Page 67 of Gryphon in Light

I wonder if they still feel that way now. Then he considered how . . . hearty they were. Actually they’ll probably come into camp, announce that they enjoyed their “walk,” then shake themselves like dogs, spray rain all over everyone, and laugh.

Last night they’d had to camp nearer to a Change-Circle than Firesong liked; too near to establish a Gate. Not that a Gate was going to accomplish much in regard to the rain, other than to get them further along to the Lake. The rain was just sitting here, not moving. They were going to have to camp in the rain and sleep in the rain, and move out in the rain again, whether they walked or Gated.

The rest of the Iftel gryphons were hunting. One of the dyheli, Wendar, was helping by Mindhunting for large herbivores like deer or wild cattle, or even boar. If he found any, he’d freeze them in place, then put them to sleep for a gryphon to come and kill them painlessly. It astonished Kel that the dyheli would even do that; it felt almost like a kind of betrayal. But the dyheli did a lot of things he didn’t understand, and perhaps they weren’t willing to risk the gryphons growing hungry. A hungry gryphon, while they were obviously not going to actually eat a dyheli, would certainly be having thoughts distressing to dyheli when their stomach was growling. Six gryphons required about six deer’s-worth of meat for their twice-daily feedings, and the only way to get that was to hunt.

At least if there was one thing that these wild lands weren’t short of, it was game. Even though some of the game looked very strange indeed. Wild cattle with several pairs of twisting horns growing out of their heads, deer in astonishing colors and patterns, and creatures that the dyheli assured them were safe to eat that didn’t look like anything he recognized. One herd had looked like nothing so much as oversized, overstuffed hassocks the size of a handcart. Their natural defense was Mind-magic not unlike a dyheli’s to make predators look past them. Too bad for them that even an average dyheli buck was easily able to overpower them.

They did taste good, though. Very good, in fact, and he hoped that they’d find another herd of the creatures some time soon. Like a cross between pork and lamb. Lovely marrow-bones. They almost seemed as if they had been designed specifically for eating.

I wonder if one of Urtho’s under-mages did that? Hard to tell at this point.

He caught a bit of updraft and glided for a moment, wind ruffling his feathers, and the flow of magic smoothed out for just a little bit.

Flying was more work than it had been before Deedun. Not physical work, although he was still healing, even after all this time; mental and magical work. He had to be conscious of what the magic and his body were doing at every moment. Balancing all the inflows and outflows of the magic energies, correcting the little glitches and hiccups of his Heartstone—when he was flying, it all required constant attention, which had caused Firesong no end of chagrin. Although you’d have to know Firesong to know that this bothered him, because he hadn’t talked to anyone about it except Kel himself, not even Daria or Snowfire. The Heartstone wasn’t perfect. In Kel’s mind, this was a matter of “of course it’s not perfect, no one ever tried this before!” In Firesong’s mind, though, it was “everything that I lay my hands on has to be exactly right, the first time, every time.” And because this Heartstone wasn’t absolutely perfect, the imperfections were eating at him.

Because of that, when Kel was even the least tempted to be hard on Firesong, he reminded himself that the Adept was far harder on himself than Kel could ever be.

Hurrr. We are both broken. And neither one of us likes to admit it.

He glanced over at Daria and caught her looking at him. His skin warmed, his feathers prickled for a moment, and he hastily had to burn off a slight surge of power as light. The more he saw of her, the more infatuated he became. She was magnificent! Strong, clever, wise, and beautiful. So very, very beautiful! He longed for the chance to approach her on some level other than “mission.” They’d left the Vale so quickly, he hadn’t gotten any opportunity to begin overtures of that sort. And now . . .

I still don’t get much time alone with her. The others are always there. It was irritating, but it wasn’t as if he could ask them to be somewhere else. By the time everyone stopped for the day, they were all too tired to do more than eat and sleep. The gryphons all slept in a knot under one of the rain shelters, which was not what he was used to and didn’t even allow for whispered conversations.

Be reasonable, Kelvren. This is not a pleasure trip. There are serious matters afoot.

As if to underscore that, Serenshey spoke into his mind, interrupting his thoughts. :Kelvren, have you detected any . . . magical presences below you?:

Just to be sure, he scanned below before he replied. :No. What are you seeing?:

:We’re not sure,: the Firecat replied hesitantly—“we” must mean that he was speaking for Jak as well as himself. :But there seems to be something staying just out of sight on either side of us. And it’s not a regular animal.:

:Have the kyree scented or seen anything?: he asked. Then considered. :They might be ranging too far out. I’ll ask them to come in closer. We have enough meat for tonight and tomorrow morning.:

:Wirrell,: he called by teleson. :Range closer to the barge train. Serenshey thinks there is something shadowing it.:

:Huh!: came the reply. :I do not know how anything but rain could have gotten past us, but Serenshey is not likely to call false alarms. We will reposition.:

That was all he could do from up here, and of all of the members of the expedition, the gryphons were the most handicapped by being on the ground. No reason to go down unless there was something more tangible than feelings.

He didn’t like it, though. This rain was good cover for almost anything that wanted to sneak up on the expedition. They were setting a watch at night, of course, but it might be wise to double up on that watch. It wasn’t as if anyone would be inconvenienced by anything but rain. Those on night watch could sleep in the barges by day, and did. The only creatures that couldn’t do that were the gryphons and the dyheli, and the dyheli were fundamentally useless at night. Granted, the bulk of the night watching fell on the humans, but if they minded, they weren’t complaining, and it wasn’t as if the barges weren’t comfortable to sleep in, whether they were moving or not.

And it is about time to recharge them.

Kel and Firesong—mostly Kel—were in charge of keeping the spells that made the barges float nicely topped up. Kel made it his personal duty to top them up whenever they dropped below a third. It wasn’t as if—thanks to his brokenness and the Heartstone he wore—there was any hardship in his doing so. And although he would never say as much, he wanted to keep Firesong’s personal stores as high as possible. If the Heartstone energy misfired, there was never any consequence that was dangerous, thanks to light-producing being practically a reflex now. Just a flash of light that blinded everyone for a while. But if they ran into something bad, and Firesong had just depleted himself by re-energizing the barge spells . . . the consequences could be dire. So it was much better that he be the one to “fill the jar.” Just in case they encountered something that needed Firesong’s considerable combat skills.

:I’m going down to recharge the barges!: he called over the teleson to Daria. She glanced his way again and nodded.

He did a wingover and powered his way back to the expedition, waiting until the very last minute to fold his wings and dive through the clouds. The wet air streamed past him, filling his nostrils with scent. He was by no means as good at smelling things as a kyree, but there was a lot of scent up here. Wet earth, wet leaves, crushed vegetation . . . not so much floral, but herbal notes, some of them strong. Definitely strong: wet fur and hair.

And now that he was in the wet, it was cold. Cold rain stripped all the warmth out of his body, and the cold air rushing past him only made it worse.

At least he wasn’t actually wet. His feathers weren’t waterproof, but they were, at least, water-resistant, especially slicked down close to his body as they were when he dove.

He broke out of the clouds into even more dismal rain. Not a thunderstorm, not a downpour, but heavier than a drizzle. His senses had not failed him; he came out almost on top of the caravan, which was visible through gaps in the trees. :I am coming in to top up the barges,: he said into the teleson on general broadcast. :It’s me, don’t shoot me.: No point in getting filled full of arrows. I did that already, I don’t want to repeat the experience.

He picked a spot on their backtrail, found a gap in the canopy, and dove through it, pulling up at the last minute and backwinging furiously to avoid running into the three Ghost Cats acting as rearward scouts and guards. They were afoot, of course. No one was riding except Hallock, and then only when the Companion offered to let him. Nobody rode the dyheli and nobody asked to, by common agreement. And it wasn’t as if riding would make the expedition move any faster—they were limited by the speed of the dyheli pulling the barges, which was just about a walking pace.

As he had expected, the three Ghost Cat fighters were ridiculously cheerful, given the conditions, and greeted him heartily as he trotted up to them.