by Jess E. Owen
“It is to be expected,” the empress said, watching them with an indulgent look, “from the young.”
Whispers and mutters broke out through the dragons who peered at them from the various levels and archways, speculating in un-amused tones. Shard’s belly tightened and he pressed his talons to Hikaru’s scales to remind himself why he was there. The empress twitched her soft ears and the hall fell silent again.
“Rashard of the Silver Isles, we understand you have come to see Hikaru. But we have no other interest in affairs outside our mountains, and we can be of no help to you. You may shelter with us, and heal, as long as Hikaru takes responsibility for you. You will not wander alone in our tunnels, nor hunt in our waters or surrounding lands without supervision. You will not seek out our treasure rooms or forges. You will not pester any dragon who does not seek your company. You are here for Hikaru’s sake and because of my good will and in honor of Hikaru’s father and Amaratsu. Do you understand?”
Shard, taken aback, began to speak a protest, but Hikaru squeezed him gently, and his liquid-gold eyes hooded with warning.
“Yes,” Shard said slowly, turning back to the empress. “Yes, my lady. As you wish.”
“I will look after him,” Hikaru said, and the nearly adult depth of his voice, so serious in tone, sent a shiver through Shard. “Thank you for your generosity, Radiant One.” Dipping his head low, he murmured to Shard, “Come with me. Please stay silent. I’ll explain everything.”
Shard inclined his head deeply, to show Hikaru he’d heard, to hide a new wash of frustration, and to show respect to the empress. Hikaru uncoiled from Shard and they bowed again, and Shard followed Hikaru’s lead when he backed toward the ground-level exit, not turning his face from the empress. He ground his beak, wanting to ask when he could see her again, speak his piece and ask for assistance. But the young dragon promised him an explanation.
As they neared the exit, Shard’s feathers prickled with unease. He took a final, quick look up and around and realized, with a growing chill, that it was not curiosity with which most of the dragons regarded him. He met the stare of one young, gleaming red male, and was easily able to read the expression on his face, but it was not curiosity. It was not even anger, and as Shard looked around he saw that every dragon wore the same expression.
Every dragon who watched him leave with Hikaru was watching with disgust.
~ 23 ~
Allies Old and New
“VANHAR TO ME!” NILSINE shouted over the wind. “Keep alert!”
Kjorn flew at her right, forming a wedge with four other gryfons and Nilsine, on point as they soared high and toward the vast network of canyons they called the Voldsom Narrows. They’d left the lions of the First Plains a day after Kjorn’s hunting trial, with a promise of friendship should they ever need shelter, and the blessing to cross their lands if needed, again.
Ajia promised to mind her dreams and the winds for sign of Shard, and Kjorn thanked her, though he wasn’t sure what that was worth.
I will raise the Sunwind, indeed.
Flexing his wings, Kjorn snorted. His father would’ve rejected such nonsense, and Kjorn did the same. Aesir made their own destiny. He had no intention of bringing war to the Winderost, only of finding Shard, reconciling, and returning to the Silver Isles and Thyra before spring, before his kit was born.
“Keep alert,” Nilsine said again, and Kjorn realized he’d drifted out of the formation. He flapped twice, steering back into the wedge. Nilsine looked ahead again with an expression of approval.
A thick haze of smoke clung to the rim of every canyon wall and they had to rise high to see over it. Great jagged mazes of golden and red rock split into deep crevices and splintered off from one main artery, at the bottom of which ran a silver slip of river.
The Serpent River Pack…Kjorn recalled the painted wolf Mayka and wondered if this had been his home, then refocused as Nilsine called orders. He peered forward through the haze, amazed that the smoke from the Horn had drifted so far windward. The wall of haze blocked any view of the horizon, the distant Dawn Spire that Nilsine told him lay a day’s flight dawnward, or the lands they’d crossed to reach the Voldsom over the last days.
“Eagles!” reported one of Nilsine’s warriors.
Kjorn snapped to attention, and admired the scout’s good eye. He saw a smudge of movement through the haze, then it clarified into an entire flight of eagles, formed in a swan wedge similar to their own. Quickly Kjorn sized them up. A third the size of a gryfon, they had broad wings and colors ranging from golden brown to ruddy and spotted cream on the juveniles.
“That doesn’t look like a greeting party,” Kjorn said to Nilsine.
“Don’t be so quick to seek battle,” she answered, though Kjorn saw clearly that the leading eagles’ expressions were narrow, fierce and hostile, and they began to break into smaller formations he was sure meant imminent attack.
“Hark!” Nilsine called to them. “Eagles of the Voldsom, we are of the Vanhar, and we—”
An eagle dropped from nowhere and landed on her back with a battle scream. The other gryfons fell away in surprise, realizing at the same time that the eagles out front had been a diversion, and now they were under attack from above and from the sides.
Kjorn lunged through the air and swiped at the eagle attacking Nilsine.
“We come peacefully!” he snarled, just as two others shot at them from the sides. All around, the sentries fell under attack, and Kjorn saw that they fell on the gryfons in threes, making up for size with numbers and angles.
“Pair up!” he shouted to the gryfons, still wrestling with the eagle on Nilsine’s back as she worked to stay aloft and Kjorn tried not to beat her with his wings. “One above, one below at angles!”
He didn’t know if they heard, but it was the only way to prevent the eagle’s three-pronged attacks of one from above and two from the sides.
What felt like a boulder slammed into him and knocked him into Nilsine, crushing the eagle between them. The bird shrieked and wriggled free, rasping taunts as he dove away. Kjorn, locked between two struggling gryfons, realized the new gryfon who’d knocked into them was attacking him, not fleeing attack from the eagles nor trying to help him.
More rogues? He thought wildly, rogue gryfons, allied with the eagles?
“Desist,” he growled. He grabbed his opponent’s foreleg and a scruff of russet feathers and wrenched back, dragging them both away from Nilsine. A huntress’s battle scream rang in his ears.
“These are no longer Dawn Spire hunting grounds,” declared the female, a stocky, sturdy gryfess, and snapped at his face. Kjorn shoved her away, trying to see her face clearly.
“We aren’t from the Dawn Spire. We’ve come from the Vanheim Shore, and I from the Silver Isles, we—”
“Silver Isles?” his attacker relaxed for half a breath.
“Prideless wretch!” shouted Nilsine, having doubled back. She grabbed the rogue gryfess and they tumbled away from Kjorn in a knot of beating wings and slashing talons.
An eagle smacked into Kjorn from below, scrabbling at his belly, and he flipped down, grabbing for the smaller bird’s wings. Another landed on his back and a beak sliced at his ears, seeking his eyes. He grasped the first and managed to fling it away, kicking with a hind leg for good measure. Another two eagles shot in at him from the sides. All around gryfons shrieked, the haze stirred by thrashing wings, and eagles zipping in to attack from all sides.
Weighted by his attackers, Kjorn sank, desperate to dislodge the eagles before they delivered serious injury or drove him into the river, but he couldn’t lift his head, or the eagle on top would have his eyes.
“Get off of him!” shouted a young male voice, and someone tore the eagle from Kjorn’s back. Freed of that threat, Kjorn twisted and grabbed the first eagle foot he found, yanked, and flung it and the bird it belonged to away.
“Fraenir,” Kjorn panted as the young rogue dipped lower. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he chirped, seeming thrilled with the fight.
“Where is Nilsine?” Kjorn circled, taking in the scene, and realized that the eagles were falling back. He didn’t think it was because the Vanhar had overpowered them. Someone called them off. A female voice. The gryfess who’d attacked him.
“Fall back! Brightwing eagles fall back, these are not from the Dawn Spire!” The russet gryfess soared above the scene, calling them off. “Fall back, these are allies! Hildr, call them off!”
To Kjorn’s surprise, a female eagle broke from the scattered group and called in shrieking tones. At first, Kjorn heard only witless bird sounds, then he listened more closely , as he’d learned to listen to the wolves of the Silver Isles and the lions of the First Plains, and understood that she called orders, and the others answered with respect. Grateful, Kjorn watched warily as the gryfess winged back toward him.
Nilsine flew up through the haze and joined her, face lit with triumph. “Kjorn!” She quickened pace to reach him first, and Fraenir circled protectively. “You’re all right?”
“I am. And you?” When she nodded, Kjorn motioned around. “What’s all this?”
“A misunderstanding. I think we have friends here after all.”
“Oh,” breathed the strange gryfess as she caught up, meeting them in the air. “You are him. You are…”
“Kjorn,” he said. “Son-of-Sverin.”
“Yes,” she said, and made an awkward midair bow. “I see now. Forgive us. There’s been so much…but you have friends here. We’ve been waiting, and Shard said—”
“Shard?” Hope flared that maybe his search was coming to an end. “I’m seeking him. Is he here? We came to speak with the eagles. You’re a friend of Shard’s?”
“Oh, yes.” She gazed at him as if she’d awakened to find either that a long nightmare had ended, or a great dream come to life. “But forgive me, I haven’t introduced myself.”
“Yes, please,” Kjorn said.
“I’m Brynja,” she said breathlessly. “Brynja, daughter-of-Mar.”
“I see the blood of the Red Kings in you.” Brynja flew on Kjorn’s right, and he on Nilsine’s right, as the eagles led them to their nesting grounds. Fraenir glided just behind them, and Kjorn was certain he eavesdropped, but didn’t see the harm in it. Brynja watched Kjorn thoughtfully. “Though you favor your mother. Shard spoke of you.”
“I hope it wasn’t all bad.”
She chuckled and shook her head. To hear another voice speak Shard’s name at last warmed Kjorn’s heart like the sun. It made his wingbrother feel closer, and alive. For months he’d thought Shard was dead.
Brynja tucked her talons up into the paler feathers of her chest, her gaze set forward in determination. “Though thin in blood, we are cousins, by your distant kin and mine. I’ll help you however I can.”
“I’m grateful for your friendship.” They followed the eagles lower, dipping into the largest of the broken canyons, flying in columns over the winding river below. “Can you tell me what’s passed? What happened while Shard was here, and where he’s gone? There’s so much I don’t know.”
Brynja told him her account of Shard and his uncle’s time at the Winderost, their integration and success within the pride—until the wyrms attacked the Dawn Spire. Kjorn’s cautious hope that he might see his wingbrother soon quickly faded.
“Stigr fell,” Brynja said quietly. “Cut down, a wing severed. King Orn and his warriors would’ve imprisoned or killed Shard for accidently leading the wyrms to the Dawn Spire, so we told him to flee.” She looked over at Kjorn, and the worn lines around her eyes and her angled ears told him of distressing memories. “I saw his face at the end of the fight, when he flew toward the Outlands. I don’t know if he knew himself, knew us, or even where he meant to go.”
“Nameless,” Kjorn said, feeling raw.
“Ashamed.” She tilted her wings as the columns of eagles and gryfons turned a bend in the canyon and slipped lower. The haze thickened within the canyon walls, and Kjorn trusted the eagles to know where they were going. “Grief-stricken. I don’t know what became of him. Then, after a fortnight, the Horn erupted and…Well, the only good thing I can say is that we haven’t see the enemy since that day, nor heard them hunting in the night.”
“The enemy?”
“The wyrms.”
“And your other allies you spoke of? Your aunt Valdis, Asvander? What of Shard’s uncle, does he live too?”
For a moment she closed her eyes, wind ruffling the feathers of her neck. “I don’t know. Orn turned on all of us and we scattered. If Valdis didn’t remain with Stigr, she probably would’ve gone to the Dawn Reach to find her estranged kin. She told me to flee just as Shard did. Asvander’s family reside at the Ostral Shores and if he wasn’t captured as a traitor then he may have gone there. I’m ashamed that I fled but what could I do? They would’ve imprisoned or killed us, and I thought…” She sighed, ears laying flat. “I thought there was hope Shard would find whatever he was seeking, or that he would find you and return. And I intended to be ready either way.”
A little ember of hope glowed again within him. “And are you?”
She looked sidelong at him, a new spark in the golden eyes that reminded him of his father. “For anything, my lord. My wingsister, my huntresses, and the others who feared Orn would suspect them of treason followed me, and they await good news. Now I have it.”
“If I can help you, I will.”
“As will we.”
Kjorn looked over at Nilsine and she merely inclined her head, though she’d been listening with interest.
After another few moments, they reached the eagle’s nesting cliffs. Brynja bid the eagles farewell there and led Kjorn, Nilsine and the Vanhar band down to the canyon floor, where a series of larger caves and dens riddled the rock face. The scent reminded Kjorn of Mayka, the painted wolf, and it was oddly comforting if only by its familiarity.
“You can sleep in the dens here,” Brynja said as she landed. “The painted wolves who used to dwell here have disappeared. Maybe the wyrms’ blatant attack on the Dawn Spire frightened them or they drove the wolves out, but whatever the reason, they’re gone, and their dens are comfortable enough if you don’t mind the smell. The eagle Hildr who leads this clan knows Shard as well, and has allowed us to remain for now.” She lifted her wings, looking amused. “Strange days make for strange allies.”
“Strange allies to you,” Nilsine said as she settled her wings. “The Vanhar have always been friendly with all creatures of the Winderost.”
Brynja seemed to take a deep breath, her gaze darting from Kjorn to Nilsine, then Fraenir, whose eyes brightened at the prospect of an impending fight. But Brynja inclined her head.
“Perhaps, someday, we of the Dawn Spire will enjoy the same friendships.”
“Perhaps,” Nilsine said, tail flicking. “Where may my band rest?”
“These dens are unclaimed. My huntresses are farther down.”
“Thank you.” Nilsine looked to Kjorn, offering a half mantle, a quick courtesy. “With your leave.”
“Go, thank you. We’ll meet at dawn, speak with the eagles and make a plan.”
Nilsine dipped her head, gave Brynja one last, measuring look, and called her warriors off to find resting places before night fell.
“Go with them,” Kjorn instructed Fraenir, who looked disappointed, but trotted away. After a moment, Brynja chuckled, and walked toward the riverbank. Kjorn followed her to the water. “What’s funny?”
“Now I know why my aunt calls the Vanhar ‘stuffy.’“
“The Vanhar have been a great help to me.”
Brynja waded into a slow pool, close to the bank, and dipped herself, ruffling to remove dust and flecks of blood from the brief fight. “I meant no disrespect. I’ll do whatever I can to help you find Shard, and as long as you trust my intentions, I’m not worried about Nilsine.”
“You were good friends with Shard?”
She g
ave him a sharp look, and he thought he detected a flush of pink about her nares, but perhaps it was the cold water. “Yes.”
“Then I trust your intentions.” He waded into the water and closed his eyes a moment before following suit to wash himself clean of blood, dust and the haze and ash. Evening gathered quickly in the canyon, between the smoky air and the sun dipping below the rim, and with it came a cold wind that reminded them it was still winter.
After a moment, Brynja spoke again, her gaze traveling along the canyon wall. “I can’t believe you’re here, really. Shard spoke so little of his homeland it seemed imaginary, because we had to keep up the pretense that he and his uncle were Outlanders. So the king wouldn’t think they had come to roust him.” She paused, studying Kjorn’s face.
“What is it?”
“Just—something Shard said. Anyway it’s good to know he has friends such as you.”
“What did he say about me?”
She shook her head. “Not as much as he could’ve. He said that you were wingbrothers, and I respect Shard, so that says enough. Though you are much taller than I thought.”
Kjorn laughed. “My father’s side, I suppose.”
“The mighty line of Kajar,” she said quietly. “I thought the stories exaggerated. But I see not.”
Kjorn shifted, feeling as if she expected something from him.
But she looked away, and Kjorn didn’t push her. “I wonder if you could tell me more about the Silver Isles, about yourself, and Shard?” When she looked back to him there was curious hunger in her gaze, and at once he began to understand her a little better, and what Shard might mean to her.
“I would be glad to.”
They waded from the water and shook themselves before stretching out on the bank. Brynja dug a talon into the sand. “Begin wherever you remember.”
“You’re in luck,” Kjorn murmured, watching the swirls and eddies of the river. “For all of my life is tied up with his. I was newborn when my grandfather led our pride from the Winderost. My mother carried me, in her talons, across the sea.” He tilted his head and closed his eyes. “They conquered the pride there. And when I was still a squalling kit, my father’s wingbrother, Caj, took the only other living kit in the pride, and they placed him in the nest beside me, to comfort me. They raised us together.” He opened his eyes, looking toward the sky. “They raised us as brothers.”
