Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar

:Oh, no, you go on ahead. I’m thinking about new tunnels around the Collegium and the embassies, and where to tap a new hotspring. And where to set in a new baking oven.: Treyvan felt the hertasi pat his back. :An idle mind is my workshop. But, Treyvan, aren’t we due to make another Gate attempt?:

:Soon,: he replied. :If I recall my maps right, we should be in range of a clean Gating within the candlemark. I’ll try to anchor high up to correct for any targeting drift. We can fly the difference from there. I’ll find us a good landmark by the main road, mark it with a lasting mage-light, and send word to Whitebird by teleson. We’ll set an arrival time. When she gets there, I’ll try another Gate to bring her in to where the gryphon is.:

:Aren’t you the clever one!: Pena chuckled in his mind.

:Just trying to keep up with you,: Treyvan answered, and laughed out loud as he soared higher.

Kelvren dozed off and on, as best his wounds would let him. The humans were given drugged drinks to reduce their pain, but Birce was not willing to risk mixing such stuff with a gryphon’s unknown anatomy. It was very hard to get good rest when parts of your body were simply screaming at you and throbbed with every breath. Still—the attention, the full belly, and the company gave him new strength. When he was able to, he answered questions and shared scores of stories about his exploits and his people with dozens of eager listeners. He related the story of Hallock’s Healing, but felt a pang of wistfulness when Hallock’s wife Genni was brought up, because Kelvren was acutely aware he had no mate to go back to should he survive this. And by this age, he should.

The night swallowed up the sky, and he lost all track of time between naps. Most of the rest of the convalescents were asleep, their night dosages in full effect. He raised his head, looking up to the starry sky, seeded by sparks from the camp’s fires. He whimpered softly.

This wasn’t what Skandranon was like—he would never have been laid up with such injuries, wasting away. And they have to be looking for me—Darien and Firesong and the others; they must be able to send me help or bring me back. I know that great legends usually involve great funerals—but I don’t want to die.

“Sir? Y’there, sir? You awake?” He heard Jeft’s voice at his side and turned an eye that way without lifting his head. “Oh, good, you’re awake. Sir, I, uh, my mum wanted to see you. I fetched her here.” The young man waved someone in. A woman in trews and blouse carrying a large basket knelt beside him, and licked her lips.

“My lord gryphon,” she said in a voice gentled down as if talking to a scared child, “Jeft’s talked so much about you, I wanted to see you myself. You—” and she glanced at where Jeft stood back by Kel’s flank, “—you’ve treated him well, better than most people ever have. I—wanted you to know it is appreciated. He’s never really had many friends, and even then they didn’t consider him an equal. But then here you are, this—wonder dropped into our lives—and you talk to him as a person. Not as a servant. You’ve done us a great honor.”

Kel listened to every word and raised his chin up then laid his head sideways. “The honorrr isss mine, Lady. . . .”

“Ammari. Not a Lady, though, my lord gryphon. I am just a seamstress and artisan.” She looked down at her hands when she said this. There was something in her tone that was deeply sad for a moment.

“Hurrrh. Jeft isss a brrrave—” and he paused, “I won’t sssay ‘boy.’ But he isss brrrave. Sssmarrrt.” He brought his head up and shifted his weight from his sideways slouch, which sent lightning shots through his body from each stitch and scab deep into him. “Urrrh. Ssso. Welcome to my palacsse.”