By the Silver Wind (11 page)

Shard laughed. “I had big plans when I was a fledge too. I’m happy for you,” he said to Asvander. “And Dagny.”

Kjorn watched them, and couldn’t help but add, “I wonder what we as fledges would think to look at us now.”

“That we’re not as tall as we wanted to be,” Shard said.

Kjorn shook himself, amused. “The day grows late. Asvander, if you’re ready?”

“Yes.” He mantled. “I’ll gather scouts. Shard, all right if I want to take a few Vanir?”

“Of course.”

Kjorn thought Shard looked pleased, and secretly Kjorn was grateful. He thought the Vanir would do well treating with the painted wolves. He wasn’t sure about the Lakelanders.

A mark of the sun later, when the huntresses were still out and when Kjorn thought Shard might lose his mind from boredom, Toskil returned to them.

“Shard! Your Highness!” He landed where Kjorn and Shard sat with others, discussing battle strategy.

Shard stood, and Kjorn alongside him. “What’s happened?”

Toskil’s beak was open, panting. “A fight. I tried to stop them. One of the Lakelanders didn’t understand what the wolves were saying—”

“How far?” Kjorn asked, opening his wings.

“Not far. Just nightward.”

Shard looked at Kjorn. “Now can we go?”

“Lead the way,” Kjorn said to Toskil, and the three of them took to the air, with a group of surprised Lakelanders and huntresses following after.

Beyond their camp, nightward, the land unfurled in long, uneven plains like a gryfon wing, rolling, then flat, with sparse trees. Ash had turned the ground gray. Swirling wind mixed the ash with frost and stunted grass, painted odd swirls to Kjorn’s eye from above.

“There!” Toskil called over the wind.

Ahead, a dangerous stand-off laid itself before Kjorn’s eyes. A massive pack of painted wolves circled not one but two pronghorn carcasses. He counted at least thirty, abnormally large for a hunting pack. The gryfons had done the stupidest possible thing, to ring around the entire pack as if they meant to steal the kill.

All had dissolved in to shouting, growling, snapping beaks and fanged jaws. From above, it was clear to Kjorn that no one understood each other and it was only moments before it broke into real violence.

“Tyr’s beak,” Shard muttered, sounding like Stigr.

“I told them not to approach while the wolves hunted . . .”

“Oh no,” Toskil said, just as a painted wolf broke the defensive circle and lunged for one of the Lakelanders. Three wolves followed.

Kjorn dove, knowing Shard and the others would be right behind him.

“Stop this!” he bellow, flaring hard so all would see his gold wings and know him. He jumped toward the fighting wolf and gryfon, slashing talons and snapping his beak. “Stop this now!”

Barking wolves either echoed his sentiment or cheered on the fight. The wolf and gryfon wrestled and tore at each other, falling to the ground in a tangle, snarling heap.

Wolves snapped and shouted, but Kjorn couldn’t listen properly with all the tension and the growling. Around him, Shard and the others fanned out to begin talking both groups down.

A mottled blur surged past Kjorn, a painted wolf joining the fight. “Help me, son of Sverin!”

Kjorn ramped in surprise, and realized he knew the speaker, and that he wasn’t going to help the fight, but break it up. While the painted wolf smashed into his fellow, Kjorn went for the gryfon, grabbing for his hindquarters.

“Enough!”

“They started it!” wailed the warrior, who was one of the younger Lakelanders, named Norri.

“You sound like a mewling kit,” Kjorn growled, shoving him back. It didn’t work to treat gryfons of the Ostral Shores with any tenderness. Kjorn thought of Caj, his upbringing, and his warrior training, and brought all that cold sternness to his demeanor. “I thought I had grown warriors at my side, not immature fledges. I told you not to approach when they were hunting.”

“They weren’t hunting,” Norri said, lifting his beak smugly. “They’d started eating.”

Kjorn hissed and slapped talons across his face, not scratching, but warning, and Norri hunched down in surprise. “What’s that again?” Kjorn demanded

Norri lowered his head. “Forgive me. We were rash.”

“You were. Shard?” Kjorn turned from him and peered through the dust and the gathered wolves and gryfons. A painted wolf leaped into his face, panting happily. Kjorn fell back, then laughed. “Mayka! I’m glad to see a friend.”

The wolf, who had once traveled with a small band of rogue gryfons and helped Kjorn, sat down in front of him. “I’m glad to see you too. I did not think these gryfons meant ill, but then it became hard to tell, and then no one was listening. The Star-sent is speaking to Ilesh.”

Kjorn took a moment to understand him, then followed his gaze. Shard, whom the painted wolves called the Star-sent, had found and was speaking to the leader of the wolf pack. Grateful for his wingbrother, Kjorn walked through the tense gryfons and wolves, and mantled.

“Great Hunter.” He used the title of the wolves in the Silver Isles, hoping Ilesh took it as a sign of respect.

“Son of Sverin,” Ilesh acknowledged. “The Star-sent has told me the tidings.”

“And I told him of our fire,” Shard said, watching Kjorn’s face. “And that if they aren’t too offended by our rash allies, they might join us tonight to talk more.”

“We have hunted together,” Ilesh said to Kjorn. “And the Star-sent was a friend to my sister, so we will trust what you say. But these other gryfons . . .”

“Will make amends,” Kjorn said firmly. “And Shard is right. We would be glad to have you at our fire, to speak of tidings, and perhaps to hear of this great hunt.” He nodded toward the two pronghorn carcasses, thinking it couldn’t hurt to flatter a little.

Ilesh bared his long teeth. “Yes, we would be glad to tell this tale. But if you mean well, then leave us now to our feast, and we will find you after dark.”

“I will go with the gryfons,” Mayka said, stepping forward though his head was low and tail tucked. “Great leader, I will go? And lead you back when the stars shine?”

“Yes.” Ilesh regarded him with approval, then met Kjorn’s gaze, lifting his dark, round ears. “This will do.”

“Thank you,” Kjorn said. “Shard? Shall we? All of you!” He raised his voice to the rest of the gryfons and opened his wings, but didn’t fly. Out of respect for the painted wolves, they walked, backing away from the meal, walking along the plain until it seemed polite to take to the air again.

Shard winged up beside him. “This should be a merry gathering.”

“I should skin them,” Kjorn growled.

“They’ll behave better with Asvander close.”

“They’ll behave better or I’ll see to them myself,” Kjorn muttered, and that was the end of it until nightfall.

Two modest fires burned in the dark, and Kjorn supposed the wolves would’ve had no trouble finding them even without Mayka leaving to lead them back.

Brynja and the huntresses had found the same pronghorn herd of Ilesh and his pack, and managed to fell three of them—plenty to feed their company and offer leftover bones to the painted wolves when they arrived. Kjorn insisted that the Lakelanders settle away from the fire so Ilesh and his pack would feel honored.

The painted wolf chief laid on his belly before the flames, happily cracking open a bone and licking the marrow from inside. Kjorn and Shard sat with him, with Brynja, Ketil, Asvander, and Dagny ringed around the fire. Most of the gryfons already slumbered, some spoke quietly at the second fire and others eavesdropped from the dark.

The big chief, his fur a dazzling array of swirling brown and white spots that seemed to dance in the shadows of the fire, finished his bone, cleaned his paws, and sat up.

“I am not opposed to alliance with gryfons, if they are led by you,” he said to Kjorn.

Shard nudged him, and Kjorn knew his wingbrother’s thought—how quickly the wolf chief had gotten to the point. He appreciated that, as he felt they had very little time, and inclined his head. “I understand your boundaries have not been respected under the rule of Orn.”

“Nor under your father, or his, or Kajar,” Ilesh said, tilting his head. “Gryfons have pecked and pushed at us since the Second Age, and all of us have failed to repair our broken boundaries. You and the Star-sent are the first to even hear our words, and this is good. If we drive out the great enemy together, perhaps we can have new respect, new understanding, new laws.”

Mayka bellied forward through the dark and stretched out discreetly by Kjorn, showing his support.

“I have respect for you,” Kjorn said quietly.

Beside him, Asvander shifted, nodding slowly. “I make no excuses for Lakelanders who disrespected your hunt today, but know that I have seen the painted wolves fight, and we would be glad to have you as allies.”

“Allies? This is a cold word.”

“Friends,” Asvander said, and gratitude warmed Kjorn’s chest. It was not easy for Asvander to change his ways. But, like Brynja and the other Aesir, they were beginning to see as Kjorn saw, as Shard had taught him. Respect and honor for all creatures, Named and Nameless.

“Friends,” Ilesh said, and licked his chops as if tasting the word. “Yes. We like this. Know that what I do here, I do for my pups, and their pups. And for your kits, so they will know peace and understanding, not war. I will fight the great enemy with my pack so my pups never have to fight, and I will do so alongside gryfons, lions, and eagles, so my pups never know the prejudice we must overcome.”

“Yes,” Kjorn said quietly, with a glance at Shard, who looked just as pleased as he could, wings fluffed and ears twitching to soft sounds in the dark. “That’s our hope as well. Tell me what lands, what borders you hope to claim at the end of this.”

Ilesh raised his dark muzzle and opened his mouth to a panting grin. “The time for that will come. First . . .” He looked between Shard, Asvander, and Kjorn, and said, “Tell me what plan you have for we creatures of the earth to be of use against the winged enemy.”

Kjorn and Asvander looked at each other, and Kjorn deferred to the Lakelander, who was swiftly becoming the head of Kjorn’s small war council.

“Well,” Asvander began, leaning forward. “Unfortunately the best way I have to describe what you and the lions will do is . . . distraction. I hope that isn’t insulting to you.”

Ilesh bared his fangs, his plumed tail dusting the ground. “I have seen tiny fleas bring down even the mightiest hunter. Tell me your plan.”

They spoke of war until the fires burned low, and Kjorn invited the wolves to stay the evening near them, but Ilesh stretched and summoned his hunters with a warbling growl.

“No. We will travel back to the red lake, find Stigr, and travel with him back to the Serpent River and meet the eagles.”

“Tell him we fare well,” Shard said. “If you will.”

“I will.”

“We’ll see all of you at the Voldsom Narrows then,” Kjorn said. Weariness clawed at the back of his eyes, but the wolves seemed to be perking back up, ready for a long run in the night.

“You will, you will indeed!” Ilesh trotted around the fire, stepping into Kjorn’s space. Familiar with rituals of the wolves in the Silver Isles, Kjorn lifted his head and leaned forward. Ilesh touched the side of his muzzle to Kjorn’s beak and they shared a breath, and the heavy scents of meat, blood and muscle washed over him. Then Ilesh bounded away almost like a pup, invigorated, and nipped and barked at his fellows until they all streamed away in the night. Kjorn heard Mayka barking farewell.

“That went well,” he said as Shard slipped up on his right.

“Yes. Now we just have the Vanhar, lions, eagles, and the Dawn Spire.”

“Breezy,” Kjorn said, taking Dagny’s favorite expression.

“Breezy,” Shard agreed softly, and though they both settled down, Kjorn was certain that every time he woke in night, Shard was awake, staring into the dark at something the rest of them couldn’t see.

T
WO MORE DAYS OF HARD
flying brought them to the Dawn Reach—a broad swath of hills, chalky bluffs and long draws. Shard felt good with the alliance of the painted wolves secured, knowing they would take word to Stigr and the others.