Winter Warrior (Song of the Aura, Book Two) (11 page)

   
“I COMMAND YOU TO STOP!” he yelled, and now his voice was clear and loud. “By the Throne and the Aura, I command you to HALT!”

   
The draik screeched loud and long, and the sound was like an army of spears scraping across a rough stone floor. Gribly winced, but pointed at the beast as bravely as he dared.

   
“SILENCE! I command you now!”

   
Unbelievably, the draik fell silent. Its glowing eyes dimmed and it hunched down lower, almost as if it was afraid of him.

   
“Gribly! What’re you doing??” Lauro sat up woozily and squinted, unable to comprehend the scene. The Sand Strider didn’t answer him- didn’t even glance in his direction. This was hard enough without interruption.

   
“Draik of Bleeding Gold, Child of the Pit, obey me! By Chance and Courage, by Fate and Fear- do as I command!”

   
Traveller had told him he would know the words to say, when he needed to say them. What came out just sounded like gibberish, but it made the draik cringe and utter low, guttural growls, swaying to each side nervously. Suddenly and fearfully Gribly realized he didn’t know what to say next. The flow of words had left him.

   
“Ah… Now! I… I command you to kneel! Yes, KNEEL!” he shouted, on a whim.

   
To his utter surprise, the beast knelt. Even so, its monstrous head and frightening eyes were still level with his face. Its sinew-and-metal legs were folded clumsily beneath it, and its hairy, spike-studded back stretched up in an arching mountain of beast-flesh behind it.

   
And yet it obeyed him.

   
“Walk in a circle!” he told it, and it did.

   
“Melt this Icewave!” he shouted, and it blasted the icy mound with fire until it was nothing but a steaming pool of water. Its eyes stayed on the thief the whole time, as if it would say
I’ll roast YOU next
if it could.

   
That gave him an idea. As Elia and Lauro walked to him, giving the draik a wide berth and coming up behind him with open mouths and stunned faces, he prepared his next command.

   
“Draik of Bleeding Gold! I now order you to SPEAK!”

   
The Berg grew totally quiet. Wind formed ripples on the pools of water now dotting the battlefield. Gribly noticed several things: that it was lighter, almost morning; that the draik was making strange, grotesque expressions at him; and that he and his companions were all holding their breath.

   
“IT IS AS YOU WISH, MASTER GRAMLING.”

   
The draik had spoken, but it had spoken a name that was not his.

Chapter Eight: Steamclaw

   
“I can’t believe this.” Lauro shook his head for the thousandth time.

   
“Which part?” Gribly asked him, eying the scene in front of them. “The part that I have a fire-breathing, ice-breaking, bone-shattering new pet? Or maybe the part where it can speak, too? Or is the part where it calls me somebody else’s name? Or could it be that it’s actually doing what I say?”

   
Lauro shook his head and frowned… again. “All of it. I just can’t believe all this is really happening- I mean, how many times should I have died by now? Four? Five?”

   
“You outta die for just being ugly,” Gribly snickered. The prince ignored him and kept his eyes fixed ahead.

   
“Elia doesn’t seem to mind, does she?”

   
“Don’t know,” Gribly shrugged, “You can’t tell with her most of the time. Nymphs are hard to understand.”

   
“You mean
women
are hard to understand.”

   
“Whatever.”

   
Suddenly Lauro stiffened, sat up rod-straight, and pricked his ears.

   
“What is it?” Gribly asked, jumpy.

   
“I…” the prince started. His eyes seemed to be watering. “I’ll be back,” he finally said, and leaped up, taking off for the ice dunes behind them like thirty draiks were hot on his tail. In less than six seconds he was gone, wind-striding to go faster.

   
Well,
thought Gribly, befuddled,
I guess when you’ve got to relieve yourself that badly, speed is of the essence.
He chuckled to himself at the crudely sophisticated joke.

~

   
That sound… most people couldn’t hear it, and it had been so long since he’d heard it himself… but it really was unmistakable. If it was what he thought it was… Drat. He’d hoped it would never find him.

   
Lauro raced through the ice dunes, his gift propelling him along faster than he could have done on his own. Still, it tired him out, and by the time he reached the little hollow where he thought the sound was coming from, he was panting with exertion. The recent stressful events didn’t help, either.

   
There it was. At the center of a little depression in the snow, surrounded by icy hills with barely enough space to fit between them, lay a little heap of gray feathers, throbbing in curious spasms each time it emitted the dreadful sound. The noise it made was like a woman’s wail and a hawk’s hunting cry, blended together in one long note that started high and ended so low it rumbled like miniature thunder. And all of that from a small gray fowl, little bigger than a dove.

   
A dripsparrow. That’s what it was. They had been used to carry messages back and forth between commanders on the front lines of the war. Lauro had seen them when he was younger, before they had been used for the battles and
only
for the battles. Before he could stop himself, he remembered what it had all been like…

~

   
...High in the castle, he had waited urgently all day on his bedroom balcony, hoping for the message. It came as the sun was just beginning to set, flying on small gray wings, calling its strange, high-pitched call and landing on the stone railing of the terrace. A dripsparrow. His father the King always sent him messages of his love and affection this way, whenever he traveled abroad on missions or duties that his little son could not participate in.

   
Young Lauro smiled at the bird, stroking its back the way it always liked. Every dripsparrow looked almost identical, but he liked to imagine that this one carried all the messages his father sent him. It made the slightly frightening prospect a little more intimate. A little more friendly.

   
“Have you a message for me, little friend?” Lauro asked the dripsparrow, rubbing its tail tentatively. The small fowl bobbed its head in a curious sort of nod, turned to him, and opened its beak.

   
“Hello, son.” It was his father’s voice, exactly as he had always known it. A lump grew in the young prince’s throat, and he smiled.

   
“Hello, father,” he answered, even though he knew the dripsparrow wasn’t ready for his replying message yet.

   
“I love you, son. Lauro. I hope you’re having a pleasant time back in the old musty castle. Have Head Cook Smallword make you a treat tonight, all right? Do you hear me? It will be good to hear your voice out here. The negotiations with the Rain Cave folk haven’t gone very well. I’ll rest better knowing you’re happy where you are. Do you understand? So have some fun tonight, Lauro. Even princes need to play sometimes.”

   
“I will, father!” Lauro called. Foolishness- the dripsparrow wasn’t done the message yet- but he couldn’t help himself. His young heart nearly burst with concern for his father. He hoped the King would find a way to help the Rain Cave folk see wisdom. Why wouldn’t they cooperate? Didn’t they know what a wonderful opportunity it was to be offered a place at Vastion’s table of allies?

   
“I wish you were here, son. Or better- I wish I was with you where you are. I love you, and hope you’ll send a long, long message back as soon as you can. I’m a lonely old king, Lauro, and need to hear my son’s voice. Goodbye, son. I’ll be waiting for your response.” The dripsparrow finished its message, and told him so with a little croaking noise in the back of its throat. All dripsparrows did that.

   
Lauro shivered with excitement. He knew just what to say to his father. “Little friend… I have my message ready. Remember what I say, and bring it back to Father King Larion, all right? Good. Here’s what you’ll say to him…”

~

   
…That had all been so long ago. Many things had changed, and none for the better.

   
Lauro walked as stealthily as he could over to the rumpled dripsparrow lying in the snow. Flakes crunched under his foot, and the little bird heard him, twisting painfully onto its back, its wings pinned beneath it, to stare beady-eyed up at him. He could have sworn it was laughing. The glow of its eyes bathed its body in a pale light. The sun had not quite risen yet.

   
“Well, well,” he said to it, placing his foot close to its body threateningly. “What have we here? Are you bringing little messages of love from my father?” He knew it was not so before it even opened its beak.

   
“Message…” it croaked. Blazes, it sounded as if it were dying. Good. Maybe he wouldn’t have to hear the message. The long flight here must have been too much for even its supernatural stamina.

   
No such luck. It rested for a second and its eyes dimmed, then they lit up again and it began.

   
“This is Larion Vale. Yes, your King wishes to speak with you, even with all you’ve done. Even with all you
haven’t
done.” Ugh. Lauro wished he had the will to smash this blasted bird under his foot. It was still managing to imitate his father’s voice, despite the fact that it was clearly on death’s door. “I want you to know, Lauro, you still have a chance. If you return now, and make recompense for your cowardice, I may yet deign to-”

   
“Shut up! Die in a pit, stupid old warmonger! I hate you! You haven’t given me a real chance… EVER! Shut up!” The sound of his own yells surprised him, and he stopped his tirade as it hissed violently through his teeth. In the middle of the dripsparrow’s message, he put his foot out and stamped on its neck, silencing it forever.

   
His father’s replicated voice cut off mid-sentence with a gargling squeal. Lauro stood there, panting, and realized his forehead was sweating. Cold sweat. Freezing water. Blast, even sweat froze out here!

   
He drew in a sharp breath. What had he done? Killing one of the king’s messenger birds was illegal, and punishable by the cutting off of one’s hand in most places. A prince was immune to that fee, of course… but he knew he was no longer so immune as he had been.

   
“I’ll make up for it, father,” he whispered. “I promise I will. When I save your kingdom, you
will
be proud of me. I’ll prove it.”