Page 55 of Gryphon in Light

He had never seen a gryphon so beautiful, so regal. The light coming from him surged, and for a moment he saw himself reflected sharply in her pinning eyes, like a gryphon made of sunlight, the light shining off the edges of her feathers, giving each of them a thin rim of gold. Leaves, pollen, and other light debris still drifted downward all around them.

“You speak to Kelvren Skothkar,” he said. “But—” his light dimmed as, crestfallen, he admitted his demotion, “—Wingleader no longer. In my current condition, it is not safe for me to have that position.” From bewilderment to euphoria to this . . . he felt as if he’d been caught in a downdraft and was tumbling through the air. But those words, and his obligation to say them, brought him to the ground. Not crashing, but in a bruising tumble, because it still hurt to say it, even though he knew it why it all was necessary. Why he was out here in partial exile.

The other gryphon snorted her scorn. “We were informed of the poor decision,” she said. “It does not matter. We know what you did was mighty, gryphon-fierce and gryphon-bold. That it was right. That is what makes a Wingleader, not a badge or a title, much less an appointment. You are who we will follow.”

For a moment, the praise distracted him. But heady as that praise was . . .“What?” he asked. “What do you mean by ‘follow me’? Follow me how, exactly?”

They all straightened, raised their heads, and dropped their beaks, but the female, who surely must be their Wingleader, continued. “We are gryphons and gryphon-mages of Iftel. We have now joined with your exploration party.”

She said it as an established fact, as if Kelvren had already accepted this. He blinked, feeling suddenly as if he could not get enough air. “That is unexpected to me. Why?” he asked. He didn’t know a great deal about the gryphons of Iftel; he had never met Takisheth, the leader of the gryphon delegation that had come to Haven when Vykaendys, their name for the Sun God known by the Karsites as Vkandis, deemed it time for the magic barrier between Iftel and Valdemar to come down, and Iftel to join in alliance with Valdemar and Duke Tremayne of Hardorn.

“Because Vykaendys deems it needful,” she replied, further shocking him. “He has told us that you dare the heart of our ancient enemy’s former stronghold. There is great peril there, and the peril is growing. Had you not already determined to go there yourselves, the gods themselves would have sent us to tell you to do so—or so I have been told.”

He actually reeled back a pace and sat down on his haunches sideways, heavily.

WHAT?

“So,” Firesong said into the silence, sounding more than a little breathless himself. “We add Iftel gryphons and a Gods-Quest. Silverfox is going to love this.”

The silence that followed that dramatic pronouncement was thick enough to choke on. Not even birds or insects broke it, which could have seemed dreadfully portentous—except, of course, half a dozen gryphons coming in at top speed and landing noisily had probably frightened everything witless.

“Hurrr,” Kel said, feeling just about as witless as the wildlife.

“Indeed, and may our flights be true in your service,” the female said, taking his stunned silence as a sign that he had taken her seriously. Which, of course he had, but words had fled him. Gods? GODS? This was just an exploratory venture! Why would the gods mix themselves into it? He didn’t like this, no, not at all! Gods never spoke unless things were serious, and they never meddled unless things were critical. Weren’t things complicated enough already? Inside, he felt his guts knot up. Outside, his feathers flattened against his body and he had to repress the urge to crouch down in a defensive posture.

“I think,” Firesong said carefully, with a faint tremor to his voice that only someone who knew him would have noticed, “that we need to present all this to the k’Valdemar Council of Elders, right now. This way, you can explain everything just once, lady,” he added, with a slight bow of his head, “rather than go over it a dozen times. I’ll have a hertasi taking notes so we have a record of everything.”

The female turned her piercing gaze on the Adept and contemplated him. Kel couldn’t tell if she was contemplating him with an eye to snacking on him, or as a favorable reaction to his suggestion. Kel vibrated between alarm and admiration, because he had never seen an Iftel gryphon before. In the old stories, there had been several wings of gryphons based on eagles, like Skandranon, not hawks or falcons, but none of them had flown the skies of White Gryphon for centuries. They had been heavy-combat specialists, including dropping large and unpleasant things on enemy troops, and had been stationed with their support, not with the rest of Urtho’s gryphons. And until Iftel opened its borders and Takisheth brought his delegation to Haven, no one had known what had become of them.

But oh, she is beautiful. And with my luck, already exclusively mated to one of those males.

His mind, which was inclined to wander off on its own at times like these, presented him, smugly, with the image of their height difference, and exactly what that would mean if she reciprocated his admiration.

Hurr, I’ll stand on a rock.

He gave himself an internal shake. Now was not the time.

I should not let my mind wander. It is too small to be out alone.

“If I may escort you and your Wing to k’Valdemar Vale, Wingleader?” he managed to say, and somehow the words all came out clear and coherent. “I am sure Firesong has already summoned the Council of Elders.”

“Hurrrrrr, Mindspeakers, then?” the female said with approval. “Good. Before we all leave on our trek to the Lake, you will give us all those . . . telebones? We need to practice with them. The ability to make them in Iftel has been lost to time.”

“Telesons,” Kel corrected gently. “It will be done.” Promising things you don’t know if you can produce, Kelvren Skothkar? his mind chided him. Not an auspicious way to start.

Hush, he told himself. I’ll make it happen, somehow. It’s the least this Vale can do to make up for what they did to me when I arrived.

The female’s eyes gleamed with approval. “I am called Vindaria Lisson. Vindaria. Or Daria. I will make the others known to you when we speak with this Council.”

“Yes, we shall do that,” Kel agreed, hoping that didn’t come out as submissive as it seemed to him. He didn’t know if they expected the Proclamations of a Gods-Chosen Legendary Commander, but if they did, they weren’t getting them from him. “Did you know, my great friend the Owlknight is called Darian?”

“Even so? That is a good omen for our friendship.” There was nothing in her tone that suggested that she wanted things to begin and end with merely “friendship.” On the other hand, it is all too easy to read what I want to hear. “But,” she continued, “the situation is more urgent than any of us could have known before the gods spoke. So let us stand before you all, and we will explain.”

Without any sign that he could see—which suggested that they were all Mindspeakers—the Iftel gryphons parted and paused, waiting for him to take the lead, escorting them into the Vale. So he did, flanked on either side by Vindaria and Firesong. His mind buzzed, but none of the thoughts were particularly coherent. Vindaria seemed disinclined toward conversation, but her silence didn’t seem hostile or even annoyed. Perhaps she simply didn’t see the need to speak unless speech was necessary.

Word had spread quickly, as it did in a Vale, and by the time they reached the Veil, the inhabitants were lined up on either side of the path. Weaponless, he was pleased to note.

But then he noticed that Tyrsell was the first in line to greet them.