Kelvren could see that soldiers and villagers were taking notice of them as they closed the distance to the encampment. Kel angled toward a recently cut tree stump and suddenly fell against it.
“Sir? Master Kelvren, sir? What’s wrong?” Jeft dropped the bag and crashed toward the gryphon. “You’re bleedin’ again, sir, an’ that, uh, sewin’ they did on you’s torn up some. Sir?” He waved at the flies, to little effect, and then Kel could feel the boy’s hand on his eartufts. “Sir? You hear me? Can I help? Sir?” He was sounding desperate.
Slowly Kelvren opened an eye, toward Jeft. “Hurrrh. It isss—all forrr effect,” he wheezed, and smiled as best he could. “Ssso brrrave. You rrrun towarrrdsss me when the rrressst of yourrr village would rrrun away.”
“Well—I was scared, too!” he blurted, and then confessed, “I mean, if you—I—I’d be in a lot of trouble. Mayor said you were my problem now, an’ I bet they’d whup me if you died.” He pulled back his hand and wiped it on both of his eyes, under the brim of the sun hat. “It—I just don’t want you t’die, all right? An’, an’, if y’need a healer, or somethin’, I’ll run get you a healer—” Jeft looked all around, and saw a dozen Guard soldiers were headed their way at a brisk walk. “I, uh—I think maybe help’s coming, sir?”
Kelvren rumbled softly. “Yesss. Ssso they arrre. Heh.” He closed his eyes, to rest. “Let the gamesss begin.”
Hallock heard a commotion from the town while walking around the last of the convalescents’ tents. In a Guard encampment it wasn’t unusual to hear occasional incidents ranging from fist brawls to dirty-song competitions, or some poor soldier getting dressed down at top volume. This was the first one Hallock had heard, though, that began with shouting and running, and finally, laughter—and not all of it human. There was just that one loud, descending burbling voice that mixed in with the rest, but it put Hallock into motion. Quick-walking with the stick in his hand, he rounded the mill road and followed it toward the sounds—which came from the main mess tents.
He saw a mix of backs in Guard uniforms and locals’ work clothing, and then a flick of a large feathery wing above them. Then there was another ripple of laughter. He pushed his way forward, finally collaring a lieutenant to help him reach the center of it all.
There he found someone who appeared to be a town official, judging by his necklace. He was getting up off his knees, where apparently he’d been vomiting into a large sack—though on second thought, yes, it appeared he had been vomiting because his head had been in the sack. Now the man was coughing furiously into a handkerchief and attempting to wipe his face down. Some of his attendants were trying to calm down a few Sixteenth and Guard regulars who were still shouting and provoking the man.
Kelvren sagged sideways against a trestle table, with one wing slack on the ground and his bandages askew and seeping. The platter on the table was filling up. Soldiers brought their own bowls over to pinch off a bit of meat or bread and set it down on the platter. When they spoke something to Kelvren, the gryphon nodded or smiled—but even from this far away, Hallock could tell that the creature was exhausted. Kelvren reached for a bowl and some of the food on the platter, but his taloned hands shook too much to keep hold of the bowl. A strange-looking boy stuck close to the gryphon, and was there in an instant to catch the bowl and load it up with food.
“First!” someone called out, and the air filled with a mix of expletives, intakes of breath, and “Sir!” aimed nowhere in particular. All Firsts were Captain in rank. Over a hundred Guard soldiers instantly Weren’t Involved And Were Doing Something Else When It Happened. Whatever “it” might have been. Some soldiers saluted and then swiveled around in the mud to find who they were supposed to be directing it at. “It’s Stavern!” someone else called out, and then a small cheer followed. “Welcome back, sir!” called a junior rider, who jostled around the retreating official to reach Hallock. He saluted again, apparently just to make sure he’d been seen saluting at all, but was also grinning. “Your gryphon friend there, well, we’ve just been taking care of him, sir. He wasn’t getting treated none too well, so, we just helped him out some.” The rider shooed people out of the way to get Hallock over to Kelvren’s side.
The gryphon swayed a little, and his eyes pinned and dilated several times as he recognized Hallock. “Ah! My fine frrriend Hallock Ssstaverrrn,” he purred. “How isss the belly?”
“Feels tight.”
“Hurrrh. Mine, too. Thessse arrre good people, thessse sssoldierrss of yourrrsss. Know the value of a good meal.” A couple of dozen chuckles from all around told Hallock that he was missing something.
“Kel, you look—”
“I know how I look,” the gryphon growled threateningly, then mellowed the next moment.
“Then I hope you don’t feel like you look.”
Kelvren swallowed, twitching his ears and keeping his eyes closed as a bowlful of food went down his gullet. He sighed loudly and opened his eyes again to lock onto Hallock’s own. “Well-known fact. Feeding a grrryphon isss good luck.” He sighed. “Thisss sssketi-chunk therrre, the . . . what isss it called. Officsse warrrmerrr. That,” He indicated the retreating official and his staff, with his beak. “Ssseems he left orrrderrrs that I wasss to be given a sssackful a day of the ssscrrrapsss unfit forrr the ssstewpot. I took insssult.” He swung his head around to indicate the soldiers in the mess tent with him, several of whom were still coming by to drop bits of their ration into what had become the gryphon’s food tray. “Ssso in the ssspirrrit of equality between alliesss, I came herrre and sharrred the sssack with him. He looked well fed, and ssso in the ssame ssspirit, added sssomething to the sssack himssself beforrre leaving, I think.”
A couple more soldiers laughed outright, then stifled themselves at Hallock’s withering look. The rider turned Hallock aside and whispered confidentially, “He was in awful shape when he came limping down, sir. An’ we knew what he’d done for you o’course. So when he asked so polite for help, well, we couldn’t refuse. We brought ’im here to get him fed, an’ sent word for the—-well, anyway, things just went as they went. Some of the regulars, well, they crowded the mayor there, and—”
“Mayor? That was the mayor?” Hallock sighed. He put up a hand to halt the explanation. “So some of you pulled the sack of—scrap—over the mayor’s head.”
“And pulled the ssstrrring,” Kelvren finished with a hint of triumph. “Policssy change wasss enacted immediately upon esscape from the feed bag.”
Hallock frowned and asked, “Wait. Why would the mayor have anything to do with whether you got fed, anyway?”
The rider interrupted. “I know that one, sir. Guard feeds Guard, and buys meat and grain from whoever’s nearest. The gryphon’s a foreigner, so’s when the accounting’s done, the hospitality comes from the local senior diplomat. That’s the mayor. I figure he thought the gryphon was gonna die soon anyhow, so why use the good meat he can sell to the Guard instead?”
Hallock nodded, and unhappily took in Kelvren’s disheveled appearance. “I see. So. You. It was regulars that did it all, right?” The rider nodded. “You. There. Regular. It was horse that did it all, right?” The woman nodded. “All right, then. Clearly, there were no witnesses, and no laws or regulations provably broken.” He waved a hand around loosely to dismiss the whole affair. “As you were.” He angled in close by Kelvren, who reached up with a shaky taloned hand and pulled him close in against his head. Hallock was pressed against the gryphon’s warm, feathered neck, cheek and jaw.