Page 5 of Gryphon in Light

The blurry image of a concerned Birce suddenly loomed in Hallock’s vision as the cold compress that covered his eyes was lifted away. The senior Healer was at his side and for once was in a clean uniform. “Sir? You’re going to be all right. You’ve received Healing by magic, for all your conditions. We’ll feed you as soon as we can and move you to another tent.”

“No,” Hallock croaked. “Thanks, but—no. Get me two company clerks and prop me up. I stay here. You just change the ribbon. I stay with Kelvren.”

“Kelvren,” he heard the woman say as she left the tent, still unseen. “Huh. Well. That explains it.”

Candlemarks passed, during which Hallock got a bland but filling meal into him, got cleaned up and into fresh bedclothes, and made complete reports for the Herald on station to peruse. Despite the weariness he felt, he still could not get to sleep, and his sleep medicine sat untouched at his bedside. Finally he levered himself out of bed, stretching muscles that felt like they hadn’t been used in years. Hunching down, then going to his knees beside the great beast’s head, he spoke to the sleeping gryphon.

“Kelvren? Can you hear me?” He tried touching the feathered brow. It was the first time since Treyvan had brushed against him in Haven that he’d put palm to feathers on one of them.

A low growl came from the feathered hulk on the floor. “Rrrrh. Hussssh. You talk too much.”

Hallock grinned, then sobered as he tried to find good enough words. He finally settled for the simplest.

“Kelvren . . . I owe you my life.”

There was a long pause, and then the gryphon heaved a gusty sigh.

“Hurrrh. Had to be sssurrre . . . my rrreporrrt . . . got thrrrough.”

Hallock responded gravely, “You could have used your Healing on your own wounds, then reported it yourself. You could have killed yourself just getting to me.”

Kelvren lifted his head up with obvious effort and fixed his gaze on the human before him. His beak swayed, and his eyes dilated, then focused again. They seemed somehow darker than before, but Hallock knew with a certainty deep inside that the risk of death had passed this noble soul by for now.

“Perrrhapsss. But yourrr life . . . would have ended. You have yourrr Genni. And in a life . . . no one ssshould be alone . . . and no one ssshould have . . .”

The gryphon laid his head down and dozed contentedly, after murmuring four more words— “. . . only one . . . perfect day.”

Darkwind k’Treva handed over a strip of paper. “Here’s trouble.”

Elspeth turned away from the Lord Marshal and read the paper’s battlefield shorthand aloud. “Gryphon, male. Defended First Company Sixteenth. Wounded. Recovered from field. Initial aid bad. Disposition: gryphon near death, from attempt to heal Guard officer by spellwork. Healers unable to aid further.” She frowned as she put that dispatch aside from the rest, and tapped her command baton thoughtfully on her chin. “We’d better tell Treyvan and Hydona.”

“Mmm. You know how they are. Protective,” Darkwind observed. He leaned forward against the most massive of the many strategic planning tables in the Haven palace. It held charts far more detailed than the great map inlaid on the wall in the main court room. “They’ll be concerned. You remember those parental instincts of theirs from when we first met. With Jerven and Lytha getting older, they treat every other gryphon as clueless little fledglings to be herded about and taught not to fall into wells.” He murmured to a page, who nodded and left immediately.

Less than half a candlemark passed before results.

“Unbarrr the way,” a deep voice boomed from behind the double doors as palace guards hastily tried to open them. An imposing male gryphon shouldered into the room, causing the guards to stumble back as the heavy doors swung against them. Truth be told, Darkwind suspected he liked the feeling of people trying to get out of his way. And no wonder people did, considering both of the resident gryphons’ reputations and relative power—and sheer presence. Treyvan had a wicked beak and formidable talons that were, at the moment, sheathed in wood and leather coverings to protect the Palace’s floors. He was golden-brown, with shadings of pure metallic gold and darker sable, and golden eyes the size of fists. Completely aside from being a predator the size of a horse, Hydona alone could wither a tree just by staring at it, should the mood strike her, or restore it to life. Treyvan was smaller, just as powerful magically, but faster, stronger, and more direct in action. Together they put forth a presence in Haven felt in more ways than just the body heat they radiated. Treyvan’s crested head flicked side to side, then homed in on the main table and its dozen or so planners and pages. “Who isss it?” he demanded, with no preamble.

Elspeth retrieved the dispatch slip and looked it over for any new clues she might have missed in the dozens of lines of code. She finally shrugged, holding the paper up. “It doesn’t say. Dispatches can be annoyingly vague, I’m sorry. It’s just how they are,” she offered.

“And consscerrrned about all grrryphonsss isss how I am. No morrre than that?” Any excuses about field vagueness clearly did not placate the beast that stalked toward the largest planning table. Respected friend of the Crown or not, Treyvan had long ago established that he wasn’t someone to obstruct, for any reason. Lesser commanders, analysts, and staff alike parted to make room. Elspeth handed over the dispatch, and Treyvan accepted it delicately with the tips of his talons.

“It might be from one of the Vales due west of there, but that would be more than a hundred miles. It wouldn’t have any good reason to be in this region, would it? Maybe it got lost,” a lieutenant suggested, but that only gained him a loud click of Treyvan’s beak snapping a warning. “He,” Treyvan said sternly. “The grrryphon isss a ‘he,’ not an ‘it,’ sssoldierrr. Flesssh, bone, blood, beak,” and he clacked his own for emphasis, making a sound like branches snapping, “talonsss,” and he flicked up thumb and forefingers of his right “hand,” causing subtle magical sparks to split off, “and mind asss sssharrrp asss any herrre.” A nearby sergeant visibly winced, and tapped the lieutenant’s shoulder. They made themselves scarce, each giving a weak salute to Elspeth before fleeing.

Darkwind snorted a barely suppressed laugh. “Another stellar triumph for inter-species diplomacy, Treyvan. Good work.”

The gryphon Adept ground his beak and clicked it softly. “He ssstrrruck sssomething that annoyed me. I cannot abide usss being thought of asss lesss than yourrr equalsss. Hissstorrry ssshowsss that—” He growled.

Darkwind interrupted. “Maybe he thought of you all as something more than equals. You don’t call an Avatar or sacred vision ‘he’ or ‘she.’ Unless you’re very good friends. I’m sure he was just overwhelmed by the dazzling thought of—”

Elspeth rolled her eyes and sighed, giving a wave of reassurance to the staff as they backed off. The Lord Marshal raised a brow, then drifted to another table, shaking his head. A few adjuncts stayed. Elspeth snapped her fingers. “You two. Featherheads. Come visit my world,” she said, and loudly tapped her baton on the map.

Treyvan loomed beside Darkwind and studied the map, twitching his massive wings a few times. “K’Valdemar Vale,” Darkwind surmised, and tapped a fingertip on the map symbol. “He might be from there. Firesong’s new roost. They’re near Kelmskeep, they’ve got a wing of gryphons, and they’re threatened by the land grab. Assuming Kelmskeep and k’Valdemar are on good terms, they may have gotten gryphons to fly scout. Bondbirds can only do so much. Range and stamina would all be bested by a healthy gryphon.”

Elspeth folded her arms. “Yes. Well. It sounds like all aid available’s been given to him—” she eyeballed Treyvan, “—and it’s failing. We only have so many Heralds and Healers, and they’re more concerned about the hundreds of troops digging in. I don’t much like the news from the north.” She reached out and tapped her baton against the largest of the table maps. “It’s more delicate than you might first think. For reasons we still don’t understand, these insurgent leaders feel justified in seizing power and using force. But if we go in and squash that dissent—militarily—we send a poor message to the rest of Valdemar.”

“And allies, and rival states,” Darkwind pointed out. “The famed free country of Valdemar, open to refugees and the oppressed—its population pounded into submission.” He leafed through other dispatches, laying them out to approximately match their places of origin on the map. “But we have heard the Bell ring twice since this began. This situation cannot stand, but handling it poorly could do great long-term damage socially.” If anyone was aware of things in the long term, it would be one of the Hawkbrothers.

“Socially, yes, but our agents report the situation began economically. We’ve just sent the Skybolts and what regulars we can spare. Turning in on ourselves, after so many outside threats—it doesn’t feel right. The timing of it. I don’t think we know enough about action at the front . . .” She trailed off, seeing Treyvan—pacing. His raptorial eyes, crystal-sharp, appeared to be focused on nothing in particular. “What is it?” she asked of him, while a clerk handed her a new stack of notes to be signed.