” She sounded anxious—no—she was edgy. “I’ve been Wingleader in your absence. You should know that you can’t resume command until you’re cleared by them.” She flicked her wings twice and raised her head, as if ready for an angry challenge. She added, “You’ve gone strange.”

Kelvren looked at her and the other gryphon. They both had their fighting-claws strapped on, and Kelvren’s glow glinted back at him from their razored curves, from the two gryphons’ eyes, and from their badges. “I am still a senior Silver Gryphon. I am only different,” Kelvren replied suspiciously. “I am still Kelvren Skothkar.”

“They’ll determine who and what you are now,” the new Wingleader said flatly. “We will walk you in, or you can attempt to flee. If you try, the archers will drop you, and we’ll finish you.” For emphasis, she repositioned her forelegs a little wider apart, making the fighting-claws more obvious. She had absolutely no warmth in her voice. “Don’t make this a sad day.”

Kelvren opened his beak to reply, and tried to speak to her with Mindspeech, but found her utterly walled off. He then darted his gaze around, seeking other minds to speak to, but found no one talkative. His vision was disrupted by the glare from his own body, but even so he had no doubt that unseen Tayledras scouts were ready to fell him should he try to take flight. No opponent saw a Tayledras scout until they were ready to be seen, or they only knew a scout was nearby when they saw an arrow shaft sticking out of their gut. “I can’t imagine what you’d think I could be—” he began, and was cut short.

“Neither can we,” the new Wingleader snapped back. “There are things we can’t imagine, so when a flier that appears to be our missing Wingleader arrives ablaze like a new sun, we want to know more before we trust anything. In you go.”

Kelvren agreed with the logic of it, sure, but that didn’t stop him from sulking. Huffily, he refolded his wings a few times and stalked toward the Vale’s main entry and the intricately laid red stones that marked the Veil’s boundary. The tall arch’s usual complement of guards and greeters was gone—no festive celebration? He’d been heroic, and returned to . . . this? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Wait, he thought, wait. This isn’t right. There’s no cheering crowd for me to be modest in front of. Did something happen to the Vale? Is this the real Vale? And this new “Wingleader”? I don’t even know her, rank badges or not! I’d better be on my guard . . .

The Vale smelled like it should: flowers and aromatic oils, flavorful smoke, scents of cooking, healthy gardens, and generally full of life. Yet, apart from bondbirds and the colorful flash of messenger birds, Kelvren saw nobody except for the two gryphons behind him after he passed under the Vale entry. His ears twitched in aggravation. He could hear voices aplenty, but aside from his surly escort, saw no one of any intelligent species, no matter where he looked. He paused to rise up on his hind legs and then a single foot, part-perching in the air as gryphons could, and saw some humans and gryphons in their daily lives thirty-some wingspans away behind the cover of archways and hedges, but no one closer. This only agitated his well-armed escort. The Wingleader snapped a sharp “Down!” at him, and Kel complied, with a grumpy hiss back at her. Another pair of Silver Gryphon–badged gryphons flew over, banked, and landed on the wide main path ahead of a four-way branch of paths. These two he knew well from before he’d left; in fact, he’d trained them in high-altitude search patterns. Or did I? he wondered. They look the same, but if this is some kind of illusion or mental attack, or if the Vale has been replaced somehow . . . they might only look the same. They don’t act happy to see me, and yet, they would surely have been among the searchers for me, when I went missing. It wasn’t hard to spot that they bore the fighting-claws and armored equipage of someone expecting a deadly fight, too—definitely not daily wear in a Vale, and not a polished honor guard to receive their heroic leader. Even gryphons had a dozen outfits, thanks to the hertasi. No, these four were herding him as if he were some high-ranking or high-powered prisoner. A mere three wingspans from the second pair of gryphons, Kelvren said toward them, “What has happened here? Why aren’t there throngs of people here happy to see me?”

Kurrundas, the gold-crested female on the left, answered guilelessly, “Because no one is happy to see you.”

“That hurts,” Kelvren replied, equally honestly. He stopped midway between the escorts. “And it doesn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t everyone be happy to see me? I am Kelvren! The Brave! Hero of the North, Finder of the Lost, and Ally of Valdemar! Best friend of the Owlknight!” He shot a very pointed look backward. “Wingleader of k’Valdemar!”

“Don’t try me,” the new Wingleader growled.

“Control your jealousy,” Kelvren retorted, then looked back to Kurrundas. “Seriously, Kurry, what is going on? I’ve never been disliked here, especially by the gryphons.”

Kurrundas shifted her weight foot to foot and ground her beak, and finally just replied, “I have been ordered to not talk with you.” It was in a tone that actually said, I want to tell you so much that we’d be here for a candlemark, but I don’t dare. Just the same, she did add, “Just go where we’re guiding you, and they’ll explain it.”

Kelvren overdramatically flicked and swished his tail at them all as he turned onto the rightmost sidepath. If there had been branches to “accidentally” snap back at his “new Wingleader,” he would have, purely to spite her. Kelvren knew k’Valdemar’s layout to the smallest walkway, the highest tree, and the deepest pool, and before long he stepped into a council circle as expected, which was anything but unpopulated.

Kelvren’s senses had only a moment to register the two dozen or more humans, gryphons, and hertasi before he was assaulted from multiple directions, by binding spells, mind-readings, paralyzation, and things he couldn’t even identify. Rings and tendrils of colored mage-energy whipped around him and rebounded wildly, licking at some of the attendees, who dove for cover. Short thunder-cracks and sizzling sounds erupted from below him. Kelvren threw his body upward as if trying to escape, but was left with a single foot still firmly frozen in place on the paving, his wings up half-spread and back arched in, bound up immobile but for his harshened breathing and a single strangled cry.

He caught a side-glance through a tear-pooling eye at Tyrsell, the king stag of the dyheli, and Kel understood the paralysis at least. No creature yet known could resist Tyrsell’s body- and mind-control. Tyrsell’s control over Kelvren was so complete that the king stag was utilizing the gryphon’s internal lift to support him in a pose suited to a statue, without even tipping sideways. He felt his wings being spread fully, only they weren’t being yanked at; his wings “wanted” to be wide open. Little wonder that when Tyrsell was not around, the Tayledras said he was probably the most powerful being alive. Sure, he could be attacked with a spell, but what good was that when Tyrsell could just make the mage’s body impale itself on his horns while he kept calmly eating leaves?

Millions of motes of entoptic light swirled and pulsed with Kelvren’s speeding heartbeat, obscuring his vision further. His head pounded and his hearing was disrupted, but he could hear voices, some in his mind.

:He thinks he is Kelvren.: