Gift of Griffins

by V. M. Escalada

  He blinked. What had he been saying? Oh, right. “You realize that they’re working so hard to make things like before? And if things are like they were before, they can never be together again? Isn’t that . . . what’s the word?”

  “Ironic?”

  “That’s it. Ironic.”

  “Barid, I think you’ve had a little too much to drink.”

  Not the first time Wynn had said something like this. “No, no, I’m fine. I only had a couple glasses of wine.”

  “You’re thinking of the couple of glasses of brandy after the wine. I know, I was helping to serve. Honestly, Barid, you’ve got to be more careful.”

  “I should be more careful? Me? I don’t go following people in the market.” Barid burped. “I think we’re not supposed to drink. Hey, I made a rhyme. Think. Drink. I’m thinking and drinking. I’m a thinker drinker.” He laughed.

  “Come on. Let’s get you back to your room.” He could hear the smile in the girl’s voice as she stood up and took a grip on his forearm with one hand and his upper arm with the other. Barid slumped, letting himself go limp. He wasn’t ready to go to bed.

  “You shouldn’t touch me, you know. I can Flash you too easily if you touch me. I’d know all your inner . . . innermost secrets.”

  “Shhh, not so loud.” Now she was frightened. Barid blinked again and focused on her face.

  “You don’t have to be frightened, Wynn. I would never hurt you. Just because I’m not Kerida Griffin Girl”—he said her name in his best imitation of a Miner’s accent—“doesn’t mean I can’t help. I can do things, too, you know. If anyone would let me.”

  “You’ll hurt yourself if someone hears you, and that will hurt all of us.”

  “You’re so nice to worry about me. You’re a very nice girl. My sister was a nice girl.”

  “Barid, come on. Stand up. It’s too cold for you to sit here.” She tugged on his arm, but Barid just laughed.

  “Not cold at all. Practically Seedmonth.”

  Wynn stepped back. She had her hands on her hips. Just like his sister, all right. Barid nodded.

  “Fine, then. You sit here not being cold. I’ll be right back.”

  Barid sighed and shut his eyes. She was always rushing off somewhere. Like that day in the market. “Wynn? That’s funny. She was right here a minute ago.”

  “Who was right here?”

  Barid jumped and slid off the bench and thumped onto the flagstones. That hurt. And now it was definitely cold. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  The voice got closer to him. “How drunk are you, boy? Where’s your billet?”

  “Not drunk at all, thank you very much. I mean, not at all drunk. Nothing to be afraid of. I’m perfectly safe. No one’s going to find out, not from me. No sir.”

  “Why wouldn’t you be safe, lad?”

  Barid tapped the side of his nose and laid his index finger against his lips. “It’s a secret.” He nodded.

  “I love secrets. Why don’t you come with me and see if I can guess it?”

  * * *

  • • •

  “You sure this is where you left him?”

  Wynn Martan resisted the urge to look under all the benches, as if Barid was the family cat hiding under a bed. “He’s the one who’s drunk, not me. He was right here.” She pointed at the stone seat. “And in no shape to walk himself away, either.”

  Pella Dursto drummed his fingers on the hilt of his short sword. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, youngster, but I’d be a fool not to ask. If he didn’t get out of here by himself, and again, I’m not doubting you, someone helped him.”

  “You think it’s a problem?”

  “I think it could be.” Pella looked up at the windows of the top floor, the rooms that had been given to Svann when he’d come back. His old rooms had been taken over by the recently arrived Poppy Shekayrin. “I think we need to make sure that it won’t be.”

  “Barid would never . . .” Wynn’s words died away at the look Pella gave her.

  “Never sober, granted. But drunk? He’s been tight as a bowstring the whole week.” The old soldier shook his head. “He’s probably sleeping it off in his bunk, but we need to be sure.”

  Wynn took a deep breath in through her nose. She’d told Barid over and over that no harm had come from her talking to Talian that day, but he’d just gotten more and more nervous. Alcohol wasn’t a cure for nerves; soldiers learned that early. “So what do we do?”

  “You go to Svann and stay there until I come. I’ll go see what I can find out.”

  Wynn nodded. Pella was right. Probably. She turned when she reached the doorway, half expecting to see Barid still sitting there. What she saw was the corner of Pella’s cloak disappearing through the far door. Shaking her head, Wynn turned and ran down the corridor to the stairs leading to Svann’s new rooms.

  * * *

  • • •

  Barid gritted his teeth and immediately clenched his jaw as a red-hot poker was shoved behind his eyes. This pain was unbelievable. Why would anyone drink, ever, if this was what could happen? His father had been hung over once, and Barid had laughed at him. The clout across the bum his father had given him didn’t seem so unfair now.

  “Are you feeling better?”

  Barid’s head jolted up at the unexpected voice, and he broke out into a sweat, panting at the pain and the dizziness. He wasn’t alone. And that wasn’t Svann or Pella, let alone Wynn. He opened his eyes and closed them with a hiss. How could sunlight be so blinding? He shivered with more than pain. His eyes had been open long enough for him to glimpse a blue tunic. A Shekayrin. Not good. But which one? The Rose who’d been waiting here for Svann to show up? Or the Poppy who’d joined them three days ago? The mage bent down to look Barid in the eye, revealing his tattoo. The Poppy. Barid’s stomach twisted, and he swallowed bile.

  Thank the Mother he could use his block if the mage decided to examine him. They were like that, Poppies. Aggressive. Dangerous. Designed to prevent regular Talents from learning about the existence of Feelers, Barid had already used his block to save himself from the Rose Shekayrin who’d found him on the road after Questin Hall was destroyed. Creating the block was fairly simple. He only had to articulate his trigger word, Flash the Poppy Shekayrin while he was trying to examine him, and then let the mage see only what Barid wanted seen. He concentrated on forming his trigger word, only to have pain stab through his head, leaving him once again shaken.

  Just how drunk had he been last night? And how long would this hangover last? He couldn’t protect himself without his block. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. As if he’d spoken aloud, the mage held the cold edge of a metal cup against his lower lip. Barid wanted to gulp the water down, but that would move his head too much, so he sipped as slowly as his parched tongue would allow. He just had to keep his head. Don’t give the mage any reason to jewel him.

  “I’m Seklur Tvak. I’ve been interviewing all the staff here, on behalf of the Luqs of Farama, Dern Firoxi.” He smiled. One of his front teeth slightly overlapped the other. “Last night you were a little the worse for drink, but you seem better now.” The mage’s voice was so soft and gentle it only felt like a hammer. If only he would stop talking. “Why don’t we finish what we were talking about?”

  What had they been talking about? The last thing Barid remembered was talking to Wynn and then . . . and then nothing, until just a moment ago.

  “You were in service here as a clerk when the Rose and the Sunflower first came, correct?”

  “Oh, no.” Relief washed over him. “I mean, yes, I’m a clerk, but not here. Farther, uh, farther to the north.” If this was the type of thing they’d been talking about, there was nothing to worry about.

  “There, not so hard, was it? Thank you for correcting that for me. So, you came with Peklin Svann when he returned
from the Serpents Teeth. I see. Then you’ll be able to tell me what went on up there.”

  “But I don’t know . . .”

  The mage held up his hands palms out. “Now I know what you’re thinking. You don’t want to get anyone into trouble. But here, let me tell you what I already know. You just correct me, like you’ve done already. You’d be helping yourself at the same time.”

  That sounded reasonable. Barid took a chance and nodded his head—just once, as the poker stabbed him behind the eyes again.

  “So.” The Poppy smiled. “Svann went to the Serpents Teeth looking for soul stones. He didn’t find any, but he did find other things.” He smiled again and nodded. What was his name? “A whole network of tunnels, and people living in them. Poor misguided people causing problems for all of us, and themselves as well. Encouraging other fools to believe they can free themselves, when all they’re really doing is getting each other killed.”

  Barid ventured another look, slitting his eyes against the sunlight. Why didn’t someone close the shutters?

  The Shekayrin had been leaning against a worktable, hands on the edge and ankles crossed. Now he approached Barid’s chair. If it hadn’t had arms, Barid thought he’d just slip to the stone floor. How could bones that felt too big for his body feel so much like jelly?

  The Shekayrin brushed Barid’s hair off his forehead, fingers cool against his hot skin. The gesture tilted Barid’s head back until he looked the mage directly in the face. Then the grip tightened just enough that Barid could not move his head. “This explains why we’ve been having so much trouble around the approaches to the mountains, especially the pass. How many people are living in these mountains, do you think?”

  Barid opened his mouth to answer. Tried to shake his head when no words would come out.

  “Come now. We’re not stupid, you know, and neither are you. You can see I already know. Your answers are only to let me check how deeply you’re involved.”

  Panic threatened to shut his mouth permanently. How could the mage know so much? Was it Svann? It couldn’t have been him, he was never that drunk. But he had to say something now. He couldn’t let the mage suspect him enough to use the jewel. Not until he felt better, anyway. What had the Poppy asked? “I just met Svann there. I don’t know anything.”

  “Well, someone knows. Some one of you is a spy. If it’s not you, who is it?” The mage smoothed back his hair again and stepped away.

  Barid’s muscles froze him rigid.

  “Is it the redhead? Perhaps she’s a witch pretending to be a servant. Is she the one you’re protecting?”

  “No! Not Wynn.” Pain throbbed through his head.

  “Very well. And it’s not you. So that only leaves one person.” The mage nodded. “Svann is working with the enemy. I thought so.”

  “But I don’t know. Really, I don’t. That is, I can’t be sure . . .” Barid’s mouth dried, and this time no one offered him water. If only his brain wasn’t so fuzzy and so thick. I haven’t told them anything, he thought. They already knew. Someone else must have told them. Svann probably gave himself away somehow. That had to be it.

  The mage still looked at him, head tilted to one side, waiting for an answer. Barid knew he had to say something real, something definite. Otherwise, the mage would jewel him, and Barid couldn’t afford that. He was too valuable; there were so few Talents. He had to stay alive.

  “It must be Svann.” That hoarse whisper couldn’t be his own voice. But, after all, the Poppy was right about Svann.

  “There now, don’t worry so much. None of this is your fault. There’s no harm in your discussing this with me.”

  Barid almost wept with relief. The mage was going to leave him alone. Only Svann would be in trouble, and Svann could handle himself.

  “Come, let’s find something cold for your forehead, and something soothing for your mouth and throat. Then I’ll show you the map, and you can confirm the direction we need to follow.”

  * * *

  • • •

  “You were right to worry, Wynn. Barid’s been in the Poppy Shekayrin’s rooms all night.” From the rumpled state of his clothing, Pella looked as though he’d been looking for Barid the same length of time.

  “I was afraid of that, truth to tell.” Wynn scrubbed at her face with her hands. She hoped she didn’t look as bad as she felt. Only Svann, sitting behind his worktable, looked immaculate and tidy as usual, though paler, she thought.

  “You must go.” Svann turned toward them, determination in the look he gave her. “Now, before they come for me.”

  Wynn took a step closer to him. “Barid won’t tell them anything. He’s already been examined by a Shekayrin; he fooled that one, he’ll fool this one.”

  Svann shook his head, gathering up the documents in front of him. Wynn’s throat tightened. “We cannot be sure. He has not been examined by a Poppy Shekayrin. They are more . . . ruthless.”

  Wynn snorted, folding her arms. “Well, I don’t see how going back to my own room with the rest of the servants is going to help anything.”

  Now he looked her in the eye. “I meant you must go back to the Mines and Tunnels. Before it is too late. Tel Cursar was right. We should never have come.” He gestured at the documents. “What little intelligence I have been able to gather is not as useful as I had hoped.”

  Wynn dropped her arms and took a step closer. “I won’t go—look, I know women in Halia don’t bear arms and all that, but you know better now. I’m as much a soldier as Pella. Besides, we can’t be jeweled, me or Pella. You’ve shielded us.”

  “That he cannot jewel you will in itself tell him that I see myself in opposition to him, that I felt the need to protect my servants from him.”

  Wynn blinked. He must be seriously upset. Not only hadn’t he corrected her—as he always did—for using the word jewel as a verb, but he’d done it himself. “Then you come with us. Let’s all go.”

  “The girl’s being sensible, sir. You should listen,” Pella said from his post by the door.

  “We will draw unnecessary attention if we all leave at once. I am in no immediate danger. He may be a Poppy, but he is not so powerful that he can subdue me by himself, or even with the help of the Rose. The worst I face is confinement. You face much worse, Wynn Martan, as they can hurt you in ways they cannot hurt me. You know this. My shield protects the mind only. No, you must go, both of you. I will stay only long enough to cover your leaving and perhaps to free Barid, if it can be done. Then I or—hopefully—we will join you.”

  Wynn’s stomach clenched. “Fine. We’ll do it your way, leave separately and regroup once we’re outside.”

  “Where?” Pella always dealt with practicalities.

  “There’s an alehouse in Wainwright Lane. We can meet there.”

  “Wait, before you go.” Svann went into the inner room and came out with a purple leather pouch and a folded parchment packet, identical to the one he’d given to Tel. The papers on the table he folded up and placed in the pouch. “Here is what knowledge I have gleaned, and what money I have.” He hefted the pouch and passed it to Wynn. “If I am not there in three days, you must use this”—he held up the pass—“and go.”

  “Just a minute.” Wynn stepped back, holding her hands out. “We won’t be going—”

  “And if something should go wrong?” Svann interrupted. “If I cannot find you? This pass will keep you safe. You should carry it, Pella. You will be a soldier with a servant.”

  “We won’t need it.” Pella nodded at her as he shoved the pass into the front of his tunic. “We’ll wait for you.”

  “No more than three days.”

  * * *

  The cards slid out of Bakura’s hands and cascaded across the tabletop. Ker laughed and gathered them up again, sliding them over to the girl’s side of the table.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, l
aying her hands flat down on top of the cards. “Can we not go? Every time the door opens, I fear the worst.” Tel reached over and took the cards into his own hands. They were steadier than the princess’, but that’s about all Ker could say.

  “We need to finish our kaff and our biscuits before we can leave without making people wonder,” she pointed out. “We should look like we’ve met by chance, and like we haven’t a care in the world. Stop turning your head to look at the door. I can see it perfectly well from here.”

  In fact, Ker had started Flashing again, and her awareness of the street outside was even clearer than her sight. Net or no net, Bakura’s aura showed the spikiness of distress and worry. Almost without thinking Ker reached out with her own colors, stroking the other girl’s aura like she would stroke a cat. Like a cat, the aura smoothed and relaxed. Baku sat up a little straighter.

  “We’ll wait long enough that if anyone’s followed you, they’ll get impatient and come in,” Tel added, shuffling the cards. “Once we know we’re safe, we can move on.”

  “Whenever you are ready, then,” the girl said, putting out her hand for the shuffled deck. “I believe the deal is mine.”

  * * *

  • • •

  They were still in the Summer round when Ker noticed Bakura handled each card as though it were heavy as a brick and set it down with an almost audible sigh. She’d had a long day, and a tiring one, but this much exhaustion after she’d been sitting down for the best part of an hour was worrying. They wouldn’t be able to travel very quickly if the girl tired at every step.

  “Are you ill?” she asked. Even if it was only her woman’s time, that could exhaust a person.

  “No, I do not believe so.”

  “May I Flash you?” Ker held out her hand for the princess to hold. She looked surprised she’d been asked.

  “Yes, you may.” Bakura placed her hand in Ker’s as though she expected to be bitten. Her hands were soft. Obviously, the girl had never done any work at all.