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

by The Silver Gryphon [lit]

  there, it would be hard to keep track of herd- or flock-mates. And if you yelled

  loudly enough when something grabbed you, there was a chance that you

  might startle it into letting go.

  Predators in the tree canopy would either be snakes or winged; four-footed

  predators would hunt on the ground. While it was certainly possible that there

  could be a snake up there large enough to swallow Blade or even Tad, it

  would not be able to seize both of them at once, and it would not be very fast

  except when it struck. That left winged predators, and Tad was confident that

  he would be a match for anything that flew, even grounded.

  No, what they had to worry about was what lay down here, so sounds up

  above could be dismissed unless and until they erupted in warning or alarm

  calls.

  While his vision was incredibly keen by human standards, it was even more

  suited to picking up tiny movements. So once he had identified everything that

  lay in front of the shelter, he did not need to sit and stare into the darkness as

  Blade did. He need only relax and let his eyes tell him when something out

  there had changed its position. No matter how clever a predator was at

  skulking, sooner or later it would have to cross a place where he would spot it

  moving through the shadows, even on a night with no moon.

  His hearing was just as good, and now that he knew what the normal

  noises were, he could listen through them for the sound of a grunt, a growl, or

  the hiss of breath—or for the rustle of a branch—or the crack of a twig

  snapped beneath a foot.

  That was the other reason why he didn’t mind taking second watch. When

  all was said and done, he was much better suited to it than Blade was.

  Now, if anything decided to come up behind them, he wouldn’t see it, and

  he might not hear it either. But it wouldn’t get through the canvas and basketry

  of their shelter quickly, and they should have time to defend themselves.

  Or so I tell myself.

  He stared out into the darkness, watching winking insect lights, and finally

  acknowledged to himself that, far .from feeling competent, he was feeling

  rather helpless.

  We’re both crippled and in pain, we can’t use most of the weapons we have

  left, we aren ‘t entirely certain where we are, and we’re too far from home to

  get back, and that’s the honest truth. I don’t like it at all.

  They had to hope that in three days or so, when they didn’t make the

  appointed rendezvous, they’d be missed, and that White Gryphon would send

  out a search party looking for them. They had to hope that they could survive

  long enough to be found!

  Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself and eat! he scolded himself. You aren’t

  going to get a chance at a better meal for a while, and starving yourself is

  hardly going to do any good. Whatever Blade fixed, it probably won’t keep

  past morning.

  Slowly, to make them last, he ate the meat-and-vegetable cakes that Blade

  had concocted. They weren’t bad, considering how awful they could have

  been. Blade was not noted for being anything other than an indifferent cook,

  and these had actually been one of her best efforts. The two of them would

  probably joke about the incongruity of cooking a gourmet meal in the middle

  of a disaster, after they had escaped this stranding and healed. Of course, to

  hear the stories about Father, you would think he was so dashing that he

  would fight off two hundred makaar, seduce his wingleader, arrange a tryst,

  fight off another hundred makaar, and then pause for tea from a silver cup.

  Blade had placed the odd cakes close enough to the fire that they kept

  warm without burning or drying out much. They would probably stay with him

  for a while, which was a good thing, since he wasn’t going to be doing much

  hunting for the next couple of days. And even then, in order to take down the

  size of prey he was used to, he’d have to somehow surprise it on the ground.

  Father’s claims about being able to slip through enemy lines unseen might

  be true, but deer have keener noses and ears than human soldiers. I’m going

  to have to be very lucky to catch anything larger than a squirrel.

  He was satisfied before finishing the cakes, so he covered the last four of

  them with a leaf followed by a layer of hot ashes, burying them next to the fire.

  He would leave them for breakfast; they should keep that long. Then he

  rested his chin on his foreclaws and resumed his interrupted thoughts.

  The trouble is, I have no idea just what it was that knocked us out of the

  sky.

  Obviously, he had several options. It could have been a purely natural

  phenomenon—or, if not natural, simply an anomalous and accidental creation

  of the mage-storms.

  The trouble with that theory is that there have been a number of folk

  through here, Haighlei included. So that precludes it being stationary or

  ground bound. If it was something natural or accidental, it had to be

  stationary, it seemed, so why didn’t anyone discover it before this? The

  Haighlei in particular, suspicious as they were of anything magical that was

  not under the direct control of one of their Priest-Mages, made a point of

  looking for such “wild” magic, using broad, far-ranging sweeps. They had

  established the outpost; they would have come this way, though perhaps not

  this exact route. They should have found something this powerful.

  Granted, we were a bit off the regular route. I wasn‘t watching the ground

  that closely for landmarks, I was watching the sky for weather. I think I was

  even veering off a bit to avoid the worst of the storm.

  Still, a “bad spot,” even a null area, should show up to any skilled mage

  who was looking for it. It should be obvious to any mage looking for oddities.

  I wasn’t looking; I have to think about using mage-sight in order to see

  things. I’m not like Snowstar, who has to remind himself not to use it.

  That left the next possibility; it was something new, or else something that

  was outside his knowledge. He inexorably moved his thoughts toward the

  uneasy concept that something had brought them down intentionally, either in

  an attack or as a measure of preventive defense.

  But if it was a defensive measure, how did they ever see us from the

  ground? The attack couldn’t have come from the air; there hadn’t been

  anything in the air except birds and themselves. It hadn’t come from the tree

  canopy, or he would have seen something directly below. It had to have come

  from ground level, below the tree canopy, so how had “they” seen the basket,

  Blade, and Tad?

  Still, so far, whatever brought them down hadn’t come after them; that

  argued in favor of it being a defensive, perhaps even a reflexive, answer to a

  perceived threat.

  But it happened so quickly! Unless “they” had a spell actually ready to do

  something like that, I can’t see how “they” could have done this before we got

  out of range!

  That argued for an attack; argued for attackers who might actually have

  trailed them some time before they landed last night, and waited for them to

  get into the sky
again before launching a spell that would send them crashing

  to the ground.

  So why didn’t they come see if they’d killed us? Could they have been that

  sure of themselves? Could they simply not have cared?

  Or could they be better at hiding themselves than he was at spotting them?

  Could they be out there right now?

  It was certainly possible that the attackers had struck from some distance

  away, and had not reached the site of the crash before he and Blade were up,

  alert, and able to defend themselves. The kind of attack certainly argued for a

  cowardly opponent, one who would want to wait until his prey was helpless or

  in an inescapable position before striking.

  Unless, of course, he is simply a slow opponent; one who was making

  certain of every inch of ground between himself and us before he initiated a

  confrontation.

  He sighed quietly. There was only one problem; this was all speculation.

  None of this gave him any hard evidence for or against anything. He just

  didn’t have any facts beyond the simplest—that they had been the victim of

  something that destroyed their holds on magic and brought them tumbling

  helplessly down out of the sky.

  So, for the rest of the night, he continued to scan the forest and keep his

  ears wide open, starting at every tiny sound, and cursing his unending

  headache.

  Dawn was heralded by nothing more obvious than a gradual lightening of

  the darkness under the trees. Tad knew that his partner was about to waken

  when her breathing speeded up and her heartrate increased—both of which

  he could hear quite easily. At his side, Blade yawned, stirred, started to

  stretch, and swore under her breath at the pain that movement caused her.

  Tad hooked a talon around the strap of the medical supply bag and

  dragged it over to her so she could rummage in it without moving much. She

  heard him, and shoved her hand in and pulled out one of the little vials;

  without being asked, he pierced the wax seal with his talon, and she drank it

  down.

  Blade lay quietly for many long moments before her painkillers took effect.

  “I assume nothing happened last night?” She made it an inquiry.

  “Nothing worth talking about—except that I think there was some

  squabbling over the remains of the foodstuffs.” He hadn’t heard anything in

  particular except a few grunts and the sound of an impact, as if one of the

  scavengers had cuffed another. “We ought to consider putting out snares,

  especially whipsnares that would take a catch out of reach of the ground. It

  would be very frustrating to discover we’d trapped something, but a scavenger

  beat us to it.”

  She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes with her good hand. “I should have

  thought of that last night,” she said ruefully.

  “They wouldn’t have worked last night,” he pointed out. “It was raining until

  well after dark. Chances are, the lines would have been ruined, or stakes

  pulled out of the mud. If it doesn’t rain that badly today, we can put them out

  after the afternoon rains are over.”

  She yawned again, then grimaced and gingerly rubbed her bruised jaw.

  “Good idea,” she agreed. “Snares are a more efficient means of getting us

  supplemental rations than hunting. We’ll trap the area where I dumped the

  ruined food. Even if there’s nothing left, animals still might come back hoping

  there will be. Oh, gods, I am stiff and sore!”

  “I know precisely how you feel. I saved us some breakfast.” He scraped

  away the ashes and revealed the cakes, now a bit crisper than they had been,

  and a bit grimier, but still edible. I wish I had some bruise medicine that would

  work as well on me as hers does on her.

  “Did you!” She brightened, and scratched the back of her neck with her

  good hand. “Well, that puts a better complexion on things! And my bruise

  remedy seems to have the additional value of keeping away bugs; for once I

  haven’t got any new bites. Do you think you want another dose of your

  painkillers?”

  He shook his head. “I took one as soon as it was light enough to see which

  vial was which.” He handed her a cake, and ate the remaining three, neatly

  but quickly. One cake seemed to be substantial enough to satisfy her, though

  he noted that she did devour every crumb and licked her fingers clean

  afterward. Thanks to the fact that she had filled and refilled every container

  they had, he had even been able to get a drink without her assistance from a

  wide pot.

  He waited until she ate, washed her face and hands, and looked a bit more

  alert. “Now what do we do?” he asked, as she dried off her face on her ruined

  tunic of yesterday. He made a mental note to have her set that out when the

  rains started, to give it a primitive wash.

  She sat back on her heels, wincing as she jarred her shoulder. “Now—we

  discuss options,” she said slowly. “What we do next, and where we go.”

  He stretched, taking care with his bandaged{wing, and settled back again.

  “Options,” he repeated after her. “Well, we both know that the best thing we

  can do is stay here. Right?”

  “And build a beacon.” She squinted past the canvas up through the

  treetops, at the tiny patches of sky visible, now and again, winking through the

  greenery like bright white eyes. “A very smoky beacon. It’s going to take a lot

  of smoke to trickle up through that cover.”

  “It’s going to take two or three days before they know we’re missing,” he

  said aloud, just to make certain he had all of his reasoning straight. “We have

  a shelter, and we can make it better and stronger, just by using available

  wood and leaves. I saw what you did with that windbreak, and we could

  certainly add layers of ‘wall’ that way over the canvas and wicker. If you look

  at the fallen leaves, you’ll see that the ones you used dry up a lot like light

  leather; they’ll hold up as shelter material.”

  She nodded, although she made a face. “It won’t be easy, one-handed,”

  she warned. “And I’m still the only decent knot tier in this team. You can bite

  holes, I can tie cord through them, but it is still tedious.”

  “So we take it slowly. I can do quite a bit, I just have to be careful.” He

  paused for a moment, and went on. “We’re injured, but I’m still a full-grown

  gryphon, and there aren’t too many things that care to take on something my

  size, hurt or not.”

  “In that two or three days, whatever brought us down can find us, study us,

  and make its own plans,” she countered, falling easily into the role of

  opposition—just as he would, when she proposed a plan. “We have to

  assume we were attacked and plan accordingly to defend ourselves. This

  place isn’t exactly defensible.”

  He nodded; that was obvious enough. There was cover on all sides, and

  they didn’t have the means to clear it all away, not even by burning it down.

  Assuming they could. He wasn’t willing to place bets on anything. Chances

  were, if they tried, nothing would happen; after all, they had no way to take

  down trees with trunks big enough for two and three men to pu
t their arms

  around. But there was always the chance that they would succeed “better”

  than they anticipated—and set fire to the whole forest, trapping themselves in

  an inferno. He had not forgotten that the green wood around the fire last night

  had certainly burned more efficiently than he had anticipated. No, setting fire

  to this place to get a defensible clearing was not a good idea.

  “We ought to be someplace where our beacon has a chance of being seen

  at night,” she went on. “I don’t think we made that big a hole in the tree cover

  when we went through it.”

  “We didn’t; I checked.” Too bad, but she was right. Half the use of the

  beacon was at night, but there wasn’t a chance that a night flyer would see a

  fire on the ground unless it was much larger than one that two people could

  build and tend alone.

  “The last problem is that there’s no source of water here,” she concluded,

  and held up her good hand. “I know we’ve had plenty of rain every afternoon

  ever since we entered this area, but we don’t dare count on that. So—we’re in

  an undistinguished spot with no landmarks, under the tree canopy, with

  nothing to put our backs against, and no source of water.”

  He grimaced. “When you put it that way, staying here doesn’t seem like

  much of an option.”

  “We only have to go far enough to find a stream or a pond,” she pointed

  out. “With luck, that might not be too far away. We’ll get our break in the

  cover, and our water source, and we can worry about making it defensible

  when we see what kind of territory we’re dealing with. But I think we ought to

  at least consider moving.”

  “Maybe,” he said, doubtfully, “but—”

  What he was going to reply was lost in the rumble of thunder overhead—

  and the spatter of rain on leaves.

  “—not today,” he breathed, as the rain came down again, as torrential as

  yesterday, but much earlier in the day.

  Blade swore and stuck her head out to get a good look at the rain—a little

  too far, as she managed to jiggle the canvas and wicker of their roof just

  enough to send a cascade of cold water down the back of her neck. She

  jerked back, and turned white with pain.

  The stream of oaths she uttered would have done a hardened trooper

  proud, but Tad didn’t say anything. The cold water was insult enough, but