Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar v(-101

by Mercedes Lackey

They heard singing. Not just from inside, but from the eighteen soldiers standing outside, lacquering sheaves of arrows. In the middle of the song, a gryphon voice—thin and strained—nonetheless boomed a line, and made the others grin. The soldiers outside halted singing one by one, and moved backward as one as Treyvan, Pena, and the captain approached. Only a few remembered to salute. They had come to know Kelvren, a terribly wounded gryphon—but this was a fully healthy gryphon stalking toward them, bedecked in regalia of rank, all but dwarfing the captain beside him, with a little lizard creature padding along beside them.

  :I can hear you,: Treyvan Mindspoke toward the gryphon he heard. :I have come to help you. And a trondi’irn is on the way.:

  Inside the convalescents’ tent, the singing went quiet voice by voice. Kelvren turned his head from side to side, and upward, as if searching for something. Something was about to happen, and everyone in the tent could sense it. Kelvren cut short a whimper of pain as he rolled himself over to his belly. “I hearrrd—” Kelvren croaked, and then his eyes fixed outside, locked onto an approaching shadow. A large shadow.

  Captain Stavern stepped around the edge of the tent, nodded behind him, and then came someone Kelvren thought he would never see in his lifetime.

  The breastplate adorned by the badges and bars of rank, the impeccaby tooled harness, and the teleson headpiece around the feather-perfect gryphon’s brow ridges and forecrest, crafted to be as much a crown as anything—it could be no one else.

  Completely against his will, Kelvren shuddered all over. Breath seized in his throat. He blinked his eyes out of their stare and lowered his head. The fletchers and attendants dropped their work completely or set their tools aside, all eyes on what—who—had just walked across the threshold of the tent’s oiled-canvas floor. Then everyone who stood or sat went down to one knee and bowed their heads in recognition when Kelvren spoke the words—

  “My Lorrrd Trrreyvan.”

  The power of the senior gryphon’s arrival could be felt radiating into the tent, like sunlight sinks into the skin on a summer day.

  “Rrrissse, all,” Treyvan said. Kelvren’s head felt light, as if he was about to pass out. Treyvan stepped to within arm’s reach of the stricken gryphon, and then bowed his own head in turn. “Wingleaderrr Kelvrrren Ssskothkarrr of k’Valdemarrr. The Crrrown hasss sssent me to sssee to yourrr well-being.”

  What Treyvan said next made Kelvren certain he was hallucinating.

  “You arrre firrrssst grrryphon on sssite in thisss engagement. I name you Wingleaderrr of thisss forcssse asss sssoon asss you arrre fit forrr duty.”

  Motes of light swam in Kelvren’s vision. This must be a fever dream. It was Silver Gryphon standing practice that whoever was on scene first was automatically the senior of that engagement—“Incident Command”—the reasoning being that they knew the situation, by being there first, better than any who followed. It held, regardless of rank, until there was a formal exchange of power. It meant that he was now empowered to command Treyvan. One of the Great Ones! It was mindboggling.

  Enough so that Kelvren passed out on the spot.

  Much happened while Kel was adrift. The supply tent across the mud path from the convalescents’ tent was emptied out so Treyvan could always be near Kelvren.

  Treyvan used several spells—though relatively minor, they were impressive to watch, because to enhance his precision he used simple light effects to burn off any excess energy. He used Magesight and sweeps of power to discover which of Kelvren’s magic-conversion organs were still alive and responsive, and several probes to test the state of the still-unconscious Kelvren’s injuries. Jeft stood by his gryphon friend’s side and asked—very possessively—exactly what Treyvan was doing. Treyvan explained that he was taking away Kel’s pain and deepening his sleep, to help him regain strength—and to keep him from trying to move and make his wounds worse.

  Jeft wasn’t the only one who acted proprietary about Kelvren. To the inhabitants of the convalescents’ tent, this was their gryphon.

  Hallock Stavern called a muster on the main road, and each company stood in formation while he introduced Treyvan and Pena. He made it very clear that unless it directly contravened “high end” regulations, the gryphon was to be treated as captain—“or better.” He held up the proof that the Crown wished it so, and added that the little lizard with him was Treyvan’s personal assistant. Treyvan made a formal pass by each company. He nodded to each company’s senior officer and gave them polite greetings—but it was also calculated so they got a very clear view of his rank markings by being close up to him.

  Birce and Devon stood humbly while Treyvan thanked them personally for their good work, and astonished them when he suggested to Hallock that they be listed for commendation.

  Treyvan explained to the mill officers how a teleson worked, and contacted Haven with one to report on Kelvren. The overworked clerk that Hallock had needled before was set in front of the device, and thanks to the link he might actually have some sleep possible in his near future.

  Pena was well on her way to becoming the most popular creature in the camp. Once word had been spread that any fast-moving lizards in camp weren’t to be shot at, she’d become a blur. Not only were Kelvren’s needs being tended to and materials brought to Treyvan, her abilities as a chef transformed the dull fare the convalescents ate into events to be savored. She bolted into the woods and returned with foraged materials half a candlemark later that by the end of the day made a basic stew bear delightfully complex tastes. The condition for off-duty soldiers getting any of her dishes, though, was that time must be spent assisting the convalescents and Treyvan. They never wanted for help.

  Ammari spent more of her waking hours in the tent with the “gimps,” as they’d now laughingly begun referring to themselves. One of the southerners pointed out—wisely—that a word is only truly an insult if you take it as such. Making it a joke, instead of derogatory, takes the power out of it, and makes it your power instead.

  It reached its zenith when one of the fletchers asked Jeft to bring another basket of arrowshafts, and Ammari heard her son answer back, “That’s Boy Jeft to you, gimp!” The whole group fell about laughing.

  That laughter was what awoke Kelvren. He blinked a dozen times, cleared his mind, and found the pain that had been his constant, unwanted companion had dulled its screaming to barely a whisper. He still felt unbearably heavy, but lifted his head, and found Treyvan was there, and real.

  Treyvan spoke to him with respect. “Wingleaderrr Kelvrrren. You have sssurrrvived woundsss that would kill thrrree grrryphonsss. I am imprrresssed by yourrr willpowerrr—and yourrr durrability. And yourrr compasssionate sssacrrrificsse.”

  Kel smiled a little at that. Praise from Treyvan! “Wasss it not what ssshould be done? Hallock Ssstaverrrn had hisss Genni to rrreturrrn to. Hisss mate. I have no mate, but I have wissshed it ssso. I would not let him lossse hisss, if it cossst my own life forrr it. He lived the drrream I have. It ssshould not perrrisssh. You—you have Hydona. Can you underrrssstand?”

  Treyvan nodded gravely. “I would claw out the hearrrt of the sssun if it meant keeping herrr sssafe. And my young—the sssame forrr them.”

  Kelvren looked into the middle distance, as if caught in daydream. “It would be good to have sssuch perrrfect daysss as Hallock Ssstaverrrn and you have had. And young, yesss.”

  “In time, Kelvrrren. In time. Yourrr legend grrrowsss.”

  “Legend?” Kel looked bemused. “Legend.”

  “Yesss. I know that I will tell of you. And you ssshall rrrecoverrr. Whitebirrrd—ourrr trondi’irn frrrom Haven—isss on herrr way. In the meantime, if yourrr mind isss clearrr enough, I would like to know yourrr wissshesss.”

  Kelvren choked out a chuckle. “I want nothing lesss than to give incssident command overrr to you!”

  Treyvan smiled reassuringly. “Verrry well, but I name you my rrresssident advisssorrr. I am currriousss—what arrre thessse people doing with yourrr cassst-off
featherrrsss? They trrreat them with—rrreverencsse.”

  Kelvren rumblechuckled. “Ssstorrriesss, my Lorrrd Trrreyvan. Belief, and ssstorrriesss.” He sobered and continued. “I told everrryone in thisss camp that would lisssten about ourrr people, ourrr herrroesss, and the deedsss we have accomplissshed. I wasss all but csserrrtain I would die sssoon. I had to tell ourrr ssstorrriesss. Yourrr tale wasss one I told. My Lorrrd Trrreyvan, you arrre one of the Grrreat Onesss. When you arrrived, I thought I wasss feverrred. When you deferrred to me, I thought I wasss mad. Beforrre you arrrived, I knew my end russshed towarrrdsss me. I knew that I had to end making a differrrencsse.” He paused to rest for a few moments, then resumed after several deep breaths. “The sssoldierrrsss trrruly believe that to sssome degrrree, I am invincssible. They sssaw I sssurrrvived thessse woundsss, and knew I prrrotected theirrr own. They believe that what I am—what I do—isss magic of a mossst potent kind. Ammarrri and Jeft—they paint thessse featherrrsss of mine in Ammarrri’sss liquid light. The fletcherrrsss—they sssnip thessse parrrtsss of my ssshed featherrrsss and bind them in with the norrrmal featherrrsss. And they shine—to thessse peoplesss’ eyesss, they look magical. And the sssoldierrrsss who recsseive thessse arrrowsss believe they arrre now gifted with sssome of my powerrr.”

  Understanding dawned on Treyvan, and he sat up straight.

  “If thessse sssoldierrrsss go into battle with thessse arrrowsss they will feel morrre confident. It will rrreinforcsse theirrr brrraverrry. It could be enough to help them win, if it comesss to that.” He glanced around the parts of the camp he could see, and spoke more softly. “My lorrrd Trrreyvan. I will confide my beliefsss. We arrre not like otherrr crrreaturrresss, who wonderrr if a deity even carrresss if they exissst,” Kelvren continued. “We grrryphonsss werrre not crrreated by godsss, we werrre crrreated by a man. We werrre made forrr a purrrpossse. We werrre not crrreated to fight warrrsss, though we have. We werrre not made to rrressscue, to thwarrrt, to chassse, or kill. I believe we werrre made to inssspirrre. With all my bonesss and hearrrt I feel that to inssspirrre isss the ultimate of what Urrrtho wanted of usss.”

  Treyvan cocked his head, his attention completely absorbed by what Kelvren told him.

  “This isss what I wasss made forrr. When I sssaw ssso much missserrry herre—felt it frrrom them, felt my own life fading—I had to combine the worrrssst cssircumssstancssess in sssome ssspecial way—I needed to trrransssmute ssso many bad thingsss into good thingsss. It became clearrr to me when I came down frrrom that hill jussst to eat. Sssoldierrrsss wanted to sssharrre theirrr food with me. They wanted to sssupporrrt me, touch me forrr luck. I rrrealized. What bound it all togetherrr wasss wonderrr. They believed in sssomething grrreaterrr than they had the day beforrre, jussst becaussse I wasss herrre. And ssso.” He gestures with a few taloned fingers toward the industrious fletchers. “I put sssimple plansss into motion, and theirrr belief imbued the motion with powerrr, and it moved on itsss own.”

  “Without a single spell left to you,” Treyvan murmured, incredulous.

  Kelvren closed his eyes and with some effort, pushed himself up to a sitting position, wings still flat on the floor. “Thessse people arrre watching usss. What they sssee rrright now will matterrr to them the rrressst of theirrr livesss, and they will tell theirrr children and the hissstorrry will sssprrread. It may be—a minorrr legacssy—but I hope that even if I fall, it will be in the tale that I trrried. Even if I die, I will not have not failed, becaussse to the lassst I did not give up. I am sssomething extrrraorrrdinarrry to them. Therrre arrre no enchantmentsss on the arrrowsss, but the arrrowsss arrre not falssse. They arrre magic becaussse the sssoldierrrsss believe in them.”

  The arranged time for Whitebird to arrive was nearing. Treyvan sent word to the mill that, to bring in his trondi’irn, he would open a Gate to connect partway to Haven, and that anything they needed to send through in half a minute could pass through after his specialist from the other side arrived. He caught Hallock biting his lower lip as he sat by the slumbering Kelvren.

  “What trrroublesss you, Firrrssst?”

  “It’s the Gate. A doorway to just step through to be closer to Haven.”

  “Clossserrr to yourrr Genni,” Treyvan shrewdly noted.

  Hallock nodded. “Closer to my Genni. I miss her so much, it’s impossible not to think of being with her every moment. And returning to her is precisely what Kelvren diced his life on. I could just resign my command, and step through a door to be a few days’ ride from her. But I can’t do it.” He looked Treyvan in the eyes. “I do have a command here, and I owe it to my troops. But as much as that—I have to be at Kelvren’s side.”

  Treyvan was silent for several minutes, finally saying delicately, “You mussst rrrealize he isss unlikely to sssurrrvive thisss.”

  Hallock held a fist in his hand. “I’m not knotting a yellow ribbon for him yet.” He gestured out toward the rest of the camp. “And I have my soldiers to take care of. They just lost their First, and I’ve replaced her. It would be too much for me to leave now. I can’t risk them getting someone with no field experience in my place.”

  “You arrre a good leaderrr, Hallock Ssstaverrrn. The grrreatessst of leaderrrsss arrre at the forrrefrrront of battle, wherrre the powerrr of theirrr prrresencssse can be felt by thossse they command. He isss a parrrt of hisss forcsse, not ssseperrrate frrrom them. The Haighleigh sssay that a wissse chief isss a man who sssaysss “I was beaten,” not “My men werrre beaten.” You sssee the rrreality of battle widely, immerrrssse yourrrssself in it, and ssset yourrrssself apart frrrom thossse who debate it asss theorrry frrrom afarrr.”

  “This may be so,” he agreed, “and thank you for the compliment. But just the same, I have to admit there’s a lot of me that wants to go through that Gate of yours.” He turned toward Kelvren. “But I’m not leaving him.”

  Three light wagons laden with injured troops, and a courier on back of a pony were lined up, two horselengths behind Treyvan. The gryphon mage sat in front of a rope laid out on the road, which marked where the Gate aperture would be. He stared toward it, but not at it—as if he looked past it deep into the earth. He spread his wings and flapped them slowly, drawing his arms up and tracing talons through several motions, culminating with a wide gesture of two halves of a wide circle.

  A short crack of thunder came from in front of the gryphon, and made everyone flinch. The horses looked none too happy, but didn’t run. Then the air simply opened up. Forest, grass, and another road were brightly lit by a column of light on the other side of the Gate, and rippled while the edges of the Gate stabilized. Foreclaws still up, Treyvan sidestepped to its right and called out, “Now!”

  The light was eclipsed by three horses running toward the hole, and then they were there in the camp, swerving off to the side at a gallop. “Go!” Treyvan called, and the horses pulling the line of wagons churned hooves toward the Gate and went through. The courier on the pony surged through the hole last, and then the Gate was allowed to collapse. Treyvan dropped back to all fours, swaying and panting.

  Two of the horses bore trondi’irn Whitebird, her assistant, and a heavy load of supplies. Whitebird’s appearance was striking—she dressed in a half dozen shades of blue, and her hair was past shoulder length and as snowy as the third “horse” that had come through. A swarthy man in a Herald’s uniform was astride a mare Companion, and dismounted to speak earnestly with Captain Stavern. Treyvan walked briskly toward the convalescents’ tent, and the trondi’irn fell in behind him.

  Whitebird let her assistant take the horses as she walked the rest of the way to the tent. When she saw Kelvren dozing, she stared, mouth open. “Oh, you poor thing,” she gasped.

  She rushed to Kelvren’s side, resting her hands on his shoulder, his wing, and down his flank. She leaned in to smell him, taking in his scent from beak to rump. A minute later, her assistant came in laden with cases and pouches. They extracted instruments and vials from them and took samples from the wounds, judged the
colors they turned, and set them aside on a complex anatomical chart. Kelvren roused from slumber—barely—and rolled a glassy eye sideways to view the two new people.

  “Oh, good,” he murmured, and then drifted back to sleep.

  Whitebird glanced at Treyvan with an unreadable expression, then stood to stand near him. She spoke in Kaled’a’in. “Trey—this looks very bad. He has such strong infections I can smell them. I don’t know how he’s lasted this long unless it’s divine providence or pure willpower. We’ll get to work on him immediately, but I’ll be honest with you, it’s definitely a ruin.” She wiped down her hands with a wet cloth that smelled of vinegar. “Right now, it looks like hirs’ka’usk, and if you don’t find a way to rejuvenate his magic, he’ll be lost to us in days. I can give him medicine and prime his body for a rejuvenation, but if you can’t infuse him with power, the best I can hope to do is stabilize him as he is. No strength, no flight—for a life of a few months.” The elder gryphon rumbled and nodded, and Whitebird bent to her work on Kelvren. “I’ll be here for four or five candlemarks.”

  “She’s beautiful,” one of the men behind her said. “I think I’m in love.”

  “Grow some wings and I’m yours,” Whitebird answered without looking up. “Until then, get me some hot water.”

  Ammari, Birce, Hallock, and Whitebird’s assistant Rivenstone sat on folding chairs, huddled with Treyvan in the tent across from where Whitebird still tended to Kelvren’s wounds. Jeft stayed by her, fetching whatever Pena did not.

  “Whitebirrrd and I have conferrred with Firrresssong and Hydona by telessson. What we attempt—we do not know what the rrresssult will be. If we take a longerrr-terrrm path, therrre isss a ssslight chancsse he will rrrecoverrr, but find hisss flight limited orrr gone. If we attempt thisss—rrrejuvenation—he will jussst asss likely die frrrom it.”