Mercedes Lackey and Larry Dixon - Mage Wars 03 - The Silver Gryphon.txt

by The Silver Gryphon [lit]

  of the teleson, then keep themselves intact so that they can get home and

  brief us in detail.”

  Skandranon took care not to step on Amberdrake’s feet, and snorted in

  reply to his statement. “And just how likely do you think that is to happen?” he

  demanded. “They’re our children! Do you think there’s even half a chance that

  they wouldn’t see themselves as the front line of the White Gryphon defenses

  and go confront something dangerous if it appeared?”

  He maneuvered Amberdrake into the inside position, between himself and

  the cliff, as they started back down toward the city. Drake needed to walk on

  the protected inside, since if one of them was to slip on the trail, it had better

  be Skan; he could fly and Drake obviously couldn’t.

  “I honestly don’t know,” Amberdrake admitted. “My daughter baffles me

  more often than my mate does. I sometimes wonder if the midwife switched

  babies with someone else when she was born. She doesn’t seem anything

  like either of us, and believe me, I have tried to find common ground with her.”

  “I know what you mean,” Skan replied with chagrin. “Although Keenath

  affects me more that way than Tadrith does. Still. Just because we’ve never

  seen either of them act the way we did at their age, it doesn’t follow that they

  wouldn’t. If you understand what I’m trying to say.”

  “I think so.” Amberdrake picked his way over a rough spot in the trail before

  continuing. “Children tend to act differently around their parents than when

  they’re on their own. At least, that’s what I’ve observed, both professionally

  and nonprofessionally.”

  Of course he wouldn’t remember himself being that way; he lost his own

  parents and all his family when he was hardly fledged. But he’s right; I went

  out of my way to be the opposite of mine. They never wanted to be anything

  but followers, and I wanted to be the one others looked to for leadership.

  Sometimes I wonder if they weren‘t smarter than I was. “I wish we had some

  other way besides the teleson to keep track of them,” he fretted. “It’s very

  tempting to wish that Urtho was here to give us another Kechara. . . .”

  He couldn’t finish the sentence; the pang of loss he felt even when

  mentioning the name of the creator of his adoptive “daughter” was enough to

  still his voice for a moment.

  “It’s more than tempting to wish she was the way she used to be,”

  Amberdrake sighed, “and not just because she’d be useful now. I’d gladly

  continue all the evasion and diplomatic garbage we had to concoct for the

  Haighlei if it meant she was still such a powerful Mindspeaker. She is such a

  cheerful little soul, though; I don’t miss her powers at all if it means we get to

  see her alive and happy.”

  Kechara had been one of Urtho’s rare “mistakes,” although Skan had never

  discovered what his leader, mentor, and friend had intended when he created

  her. Had she simply been a first attempt at the “gryfalcon” type, of which

  Zhaneel was the outstanding example? Was it possible that she had been a

  deliberate attempt to create a gryphon with tremendous ability at mind-magic?

  Or had she simply been a “sport,” something Urtho had not intended at all, an

  accident that Urtho saw and carried through, then hid away for her own

  protection?

  Whichever the case had been, little Kechara had been what the other

  gryphons referred to as a “misborn.” Severely stunted, slightly misshapen,

  with wings far too long for her dwarfed body, her mind had been frozen in an

  eternally childlike state. But her pure strength at mind-magic had been without

  equal. Adorable little Kechara had been able to reach her mind-voice as far

  away as the Haighlei capital of Khimbata, which was how she had discovered

  where Amberdrake and Skandranon had been made prisoners long ago. The

  madman Hadanelith and his two Haighlei allies had captured them in the last

  stage before the attempted assassination of Emperor Shalaman during the

  Eclipse Ceremony. Without Kechara, Skandranon would never have been

  able to get away in time to save him, and Amberdrake most certainly would

  not even be alive at this moment. Impelled by danger to him that even she

  had been able to perceive, her mental “shout” had sundered magical shields

  and incapacitated Hadanelith’s two allies across all that distance.

  Urtho had known just how powerful her abilities were, and had kept her

  close-confined in his Tower for safekeeping. He had known that she might be

  viewed as a prize to be captured or a weapon to be used, and had thought to

  protect her from that fate. But in confining her, he had assumed that she

  would not live very long, an assumption that had proved incorrect.

  Skan shook his head. “I agree. And I also know that I would never want to

  take the chance that another one with worse problems than hers might be

  born—we just don’t have the skill and judgment that Urtho did. We all love

  her, but Kechara’s flaws were too high a price to pay for her gifts, objectively

  speaking. Quite frankly, I think that it is only because she still doesn’t

  understand most of what she saw in other people’s minds that she hasn’t

  been driven mad by it all.”

  He had done his best to make certain she never lost her trusting nature—

  and so had Judeth, Aubri, and anyone else in White Gryphon who ever came

  into contact with her. In her turn, she served the city and its people faithfully

  and joyously. She carefully relayed messages she barely, if ever, understood

  to and from all of the Silvers with even a touch of mind-magic of their own. It

  was a task they had all tried to ensure was never a chore for her, and she had

  loved the attention and approval.

  Skan reflected that it was odd, the way the Haighlei had acted concerning

  her. For them, a creature with the mind of a child and the ability to read

  anyone’s thoughts would have been a blasphemy. For a year or two after the

  Eclipse Ceremony, Skan was fairly certain the Kaled’a’in had been able to

  keep Kechara’s existence secret from their allies— but eventually they surely

  had discovered just what she was. There had been many, many circumspect

  little hints, diplomatic tail-chases and discreet suggestions. Finally an official

  communique from High King Shalaman had come, advising the “permanent

  elimination of the long-range communicator of White Gryphon”—referring to

  Kechara—making it clear by its phrasing that it was not an idle request, and

  that not doing so would have grave consequences. Skandranon, Zhaneel, and

  Amberdrake went to Khimbata to appeal to Shalaman in private, and returned

  to White Gryphon with a delegation of mages led by Advisor Leyuet. Between

  various nervous ceremonies of state, “Papa Skan” explained to Kechara that it

  was time for her to rest from her work, and that they were going to make sure

  nobody was ever scared of her. Kechara trusted Skandranon completely, of

  course, and gleefully greeted the delegation. The grim-faced Haighlei, who

  were steeling themselves to meet a monster and fight against its horrible soul-

  invading power, instead fa
ced a little creature who only thought they were

  very funny and demanded their absurdly elaborate and colorful hats to play

  with.

  Well, that’s the Haighlei for you. I suspect one could probably get away with

  just about anything, so long as it was wrapped in the proper historical

  protocol. Come to think of it, the reason Shalaman was so incensed about

  those murders in his Court was because the assassinations hadn’t been done

  with the proper protocol! Perhaps if we could have found a way for Kechara to

  be put into Shalaman’s service under their religion, she could have kept her

  powers—but that wouldn’t really have been true to her, either, and it would

  only have made her into the tool, the bargaining chip that Urtho feared she’d

  be used as. It would have destroyed her loving innocence if she were used

  against one of us and realized it. At least this way she could stay at home and

  play. At least she can still talk to all the gryphons, as long as they’re within the

  city limits.

  “Well, what are we going to do, old friend?” the aging gryphon asked, as

  they picked their way steadily down to the topmost level of the city. This level

  was the receiving platform for everything lowered down from the cliffs above,

  or sent up from the city to the cliffs. Work crews were already unloading

  pallets of food from the farms, and would continue to do so all day. “What do

  we do about the children, I mean?”

  “What can we do?” Amberdrake asked, with only the faintest hint of

  irritation. He led the way to the broad white-painted stairs that formed the

  back slope of the White Gryphon’s “head.” “Nothing. This is their job; the job

  they chose. They’ve been assigned to it by their superiors, who have judged

  them capable. Like it or not, they have grown up, and I’m afraid we had better

  start getting used to that.”

  Skan ground his beak and prowled after him, talons clicking on the stone

  ramp alongside the stairs, which was easier for a gryphon to handle than

  steps. “I don’t like it,” he said finally. “But I can’t tell you why.”

  Amberdrake stopped suddenly, turned, and faced him, looking down at his

  friend with a troubled expression as the gryphon stopped a step later and

  looked up. “I don’t either, and I haven’t any real reason to feel this way. I wish

  I could say that I have a premonition about this—because this feeling that

  there is something wrong makes me look like a nervous old aunty—”

  “But?” Skan prompted. “You’re worried you don’t have the correct dress to

  play aunty?”

  Amberdrake chuckled, then sighed. “But I am afraid I haven’t had anything

  of the sort, and there hasn’t been a solid sign from anyone who does have

  Foresight that something is going to go wrong with Blade and Tad. I know

  what I would say to any of my clients who felt this way.”

  Skan looked into his friend’s eyes, and shook his head. “Let me guess.

  What we are feeling is a combination of old war reactions, and unhappiness

  because this fledging of our youngsters is a sure sign that we are getting old.”

  “Too true. And who wants to know that he is getting old? Not I, I can

  promise you.” Amberdrake’s expression was as honest as it was rueful. “I’ve

  been keeping my body limber and capable for decades now, through all kinds

  of strain, as loose as a down-feather and as tight as whipcord as needed,

  but—it’s all been to last as long as possible during the pace of time. One

  never bothers to think about growing old as one is growing older. Then

  suddenly it is there, looming in your face. Your bones and joints ache,

  youngsters are expressing concern that you are overexerting yourself, and

  when you try to insist that your experience means you know more than they

  do, you find them exchanging knowing looks when they think you don’t

  notice.”

  “Alas. It is life’s cruelty, I say. One moment we are fretting because we are

  not considered old enough to do anything interesting, then we turn around

  and younglings barely fledged are flying off to do the interesting things we

  can’t do anymore!” Skan shook his head, and looked out over the ocean. “And

  we are supposed to accept this gracefully! It is hardly fair. I protest! I believe

  that I shall become a curmudgeon. Then at least I can complain, and it will be

  expected of me.”

  “Too late for that.”

  Skandranon snorted, “Then I shall be an exceptional curmudgeon. I’ve

  earned the title. The Curmudgeon King.”

  “Endured Where E’er He Goes. May I join you, then? We can drive the

  youngsters to distraction together.” Amberdrake seemed to have thrown off

  some of his anxiety and, to his surprise, Skan realized that he had relaxed a

  bit as well.

  “Certainly,” the Black Gryphon replied with dignity. “Let’s go down to the

  obstacle course, and make loud comments about how we used to run it better

  and in half the time.”

  “And with more style,” Amberdrake suggested. “Finesse and grace, not

  brutal power.”

  “Naturally,” Skan agreed. “It couldn’t have happened any other way—as far

  as they know.”

  “So, just how worried are you?” Winterhart asked Zhaneel as soon as they

  were out of the range of Skandranon’s hearing. As a trondi’irn she had a very

  good notion of just how sensitive any given gryphon’s senses were, but she

  knew Skan’s abilities in excruciating detail. For all that he was suffering the

  onset of the ailments of age, he was a magnificent specimen with outstanding

  physical abilities, not just for his age, but for any gryphon male.

  “About Skan, or about the children?” Zhaneel asked, with a sidelong glance

  at her companion.

  “Hmm. Both, of course,” she replied, returning Zhaneel’s glance. She’s just

  as observant as I thought. “Skan, first. He’s the one we have to live with.”

  “As we must live with Amberdrake, heyla?” Zhaneel nodded shrewdly.

  “Well. Come and sit beside me here, where the wind will carry away the words

  we do not wish overheard, and we will discuss our mates.” She nodded her

  beak at a fine wooden bench made of wave- and wind-sculpted driftwood, and

  sat down beside it on the cool stone rimming the cliff.

  Winterhart sank gracefully down into a welcoming curve of the bench, and

  laid one arm along the back of it. “Drake is very unhappy about all this. I think

  he expected Judeth and Aubri to assign Blade to something like bodyguard

  duty, or city-patrol. I don’t think it ever occurred to him that they might send

  her out of the city, much less so far away.”

  It didn’t occur to me, either, but it should have. I’ve known that Blade

  wanted to get away from the city—and us—for the past year. Maybe if Drake

  hadn’t been so adamant about her living with us until she was a full Silver. . . .

  Keeth and Tad had been able to move out in part because Skan had lent

  them his resources to excavate a new home to trade for an existing one.

  Sensing Blade’s restlessness, Winterhart had tried to persuade Drake to do

  the same for Blade, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

 
; “Why should she need to move out?” he’d asked at the time. “It’s not as if

  she has any need for a place of her own. We give her all the privacy she

  would have anywhere else, and it’s not as if she could feel embarrassed to

  bring a lover here!” Then he had sighed dramatically. “Not that there’s any

  interest in that quarter.

  The way she’s been acting, a vow of celibacy would be an improvement in

  her love life. Where could we have gone wrong? It’s almost like she doesn ‘t

  want to listen to her body.”

  Winterhart could have told him—that children were always embarrassed by

  the proximity of their parents when trying out the first tentative steps in the

  dance of amorous life, and inhibited by their parents when learning for the first

  time what kind of adults they would become—but she knew he wouldn’t

  believe her. He would have, if Blade had been anyone else’s child, but not

  when he was her father. A parent can sometimes be too close to his child to

  think about her objectively. When it came to seeing someone else’s children,

  a parent could see a larger canvas, but with their own—all they would see

  were the close daily details, and not grasp the broad strokes. Amberdrake,

  brilliant as he was, couldn’t grasp things like Blade not wanting to be around

  parents as she learned her body’s passions. And if Blade had actually come

  out and asked him for a place of her own, he would probably have given in

  and made it possible. But she was too shy and too proud, and now, in

  retrospect, Winterhart could see that requesting assignment to outpost duty

  had probably seemed the only way she could get that longed-for privacy.

  “Skandranon is fretting, but not to pieces, I think,” Zhaneel said, after a long

  pause during which she gazed out seaward. She might have been watching

  the fishing fleet; her eyes were certainly sharp enough to make out details in

  things that were only moving dots to Winterhart. “I hope that as he realizes the

  children are capable, he will fret less. Part of it is inaction. Part of it is that he

  wishes to do everything, and even when he was young, he could not do half

  of what he would like to do now.”

  That observation surprised a faint chuckle out of Winterhart. “It is odd how

  our youthful abilities grow larger as we age, isn’t it?” she replied. “I am