Blademage Adept (The Blademage Saga Book 3) (23 page)

“The training is for you, not him,” Ashera corrected. “Before the season is out, you’ll have outgrown him, and your only chance at the sky will be on a griffin.”

“I know,” the boy grumbled, crawling to his feet and digging in his pocket for a strip of dried fruit. “Good boy…” he muttered, pressing his forehead to the downy tuft between the akembi’s wide-set eyes, scratching the winged horse’s ears as it chewed the leathery treat. “Are you ready to go back to the barn?”

The akembi stopped chewing, and threw its head, rocking the boy back on his heels. It trotted around in tight circles, folded wings twitching in anticipation as the boy neared the chute-gate that led back into the nearby building.

“All right. Here you…”

The boy was left holding the gate in a swirl of dust motes and horse-feathers.

“You start them young,” Carlo observed, following Ashera toward the center of the camp.

“Anyone who wants to be a Rider has to learn early,” she shrugged. “Training with akembi is the closest thing the young ones have. It toughens them up. They need to be confident in their ability before the young griffin leave their nests each year.”

“Do you choose and capture the griffin, break them to the saddle?”

Ashera’s choking laughter stopped Carlo in his tracks. “There are five times as many Unbound as there are Riders. Enough to scour the tribes from the Highplain.” She shook her head. “The griffin choose us.”

“With Spring drawing to a close, we may get to witness the Choosing?” Anneliese asked, approaching from one of the walkways to the upper walls.

“It is our hope that this expedition clears a path to the nesting grounds, at the very least. Flynn, back there, and the other Aspirants will leave for the nesting cavern ten days from now.” Ashera frowned. “The timing is
almost
perfect.”

“Almost?” Carlo asked.

“The path we clear will not take the Aspirants directly to the cavern,” Ashera explained. “It will be safer, but they will have fewer dedicated escorts from Seacliff Camp onward. They may miss the first few flights, and there are only ten nesting pairs this year.”

“You said there were only seven potential new Riders this year,” Carlo shrugged. “You still might get them all.”

“About one in four choose Riders,” Ashera frowned. “It is unlikely that all of our Aspirants will succeed this year.”

“All that fuss for two new Riders?” Carlo could not mask the disbelief in his face. “How…?”

Ashera shook her head. “The fledgling griffin do not choose. The parents do, as soon as their offspring leave the nest.”

“Oh. That… Okay,” Carlo nodded. “Makes sense.” The Commander rubbed the stubble that was beginning to show again on his chin. “So how do we get them there sooner?”

“Delicious,” Kevon scraped the last of the savory
naota
from the stone dish with a torn bit of the soft flat bread they’d been given. “But…”

“There is more to come,” Ashera reassured him from several feet away.

Kevon nodded. Most of his group sat in the loose circle around the fire, their number less than a tenth of those in attendance. Heads of the three factions from the other camps and their officers sat in clusters, laughing and conversing in low tones.

“Thank… you…” he managed, as the empty
naota
dish and wicker bread basket were collected by a Meek that disappeared back into the shadows without a word. “About our departure tomorrow,”

“No.” Rowyn’s voice cut through the music that came from all directions. He sat between Kevon and Carlo, handing each a fresh cup of fruit-laden wine. “During the
Hariya
, the meal and festivities are the only focus. This is our concession to the Meek.”

“It’s so difficult to let go of…”

“Not so much as one might think,” Rowyn corrected Kevon as he took a cup from a veiled dancer that spun through the crowd, delivering drinks from a swaying platter. The Fist’s eyes traced her path until she was out of sight.

“I suppose…”

“He feels he needs permission to enjoy anything more than the meal,” Anneliese laughed, reaching down to take Alanna’s hands. Her steps were a combination of stagger and sway in time with one of the threads of music that Kevon could only discern because of the lurch and tilt of her body. “Let’s make sure he enjoys this.”

Alanna sprang up with the elf’s help, and mimicked the Huntmistress’s moves, easing into the relaxed sway a bit more with each measure of accompaniment. The pair worked their way around the fire, passing out of Kevon’s sight for longer than he liked. Howls of approval echoed from the far side of the circle, and both women reappeared wearing the colorful shawls that had replaced the drab ones worn by the Meek on any other day.

The multicolored fringe of the garments magnified every movement in the firelight. Alanna’s gleeful undulation under the guiding hand of the Elven elder was tantalizing torture for Kevon. As she drew nearer, she locked eyes with him, her movements becoming more deliberate and direct as the music intensified. Her smile widened as she detected his paralysis, and altered the angle of her leading hip toward him with almost possessive accuracy.

“This is…” Kevon breathed through the flush of the wine, breath catching as the various instruments gave way to the accelerating fervor of the drums.

“It certainly is,” Carlo rumbled, lost in the dance that was meant for him.

Five staccato drumbeats, and all of the music stopped. Alanna stumbled into Anneliese, and laughing, they helped each other the remaining few steps back to their seats.

Service of the next course of the meal resumed with light accompaniment, and dance by a few of the more elaborately costumed Meek. Portions of boiled, spiced tubers in small divided plates played unfamiliar tastes against each other, confusing and delighting senses at turns. These dishes were whisked away as soon as they emptied, and Kevon could see the next course being passed out across the circle.

“What?” Kevon tilted his head back in response to the gentle tap on his forehead. His mouth snapped shut as the slice of marinated heartmelon touched his tongue. The preserving brine brought a sharp bite to the otherwise sweet fruit, shocking his palate as much as the unexpected touch of the Meek standing over him. He shuddered, and accepted the delicate pastry the next server handed him as they moved past to Alanna.

Kevon licked his lips, contemplating the flavors that faded into memory.

“Carefully, with this,” Rowyn cautioned, biting into his pastry with a deliberate air the Strider usually reserved for combat.

“Hmm.” Kevon crunched into the crisp, slender treat, and bitter spices swirled about his throat and nose. He coughed, cracking much of the remaining crust in his hand. After calming himself, he took another hesitant bite.

“Chicken and egg from Highspring, saffron from Burntrock, milled sugar from Fallenlake. Flour from our grain here at Stonespire.” Rowyn finished chewing his last bite. “This dish represents the unity of the camps, of all our tribes.”

“And Seacliff?” Kevon asked, breathing in the aroma of the remainder of his broken pastry.

“Salt. There are few other places to get it here. We’ve had to buy it from the lowlanders in recent seasons.”

Kevon nodded, appreciating both the flavor and the deeper meaning of the dish.

“But this… is a real treat,” Rowyn grinned as he accepted the skewer of roasted meat and potatoes from the serving Meek. He waited until the others had been served. “After you,” he gestured.

“Is this…” Kevon thought back to the season he’d set out on his adventure, before he’d reached Eastport, shortly after he’d met Alanna.
Marelle
, he corrected himself. “Lamb?”

Rowyn grinned, shaking his head. “Chimaera.”

“You eat them?” Alanna sputtered, holding her skewer at arm’s length, but only slowing her chewing of the bite she’d already taken.

Rowyn shrugged, smiling as he finished chewing. “The flank is the only edible part, small, and not the easiest to harvest. It’s easier to poison or burn the whole carcass in most cases. For special occasions, we take the time.”

“Anneliese is probably pretty good at that,” Kevon laughed.

“She carved about half of the chimaera for this meal,” Rowyn agreed. “Like she’d been doing it for a lifetime.”

“And she didn’t warn us!” Alanna squeaked, lobbing a chunk of apple fished from her cup at the giggling elf.

Anneliese parried the hurled fruit with her skewer. “Hah!” she shouted, louder than she normally would in combat.

Heads turned, and the Huntmistress leaned into Carlo’s side, giggling. “
Don’t eat too much of the fruit!
” she whispered, wide eyed.

“We leave in the morning,” Carlo announced after the evening meal.

“There are still three days before the others get here,” Kevon mentioned. “We’re barely rested from the trip here.”

“With similar support from Ashera’s Wing, we should be able to destroy the two nests with relative ease,” Carlo explained. “Clearing the way, the others should catch up with us as we reach Seacliff Camp. That’s where we’ll need the help, anyway. It’ll buy us two days. It’ll keep us moving. It puts their new Riders in a much better position.”

“If you think we can do it,” Kevon shrugged.

“I’d rather not have the other troops underfoot until we absolutely need them,” Carlo grunted. “We have the training and experience to clear the nests out, and you have the know-how to shut the portals down if we find them. We’ll need fighters that know the layout of the Camp when we reach it, but not really until then. Besides, the more we do for them, the more help we’ll get when we need it.”

“Agreed.” Kevon nodded. “Holding the location once we find the Seat of Wind may be costly.”

“You should really get some sleep,” Alanna whispered, snuggling in closer under the blanket. “It’s the last night we’ll be this safe.”

Kevon felt the press of her form against his back, still dulled by the subsiding venom of the chimaera sting. He shivered as the words floated through his mind, their passage punctuated by the tickle of her lips on his earlobe. Kevon smiled and clasped her draped arm tighter to his chest. His breath and pulse slowed and aligned with hers, each heartbeat a lunge toward unconsciousness.

Chapter 39

“To arms!”

Kevon slipped free of the bedroll, scrambling to his feet, cursing his impulsiveness as his magic drained into the hilt of his sword. The others were up, blinking into the pre-dawn gloom, searching for the danger Carlo’s voice had warned of.

“Really?” Jacek grumbled, as his Mage-light brightened the campsite, exposing Kevon’s drawn sword.

Kevon shrugged, and bolted after Kylgren-Wode and the Stoneguard.

Carlo stood near the corpse of one chimaera, and sidestepped to keep in front of the one that remained. Anneliese circled, trying to get a clear shot, but the wary creature kept Carlo between them.

“
Pah!
”

Kevon watched as the Stoneguard hurled his battleaxe, the unwieldy weapon spinning end over end, slicing cleanly through an outstretched wing to embed in the beast’s shoulder.

The chimaera roared, turning toward the new threat. Its tail lashed forward, curling around the axe-handle, prying it backward for an instant before releasing it.

Carlo leapt at the chance, hacking at the chimaera’s other outstretched wing, then at its tail. He blocked a backhanded swing from the creature’s massive paw, rocking back on his heels from the impact. Recovering from the blow, Carlo stepped further inside, first batting aside a wing-strike with his shield, then severed the already tattered wing with a counter-stroke.

The Stoneguard punched the chimaera in its leonine jaw with a mailed fist as he marched into range on the beast’s stricken side. He wrenched his axe free, whirling with the same motion to bury it back in the chimaera’s throat.

Raptor-calls sounded from above, the Riders stationed in camp already in the air, searching for more assailants.

“Clear,” Carlo shrugged, wiping his blade on the fallen beast’s hide. “Time to get up anyway.”

“We knew the risk, staging so close to this nest,” Kevon shrugged. “That’s two we know won’t be there later.”

“The last nest was nothing,” Carlo grunted. “Five adults and a dozen eggs. Talk is that this next one is the largest nest on the Highplain.”

“Ashera says the Striders will catch up with us by noon,” Kevon offered. “If we want to wait.”

The Blademaster sniffed. “Two more Wings of Riders due here just after dawn. That covers scouting. The dwarves and I can draw them out. Anneliese and her Hunter covering the flanks, my guys with crossbows. You, Jacek, Yusa,  and Alanna in reserve. We’ll need the Magi fresh if there is a portal, and she’s the best mid-range fighter we have if something breaks through.”

“With a plan like that…”

“I’ve done more with less,” Carlo interrupted. “But nothing goes exactly to plan.”

Kevon nodded, recalling the fiery cataclysms two of his plans had erupted into over the last few years.

“Breakfast done and camp struck before the other Riders arrive,” Carlo barked. “Go.”

“Focus your bow-fire on outliers,” Carlo directed Ashera, sweeping his pointer-stick in wide circles to either side of the dirt map between them. “Leave the rest for our ground forces, try to funnel them toward us.”

“I’ll assign a wing to either side,” she agreed, nodding. “My wing will drive them to you, though I can’t promise they’ll all make it to your lines.”

“I’d hate for you to make a promise you couldn’t keep,” Carlo grimaced. “Have one Rider hold station over the nest. No surprises. If we move now, we should be there in less than an hour.”

“Commander.” Ashera nodded slowly, still not used to taking orders from anyone, much less an outlander.

“Sense anything?” Carlo asked, turning to Kevon.

“No,” Kevon frowned. “Approaching the Seat of Wind, the magic in the area is… distracting. I can see how Jacek could feel it from the air.”

“As long as it won’t interfere with what you need to do,” Carlo turned to address Kevon directly. “Slip-ups like this morning are dangerous. We could have used an extra Mage. If we’re going to protect you from two Guilds, you’ve got to work at least twice as hard at this as anyone else.” He glanced back at Ashera. “As soon as your Riders are in the air, we’ll form up and move out.”