By the Silver Wind (26 page)

“No, dear one,” she heard Astri’s mother say. “It’s not him . . .” Growing commotion drowned her out. Gryfons flocked up from their nests, from the sea, from the river. They ran and gathered there by the King’s Rocks, staring. Gasps fell out, some shouted names, some launched into the air.

As the arriving gryfons grew closer, Ragna counted at least forty. Since the albatross’s word, she had waited every day for Maja and the Vanir she’d recovered to appear on the starward horizon.

But this was not Maja and her band.

“It’s Dagr,” Sigrun whispered. “Ragna, he’s returned! He found Vidar, and those others, they’re . . .”

“All Vanir,” Ragna said softly, stunned. The albatross had told her of Maja, not Dagr. Sverin had exiled Dagr last summer for waiting too long to take up the challenge of initiation. When Dagr learned Shard was true price of the Vanir, he had flown nightward to find his father and others on the same day Maja had, flown in Shard’s name to find the Vanir. And though they’d had no word at all of how he fared, here he was, and Ragna had to gather her wits, to reconcile her surprise and her joy.

“So it begins,” Caj said quietly.

Ragna snapped back to attention. She realized she had a duty to set the tone of this arrival, and fast. She couldn’t stand there like a tree. She bounded forward and jumped into the sky, winging a long circle around the pride and the arriving Vanir. Some were Ragna’s age, some Shard’s age, a few older. Most of them landed hard and collapsed with relief onto the packed snow.

“My pride! My Vanir, my family, welcome home!”

At the sight of her, pale and strong against the deepening evening, the pride fell to quiet whispers, and tension stretched its wings over them. The returning Vanir appeared surprised to see Aesir in the mix, even though Ragna was clearly no longer under Sverin’s power.

Surely Dagr and Vidar would have prepared them for the mixed pride, would have told them that some were true mates, some had mixed families like their own.

Dagr flew to meet Ragna. “All hail the queen! Ragna the White! See, I bring you the indomitable Vanir who flew beyond the nightward horizon!”

He laughed, and she laughed, wanting at the same time to weep. Other gryfons called her name, familiar voices she’d thought lost forever. Faces she’d dreamed dwelled in the Sunlit Land turned to see her and laughed and called their loyalty.

It was chaotic, it was too soon, it was not as she’d imagined it would be. Yet, the sight of her bedraggled pride sank in at last, and she let joy steal over her.

“You’re sooner than expected,” Ragna said, flapping in a quick circle around Dagr. “And bold! What made you fly here, when you didn’t know how we fared?”

“From a safe distance, my father scouted and saw Vanir flying over the sea, fishing.” His eyes glinted as he hovered, straining against the cold air. “It was a welcome sight. This, more than anything, told us the Red King was no longer in power, told us it would be safe to come home.”

Ragna laughed as she realized that would be an obvious sign. She remembered who she was supposed to be. The queen of the Vanir, mother of the true prince, not the widowed, lost gryfess who wandered in and out of her enemy’s prison to check on the state of his mind. “No, he is no longer in power. And you’re a very welcome sight.”

In a colorful bunch to one side, the old Aesir watched, wary. Caj and Thyra went to them. Ragna trusted them to handle that half. As for the rest . . .

She had not been prepared for them to arrive so soon. She hadn’t thought it would be so abrupt, so unexpected, but surely would be after the Halflight, or early summer, or not until Shard’s return. There was much to do.

“But where is our prince?” Dagr asked, stealing the thought from her as they swooped around each other to stay aloft. He was all brightness and strength, though he’d grown thin. “The Vanir fly free, which means we’ve come too late for the overthrow?” He eyed the Aesir below, whom Ragna had clearly not exiled nor imprisoned. “Where is the son of Baldr?”

“He’s . . . oh, but there’s too much, and you’ve flown far. Land with me,” Ragna said. “Land, all of you! Rest, eat, we’ll tell all the islands, and I’ll catch you up on what has passed.”

In his eager face she saw Einarr, and like a bolt the thought nearly dropped her.

I’ll tell you your brother was slain.
Her throat clenched.

She caught sight of Vidar, and he called a greeting. Vidar was Dagr and Einarr’s father, and one of Ragna’s old friends. Sverin had exiled him for the crime of flying at night. Weight dragged at her wings.

Dagr landed with Ragna. Vidar touched ground some leaps off, looking around for Eyvin, his mate. Ragna spied her, standing away with the other Aesir, but she did not immediately go to him. Vidar paused to bow before Ragna, and before she could wonder at Eyvin’s hesitance, Astri approached through the muttering throng of gryfons.

The little white gryfess trundled to Dagr, ears perked, face burning in the twilight. “You’re . . .” Her expression broke, crestfallen.

She couldn’t really have thought it was Einarr, could she? We left him to rest on Black Rock.

“Dagr,” he said cautiously, watching her with gentle curiosity. “Son-of-Vidar. I knew you as a fledge, but I regret I’ve forgotten your—”

“Astri,” she managed, staring at the gryfon who looked so like her mate should have, in perhaps three years. “I’m . . . I was . . . Einarr’s . . .”

Ragna watched, sapped of strength to intervene. By any wind, she decided, it was right for Astri to tell Einarr’s family. Ragna looked sideways at Vidar, who was watching Astri, then, slowly realizing, he raised his head to search the gathering for his younger son.

So invigorated by the arrival home, it seemed Dagr didn’t notice Astri’s sorrow at first. “Einarr’s mate! Ah, yes, Shard said he’d won a fine huntress, and I see he was right.” He dipped his head to her. “And has already started a family of his own I see. I should rush to catch up, if any gryfess will have an
exile
.” He laughed, and no gryfon around seemed able to move. “But come now.” He opened a wing to embrace the dainty white gryfess, as if they’d been close all their lives. “Where is Einarr? I’ve brought our father home, whom he hasn’t seen in . . .”

At last, he paused. At last, halted by the look on Astri’s face, Ragna’s face, and the silence that fell over the pride at Einarr’s name, he fell quiet. His ears tilted back in uncertainty, and he appeared to realize there was one face not there to greet him.

“Where is my brother?”

The wind moaned across the rocks and the ice that jutted from the sea. The buoyancy dissolved from the gathering. Distantly, Ragna heard a raven call, and watched as the simple question rent open the fragile wounds in her pride.

Astri drew herself together, lifted her beak in a show of pride, and managed four words. “Einarr flies with Tyr.”

Wind stung at Ragna’s face and she closed her eyes.

“No,” Vidar breathed at last, “my son?”

Ragna could not look at him.

Dagr managed only a sharp growl of negation, and Astri loosed a soft, choked sound before she collapsed under the wing of her new brother.

T
HEY SOARED ON A HIGH
, warm wind.

“I guarantee this is a trap,” Asvander said again, calling over the wind for Kjorn’s ears. Shard glanced over at Kjorn, who merely shook his head. Shard, Kjorn, and Brynja flew at the head of a diamond with Asvander, Dagny, Nilsine, and Ketil ranged behind.

Asvander had argued the moment Kjorn wanted to go. First, Kjorn had wanted to go alone, merely to hear the message. Shard insisted he accompany, then Asvander, Brynja, and Dagny also volunteered to go. And since Shard was going, Ketil demanded a Vanir be present for his interests. Shard tried to remember the time he’d been able to do things without an entourage, and decided he missed it. Still, the presence of his friends, future mate, and a member of his own pride always at his side had begun to feel normal.

For a moment, he remembered the summer before everything was swept up into madness, and he, Thyra, and Kjorn had frolicked before their initiation hunt.

Only a year ago. A year. Less than a year. How many times have we all been reborn in these seasons?

Meanwhile, Kjorn didn’t answer Asvander. He didn’t have to, Shard knew, and they flew in silence. Whatever message, whether truly from the Dawn Spire or elsewhere, they had specifically named and asked for Kjorn. It was not in him to ignore it. The exhausted lioness had told them that the gryfess waited with other lioness hunters at the border. That alone surprised Shard, that a gryfon would respect the boundary of the First Plains.

They had little time to discuss the matter further, if anyone had a mind to, for they were nearly at their destination, according to the lioness’s description.

“There!” Shard stretched a talon to point, and Kjorn followed his direction. Three lionesses lounged in the grass around a gryfess, who sat stiffly, searching the sky. Her gaze found them. Her ears perked, and she stood.

Just as Shard recognized her, Brynja cried out.

“Sigga!” She tightened her wings, paused, glanced at Kjorn. “My lord. She is—was—one of my huntresses. I’ll introduce you.” And without leave, Brynja tucked and dove. Dagny followed Brynja’s lead and they landed first, trotting forward to meet their estranged comrade. Ketil winged up closer to Shard, wary of the whole thing, and Nilsine seemed to share her caution.

Kjorn looked at Shard, who clenched his own talons. “I knew her,” Shard confirmed. “We hunted together. We weren’t exactly friends, but if anything it means the message is truly from the Dawn Spire.”

From him, Kjorn looked to Asvander. “She is honorable,” Asvander said. “Dawn Spire to the core. I don’t believe she would desert or bear a false message.”

“Well enough,” Kjorn murmured, and at his signal, they glided down to land.

Brynja bounded up to Shard, her face alight.

Shard felt better just looking at her. “Did she have news of your family?”

“Yes.” She stretched her wings happily. “They’re well. Orn didn’t imprison either of my parents, for they weren’t really involved with you or any of it.” A chilly, bracing wind made dignity and quiet conversation nearly impossible, for their feathers ruffed all the wrong ways and the whipping grass made them raise their voices.

“You weren’t really involved either,” Shard muttered. He had been the one to draw the wyrms down on the Dawn Spire, but Orn, the current ruler, had considered his friends traitors for associating with him.

She nipped his ear lightly and, opening her wings for attention, led the males back to the huntress. “Sigga, let me present prince Kjorn, son-of-Sverin. Kjorn, Sigga, daughter-of-Syg, huntress and lately, messenger.”

Sigga mantled respectfully, though she eyed Shard with a dark look. When she straightened, her gaze was only for Kjorn. “Well met, my lord. I am sent to invite you to the Dawn Spire.”

“Invite? Or command?”

Shard watched Kjorn carefully, saw his ears tilt back, his stance stiffen. They had not planned on revealing his presence to the Dawn Spire until all their allies were certain, and assembled. But Shard didn’t know how long they really could have expected to move large numbers of gryfons, painted wolves, eagles, and lions around without someone noticing. Still, he wondered how they knew of Kjorn himself.

Sigga laughed, too brightly. Shard supposed Kjorn could be intimidating. “My lord, I am one gryfess. I certainly can’t command you anywhere. You are invited, an honored guest, to speak of . . . current tidings.”

“And if I don’t go at your invitation?”

“Then I am to tell you that we hold a gryfon who claims to be one of your captains, working under your command to gather others in preparation for a war.”

Kjorn’s expression grew icy. “What gryfon?”

“Rok, son-of-Rokar.”

Kjorn cursed. Shard glanced around as if he might see confirmation of the claim—but then, it couldn’t be a lie. There would be no reason for the Dawn Spire to know the exiled gryfon now served Kjorn, except if they had captured him. Kjorn touched a talon to the chain he wore, a chain that represented promises between himself and Rok. “Yes, he is one of mine. But my war is against the wyrms, not the Dawn Spire.”

Sigga’s expression grew serious, she ducked her head a little. “We know. That is why I was sent. I was told to tell you this—come, present yourself to the king, be known, be seen, and stop skirting the borders like a rogue thief in the night.” She raised her head, meeting his gaze fully, and seemed to take a bracing breath. “Come and see the Dawn Spire.”

Kjorn glanced to Shard. Shard tilted his head slightly in negation, and tightened his talons against the grass. Something didn’t feel right, but he had no answer for Kjorn.

Asvander did. Feathers ruffled, wings lifted in agitation, he snapped his beak. “If Orn thinks he can lure the prince in with some—”

“I’m only the messenger,” Sigga said tightly, not looking at Asvander. Her gaze remained fixed wholly on Kjorn. “Take what you will from my message, but please give me an answer to return, or accompany me yourself. Prince Kjorn.” She appraised him, extending an inviting wing starward. “Won’t you come and see the Dawn Spire? Won’t you come and see your home?”

Shard saw, immediately, that Kjorn could not refuse. A light had come into his face at continued talk of the Dawn Spire, a fierce longing, a hunger that Shard feared would steal reason from his head. “I will go,” he said quietly, and in his face they saw there would be no arguing.

So, rather than argue, they planned.

Shard, Brynja, and Asvander would return to their larger group, and lead them on to the Voldsom Narrows, with warrior lions following on foot behind. There they would meet the eagles, the Lakelanders who would be traveling with Stigr and the rest of the Vanir, and the Serpent River pack of painted wolves. There, they would wait for word, or for Kjorn himself for the final onslaught against the wyrms.

Nilsine would go with Kjorn, for protection and to represent the Vanhar. Dagny would go with him, for she knew the Dawn Spire, had family there, and could protect him and speak for the gryfons Orn had exiled.