“Come,” Asrik said, “it’s time for supper.”
That was met with loud and boisterous agreement. Some brushed Kjorn as they passed, wishing fair winds, looking aflame and ready to fight.
Lofgar thunked a wing against Kjorn’s chest in a not-unfriendly way. “Pretty words, son of Sverin, but I hope you won’t be making many long speeches.”
“I hope so too, son of Ofgar, and I’m glad to have your strength.”
Lofgar paused, as if surprised that Kjorn knew him so well, then ruffled his feathers. “Aye, you should be.” He turned and roared for someone to bring him meat—Kjorn flicked his ears back from the volume of it—and the Lakelander strode off to find his fellows.
Kjorn stood still as the rest dispersed, and when enough had left, sagged against Shard.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Shard chuckled, nudging a wing. “I hardly did anything.”
“You came to my side,” Kjorn said quietly, watching the orange flames, letting his pounding heart settle. “You make my words stronger.”
Kjorn sensed Stigr watching them, then the black gryfon slipped away with the rest. He was relieved they had become allies, for a rift between Shard’s mentor and himself would’ve made Shard’s tasks that much harder, and weighed on his heart. Now he seemed optimistic, strong and hopeful, which helped Kjorn to feel all those things too.
“Let’s eat,” Shard said, drawing him from his thoughts. “Even you won’t be having any glorious battles on an empty stomach.”
A
THRONG OF GRYFONS GATHERED
around the dancing fires nearer the lake, telling stories. To Shard, it felt strange to be in the stormy season in between, the wind and rain and half-hearted days of sun seeming to drive winter away but not quite readying for spring. Night settled still over the lake, and Shard heard the voice of a singer.
News spread fast—the Lakelanders would go to war. They would follow Kjorn, they would assure victory over the wyrms. Blazing exuberance swelled loudly through the lakeshore in boasting, singing, over-eating, and spontaneous sparring.
“There they are,” Shard murmured, pointing with a wingtip where Stigr, Asvander and their friends sat gathered near the largest fire.
Brynja was there, warm and ruddy in the orange light. She caught Shard’s gaze and called them over. Beside her sat her wingsister Dagny, lean and rich brown all over, with Asvander beside her, looking more gloomy than Shard would have thought, after their success. Stigr sat with Brynja’s aunt, Valdis.
Shard and Kjorn stepped forward, slipping around gryfons who were lounging, eating and dozing, all with at least one ear perked to whomever was singing. After a winter-rain song came a speaker, her fine, rich voice re-telling the most recent Battle of Torches when Shard, Kjorn, and a mingled band of gryfons had driven off the wyrms from the Outlands.
“Fair winds, my lord,” purred Valdis as they approached. The gryfess, very like Brynja in bearing and color, but older, stretched out on her belly before the fire, her tail ticking off beats in the speaker’s tale. “Stigr tells me your meeting went well.”
“Very well,” Kjorn agreed.
“Well enough,” Stigr said. “These Lakelanders are stubborn.”
“But honorable,” Kjorn murmured.
“And loyal,” said Shard, looking to Asvander, who inclined his head a degree in acknowledgement. Shard wondered if Lofgar’s comments still bothered him, and knew they should probably talk. Neither Asvander nor Brynja wanted a forced mating, but perhaps from his family’s point of view it looked weak or dishonorable that Brynja had chosen Shard over Asvander.
“Hm, stubborn and loyal.” Valdis nibbled at Stigr’s neck feathers. “I don’t know any gryfons like that.”
“You fly the same wind,” Stigr said, stretching his good wing to cover her.
Mild embarrassment at their fluffing and flirting flushed Shard’s neck, but it faded in the face of seeing his uncle happy. Stigr had lived ten years in lonely exile, counseled by ravens and the occasional wolf about the goings-on of his own pride. To be surrounded now by admiring warriors and a soon-to-be mate was just barely enough, Shard thought, to repay what he’d lost.
“Tyr’s wings,” Valdis said. “Then we should fly together.” She sighed gustily, lifting her talons to run down Stigr’s back.
“Sit down,” Dagny said to Shard and Kjorn. “You two make me nervous, standing there looking ready to fight.”
“Ready to eat, more like.” Brynja pushed a fish toward Shard, and Asvander motioned Kjorn toward a piece of back strap—a choice meat saved for the prince.
They all shifted to make room for Shard between Brynja and Valdis, and room for Kjorn on Shard’s other side, near Asvander. They settled in to eat, and Shard planned to tell Stigr about his dream after he finished.
“Shard,” Kjorn said quietly as the speaker finished her recounting of the battle to enthusiastic calls and happy, rumbling purrs. Shard looked over at him, ears perked. “Will you still be ready to leave in two mornings? Now that we have the Ostral Shores, we should move on, speak to the painted dogs, then the Vanhar as we planned.”
“I will.” Shard picked at his fish. “I’ll need to find someone to guide my Vanir to meet us at the Voldsom.”
“I will lead them,” Stigr began. “I’m slow but I know the way. By the time you two make your rounds we’ll be there—”
“And now,” boomed Asrik’s voice. Shard and the others looked up, and Asvander shifted, looking wary.
“A favorite song, the last of the winter songs. Let it remind us of our ties, our loyalties, and our love.”
Though Kjorn sat between them, Shard sensed Asvander tensing, and beside him, Brynja. “What is it?” he whispered as two gryfons stepped up, a leaner, pale male and gull-gray huntress, both of the Ostral Shore.
But Brynja looked around him to catch Asvander’s eye, and he shook his head once, as if refusing an accusation. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“Brynja,” Shard began.
“Listen,” she said, shifting her feet and narrowing her eyes.
“Warriors,” said the pale male from the little knoll on which all the singers and tale speakers had stood.
“Huntresses,” said the female, her face glowing in the firelight. “For our honored guests, and our new allies, the Vanir, and Prince Kjorn, the long lost heir of Kajar, we offer a song of the Second Age.”
The male’s gaze slid across the fires. “When gryfons, like eagles, hawks, and witless birds still mated only with others of their clan.”
“When all bloodlines ran pure,” said the female. Anticipation grew in the pride, Shard sensed it like wind fanning an ember.
“When enmities ran even purer,” barked the male.
“Tyr shone his light on the hearts of two warriors.”
“If it pleases my lords,” the male said, dipping his head, “we give you the Ballad of Oster and En.”
So beloved, apparently, was the song, that Shard heard others whisper the title with relish along with the singer. Brynja, however, let out a slow hiss of air through her beak, and glared once again at Asvander.
“If you—”
“I didn’t,” he growled, and Dagny made an unhappy noise at the tension. “This is all
him.
”
By
him,
Shard supposed he meant his father. He would have to wait for enlightenment, for when the song began, all fell quiet to listen, even Brynja and Asvander. The male sang first, his voice as long and pure as the tenor howl of a wolf, so surprising that Shard’s feathers prickled.
“Long ago and far away
In the time when all legends began,
There lived bold Oster of the saltwater shores
And a beautiful huntress called En.”
The gryfess sang the next verse in rich alto, her voice like thunder to the male singer’s skyfire, the song a haunting storm.
“Their clans made war on the saltwater shore
And stained the blue lake red.
But when bold Oster met the beautiful huntress
He vowed never to fight again.”
Brynja fluffed her feathers, then shook herself and sleeked again, and Shard preened hesitantly at her wing, trying to calm her. She shook her head, and with the next verse, he began to understand her tension.
“Let’s flee the war and the saltwater shore,”
He said to the huntress called En
She agreed, and away they winged
Together, forever, they pledged.”
All around, gryfons whispered along, hummed in their chests, cast fond glances to the singers and to each other. Shard peeked around and noticed some of his Vanir listening, rapt. Taking up the refrain together, the singers’ voices mingled and soared in sharp harmony.
“We will fly beyond the Dawnward Sea
Where the sun rises eternally.
My love will be safe
And I will be free
Beyond the Dawnward Sea.”
A song of the first gryfons to mate outside their own clans.
And not just any gryfons,
Shard thought with irritation as he understood the tension between Brynja and Asvander. Oster, a founder of the Ostral Shore, and En, whose bloodline, most claimed, could stretch down through the centuries to Kjorn himself, Sverin, and all their cousins, including Brynja’s family.
Shard sought a glimpse of Asvander’s father around the fire. He sat with his mate and Asvander’s younger sister, watching the singers attentively. His tail twitched lightly in time with the song.
“Asvander,” Shard whispered, and Dagny hushed him sharply. Surprised, Shard sat back, listening to the next verse.
“But word of the plan went along in the wind
And reached the father of En.
He sent her sisters out across the land
To bring her home to him.”
Shard watched as Asrik glanced casually toward his son, and Asvander glared back at him, then looked resolutely away. Dagny shifted uneasily.
“They found them there, on the shore of the sea
Together, Oster and En.
They made their stand, with the waves at their feet
And made their vow again.”
“We will fly beyond the Dawnward Sea . . .
Asvander stood slowly, politely, as subtly as his large frame would allow, and left the fire. Dagny blinked, stood, and with one look over her wing, followed him. Shard looked at Brynja and she gave her head the slightest shake.
“It’s enough that he left,” she said under her breath. “If we all do, it’ll insult the singers.”
“Is his father trying to prove some point to shame Asvander?” Shard muttered darkly. “To remind you of your glorious history?”
“It
is
a glorious history,” Valdis said from her spot, and Shard looked to her in surprise, unaware she’d been listening. “Oster and En were the first gryfons to ever break the barriers of clan bloodlines. The unity of the Ostral Shore and the gryfons of the Dawn Spire stretches back to the Second Age, sundered only when Per left.”
“Fled,” Stigr reminded her, and she rustled her wings in a shrug. Nearby gryfons glared at them for talking as the song wove on through verses of fighting by the sea, En admitting she already carried Oster’s kit, and pleas for peace.
Valdis continued, “Asvander and Brynja’s mating was to remind both the Dawn Spire and the Ostral Shore of that glorious history, to reflect that first union between Oster and En.”
“But Kjorn is back now,” Brynja said stiffly. “So the line of En and Kajar will be restored, and any promises that King Orn made on behalf of other gryfons made irrelevant. Unless Kjorn plans to honor arranged matings and other such things.”
Challenging, she looked around Shard to Kjorn, who’d been listening to them and to the song in thoughtful silence.
“I would never force a mating,” he said quietly. “I’d never heard of such a thing until coming here. Perhaps that, at least, is a change Per and my father made for the better in our pride in the Silver Isles.”
Stigr snorted. “But the killing and the stealing remained—”
Valdis nipped his ear sternly, before Shard could say anything. “You speak to your future king,” she reminded. “Unless you’ve decided not to remain at the Dawn Spire, after all, and force me to live as a rogue.”
Stigr stared at her a moment. “He doesn’t mind. He’s heard how I speak to Shard.” He looked over at Kjorn and Shard saw a challenging, but friendly gleam in his eye. “You should’ve heard how I spoke to Baldr. It would’ve shocked you, my lord.”
Despite themselves, they chuckled, and Shard was relieved that Kjorn didn’t seem offended one way or the other. Stigr had earned a place at the Dawn Spire and meant to keep it. Which meant, Shard reflected with an odd pang, that he would bow to an Aesir king after all. But then, it was not Kjorn or Sverin who’d conquered Stigr, but his own heart.
“Anyway,” Valdis said, “I wouldn’t worry too much. It’s mostly hot wind, and what will he do anyway? Lash them together and force them to make vows?”
That image was so ridiculous that even Brynja huffed a short laugh. Shard felt uneasy, and looked into the dark where Asvander had gone.
Brynja said softly to Shard, “It would be nice if a few gryfons actually wanted us to mate and be happy.”
He knew she was thinking of Ketil and the Vanir. Now Asvander’s family, and clearly other members of the Ostral Shore pride, were disappointed that her union with Asvander was not to be. As much as it irritated him that even though he was a prince, his choices were still questioned, it bothered him still more that it caused problems for Asvander.
“Well you’ve got our support,” Stigr said, speaking for himself and Valdis.
“And mine,” Kjorn said drily. “If I count.”
Brynja dipped her head, looking chagrined. “I know. You understand what I meant.”
The song finished in haunting tones, Shard was dismayed to find out, with the death of En’s father in the final fight between their clans. Only after the battle did En and Oster tell their parents that she carried his heir. Their clans were already united, despite themselves. With that heir came peace, the blending of clan and bloodlines and unity ever after—at least, until Kajar, an Age later.
Shard looked over to see Asrik watching them, and Shard narrowed his eyes, perking his ears in challenge. Asrik looked away, dipping his head to speak to his young daughter.