Page 84 of Gryphon in Light

:She’s a good person. She must have been teased as a gryphlet.: That was the only conclusion he could come to.

:She doesn’t open up about much,: Daria admitted. :That’s more than I have ever heard from her about herself before.:

: I thought you all knew each other,: he said, surprised.

:We never met except in the games before we formed up to fly to k’Valdemar,: she confessed. :I still don’t know why I was made leader, but they all seem fine with it, so . . . : He sensed a mental shrug. :At least I haven’t led them into any disasters yet.:

:We should include her in this conversation before she thinks we’re leaving her out,: he cautioned, and won another approving glance from her. He felt positively euphoric—buoyed by far more than magic.

For the rest of the morning, they all discussed what life had been like in Iftel. Or, to be more on point, he listened, and they talked, and more than once Daria marveled privately to him how astonished she was that “Tiny” had suddenly begun talking about herself—and how clever he’d been to draw her out. The intoxicating praise—from her!—might have made him forget to listen to Torandi, except that he got the distinct impression that this was very important to her, and that she had never had anyone she could call a friend to open up to before.

He fairly quickly got the sense of why that was so. She had ambitious parents, and her size and power—which had manifested early, even before she fledged—made her a natural for the games. So they encouraged competitive thinking and discouraged friendships, and kept her so busy in practice and training that even when a potential friendship cropped up, it fell by the wayside under the relentless drive of training.

She only ran out of things to say when they were about to dive down below the clouds to hunt for something to eat. But by that time, he could tell that under that reserved, even shy exterior was a warm and caring creature who had genuinely blossomed into being over the course of the last few candlemarks.

They were lucky to find what looked like a sort of wild bull almost as soon as they broke through into the rain—although it had a twisted mass of what looked like distorted antlers or tree branches instead of horns. Without even thinking about it, they fell into line—Kel in front, Daria in the middle, Tiny bringing up the rear. Even a gryphon couldn’t take down a beast of this size without a fight. And no raptor wants a fight. Wings are fragile things, and gryphon bones were all too prone to breakage. But, of course, gryphons had worked out how to compensate long ago, in Urtho’s day.

They cast up as far as they could go and still be able to see. Then Kel did a wingover, pulled his wings in tight, and fell like a stone. The protective membrane closed over his eyes, and he thrust his fisted foreclaws out in front of him, adjusting his flight path with tiny movements of his wings. The air screamed past him and his vision narrowed to a single spot where the beast’s shoulders met the spine. He’d have to time this so that he hit while the bull had his head down; those antlers could perforate him just as easily as arrows.

With a jolt that shuddered through every bone, he hit the beast, using the recoil of the strike to power back up into the sky and out of the way. As he headed back up, he heard the bull grunt and stumble, and then heard the hard smack as Daria hit its hindquarters, staggering it further. As he clawed his way back up into the leaden sky, he saw Tiny flash past him, a great, black thunderbolt hurtling out of the heavens, and heard the crunch of breaking bones as she scored her own hit in the middle of the spine. He gave her a heartbeat, still climbing, then did another wingover and hurtled back down again. The bull was down, its hindquarters splayed out behind it, bellowing. Red bloodlust flooded him, and he powered in for his second hit, this time aiming for the forequarters and coming in at an angle, to knock it over. Again, that satisfying impact, and the long climb up until he looked back and saw that Daria had the hindquarters in all four feet, with Tiny latched onto the face, wrestling it to the ground.

This time he came in with his forefeet unfisted and ready for the finishing strike. He hit for the third and final time, talons sinking deeply into the chest, notched beak striking at that spot where the neck joined the spine, which Tiny was so cooperatively exposing to his beak by backwinging with her foreclaws buried in the bull’s face.

And that was all except for the eating.

“Good hunt!” he caroled, feeling his mouth full of fresh, hot, intoxicating blood, and his hackles rising with the excitement of the kill. “Good lunch,” said Tiny, already picking out the tongue.

:Good job,: said Daria in his mind, warmth and approval washing over him like honeywater.

That was more intoxicating than the kill.

Under ordinary circumstances, they’d have eaten until their crops were full, then taken a nap. But they had a destination to reach, one Serenshey had planted as firmly into their minds as if they were compass needles and the destination was true north. The plan was to survey the spot, then if there was nothing obviously ominous going on, make a Gate, and bring in the rest.

Plans are nice to have. This plan went straight to the nine hells as they dropped down below the clouds just as that compass in their heads said, “We’re here.”

Because . . . no matter what any of them had anticipated, it wasn’t this.

Below them were two human armies—small armies, but armies nevertheless—locked in a siege.

On the shore of the lake was what looked like part of a fort or castle. Part of one, because on the side where its feet were in the waters of the lake, there was a semicircular cut, as clean as if it had been done by a giant knife, that looked as if it had cleaved off about a quarter of the place. The cut edges were sharp, and the interior of the fort was exposed to the weather there. The inhabitants had made a token effort at covering the large holes, but given up.

:Change-Circle, it looks like. They could be from anywhere.:

Up on the intact walls were the besieged. Humans, wearing clothing and armor that Kel did not recognize. At all. The besieged all wore uniforms: charcoal surcoats with a wolf head outlined in red on them, uniform armor—but on closer examination, neither the uniforms nor the soldiers were in particularly good shape.

:They look like fighters who haven’t been resupplied in a very long time,: Tiny observed.

:They do,: he agreed, and turned his attention to the besiegers. They did not seem to be particularly well armed—they certainly had no siege weapons—but were definitely not daunted by that fact.

:What the actual hell?: spluttered Tiny, as all three of them turned their flight into a hover, and climbed up just a bit so that the lowered cloud base’s virga hid them somewhat.

:I . . . don’t know,: said Kel, as baffled as she was. :I didn’t know there were even people out here, much less fortified soldiers.:

The architecture was absolutely unfamiliar, but looked as if the fortress might have been constructed by magic. Partially, at least. And yet, no one inside the fortress was using magic at all. On the top of the highest tower was a flag with the snarling mask of a crowned wolf.

:Is that emblem anything you recognize?: he asked the other two. :It’s not Valdemaran.:

:Does Valdemar even claim this part of Evendim?: asked Daria. :Are these people allies?: