Mercedes Lackey & Larry Dixon - Mage Wars 03 - The Silver Gryphon

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The Silver Gryphon
Mage Wars 03
by Mercedes Lackey & Larry Dixon
version 2.0 compared to original, spell checked, completed February 6, 2004
Dedicated to "Dusty" Rhoades, Mike Hackett,
Scott Rodgers, and the rest of those
who know the Infobahn is a tool
not a religion.
One
Freedom!
Tadrith Skandrakae extended his broad gray wings, stretching out his muscles to their fullest extent
to take best advantage of the warm wind beneath him. Freedom at last! I thought I'd never get away
from that Section meeting. He banked just slightly to his left, slipping sideways for the best line. I know
it wasn't my good looks or charm that were putting me under that old crow's watch! I swear,
Aubri must get a special pleasure out of keeping people around him who desperately want to be
somewhere else. He half-closed his eyes against the glare of the sun on the water beneath him. He was
conscious of two pressures, one tangible and one fanciful; the warm imagined push of the sun on his
back, and the strong uplift of the thermal beneath him. Then again, maybe there were three pressures, or
four; the warm air below, the hot sun above, and the twin desires to be away from the boredom of yet
another Section meeting and the wish to be headed for something exciting.
The thermal tasted of salt and seaweed, and it gave him some welcome relief from rowing his wings
against the breeze. Beneath and beyond his left wing, the great Western Sea shone green-blue and vast,
the horizon a sharp line where the brilliant turquoise of the sky met the deep emerald green of the water
farther out. To his right, the cliff-built city of White Gryphon sent back the rays of the sun in a dazzling
display of snowy stone laced with growing things, drifts of trailing vines, and falling water. As had been
planned a generation ago, the city itself was laid out in the shape of a stylized gryphon with his wings
spread proudly against the mossy uncut stone of the cliff. By day, it glowed; by night, it glimmered, lit
with candle, lantern and mage-light. Tadrith loved it; a proud, promising, beckoning city, home to
thousands.
Beneath him, the olive-green waters of the cove rolled calmly against the base of the cliff and gurgled
around the pillars of the dock, a delicate lace-work of foam atop the swells. The moorings there were all
empty except for light utility craft, for the fishing fleet of White Gryphon would be out at sea until sunset,
Tadrith himself had served with the fleet in his first year as a Silver Gryphon; young gryphons acted as
aerial scouts, spotting schools of fish from above, and then worked as catch haulers later in the day.
The only time that nets were used was when the catch haulers were taking the catch in to the shore.
In their first years here, the fleet had fished with drag- and gill-nets, but did so no more. Their Haighlei
allies had been horrified at the wastage caused by net fishing, for inedible sea life had been caught and
wantonly destroyed along with the edible fish. They had rightfully pointed out that the Kaled'a'in would
not have countenanced such wastage in hunting, so why should they allow it in fishing? Fishing was
another form of hunting, after all; you did not kill creatures that were of no threat or use to you in the
forest, so why do so in the sea? So now the fleets used only baited lines, allowing for the release of fish
that were too young or unwanted. It took longer, and was more work, but that was a small matter
compared with the fact that it ensured feeding the next generation, and the ten after that.
Ten generations to come. That's always the concern—the generations to come. Plan and
work for ten generations' benefit, Amberdrake says. Even if we wear ourselves to wingsails and
bones doing it!
Such thoughts tended to come to everyone at White Gryphon from time to time. Among the young,
like him, they came to mind at least once an hour; in times of even harder work, they arose every few
minutes. It was only natural, after all, that a day of bright sun and promise would hold a virile young
gryphon's attention better than going over Patrol charts and Watch rosters with an elder gryphon, even
one as likable as old Aubri.
I have places to go, things to do. I'm almost positive of it.
The landing platform that Tadrith had chosen was not untenanted, a factor that had played some little
part in his choice. Not that he was vain, oh no! At least, not much. But there were three perfectly
handsome young gryphon ladies spreading their wings to catch some sun on that platform, with their
mothers in oh-so-casual attendance on the off-chance that a young bachelor might show some interest.
He knew all three of them, of course; Dharra was a year older than he and a mage, Kylleen a year
younger and still serving with the fleet, and Jerrinni a fellow Silver. She was already working with a
partner on unsupervised assignments, and he particularly wanted to impress her if he could. She was by
far the most attractive of the three, being of the same goshawk type that he was. But that was not the
only reason for his interest in her; she was also his senior in the Silvers and her comments to her superiors
might edge him up a little toward his long-delayed promotion to unsupervised assignments.
I wear the badge, but I am not yet allowed to bear the responsibilities the badge represents.
He did not have to glance down at his harness to see that badge, made in the form of a stylized gryphon.
The Silver Gryphons, so named for that silver badge they wore, served in every kind of military and
policing capacity that fighters, guards, scouts, and constables had in the old days. And in addition to
those tasks, the gryphons in the Silvers—especially the young ones still in training—made themselves
useful in a variety of other tasks.
Or to be more precise, their leaders assigned them to those so-useful tasks. Like hauling cargo, or
carry-nets full of fish, or hoisting supplies, meat from the herds, and the fruits of the fields down from the
top of the cliff, for instance.
Or sitting through boring meetings.
I have a hundred things that need to be done, Or as Father would say, "places to go, people
to be." He makes a joke of it, but I live it, more than he ever did even after all of his adventures
and missions and roles. Even more than he did at the Eclipse Ceremony.
He sideslipped and caught another thermal, one that would place him precisely where he wanted to
be. The thought of his father, as always, made him flinch internally. Not that Skandranon was a bad
father—oh, no! He was an excellent teacher, provider, and friend. He was a fine father, but he was a
very difficult person to have as a father. Trying to live up to the image of the Black Gryphon was...
difficult and vexing. He may be a living legend, but it makes being his son a living hell.
But the platform and its attractive occupants loomed up before and beneath him, and Tadrith
allowed himself a touch of smug satisfaction. He prided himself on his aerobatics, and most especially on
his control. His mother Zhaneel was the gryphon who had been most revered for her flying finesse, and
he had studied her techniques more than his father's. At least the Great Skandranon can't do this as
well as I can....
Tadrith banked in over the platform and pulled up, to stall in midair and then fall, wings cupped, to
land standing on one foot, then two, and from then to all fours without any sound louder than the creak of
the platform accepting his weight. The gryphon ladies all gazed on in approval, impressed by his display
of control and dexterity, and Kylleen cooed aloud and smiled in his direction.
Yes! That worked out just the way I wanted. Tadrith stood rock steady and struck a momentary
pose, wings folded crisply, crest up and gently ruffled by the breeze. Just right. That will show them
what I'm made of. Father never flew like that! He'd have powered straight in and knocked them
half off their feet with the backwash of his wingbeats. I have finesse and style!
Tadrith's self-congratulatory reverie was shattered a moment later when one mother said to another,
"Did you see that? Why, he's the very image of his father, with aerobatics like that."
Crushed, Tadrith drooped his head and crest and stepped off the platform.
I'm doomed.
At least the younger ladies seemed oblivious to the effect that the casual remark had on him. They
continued to bestow coy and admiring glances on him as he made as unhurried and graceful an exit as he
could manage under the circumstances.
The platform jutted out over the cove below, and led directly to one of the balustraded "streets" that
ran along the edge of the terrace. The Kaled'a'in who comprised the greater part of the population of
White Gryphon were accustomed to being surrounded by greenery, and even in a city carved and built
completely of cliff-stone had managed to bring that greenery here. Built into the balustrades were stone
boxes filled with earth brought down a sackful at a time from the fields above; those boxes now held
luxuriant vines that trailed down to the next terraced level. More stone boxes each held a single tree or
bush, with flowering herbs planted at its base. There was water enough coming down from above to
allow for the occasional tiny waterfall to trail artfully from terrace to terrace and end in a long fall to the
sea. The greenery had been planned so that it actually formed feather-patterns, adding texture to the pure
white of the stone gryphon. Part of the philosophy of White Gryphon, when the city was planned, had
been "recovery with dignity." The leaders of the people—Skandranon included—used the survivors'
artistry and style as a point of pride and unification. If a simple box would do, an ornamented box was
better. This strategy of increased self-esteem, guided by the kestra'chern, worked in making the people
feel less like beaten refugees and more like proud homesteaders.
The philosophy was simple. If an object could be made beautiful—whether it was a street,
doorway, or garden—it was.
Homes were carved directly into the cliff behind the avenue, some going twenty or thirty
gryphon-lengths back into the stone. The size of a family home or a gryphon aerie was limited only to the
willingness of family members to dig (or pay for someone else to dig)—and to live in the windowless
spaces beyond the main rooms. Gryphons tended to find such spaces disturbing and confining and
preferred not to carve more than two rooms'-worth deep, but hertasi and kyree and even some humans
actually liked the idea of such burrows, and sent their dwellings quite far back indeed. There were entire
complexes of man-made caverns back in those cliffs, and Tadrith had to admit that the one advantage
they had was that weather made little or no difference to the folk living in those rooms.
Amberdrake was one such. He and Winterhart had buried their personal chambers so far back into
the living stone that no natural light ever reached there to disturb late sleepers. Tadrith shuddered at the
very thought of so much rock on every side, cutting him off from the air and light. He had no idea how his
partner Blade ever tolerated it, for she was another such as her parents.
Not that a gryphon ever needs to worry about being forced to live in such a place. Not while
there are hertasi and kyree vying for such mausoleums and eager to give up cliff-side residences to
have one. In the early days, when simply getting a dwelling carved out quickly had been of paramount
importance, it had been faster and easier just to sculpt rooms side-by-side, often simply enlarging and
improving existing caves. Mage-lights to aid in working deeper into the stone had been at a premium, and
there were long stretches of time when magic could not be used to help work the stone at all, so that it all
had to be done by hand. Workers tended to carve to a standard that happened to be preferred by most
humans and all gryphons and tervardi. The dyheli, of course, needed the barest of shelters to be
contented and all lived above, among the farms, but the hertasi and kyree who really were not
comfortable with views of endless sky and long drops were forced to make do until there was time and
the resources to create dwellings more to their liking. That meant there were always those who would
happily trade an older, "precarious perch" for a newly-chiseled burrow. There were wider terraces, of
course, that permitted real buildings and even small gardens, but those were all in the "body" of White
Gryphon and most building space was reserved for public use. It was probably fair to say that
three-quarters of the population of White Gryphon lived in glorified cave dwellings.
That was how Tadrith and his twin, Keenath, had gotten their own aerie, which allowed them to
move out of their parents' home; they'd found a narrow stretch of unexcavated terrace down at the
bottom of White Gryphon's "tail" and had claimed it for themselves, then hired a team of masons to carve
out a long set of six rooms, one after the other, deep into the living rock. This sort of residence was
precisely the kind preferred by den-loving kyree and burrowing hertasi. Once the dwelling had been
roughed in and the twins made it known that they were willing to trade, there was a bidding war going on
even before it was completed.
The result was that Tadrith and Keenath had their own bachelor suite of one main room, a food
storage chamber, and two light and airy bedrooms on either side of the main room. Both bedchambers
had windows overlooking the cliff, as had the main room. The kyree family that had gratefully traded this
aerie for the dark tunnellike series of rooms pronounced themselves overjoyed to be leaving such a
drafty, windswept perch, and had wondered why their parents had ever chosen it!
Which only proves that one creature's cozy nest is another creature's draft-ridden mess of
sticks.
As Tadrith neared his home, which was out on what would be the first primary of the White
Gryphon's right wing, the "avenue" narrowed to a simple pathway, and the balustrade to a knee-high,
narrow ledge of stone. Perhaps that had something to do with the kyree's reluctance to live
there—certainly such an arrangement would be dangerous for young, clumsy cubs. Tadrith and Keenath
had been raised in an aerie virtually identical to this one, but on the first primary of the White Gryphon's
left wing; that distance between them and their beloved parents had played no small part in their final
decision as to which family would win the bidding war.
Tadrith could, if he had chosen to do so, actually have landed on the balustrade right outside his own
door—but landing anywhere other than the public landing platforms was considered a breech of safety,
for it encouraged the just-fledged youngsters, who were by no means as coordinated as they thought
they were, to reckless behavior. No lives had been lost, but several limbs had been broken, when
younglings had missed their landings and slipped off the edge or tumbled into a group of passersby. After
a number of hysterical mothers demanded that the Council do something about the problem, the landing
platforms were installed and gryphons and tervardi were "strongly encouraged" to use them. Tadrith and
Keenath, with every eye in White Gryphon always on them, had been scrupulous in their use of the public
landing platforms.
By daylight, anyway. And no fledge is allowed to fly after dark, so they'll never see us when
we cheat.
In glorious weather like this, the doors and windows always stood wide open, so Tadrith simply
strolled inside his shared dwelling, his claws clicking on the bare stone of the floor. The room they used
for company was airy and full of light, with the rock of the outer wall carved into several tall panels with
thin shafts of wood between them. Translucent panes of the tough material the Kaled'a'in used for
windows were set into wooden frames on hinges, which in turn were set into the stone. The room itself
was furnished only with cushions of various sizes, all covered in fabric in the colors of sandstone and
granite, slate and shale. In the winter, thick sheepskins and wool rugs would cover that cold white floor,
and the doors and windows would be shut tight against the gales, but in the summer all those coverings
were whisked away into storage so that an overheated gryphon could lie belly-down on the cool rock
floor and dump some of that body heat quickly. And, in fact, Keenath was doing just that, spread out on
the floor, with wings fanned, panting slightly.
"I was just thinking about dinner," his twin greeted him. "I might have known that thoughts of food
would bring you home."
Tadrith snorted. "Just because you're obsessed with eating it doesn't follow that I am! I'll have you
know that I only just now escaped from yet another yawnsome Section meeting. Food was the very last
thing on my mind, and escaping Aubri was the first!"
Keenath laughed silently, beak parted, as his tongue flicked in and out while his sides heaved. "That
must have been a first, then," he bantered. "So who was she? The pretty young thing that your mind was
really on, I mean. Kylleen, perhaps?"
Tadrith was not going to get caught in that trap. "I haven't made up my mind," he said loftily. "I have
so many to choose from, after all, it hardly seems reasonable to narrow the field this early in the race. It
wouldn't be fair to the ladies, either, to deny my company to any of them. It is only polite to distribute my
attentions over as wide a selection as possible."
Keenath reached out a claw and snagged a pillow, spun it twice as he raised up, and expertly hurled
it at his brother's head. Tadrith ducked, and it shot across the room to thud against the wall on the other
side."You should be careful doing that," he warned, flopping down on the cool stone himself. "We've lost
too many pillows over the cliff that way. So what were you studying that has you panting so hard?"
"Field treatment and rescues under combat conditions, and specifically, blood stanching and wound
binding," Keenath replied. "Why? Don't ask me; we haven't seen a state of combat since before you and
I were born. Winterhart's idea. Probably because I take after Mother."
Tadrith nodded; Keenath was very similar in size and build to their mother, Zhaneel. Like her, he
was technically a gryfalcon rather than a gryphon. He was small and light, most of his musculature in his
chest and shoulders. His coloring and body type were that of a peregrine, his wings long and narrow, but
most importantly, he had inherited Zhaneel's stub-taloned, dexterous claw-hands.
This was important, for Keenath was learning the craft of the trondi'irn from Winterhart herself, and
he needed "hands" as clever as a human's. Before his apprenticeship was complete, he would be able to
do anything a Healer with no Gift could do. The difference between him and an herb-, fire-, or
knife-Healer was that, like all trondi'irn, his training was tailored to the needs and physiology of
gryphons and other nonhumans.
Zhaneel had been trained as a fighter—and others had come to the realization that her small size and
lack of fighting talons could be put to other uses too late for her to learn a new trade. At that point, she
had opted to adapt her style of fighting to her body type rather than try to fit the accepted mold, and with
Skandranon's help she had made the best of her situation with brilliant results. But when Keenath had
shown early signs that he would resemble her physically, he was encouraged to think of a career in
something other than the Silvers.
Nevertheless, it had surprised everyone when he had declared he wanted to train as a trondi'irn.
Up until now, that had been an occupation reserved for humans and hertasi.
Tadrith stretched and yawned, turning his head so that the breeze coming in from the open door
could ruffle his crest-feathers. "At least you were doing something!" he complained. "I sat there until I
thought my hindquarters were going to turn to stone, and if any part of me is going to grow stiff on a day
like this, that is not my primary choice. I couldn't even take a nap; as usual, old Aubri had me
conspicuously up front. Have to maintain the tradition of the Black Gryphon, of course; have to pretend
every Section meeting is as important as a wartime conference. Have to act as if every detail could mean
life or death." He stretched again, enjoying the fact that he could always vent his frustration to his twin.
"You should be glad you look the way you do, Keeth. It's bad enough being Skandranon's son, but the
fact that I look like him doesn't even remotely help! You try living up to the legend, sometime! It's enough
to make anyone want to bite something!"
And to display the strength of his own frustration, he snagged the poor, mistreated pillow Keenath
had lately lobbed at him, and bit at it savagely. It was a good thing they had the cushions covered in
tough linen-canvas, for the pillows had to take a great deal of punishment.
"Well, if you think it's hard living up to the legend, just try breaking away from it!" Keenath retorted,
as he always did. Tadrith's twin groaned as he followed Tadrith's example, stretching. "Half the time I'm
left wondering if Winterhart isn't pushing me so hard expecting me to fail, and half the time I think she's
doing it because everyone knows Skandranon never failed at anything he tried."
Tadrith snorted and mock-scraped his hindfeet, as if burying something particularly noxious from a
previous meal. "He never let it be known how often he failed, which is the same thing to legend-builders."
His brother snorted right back and continued. "And if it isn't Winterhart, it's everyone else, watching,
waiting to see if the old Black Gryphon magic is strong enough in Keenath to enable the youngling to pull
off another miracle." He parted his beak in a sardonic grin. "At least you have a path to follow—I'm
going through new skies in the fog, and I have no idea if I'm going to run up against a cliff-face."
Naturally, Tadrith had his own set of retorts, already primed, proving how much more difficult it was
to have to follow in the wake of the Black Gryphon. It was an old set of complaints, worn familiar by
much handling, and much enjoyed by both of them.
Who can I complain to, if not to my twin? For all that they were unalike in form and temper, they
were bound by the twin-bond, and knew each other with the twin's intimacy. There were other twins
among the gryphons, and one or two sets among the humans, and all the twin-sets agreed; there was a
bond between them that was unlike any other sibling tie. Tadrith often thought that he'd never have been
able to cope with the pressure if Keenath hadn't been around, and Keenath had said the same thing
about his sibling.
Finally the litany of complaints wound to its inevitable conclusion—which was, of course, that there
was no conclusion possible. They ran through the sequence at least once every day, having long ago
decided that if they could not change their circumstances, at least they could enjoy complaining about
them.
"So what has your tail in a knot this time?" Keenath asked. "It wasn't just the meeting."
Tadrith rolled over on his back to let the breeze cool his belly. "Sometimes I think I'm going to do
something drastic if Blade and I don't get assigned soon!" he replied, discontentedly. "What are they
waiting for? We've earned our freedom by now!"
"They could be waiting for you to finally demonstrate a little patience, featherhead," Keenath said,
and had to duck as the pillow made a return trip in his direction.
There might have been more pillows than just the one flying, if Silverblade herself, Tadrith's partner,
hadn't chosen that moment to walk in their open door.
She stood in the doorway, posing unconsciously, with the sun making a dark silhouette of her against
the brilliant sky. Tadrith knew it was not a conscious pose; it was totally out of her nature to do anything
to draw attention to herself unless it was necessary. Blade was the name the gryphons knew her by,
though her childhood name hadn't been the use-name she wore now; it had been "Windsong," so dubbed
by her fond parents in the hopes, no doubt, that she would grow up to resemble one or the other of them.
"Windsong" was a perfectly good name for a trondi'irn or even a kestra'chern or a Kaled'a'in Healer or
mage. But "Windsong" hadn't had the inclination for any of those things.
The young woman who broke her pose and strode into the aerie with the soundless tread of a hunter
was small by Kaled'a'in standards, although there was no mistaking her lineage. Her short black hair, cut
in a way that suggested an aggressive bird of prey, framed a face that could only have graced the head of
one of the Clan k'Leshya, and her beak of a nose continued the impression of a hunting hawk. Her
golden skin proclaimed the lineage further, as did her brilliantly blue eyes. There was nothing of her
mother about her—and very little of her father.
She fit in very well with those members of Clan k'Leshya descended from warrior stock, however.
Despite her small size, she was definitely molded in their image. There was nothing to suggest softness or
yielding; she was hard, lithe, and every bit a warrior, all muscle and whipcord.
Tadrith well recalled the first time he had seen her stand that way. The day she showed her real
personality, one month after her twelfth birthday, a month during which she had suddenly turned overnight
from a lively if undistinguished child to a rough and unpolished version of what she now was.
Amberdrake had been holding a gathering of some sort, which had included the children, and of course
Tadrith and Keenath had been in attendance. Winterhart had addressed her daughter as "Windsong"
during the course of the meal, and the little girl had unexpectedly stood up and announced to the room in
a firm and penetrating voice that she was not to be called by that name anymore.
"I am going to be a Silver," she had said, loudly and with total conviction. "I want to be called
Silverblade from now on."
Silverblade had then sat down, flushed but proud, amidst gasps and murmurs. It was a rather
dramatic move even for someone with an outgoing personality like Tadrith; for one as self-effacing as
Blade, it must have taken an enormous effort of will—or assertion of the truth, as the k'Leshya believed.
The willpower to do anything would come, the songs and writings said, if the motive was pure.
Nothing her parents could say or do would persuade her otherwise—not that Amberdrake and
Winterhart had been so selfish as to attempt to thwart her in what she so clearly wanted. From that day
on, she would respond to no other name than Silverblade, or "Blade" for short, and now even both her
parents referred to her by that name.
It certainly fits her better than "Windsong." She can't carry a tune any better than I could
carry a boulder!
"Keeth! I hear you didn't kill too many patients today, congratulations!" she said as she invited
herself into the room and sat down on one of the remaining cushions.
"Thank you," Keenath said dryly. "And do come in, won't you?"
She ignored his attempt at sarcasm. "I've got some good news, bird," she said, turning to Tadrith
and grinning broadly as he rolled over. "I didn't think it could wait, and besides, I wanted to be the one to
break it to you."
"News?" Tadrith sat up. "What kind of news?" There was only one piece of news that he really
cared about—and only one he thought Blade would want to deliver to him herself.
Her grin broadened. "You should have stayed after the meeting; there was a reason why Aubri
wanted you up front. If you were half as diligent as you pretend to be, you'd know for yourself by now."
She eyed him teasingly. "I'm tempted to string this out, just to make you squirm."
"What?" he burst out, leaping to his feet. "Tell me! Tell me this instant! Or—I'll—" He gave up,
unable to think of a threat she couldn't counter, and just ground his beak loudly.
Now she laughed, seeing that she had gotten him aroused. "Well, since it looks as if you might burst
if I don't—it's what we've been hoping for. We've gotten our first unsupervised assignment, and it's a
good one."
Only the low ceiling prevented him from leaping into the air in excitement, although he did spring up
high enough to brush his crest-feathers and wingtips against the ceiling. "When? Where? How long till we
can get in action?" He shuffled his taloned feet, his tail lashing with exuberance, all but dancing in place.
She laughed at his reaction, and gestured to him to sit down. "Just as quickly as you and I would
like, bird. We leave in six days, and we'll be gone for six moons. We're going to take charge of Outpost
Five."
Now his joy knew no bounds. "Five? Truly?" he squealed, sounding like a fledgling and not caring. "
Five?"
Outpost Five was the most remote outpost in all of the territory jointly claimed by White Gryphon
and their Haighlei allies. When this particular band of refugees had fled here, as they escaped the final
Cataclysm of the Mage of Silence's war with Ma'ar the would-be conqueror of the continent, they had
been unaware that the land they took for a new home was already claimed. They'd had no idea that it
was part of the land ruled by one of the Haighlei Emperors (whom the Kaled'a'in knew as the Black
Kings), King Shalaman. A clash with them had been narrowly averted, thanks to the work of
Amberdrake and Skandranon, Blade's father and Tadrith's. Now White Gryphon jointly held these lands
in trust with the Emperor, and its citizens were charged with the responsibility of guarding the border in
return for King Shalaman's grant of the White Gryphon lands.
It was a border of hundreds of leagues of wilderness, and the Emperor himself had not been able to
"guard" it; he had relied on the wilderness itself to do the guarding. This was not as insurmountable a task
as it might have seemed; with gryphons to fly patrol, it was possible to cover vast stretches of countryside
with minimal effort. Outpost Five was the most remote and isolated of all of the border posts. Because of
that, it was hardly the most desirable position so far as the Silvers were concerned.
For most Silvers, perhaps, but not for Blade and Tadrith. This meant three whole months in a place
so far away from White Gryphon that not even a hint of what transpired there would reach the city unless
he or Blade sent it by teleson. There would be no watching eyes, waiting to see if he could replicate his
legendary father. There would be no tongues wagging about his exploits, imagined or real.
Of course, there would also be no delicious gryphon ladies for three months, but that was a small
price to pay. Three months of chastity would be good for him; it would give him a rest. He would be able
to use the leisure time to invent new and clever things to do and say to impress them. He would have all
that time to perfect his panache. By the time he returned, as a veteran of the border, he should be able to
charm any lady he chose.
Outpost duty was a long assignment, in no small part because it was so difficult to get people to the
outposts. Even though magic was now working reliably, and had been for several years, no one really
wanted to trust his body to a Gate just yet. Too many things could go wrong with a Gate at the best of
times, and at the moment the only purpose anyone was willing to put them to was to transport unliving
supplies. The consumables and their mail and special requests would be supplied to their outpost that
way; a mage at White Gryphon who was familiar with the place would set up a Gate to the outpost.
Workers would then pitch bundles through, and the mage would drop the Gate as soon as he could.
No one wants to leave a Gate up very long either. You never know what might go wrong, or
what might stroll through it while it's up.
"You know, of course, that there's a great deal of uninhabited and poorly-surveyed territory in
between Five and home," Blade went on with relish. "We're going to be completely on our own from the
time we leave to the time we return."
"What, no lovely gryphon ladies and human stallions to wile away your time of exile?" jibed
Keenath, and shuddered realistically. "Well, never mind. I can guarantee that in the case of the ladies, I
can make certain that they will not notice your absence, twin."
"They are more likely to cry out in pain at your I poor attempts at gallantry, Keeth," Tadrith told him
and turned back to Blade. "You realize that this shows a great deal of trust in our abilities, don't you? I
mean, the usual first assignment is something like—"
"Like guarding the farms, I know," she replied smugly. "That must have been why they kept us
behind the others, training and overtraining us. They wanted to be sure we were ready, and I bet they
decided to send us out there because we're the only people who really want to go. In fact, I would bet
my favorite armband that Aubri plans to send us out on long outpost duty every chance he can get!"
They grinned at each other with relish, for there was another aspect to outpost duty they both
anticipated with pleasure. Those so posted were expected to do a certain amount of exploring, and
sometimes the explorers found something valuable. The Emperor Shalaman got a share, of course, as did
the treasury of White Gryphon, but the generous portion remaining went to the intrepid explorers who
made the discovery. Not that Tadrith was greedy, of course, but he did have a certain love of
ornamentation, a pronounced interest in the finer things of life, and finding something extremely valuable
would make it possible for him to indulge his interests. And it didn't hurt to have the wherewithal to
impress the ladies, either, and ornament them a bit now and then.
"Just how much exploring has been done up there?" he asked.
Blade's eyes widened knowingly. "Not all that much," she replied. "And there are more ways to
explore than sailing over the tree-canopy, hoping something on the ground will show itself."
He nodded, following her thoughts. Probably most of the Silvers assigned to Outpost Five in the
past had been gryphon teams; that made sense, although it probably wore them down terribly, not having
humans and hertasi to tend to them. A human on station, though, could make a detailed survey of a
particular area, including the smaller animals and plants living there, and take mineral samples. That was
something a gryphon was ill-suited or, for that matter, ill-inclined, to do.
"There's been no trouble from that sector for years," she mused. "We should have plenty of time for
surveys."
"But most of all, you'll be on your own," Keenath said enviously. "I wish I could find some way to
escape for a few months."
Blade patted his shoulder sympathetically. "And miss all the benefits of trondi'irn, hertasi and
kestra'chern fawning on you every spare moment? The horror! You could ask to be taken on by the
Silvers once you've finished training under Winterhart," she suggested. "Then you'd get some assignments
elsewhere. Down with the embassy at Khimbata, maybe; you could go as the trondi'irn taking care of
the Emperor's gryphon-guards."
Keenath's eyes lit up at the idea, and Tadrith knew how he felt. For a chance to get out of White
Gryphon he would have put up with just about anything.
The problem was that there was literally nothing that he said or did that Skandranon didn't eventually
find out about. It wasn't that Skan was purposefully spying on his sons, or even deliberately overseeing
them—
Well, not much, anyway. And not overtly.
—it was just that everyone told the Black Gryphon everything that went on in this city. A mouse
couldn't sneeze without Skandranon finding out about it eventually.
Neither can we—except that it's guaranteed that if we sneeze, someone will go running to
Father with the news. Not only that, but the report would be detailed as to how, when, and how
well we sneezed.
It wasn't exactly tale-bearing, for people made certain to bring Skan the most flattering reports
possible. Skan was a very proud father.
He can't get enough of hearing about all the marvelous things Keeth and I are doing,
especially now that we aren't in the family aerie to bully into making reports on ourselves. The
trouble is, he is fully capable of blowing the most minor accomplishment up into the equivalent of
a brilliant piece of wartime strategy or heroism.
It was embarrassing, to say the least.
And, of course, anyone who wanted to curry favor with the Black Gryphon knew the fastest way to
his heart was to praise his sons. Skan would go out of his way to see that someone who flattered the
twins got a full hearing and careful consideration. That was all he would do, but often enough, that was
sufficient.
As Keeth continued to look envious and a little pained, Tadrith preened his short eartufts in
sympathy. "I wish there was a way to send you out of the city for trondi'irn training, Twin," he
murmured.
Keenath sighed. "So do I. When we were all choosing the subject we wanted to study, I tried to
think of some discipline I could enjoy that would also get me out of the city at the same time, but I
couldn't. I think I'm going to be good at this, and it certainly feels right, but it means I'm stuck here."
Blade wore as sympathetic an expression as Tadrith.
"There is this, Keeth," the gryphon said to his twin. "You can just go on doing what you are doing
and you will have earned every right to be considered unique and special. You're writing your own
definition of a trondi'irn. You don't have to stand there, blushing at the nares with embarrassment when
someone comes in acting as if running the obstacle course was the equivalent of stealing one of Ma'ar's
magical weapons."
But Keenath ruffled his neck-feathers and clicked his beak. "That's true up to a point, but there is
another problem. Father literally does not understand me. We have absolutely nothing in common. When
I talk about what I'm doing, he gets this strange look on his face, as if I were speaking a foreign tongue."
He laughed weakly. "I suppose I am, really. Well, I'll get my chance eventually."
"You will," Blade promised, but she made no move to rise to her feet. "I'm going to have to break
the news to my parents, assuming that they don't already know, which is more than likely. Tad, you'd
better figure out how to tell yours."
"They'll know," Tadrith replied with resignation. "Father is probably already telling everyone he
thinks will listen how there's never been anyone as young as I am posted so far away on his first
assignment."
Blade laughed ruefully. "You're probably right. And mine is probably doing the same—except—"
She didn't complete the sentence, but Tadrith knew her well enough not to pressure her. They each
had their own set of problems, and talking about them wasn't going to solve them.
Only time would do that.
Or so he hoped.
Silverblade sat back on her heels when the twins began to argue over what Tadrith should pack.
She was in no real hurry to get back home; since she was still living with her parents, she did not even
have the illusion of privacy that her own aerie would have provided. The moment she walked in the door,
the questions and congratulations—bracketed by thinly-veiled worry—would begin, and at the moment
she did not feel up to fielding them.
She breathed in the scent of salt air and sunbaked rock, half closing her eyes. I love this place. The
only neighbors are other gryphons, quiet enough that the sound of the surf covers any noise they
might make. And I love the fact that there are no other humans nearby, only tervardi, gryphons,
and a few kyree.
How she envied Tad his freedom! He really had no notion just how easy a parent Skandranon was
to deal with. The Black Gryphon had a sound, if instinctive and not entirely reliable, knowledge of just
when to shut his beak and let Tad go his own way. He also attempted to restrain his enthusiasm for the
accomplishments of his twins, although it was difficult for him. But at least he showed that he approved;
Amberdrake had never been happy with the path-choice his daughter had made, and although he tried
not to let his disapproval color their relationship, it leaked through anyway. How could it not?
Perhaps "disapproval" was too strong a word. Amberdrake understood warriors; he had worked
with them for most of his life. He respected them most profoundly. He liked them, and he even
understood all of the drives that fueled their actions.
He simply did not understand why his child and Winterhart's would want to be a warrior. He can't
fathom how he and Mother produced someone like me. By all rights, with everything that they
taught me, I should never have been attracted to this life.
That was a gap of understanding that probably would never be bridged, and Blade had yet to come
up with a way of explaining herself that would explain the riddle to him. "Blade, would you play secretary
and write the list for me?" Tadrith pleaded, interrupting her reverie. "Otherwise I know I'm going to forget
something important."
"If you do, you can always have it Gated to us," she pointed out, and laughed when he lowered his
eartufts.
"That would be so humiliating I would rather do without!" he exclaimed. "I'd never hear the last of it!
Please, just go get a silver-stick and paper from the box and help me, would you?"
"What else are gryphon-partners for, except doing paperwork?" she responded, as she rose and
sauntered across the room to the small chest that held a variety of oddments the twins found occasionally
useful, each in its appointed place. The chest, carved of a fragrant wood that the Haighlei called sadar,
held a series of compartmentalized trays holding all manner of helpful things. Among them were a box of
soft, silver sticks and a block of tough reed-paper, both manufactured by the Haighlei. She extracted
both, and returned to her seat beside Tad. She leaned up against him, bracing herself against his warm
bulk, using her knees as an impromptu writing desk.
As the twins argued over each item before agreeing to add it to the list or leave it out, she waited
patiently. Only once did she speak up during the course of the argument, as Keenath insisted that Tad
include a particular type of healer's kit and Tad argued against it on the grounds of weight.
She slapped his shoulder to get him to be quiet. "Who is the trondi'irn here?" she demanded. "You,
or Keeth?" Tad turned his head abruptly, as if he had forgotten that she was there. "You mean, since he's
the expert, I ought to listen to him."
"Precisely," she said crisply. "What's the point of asking his opinion on this if you won't take it when
you know he's the authority?"
"But the likelihood that we'd need a bonesetting kit is so small it's infinitesimal!" he protested. "And
the weight! I'm the one who's going to be carrying all this, you know!"
摘要：

TheSilverGryphonMageWars03byMercedesLackey&LarryDixonversion2.0comparedtooriginal,spellchecked,completedFebruary6,2004Dedicatedto"Dusty"Rhoades,MikeHackett,ScottRodgers,andtherestofthosewhoknowtheInfobahnisatoolnotareligion.OneFreedom!TadrithSkandrakaeextendedhisbroadgraywings,stretchingouthismuscle...

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