“Lead on,” Kjorn said, following her. Over his shoulder he said, “Fraenir, you have your orders.”
The younger gryfon huffed, fluffed his wings, then called to a group of the departing scouts to wait for him.
Beside Kjorn, Nilsine’s cool countenance broke and she scoffed. “You shouldn’t waste your time. He’s exile stock, born and bred. A thief with no discipline, no honor. I warn you, he will betray you in the end, maybe not directly, but through cowardice or some other thievish—”
“I appreciate your concern,” Kjorn said, lifting his head high to catch the scents on the wind. “But I’ll handle him.”
They waded through waving, golden grass, and as the sun dipped, so did the warmth of the day. Kjorn felt a chill, but it was nothing compared to winter in the Silver Isles.
“Will you tell me something?” Kjorn asked. “I didn’t wish to ask back at the Vanheim Shore and seem too ignorant, but I thought you might indulge me.”
“I might,” Nilsine answered blandly.
“What did the priestess mean when she spoke of the Four Winds?”
Nilsine loosed a soft breath. “Not a belief the Aesir recognize anymore? It is the oldest of traditions. Before gryfons knew Tyr and Tor, they knew only the earth, wind, sea and sky. The Four Winds— Star, Night, Sun and Dawn…they all have their own purpose, their own messages.”
“I see.” He considered the four directions. “And what wind does your priestess think is blowing now?”
Nilsine squinted, ears twitching. “Before we left this morning she told me that the air is still.”
“What does that mean?”
“That means no one knows what will happen.”
Kjorn’s tail twitched but he maintained a neutral expression. His father had little patience with prophecy, and he was beginning to understand why. But he couldn’t dismiss their beliefs. “Well then. Perhaps we shall stir the winds with our own wings.”
She looked amused at that. “Perhaps. We could do with a change.”
“What kind of change?”
Nilsine dipped her head, sniffing at an imprint in the grass. “All I know is why I patrol our borders. The exiles, rogues, and poachers run amok throughout the plains, the Dawn Reach, and the Outlands surrounding the Dawn Spire. They have no order, though if I had to pick a leader among them, it would be Rok.” Her expression soured, and Kjorn kept his opinions to himself. “The families of the Reach remain at the Dawn Spire. The Aesir clans of the Ostral Shores have left the Dawn Spire and keep their own borders. Obviously, the Vanhar have left. Some families, refusing to serve the new king and unable to go home without his support for fear of the wyrms, live in exile, but scattered.”
“The Ostral Shores…” Kjorn wracked his memory of why the name was familiar, but his father had spoken so little of their homeland. “Caj,” he blurted, and Nilsine watched him, bemused. “I just recalled—my father met his wingbrother at the Ostral Shores. Caj, son-of-Cai.”
“Then you may have allies starward of the Dawn Spire, if you can make it there in one piece. Perhaps they know of your friend.”
“They well might. Caj is Shard’s nest-father.”
“They might also be enemies,” she added bluntly. “We don’t know how their feelings might fly toward your family now.”
“I appreciate your honesty,” Kjorn said dryly. Nilsine merely inclined her head. Kjorn considered the fractured land and gryfon clans, and the great enemy that threatened them at night. He wondered, almost idly, what might have happened if Per hadn’t fled, and if this land was his birthright, still.
But he did flee.
The sun was dying, wind and dim purple light washed the First Plains. Kjorn still shuddered instinctively at being out in the open at night. Since he was a kit his father had forbidden flying at night, and now that Kjorn knew there was a great, real enemy in the Winderost which hunted at night, he began to understand why. A cry went up, and Nilsine perked her ears. “They’ve found lions! Come.”
She bounded forward and Kjorn followed at pace. Grass scratched at his face and whipped his eyes until he mastered a rolling lope, his head tilted back above the stems.
Gryfon shouts and lion snarls cracked the evening, and dread swarmed Kjorn’s chest at the sound of a skirmish.
When he saw the combatants, his temper flashed.
“Fraenir!” he shouted, bounding toward the fight. “You fool!”
Nilsine tried to snag Kjorn’s tail to keep him from entering the fray, but he had to. The younger gryfon fought two larger, young male lions and would surely lose. Kjorn took them in with a glance, their size that nearly matched an average gryfon, golden, muscular feline forms and short, bristly dark manes flying in the fight—saw an opening, and slammed into his target, shouting, “We’re here in peace!”
“You’ve broken the borders,” rumbled the young lion Kjorn had knocked to the ground. He whipped to his feet and prowled in a cautious circle as he took in Kjorn’s size, and Kjorn did not pursue. He stood still, wings folded, tense in case the lion leaped again, but didn’t advance. Vanhar surrounded them and the lions drew back. Nilsine’s warriors dragged Fraenir back from his opponent and that lion stalked away, prowling back and forth behind the one who spoke to Kjorn.
“A gross trespass of our agreements with the Vanhar. Or are you poachers?”
“I am no poacher.” Nilsine trotted up next to Kjorn. “You should know me. Nilsine, daughter-of-Nels, of the Vanhar. And by your scent I guess you to be Ajali, brother to Ajia the Swiftest.”
He bared his long yellow fangs. “And this?” His ears flicked forward toward Kjorn. Fraenir limped up behind Kjorn, looking sullen, and Kjorn gave him a brief, sharp look before turning to the lion.
“I am—”
“Kjorn,” said a liquid, female voice from the grass. They all turned, and the male lions made way for six lionesses who rose from the grass. The wind shifted and Kjorn caught their scent at last, and the sight of them was surprising, not the least because of their abrupt appearance.
Like the wolves of the Star Isle, they wore feathers knotted into the fur of their necks. Kjorn took that as a hopeful sign, because the feathers had obviously belonged to gryfons. The leading lioness, long and muscled, had a pale, tawny coat. She inclined her head to Kjorn, and the feathers that ringed her neck stood a little like an eagle’s. It was then he saw that knotted near the base of the display of feathers were also broken talons and tiny bones.
His sense of hope cooled.
“Kjorn,” she repeated, as if familiar. “The long awaited heir of Kajar.” Her golden eyes found Nilsine, in the last dim light of day. “You were right to bring him to us, daughter of the Vanhar. He is the last of three—three who we knew would follow the starfire to our land.”
“Three?” Kjorn asked, mantling belatedly when he saw that Nilsine bowed to the lioness. “Of whom else do you speak?”
“First, a dragon, bearing hope.” Her gleaming eyes searched them all, and Kjorn held his breath. “Second, the Summer King, bearing truth. And you. The third and last.”
And what do I bear?
Kjorn wanted to ask, but kept silent for another moment. She seemed to be measuring him, and he stood as still as he could as darkness fell.
“Wise Ajia,” Nilsine murmured. “We come seeking only help. Kjorn has come to find his wingbrother, Shard, of the Silver Isles.”
“We know Rashard, the Summer King.”
Kjorn’s heart quickened and he stepped forward, then when Nilsine made a negative grunt, backed up again respectfully. “You’ve met with him? Is he well? I wish to find him and reconcile. Can you tell me what’s become of him? I would owe you a great debt.”
Ajia tilted her head and Kjorn gave the feathers another furtive glance, searching for any gray, or a talon of pale color. He was relieved not to see any.
“We know him. He met with us, spoke and listened. He listened and spoke with a heart of earth, like a lion, like a true son of Tor. He walked with us to behold the enemy.”
“The enemy,” Kjorn said quietly. “I believe I had a vision of them. Great beasts with wings like storms, all dark, and greedy and violent.”
“Yes, that is their nature. This vision of yours, in it, did you fight them?”
With a sideways glance at Nilsine he said, “I rose victorious from their darkness and chaos.”
Ajia watched him for a long moment as final night enclosed them. Not one other lion spoke or moved, and Kjorn understood that she was a leader among them. Not even between gryfons had he seen such perfect stillness and obedience.
“You have returned, son-of-Sverin, at the height of your strength and power, knowing the truth of your family’s flight from this, your homeland, only to find your wingbrother?”
“That is my intention, yes.” It was a simple question, yet Kjorn felt he was being challenged.
Ajia looked at Nilsine, whose passive expression, as far as Kjorn could tell in the new dark and starlight, did not change.
After another stretch of silence Kjorn could bear the scrutiny no longer. “With all respect, yes. I have no other aims here. You said you’d met with my wingbrother. You know Shard. Do you know what’s become of him?”
Ajia glanced to the lioness beside her, who lowered her head and lay back her ears. Ajia returned her gaze to Kjorn. “We know him, and consider him a friend. But we do not know you. Why should we tell you what we know?”
“Wise Ajia,” Nilsine began, and Kjorn stepped in front of her, knowing it would appear aggressive, but he felt some aggression was needed, some show of strength. Ajia tilted her head back to study him.
Kjorn spoke to her alone. “I am Shard’s closest friend since kithood. We had a falling out. We mistrusted and lied and did poorly by each other, and I hope to find him and make amends.”
As if she hadn’t even heard him, the lioness spoke thoughtfully. “Shard hoped to understand the great enemy that stalks the Winderost, and perhaps help us rid our lands of them. Do you mean to help him with this?”
Taken aback, Kjorn considered his answer, and stood as tall as he was able. With some satisfaction he noticed two of the younger, male lions draw back. “If he wishes for my help, I will do it. If the Winderost wishes my help, I will give it.”
“Bold words. You have never seen the enemy.”
He turned his ears back. “I would face them. I had a vision and was victorious. If Shard wishes to fight them, I will fight and die beside him if needed. I must find him first, of course.” He hoped that was a strong enough hint.
Ajia studied him, then looked at Nilsine, whose expression remained guarded, though she slanted an ear Kjorn’s way, as if surprised by his words.
“Why should we trust your words? You could be an enemy of Shard. He fled a troubled land, seeking truth.”
“Why should I trust
you
?” Kjorn growled, growing weary of riddles and unanswered questions. “I walked respectfully into your lands and sought you out before searching, hunting—why, scarcely before we even bent the grass with our feet. Tell me, those feathers on your neck, are those signs of friendship, or battles won?”
Ajia tilted her head and Nilsine sucked a sharp breath, but Kjorn stood firm. Starlight sparkled through the haze above, and after a moment, Ajia threw back her head and roared with laughter. Then she trotted forward, bowing her head so the feathers stood in intimidating display like a mane, though her eyes lifted to remain locked on Kjorn’s.
“Perhaps they are both. Tell me, isn’t winning a difficult friendship sometimes like a battle won?”
Kjorn opened his beak, and when he had no answer, she laughed again and circled away, speaking over her shoulder. “Come, walk with us. You will hunt with us on the next egg moon, and if you do well under the bright eye of Tor, perhaps we will tell you what we know of the Summer King.”
“I don’t have time to—”
“Don’t refuse her,” Nilsine hissed, stepping abreast of him again. “It would be a great insult. You would make an enemy.”
“I thought I already had,” Kjorn muttered, watching Ajia walk away, looking fully confident he would follow.
“Oh no,” Nilsine murmured, as the lions gathered around Ajia and she led a trail through the grass. “An invitation to hunt is a wonderful honor.”
“It sounded more like a test to me.”
“Come,” Nilsine said impatiently. “Don’t risk their good mood by dallying.”
“Good mood?” Kjorn mused. “I would hate to see her in a bad mood.”
Nilsine snapped her beak, and at last Kjorn fell in, following the lions deeper into the grassy plain. Ajia had challenged him. If she considered friendship a battle won, then this was a battle he didn’t intend to lose.
S
HEETS OF SHARP, BLACK
, volcanic scree cascaded down the slope toward Halvden, with Caj riding down the largest rock. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to stalk down the hill without upsetting the loose rocks, nor make the long jump for the element of surprise. So in the dimming light he used the slope and the rocks to his advantage.
Flaring his good wing to steer somewhat, Caj relished the look of shock on Halvden’s face before the first rocks struck him, threatening to bury the green warrior under black, razor edges.
Halvden dragged away from the small avalanche and beat his wings hard, trying to escape. Caj judged the distance and leaped, flinging his entire weight against Halvden’s hindquarters and slamming the younger gryfon to the ground.
“You’re
dead!
” Halvden shrieked, scrabbling away as the wave of rocks skittered toward them.
“No, guess again.” Caj reared up to his hind legs and forced Halvden down, rolling him with hard shoves away from the last of the sliding rocks.
“You’re a ghost!” Halvden loosed a strangled noise, gained his feet and turned tail, kicking up dust and pebbles in Caj’s face with both hind paws.
Caj ducked his head to shield his eyes even as he leaped forward, swiping blindly for Halvden’s hind legs. “No such thing,” he growled.
“Stay back!” Halvden sprang away and whirled, flaring his wings.
Caj crouched, tail whipping.
Slowly Halvden’s eyes narrowed, his expression growing clear as he realized Caj was real, alive, and coming for him. Caj had vowed never to underestimate him again, so before Halvden could gather his thoughts, Caj lunged.