Kindred and Wings (10 page)

Now he had to find his brother and understand their strange connection. That did not mean he didn’t think about Talyn in idle moments such as these. As he peered down on the land laid out like a dark map before him, he wondered where she was and what she had done since their parting. Had she returned to her ways as the Hunter, or perhaps found a new path? Unlike his days as a wandering talespinner, he had not spent much time of late in public houses or on the road. His usual method of gathering information was rendered impossible when in the company of a dragon. It was hard to get reliable information out of slack-jawed or terrified people.

“Do you see them?” Wahirangi’s bellow jerked him out of his reverie, and he sat up in the saddle with a jerk.

With the light of the moons glimmering on the tops of clouds, there was plenty of light to observe their surroundings. They were beautiful, magical, and they were sharing them with two distant figures. Two figures that appeared not to want to get too close. With a dragon beneath him, Finn could appreciate why exactly that was.

He narrowed his gaze. Finn did not have much experience judging distance or size in the air—it was difficult without any landmarks to compare things to. The shapes were flying parallel to them, skirting the edges of clouds to their right and to their left. They did not come closer, but Wahirangi’s eyes were much sharper than Finn’s mere human ones could ever hope to be.

“Griffins,” the dragon said, his head turning from side to side, while he glided on. “Some of Ellyria’s old flock perhaps.”

The mention of that name made Finn’s already dry throat tighten even more. Ellyria Dragonsoul was the most famous of the Vaerli. “I thought she only Named a dragon . . .” he croaked out.

“You apparently did not hear all the tales of the Vaerli.” It was impressive that Wahirangi could discern his words over the sound of the air rushing past them.

“Why are they following us?” Finn asked, pressing himself harder against the saddle, just in case they were forced to make any sudden moves.

“A dragon has not been Named for nearly a thousand years—that tends to draw attention.” Finn could not be mistaken, there was heat now rising off Wahirangi, as if something deep within him had been kindled. They had not had many reasons to fight, but flickers of flame had threatened now and then. It felt now as though Wahirangi was brewing something.

The dragon gave Finn no warning. He suddenly twisted his wings, and banked right in a split second. Finn managed not to cry out in surprise, but he was very glad that he was already locked in place on the dragon’s back.

Streams of blue-white fire were running from Wahirangi’s jaws, but his bellow was even more terrifying. The giant chest expanded beneath Finn’s thighs, while the wedge-shaped terrifying head opened wide, and the cry the dragon let out could have knocked down a platoon of Rutilian guards—and most definitely would have sent them scurrying for cover.

If it were directed at him, Finn was certain he would have turned tail and run for it. He made a mental note that it was now confirmed; dragons did not like to be challenged in the sky. Another thing was also made obvious; griffins did not want to tangle with dragons. Moonlight reflected off Wahirangi’s golden scales as he turned in pursuit of the impostors. His muscles bunched and flexed beneath Finn, powering his broad wings.

It was a strange sensation for Finn to experience; trapped between the ice-cold air and the building heat of the dragon. He didn’t even try to restrain the dragon with words—that would have been fruitless and possibly painful. He simply held on as the dragon turned this way and that in his chase. It reminded his rider of a falcon with his eyes locked on his prey, all focus and determination. The talespinner realized he would have as much chance of stopping the falcon as the dragon.

The turns became sharper and more stomach churning as Wahirangi closed in. That was when the griffin began a series of steep dives and climbs in an effort to shake him off. However, Wahirangi was relentless, and seemed not to tire.

His powerful wings snapped hard and fast in the climbs, and when they plummeted into the breath-stealing dives his streamlined form resembled a shot arrow. Finn could not be sure that he wasn’t screaming.

He was no rider. He was a passenger on the world’s most insane ride. Even Talyn’s nykur could not have offered more dangerous travel than this. Several times mountains loomed on each side of them, and he was sure they were going to smash into them. His mind conjured up images of himself being crushed like a bug while the dragon continued his heedless pursuit. Would Wahirangi even notice the destruction of the human until the end of it?

The griffin was closer now, its white-tipped wings standing out brightly in the moonlight.

Finn might have no experience in flying combat, but he was sure he could make out the signs of fatigue in the beast. The dragon could not make tight turns like the griffin, but as long as he stayed close, Wahirangi would wear him down. Nothing about the dragon showed the least sign of exertion. Every muscle that played beneath Finn was working as hard and as flawlessly as it had when he began.

Finally, the griffin must have realized this as well. They were reaching a mountain pass, and the griffin dropped desperately toward the narrow ravine and dark trees, seeking a chance at sanctuary there.

Wahirangi was not deterred. His neck snapped back, his jaw opened, and the blue-white flame erupted from his mouth. He sprayed the air and nearest trees with an explosion of light and heat that made Finn fear for his skin. The griffin let out a squawk like a terrified pigeon. Its tail feathers had nearly been caught in the flame, and it tacked right and left to keep out of the direct line.

It was strange how the dragon had missed his target, but Finn was not about to question it. Wahirangi roared again, and his wings beat harder. The dragon must have been able to sense victory—even Finn could see it approaching. He was imagining that the beast would let forth a stream of fire to engulf the creature that had enraged him so. Strangely, that was not what he did.

Instead, when Wahirangi’s flame came, it tore the night apart to the right of the griffin. Finn bent low over the dragon’s neck and couldn’t help but let a grin grow on his lips. It felt good to be the hunter rather than the prey for a change. Again, Wahirangi let off another burst of blue flame, this time to the left, and the griffin tacked away.

Now Finn understood; the dragon was driving the smaller creature before them, but for some reason he didn’t want to incinerate the creature.

Finn opened his mouth, and tried to yell above the screaming wind, “What are you doing?” Apparently, their connection did not make the dragon compliant to all of the talespinner’s wishes, because Wahirangi’s head flattened out straighter before him, and he flew on even faster.

Finn had no recourse but to clench his increasingly cold hands on the saddle and wonder if he was going to end up a mere splatter on the ground below. Riding a dragon had sounded like a great deal of fun, but it was not without its perils.

Finally, they had the griffin cornered in a narrow valley. Now its advantage of tighter turns meant little. Wahirangi was able to use his own greater speed to loom over the smaller beast. His long legs flashed out, and the only way the griffin managed to avoid being caught in them was to plunge down.

With a sharp cry, the dragon followed, driving the griffin to the ground. Still he did not use his fire. When they landed only twenty feet from the griffin, Finn saw at once that the creature was terrified.

It took him a moment to remember what it had been like to see Wahirangi for the first time. Dragon fear was no magic—it was a genuine terror to be confronted by a creature such as he was. He could only imagine how that would be magnified if the beast had been chasing you through the sky.

The griffin itself was a wonder. Long blue-black feathers that gleamed in the moonlight, a long curved golden beak, and eyes that flashed with fire. It half opened its wings, but there was the suggestion of a tremble in its manner.

“Wahirangi CloudLord.” Its voice was deep like a bell, but not nearly as impressive as the dragon’s. “In the name of kinship that exists between all Named, let me pass.” It did not exactly cower, but the effects of the nearness of the dragon were wearing on it. It did not seem as though it even noticed the human perched behind the shoulder blades of the dragon that blocked the way.

The dragon made a sound like steam being ejected from an angry machine. “You were following me, bird, and no kinship exists between us. Nothing can, while you call poison master.”

Finn’s mind darted back to the creature he had seen on the Salt, the one his mother saved him from. Everything about him had recoiled from that warped and twisted being which had trapped so many Kindred to do its bidding. Was this what the dragon meant?

The griffin tipped its head, suddenly looking cunning. “When the Vaerli were scourged, we Named were locked away. As Kindred, time means nothing, but given form and shape we felt its weight.” Its avian eye fixed on the dragon. “That was when they came to us, found us, and freed us. You cannot judge, you never felt.”

Wahirangi spread his wings, the moonlight gleamed off every golden scale, illuminating the ravine. “You gave in to them. You, Drynis Alorn, and all the rest. They who would bring this world down around us. And now you would steal her child. This I cannot allow.”

The griffin stepped around in a little tight circle, placing its feet carefully. “You are dragon, but we are many, and the Vaerli have no strength to lend you.”

This standoff was more powerful than any story Finn could have told, but his skin ran cold with the knowledge that they were talking of his brother, and this was important. He was so concentrated on the tension between the dragon and the downed griffin that nothing else seemed important.

It was lucky that a dragon always has sharper senses than a mere human. Finn was nearly shaken from the saddle as Wahirangi leapt into the sky. His head jerked back and all the breath was stolen from his body. He was lucky that he didn’t bite off his own tongue. For a few moments, he struggled to understand what was happening.

Then he heard the screams. The griffin was not alone; he was part of a flight. As Finn turned and looked around him, it felt as though the sky was full of wings. Suddenly a lone dragon did not seem as great a thing.

Equo, Varlesh, and Si. It had always been the three of them . . . well, as far as their separate memories would go.

They walked away from the encampment together, and when Nyree asked to come with them, Equo quietly but firmly told her no. Beyond the encampment, the Chaoslands had them, so there was a little peace. Unlike the Vaerli—at least as they had been—they could not feel the Kindred or the land, but they did not pass over it unnoticed.

Si’s eyes flickered over the trees, and his whisper was not of the comforting kind. “We are being watched.”

“We were once their friends,” Varlesh said, his voice going into a growl. “The Ahouri, the Form Bards, it didn’t matter what we were called, we always aided them. Now what are they doing?”

The scion of the Ahouri, Woman of Faces, had been the first to reach Conhaero, drawn through the White Void to the call of the Vaerli. When she had led them down onto the Steps of Sacrifice and into the world, it had been a marvelous thing. Later, when the Caisah had destroyed the Vaerli, the Ahouri, as their greatest allies had been his next target. His magic had been attuned to find them when they sang, and the Ahouri had never been able to go long without singing—at least in those original forms.

“Do you remember the last song?” Equo asked of his brothers.

They turned their eyes away from him, but it was Varlesh that spoke out loud their shared anguish. “How could anyone forget it? It was . . . painful and beautiful.”

Equo could recall the agony as it had passed through their bones, the magic tearing them down to nothing. Only the Song had saved them. Unconsciously he rubbed his arms, feeling again the moment when they turned their song on themselves, tearing themselves apart before the Caisah’s power could destroy them completely.

“The weakness of his magic was its specifics,” he murmured. The Ahouri, by breaking themselves apart, had given the magic no focused target, and it had dissipated. It was only later that the three of them, now brothers instead of one being, discovered that they had not been the only Ahouri to think of the solution. Their numbers had been decimated, but some had survived with the Caisah none the wiser.

How they would respond to a call to arms was another matter altogether. It had been nearly a thousand years since they had walked as one rather than as trios.

“This is a good enough spot,” Varlesh said, turning about and facing his brother. “Nice and quiet, distant . . .”

“Yes,” Si confirmed, running his eye over the well-vegetated hollow. “It is already a natural bowl. It will suit our purposes.”

The three of them formed a rough circle, linking hands, closing their eyes. As always the sound was created by Varlesh, passed to Equo who formed it into words, and then it went on to Si who let it loose in the world. It was the music of this world, the place that the Ahouri had found after so long searching. Pilgrims from another world where they were persecuted and feared, they had found this world of chaos. It was in its essence a song of great love.