He knows how to make a weapon? She throttled down her surprise, and just nodded. “Yes to both—now let me go replace Tad at the front and you can work your will on him.”
She almost said magic, but stopped herself just in time. Since the wyrsa hadn’t come calling when her father began his Healing, evidently they did not eat Healing-energy. Which was just as well, under the circumstances. Perhaps it was too localized, or too finely-tuned to be sucked in from afar.
She stood up, hefted a spear in both hands, marveling at her new freedom from pain, and smiled with grim pleasure at the feel of a good weapon. Tad retreated to the back of the cave, and she took her place beside his father.
“So, what exactly are those nightmares?” Skan asked. “Have you any idea?”
She stared out into the rain — the rain had begun early, which meant that the fog had lifted early. That was to their advantage; with four enemies in the cave, she didn’t think that the wyrsa would venture an attack in broad daylight.
“Tad thinks they’re some kind of wyrsa, maybe changed by the mage-storms,” she told him. “They’re about the size of a horse, and they’re black, and I suppose you already know that they eat magic.”
“Only too well,” Skan groaned.
“Well, to counter that advantage, they seem to have lost their poison fangs and claws,” she said. “I don’t think they’re going to try entrancing us again after the first time, but if they start weaving in and around each other, they can hypnotize you if you aren’t careful.”
“The wyrsa I used to hunt were better at it than that,” Skan observed, watching the bushes across the river tremble. “So they’ve lost a couple of attributes and gained one. Could be worse. One touch of those claws, and you were in poor shape, and that was with the hound-sized ones. A horse-sized one would probably kill you just by scratching you lightly.”
“I suppose that counts as good news, then.” She sighed. “I think this is a pack of youngsters led by one older female, probably their mother. We don’t know how many there are; two less than when they started, though. I don’t know if you saw it, but Father got one; Tad got one a couple of days ago, with a rockfall. The problem is, no trap works twice on them.”
“Wyrsa, the size of a horse,” Skan muttered, and shook his head. “Terrible. I’d rather have makaar. I wonder what other pleasant surprises the mage-storms left out here for us to find?”
She shrugged. “Right now, this is the only one that matters. It’s pretty obvious that the things breed, and breed true, so if we don’t get rid of them, one of these days they’ll come looking for more magic-meals closer to our home.” She turned her gaze on Skandranon for a moment. “And what did happen to your party, other than what I can guess?”
Skandranon told her, as tersely as she could have wished. She hadn’t known any of the Silvers well, except Bern, who had been her tracking teacher, but it struck her that they had all acted with enormous stupidity and arrogance. Was it only because when they didn’t meet with any immediate trouble that they assumed there wasn’t anything to worry about?
“Between you and me, my dear,” Skandranon said in an undertone, “I’m afraid the late Regin was an idiot. I suspect that he assumed that since you were a green graduate, probably hurt, and female to boot, you got into difficulties with what to him would have been minor opponents. He was wary at first, but when no armies and no renegade mages appeared, he started acting as if this was a training exercise.”
She tried not to think too uncharitably of the dead Silver. “Well, we don’t have much experience, and it would be reasonable to think that we might have panicked and overreacted,” she said judiciously. “Still. I’d have thumped that Filix over the head and tied him up once I found the wreck and knew there was something that ate magic about. Why attract attention to yourself?”
“Good question,” Skan replied. “I wish now I’d done just that.” His mournful expression filled in the rest; she could read his thoughts in his eyes. Or was that her empathic sense operating? If I had, they might still be alive. I should have pulled rank on them.
She turned her attention back to the outside, for she felt distinctly uneasy having the Black Gryphon confess weakness, even tacitly, to her. And yet, she felt oddly proud. He would not have let her see that, if he were not treating her as an adult and an equal.
“Well, what it all comes down to is this,” she said grimly. “No one is going to get us out of this except ourselves. We have no way to warn anyone, and what happened to you is entirely likely to happen to them, unless they’re smarter than Regin was.”
“Oh, that goes without saying—the closest team to us is led by Ikala,” Skan said—rather slyly, she thought.
And she clutched her hands on the shaft of the spear as her heart raced a little. Ikala—if I was going to be rescued by anyone. . . .
She shook her head; this was not some fanciful Haighlei romance tale. “They’re still in danger, and we can’t warn them,” she repeated. “Remember, these damned things get smarter every time we do something! I think they may even get smarter every time they eat more magic. I doubt that they’re native, so Ikala won’t know about them. The best chance we all have to survive is if we four can eliminate these creatures before anyone else runs afoul of them. If they do get nastier every time they eat something, everyone out there could become victims. For all we know—if they share intelligence as Aubri said—they may share their power among each other as they die off. The fewer there are, the more powerful the individuals might become.”
She was afraid that Skan might think she was an idiot for even thinking the four of them could take on the wyrsa pack, as ill-equipped as they were, but he nodded. “Are you listening to this, Drake?” he called back into the cave.
“To every word, and I agree,” came the reply. “It’s insane, of course, to think that we can do that, but we’re used to handling insanely risky business, aren’t we, old bird?”
“We are!” Skan had actually mustered up a grin.
But Amberdrake wasn’t finished yet. “And what’s more, I’m afraid that trait runs in both families. Right, Tad?”
A gusty sigh answered his question. “I’m afraid so,” the young gryphon replied with resignation. “Like father, like son.”
Skan winked at her. “The basic point is, we have four excellent minds and four bodies to work on this. Well, between your broken bones and our aching ones, we probably have the equivalent of two healthy bodies, rather than four, but that’s not so bad! It could be worse!”
Blade thought about just a few of the many, many ways in which it could be worse, and nodded agreement. Of course, there are many, many ways in which it could be better, too. . . .
“So, while those two are back there involved in patching and mending, let me get my sneaky old mind together with your resilient young one, and let’s see if we can’t produce some more, cleverer tactics.” He gryph-grinned at her, and to her surprise, she found herself grinning back.