She realized this an instant after he did, and stopped. The white fire that burned so bright in her did not exactly fade, but it ebbed lower and lower, until standing near her was not quite so much like standing near an oven. She reached out to him again, and this time Jos let her take his hands. Her fingers did not seem exactly human in his; they were slender and graceful, exactly as he remembered, but holding her hands was like holding the hands of an alabaster lamp shaped like a woman. She said again, not gently or cheerfully, but with a kind of pleased possessiveness, “Jos.”
He knew perfectly well that she spoke to him and ignored Kairaithin in this pointed way in order to deliver a subtle affront. He knew this. But it did not stop his heart from coming into his throat in the most foolish and childish way. He said, “Kes,” and found he could not say anything else.
“Why do you wish to break the Wall?” Lord Bertaud asked her, very simply and directly, when Kairaithin did not speak.
Kes released Jos’s hands, turning to gaze at the Feierabianden lord. Her smile had grown somehow both more brilliant and sharper-edged. She was wilder than a griffin, less fierce but more capricious, less high-tempered and passionate but more whimsical. Or so she seemed to Jos, who had known her when she was a human girl and then while she had been made from a creature of earth to one of fire and then afterward, when the fire had taken her completely. She said, “Why should any such constraint be allowed to stand? It is an offense against all the country of fire. Besides, Taipiikiu Tastairiane Apailika wishes the Wall to be broken, and why should I not please him if I can, now it has been cracked through?”
“Tastairiane?” said Bertaud, as though even saying the name hurt him.
“You recall Tastairiane Apailika? He is my iskarianere now,” said Kes. She spoke with pleased amusement, but the edge to her humor was sharp enough to cut to the bone.
“Yes,” said Bertaud in a low tone. “I had heard so.”
“Had you? Well, one would never predict what word might be carried on some errant wind,” Kes said, and laughed.
It was a cruel laugh, like no sound she would ever have made when she was human. Jos winced from it. He knew, none better, how pitiless the griffins were by nature, but pitilessness was not the same as cruelty, and it hurt him to hear that note in her voice.
Bertaud said, not as though he expected Kes to understand or believe him but as though he felt driven to speak despite this, “If griffins turn once-for-all against men, if it should come to true battle, Kes, I promise you, no one will win. Least of all the People of Fire and Air.” He hesitated and then added, “Even you, swift as you are to heal the injured, even you cannot bring a griffin back to life after he has been killed.”
Kes only laughed, shaking her head in dismissal of this warning. “Oh, no. You’re mistaken. You’re entirely mistaken. If I’m swift enough, no injury need be mortal.”
“You cannot be so swift, not when thousands upon thousands of men draw together to face a mere few hundreds of griffins—”
“I can be as swift and attentive as I must be,” Kes answered with perfect confidence. She reached out to lay her hand on the Wall. Fire ran up along the great blocks, playing over her wrist and hand. The flames were ruddy where they rose from the red sands, but white where they crossed her hand. She smiled.
“Kes,” said Kairaithin. “Keskainiane Raikaisipiike.”
“Siipikaile,” said Kes, turning to face him directly for the first time. Teacher, that was. But she pronounced the word with a mocking edge, and met his powerful black gaze without the slightest flinch. Her eyes were filled with fire, black and gold and paler gold, set in a face that might have been carved of porcelain. Jos remembered when Kes had had eyes of a pale grayed blue, like water. He tried to remember when they had turned to fire. Not at once, he thought. Not in those early years, when they had built his cottage and kindled the fire that burned within it. There had still been a touch of humanity about her in those days. But the last of it had burned away a long time ago.
Neither of the young griffin mages flanking her acknowledged Kairaithin at all. They would not, Jos knew. No griffin would speak to Kairaithin, from what he had said about flying alone. Brawny, powerful-shouldered Ruuanse Tekainiike crouched down a little; the feathers of his neck and chest, feathers that might have been beaten out of bronze and inlaid with gold by some master metalsmith, ruffled up with a stiff rattling sound. He looked brutal and dangerous, but he did not meet Kairaithin’s eyes. He was not a match for his former teacher and no one, least of all Tekainiike himself, mistook it.
Opailikiita was a question. Opailikiita Sehanaka Kiistaike… she had been Kairaithin’s student long before he had stolen Kes from the country of earth and made her into a creature of fire. Slender and small, her beauty was subtle rather than flashy. She was more powerful than she seemed to any first glance. Jos had once known her rather well. When Opailikiita turned her head to avoid looking at Kairaithin, Jos suspected it was not acknowledgment of his superior strength that made her look aside. He thought it was regret for what her old teacher had lost. Or at least some griffin emotion similar to regret; some emotion hotter and more violent than mere regret. A sort of angry grief, perhaps.
Kairaithin would not be goaded, neither by the scorn in Kes’s voice nor by the overt indifference of his former students. Perhaps he truly did not care. He said, “You understand less than you believe,” but when he took a step forward and lifted a hand, it was not to remonstrate with Kes, as Jos at first thought. Instead, he struck at her with a wholly unexpected blaze of power that burned right through her and hurled the rest of them violently aside.
Kes shredded into fire and air under that blow. She did not even have time to cry out. Opailikiita did, the harsh scraping shriek of an enraged griffin. She flung herself fearlessly at Kairaithin, who merely called up a hard wind that threw her aside, tumbling her over. Young Tekainiike, also shrieking, reared back in shock and then leaped into the air, his wings thundering as he strove for height—fleeing, to Jos’s shock, who would not have expected any griffin to fly from such a battle.
Jos had also shouted aloud in shock and grief. He had been flung to his hands and knees, for even the glancing edge of Kairaithin’s power was like the blow of a smith’s hammer. Half blinded by flying wind and whirling sand, conscious of the furious griffins above and about, he could not even crawl out of the way. He was aware of Kairaithin rearing up, of his human shape exploding to match his immense shadow, of black feathers raking the air above him; he was aware of fire cracking across the sky and of the flaming wind roaring down from the high, hard sky—
Then Bertaud seized Jos by the arm. He had been the first of them all to regain his balance, and the only one among them to make no sound. Jos had a fleeting realization that the other man might actually have guessed that Kairaithin might strike at Kes, for he had evidently been ready for it. Now he dragged at Jos, who with the other man’s help managed to regain his feet; they both ducked away from the violence of wind and fire, their arms over their faces to guard against the rushing sand.
“You knew—” Jos began, shouting over the fury of wind and griffins, but then coughed and could not continue.
He did not know what answer the Feierabianden lord might have made, for the other griffins came then, rushing down out of the storm; the harsh desert sunlight struck off their wings and flanks as off bronze and copper and gold. The ferocious light flamed on their knife-edged beaks and talons and glowed in their eyes. Behind them, the sky turned crimson with driving sand, and below them fire fell like rain from the wind of their wings.
In those first moments, Jos thought that all the griffins in the world had come to avenge Kes. Then he realized both that only a double-handful of griffins were actually plunging down that fiery wind toward them—though that seemed enough and to spare—and that Kes did not need to be avenged. Kairaithin had not succeeded in his aim.
At least not yet. A streak of white and gold fire poured itself through the w
ind, shaping itself back into the form of a human woman. Kairaithin, beautiful and terrible, rearing huge against the sky, the wind of his power roaring through his black wings, struck at her again. Again she shredded away into fire and wind. She could not answer him, or would not, or at least she did not. She fled. But Kairaithin used his strength to block her flight, pinning her against the Wall and dragging her ruthlessly back into shape. He meant to kill her—to destroy her—she could not match him. Jos made a wordless sound but did not know he had tried to leap forward until he found Bertaud blocking his way, the other man’s grip on his arm so fierce even Jos could not break it. He wanted to hit him. He stopped instead, leaning forward, his fists clenched.
Kiibaile Esterire Airaikeliu, the Lord of Fire and Air, the king of all the griffins, swept down out of the sky. His immense power came before him like a motionless hurricane—Jos did not know how else to express it. All other power flattened out before him, crushed to stillness. The wind itself died; the air cleared of its red haze of dust; the flames that had blazed up from the desert sands died.
On all sides, the struggle quieted. Kairaithin settled back slowly to the ground, folding his great wings. Kes, looking tiny and helpless and frightened, drew herself slowly away from the Wall and turned to face them, one hand still braced against the fire-washed stone for support. The Lord of Fire and Air landed near her, his gold-and-crimson mate on his other side and the savage white Tastairiane Apailika beyond her. Ruuanse Tekainiike, looking much younger and smaller in such company, came down warily near them. The young griffin mage had not fled after all, Jos realized belatedly, but had gone to bring the king and his company to this place.
And now that the king was here, Kairaithin had lost. There was no more mockery in the look Kes gave him, but rather wary respect. But even the greatest griffin mage could not threaten her again, not—
Kairaithin, who had turned to face the Lord of Fire and Air, flung a slender blaze of power like a knife at Kes. He did not even look at her; his blow took everyone by surprise, most of all Kes. It was a thrust of such power and strength that it passed right through the forceful stillness the king of griffins had imposed, and unable to block or answer it, she leaped away. But anyone, even Jos, could see that she was nothing like fast enough.
Everyone moved in a blaze of speed and fury: Opailikiita with a blaze of magecraft of her own to block Kairaithin’s blow, the Lord of Fire and Air casting himself forward to protect Kes, the king’s mate lunging after him, Tastairiane and a half dozen other griffins flinging themselves simultaneously against Kairaithin. And Kairaithin was overset by their combined force, but only momentarily, for he was a very powerful mage and neither Tastairiane nor any of his own former students could match him.
But though the griffin mage was forced back, and back again, until he was pinned against the Wall himself, his blow had found its mark. There could be no mistake on that account, for even Jos and Bertaud, out of place as they were, felt the reverberation of power and loss and destruction echo and reecho through the desert. It happened very swiftly, but there was a whirl of blinding sand and fire and an explosion of red dust, and then a single hard, savage cry of fury and anguish, and then, suddenly, stillness.
But it was not the same stillness that the king had imposed.
At first, even after the griffins drew back, Jos thought Kairaithin had after all managed to achieve his aim. He thought that Kes had been destroyed. Even though the woman he had known had ceased to exist years ago, grief rose up into his throat and choked him. He started to step forward, blindly, wanting at least to look down at her body, or at least at the ebbing fire and white sand and flecks of gold that she might have left if she had been too little human to leave a body.
As he had before, Bertaud stopped him. Jos started to knock the other man’s hand away, and then stopped, for he saw with astonishment that again, though he could not imagine how, Kairaithin had missed his mark. Kes was still alive. She was standing beside Opailikiita, her hand buried in the soft feathers of the slender griffin’s neck, staring at Kairaithin. Her expression was very odd.
It took Jos much longer than it should have to realize that the Lord of Fire and Air had taken Kairaithin’s blow in her place, and that in her place he had been destroyed. He understood this only when the red-and-gold griffin who had been the king’s mate, crouching low to the desert sand, gave another loud cry, of such despair and grief and fury that Jos was frozen speechless and motionless by it, as a mouse might be frozen among its tangled grasses by the scream of a stooping falcon.
Everyone seemed equally frozen, griffin and human alike. Kes was holding one hand out to where the king had been. Red dust sifted through her slender fingers. She looked stricken. Beside her, almost as close as Opailikiita, Tastairiane Apailika stood so still he might have been hammered out of white gold. His fiery blue eyes blazed and his immense wings were half spread, the feathers like the flame at the white-hot heart of a fire.
The red-and-gold griffin who had been the king’s mate—her name was Nehaistiane Esterikiu Anahaikuuanse—flung herself abruptly into the brilliant air and exploded violently into flaming wind and red sand, and was gone.
For a long, long moment, no one else moved.
At last, Tastairiane Apailika turned his savage, beautiful, white-feathered head and looked deliberately at Kairaithin.
All the lesser griffins fell back and away, as though at a signal. Kairaithin came a pace away from the looming Wall and stood, outwardly impassive but, to Jos’s practiced eye, looking weary and heartsick and very much alone. The black feathers of his neck and shoulders ruffled up and then smoothed down again. His great wings were nearly furled. He turned his head to look at Kes—no. At the place where the Lord of Fire and Air had died, where now nothing remained but drifting red dust and flickers of fire. He did not look at Kes herself. Nor did he look at the white griffin who stood near her.
But Tastairiane Apailika looked at him. The white griffin said in a smooth, deadly voice that sliced across their minds like a knife, Kiibaile Esterire Airaikeliu is gone. Nehaistiane Esterikiu Anahaikuuanse is gone. Who will challenge me?
From the depth of silence that followed, it appeared no one would.
The shining white griffin continued to regard Kairaithin. He was poised with supreme grace and confidence, wings angled aggressively forward. The hot sunlight blazed off his terrible beak as though striking edged metal. He lifted one eagle’s foot clear of the sand, his talons glinting like silver knives.
In contrast, Kairaithin clearly did not want to fight. He still looked dangerous—nothing could stop his looking dangerous. Jos did not think he was exactly afraid, for fear was not something griffins understood. But he looked as though, if he were to challenge Tastairiane Apailika now, he would lose. And he looked as though he knew it.
The Lord of Fire and Air has gone into the fire and the air, the white griffin said. His tone was not exactly triumphant, but it held pride and strength and something more, an awareness of his own strength, and a willingness to command. He said, I am become the Lord of Fire and Air. Will any challenge me?
All the other griffins shifted, not exactly rushing to put themselves at Tastairiane Apailika’s back, but reorienting themselves around him. They accepted him as their lord, Jos saw, and he saw that even Kairaithin felt the new power and confidence in the white griffin, that he could not help but respond to it, for all he was unalterably opposed to the other.
Kes said, in her smooth, light voice that was so nearly the voice Jos remembered, “Lord of Fire and Air! What wind will you call us all to ride?”
Tastairiane Apailika turned to her and said, Break the Wall.
“I will break it,” said Kes. She looked at Kairaithin. She was not laughing now. She reached out with great deliberation to set her palm against the burning stone, in a gesture that was very clearly a challenge, and a challenge that she very clearly knew her former teacher could not take up.
Come, said the new Lord of Fi
re and Air, to Kairaithin. There was a new depth and power to his voice. Tastairiane Apailika had come fully into his strength. Something about declaring himself had done that for him, or else something in the recognition of the other griffins. He commanded Kairaithin again, Come here.
Kairaithin seemed to shrink back and down—not very much, not even with any perceptible motion. But Jos saw very clearly that the griffin mage had nothing left with which to defy the new king of the griffins: neither strength nor pride nor even the certainty that recently had sustained him.
Then Bertaud, with a courage and presence of mind that astonished Jos, walked across to Kairaithin’s side. He turned there, setting one hand on the black-fathered neck, and regarded Tastairiane Apailika with an expression Jos could not read at all.
Well, man? the white griffin asked him impatiently.
Bertaud began to answer him.
What answer the Feierabianden lord might have made, Jos could not guess, but he did not have a chance to speak. Before Bertaud could utter even a single word, Kairaithin, with more decisive speed than Jos had imagined he could yet command, swept him up, and Jos with him, and took them with him, away from the Wall and out of the desert entirely.
The world tilted and turned, and raked away behind and beyond them, and they were standing abruptly on solid stone. They stood now in the mountains, in a high, clear morning above Tihannad, with Niambe Lake shining beside the city.
The city lay below them, quiet and peaceful, with no sign of any impending peril. Here and there bright-coated skaters raced along the lake’s edge where the ice was still firm enough to be trusted, but little wavelets rippled across the middle of the lake. Mist rose from the lake into the cold air. Out in the town, threads of darker smoke made their way gently up into the sky.
Law of the Broken Earth: The Griffin Mage Trilogy: Book Three Page 22
