:I can hear you,: Treyvan Mindspoke toward the gryphon he heard. :I have come to help you. And a trondi’irn is on the way.:
Inside the convalescents’ tent, the singing went quiet voice by voice. Kelvren turned his head from side to side, and upward, as if searching for something. Something was about to happen, and everyone in the tent could sense it. Kelvren cut short a whimper of pain as he rolled himself over to his belly. “I hearrrd—” Kelvren croaked, and then his eyes fixed outside, locked onto an approaching shadow. A large shadow.
Captain Stavern stepped around the edge of the tent, nodded behind him, and then came someone Kelvren thought he would never see in his lifetime.
The breastplate adorned by the badges and bars of rank, the impeccaby tooled harness, and the teleson headpiece around the feather-perfect gryphon’s brow ridges and forecrest, crafted to be as much a crown as anything—it could be no one else.
Completely against his will, Kelvren shuddered all over. Breath seized in his throat. He blinked his eyes out of their stare and lowered his head. The fletchers and attendants dropped their work completely or set their tools aside, all eyes on what—who—had just walked across the threshold of the tent’s oiled-canvas floor. Then everyone who stood or sat went down to one knee and bowed their heads in recognition when Kelvren spoke the words—
“My Lorrrd Trrreyvan.”
The power of the senior gryphon’s arrival could be felt radiating into the tent, like sunlight sinks into the skin on a summer day.
“Rrrissse, all,” Treyvan said. Kelvren’s head felt light, as if he was about to pass out. Treyvan stepped to within arm’s reach of the stricken gryphon, and then bowed his own head in turn. “Wingleaderrr Kelvrrren Ssskothkarrr of k’Valdemarrr. The Crrrown hasss sssent me to sssee to yourrr well-being.”
What Treyvan said next made Kelvren certain he was hallucinating.
“You arrre firrrssst grrryphon on sssite in thisss engagement. I name you Wingleaderrr of thisss forcssse asss sssoon asss you arrre fit forrr duty.”
Motes of light swam in Kelvren’s vision. This must be a fever dream. It was Silver Gryphon standing practice that whoever was on scene first was automatically the senior of that engagement—“Incident Command”—the reasoning being that they knew the situation, by being there first, better than any who followed. It held, regardless of rank, until there was a formal exchange of power. It meant that he was now empowered to command Treyvan. One of the Great Ones! It was mindboggling.
Enough so that Kelvren passed out on the spot.
Much happened while Kel was adrift. The supply tent across the mud path from the convalescents’ tent was emptied out so Treyvan could always be near Kelvren.
Treyvan used several spells—though relatively minor, they were impressive to watch, because to enhance his precision he used simple light effects to burn off any excess energy. He used Magesight and sweeps of power to discover which of Kelvren’s magic-conversion organs were still alive and responsive, and several probes to test the state of the still-unconscious Kelvren’s injuries. Jeft stood by his gryphon friend’s side and asked—very possessively—exactly what Treyvan was doing. Treyvan explained that he was taking away Kel’s pain and deepening his sleep, to help him regain strength—and to keep him from trying to move and make his wounds worse.
Jeft wasn’t the only one who acted proprietary about Kelvren. To the inhabitants of the convalescents’ tent, this was their gryphon.
Hallock Stavern called a muster on the main road, and each company stood in formation while he introduced Treyvan and Pena. He made it very clear that unless it directly contravened “high end” regulations, the gryphon was to be treated as captain—“or better.” He held up the proof that the Crown wished it so, and added that the little lizard with him was Treyvan’s personal assistant. Treyvan made a formal pass by each company. He nodded to each company’s senior officer and gave them polite greetings—but it was also calculated so they got a very clear view of his rank markings by being close up to him.
Birce and Devon stood humbly while Treyvan thanked them personally for their good work, and astonished them when he suggested to Hallock that they be listed for commendation.
Treyvan explained to the mill officers how a teleson worked, and contacted Haven with one to report on Kelvren. The overworked clerk that Hallock had needled before was set in front of the device, and thanks to the link he might actually have some sleep possible in his near future.
Pena was well on her way to becoming the most popular creature in the camp. Once word had been spread that any fast-moving lizards in camp weren’t to be shot at, she’d become a blur. Not only were Kelvren’s needs being tended to and materials brought to Treyvan, her abilities as a chef transformed the dull fare the convalescents ate into events to be savored. She bolted into the woods and returned with foraged materials half a candlemark later that by the end of the day made a basic stew bear delightfully complex tastes. The condition for off-duty soldiers getting any of her dishes, though, was that time must be spent assisting the convalescents and Treyvan. They never wanted for help.
Ammari spent more of her waking hours in the tent with the “gimps,” as they’d now laughingly begun referring to themselves. One of the southerners pointed out—wisely—that a word is only truly an insult if you take it as such. Making it a joke, instead of derogatory, takes the power out of it, and makes it your power instead.
It reached its zenith when one of the fletchers asked Jeft to bring another basket of arrowshafts, and Ammari heard her son answer back, “That’s Boy Jeft to you, gimp!” The whole group fell about laughing.
That laughter was what awoke Kelvren. He blinked a dozen times, cleared his mind, and found the pain that had been his constant, unwanted companion had dulled its screaming to barely a whisper. He still felt unbearably heavy, but lifted his head, and found Treyvan was there, and real.
Treyvan spoke to him with respect. “Wingleaderrr Kelvrrren. You have sssurrrvived woundsss that would kill thrrree grrryphonsss. I am imprrresssed by yourrr willpowerrr—and yourrr durrability. And yourrr compasssionate sssacrrrificsse.”
Kel smiled a little at that. Praise from Treyvan! “Wasss it not what ssshould be done? Hallock Ssstaverrrn had hisss Genni to rrreturrrn to. Hisss mate. I have no mate, but I have wissshed it ssso. I would not let him lossse hisss, if it cossst my own life forrr it. He lived the drrream I have. It ssshould not perrrisssh. You—you have Hydona. Can you underrrssstand?”
Treyvan nodded gravely. “I would claw out the hearrrt of the sssun if it meant keeping herrr sssafe. And my young—the sssame forrr them.”
Kelvren looked into the middle distance, as if caught in daydream. “It would be good to have sssuch perrrfect daysss as Hallock Ssstaverrrn and you have had. And young, yesss.”
“In time, Kelvrrren. In time. Yourrr legend grrrowsss.”
“Legend?” Kel looked bemused. “Legend.”
“Yesss. I know that I will tell of you. And you ssshall rrrecoverrr. Whitebirrrd—ourrr trondi’irn frrrom Haven—isss on herrr way. In the meantime, if yourrr mind isss clearrr enough, I would like to know yourrr wissshesss.”