Firebrand
Page 109
Enver stood fluidly. “Predators.” He reached for his bow.
“Groundmites?” Estral asked, barely above a whisper.
“No. Wolves.”
As if to confirm his words, howls filled the woods. If winter had been hard on groundmites, Karigan thought, it certainly had been hard on other creatures, as well. Wolves would not ordinarily attack people at a campsite, but if they were as desperate as the groundmites had been? She reached for her longsword and handed her saber to Estral, who accepted it without comment.
The howls came again, chillingly closer. Karigan saw movement in the nearby brush.
“They desire the horses,” Enver said.
Just then, a gray-brindle wolf darted toward the horses. Mist, who was not hobbled, turned on her haunches and thrust her front hooves at it. Even as Enver nocked an arrow to his bowstring, and even as Karigan set foot toward the horses, sword in hand, the cat, still growling and snarling, pelted by her and leaped. He looked bigger in his fury, and then she realized he was bigger and growing as he flew through the air, and so shocked was she that she halted in her tracks as their sweet orange tabby cat morphed into a large cat-monster-thing with wings.
He went after the wolves snarling, leaping, flying, lunging. The wolves yipped as they ran off.
“We will not be seeing them again,” Enver said in satisfaction, his bowstring now slack.
“What in the name of the gods?” Karigan said, still trying to work out what had become of their little tabby.
The cat-monster-thing padded back to camp. He paused by the horses, who were not afraid of him, and rubbed his face against Bane’s neck and flank. Then he approached them, ruffled his eagle wings, and sat in front of them.
“Mister Whiskers?” Estral asked.
“Meep,” came the little voice.
“What . . . ?” Karigan could barely squeak the word out.
“A gryphon, Galadheon,” Enver said, “the likes of which have not been seen in a millennium.”
Karigan, who had seen so much in her life that was strange and wondrous, found that she kind of wanted to faint.
Estral walked right up to the creature and started scratching him under his chin.
“Estral!” Karigan said in alarm.
“It’s Mister Whiskers, the gryphon that Alton released from Tower of the Heavens. Who’s a good kitty now?”
“Good gods,” Karigan murmured, watching her friend pet and speak baby talk to the monster. “I have seen everything now.”
“Everything?” Enver asked. “There is much in this world to see.”
Mister Whiskers preened with the attention, then spread his wings. Estral retreated several paces to give him room. He flapped his wings with great downbeats creating a wind that rippled their tents and sent debris flying. He recoiled on his hind end, then launched into the air, circling a few times overhead, then flew off in a northwesterly direction. It was an unusual sight to see the giant cat-thing airborne.
“I guess he is off to seek a mate,” Estral said.
Karigan wished him well, but wondered what the world would be like if gryphons once again ruled the sky.
THE STRANGE BEHAVIOR OF ZACHARY
Laren saw little of Zachary, and only at a distance, as he conducted the dance that was the ceremonial welcoming of a royal prince of Rhovanny. Tuandre was the seventh son of seven sons, and therefore the least of King Thergood’s progeny, which in itself revealed that Thergood was little interested in Sacoridia’s problem with Second Empire, and was not taking the threat of Mornhavon the Black very seriously. Most of these issues were occurring within Sacoridia’s borders, after all, and not Rhovanny. Still, if Thergood hadn’t some interest, he would have sent some lesser envoy than one of his own sons.
So, there was the formal welcome, the public greeting, the shared chalice of wine representing the blood between cousins, for they were related. Rhovanny had had many blood ties with Sacoridian royalty over the generations. If Thergood had had a daughter, she would have been a strong contender to become Zachary’s wife.
There were feasting and other stuffy formalities that accompanied a royal visit. The king and the prince would get down to business soon enough, and Zachary would have to convince Tuandre of the seriousness of the threat from their ancient enemy. Laren’s presence was not required for the ceremonial aspects of the visit, but she was certain Zachary would summon her when formal talks began.
In the meantime, she had not been able to see Zachary on a more informal basis as Estora had wished, and as she strode through the chill air across castle grounds, she was not sure when she’d get the opportunity. Zachary was, of course, tied up with the prince’s visit, and when he was not with the prince, he was with Estora.
Laren, in turn, was kept busy overseeing her Riders being sent out to convey messages and invitations to nobles and others of importance for functions involving the prince. She did take a moment one afternoon to visit Loon and Bluebird, though she did not ride. Vanlynn had heard about how she’d ridden Loon after having been patched up, and gave her a stern upbraiding. She was ordered not to ride until she was declared fit. When it came to injuries and sickness, the master mender outranked generals, much less mere captains.
Bluebird gently nuzzled her shoulder as if he knew exactly how it had been hurt, while Loon continued to look rather abashed. They had had words, of course, but now she stroked the spotted horse’s nose.
“I don’t hold a grudge,” she told him, “and you are still young. You’ll learn.”
“Groundmites?” Estral asked, barely above a whisper.
“No. Wolves.”
As if to confirm his words, howls filled the woods. If winter had been hard on groundmites, Karigan thought, it certainly had been hard on other creatures, as well. Wolves would not ordinarily attack people at a campsite, but if they were as desperate as the groundmites had been? She reached for her longsword and handed her saber to Estral, who accepted it without comment.
The howls came again, chillingly closer. Karigan saw movement in the nearby brush.
“They desire the horses,” Enver said.
Just then, a gray-brindle wolf darted toward the horses. Mist, who was not hobbled, turned on her haunches and thrust her front hooves at it. Even as Enver nocked an arrow to his bowstring, and even as Karigan set foot toward the horses, sword in hand, the cat, still growling and snarling, pelted by her and leaped. He looked bigger in his fury, and then she realized he was bigger and growing as he flew through the air, and so shocked was she that she halted in her tracks as their sweet orange tabby cat morphed into a large cat-monster-thing with wings.
He went after the wolves snarling, leaping, flying, lunging. The wolves yipped as they ran off.
“We will not be seeing them again,” Enver said in satisfaction, his bowstring now slack.
“What in the name of the gods?” Karigan said, still trying to work out what had become of their little tabby.
The cat-monster-thing padded back to camp. He paused by the horses, who were not afraid of him, and rubbed his face against Bane’s neck and flank. Then he approached them, ruffled his eagle wings, and sat in front of them.
“Mister Whiskers?” Estral asked.
“Meep,” came the little voice.
“What . . . ?” Karigan could barely squeak the word out.
“A gryphon, Galadheon,” Enver said, “the likes of which have not been seen in a millennium.”
Karigan, who had seen so much in her life that was strange and wondrous, found that she kind of wanted to faint.
Estral walked right up to the creature and started scratching him under his chin.
“Estral!” Karigan said in alarm.
“It’s Mister Whiskers, the gryphon that Alton released from Tower of the Heavens. Who’s a good kitty now?”
“Good gods,” Karigan murmured, watching her friend pet and speak baby talk to the monster. “I have seen everything now.”
“Everything?” Enver asked. “There is much in this world to see.”
Mister Whiskers preened with the attention, then spread his wings. Estral retreated several paces to give him room. He flapped his wings with great downbeats creating a wind that rippled their tents and sent debris flying. He recoiled on his hind end, then launched into the air, circling a few times overhead, then flew off in a northwesterly direction. It was an unusual sight to see the giant cat-thing airborne.
“I guess he is off to seek a mate,” Estral said.
Karigan wished him well, but wondered what the world would be like if gryphons once again ruled the sky.
THE STRANGE BEHAVIOR OF ZACHARY
Laren saw little of Zachary, and only at a distance, as he conducted the dance that was the ceremonial welcoming of a royal prince of Rhovanny. Tuandre was the seventh son of seven sons, and therefore the least of King Thergood’s progeny, which in itself revealed that Thergood was little interested in Sacoridia’s problem with Second Empire, and was not taking the threat of Mornhavon the Black very seriously. Most of these issues were occurring within Sacoridia’s borders, after all, and not Rhovanny. Still, if Thergood hadn’t some interest, he would have sent some lesser envoy than one of his own sons.
So, there was the formal welcome, the public greeting, the shared chalice of wine representing the blood between cousins, for they were related. Rhovanny had had many blood ties with Sacoridian royalty over the generations. If Thergood had had a daughter, she would have been a strong contender to become Zachary’s wife.
There were feasting and other stuffy formalities that accompanied a royal visit. The king and the prince would get down to business soon enough, and Zachary would have to convince Tuandre of the seriousness of the threat from their ancient enemy. Laren’s presence was not required for the ceremonial aspects of the visit, but she was certain Zachary would summon her when formal talks began.
In the meantime, she had not been able to see Zachary on a more informal basis as Estora had wished, and as she strode through the chill air across castle grounds, she was not sure when she’d get the opportunity. Zachary was, of course, tied up with the prince’s visit, and when he was not with the prince, he was with Estora.
Laren, in turn, was kept busy overseeing her Riders being sent out to convey messages and invitations to nobles and others of importance for functions involving the prince. She did take a moment one afternoon to visit Loon and Bluebird, though she did not ride. Vanlynn had heard about how she’d ridden Loon after having been patched up, and gave her a stern upbraiding. She was ordered not to ride until she was declared fit. When it came to injuries and sickness, the master mender outranked generals, much less mere captains.
Bluebird gently nuzzled her shoulder as if he knew exactly how it had been hurt, while Loon continued to look rather abashed. They had had words, of course, but now she stroked the spotted horse’s nose.
“I don’t hold a grudge,” she told him, “and you are still young. You’ll learn.”
