A Shard of Sun

by Jess E. Owen

  A blur of animal movement caught his eye, and his gaze darted downstream. A wolf raced toward the birch tree.

  Caj tried to shout Tocho’s name but it came as a guttural gurgle around the birch. The wolf sprinted nimbly up the snow-covered bank, splashing through water where he needed to, but leaping out too quickly for the river to catch him. Caj’s tree lurched, almost loose of the rocks. Caj felt the current grabbing at them.

  Tocho burst forward and leaped the last distance, skidding through rocks and snow like a goose coming in to land. He lunged up and pounced the birch trunk, wedging it firmly back between the rocks.

  With the tree once again anchored, Caj was able to drag himself and Halvden out. Tocho helped him bring Halvden onto the shore, and when they rolled him to his side and Caj slapped him between the wings, he gurgled up river water.

  “I’m glad you’re back,” Caj muttered to the wolf, and they both curled around Halvden to warm him, and themselves.

  “I had a feeling,” Tocho murmured. “A bad feeling for you. And I realized you were right. I sought guidance from Tor, and under the moon, I understood and decided that if Halvden will put his judgments aside, so will I.”

  “We saw Sverin,” Caj told him. “He’s witless. He didn’t know me, but I know I can reach him. If you two will stand with me, I know I can bring him around.”

  Halvden coughed, and Caj took that as confirmation.

  A feather prickled and Caj bent his head to straighten it, then realized it was near broken, and he plucked it out with his beak. After pausing a moment to consider, he dropped it and pushed it to Tocho. The gold wolf perked his ears at the feather, then at Caj.

  “It’s for you,” Caj said gruffly.

  “I thought you didn’t like it when wolves wore gryfon feath—”

  “I didn’t understand why, before. Now I do.” Caj lifted his good wing and draped it over a shivering Halvden and Tocho, and felt renewed warmth in his own skin. “I’m…proud, to call you friend. I want everyone who sees you to know what you’ve done for me, to know that I owe you my life.”

  Tocho, not taking his eyes from Caj, bent his head to sniff the feather, then laid his head over it protectively and averted his eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Halvden.” Caj nudged him. Halvden groaned. “Will you survive?”

  “You could have let me drown,” he stammered through cold, “and saved yourself.”

  “Well if you’re talking, that’s a good sign.”

  “No one would’ve known,” Halvden snarled. “An accident. You could have, and the pride would’ve been rid of me.”

  “Don’t be stupid.” Caj gave him a firm shake to snap him out of it. “Tocho saved us both. I take it you don’t mind his company now?”

  Halvden shivered, and managed to lift his head. “Thank you,” he mumbled to the snow, then looked sideways at the wolf. “I owe you a debt.”

  Tocho showed his teeth in a not-unfriendly expression. “Let us consider all our debts paid.”

  “We’ll rest,” Caj said, “warm up, hunt, and then we will finish this.”

  They all lifted their gazes to the canyon, and stared down the frozen pass in the direction Sverin had flown.

  ~ 26 ~

  The Brightwing Aerie

  THE AIR HUNG DAMP with melting frost as the first hazy sunlight broke over the edge of the canyon. Kjorn gathered with Nilsine, Brynja, and four eagles. Two leading females, and their favorite male consorts.

  “This is all your fault,” one of the males accused Kjorn.

  Kjorn lifted his head. “How does that follow? I wasn’t here when the wyrms left the region, and I only just arrived. I don’t know them, they don’t know of me.”

  “Your pride is cursed. I can see by your bright feathers you are part of the cursed family who fled—”

  “That will be quite enough, Arn,” said Hildr, the leading she-eagle Brynja had named on the first day. Kjorn had met her briefly, as they gathered near the river at first light. Grunna, a sleek auburn eagle Kjorn gauged to be of middle years, watched quietly, and her consort beside her.

  “He draws them near,” Arn said, edging in a last word, “I’m sure of it. We of the Brightwing should never have allowed gryfons to nest here.”

  Kjorn suppressed a low rumble in his chest.

  Arn opened his beak and his feathers pricked up high, giving him the illusion of size. “Do you think I fear you, giant, lumbering—”

  “Do you prefer wyrms nesting here?” Brynja asked with a touch of ice. “We’re happy to go and leave you to them.”

  “As if you’ve done anything about them,” Arn said. “Your kind brought the enemy to this land, and you flee when they become too dangerous.”

  “Arn.” Hildr nipped his wing with her beak. “If you won’t be silent, then leave.” She dipped her head, eyeing Kjorn. “I allow these gryfess huntresses to remain because they showed respect and humility after being cast out of their home. I allow you to remain because you were a friend of Shard, who was the first gryfon I met to bother asking my name. So I’m curious about you, though you look like typical Dawn Spire ilk to me.”

  It had taken Kjorn a few moments, at first, to understand the eagles, for they spoke in slightly different tones. But as he’d learned to understand the wolves of the Silver Isles, he listened carefully.

  Now, finally given a chance to speak, Kjorn lowered his head so he was not towering over the eagle, who stood on the ground and barely reached his chest. “I was raised in the Silver Isles, with Shard. Only recently have I begun to understand how arrogant my kind can be, and how much we might learn from others. I hope we can be friends, your aerie and my pride.”

  “I see no pride with you.”

  “In spirit,” Kjorn said evenly, “friends of mine are allies of my pride.”

  She swiveled to peer at him with one eye, sizing him up, then looked to the older eagle, Grunna.

  Grunna lifted one taloned foot and set it down firmly, as if testing the ground between them. “Words mean nothing. It is what you do. Time will tell. Do you have any intention of ousting the enemy that plagues us all? The enemy your forefathers drew here?”

  “It has never been proven to me one way or another that these beasts came here because of my ancestors,” Kjorn said. “I won’t take responsibility for that. But Brynja tells me my wingbrother wished to help them see reason, or wished to help rid the Winderost of them if possible. If that’s his wish, then I will help too, and perhaps make friends of the Brightwing aerie and renew my ties to the Dawn Spire as well.”

  Grunna considered him, then said again, “Time will tell.”

  Nilsine spoke, abruptly. “And if gryfons rose against the great enemy of us all, would eagles fly at our side?”

  Kjorn and Brynja watched the Vanhar curiously. She nudged Kjorn covertly with a hind foot.

  “If that happened,” Hildr said, while her consort Arn made disgruntled noises, “we would consider it. Depending on the intelligence and courage of the gryfons involved.”

  “I believe we can all prove ourselves on those accounts,” Nilsine said calmly, even as Brynja and Kjorn flattened their ears, feathers prickling with indignation.

  “Then prove yourself,” Hildr said. “Face the enemy.”

  “Gladly,” Kjorn said.

  Nilsine scoffed. “You said courage and intelligence. It’s foolhardy to barge forward against the wyrms just to satisfy you.”

  “Who said anything about barging?” Kjorn stood. “I just want to get a look at them.”

  Brynja and Nilsine stared at him.

  “Well?” Kjorn looked between them, and the eagles. “Didn’t you say they sleep during the day? That they avoid the sun?”

  “Yes,” Nilsine said quietly.

  Brynja stepped forward, tail lashing. “This is foolhardy. You said you were here to seek Shard. You must trust that it’s a fool’s mission to seek out the wyrms merely for a look, to satisfy your curiosity.”

  “Shard faced them,�
�� Kjorn said, meeting her stern face. “A lioness told me that Shard faced them, and the first time he saw them he didn’t lose himself in fear. Do you think I can do less?”

  “No one is questioning your bravery,” Brynja said, and Kjorn noticed the light of admiration in her gaze at his mention of Shard’s courage. “I question your timing. If you mean to help Shard, to help us in dealing with this enemy, the time will come. Let us continue the search, instead. He may have answers we don’t know.”

  “He may be dead,” Hildr said flatly. “We saw him not, after the attack on the Dawn Spire. I can’t say that no small, gray gryfon wandered Nameless into the Outlands, but he is certainly not sheltering near the Voldsom. If I had to judge, I would call him reckless.”

  “You were just surprised,” Brynja said, “by how well he flew and that he spoke to you.”

  Hildr fluffed and looked toward the sky, repeating only, “He may be dead.”

  “Thank you,” Kjorn said tightly. “If so, then I will find where his body rests and bear it home.”

  “If not in a wyrm’s belly,” chuckled Arn. Hildr pecked at his neck but didn’t send him away. Kjorn began to understand how strained gryfon-eagle relations were.

  “Midragur breathes fire,” Nilsine murmured, diffusing a few of the choice, heated remarks rising in Kjorn’s head. “Could your Shard have something to do with that?”

  “Shard? Set off a volcano?” Kjorn paced. “I suppose at the moment anything is possible. If I can go about raising Sunwinds, then why shouldn’t he set off a volcano?”

  “I mean,” Nilsine said, “could he have gone to the Aslagard Mountains?”

  That silenced them for a moment and Kjorn walked back and forth thoughtfully, restless. He was weary of hearing about the great, wrathful enemy which supposedly followed his great grandfather back from the dragon kingdom to wreak havoc. He was weary of having his mettle questioned by creatures his own father would consider lesser. Weary of being without his wingbrother who, he had to admit, knew him better than his own father after all.

  Kjorn stopped walking, tail twitching, and saw that all gazes were on him.

  I came here with one purpose.

  “You’re right,” he said to Brynja. “I must stay on my course.” He turned to Hildr and Grunna, and ignored Arn’s smug look. The eagle probably thought him a coward, but Kjorn told himself he didn’t care. “If it’s within my power to help rid the land of these wyrms or strike a truce, I’ll do so after we find Shard.”

  “I think that’s wise,” Grunna said softly. “If he passes this way or we hear of him, we will tell you.” She studied Kjorn quietly. “If you remain here long enough, you will face the wyrms. And all who face them feel fear.”

  “I’ve felt fear,” Kjorn said.

  “Not like this,” said Arn, challenging.

  Grunna ignored him, focused on Kjorn. “The only trick is, to feel that fear, and face them anyway.”

  Kjorn studied her fierce, wise face, and dipped his head. “When I face them, I’ll remember that.”

  Brynja spoke. “If I could make a suggestion?”

  “Please,” Kjorn said, turning to face her fully.

  The ruddy gryfess stood, stretching her broad, flecked wings. “If Shard went as far as the Aslagard Mountains, for whatever reason, and then the Horn erupted, I think he would’ve fled like any other creature. Would he not have sought shelter with possible friends? Not at the Dawn Spire, but somewhere he might have allies who’ve heard of him or his family?”

  Kjorn tilted his head at her. “You mean Caj’s kin, at the Ostral Shores.”

  Brynja nodded. The eagles listened quietly and Nilsine examined her talons, looking thoughtful while Brynja continued. “It’s most likely our friend, Asvander, would’ve gone there if he wasn’t taken prisoner, and Shard knew he hailed from there, knew Caj’s family was from there. Might he go there, seeking friends?”

  “Are Dawn Spire gryfons not on poor terms with the Ostral Shores?” Nilsine asked.

  Brynja shook her head. “Not my family. I’m…I was meant to be pledged to Asvander, to unite our families. They’ve split ties with the Dawn Spire, but we are exiled from there as well now, as far as King Orn is concerned. If nothing else, we may find at least one friend in Asvander, and he may know more of Shard than us.” Her expression darkened, frustrated at being split from her strongest friends, Kjorn knew.

  “The Ostral Shores then?” Kjorn glanced at Nilsine. “I’d like to avoid the Dawn Spire, for now.”

  The Vanhar remained seated, and contemplative. “I don’t know the way. We could venture windward, pass back through the First Plains and the Vanheim Shore, up to the Dawn Reach and around.”

  It sounded like a bleakly long distance to Kjorn, to circle all the way back from where he’d first washed ashore.

  “Faster to cut across,” Hildr said, ruffling her feathers. “Across the unclaimed hills and plains twixt here and the Ostral Shores.”

  “We don’t know what we might encounter,” Kjorn murmured, thinking.

  Brynja raised her head. “As far as you’ve come, it would be much faster to cut a straight path, as she says.” She looked between him and Nilsine. “It’s a solid two days of flying, but faster and less likely to meet rogues, or any gryfon from the Dawn Spire. Of course, we won’t want to be airborne at night, with the wyrms out hunting.”

  “We?” Kjorn asked.

  Brynja angled her head, ears perking. “I thought I was clear. I’m coming with you. I know the way. I know what routes the scouts of the Dawn Spire fly, and I told you I would help.” She looked around at the eagles, then Nilsine, before her gaze settled on Kjorn again. “We’ve been waiting here for a sign, a call to action, or some sense of hope. You’re it. You also seek Shard,” her voice took on a new, challenging note, “and I have unfinished business with him.”

  Kjorn couldn’t argue with her firm statement nor the bright determination in her eyes. “You said we shouldn’t fly at night. Do the wyrms range that far from the Outlands?”

  “Yes,” Nilsine answered before Brynja could. “They eat prey beasts just as we do, but they will range, seek the scent of gryfon on the wind and hunt them down at night, kill them, and leave their flesh wasted in the dirt.” Her voice remained quiet, her expression cool, but her red eyes sparked warning in Kjorn’s heart. “The Vanhar learned this at great cost.”

  He dipped his head, thinking of his father’s fear of the dark. “Then, we’ll fly with the sun on our backs, and walk at night.” He looked to the eagles, and mantled. “Thank you for sharing your canyons with us for the night. I hope to meet again, in better circumstances, and prove myself to you.”

  Hildr appraised him, having listened quietly to their plans. “I will look forward to that day.”

  “I thank you also,” Brynja said. “My wingsister and the rest of my huntresses will leave with me. Your hospitality will never be forgotten.”

  “Nor your courtesy,” said Hildr, not quite grudgingly. She lifted her wings, then hesitated, looking at Kjorn. “When you find Rashard, let him know he still has my respect, and, should he need it, my friendship.”

  Kjorn dipped his head. “I will.”

  With a final word of farewell, the eagles lifted from the ground, beating their wings against the haze to lift away into the canyon.

  “A common enemy,” Brynja said beside him, “can sometimes make the greatest allies.”

  “Or a common friend,” Kjorn said, and her expression quirked in amusement. “I’m glad you’re coming. I’m glad to have both of you,” he looked to Nilsine, “and any you bring with you. This is further than I think you intended to go, and I’ll understand if you don’t come to the Ostral Shores.”

  “I’m at your service,” she said, unblinking.

  Kjorn nodded, trying not to look surprised, wondering at her motive. Brynja’s was clear, though he’d just met her, but he wondered if perhaps the priestess of the Vanhar had suggested that Nilsine go with Kjorn…
r />   To what end?

  He looked at both of them. “Then we leave as soon as your bands are gathered.”

  ~ 27 ~

  A Question of Honor

  SUNLIGHT GLANCED WHITE AND gold off mountain peaks and the broad, flat valley where the young warrior dragons trained. Clear sky, pale with frost in the air, yawned above.

  Shard wondered what Stigr would’ve thought of the dragon training grounds, and their method. They prized accuracy and form just as much as winning, if not more. Everything was precise and worked according to a certain order. The dragons kept the valley clear of the deepest snows to make room for their practices.

  Ancient black boulders defined five sparring rings, arranged in a spiral and growing smaller with each succession, with the smallest ring at the center. The idea, Shard learned, was to keep the fight within the ring of stones. Breaking out of the line with wing, tail, or other limb, was equal to losing the spar.

  Hikaru had explained that each circle represented a state of mastery, for as the circles grew smaller the fighting became more challenging. Very few dragons, he’d said, actually mastered the fifth circle, where it was scarcely possible for a fully grown dragon to move without breaking the circle.

  No dragon but Hikaru had expressed an interest in sparring with Shard, and his first day out, when Shard had tried to join Hikaru in the largest circle, one of the masters of fighting had barred him.

  “Not this day,” was all she said, and didn’t speak to him again. Rather than dishonor Hikaru by arguing, Shard contented himself with studying dragon fighting. Every day, Hikaru asked if Shard might participate, but every day, no matter who oversaw the training, the answer was, “Not this day.”

  So it went, too, when Shard asked anyone about speaking to the empress again. Hikaru was reluctant to pester his elders about it, and Shard assured him he didn’t have to.

  Days stretched into a fortnight, and Shard maintained his patience only in the interest of letting his leg heal. Now the bone had knit and the skin formed into smooth, firm scars with magical speed. He would have to learn more about their herbs, to tell Sigrun when he returned home.