Finally the litany of complaints wound to its inevitable conclusion—which was, of course, that there was no conclusion possible. They ran through the sequence at least once every day, having long ago decided that if they could not change their circumstances, at least they could enjoy complaining about them.
“So what has your tail in a knot this time?” Keenath asked. “It wasn’t just the meeting.”
Tadrith rolled over on his back to let the breeze cool his belly. “Sometimes I think I’m going to do something drastic if Blade and I don’t get assigned soon!” he replied, discontentedly. “What are they waiting for? We’ve earned our freedom by now!”
“They could be waiting for you to finally demonstrate a little patience, featherhead,” Keenath said, and had to duck as the pillow made a return trip in his direction.
There might have been more pillows than just the one flying, if Silverblade herself, Tadrith’s partner, hadn’t chosen that moment to walk in their open door.
She stood in the doorway, posing unconsciously, with the sun making a dark silhouette of her against the brilliant sky. Tadrith knew it was not a conscious pose; it was totally out of her nature to do anything to draw attention to herself unless it was necessary. Blade was the name the gryphons knew her by, though her childhood name hadn’t been the use-name she wore now; it had been “Windsong,” so dubbed by her fond parents in the hopes, no doubt, that she would grow up to resemble one or the other of them. “Windsong” was a perfectly good name for a trondi’irn or even a kestra’chern or a Kaled’a’in Healer or mage. But “Windsong” hadn’t had the inclination for any of those things.
The young woman who broke her pose and strode into the aerie with the soundless tread of a hunter was small by Kaled’a’in standards, although there was no mistaking her lineage. Her short black hair, cut in a way that suggested an aggressive bird of prey, framed a face that could only have graced the head of one of the Clan k’Leshya, and her beak of a nose continued the impression of a hunting hawk. Her golden skin proclaimed the lineage further, as did her brilliantly blue eyes. There was nothing of her mother about her—and very little of her father.
She fit in very well with those members of Clan k’Leshya descended from warrior stock, however. Despite her small size, she was definitely molded in their image. There was nothing to suggest softness or yielding; she was hard, lithe, and every bit a warrior, all muscle and whipcord.
Tadrith well recalled the first time he had seen her stand that way. The day she showed her real personality, one month after her twelfth birthday, a month during which she had suddenly turned overnight from a lively if undistinguished child to a rough and unpolished version of what she now was. Amberdrake had been holding a gathering of some sort, which had included the children, and of course Tadrith and Keenath had been in attendance. Winterhart had addressed her daughter as “Windsong” during the course of the meal, and the little girl had unexpectedly stood up and announced to the room in a firm and penetrating voice that she was not to be called by that name anymore.
“I am going to be a Silver,” she had said, loudly and with total conviction. “I want to be called Silverblade from now on.”
Silverblade had then sat down, flushed but proud, amidst gasps and murmurs. It was a rather dramatic move even for someone with an outgoing personality like Tadrith; for one as self-effacing as Blade, it must have taken an enormous effort of will—or assertion of the truth, as the k’Leshya believed. The willpower to do anything would come, the songs and writings said, if the motive was pure.
Nothing her parents could say or do would persuade her otherwise—not that Amberdrake and Winterhart had been so selfish as to attempt to thwart her in what she so clearly wanted. From that day on, she would respond to no other name than Silverblade, or “Blade” for short, and now even both her parents referred to her by that name.
It certainly fits her better than “Windsong.” She can’t carry a tune any better than I could carry a boulder!
“Keeth! I hear you didn’t kill too many patients today, congratulations!” she said as she invited herself into the room and sat down on one of the remaining cushions.
“Thank you,” Keenath said dryly. “And do come in, won’t you?”
She ignored his attempt at sarcasm. “I’ve got some good news, bird,” she said, turning to Tadrith and grinning broadly as he rolled over. “I didn’t think it could wait, and besides, I wanted to be the one to break it to you.”
“News?” Tadrith sat up. “What kind of news?” There was only one piece of news that he really cared about—and only one he thought Blade would want to deliver to him herself.
Her grin broadened. “You should have stayed after the meeting; there was a reason why Aubri wanted you up front. If you were half as diligent as you pretend to be, you’d know for yourself by now.” She eyed him teasingly. “I’m tempted to string this out, just to make you squirm.”
“What?” he burst out, leaping to his feet. “Tell me! Tell me this instant! Or—I’ll—” He gave up, unable to think of a threat she couldn’t counter, and just ground his beak loudly.
Now she laughed, seeing that she had gotten him aroused. “Well, since it looks as if you might burst if I don’t—it’s what we’ve been hoping for. We’ve gotten our first unsupervised assignment, and it’s a good one.”
Only the low ceiling prevented him from leaping into the air in excitement, although he did spring up high enough to brush his crest-feathers and wingtips against the ceiling. “When? Where? How long till we can get in action?” He shuffled his taloned feet, his tail lashing with exuberance, all but dancing in place.
She laughed at his reaction, and gestured to him to sit down. “Just as quickly as you and I would like, bird. We leave in six days, and we’ll be gone for six moons. We’re going to take charge of Outpost Five.”
Now his joy knew no bounds. “Five? Truly?” he squealed, sounding like a fledgling and not caring. “Five?”
Outpost Five was the most remote outpost in all of the territory jointly claimed by White Gryphon and their Haighlei allies. When this particular band of refugees had fled here, as they escaped the final Cataclysm of the Mage of Silence’s war with Ma’ar the would-be conqueror of the continent, they had been unaware that the land they took for a new home was already claimed. They’d had no idea that it was part of the land ruled by one of the Haighlei Emperors (whom the Kaled’a’in knew as the Black Kings), King Shalaman. A clash with them had been narrowly averted, thanks to the work of Amberdrake and Skandranon, Blade’s father and Tadrith’s. Now White Gryphon jointly held these lands in trust with the Emperor, and its citizens were charged with the responsibility of guarding the border in return for King Shalaman’s grant of the White Gryphon lands.
It was a border of hundreds of leagues of wilderness, and the Emperor himself had not been able to “guard” it; he had relied on the wilderness itself to do the guarding. This was not as insurmountable a task as it might have seemed; with gryphons to fly patrol, it was possible to cover vast stretches of countryside with minimal effort. Outpost Five was the most remote and isolated of all of the border posts. Because of that, it was hardly the most desirable position so far as the Silvers were concerned.