by Jess E. Owen
Shard thought first that Caj and Stigr would get along well with the warrior dragons, and then he thought of Amaratsu, who had carefully chosen the moment she would die.
“You have a mighty legacy,” he said quietly.
“Yes,” Hikaru said, raising his head to a high angle.
“And what of courage? Your second virtue? What do dragons consider courageous?”
Hikaru slipped around a pillar, touching his claws to an image of a dragon rising through what looked like flames to face an encroaching storm cloud. “Courage,” he recited, “is doing what is right.”
“Yes,” Shard said, and could think of no truer definition. “That does often take courage.”
“I know,” Hikaru said, and bared his teeth at a dragon of his year who stared for too long.
Despite the dragons who halted their business to stare at Shard, eyes narrowing, or claws lifting to clutch protectively at their gems, he listened quietly as Hikaru told him more of the Sunland dragon virtues of justice, courage, and mercy.
~ 25 ~
The Red Scourge
THE WHITE MOUNTAINS OF the Sun Isle soared up in ragged grandeur from low, forested foothills and sweeping plains. Several narrow passes made it easier for gryfons to fly through if they wished, but Caj’s broken wing forced them to take the long way, on foot through the deepest and widest of the narrow canyons. Flying, it took only a sunmark to reach the mountains.
Walking, it turned out, took days, alternating in long lopes, a steady trot, and more walking. Now and then Halvden flew ahead to scout, though it was with silent, odd, mixed relief that both of them realized that the only true danger they might face was Sverin himself.
“You might’ve been better off serving your punishment with the pride,” Caj observed at the end of the second day as they took shelter in the lee of a great hump of rock and snow. The peaks of the mountains glittered white under the rising moon, and the night promised to remain clear and cold. The rock cut the worst of the wind and Caj sat, hoping to press on later in the night after a rest.
“I think I’m better off with you,” Halvden said. “I owe you a debt, and the queen bears me ill will.”
“Which one?”
“Both.”
Caj huffed a sigh. “When the warriors sent after Sverin discover your ruse, you’ll have explaining to do.”
“I trust you’ll help with that,” Halvden said, “Since you’re taking advantage of my ruse.”
Caj flattened one ear, and had to nod once. They’d seen no sign of the gryfons chosen to hunt down and restrain Sverin, so either they still searched diligently where Halvden had sent them, or they’d returned to the queens to tell them of the deception.
“I could fly on,” Halvden said, changing the subject, pacing away from the rock and perking his ears toward the mountains. “If you’re anxious about time I could scout ahead, and see if he’s even still where I last saw him.”
“You could,” Caj said, watching him carefully.
Halvden looked over his shoulder and flattened his ears. “You think I mean to flee.”
“Now why would I?”
Green feathers prickled up along Halvden’s back and he opened his wings. “I won’t run again. I’m not a coward, I won’t betray the pride. I made a mistake, and I’ll admit it. Are you pleased now?”
“Not especially. My wing is still broken, and that was your doing. You finally confessing it doesn’t change that. If you think it isn’t too dangerous for you to fly ahead and seek Sverin, or run into Ragna’s warriors and have them think you’re fleeing or worse…” Caj lifted his wing in a shrug. “By all means. Go. Otherwise, rest here and follow my orders as you promised to do.”
Halvden looked again toward the mountains, then walked to Caj and sat beside him, sharing warmth. Caj lay down in the snow, regretting their scant shelter, but there was nothing for it. Grudgingly, he appreciated Halvden’s warmth at his back as the younger gryfon settled.
Just as Caj slipped toward sleep, Halvden’s voice pulled him back. “Did you mean what you said before, when we fought, when you said I could be great? Or were you trying to distract me?”
Caj lifted his head, and weighed his words. “I did mean it. But a great warrior has no need to announce his greatness, nor especially, the need to use it against those weaker. It’s your heart, Halvden, that should be strongest. Not your talons, and not your pride.”
For a moment it was quiet, and wind whistled against the rock. Stars glittered fiercely in the moonlit sky, and Caj found his gaze resting on the cluster the wolves called the First Pack.
“My father said the heart is like any other vital organ,” Halvden ventured. “To leave it open is to risk death. Pride and strength, he said, are a warrior’s greatest shield.”
“Well,” Caj said. “You’ve heard my opinion.”
It was all Caj could say. For how can I argue with a warrior’s dead father? Hallr’s death speaks for itself.
Halvden didn’t say anything else.
A low, deep howl sang across the snow. Caj perked his ears, recognizing it, and blinked as Halvden surged to all fours, wings opening. “Wolves!”
“Don’t fret. This is a friend.” Caj stood, and called out Tocho’s name. The wolf bounded into sight under the moon, raced a circle around their stone shelter and then tossed a hare at Caj’s feet.
“I found you at last, my friend! Who is this with you? I thought you would at least rest a few days with your pride, but no, they told me…” Tocho stopped and the moonlight picked out the edge of his hackles rising when he looked more closely at Halvden. He sniffed the air and Caj heard a low, thrumming sound he realized was a growl. He hadn’t heard a wolf growl in some time. “What is your name?” he demanded of Halvden.
Halvden lifted his head high. “Halvden, son-of—”
“Hallr,” Tocho snarled, and leaped with a roar, his jaws bared wide.
“Oh, no you don’t—” Caj charged between them and shoved Tocho back with his good wing. “Not here. Not now. Hallr’s attack on you is already avenged.”
Tocho showed Caj his shining teeth. “Halvden would’ve helped! If not for Shard—”
“I stopped,” Halvden snapped. “Stopped, instead of attacking, you mud-covered—”
“You chased. You would’ve attacked!”
“Mudding fool, your pelt should be lining my nest—”
Tocho darted around Caj, growling and snapping his fangs. Instead of retreating, Halvden lunged to meet him. Caj ramped to his hind legs and twisted, lashing out with his talons and his one good wing. He caught Halvden’s face, swiping a quick cut near his eye, and raked Tocho’s cheek just before flinging up his wing to again shove the wolf away.
“This ends now!” Caj fell to all fours again as wolf and gryfon fell back from him, shocked.
“My eye!” Halvden swiped at the cuts, wiping away blood.
“I missed your eye,” Caj snarled, “on purpose. Next time I will not. I’ve dealt worse to misbehaving fledges. I’m better off alone than dealing with this. You will put your enmity aside, as I have, or leave me to my task alone.”
Halvden sank down and pressed the side of his head to the snow, still gasping at the pain and then the sight of dark blood staining the moonlit snow. Tocho did likewise, burying his head briefly under the snow before shaking briskly. Both wounds were shallow, as Caj had meant them to be. Warnings.
For a moment they were silent under the stars. Tocho stood slowly and shook himself again. He lowered his head deeply to Caj.
“Forgive me, my friend. But just like your wing, mine is a wound that has not yet healed. I will not run with the son of Hallr.”
Before either gryfon could answer, Tocho turned about and padded away. Caj watched until he couldn’t make out the wolf’s form against all the other odd shapes in the dark. Halvden made no noise.
Halvden, Caj thought. See what other trouble your arrogance has wrought. Tocho could have been a great help to them. Caj picked up th
e rabbit the wolf had left and split it down the middle, tossing one half to Halvden.
“Eat. And don’t tell me you won’t eat the food a wolf brought.”
Halvden seemed to swallow an argument, and the rabbit swiftly after that.
Caj ate in silence, with deliberate slowness, and felt he had a responsibility to instruct Halvden somehow on what he should have done, but he grew weary of it. A grown gryfon should know better on his own. Caj tossed the last bit of rabbit fur away and curled up again by the stone.
“I apologize.” Halvden’s voice was stiff as the cold wind. Caj twitched an ear his way. “I’m sorry,” he said more loudly, and, Caj thought, more honestly, “that my actions caused trouble for you.”
Caj waited for Halvden to add an argument about Tocho’s behavior, but he did not, and Caj flicked his tail. “I accept. Now get some rest. We’ll travel again at middlemark of the moon.”
After a moment, Halvden lay down, and with the extra warmth beside him, Caj slept a little. A part of him hoped that Tocho might too realize he could’ve acted better and they would hear him return, but no wolf howl broke the night, no crunch of paws in snow. They rose again at midnight and traveled on without him.
Another half day of walking, keeping mostly along the more sheltered banks of the Nightrun, and Halvden and Caj stared up at the peaks of the pass the river had cut through the mountains in the First Age. Rock and stubborn pines showed here and there but otherwise, snow coated the land and the mountains, making distance difficult to judge.
“It’s strange to be on the ground so much,” Halvden said, in a hollow tone.
Caj heard fear and said casually, “You can always fly if you want to.”
The green warrior’s ears slipped back and he strode forward, head held proudly.
The river widened, leaving them only a thin trail on which to travel the pass. Halvden remained on point, testing the treacherous, snow-covered banks for steady footing before he would let Caj proceed.
Quiet, grateful but alert, Caj let Halvden lead and earn back his sense of pride through honest work. Walking tested him. Caj could feel it. The river, half frozen but roaring where it wasn’t, splashed and licked at their heels like a hungry animal whenever their narrow path took them too close to the water. The empty, open air above, though tricky with shifting winds from the canyon, constantly drew Halvden’s eyes, and Caj noted his wistful looks.
Caj paused as Halvden once again signaled a stop by fanning his tail, creeping ahead like a stalking mountain cat, pressing his talons firmly to the snow.
“If you want to fly—”
“I don’t want to fly,” Halvden snapped, swiveling to glare at Caj. “Let me do this.” He looked forward again. “I promised to help you. I can do this.”
If I can do it, you can do it, is that it? Caj kept quiet and tried to wipe any pleasure from his expression any time Halvden looked back at him. Maybe there’s hope. Whether he’s trying to prove something to me, or to himself…Maybe there’s hope.
“It’s fragile here.” Halvden tapped his talons against the bank. “We might try climbing a bit or…” He scanned the area but there was no “or.” Sheer, frozen rock face on one side, the river on the other, and their narrow trail. “This way,” he said.
“Halvden, if it’s not sturdy ground we’ll go back and find another way.”
“It’s sturdy enough. Stay close to the cliff, that’s all.”
Caj shifted his feet, then stepped forward after Halvden. The young warrior wouldn’t be so desperate to prove himself that he risked his own skin—someone else, perhaps, but not his own, not while he was leading. They hugged the cliff face and sure enough, the ground held, though Caj suspected they walked on ice, not earth, and his ears flicked back and forth at every creak under his feet, and every splash of water.
“You say Sverin’s made a den on the far side of the pass?”
“Yes. Across a valley ringed by forest.” Halvden squinted ahead, still patting every few steps to listen for cracking or to feel soft ground. “Of course, when I fled from him at last, at the end, I was flying. I would say another day walking in this direction will see us there.”
“And he was…”
Halvden didn’t look back at him. “He was lost. I did try. You must believe that I tried, that I was loyal, as loyal as a wingbrother could be, but he would have killed me. We fought at last, and the fighting made it worse. He wasn’t angry, he was just—possessed by survival. I fled. And then I couldn’t return to the pride, so…”
“And now here you are,” Caj reminded him. “And serving your queen,” he didn’t specify which one, “and repaying your debt to me.”
When Halvden glanced back, Caj was grateful to see that his usual smug expression was gradually fading to one of determination and focus. “Yes. Look, the trail widens ahead—”
A warped, feral scream shattered through the canyon.
For a moment, the blood seemed to go out of Caj’s head, then he came to himself with a growl, and looked up to see a stain of scarlet in the sky. His heart crammed into his throat and he ramped high, reaching talons outward.
“Sverin! My brother—”
“Don’t!” Halvden crouched, pressing to the rock face.
The exiled king’s cry sounded again, this time deepening to a lion’s roar, a warning. A threat to anyone invading his territory.
“Son of Per!” Caj shouted.
“It isn’t him,” Halvden hissed. “This isn’t the way, you have to listen to me.”
Sverin banked hard and wheeled once, scanned the area, focused on them, and chose his target. Caj.
“Oh yes, I dare you!” Caj called, falling back to all fours and bracing himself. “I could beat you in a spar with both wings tied—as a matter of fact…” Breathless, trying to make his tone light, to call Sverin back to himself, Caj refused to see the emptiness in the sharp gold eyes, the talons splayed, the powerful red warrior hurtling toward him, without recognition, at killing speed.
But it wasn’t Sverin who struck him and sent him rolling. It was Halvden. Sverin smashed into the bank where Caj had stood before Halvden shoved him out of the way, and a high-pitched crack resounded over the roar of the water. Caj gasped for a breath as Halvden whirled, flaring his wings as if to shield Caj from Sverin. For half a breath, Caj wished Ragna’s warriors would find them and assist.
But Halvden said fighting made it worse.
Fighting…
“Step aside,” Caj growled, dragging to his feet. Once again, his mud splint was ruined. There was no time to wonder if he would ever fly again, for Sverin stood before them at his full height, wings open, ears flat to his skull and eyes so empty he looked more like a crimson viper than a gryfon who had been a king.
“I won’t,” Halvden said. “Look at him. He’ll kill you.”
Sverin crouched, tail swiping across the snow, his gaze darting between them. His beak opened in a long hiss.
“He will not,” Caj said, trying to shove around Halvden. “I know him. I trust him, and he’s in there somewhere. Shame and fear have hidden his name. You said fighting makes it worse. Move.”
Halvden didn’t—partly because there was nowhere to go between the cliff and the river.
“My brother,” Caj called. “My king. This is not you. Your heart is—”
The gryfon that was once the Red King lunged. Halvden fell back, smashing into Caj, and Sverin hit them like a boulder, beak snapping for Halvden’s throat. They rolled, and with a sickening crack, the ice broke.
At the first touch of frigid water, Sverin shrieked and his great scarlet wings slapped at the river, then Halvden and Caj as he shoved out with brute power. He flapped up high, retreating deep into the canyon again.
Caj grabbed for the rocks of the bank, then saw that the current had swept Halvden out to the middle of the river. He swore, shoved from the bank and let the river rush him toward the green gryfon. It took only two breaths for the freezing water to slip under his fea
thers, to soak his oiled fur and squeeze the wind from his chest.
“Halv—” water splashed into his face and he gave up calling out. Halvden fought to swim, but churning swirls of water dragged him under again and again. Caj had not the skill of a Vanir for swimming, but he faired better than Halvden, and managed to struggle to Halvden’s side. He grabbed the green scruff and dragged Halvden’s head out of the water. The green warrior hacked and sputtered but his head lolled. The cold was overtaking him. Caj kicked his hind legs hard and used his good wing to help remain afloat, grateful the freezing water numbed any pain from his broken wing.
Deciding that the far bank had a broader shoreline and would be an easier swim, he kicked out that way. Downstream about fifty leaps, rocks kicked the river into a wrath of foaming rapids and spinning chunks of ice. Caj swam diagonally, as Sigrun had once taught him, trying to let the current assist him toward the shore.
Ahead, a long, thin dead birch stretched over the water, as if the tree or the mountain itself was offering help. Desperate, dragging Halvden along while trying to keep his own head above water, Caj strained toward the branches. Two more leaps and they would be swept past it.
His hind paw kicked the river bottom and sharp pain broke through the numbness—but Caj laughed madly. The bottom. He let his head dunk under, scrabbled both feet against the gravel and shoved his body toward the branch. He caught it in his talons and with his beak and clung hard, holding Halvden close by the scruff between his shoulders.
Now what.
The birch shifted at the weight of them and Caj’s belly lurched. Beak clamped around the branch, he reached out with his talons and pulled them farther in, alternating beak then talons. His foreleg strained against Halvden’s weight and he shook the younger gryfon, trying to rouse him, but he must’ve gotten a chest full of water.
The birch shifted again, loosening, and Caj groaned against the bark, clawing forward.
