One foot in front of the other.
Stigr’s advice calmed his agitated thoughts.
It was still a distant thing, and many other obstacles stood in the path between them, no matter what way he looked at it. Shard tucked his talons together and laid his ears back, fiddling with the silver chain Groa had given him.
He and Hikaru winged in silence across the long, main mountain cavern, the quickest shortcut to the next mountain. Shard ignored the dragons who stared at them—still, though it had been weeks, and caught the scent of smoke and hot metal from one female who whipped by overhead, her claws overflowing with long golden chains.
With a shudder, he recalled the forges—a network of caverns and tunnels so hot and moist Shard was surprised there was any snow left in the Sunland.
Glimpses inside the stone caves showed him fire—fire and gold so hot it flowed like water, and the scent of hot metal and warm dragon flesh clotted the air. Smoke seeped out through cracks in the mountains but still clouded the forges, and any dragon who spoke to them had a voice rough with the months they’d spent breathing it.
Still, the dragons seemed content in the miserable conditions, doing their work. Shard had marveled how they, like the warrior dragons and the healers, performed each task, no matter how small, with careful, ceremonial attention.
Hikaru had shown him on the third day there, despite the empress’s warning. They’d been ordered away from the forges, but Hikaru saw no punishment from it, and Shard doubted anyone told the empress. Shard noticed how reluctant dragons were to truly punish their young, at least one as young as Hikaru.
Or perhaps it was something else. Perhaps it
was
Hikaru.
And you, winterborn, stay away from me.
He is winterborn,
Amaratsu had said.
Already a difficult fate.
“Shard, there!”
They burst from the exit in the main cavern and fresh cold wind brightened Shard’s thoughts as the sun glared down on them. He followed Hikaru’s pointing claw to behold the azure sea, stretching away and away beyond the mountain peaks. Shard breathed deeply, smelling mostly snow, but a whiff of salt air. It tempered his longing for home, and his determination to finish his business with the dragons as soon as possible.
From there they winged to a smaller, icy peak Shard had never entered.
They landed in the center of the mail cavern, and Hikaru led the way. “Each way of life has a shrine,” he explained, for Shard. “The warriors, the crafters and healers and so on. And the highest, of course, to Tyr and Tor and Midragur, is beyond the valley in another mountain.”
“Midragur is a god, here?”
“No, not like that exactly. Midragur is…the First.”
“The first dragon?”
“Yes. But we call him Ryu, the first son of Tyr and Tor.”
Shard looked around, wondering if the wyrms considered Midragur the First dragon also. If they thought of him all. If they
thought
at all. He hoped the dragon Groa had spoken of would know much more about them. His quest to find out about the Aesir had rewarded him greatly and let him better understand Sverin, Kjorn and the others. Shard was certain if he could learn more about the wyrms he could understand and either befriend, or know how to fight them.
The small, quiet mountain was mostly empty of dragons and immediately Shard felt calm, beholding the quiet patterns carved into the pillars of the main cavern. Natural tunnels and carved openings let in long shafts of sunlight from above, shining in great rough circles on the floor. Shard felt, oddly, the same as he did when wandering the deepest forest of the Star Isle.
Hikaru led him to an archway that bore an image of a Sunland dragon rampant, which Shard recognized now as the warrior dragons’ emblem.
“We must be quiet, in the shrine,” Hikaru said, though Shard had guessed, and they both bowed to the dragon image above the arch, and entered the passageway.
After walking for a moment Shard realized there had been no torches in the main cavern, only the shafts of sun, and none lining the tunnel where they walked. Instead, a familiar, pale light glowed from up ahead.
They emerged into an ice cavern much smaller than the empress’s throne room, but on a dragon scale nonetheless. Life-sized reliefs of battling dragons blazed on the curving wall. Now Shard recognized each principle of a dragon defending, evading, attacking, and flowing like water. He looked for a dragon to represent the principle of sky, but saw none. At the far end a raised dais was littered with herbs, smooth stones, carved gems, and other offerings, all overseen by an eternally glaring dragon carved from the stone and ice above the dais.
Shard would have marveled at the detail and light of the cold shrine, but as they stepped inside, they saw they were not alone.
A dragoness sat coiled to one side of the shrine, head bowed in meditation. Smaller horns told Shard she was female, only a couple of months Hikaru’s senior, leanly muscled under scales the delicate hue of an apple blossom.
Hikaru sucked in a breath, his wings lifted, and the dragoness raised her head at the commotion.
Warm breath misted in front of her silver eyes as she exhaled in surprise. “Hikaru?”
Shard ventured, “Is this—”
“Natsumi!” Hikaru cried, shattering the reverence of the shrine and barreling forward, only to slip, slide on the ice and crash into her in a fit of laughter and flaring wings. As Shard tread more carefully forward on the ice floor and watched the two young dragons dissolve into the chatter of catching up, he thought this happy bit of serendipity was a much better way for Hikaru to spend his time than reflecting on his “disobedience,” as Isora had instructed.
“…and this is Shard,” Hikaru said as Shard approached. “Of course.” Perhaps realizing the introduction of the only gryfon in the Sunland was unnecessary, Hikaru slanted one ear, looking chagrined.
“I’m honored to meet a friend of Hikaru’s, Natsumi.” Shard bowed, and she bowed her delicate head in return.
“And I’m honored to meet you at last, Shard of Sun, of the Silver Isles.” Her voice sounded like wind in autumn leaves, bright, crisp and intelligent. “I hoped I would meet you before you left us.”
Shard found her to be uniquely beautiful, and in response to her beauty and courtesy, sorrow clutched him. She would die so young. No wonder Hikaru was so thrilled to see her, so unbridled in his joy. They had so little time. Shard looked from Natsumi to Hikaru, and wondered how much more wondrous and beautiful they must seem to each other.
But more than that, Shard at last heard genuine respect and curiosity, was proud to know Hikaru chose his friends well.
Hikaru broke back in, his reason for coming to the shrine happily forgotten. “Natsumi, I’m so happy to see you, and I’ve missed you, but, and I’m sorry to be blunt, but we need your help.”
By her bright, admiring gaze, Shard thought the young dragoness didn’t mind. “Of course I’ll help you if I can.”
“Didn’t your parents forbid you from…” Shard trailed off when she turned a serene look to him.
“I’m certain you have enough to worry about, without including me in your cares.” Her nose crinkled in amusement. “I benefit from being the youngest of three. My parents might indulge me one more bit of disobedience. Tell me, Hikaru, what I can do.”
Hikaru sat back on his haunches, coiling his tail around his own feet. “Shard is looking for a dragon who a spirit told him would tell the truth. A storyteller. Do you know who that would be?”
“Hm.” Not questioning that Shard had spoken to a spirit, Natsumi re-coiled herself with such neatness and precision it looked like a dance movement, and thought.
Hikaru waited, and Shard shifted on the ice.
Sunlight filtered into the ice cavern and Shard glanced to the shrine, thinking he might make a tribute to the warrior dragon, for Stigr, when Natsumi spoke again.
“Yes, I think it must be the chronicler.”
R
OLLING HILLS DOTTED WITH
dwarfish trees and tough, scraggly undergrowth varied little as they flew. Brynja and Nilsine each assigned one of their own to scout ahead and behind for wyrm sign, and to watch for possible scouts from the Dawn Spire or the Ostral Shores. If the attack on the Dawn Spire had been as horrific as Brynja said, Kjorn couldn’t imagine any gryfon venturing far from their home, but they scouted all the same.
Low haze still clung and a soft rain did nothing to lighten the mood or pretty the landscape, only leaving the ground slimy with ashy mud when they rested.
The weather slowed their progress and they knew they wouldn’t reach the lake until the following morning.
Once again, they landed at near-dark, though that time they were sluggish, wet and hungry. If it were not for the wyrms, Kjorn would’ve gladly pressed on to the great lake during the night. A chill wind gusted and their only shelter was a mere stand of hawthorn saplings, scarcely wide enough to shelter five gryfons, much less over twenty.
“Almost there,” Dagny said, sounding too cheerful. “By tomorrow we’ll sup with the Lakelanders and perhaps see Asvander again.” A bright note warmed her voice, and Kjorn wondered at it.
“A fine thing,” Nilsine said. “I will be glad to see water again, and eat fish.”
“Shall we hunt?” Kjorn asked them, generally.
Brynja ruffled her feathers, looking around skeptically. Before she offered an answer, the wind shifted, and they all caught a scent at the same time. Painted wolf.
“I’ll meet them,” Kjorn said, stretching and re-folding his wings. “I have dealings with wolves in the Silver Isles.”
Brynja remained back, and at Kjorn’s word, so did Nilsine, though the Vanhar claimed to be friendly with all creatures of the Winderost. Fewer gryfons would look less threatening, in his mind.
Kjorn left the stand of trees and walked to the crest of a low hill, smelling the area and looking around.
A female wolf appeared first, at the top of an adjacent hill. Her face was painted in a black mask, whorls of white and brown streaking her sides as if wind had blown on her colors while they were still wet.
“Hail!” called Kjorn. “We mean to pass through these hills peacefully, and hunt only if you allow it. We thought no one claimed this land, but we honor yours.”
A big male crested the hill beside her, perked rounded ears at the sight of Kjorn, bared his fangs, and barreled down the hill. Kjorn kept his high ground, but the wolf lumbered forward.
Brynja and Nilsine raced towards him even as Kjorn leaped into the air to avoid a fight, and the rest of the painted pack rushed over the hill behind the female, howling and snapping their jaws.
“Stop!” Kjorn shouted. The big male turned, jaws wide to warn Brynja and Nilsine away, and the gryfesses circled warily.
Kjorn landed hard, between them, as the rest of the pack swarmed in. Most of the pack milled behind their leader, but before anyone could move, another male rushed forward and barreled into Kjorn.
A familiar scent came with him and Kjorn, his limbs tangled with the wolf’s, found his face not bitten, but vigorously sniffed, before the wolf leaped away again.
“Mayka,” Kjorn grunted in surprise, and relief, shoving to his feet again. “You’ve traveled far.”
“As have you, Shard’s friend.” The painted wolf circled back, watching Kjorn with a mouth full of gleaming teeth. “And I have found my pack, who left the Voldsom when the Horn of Midragur breathed fire.” He ducked his head as the bigger male stepped forward, ears flicking with interest. “Please, my leader, a word. Please meet Kjorn, of the Silver Isles, who was a friend to Shard, who was friend to your sister, Nitara.”
“Greetings,” said the big wolf, glancing from Mayka to Kjorn, wary.
Relieved, Kjorn felt he should offer some respect, and mantled.
Mayka looked pleased at the gesture, offered to his leader. “Kjorn, this is Ilesh, leader of the Serpent River Pack. Please, my leader, these are allies. Let them be welcome here.”
Ilesh regarded Kjorn, then looked to Nilsine. “You are of the Vanhar?”
She dipped her head. “I am. We have only respect and honor for the painted hunters of the Winderost.”
The wolf shook himself of drizzle as his pack milled around him. “Then you may pass through these lands that we now claim.”
“Shall they hunt with us?” Mayka suggested, nosing his leader’s shoulder. Ilesh showed him one fang, and Mayka chuckled and tucked his tail, padding away.
“You may,” said Ilesh, “because I know that your friend Shard was with my sister when she was killed, and tried to avenge her. You may hunt with us, only if you do not fly. This attracts our great enemy.”
“We won’t,” Kjorn said, impressed with this account of his wingbrother, and grateful for the path of friendship Shard had left in his wake through this land.
“Then, come. We have scented a herd of wild pigs this way. With your strength we may very well feast tonight.”
With no more ceremony he turned, head low, and loped back over the hill.
Kjorn looked at Brynja and Nilsine, hesitant, but hungry.
“I like wild pig,” Dagny called from the shelter of the trees, and that decided it. Somewhat bewildered by their change in fortune, the gryfons gathered themselves up and fell in behind Brynja, Nilsine and Kjorn.
As they picked up their pace and moved as one large, wolf and gryfon pack, Mayka trotted in next to Kjorn. “Now, tell me what has befallen you, and what became of my rogue friends since the Vanhar came and took all of you away, and where you mean to go, and if you found Shard, after all.”
In brief, Kjorn told him all that had passed. “Thank you for stepping in, back there. For your friendship, and help.”
“I’m happy to help a friend of Shard.”
“You speak of Shard highly. What did he do, that you honor him so?”
Mayka opened his mouth in a happy pant, thinking, then watched Kjorn seriously. “You heard Ilesh. First, Shard spoke to us. Honored us. And, he did what no one has yet done.” In the muddy light of the moon, Mayka’s eyes were like black, haunted pools. “He faced the enemy, offered them honor and friendship, and when they bellowed their mindless hate, he did not run.”