by J. C. Owens
Gretnel had his wing over his face and nostrils, his other folded over Daren, who lay safely against his side. He sat there, listening to the winds that howled outside their temporary haven. Here, he could not escape his own thoughts.
It had been weeks since they had discovered Gretnel and Ceris had a true mating. Weeks since Andon had even acknowledged Daren’s existence.
What idiocy had allowed Byrant’s words to find fertile ground in his mind? He knew he was naive in many ways. It had taken his current wing riders to teach him of what it was like to be poor, to have to struggle for acceptance and dignity. When had he let those lessons, those valuable words, slip away? He groaned, letting his head drop into his hands.
He had been gaining ground with Andon. He had felt the beginnings of a link between them. With his foolishness, he had set that back considerably, if he would even be able to get back to the same place ever again. Andon seemed the sort to cut ties permanently, without warning or apology.
In this case, he had good reason. Short of actually physically abusing Andon himself, Daren could not have done much worse than to listen to one of his abusers. Idiot.
“Yes.” Gretnel’s voice held a touch of grim amusement.
“Thanks for the support,” Daren grumbled.
“Can’t argue with the truth.”
“I really, really want to,” Daren groaned, slumping back against Gretnel.
“You’ll just have to start over, that’s all. Show him that you are not a complete idiot, only partial.”
“Gee, thanks. I am feeling very loved at this moment.”
“You always tell us that mistakes have to be addressed promptly, with a view to reparation and learning.” Gretnel sounded smug.
“I really said that, didn’t I? Gods, I sound like a moralizing military puppet. I need to actually listen to what I am saying. Aargh!” He slumped down, feeling utterly miserable. He just wanted to scoop Andon up and fly back home to Anisstor, where things made sense and people weren’t such assholes.
Gretnel snorted. “I can think of several who could earn that title. It’s no better back home, it’s just better known. Here, we are stepping on toes because we’re clueless. Or at least some of us are.”
“Hey!” Daren aimed a halfhearted punch at the giant ribs he lay against. The grif didn’t even twitch. Unfair.
“I am concerned that Andon has still not linked properly with Ceris. She fears that the damage could be permanent.”
Daren shook his head. “I think some part of him is refusing, whether he realizes that or not. He is terrified she is going to leave him. Give him a little time, let this become normal. He will see this is not the end of the world. He will come back to her.”
“I hope so,” Gretnel’s voice held a surly growl to it. “It is bothering her greatly, and I don’t like her to feel pain.”
Daren reached out to stroke Gretnel’s ribs. “I’m sorry, my friend. My behavior hasn’t helped at all. I still haven’t managed to get close to him again, and I can’t see that changing anytime soon.”
“Ceris’s heat will be coming next week,” Gretnel responded, and Daren could sense his great concern. “The way things are on this base, I don’t trust the other grifs, even though they know this is a true mating. Their riders could pressure them into action they would not normally consider.”
Daren groaned. He had prayed that the black grif might be pregnant, eliminating the need for further heats. If this was so, he would have to go to Andon. They would be drawn together inexorably, and with the way things were currently… The chances of this going well were minuscule at best.
He had given Andon space during the last weeks, always acknowledging him respectfully when they passed, but making no effort to force his presence upon his new mate.
Apparently, that was the correct decision, because he had seen Andon slowly change from completely hostile to warily distant. Not much of an improvement, but enough that it gave Daren a small degree of hope. He wanted this to work so badly, but pushing, taking another wrong step as he already had, would send them back even further than the last disaster, so he was learning a degree of patience he would never have imagined before.
For the past three mornings, he had gathered food from breakfast and lunch and left it as an offering at Andon’s doorway. The first day it had been left entirely. The second it was gone, and he hoped not to the garbage heap.
Getting the information from Ceris, Gretnel had told him the tale of how Andon got his food and it had bothered Daren greatly. For the man to feel he had to sneak food to avoid the riders in the dining hall both shocked and saddened him. He hoped his offerings were taken in the spirit in which they were intended and not as some insult that Andon could dredge up.
He was grateful to Commander Lasrem for clarifying some of Andon’s past. The information had been given with reluctance, but both the commander and Daren were well aware that Daren needed to understand if he had even a faint hope of this ever working.
Daren had sworn to never tell anyone of what Lasrem revealed, and he had held to that promise. Not even his riders were privy to what he had learned. Andon deserved his privacy, and Daren would protect that fiercely. The more he discovered, the more he respected his new mate. The man had an inner strength that Daren had never encountered in any other. A quiet strength that did not need to humiliate others as he had been humiliated, did not seek to harm others in an expression of anger over how he had been treated. Instead, he was a teacher, a guide, for the students. It was amazing and rather humbling to watch.
Whatever he had gone through, it was not allowed to escape into how he treated others.
The strength of will and morality that would take was beyond his true comprehension. Most everyone he knew reacted so differently. If someone made them angry or hurt them, then they turned around and perpetuated that same behavior. He had never understood it, but now, having met someone who refused that path, he had even less patience with it.
His admiration for Andon grew with every tidbit of information he was given. It was difficult to stand aside and give the man space when he wanted desperately to forge something fine and strong, to take away the past and show Andon that there could be goodness in people.
In this place and time, it would be next to impossible for him to achieve. But that didn’t make the longing any less.
It was quite evident that the bond between them remained; a nagging ache that sought Andon’s presence. He would often go to the salle on his day off, sit there watching him in silence and longing. He made no attempt to speak with Andon, but the distance was eating at him with enough force that he knew this way of being could not continue.
What Andon was thinking and feeling because of the bond was a complete mystery. Certainly he never seemed to seek Daren out in any way whatsoever. That was discouraging all on its own.
Andon claimed he was broken. Was it possible that he was correct and that the bond, on his side, could never truly form?
Daren shook his head and blew out a breath of frustration. No. He would not believe that. He would try anything and everything to prove to them both that there was hope for the future.
The wind kicked up again, howling as it drove sand against them. Daren huddled down lower, eaten by worries. Worries about the storm…and worries for Andon.
Andon felt Ceris’s concern when the huge warning bell rang for an incoming sandstorm. He had been fixing one of his shirts while they lazed in the noonday sun just outside the wing house. He looked up, frowning as he realized the wind indicator was showing the storm to be quite powerful, unusual at this time of year.
Ceris rose to her feet, a hum rising in her throat, a sign of worry.
“They have not returned. They are late.” Her mane was beginning to bristle with the force of her emotions.
Andon went to her, tangling his hand in her neck fur. “They will hunker down somewhere. All of them are good fliers and sensible.”
She paced, pulling away from hi
m, drinking in the scents on the wind. “No smell at all. They are far away.”
Andon felt worry of his own. They should have been back at least two hours ago. That time would fluctuate only if something had happened, either a storm, such as was coming—or an attack.
He stiffened, remembering the terrible day Vren had not returned, the search party that had been sent, that he had been part of. Finding remains…
He thrust the horrific images out of his thoughts with difficulty.
Now, the two wings, one from Farfall and the other the Anisstor riders, were missing. His heart began to pound, the past overlaying the present.
They would be fine, safe.
Nobody had believed that anything was wrong when Vren’s wing had been late either.
“Something is wrong. They are not safe.” Ceris’s emotions were fuelling his own, his breath beginning to quicken.
As though a dam opened, his connection to Ceris blew fully open once more, and her conviction flowed over him.
Something had gone wrong. Somewhere, out in that storm, Gretnel and Daren…
Images of Vren’s torn body overwhelmed him, and he choked back rising fear.
With grim determination, he turned and retreated back into the wing house, lips thinned. He changed swiftly into riding leathers and found his helmet with the sand visor. He filled a pack with supplies that might be needed, then headed outside.
Other riders were gathering near the landing site, talking among themselves, nervously eyeing the sky. Obviously they too were linking this to the disaster that had befallen Vren’s wing.
They turned as they spotted Andon and Ceris, eyes widening as they saw him fling the pack over his shoulders and scramble up her shoulder.
Vatner strode out of their midst, anger and worry twined in his expression. “What in the hells do you think you—”
Ceris sprang into the air, her powerful wings driving them upward with astonishing speed. Andon was left gasping. It was rare that she used her full speed, knowing how it affected him, but today her drive to find her mate was pushing her to extremes.
Higher, higher.
Andon lay against her neck, fingers twined into her mane with whitened knuckles, his face buried in the fur as the force of the wind tore at him, stinging his cheeks and forcing him to close his eyes until he pulled his goggles into place. The air grew thin and his senses swam dangerously.
It was only then that Ceris seemed to realize that he could not endure the conditions she was creating. She dropped abruptly, making his stomach lurch alarmingly, then flattened out into level flight.
“I am sorry, my sosi.” The regret in her tone made his heart warm, their link strong and sure once more. Her love flowed over him, strengthened him.
“I’m good,” he croaked. “Let’s find them.”
She gave a loud, challenging cry as they headed toward the distant smudge of the storm.
Daren swore, blinking hard, the grit in his eyes drawing pain with each movement.
They had gathered around the fallen grif, grim-faced and attempting to give aid despite the howling winds and driving sand. One of the younger grifs from the Farfall wing, exhausted and with less strength than the older ones, had crashed on their last short flight, unable to battle the force of the winds.
Daren had heard the alarm calls of the other grifs and then Gretnel had turned, taken them back toward the scene. They had all landed and now struggled to splint the injured grif’s left wing. One of the fragile bones had broken and pierced through the skin. The threat of infection was at the moment of lesser concern than the fact they might not make it out of here at all.
After fighting the winds all day, none of the other grifs were strong enough to carry the sling that was used to bring injured grifs home. If they tried, they might injure three grifs instead of only one. Gretnel was capable, but without another grif of comparable strength, they would be dangerously out of kilter. The grifs, naturally protective of their own, would not leave the fallen one.
The storm was worsening, with no sign of a break. The grifs had mantled their wings over the injured one, and the riders huddled under the limited protection, struggling to bind the wing tightly so the grif could not flail in his pain and worsen what was already a serious break.
Daren could feel Gretnel’s pain as the blowing sand grew ever more intense with the rising strength of the wind. A truly bad storm had been known to scour the flesh from the bone of both grif and rider, and this one seemed to be heading in that direction.
The rider of the injured grif, young himself, was crying, cradling the grif’s massive head as he sought to give comfort. The others, even his own riders, were growing increasingly grim as they realized the trouble they were in.
Daren was thankful that the leader of the Farfall wing was Captain Palresen, Commander Lasrem’s second. He had proven to be steady and calm, and between them, he and Daren were managing to keep the others strong and prevent panic.
“We’ll have to try my Raastin with Olnar’s Novul,” Palresen shouted over the deafening wind. “They are the closest in size.”
“Are they strong enough in these conditions though?” Daren grimaced.
Their eyes met with grim certainty. “We have to try,” Palresen gritted and Daren made no further comments, just turned with him to work at easing the sling under the stricken grif.
Everyone pitched in, managing to work the flat, heavy woven harness under the crumpled form. Then they struggled to untangle the other harnesses that would go on Novul and Raastin.
Daren felt like his skin was going to scorch off his body, his throat dry and tight. They were conserving the last of their water, worried that they might well have to spend the night in the desert, far from any moisture, far from help. Not to mention an injured grif, a beacon to the predators of the wastelands.
There was no hope of the storm passing before darkness fell. He had flown at night before, during training for just such an emergency, but it was a thing not done lightly. Grifs were not night flyers and did not have the senses to navigate without sight. In the wild, they would be roosting by nightfall.
So, the best course, if the lift failed, was for one of them to attempt a night flight and pray they made it to the base and then could find their way back. The grifs would be able to communicate once they were within a certain range, but if they lost their way…
He worked with the others, giving a sigh of relief as the tangles were pulled free, the first lift harness laid out, ready for Novul.
Suddenly, Gretnel gave a deep-throated call, and moments later, the other grifs followed suit. The riders froze, then peered out into the maelstrom from under their grif’s wings.
“Ceris!” Gretnel’s worry made Daren almost stagger with the strength of it, his own concern bringing him at a run to Gretnel’s left side, where the wind was broken by his bulk.
Shading his eyes and squinting into the swirling sands, Daren felt his heart pound, whether in reaction to Gretnel or his own fears.
Surely Andon would not…
A grif’s call came upon the winds, and moments later, a grif landed, stumbling from the force of a harsh, unsteady landing.
Gretnel rumbled, one wing rising, and the black female slipped under the protection.
Daren saw a huddled figure on Ceris’s neck. He reached out, pulling Andon down into his arms.
The weapons master was coughing, half choking on sand. Once Daren had him down, Andon leaned against Ceris, pushing his flight goggles up into sand crusted hair, blinking at Daren for a long moment, before grinning, eyes wild and white.
“Water. I brought water. We’ll need it before the grifs take off.”
Daren yanked him forward and into his arms, wrapping his mate into a hug, his muscles beginning to tremble with the force of his emotions.
Andon had come for them. Perhaps not just for Daren, but he had come to save them. Had not remained at the base in safety. Rules demanded that he consult with Commander Lasrem b
efore leaving, but Daren highly doubted that any such thing had happened. Andon could face severe discipline for such an action.
He could feel Andon stiffen, hands held out to the side. He made no move to thrust Daren away, but seemed frozen by the embrace.
“Thank the gods. I don’t think we would have made it out. We have a grif injured and the only matching grifs are Novul and Raastin. I don’t think they are strong enough…”
A hand touched his cheek, feather-light, and he pulled back so he could look at Andon more freely.
Those blue eyes were worried, then the fingers curled away, the gaze fell, as though concerned the touch had been unwanted.
Daren caught the retreating hand, held it gently within his own, and holding Andon’s gaze, kissed the palm with tenderness.
“You are a brave and foolish man, Andon Grazon. I can only be thankful for that fact.”
Andon flushed, the confidence he had displayed upon his arrival sliding into something unsure, almost shy. “I thought you would be angry.” His eyes moved to Palresen with a grimace. “Lasrem is going to have my hide. We may yet fail in this.”
Daren slung an arm around his shoulders and tucked him close. “You have given us a better chance when the odds seemed stacked against us. I, for one, am proud.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Andon worked the last buckle into place. The harness had barely fit Gretnel, and was little better upon Ceris. If they made it through this, he was going to ask for a rescue harness that would be made to properly fit them both…
He paused, blinking. That would assume they would be working together in the future. He had been so wrong in his assumptions, thinking that Daren would condemn him for his actions, push his newfound power to make Andon submit, as though he were little more than a cadet, without the years of experience he had under his belt.
