[Firebringer 03] - The Son of Summer Stars Page 3

  “Like you, prince of unicorns,” the formel responded at last, “we gryphons now desire peace. We are wearied of raids and your bitter flesh. If you pledge to relinquish Ishi’s Vale to our stewardship, we shall nest content.”

  Turning her head ever so slightly, she glanced back at her dozen followers crouching or reclining behind her.

  “But we, too, have a tale to sing, a chorus of the making of this sacred place, ages past at the pipping of the world. Our singer is blood kin to me—and for all that he is but a green-winged tercel, he holds a heart as brave, talons as keen, and a voice as strong as any formel’s. Hark now, I bid you, as he raises our song.”

  The lone male among the gryphons padded forward, skirting his queen and the fire to come directly before Jan. Tek watched as her prince bowed low.

  “Hail, Illishar Mended-wing,” Jan greeted him. “When my sister told me who among your folk had carried your leader’s offer of parley, my heart leapt.”

  The tercel’s stony countenance eased. Tek saw his ruffled quills settle, the golden fur of his flank grow smooth. His voice, like his queen’s, was low and sweet.

  “So you remember me, Prince Jan.”

  The dark stallion shook himself. Tek’s own ears pricked. She eyed the green gryphon feather tangled amid her mate’s long black hair. “How not,” he asked, “when I still wear the gift you gave?” His tone was one of genuine gladness and surprise. “You have grown since last we met.”

  The tercel chuckled. “You also, prince of unicorns. Two years past I was barely fletched, a gangling squab!”

  Jan snorted. “A formidable warrior, by my reck.”

  With a shudder, Tek glimpsed the scars lacing her mate’s shoulder blades, indelible reminders of the mortal combat in which he and this tercel once had joined. She glanced at her sleeping filly and foal and felt the pelt rise along her spine. Despite the feather in his hair, to Tek’s mind, Jan’s battlescars were only one among a cluster of reasons to mistrust these flesh-eating gryphons. Crouched before the prince, the tercel flexed one magnificent wing.

  “I, too, suffered in that fray,” he murmured. “But you gave me back my life.”

  “And what befell after I set your bone?” Jan asked.

  Tek peered curiously at the gryphon’s broad, green pinion, doubting she could ever have dared approach such a dangerous creature, even one with a shattered limb. She and every other unicorn in the Vale, she knew, would gladly have left the fallen raptor to starve. Illishar shrugged, preened a stray feather back into place.

  “As soon as my pinion grew strong enough, I made haste back to the Gryphon Mountains to rejoin my flock.”

  Tek listened. Her mate tossed his head.

  “We heard no word of you,” he pressed. “Indeed, we have seen no wingcats since, save for your own brief stop last spring. What kept your folk so far from our Vale?”

  Tek tensed as, on the far side of the fire, the gryphon formels suddenly ruffled. Two jostled and paced. Another beat her wings in agitation, so that the fire leapt, flared. Illishar’s eyes flicked to them, then to his wingleader. Malar returned his gaze impassively, with the barest hint of a nod. The tercel turned again to Jan.

  “The flocks have been at war,” he said. “Rival clans sought to conquer Malar, but she triumphed in the end. I, too, soared, winning a perch on the high ledge beside her.”

  Tek saw another glance pass between the wingcat and his queen. Jan stood listening, offering no word.

  “Malar is wearied of war,” Illishar resumed. “As are we all. When I returned two years past with word that the unicorns might consent to relinquish Ishi’s sacred Vale and return to their own lands across the Plain, she pounced at the chance. Others were not so hungry for peace. They sought to seize the wingleader’s place.”

  The gryphon queen behind him shifted. It seemed to Tek that Malar’s eyes, still fixed upon Illishar, now shone with inestimable pride. He continued.

  “But with my aid and that of all her loyal flock, she has struck her rivals from the sky and pashed their eggs to shards. Mightiest of wingleaders, she soars, and the clans fly united behind her once more!”

  Seated upright behind their queen, pinions poised, the formels uttered shrill cries of assent. Tek saw the herd just below the rise tense in alarm, but just as suddenly, the formels fell silent. Malar demurely nibbled one shoulder, as if ignoring their praise.

  “Hear my song,” cried Illishar, his wings half-raised. “How Isha laid the clutch that hatched all the creatures of the world, and how we gryphons pleased her best of all.”

  Again fluting whistles from the formels, but more melodic, rising and falling in a complex harmony to the tercel’s words.

  “Great Isha created her consort Ishi from greenest grass and most golden seed. But he was lifeless, so she closed him in a silver egg, and he hatched out full grown. Half the mottled shell still turns in heaven. Now full, so we see it end-on, beholding only its outward curving edge. A week hence, when it has pivoted, we will see it in profile, the half moon. And in another week’s time, on the night of the new moon, we will discern no silver rim at all but instead gaze into the dark mystery of its inner hollow. Blessed be the goddess and her consort, Ishi!”

  Behind him, the formels raised their voices in intricate, effortless accompaniment, the ever-changing position of their wings seeming to accent his words: now lifted, now folded, now outstretched. Only Malar took no part, still as stone, a moonlit sphinx. Shivers feathered the pied mare’s limbs and sides. Tek found herself growing rapt as the herd around her. Jan, too, stood motionless, enthralled.

  Illishar sang of Isha’s gift of the winds to her consort Ishi, of her creation of the Vale for his sacred flocks, lovingly husbanded as first meat for the newly hatched. The tune pulsed and lilted. Tek’s heartbeat sped. Her people had no such sinuous music as these gryphons made, the tercel sometimes speaking or chanting while the formels behind him repeated and ornamented his words.

  By the time Illishar recounted how centuries past, unicorns had swarmed into Ishi’s Vale, forcing out the delectable sheep and deer, leaving only their own unsavory young as rank pickings for the formel’s new-pipped chicks, the pied mare was almost on her feet, ready to shout, No, no! Drive the intruders out—until she realized with a start that it was against her own kind she would have railed. Groggy, Tek shook herself, no winged gryphon, but a four-leggèd unicorn.

  The tercel had fallen silent. The formels, too. Dazed, the prince’s mate gazed out over the herd, beheld them coming to themselves, stirring slowly like beasts entranced. She had no doubt now how gryphons managed to bewitch their prey. Shaken and stiff, the pied mare rolled her shoulders, extended her neck. Moon hung low on the other side of a sky paling eastward into dawn.

  Below her, Lell reclined beside her mother, the only one of all the colts Tek could see who was not asleep. The amber filly gazed at Illishar, eyes following his every move, ears pricked to the rustle of his quills. Head bowed, the tercel fell back to flank his queen, still crouching beside the dying embers of the fire. Malar rose, stretched, fanning her great blue wings and arching her tawny back like a pard. Before her on the rise, Jan stirred, shifting his limbs. Had he stood the whole night? Tek watched him move forward, gait graceful and loose, unimpeded apparently by any fatigue.

  “So, Malar, wingleader of the gryphons,” he asked, “are we agreed?”

  The mighty formel straightened, nodded. “We are agreed, Jan, prince of unicorns. Henceforth, our folk shall be at peace, and next spring your kind will depart Ishi’s Vale, returning to your own ancestral Hills.”

  The slimmest of morning breezes lifted, died. The formel’s feathers riffled, then smoothed.

  “We take with us in gratitude your songs,” she continued, “and leave you ours. We will not soon forget this night’s singing, nor the tales that you have taught us. We trust you will remember ours.”

  She gave a guttural snort, the meaning of which Tek could not readily discern—supposed it might b
e a laugh, the first the pied mare had heard the gryphon queen utter.

  “I would never have guessed that so hoarse-voiced and whinnying a sort as unicorns could honor the sky with such fetching airs—and from but a single throat. What brave and lonely songs you sing! I salute you.”

  Tek rose, the muscles of her long legs twinging, and stepped to stand beside her mate. She bowed low to the gryphon queen while Jan replied.

  “And I salute you, wingleader of all the clans. Song, to my mind, rings far sweeter than war.”

  The great blue formel nodded curtly, then half-turned, fanning her massy wings again. Behind her, the other formels did the same.

  “We must fly,” she said. “Our chicks have nestled their fathers long enough. But know this.” Malar turned to face Jan over one shoulder. “In emblem of my goodwill, next spring when you march for the Hallow Hills, I will send my kinsmeet Illishar to accompany you.”

  Beside Jan, Tek felt his start of pleasure, surprise.

  “My thanks to you, Queen Malar,” he answered warmly. “Your cousin is a mighty warrior. The ranks of the unicorns will be glad of his strength.”

  Illishar inclined his head. “I shall be as glad to lend it.” His mouth edged into a bare hint of a smile. “My wingleader is most anxious that your war against the wyverns succeed, that hereafter Ishi’s Vale harbor his flocks in peace, untroubled by wandering unicorns.”

  Tek saw the expression of the gryphon queen almost imperceptibly sour. Jan gave a whickering laugh.

  “I, too, share the great Malar’s urgency for the success of our endeavor. Your airborne eyes will be of great value to us, Illishar. We welcome you.”

  The green-winged tercel bowed his head. At a sign from Malar, her formels rose, some rearing to stand on hind legs as if to stretch, others stroking their wings. Jan’s forelock lifted. Tek felt her own mane whipped about her neck. The buffeting grew fiercer. Malar moved a few paces from Jan, seeking room to spring into the air. The other gryphons fell back from her. The mighty wingleader sank into a crouch, half opening her wings, when suddenly a voice from among the unicorns broke the stillness.

  “Hold!”

  Jan reared and wheeled. Cavaling, Tek turned to see Lell spring to her feet. Before her startled dam could move to stay her, the darkamber filly sprinted for the rise. In three strides and a bound, she had gained the summit. Astonished, the pied mare fell back as the prince’s sister hastened to his side.

  “Brother, a moment,” Lell panted. “I would speak! May I speak?”

  Tek watched her mate’s baffled eyes scanning his sister. Lell’s urgency made her prance and sidle beside him. He spoke quietly.

  “Sister, you already speak. What would you say?”

  Lell seemed to take his response for leave. She spun eagerly to face the green-winged tercel.

  “Illishar Brokenwing, do you know me?” she asked.

  The tercel nodded gravely. “Could I forget?” he replied. “You are the prince’s sister, with whom I set this parley three moons past.”

  “Lell,” the chestnut filly answered. “My name is Lell. I wanted you to have my name.”

  The tercel’s smile was unmistakable now. “Indeed, Lell Darkamber, I already know it. You called it out to me last spring as I departed. I hope that in three-quarters of a year’s time, when I return, we may speak again.”

  “We shall!” exulted Lell, ramping with delight.

  Her mother, Ses, had ascended the rise. She nudged her filly with one firm but unobtrusive shoulder. Lell caught her breath, and with a glance at her dam, managed to collect herself. She swallowed.

  “That is, I would welcome it,” she answered formally. With a deep bow first to Malar, then to Illishar, she added, “I thank you.”

  The prince’s sister fell back with Ses to stand at the far edge of the rise. Malar crouched again and, with one prodigious leap, launched herself into the air. The gryphon queen rose, wings stroking rapidly at first, then locking to glide as she gained sufficient height. In a bound, green-winged Illishar followed. He seemed to have less trouble rising aloft than his larger, heavier companion. One by one, in swift succession, other formels followed, straining for lift in the windless air. None faltered. In another moment, all were airborne, wafting upward in a ragged vee. They headed south toward the valley’s nearer slope. The Gryphon Mountains lay a day’s flight beyond, across the Pan Woods that bordered the Vale. Tek moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with her mate.

  “Do you see, Mother?” Lell behind her whispered excitedly. “How he flies! How he sang. He remembered my name. In under a year’s time, he will return to us. My gryphon.”

  Baffled, the pied mare turned to watch the amber filly gazing after the green-gold tercel. Her eyes shone like those of some moonstruck half-grown. Tek snorted. Nay, ridiculous! It would be a year or more before Lell could join the Ring of Warriors, probably two or three before she pledged a mate by the Summer Sea. Whickering, the pied mare shook her head, convinced she had misconstrued the other’s youthful enthusiasm. She leaned against her mate. Above and to the southwest, the tercel’s form and those of the formels grew smaller and smaller yet.

  “Do you think he would teach me gryphonsong?” she heard the prince’s sister breathe. “Mother, what must it be like to fly?”

  4.

  Wind

  A puff of breeze played across Jan’s face. The young stallion closed his eyes, relishing it. A moment later, when he opened them, the last of the soaring gryphons were just disappearing beyond the edge of the Vale. Dawnlight illumined the sky, burning it saffron and rose. The few remaining stars winked out. Tek leaned against him. The prince of the unicorns breathed deep, savoring the clean, warm scent of her, pied black as spent night, rosy as the coming dawn. Gently, he nipped her neck and watched his dam, Ses, and sister, Lell, descend the rocky rise. Below, he glimpsed unicorns walking, rolling, rising and shaking off. With a soft whicker, Ses bent to nose Dhattar and Aiony. They stirred. On the rise, his mate beside him murmured.

  “Next spring, then.”

  He nodded. “Aye.”

  “Good.”

  He turned, surprised. “You’ve no fear?”

  The warrior mare shrugged, chivvying him. “More relief than fear. Six years have I awaited this trek—since I beheld the Firebringer rush burning from heaven in the vision of my initiation.” She nipped playfully at the tassels of his ears till they twitched. “Our folk have waited longer still. Four hundred years.”

  Her nips grew smarter, more insistent. He half reared, wheeling to fence with her. Laughing, she met him stroke for stroke, their horns clanging loudly in the morning stillness. Breeze lifted, and they broke off, panting. He saw his mate’s gaze fall lovingly on Dhattar, up now and harassing Lell. Aiony rolled in the grass at her granddam’s forehooves, refusing to get up. Around them, other unicorns frisked and grazed. Tek nudged him.

  “My thanks for your waiting till the twins were weaned,” she murmured. “I’m no strategist like you, no diplomat. Just a warrior—and a singer of sorts. And now a dam. I could not have borne forgoing the coming fray for the sake of suckling young.”

  She rested her chin at the crown of his head, lips nibbling the base of his horn, beard tickling his cheek. Jan laughed, sneezing, and shook her off.

  “Alma chose the time, not I.”

  He turned to press his muzzle to her. Doing so, he caught sight of a figure just topping the rise. Two figures, in truth—and then he realized it was three. One had the form of a beardless unicorn deep mallow in color, redder than the dawn. She descended the slope on round, uncloven heels, her black mane standing upright as a newborn’s along her neck, her tail silky and full.

  Alongside her trotted a very different figure, moving upright on goatlike hind limbs. From the square shoulders of this figure’s flattened torso hung two nimble forelimbs, one resting easily upon the withers of the red mare, the other swinging with each stride. A small, round head topped the creature’s short, slender neck. Her hair
less face held dark, expressive eyes. Curving horns and drooping, goatlike ears sprouted amid a shaggy mane.

  A slighter, fairer version sat astride the strange unicorn mare, clinging to her brush, making the third member of the trio. Jan heard his mate beside him give a peal of joy. She reared, flailing the air. All around, on the valley floor below, unicorns turned and took note. Their delighted cries echoed the pied mare’s:

  “Jah-lila! The midwife! The magicker!”

  Reaching the valley floor, the red mare answered, “Well met!”

  The herd surged toward her and her goatling companions, who waved upheld forelimbs and whistled in perfect imitation of unicorns. Mares with suckling young especially moved to greet them. Jan glimpsed his own filly and foal sprinting with gleeful shrieks to welcome their maternal granddam. They, like most of the colts in the herd, had been delivered by the red mare and the pan sisters, her acolytes.

  “Sismoomnat! Pitipak!” he heard Aiony and Dhattar exclaim. The younger pan slipped from her foster mother’s back and joined her sister in frisking with them. The red mare waded on through the press, exchanging greetings with stallions and mares, all of whom fell back respectfully before her, even as fellows behind them crowded forward.

  Good fortune, the herd murmured, to breathe the wych’s breath, stand in her shadow, tread her track.

  The half-growns, warriors, and elders were old enough to remember the awe in which the herd had, only a few short years ago, once held her—a fear now turned to reverence. She acknowledged them all but never paused, forging determinedly toward her daughter, the pied mare, still standing beside Jan on the rise. He fell back to let daughter and dam exchange caresses and greetings. Jah-lila nickered and called to him.

  “Well met, my daughter’s mate,” she laughed, her dusky voice a deep, sweet echo of Tek’s. “My fosterlings and I spied wingcats overhead as we entered the Vale. They kept their parley as agreed?”