Mercedes Lackey - Mage Wars 1 - The Black Gryphon

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cedes Lackey & Larry Dixon

e Wars 01

Black Gryphon

ce.

wind played against Skandranon's nares-a wind as frigid as the hearts of the killers below. Their hearts pumped blood unlike

r creature's; thick black blood, warmed when their commanders willed it-only when they flew, only when they hunted, only w

killed.

r blood was cold, and yet it ran warmer than their masters'. This much Skandranon Rashkae knew; he had fought their masters

e he was a fledgling himself. They were cruel and cunning, these makaar, and yet the worst aspects of these manufactured horr

d before the cruelty of their creators.

ce. Stay still. Quiet.

dranon remained motionless, crouched, feathers compressed tight to his body. He was silent to more than hearing; that silence

but one of the powers that had made his master and friend so powerful, although it was the power that had given him his name

o, the Mage of Silence. Urtho's champions had invisibility against magical sight-to mind-scanning, to detection spells, to magi

ing. The enemies of his monarchy had spent much of their resources on foiling that edge-to no avail, it seemed-and now

entrated on more direct methods of destroying Urtho's hold on the verdant central-land's riches.

kept his wings folded, the leading edge of each wing tucked under the soft black feathers at the sides of his chest. It was

rtant to be quiet and keep his head down, even this far from the encampment. The journey here had been one of long soars an

g, and although he was in his best physical shape ever, flight muscles protested even yet. Better now to rest and watch. The chi

rippled against his coat of feathers. This day had turned out unseasonably cold, which hadn't helped him any-except that it ke

akaar willing to make only the most necessary flights.

atched them sleeping restlessly, twitching in their dreaming. Did they know how transient, how fleeting, they were? How thei

tors built them, bred them, refined them, letting the bad stock die out by assigning them to the border? Did they know their ma

gned them with short lives so the generations would cycle quicker, to reveal the defects more conveniently?

were, despite their horrifying appearances and deadly claws, quite pitiful. They'd never know the caress of a caring lover-the

ld only know the heat of imposed breeding. They knew their lot was the searing pain of a torture-weapon if they failed. They n

n the sun with a friend, or dashed in the air with their wingmates. . . .

'd never risk their lives to do something because they felt it was right. Perhaps that was the greatest pity of all; they could not

en because they had no honor to compromise, no will to subvert.

makaar and the gryphons were a study in contrasts, despite the darker mages' obvious attempts to mimic the Mage of Silence's

iwork. If gryphons were sinuous, graceful storms, makaar were blustering squalls. The gryphons were bold, intelligent, crafty;

aar were conditioned to blind obedience. And one need only ask Skandranon which was the more attractive; he'd likely answer

bird. You'll make a lovely skin on a Commander's wall.

dranon breathed deeply behind the line of trees atop the hill; before him was the Pass of Stelvi. The coming army had stormed

e cost of but a few hundred of their soldiers compared to the thousand of Urtho's garrison. Farther down the pass was the split

y which once supported a thriving trade-town. Laisfaar was now the army's quarters, and the surviving townsfolk made into

ants no better off than slaves. In the other fork of the valley the commanders had stationed the army's supplies and creatures,

ding the sleeping makaar.

might as well sleep; they did not need to fear sorcerous spying. The army's mages had shielded the area from magical scrying

none of Urtho's many attempts to search the valley by spell had worked. That had left the need for study by stealth-risky at bes

idal at worst.

dranon had, of course, volunteered.

roudly to your doom laughing, vain bird, the best of the best; more suitors than sense, more wealth than wisdom, sharp claws

y to dig your own funeral pit. . . .

meeting with Urtho had been brief by choice. The offer was made to send guards and mages; Skandranon declined. Urtho offer

lster his defensive spells, as he had done so many times before; it was declined as well. What Skan asked for was enhancemen

agical senses-his Mage-sight had been losing sharpness of late due to disuse. Urtho had smiled and granted it, and Skandrano

immediately from the Tower itself, leaping broad-winged onto the wind's shivering back.

was three dozen leagues and four meals ago; a long time to cover such a distance. It was a tactical disaster for his side that the

y's army had advanced this close to Urtho's Tower; now it appeared they were prepared to march on the Tower itself. The lay

e encampments showed three separate cadres of troops; the makaar had been assigned equally to two of them. And between th

was the Weaponsmaster's coach, staked firmly and blanketed, flanked by two canvas-covered wagons.

a moment now. With a town nearby-hearths and comfortable bedding-the Weaponsmaster is staying in a tent?

side in this war had Seers and Diviners, whose powers could throw secret plans, however perfectly laid, awry. A Seer waking

a premonition of an assassination could thwart the attempt, for instance. The night before Stelvi Pass was taken, a Seer's visio

of a horrible new weapon that would devastate the garrison Urtho had placed there. It was something magical, the woman ha

, but was in the hands of common soldiers. That warning alone was enough to make the gryphon wary, and had made hi

rmined to explore this valley.

war of mages, the limited number of Adepts and Masters made tactical planning easier; you could study your opponents, guess

resources, even identify them by their strategies without ever seeing the commander himself. What alarmed Skandranon was t

that the power of a mage could be put in the hands of untrained people-those who did not have the innate powers or learned sk

mage. The units that could be fielded with such weapons would be an unwelcome variable, difficult to guard against if at all.

ter could ride onto a battlefield and call on his own powers, unleashing firebolts, lightning, hurricanes of killing wind-yet he w

just one man, and he could be eliminated. But soldiers that could do that would be devastating, even if the weapons were

loyed but once each. And if an Adept had discovered a way for the weapons to draw on power from magical nodes-

was too horrifying to think of further. Skandranon had faced the Adept commander of all the troops below, the Kiyamvir Ma'

ty months ago. He had volunteered for that mission, too, and had limped home wing-broken, stricken with nightmares. He ha

his wingmates skinned by the Adept's spells, feathered coats peeled back in strips by the Adept's will alone in full daylight,

ite Skan's attempts to counterspell. The nightmares had left him now, but the memory made him determined to protect Urtho's

le from the Kiyamvir's merciless rule.

dranon's eyes focused on the town of Laisfaar. Urtho's garrison had not all been human; there had been hertasi, a few tervardi,

e families of gryphons. His eyes searched the ramparts, noted the wisps of smoke of fires still burning since the attack. There w

eries of the gryphons; the ramps for visitors, the sunning beds, the fledglings' nests. . . .

he bloodstains, the burned feathers, the glistening rib cage. . . .

he usual atrocities. Damn them.

had been alive until very recently; she had escaped the worst of it by dying of shock and blood loss. The makaar had no love fo

hons, and their masters gave them a still-living one after a battle as a reward. Often it was a terrified fledgling, like this gray-

ted gryphon had been. The rest of the garrison's gryphons had doubtless been wing-cut, caged, and sent to the Kiyamvir for his

sures by now. Skandranon knew well that, unless Ma'ar was distracted by his business of conquest, there would be nothing left

to rescue by day's end.

could, Skandranon would insure the captives would not last that long. Crippled as they would likely be, he couldn't help the

pe; but he might be able to end their ordeal.

re that, he had a larger duty to attend to.

he moved, slinking belly-flat to the ground, catlike; one slow step at a time, eeling his way through the underbrush with such

ate care that not even a leaf rustled. The Weaponsmaster's wagons had plenty of guards, but not even the Weaponsmaster coul

rol terrain. The mountains themselves provided brush-filled ravines for Skandranon to creep through, and escarpments that

looked the wagons. The encampment was guarded from attack from above by makaar, but only over the immediate vicinity of

p. It was guarded from penetration from below by the foot-soldiers, but only outside the camp itself. No one had guarded again

ossibility of someone flying into the area of the camp, behind the sentry lines, then landing and proceeding on foot to the cent

amp.

ne could have, except a gryphon. No one would have, except Skandranon. The omission of a defense against gryphon spying t

volumes about the military commanders who led this force. The Kiyamvir would reprimand them well for such a mistake-but

, Ma'ar was the only one of their side who understood the gryphons' abilities. Most commanders simply assumed gryphons an

aar were alike, and planned defenses accordingly.

kandranon stayed in the shadows, moving stealthily, as unlike a makaar as possible.

e meant nothing to him; he was quite prepared to spend all night creeping into place. Even in the most strictly ruled of armies,

ipline slackens after a victory. Soldiers are weary and need rest; victory makes them careless. Skan had timed his movements t

cide with that period of carelessness.

oted no sentries within the bounds of the camp itself; his sharp hearing brought him no hint that the commanders prowled abo

ey were known to do before a battle. Doubtless, the commanders were as weary as the soldiers and slept just as deeply.

pent his moments waiting committing details to memory; even if he died, if his body were somehow recovered, Urtho could st

is last memories for information. That would only work if he died swiftly, though. Otherwise, the memories would be overco

ensory input; thus the immediate torture of gryphon captives. Daring rescues had occurred before, and once retrieved, the

hons' bodies were tremendous sources of information.

could also be a clue to where the rest of the gryphon families were; it was also not unheard of to use captives as bait for rescu

s. Captives' minds were often stripped of the will to resist, the prisoners forced to give information to the enemy. This was why

dranon held a horrible power-a spell of death keyed to gryphons-for mercy.

he hoped with every drop of blood that he would never be required to use it again.

way to his goal he froze as he heard footsteps approaching the stand of tall grasses where he lay hidden. The cover that ha

ed adequate a moment earlier seemed all too thin now-

er bird, hiding in grass. Better hope the wind doesn't blow-

the footsteps stumbled, and Skan held his breath, not wanting to betray his position by breathing steam into the cold air. He fro

id-step, right foreclaw held a mere thumb length above the ground.

ould not see the human who approached without turning his head, which he would not do. He could only wait and listen.

footsteps stopped; there was a muffled curse, and the sound of hands fumbling with cloth-Then, clear and unmistakable, the so

thin stream of water hitting the matted grasses.

human grunted, yawned; the sound of trousers being hitched up followed. The footsteps stumbled away again.

dranon unfroze and lowered his claw to the ground.

e were no other incidents as he made his way up the escarpment and slid under the shelter of a knot of wild plum bushes, to w

dawn. He could feel the beetles and spiders of the thicket exploring their newly-arrived piece of landscape as the minutes wen

espite the impulse to yelp and swat them, though, he stayed still. Their irritation provided a blessing in a way; something to fe

ep his senses alert after nightfall.

dranon's tentative plan was to wait until darkness, then sneak out to explore the camp. Other warriors suspected his stealthines

a result of Urtho's magicking, although the elder denied it, citing the gryphon's near-obsessive interest in dancing-movements.

often watched Skandranon mimicking human, tervardi, and hertasi performers in private. Skandranon had trained himself with

cation he would never admit except as a boast, applying that knowledge to flight, to lovemaking, and to combat. That, in truth,

t made him quieter than a whisper of wind; no spells or tricks, just practiced grace.

ce alone is not enough. Urtho has learned that the hard way-we've lost border towns for half a generation, and only now begu

g more than simply defending our borders. Eh, well, Urtho had never intended to become Archmage. He's more suited to crafti

r and carving figures than deploying armies.

a pity that a man so kindhearted would be pressed into the role of a warlord . . . but better he than a heartless man.

I'd certainly rather be off making little gryphlets.

would have to wait until the world became a safer place to raise young, though. For now, Skandranon waited . . . until a shrie

out from the town, echoing off the walls of the valley. Only practiced self-control kept him from leaping into the air, claws

ched to rend and tear.

at least still lives. I'm coming, friend, I'm coming . . . just hold on a little longer. Just a little. Feh, I can't wait any longer.

dranon stood and surveyed the layout of the encampment again; he'd heard screams like that too many times in his life. Not ag

pread his wings half-open and leapt, down toward the Weaponsmaster's wagons, depending on speed to be his ally. Knifelike

tled against his nares, chilling his sinuses, sharpening his mind. All the sights and sounds of the world intensified when he was

on, sizes and details of shapes all taken into account for the entire span of his vision.

ch and fly, that's your plan, isn't it, damned foolish bird? You're going to die the hero they all call you, for what? Because you

dn't stand another moment of another gryphon's pain? Couldn't wait any longer.

wagons rushed closer in his sight, and their magical alarms blazed into light, waiting like barbed snares to be triggered. Were t

s, too, besides being alarms? Would they trap him? Were they the bait, not the tortured gryphon?

ld it matter? You're too damned predictable, Skan, too sensitive, couldn't stand to wait. She'd die anyway, you know it, by the

you'd have gone in. Why do it?

rs and textures rushed past him in three dimensions, as he dove ever closer to the wagons.

ecause you're not bright enough, stupid gryphon. Stupid, stupid gryphon.

l, death is inevitable anyway, so dying for the right reason is . . .

as final.

id gryphon.

late for reconsideration, though. The wagon alarm-fields loomed nearer, and Skan had to risk a spell to disarm them-the easies

one which made them detect another place nearby, instead of the place they were supposed to protect. He focused on them,

sed the flow into them, diverted their field away to an open part of the camp . . . and they did not sound. Now his troubles

med from the soldiers who might still be outside-and the makaar. He might be invisible to the alarms, but he was still pitch bla

yone's vision. A soldier of Ma'ar's army would not wonder at a shadow that moved through the sky-he'd call an alert.

alf-hoped for detection, since he would likely have the quarry before any spells could be leveled against him. Once discovered

ld not have to skulk about any longer . . . he could blaze away with a detection spell to find the gryphon whose scream he'd hea

er. Otherwise there would be delicate searching around for-who knew how long. Of course, discovery also brought such pesky

actions as arrows and firebolts and snares and spells. . . .

ackwinged and landed, kicking up clods of dirt next to the wagon, and his head darted from side to side, looking for spotters.

e yet, but that could change all too quickly. Two steps to the back of the wagon, then under it-no one ever guards the bottoms o

s, only sides and doors-and he began prying at the wagon's floorboards, next to the struts and axles, where the mud, water, an

ion of traveling always rots the wood. He was curled up under the wagon completely, on his back, tail tucked between his legs,

s folded in against his ribs, hind claws holding the wingtips. He didn't dare rip at the canvas of the wagon's bonnet-past experi

shown that apparently flimsy defenses were often imbued with alarm-spells. His claws glowed faintly with the disruption-spell

using, and the wood shriveled above where his claws slowly raked, silent from the sound-muffling of his cupped wings.

enemy's wagons traditionally had an aisle down the middle, and that was where Skandranon was working . . . another four cuts

, six, and he'd be able to pull the boards down under the blanket of a silence-spell. Then he'd get a look inside at their covete

egan mentally reciting the silence-spell, calling up the energy from inside himself and releasing it around the wagon. He was

ful to mold it short of touching the wagon itself, building it up from the ground. The wagon's defenses might yet be sensitive to

h of just such a spell. It was hard to tell anymore, so many variables, so many new traps. . . .

oped that the mages under Ma'ar's command did not sweep the camp for magic at work.

gs were going so well, so far. Skan reached up, claws digging firmly into the crossbrace, cracked through it, and the entire aisl

on fell to the ground, inches in front of his beak. . . .

nd Skandranon found himself face to face with a very upset, recently awakened Weaponsmaster, who was drawing something

ly a weapon-up from beneath his bedding. The weapon pointed at the gryphon and started changing.

's right claw shot out and struck the human's scalp and squeezed, finding yielding flesh. His thumb pierced the man's eye sock

inside the envelope of silence, a gurgling scream faded into the wet sounds of Skan withdrawing his talons from the kill.

man's hands twitched and dropped the weapon, which was still pointing at Skandranon. It was a polished rod, wrapped in leath

a glowing, spiked tip revealed where the leather ended. It rolled from the dead man's fingers and fell to the ground, and the tip

drew into the rod.

our back, underneath a wagon, in an enemy camp, you kill a Weaponsmaster one-handed? No one will ever believe it. Ever. T

too close, too close, stupid gryphon.

eone will come by soon, Skan. Move. Get the whatever-it-is and get away. That's all you need to do. Get away.

released his wingtips and pulled himself across the body of the slain human, keelbone scraping against the ragged edge of

ered wood. His wing-edges caught, pinning him in the opening, and he wheezed with the effort of pulling himself through. It

inside. Only the waning light from outside leaking through the canvas-openings provided any illumination. Around him, stack

en cases, waited glistening objects, the same as the Weaponsmaster had held, each the size of his foreclaws.

far more deadly than his claws, he was sure.

must be some entirely new kind of weapon, and he needed no spell-casting to know their magical origin. They exuded magic,

collective power making his feathers crawl like being in the heart of a lightning storm abrewing. Now to grab one and leave!

reached toward the cases, almost touching one of them, when his inner voice screamed "No!"

Weaponsmaster had one, he was guarding these, these may all be trapped. . . .

ir-thin crackle of reddish energy arced between the weapons and his extended foreclaw, confirming his fears.

there may be only one that isn't trapped. . . .

oved slowly, wings folded so tight it hurt. Up onto his haunches, then back down to all fours, until he faced the rear of the wa

he reached down through the shattered floorboards, groping for the slain Master's weapon. It didn't make sense to Skan that t

would trap his own weapon, even if he was a mage; Weaponsmasters as a rule tended to be terribly impressed with themselves

thought they could handle anything. . . . Too bad, so sad, first mistake and last. What's that, stupid bird, you're getting cocky

use you've lasted this long? More to do, and every second is borrowed time.

st came the feel of the rod, warm to his touch despite the thickness of his scaled skin. He reared back, eyes closed to the thinn

its, concentrating on not touching the racks of trapped arms. He transferred his prize to his mouth, clenching it tightly above hi

ue, and fell forward across the gaping entrance he'd made, stretching across it toward the untied flap of the wagon bonnet.

ight. What's the worst that could happen? I touch the canvas, and the entire wagon goes up with all the energy in these things.

'd be just like Ma'ar, if he can't have them, no one else can. . . . I'd better count on it.

dranon bunched up his leg muscles, preparing for a massive leap through the exit, when he heard bootsteps outside, and a mo

, a shadowy figure opened the flap, cursing in the enemy's tongue.

. Now!

e same instant, the figure opened the canvas, and the gryphon leapt. Skan used the man's shoulders as a vault, crushing the ma

against the back of the wagon from his momentum. He snapped his wings open, catching the edges, as the human crumple

rneath him. Then a deafening sound exploded around them as the wagon's massive final trap was set off-a crimson circle of fir

ad across the ground, incinerating the human, catching the other wagon. A thrashing body was engulfed in the flame arcing fro

kandranon gained altitude.

makaar roused.

of your charmed life, gryphon. At least now you can cast freely before you die . . . find her, wherever she is, accomplish that a

's wings rowed at the air, clutching for distance from the camp. There was one thing yet to do before his conscience would let

e. Somewhere-his mind searched through the camp and town for where-there was one of his own kind being killed, slowly. . . .

earched, and found her tortured mind as he crested the ridge. It felt as if her body had been lanced deep by thousands of needle

n by a hundred mad surgeons, broken by mallets, yet still she lived. There was a wrenching moment as Skan's mind reeled fro

acklash of what had been done to her, and he felt his wings fold involuntarily.

me,: she screamed, :Stop them, something-anything!:

n up to me,: Skan sent to her, :Open up to me and trust-there will be pain at first, then all will be dark. You'll fly again, as Urth

s-:

halted her scream as she recognized the code sign for the death-spell. No one had made a move to block it yet-

ulled back from her for a bare second, trying to steady himself in his flight. He reached out again, riding the wind, then unleas

pell, caught her mind, pulled it free of her body for one gut-wrenching second. The spell struck home and stopped her heart.

sorry, so sorry . . . you will fly again after the dark. . . . Then he released her spirit to the winds.

ewhere in the captured inn, a bound and wing-cut body convulsed, then lay still. Above the valley, Skandranon raced away

erately, unable to cry out for her, as seven makaar surged skyward to destroy him.

st, the General slept.

erdrake started to rise, then sank back down to his seat on the side of the General's bed as Corani woke convulsively, with a ti

. The anguish was still there, filling the room, palpable even to the weakest Empath. For an Empath as strong as Amberdrake, t

ct of Corani's pain was a blow to the heart.

erdrake waited for the General to speak, while radiating warmth and reassurance, concentrating on the soothing scents still

ring the air as a vehicle for that reassurance; the gentle hint of amber incense, the chamomile in the oils he had used in his

sage, the jessamine covering the taste of sleep-herbs in the tea he'd given Corani. He ignored the throbbing pain in his own

les, his tension-knotted stomach, and the terrible sense of foreboding that had come upon him at the General's summons. His

ngs did not matter; he was a kestra'chern, and his client-more patient than client, as was often the case-needed him. He must be

g one, the rock to rest against. He did not know Corani well; that was all to the good. Often men of power found it easier to

rden themselves to a stranger than to a friend.

General's suite was in Urtho's keep and not in a tent in the camp; easy enough here to pull heavy curtains to shut out the light a

orld with it, to burn dim, scented lamps that invoked a feeling of disassociation from the armed camp beyond the keep. The

eral himself had not summoned Amberdrake; the few times he had called to the camp for a kestra'chern, it had been Riannon

edre he had wanted-slightly inferior to Amberdrake in skill, an accomplished and well-respected female. No, one of Urtho's ai

come to the tent-quietly, with his livery hidden beneath a cloak, which said more about the aide's visit than the boy himself did.

o was still closeted with his General when Amberdrake arrived, but when he finally returned to his quarters, he did not see

rised to see Amberdrake there. He was clearly distraught, and yet it had taken Amberdrake hours and every bit of his skill to

uade him to unburden himself.

he knew why Urtho had chosen him and not Riannon. There were times when it was easier for a man to reveal his pain to a m

Amberdrake was utterly trustworthy. Whatever was revealed to him remained with him forever. He was many things to many

le; tonight he had been something of a Healer, something of a priest, something of a simple, noncommittal ear.

u must be disappointed," the General said into the lamp-lit dimness, his voice resigned. "You must think I'm a weakling now."

was what Corani said; Amberdrake, being what he was, heard what Corani meant.

as really saying, "I must disgust you for falling apart like this, for looking so poorly composed," and, "You must despise me a

me unworthy of my position."

," Amberdrake replied simply, to both the spoken and unspoken assertions. He did not want to think what the General's collaps

nt to him, personally; he must not think of it. Must not remember the messengers that roused the camp last night; the premoniti

had awakened the more sensitive and marginally Gifted among the Healers and kestra'chern from nightmares of blood and fire

nst the outline of the mountains. Must not think of the fact that Corani's family came from Laisfaar at Stelvi Pass, and that whil

ons had posts with the army here, his wife and all his relatives were back there. There, where Skandranon had gone. He an

en did not know why, or for what reason; Amberdrake only knew that he had gone off without a farewell.

," Amberdrake repeated, taking the General's outflung hand before Corani could reclaim it, and massaging the palm and fingers

fully. The muscles felt cramped and tight; Corani's hand was cold. "How could I be that stupid? You are human and mortal; we

um of our weak moments and our strong. Everyone has a moment at which he must break; this one was yours. It is no shame t

help and know it."

ewhere, deep inside, he wondered if it was also his. There was pressure building inside him that threatened to break free at any

ent. He was not so self-confident that he thought he could do without help. The question was, would there be any there for hi

many battered spirits to mend-too many bruised bodies to comfort-the resources of Healers and kestra'chern alike were stretch

overstretched. That he was near the end of his reserves made little difference.

oo many of his clients had gone out to battle and had not returned. And Skan had been due back this morning; it had been nea

et when the aide left him in Corani's quarters. Skan was never overdue.

for now, this moment, he must put his own strain aside. None of that must show-he shouldn't let it break his concentration or hi

s. Corani came first; Corani must be comforted enough, given enough reinforcing, as if he were a crumbling wall, that he coul

tion and come to heal. Something had gone wrong, terribly wrong, at Stelvi Pass. Corani had not told him what, but Amberdra

with dreadful certainty. Stelvi Pass had been overrun; Laisfaar, and Corani's family with it, was no more. It would be better f

to be dead than in Ma'ar's hands unless they'd hidden their identities and vanished into the general population. And that was

ely.

ni accepted this, as wise generals accepted all facts. Corani had accepted Amberdrake's comforting as well. For the moment,

ay. That was another of Amberdrake's abilities; it bought time. Time to bring distance, time to heal. "My sons-"

ink that Urtho has seen to them as well," Amberdrake replied quickly. Urtho would have seen to everything; it was his way.

kly, he suppressed the thought and the anguish it caused.

drugs in the General's tea took effect; in the dim light, Corani struggled to keep his eyes open, eyes still red and swollen fro

ping. The General had fought those tears, fought to keep them properly held inside with the determination that had made him t

er he was. Amberdrake had fought his determination with a will of his own that was no less stubborn. "It's time to sleep,"

erdrake said quietly.

ni blinked, but held him with an assessing gaze. "I'm not certain what I expected when I saw you here," he said, finally. "Base

non-"

at Riannon gave you was what you needed then," Amberdrake replied, gently touching the general's shoulder. "What I do is w

need now. Sometimes neither is what the recipient expects." He laid a soothing hand on Corani's forehead. "That is what a

ra'chern does, after all; gives you what you need."

d not necessarily what I want," Corani said quickly.

erdrake shook his head. "No, General. Not necessarily what you think you want. Your heart knows what you want, but often y

has some other idea. It is the task of the kestra'chern to ask your heart, and not your head, what you need and answer that nee

ni nodded, his eyelids drooping.

u are a strong man and a good leader, General Corani," Amberdrake continued. "But no man can be in two places at the same ti

could not be here and there as well. You cannot anticipate everything the enemy will do, nor where he will strike. The War thi

wn way. You are not answerable for the entire army. You did what you could, and you did it well."

muscles of Corani's throat tightened visibly as he fought for control. Amberdrake sensed tears being forced down. Corani was

erge of more than tears; he was on the verge of a breakdown. This would accomplish nothing, worse than nothing. The man

ed rest, and with Amberdrake's hand resting on his forehead, he was open to Amberdrake's will.

u must sleep," Kestra'chern Amberdrake said, imposing a mental command on top of the drugs. Corani closed his eyes, and thi

he did not reawaken when Amberdrake rose to go.

en would be where he had been since dawn; at the landing field, waiting for Skandranon to return. Amberdrake left the keep,

ing unobtrusively out into the scarlet of a spectacular sunset. The landing field was not far away, and Amberdrake decided to

e, rather than going straight back to his tent.

ression weighed heavily on his heart, a depression that was not relieved at the sight of Gesten alone on the field, patiently maki

arations to wait out the night-watch.

erdrake held his peace for a moment, then spoke.

's not coming back this time," Amberdrake said quietly.

hertasi companion, Gesten, looked up at him with his expressive eyes and exhaled through his nostrils. He held his pebble-scal

t shut for a long minute. "He'll come. He always does," Gesten finally said. "Somehow."

erdrake wished with all his heart that the little hertasi would be right this time. Skandranon had flown from the Tower two day

re, and Stelvi Pass was less than a day away, flying; he had never been delayed by so much before. Gesten was going about th

of building a watch-fire for their friend, laying out colored smoke-pots amidst the kindling. It might be a useless gesture, but it

all he could really do right now, with dawn so far away. Light up a pattern of blue and white to welcome the flyer home, let hi

from afar that safety was close . . . Amberdrake tried to help, but he was awkward, and his heart wasn't in it. How odd, that o

raceful in his calling could be so clumsy outside it.

ho has called a council." That much was common knowledge; no harm in telling the hertasi now. "Two gryphons came streaki

om Laisfaar straight to the Tower, and two hours after that, Urtho sent a message ordering me to tend General Corani."

en nodded, apparently taking Amberdrake's meaning-that Corani needed the peculiar skills of a kestra'chern. The general had

anently assigned to the Pass, until Urtho needed him more than his home district did. For the last week he'd been at the Tower

ding with Urtho for some special protection for Stelvi Pass and the town. That much was common knowledge, too.

at can you tell me?" Gesten knew very well that there was only so much Amberdrake could reveal to him. "What did Corani

erdrake paused, searching for the right word.

needed sympathy, Gesten," he said as he laid down a stack of oily fire fuel logs. "Something happened in the Tower that he di

t to talk about; and I can only assume that from the way he acted, the news was the worst. Kept talking about blind spots-he wa

to a breakdown. That's not like him. And now . . . Skandranon is late." Amberdrake smoothed his silk caftan, brushing the wo

s away. He felt worry lines creasing a face even his enemies called handsome, but he was too depressed to care.

ently, he pulled his long hair back from where it had fallen astray. "I don't think he's coming back this time. I can feel it in my

en picked up a small log and pointed it up at Amberdrake. "He will be back, I feel it in my gut, Drake, and I won't put up with

whining about 'poor Skan.' He always comes back. Always. Understand? And I'll be here, with this watch-fire, until either he

es back or this army runs out of firelogs."

erdrake stepped back, thoroughly chastised, and more than a little surprised at the vehemence of the normally quiet lizard's

ch. Gesten stood pointing the stick at him for a moment more, then spit at the air and threw it on the growing stack of kindling.

sorry, Gesten." Though he meant he was sorry about angering the hertasi, Gesten would probably take it some other way. "It's

. . . you know how I feel about him."

. I know. Everyone knows. You seem to be the only one who doesn't know." The hertasi opened the latch on the firebox an

drew a coal with blackened tongs. His tail lashed as he spoke. "You worry about everything, Drake, and you don't listen to

self talking. There is no one in Urtho's service who is better than him. No one else more likely to come back." Gesten dropped

into the folds of cotton batting and wood-chips between the two smoke-pots. "Even if he doesn't come back, he'll have died th

he wanted to."

erdrake bit his lip. Gesten thought he was right, as usual; nothing would dissuade him. Nothing Amberdrake could tell him wo

uade him that the situation was hopeless; only the things Amberdrake could not tell him would do that. And he was right; Skan

the way he wanted to. "I'll-keep quiet, until we know."

ned right you will. Now go back to your tent. You can manage your clients without me tonight." Gesten turned his attention t

ing the center fire, then the blue and white smoke-pots blazed into light. Amberdrake walked in the cooling night air toward th

er and the semi-mobile city that clustered around it, stopping once to look back at the lonely figure who'd wait for all eternity i

be for the Black Gryphon's return. His heart, already heavy, was a burden almost too great to bear with the added weight of te

ared not shed.

not now. I don't need this. . . .

dranon struggled against gravity and rough air, jaws clenched tightly on his prize. His heart was beating hard enough to burst

his chest, and the chase had barely begun-the makaar behind him were gaining, and he was only now past the ridge. As if it

n't enough that makaar were quicker than gryphons, they possessed better endurance. All they had to do was cut him off and fl

in circles. That was clearly what they intended to do. His advantage was his ability to gain and lose altitude more quickly than

. With cleverness, he could make them react, not act. At least they weren't terribly well organized-it wasn't as though Kili was

ing them-

dranon twisted his head to assess his pursuers, and spotted an all-too-familiar black and white crest-Kili, the old makaar leade

had taunted numerous times. Kili, who had almost trapped him once before, with a much smaller force aflight, was streaking

a thousand feet above the other six, screaming commands.

e gray-patched makaar canted wings back and swept into a shallow dive, gaining on him all the faster by trading height for spe

r trajectory took them below and past him a few seconds later-and they were followed by another three. He tried to watch the

darting from one to the other, as they split off and rejoined. Why head below him, when altitude was so important against a

hon?

ude-damn!

nct took over even as he realized Kili's gambit. He folded his right wing completely, rolling sideways in midair as the elde

aar streaked past him by a featherlength. A shrill scream of rage rang in his ears as Kili missed, and Skan threw himself out of

by snapping his wing open again and spiraling nose-first toward the earth-and the six makaar there.

bastard! He had the audacity to learn from me!

clamped his wings tightly and plummeted through the massed makaar below him, seeing the claws and razor-edged beaks of

rised makaar as a blur as he shot past. He followed dead on the tail of Kili. The chances of surviving that move were slim-he'

bled on his swiftness, and the makaar did no more damage than removing a few covert feathers.

ance for speed-let's see if they can follow this.

was so very close ahead that Skan was tempted to strike at him, but he couldn't afford to be distracted from his primary objecti

rvive and escape. Already, the two flights of makaar behind him stroked rapidly to pursue, crying out in rage. He passed the

aar leader, who predictably took a swipe at him and lost precious speed, and Kili's recovery was further fouled by the win

ulence of his passing underlings. The six rowed past Kili, gaining on Skandranon as he coursed back toward Laisfaar.

id gryphon, the point is to get away from this place!

barrier range swept inexorably closer. Skandranon narrowed his concentration to the rockface before him, and studied the eros

nels cut into the stone by ages past. His breath turned ragged through his nares as he struggled against fatigue. From the edge

ision, he saw the other makaar winging through the Pass, cutting an arc toward the pursuit.

'll see my wings flare, and assume I'm braking to turn or climb-

cupped his wings as he streaked in a straight line for the sheer cliff-face, feeling but not seeing the bloodthirsty makaar gainin

im from behind. The barrier stone filled his vision as he executed his desperate move: he folded his wings until their leading e

ed under him with a clap and his straining body rolled into a tumbler's somersault. He plummeted in a descending arc as lift

doned him and momentum hurled him toward unforgiving stone.

ity reversed itself; his head snapped into his chest as he fell. Numbly, detachedly, he realized the new, tiny pain in his chest w

re the sharp tip of his beak had pierced it. Disorientation took him. All he could do was keep his jaws closed as his world went

k, and wonder how many bones this last trick of his would break.

ow through-do it, bird, do it-

tretched his hindlegs out, and fanned his tail. Wind rushed against the lay of his feathers as he hurtled backward.

e next instant, he was surrounded by shocked makaar, three above, three below, whose attention was locked on him instead of

rushing to strike them from the sky.

oing to work-lucky, stupid gryphon-

dizzying sensations of gravity's pull, momentum's throw, and the rushing of blood mixed with the sound of six makaars' screa

the crunch of their bodies against stone. Skandranon's feet touched the unforgiving rock behind him-and he pushed off.

strange maneuver stabilized his tumble; gave him the chance to spread his wings in a snap and break his fall, turn it from a fall

a dive.

the ground was awfully close. . . .

up, stupid bird, pull up!

gs straining, heart racing, he skimmed the rock at the bottom of the cliff, so close that his wingtips brushed it, using his momen

nd himself shooting skyward again, past the spreading stain on the rock that was all that was left of his first pursuers.

get out of here, idiot!

eversed his course, away from the pass, back toward home and safety-and looked down.

everal hundred crossbows.

ourse, they couldn't see him, except, perhaps, as a fleeting shadow. But they knew he was up there, and they only had to fill th

with arrow bolts and rocks, and one or more of them would probably hit him. A quick glance to either side showed that he'd be

ed by the two new flights of makaar; they hemmed him in, and had several gryphon-lengths' worth of altitude on him. Kili wa

n sight; he was probably up above, somewhere, waiting.

only chance lay in speed. If he could just get past the archers before they let fly-

late.

below came a whirring sound; the air around him filled with a deadly reverse-rain of crossbow-bolts and slung shot. He pulle

ings in a vain attempt to narrow the target area.

irst, he didn't feel pain, only impact. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a mist of his own blood as his right wing came forwar

ownstroke.

it crumpled.

it hurt.

umbled again, only nominally under control, shrieking incoherently around his beakful of stolen weapon.

huddered under the impact of two more hits; the pain came quickly this time, but he forced himself to ignore it. Once again, he

led out of control, and this time there was no handy cliff to push off of.

ulled in his left wing and rolled over completely; righted himself, still falling. He dared not try and brake completely; the injur

wouldn't take it. Instead, he extended just enough of both to turn the fall into another steep dive, angled away from the battle

rd friendly territory.

after his wings flared, he saw Kili whistle past where he had been.

tle farther-a little farther-

ground was coming up awfully fast.

as over Urtho's territory now, on the other side of the enemy lines, but he could not, dared not, flare his wings completely. His

was a steep, fast one, but it was still a dive. The ground had never looked so inviting. Or so hard.

keti, this is going to hurt-

erdrake could not sleep; weary as he was, there was no point in lying awake and watching the inside of his eyelids. He wrappe

ket around his shoulders, and made his way down the dark aisles between the orderly tent rows to the landing field.

e came out into the open, away from the lights of the camp, he saw that the sky to the west was a haze of silvery light from the

ng moon; it could not be long now, a few hours at most, until dawn. Gesten waited patiently beside his fire, as he had waited al

t. Amberdrake had left the last of his clients to join the little lizard, but Gesten was clearly not in any mood to talk.

hertasi tended to be silent when something affected his emotions. Amberdrake shared that tendency. In his case, it was due to l

training; for both of them, it was to preserve the illusion of immutable and eternal stability.

as Amberdrake's duty to convey an impression of serene concern-for Amberdrake's clients were always damaged in some way

e days. Sympathy worked better than empathy, more often than not.

nts didn't want to know their kestra'chern had problems of his own.

e he couldn't be rid of them, he mustn't let them show, not even for a moment. It was part of the burden or his avocation, an

gh he'd come to accept it, it still caused a dull ache like a sympathy pain.

pathy pain. Yes, that was exactly what it was like.

depression had worsened with every rumor, every bit of camp gossip. Skan had never been this late in returning from a missio

Gesten must know by now that he wasn't coming back. He had often joked about how Skan always rushed back at top speed f

ssion; that he couldn't be back to his rewards and admiration fast enough.

ow the news had leaked out of a terrible disaster at Stelvi Pass, worse than any defeat Urtho's forces had faced before. The

tion was not panic, but Amberdrake wondered if there was anyone in the ranks who guessed at what he already knew; that the

ison had been overrun and wiped out completely. As the night grew colder, so did Amberdrake's heart, and wrapping his body i

l-knit blanket over his silks didn't help at all.

en still hadn't spoken. Finally, he could bear it no longer. Without a word, he left his place beside the watch-fire and walked a

the darkness, looking back over his shoulder at the little spot of light and the patient figure hunched beside it. His heart ached,

hroat threatened to close with tears he feared to shed-feared, because once they began, he was not certain he would be able to s

. Tears for Gesten-and for Skan. Wherever he was.

ting out in the darkness for someone who wasn't going to come home wasn't going to accomplish anything. The war went on n

er who grieved. Amberdrake, like so many Kaled'a'in, had long been thinking of the war as a being of its own, with its own ne

s, and hungers. Those who chose to obey its will, and those who found themselves swept along in its path, had to go on living

uing their dreams, even if it did feel as if they were constantly trying to bail a leaky boat with their bare hands. The skills

erdrake possessed would be needed regardless of whether the war raged on or ebbed; people would always feel pain, lonelines

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Mercedes Lackey - Mage Wars 1 - The Black Gryphon

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