But there was no tightening of Winterhart's neck muscles, no tensing at all to indicate that thought had occurred to her.
Interesting. Very interesting. So whatever she is afraid of, it isn't that. And she is not the "ordinary soul" she says that she is.
"If I hurt you, tell me," he said. "A good massage should not hurt—and in your case, if I start to hurt you, you'll tense up again, and undo everything I've done so far other than the real Healing."
"I will," she promised. "But it doesn't hurt. It just feels very odd. My m—the massages I've had in the past were never for injuries."
What other kinds of massages are there? She can't mean sexual. So—for beauty treatments?
That would account for the superb state of her body. There were no blemishes, no signs of scarring anywhere. When the posturing and stiffness were gone from Winterhart's body, she was a magnificent sculpture of human beauty. She cared for her skin and hair scrupulously, filed her toenails, and had no calluses anywhere that he had seen, not even the calluses associated with riding or fighting.
Unusual, and definitely the marks of someone highborn, and he thought he knew all the humans of noble lineage who had ever lived near Urtho's Tower.
Perhaps she was from before I came here? But that would date back to the very beginning of the war.
"Do you get along with your commanders?" he asked, adding, "I need to know because if you don't, it is going to affect how your muscles will react and I may need to ask you to resort to herbal muscle relaxants when you are around them."
She was silent for a very long time. "They think I am the proper subordinate. I suppose I used to be; that may be why my back went badly wrong all at once. I don't ever contradict them, even now. I suppose you'll think I'm a coward, but even though I don't agree with the way they treat the gryphons, I don't want to be stripped of my rank and sent away."
"You wouldn't be, if you took your case to Urtho," he pointed out. "As Trondi'irn, it is your job to countermand even the generals if you believe your charges are being mistreated."
"I can't do that." Her skin was cold; she was afraid. Of what? Of confrontation? Of going directly to Urtho?
"Besides," she continued hurriedly. "My I... lover is one of Shaiknam's mages; his name is Conn Levas. If I went to Urtho, I'd still be reassigned, and I don't want to be reassigned to some other wing than his."
Untrue! Her muscles proclaimed it, and Amberdrake's intuition agreed. The way she had stumbled over the word "lover," not as if she were ashamed to say it, but because she could hardly bear to give the man that title. Amberdrake remembered Conn Levas, the mage who had come to him in order to shame his lover. That lover, it seems, was Winterhart. She and the mage might trade animal passions, but there was no love in that relationship. She didn't care that she might be reassigned someplace where he wasn't, precisely.
There is something deeper going on here. In some way, the man protects her. He must not know he is doing so, because if he did, he'd use it against her.
This was getting more and more complicated all the time.
"Well, I would say you aren't going to have to worry about that much longer," he said without thinking.
"What do you mean?" Her alarm was real and very deep; she actually started.
He put a hand in the middle of her back and soothed the jerking muscles. "Only that thanks to Zhaneel, Urtho is already aware of the situation in Sixth Wing. You won't have to confront anyone now. I suspect he'll take care of things. He always does."
"Oh." She relaxed again.
Now what on earth set her off like that? It has to be something to do with whatever it is that she is afraid of.
What that could be, he had no clue. Perhaps he ought to try probing farther back in her past—so far back that it would not seem like a threat.
"I learned all of my skills at Healing when I was a child," he said casually. "My parents sent me to a very odd school, one that did not admit the existence of a Healing Gift, nor of Empathy. I did learn quite a bit about Healing without the use of either—everything from massage to anatomy to herbal and mineral medicines. But I was also more or less trapped among very sick people with Empathy too strong to shut them out. I was miserable, and my parents didn't understand why when I wrote them letters begging to come home. They thought they were doing their best for me, and couldn't understand why I wasn't grateful."
"My parents were like that," she said, sounding sleepy. "They knew their children were exceptional, and they wouldn't accept anything less than perfection. They never understood why I wasn't fawningly grateful for all the opportunities they gave me."
I thought as much! Well, this is something I can start on, right this moment.
"Like my parents, yours surely thought they had your best interests at heart," he replied quickly. "Perhaps they were too young for children. Perhaps they simply didn't understand that a child is not a small copy of one's own self. Many people think that. They feel the child must have the same needs and interests they do, simply because it sprang from them. They have no notion that a child can be drastically different from its parents."
"So?" she replied, probably more harshly than she intended. "Does that excuse them?"
He let her think about that for a long time before he answered. "There are no excuses," he said at last. "But there are reasons. Reasons why we are what we are. Reasons why we do not have to stay that way. Even Ma'ar has reasons for what he does."
That turned the discussion into one of philosophy, and by the time he sent her away, he had come, grudgingly, not only to feel sorry for her, but even to like her a little.
But she was going to have to change, and she would have a hard time doing so all alone. He was going to have to help her. As she was, she was a danger, not only to herself, but possibly to everyone she came in contact with. No matter how she tried to hide it, she was unbalanced and afraid.
And fear was Ma'ar's best weapon.
Eleven
Skandranon cautiously pushed his way into Tarnsin's work tent with a careful talon, and the tail of a playful breeze followed him inside, teasing his crest feathers. As he had expected, Tamsin and Cinnabar mumbled to each other over their notes, oblivious to anything else going on. They made quite a pretty picture, with their heads so close they just touched, lamplight shining down on them, the table, and the precious stack of paper. Dark hair and bright shone beneath the lantern. They were a vision of peace. But pretty pictures were not precisely what he was after at the moment, and all peace was illusory as long as Ma'ar kept moving. And he knew that, despite his motivations, stealing this secret was a dangerous game to play.
But this secret would at least ensure the survival of his people, no matter what befell Urtho.
"Took you long enough to get here," Tamsin said without looking up, though Cinnabar gave him a wink and wry grin. He wrote another word or two, then set aside the paper he had been scrawling on and raised his eyes to meet Skan's. "What did you do, stop to seduce half a dozen gryphons on the way here?"
Skan's nares flushed, but he managed to keep his voice from betraying him. Half a dozen gryphons? Well—one female, and there certainly wasn't a seduction involved. And until he had a chance to think out a plan, he'd rather not discuss Kechara with anyone. "Not at all; I just stopped to look at something very interesting in the Tower. So what have you discovered?"
By the gleam in Tamsin's eyes, it was good news, very good news. "That your so-called 'spell' isn't precisely that," Tamsin replied. "Enabling fertility in male and female gryphons takes a combination of things, and all of them are the sort of preparation that any gryphon could do without magical help, though a little magic makes it easier. Urtho just shrouds the whole procedure in mysticism, so that you think it's something powerfully magical. His notes detail what to do to make the most impressive effects for the least expenditure of energy. He's been bluffing you all, Skan."
Skan's head jerked up so quickly that he hit the top of the doorframe with it and bli
nked. He'd hoped for simple spells; he had not expected anything like this. "What?" he exclaimed.
Tamsin chuckled, and leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. "When he designed you, he wanted to have some automatic controls on your fertility, so he borrowed some things from a number of different beasties. Take the Great White Owl—the females don't lay fertile eggs unless their mate has stuffed them first with tundra mice. The sudden increase in meat triggers their bodies to permit fertilization of the eggs; and the more meat, the more eggs they lay. Well, Urtho borrowed that for your females. The 'ritual' for the female gryphon is to fast for two days, then gorge on fresh meat just before the mating flight. That gorging tells her instincts that there's food enough to support a family, just like with the tundra owls, and she becomes fertile."
"But—" Skan protested weakly. "We don't lay eggs. How can that—"
Tamsin ignored him. "He borrowed from the snow tigers as well; they would have litters four times a year in a colder climate, but they only have one because the male's body temperature is so high that his seed is sterile except in the winter. So Urtho designed you males so that your body temperature is normally so high that your seed is dormant, just like theirs. So your half of the 'ritual' is that business of sleeping and meditating in the cave for two days while the female fasts. That drops your body temperature enough that your seed becomes active. That, or a very simple spell ensures that the male's temperature stays lower than normal until after the mating flight is over. And that is the only bit of magic that Urtho performs that actually accomplishes anything. It's such a minor spell that even an untrained Healer could do it—or there are drugs and infusions we could give you that have that effect, temporarily."
"Or you could sit on a chunk of ice," Cinnabar added gleefully, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Another breath of breeze entered the open tent flap, and made the flame of the lantern flicker for a moment.
"Thank you," Skan said with as much dignity as he could muster. "But I doubt I shall."
"Seriously, though, that means that in the total absence of Healers or herbs, a male gryphon could keep his seed active simply by mating in the winter like a snow tiger, or by sleeping for two days in a cave and then flying very high during the mating flight, where the air is cold even in the summer," Tamsin said. Then he laughed. It had been a long time since Skan had heard the Healer laughing with such ease. It was a good sound. "But as hot-blooded as the Black Gryphon is, he may need to go to the northernmost edge of the world!"
Cinnabar joined her lover in laughter, and even Skandranon wheezed a slight chuckle. It had been a long time since Tamsin had researched anything that concerned creation, rather than destruction. For this brief time, perhaps he had been able to forget the war and all it meant. "Oh, and there's the mating flight itself. The better the flight, the easier it is for—ah—everything to get together. Gets the blood and other things moving. And with a strenuous flight... there," he said, preferring a sheet of notes, "the better the flight, the more likely that there will be more than one gryphlet conceived. But that's basically it."
Skan sat down heavily, right in the doorway. Hard to believe, after all the mystery, all the bitterness, that it could be so simple. "But that's all?" he asked, too surprised to feel elation yet.
"That's it." Cinnabar shrugged and idly braided a strand of hair. "The rest is simply Urtho's own indulgence in theatrics—which is considerable. He is quite an artist. Most of his notes were involved with that and only that. I promise you, though, that unless those guidelines are strictly adhered to, you gryphons will be as sterile as always." She tilted her head to one side, and regarded him with dark, thoughtful eyes. "He designed you very well, and I think you ought to know that his notes said precisely why he made you sterile unless elaborate preparations were made."
Skan waited for her to elaborate, but she was obviously enjoying herself in a peculiar way and intended to make him ask why.
"Well, why did he?" The gryphon growled. Some of the anger he had felt at Urtho was back. "Not that I can't think of a number of reasons. We are supposed to be warriors, after all, and it's difficult to wreak destruction away from home while there are gryphlets in the nest to tend to."
"You have a flair for the dramatic yourself. 'Wreak destruction?'" Cinnabar teased.
Skandranon tried to ignore her. "He might not have wanted to discover himself neckdeep in fledglings. That would mean a strain on food supplies, and hungry gryphons could decimate wild game over a wide area. Also, we're his creations; he might have wanted more control over which pairings produced offspring."
That breeding program. He might have wanted nothing but pure "types." He wouldn't have wanted hybrids, I would imagine. Breeders usually don't.
"He might only have wanted the control over us that holding this 'secret' had." The bitterness he felt in discovering Kechara's plight and the records of the "breeding program" showed more than he liked. "So. Was I close?"
Cinnabar's expression was understanding, and her tone softened. She leaned forward earnestly. "Skan, it was for none of those reasons. Here it is, in his own words. Let me read it for you, and I think you might feel a little better about all of this."
She bent over the notes and read them quietly aloud. "'Too often have I seen human parents who were too young, too unstable, or otherwise unfit or unready for children produce child after doomed, mistreated child. I will have none of this for these, my gryphons. By watching them, and then training others what to watch for, I can discover which pairings are loving and stable, which would-be parents have the patience and understanding to be parents. And in this way, perhaps my creations will have a happier start in life than most of the humans around them. While I may not be an expert in such things, I have at least learned how to observe the actions of others, and experience may give me an edge in judging which couples are ready for little ones. Those who desire children must not bring them into our dangerous world out of a wish for a replica of themselves, a creature to mold and control, a way to achieve what they could not, or the need for something that will offer unconditional love. For that, they must look elsewhere and most likely into themselves."
Cinnabar paused, giving him a moment to absorb it all, then continued. "'The reasons for bearing young should simply be love and respect for the incipient child, and for the world they will be born into. If it took more effort to produce a child than the exercise of a moment's lust, perhaps there might be less misery in this world. Perhaps my gryphons will be happier creatures than their creator.'"
Cinnabar looked back up at him expectantly. Skan simply sat where he was, blinking, surrounded by silence. The sounds of the camp seemed very distant and somewhat removed from reality. Or, perhaps, eclipsed by a more important reality.
Skandranon's internal image of Urtho had undergone multiple drastic changes over the course of the evening. But this—
Elation—and a crazy joy began to grow in him again. Simple, uncomplicated joy; the same joy that he'd had in his friendship with Urtho and had thought he had lost. This is more than I ever hoped to hear. A reason, a good one, a sound one. One even I can agree with. He wrote that in his own hand, to himself and no other. The whole secret makes sense. And look how even with all those precautions in place, a mistake can happen. One happened with Zhaneel; her parents died, and she was neglected by others who thought her to be misborn. I had no idea he had put such thought into this.... "Urtho is wiser than I thought," he said at last, his voice thick with emotion that he simply could not express. "He was right to guide us so."
"Oh, I dare say you all can do well enough on your own," Tamsin told him, with a twinkle in his eye. "If nothing else, all this takes considerable effort on the gryphons' part, and a pair will probably think carefully before going to all that effort."
Skandranon squinted his eyes shut tightly and took a deep breath, then shook his body and flared his breast and back feathers. "There's no 'probably' about it," he told Tamsin, with some of his hu
mor returning. "We can be as lazy as any other race. There will be more young, but not that many more, not at first. For one thing—with the war, there is rarely the leisure to make such extensive preparations."
Cinnabar smiled, and nodded her understanding. Tamsin sighed. "By the way," he said, "it's obvious from the notes that a male or female can't be overweight if they want to produce a youngster, and a mating flight has to be damned impressive in order to get everything moving well enough that fertility is assured. If you can't put everything you've got into that flight, well, you won't get anything out of it except a bit of exercise." He raised his eyebrow suggestively.
"Sometimes exercise can be very beneficial," Skan replied with dignity.
"Well," Lady Cinnabar replied, with a face so innocent that Skan knew she was intending to prod him. "You should know. I've heard you're probably the biggest expert in that type of gryphon exercise that has ever lived."
"I?" Skan contrived to look just as innocent as she. He would never miss a chance to boast a little in good company. Anyone as well-known as he had detractors to belittle any and all of his traits; so it was up to him to say otherwise, wasn't it? "I suppose, since I am an expert dancer, attractive, and skilled in aerobatics, you might be correct about that."
Tamsin's shoulders shook with silent laughter; Cinnabar simply smiled serenely and released the bit of hair she had been braiding. "I'd have been worried about you if you'd said otherwise, Skan," she said gravely a heartbeat later. "In all of this, it would be easy to lose yourself."
"I won't say that I am not feeling like a feather in a gale, my Lady. But I have to maintain who and what I am. And since I am irresistible, it is only responsible for me to say so to reassure you all that I have not been overwhelmed."
"I owe you most profound thanks, my friends," he quickly continued, changing the subject before Cinnabar could ask him who he was supposedly irresistible to. "I could not have done this alone. And that is perhaps the first and last time you will have heard the Black Gryphon admit he could not do something."
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