Page 35 of Gryphon in Light

The major nodded slowly. “But I’m also loath to deprive you of an earned rank, and the time-in-rank that will let you rise further. I’m also loath to deprive your people of an officer they trust.”

The silence that followed that statement suggested that the major wanted him to think about what he’d just said, and respond only after due deliberation.

Well, the first part was easy. “I’m not an ambitious man, Major,” he said. “Rising in the ranks was never a great concern of mine.” And since he was officially “at ease,” he rubbed a neck stiff with anxiety before speaking again. “Truth to tell, I can give you the names of five people that would be better as the First of the Sixteenth than me.”

“I’ll ask you for those names later, if you decide you want to take these people up on their proposition,” Major Fisher responded with a sage nod. “I can tell you that the Crown is strongly in favor of you going, and I don’t want to tell them no. Gryphon Treyvan speaks very highly of you, I am told, and is the one who recommended you. But it’s up to you—you, and Genni. Do you think you would both be willing to do this?”

“Does Genni still have a place here if I say I want to stay?” he temporized.

“We can use her, no doubt. I’ll welcome her and put her on the payroll immediately. And I want you to entertain this idea. You don’t have to act immediately. From what I am given to understand, this isn’t going to be a quick dash across country, and there are no real roads out there. The going will be slow and they are taking their time about organizing this expedition. By my maps,” and he gestured at the table, “to get to the Lake means going through the Pelagirs, and if it was bad before, I can’t imagine what it’s like after the Storms.” The major looked at the dispatch in his hand. “I’ll tell you what, don’t give me any kind of answer now. I’ll just give permission for her to come, and when she arrives, the two of you talk it over and tell me what you decide.” He nodded. “Dismissed.”

Hallock kept to himself that from what he knew of his Genni, she was already on the way. When she made up her mind about something, anything that stood between her and her goal was likely to find a Genni-shaped hole kicked through it. If she wanted to be here, neither hail, hellfire, nor Herald would stop her.

Instead, he saluted, and took his leave. And . . . he wished the gryphon was here. It would have been good to have a friend to talk this over with, and they’d shared something that made him feel close to Kelvren in ways that were hard to put words to.

Although . . . I know what he would say. “You cannot fly unless you take a leap first.” Or something like that. Vague, inspiring, and clever. But this might be a leap in my smallclothes straight into a viper pit, hand in hand with Genni. I worry about her, but the truth is, if she was with me, she would make that leap feel easy.

The room in Firesong’s ekele that served as an office was high up in the branches and featured panoramic windows that supplied a view of nothing but leaves and shimmers of dappled sunlight, to minimize distractions. Silverfox’s new bondbird, Hesheth—a huge bearded vulture, of all things, probably the last kind of bird anyone would suspect for a gentle kestra’chern—lazed out there, occasionally buzzed by one of the ubiquitous messenger birds. Hesheth had a personality that had connected with Silverfox from the start: never in a hurry, never frightened, and with the deep inner contentment that vultures were known for. If one could stand his breath, he was also a great hugger, being three-quarters Silverfox’s size. Mental contact with him was like a pain-numbing extract mixed with the maternal love of brooding under breast-feathers. Although the ever-present hum of Vale activity filtered up through the leaves from below, to Silverfox, the sound was no more than a soothing background peppered with bird calls.

Firesong tapped a wind chime just outside the door to the office to announce his presence and strolled in. There were doors in ekeles, but Silverfox never left his office door closed; it was a nice gesture on Firesong’s part, but perhaps he recalled the time he had come up on his heartmate so quietly that he’d nearly startled Silverfox out of the window.

Firesong had several pieces of paper in his hand. Someone has been busy. Silverfox took the list that Firesong handed to him with a raised eyebrow and a repressed sigh, as he glanced at the first page. “We’re traveling, my best beloved, not moving our household wholesale,” he pointed out gently. “Surely when you and the Valdemarans made that clandestine journey into Hardorn, you weren’t bringing enough baggage to require an entire pack train. And I know for an actual fact that you didn’t take this much to the Dhorisha Plains.”

“I’m older, I’m creakier, and I’m going to be no good to anyone if I wake up too stiff to move every morning,” Firesong countered, carefully folding his legs under himself as he dropped down into a saucer-shaped chair. “I am fine with getting old. It’s the looking scrawny, wandering mind, and being tired all the time that I dislike. My plans specifically included being young and handsome forever.”

“You, too?” Silverfox sighed. Ayshen had put him personally in charge of keeping Firesong from turning the expedition into a royal progression, on the basis that he was the only person Firesong would listen to. He hadn’t argued; he knew his heartmate all too well, and this list just proved that Ayshen had been right to delegate this particular task.

“Look,” Silverfox said, picking up the first two pages of the five. “Everything on these two pages is completely unnecessary. Nice, but unnecessary.” He handed Firesong the top two pages. Firesong frowned.

“But—!” he protested, holding up his hand. Silverfox cut him off with a look.

“You won’t need a tent. We’re getting a floating barge from each of three Vales: k’Vala, k’Onwen, and k’Treva. Everyone knows that you, more than anyone else who is going, needs to be able to sleep without pain and have secure, warm shelter if there’s wretched weather. K’Onwen’s barge has a bedchamber in the rear that we’ll fit out for just us two when it gets here. So you also won’t need everything else on those pages.” The tent in question, of course, had been a four-chambered affair the size of a common cottage, and Firesong’s list would have packed it so full of bedding, cushions, and furniture that it would have taken half the evening to set up and half the morning to take down and pack up again.

Not to mention it would have occupied half a barge, as opposed to the chamber Silverfox intended to set up, which took up perhaps a sixth of a barge.

We’d have managed about four candlemarks’ travel a day at best. We intend to travel slowly, but not at the pace of a turtle.

Whereas the chamber in the rear of the barge was going to be a cozy little nest, and required no time for assembly and disassembly.

“All right. But . . .”

“I have been tending to your comfort for a very long time now, kechara. You should trust me when it comes to seeing that you’ll be properly cared for.” Silverfox put a little—a very little—admonishment in his voice. “Now, if there are things you think you have any possibility of needing for spellcasting, then I definitely want that list. But when it comes to simple living? Ayshen and I will care for you, as we always do. Trust us, and let us do our jobs.”

Firesong stood there holding the list that Silverfox had given back to him, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with it. For once, the Adept had been taken aback by something he had not planned on—his heartmate’s interference in what he considered necessary to his comfort. Firesong, generally a force of confidence and self-determination, actually felt hurt, if his body language was a true indicator of his emotions. He was weighing arguments for how best to assert himself.

It isn’t a good sign that he made a list at all, much less pages full, Silverfox thought. He’s a Great Healing Adept, and choosing pillows is beneath his notice, so this is a symptom. He never has completely reconciled the presence of the Unknown in his life. In Firesong’s life right now, he’s facing decrepitude and diminishment after a lifetime of amazing feats. Lake Evendim, Kel, the missing destruction, the political challenges between the peoples, all have no clear solutions he’s confident he could pull off. Picking pillows is something small that he can feel in control of, and I just punched it in the nose.

Being a kestra’chern was a life of ordered thought, but still, Silverfox could blunder. Insight too often came right after it actually would have helped.

With age comes dependency, and that dependency can sting when your self-believed reputation is that of an adored Adept who could do whatever he wanted, because he was always right. Even a small “no” can be a big affront, because of its clashing meaning—Firesong could compromise readily enough, but inside, he must feel like a small concession will only let bigger ones in later. And you know yourself, Silverfox. Truth told, they probably will.

“Kechara mine, this gives us the opportunity to embrace new delights that only come with traveling. We’ll keep you comfortable, just in less bulky ways, and those things on the list you brought me will be all here in place, waiting at the Vale for your triumphant return,” Silverfox maneuvered. “I’ll come help prepare for the mysteries ahead. Say, isn’t Kel due for another lesson about now?” Silverfox continued, to distract him.

The distraction worked. If there was one thing that Firesong adored, it was a meaty magical puzzle. And Kelvren was about the meatiest puzzle that Firesong had encountered since the Storms themselves. It was also much more personal—one of the best uses for ego was to make someone stay focused, and when something was personal to Firesong, the Adept would not settle for just a solved mystery; he’d discover every secret there was about it, or he wouldn’t feel good about himself. Mysteries are jealous mistresses. And if I wasn’t looking for a way to distract him . . . Kelvren had been the topic of conversation for long enough that Silverfox was just a little tired of hearing about the gryphon. But for the sake of getting Firesong off the idea of hauling the entire contents of the ekele, Silverfox was prepared to listen to magical gryphony neepery for a while.

Actually, this time, not about Kel himself. Just about the magic. From Silverfox’s perspective, being nattered at about magic was not unlike being nattered at about the nuances of beers. He didn’t know anything about beer except who liked it, and everything he knew about magic—being unGifted himself in that regard—he knew only because of basic education and Firesong. But one of the very many things that were required to be a highly-trained kestra’chern, the ability to listen—actually listen, not just pretend to listen—to things that bored one, was very high on the list.

“And then, once you can fake sincerity, you’ve got it made,” the old kestra’chern joke went. The Sacred Trust of the Benevolent Lie, a center of all kestra’chern traditions—analyzing the moral and ethical worthiness of engaging in deceit, in an instant. Sometimes, it is a matter of degree—like how interested I appear to be. At the moment, though? I like hearing him talk. I’m happy when he’s engaged rather than brooding.