“Malar is wearied of war,” Illishar resumed. “As are we all. When I returned two years past with word that the unicorns might consent to relinquish Ishi’s sacred Vale and return to their own lands across the Plain, she pounced at the chance. Others were not so hungry for peace. They sought to seize the wingleader’s place.”
The gryphon queen behind him shifted. It seemed to Tek that Malar’s eyes, still fixed upon Illishar, now shone with inestimable pride. He continued.
“But with my aid and that of all her loyal flock, she has struck her rivals from the sky and pashed their eggs to shards. Mightiest of wingleaders, she soars, and the clans fly united behind her once more!”
Seated upright behind their queen, pinions poised, the formels uttered shrill cries of assent. Tek saw the herd just below the rise tense in alarm, but just as suddenly, the formels fell silent. Malar demurely nibbled one shoulder, as if ignoring their praise.
“Hear my song,” cried Illishar, his wings half-raised. “How Isha laid the clutch that hatched all the creatures of the world, and how we gryphons pleased her best of all.”
Again fluting whistles from the formels, but more melodic, rising and falling in a complex harmony to the tercel’s words.
“Great Isha created her consort Ishi from greenest grass and most golden seed. But he was lifeless, so she closed him in a silver egg, and he hatched out full grown. Half the mottled shell still turns in heaven. Now full, so we see it end-on, beholding only its outward curving edge. A week hence, when it has pivoted, we will see it in profile, the half moon. And in another week’s time, on the night of the new moon, we will discern no silver rim at all but instead gaze into the dark mystery of its inner hollow. Blessed be the goddess and her consort, Ishi!”
Behind him, the formels raised their voices in intricate, effortless accompaniment, the ever-changing position of their wings seeming to accent his words: now lifted, now folded, now outstretched. Only Malar took no part, still as stone, a moonlit sphinx. Shivers feathered the pied mare’s limbs and sides. Tek found herself growing rapt as the herd around her. Jan, too, stood motionless, enthralled.
Illishar sang of Isha’s gift of the winds to her consort Ishi, of her creation of the Vale for his sacred flocks, lovingly husbanded as first meat for the newly hatched. The tune pulsed and lilted. Tek’s heartbeat sped. Her people had no such sinuous music as these gryphons made, the tercel sometimes speaking or chanting while the formels behind him repeated and ornamented his words.
By the time Illishar recounted how centuries past, unicorns had swarmed into Ishi’s Vale, forcing out the delectable sheep and deer, leaving only their own unsavory young as rank pickings for the formel’s new-pipped chicks, the pied mare was almost on her feet, ready to shout, No, no! Drive the intruders out—until she realized with a start that it was against her own kind she would have railed. Groggy, Tek shook herself, no winged gryphon, but a four-leggèd unicorn.
The tercel had fallen silent. The formels, too. Dazed, the prince’s mate gazed out over the herd, beheld them coming to themselves, stirring slowly like beasts entranced. She had no doubt now how gryphons managed to bewitch their prey. Shaken and stiff, the pied mare rolled her shoulders, extended her neck. Moon hung low on the other side of a sky paling eastward into dawn.
Below her, Lell reclined beside her mother, the only one of all the colts Tek could see who was not asleep. The amber filly gazed at Illishar, eyes following his every move, ears pricked to the rustle of his quills. Head bowed, the tercel fell back to flank his queen, still crouching beside the dying embers of the fire. Malar rose, stretched, fanning her great blue wings and arching her tawny back like a pard. Before her on the rise, Jan stirred, shifting his limbs. Had he stood the whole night? Tek watched him move forward, gait graceful and loose, unimpeded apparently by any fatigue.
“So, Malar, wingleader of the gryphons,” he asked, “are we agreed?”
The mighty formel straightened, nodded. “We are agreed, Jan, prince of unicorns. Henceforth, our folk shall be at peace, and next spring your kind will depart Ishi’s Vale, returning to your own ancestral Hills.”
The slimmest of morning breezes lifted, died. The formel’s feathers riffled, then smoothed.
“We take with us in gratitude your songs,” she continued, “and leave you ours. We will not soon forget this night’s singing, nor the tales that you have taught us. We trust you will remember ours.”
She gave a guttural snort, the meaning of which Tek could not readily discern—supposed it might be a laugh, the first the pied mare had heard the gryphon queen utter.
“I would never have guessed that so hoarse-voiced and whinnying a sort as unicorns could honor the sky with such fetching airs—and from but a single throat. What brave and lonely songs you sing! I salute you.”
Tek rose, the muscles of her long legs twinging, and stepped to stand beside her mate. She bowed low to the gryphon queen while Jan replied.
“And I salute you, wingleader of all the clans. Song, to my mind, rings far sweeter than war.”
The great blue formel nodded curtly, then half-turned, fanning her massy wings again. Behind her, the other formels did the same.
“We must fly,” she said. “Our chicks have nestled their fathers long enough. But know this.” Malar turned to face Jan over one shoulder. “In emblem of my goodwill, next spring when you march for the Hallow Hills, I will send my kinsmeet Illishar to accompany you.”
Beside Jan, Tek felt his start of pleasure, surprise.
“My thanks to you, Queen Malar,” he answered warmly. “Your cousin is a mighty warrior. The ranks of the unicorns will be glad of his strength.”
Illishar inclined his head. “I shall be as glad to lend it.” His mouth edged into a bare hint of a smile. “My wingleader is most anxious that your war against the wyverns succeed, that hereafter Ishi’s Vale harbor his flocks in peace, untroubled by wandering unicorns.”
Tek saw the expression of the gryphon queen almost imperceptibly sour. Jan gave a whickering laugh.
“I, too, share the great Malar’s urgency for the success of our endeavor. Your airborne eyes will be of great value to us, Illishar. We welcome you.”
The green-winged tercel bowed his head. At a sign from Malar, her formels rose, some rearing to stand on hind legs as if to stretch, others stroking their wings. Jan’s forelock lifted. Tek felt her own mane whipped about her neck. The buffeting grew fiercer. Malar moved a few paces from Jan, seeking room to spring into the air. The other gryphons fell back from her. The mighty wingleader sank into a crouch, half opening her wings, when suddenly a voice from among the unicorns broke the stillness.
“Hold!”
Jan reared and wheeled. Cavaling, Tek turned to see Lell spring to her feet. Before her startled dam could move to stay her, the darkamber filly sprinted for the rise. In three strides and a bound, she had gained the summit. Astonished, the pied mare fell back as the prince’s sister hastened to his side.
“Brother, a moment,” Lell panted. “I would speak! May I speak?”
Tek watched her mate’s baffled eyes scanning his sister. Lell’s urgency made her prance and sidle beside him. He spoke quietly.
“Sister, you already speak. What would you say?”
Lell seemed to take his response for leave. She spun eagerly to face the green-winged tercel.
“Illishar Brokenwing, do you know me?” she asked.
The tercel nodded gravely. “Could I forget?” he replied. “You are the prince’s sister, with whom I set this parley three moons past.”
“Lell,” the chestnut filly answered. “My name is Lell. I wanted you to have my name.”
The tercel’s smile was unmistakable now. “Indeed, Lell Darkamber, I already know it. You called it out to me last spring as I departed. I hope that in three-quarters of a year’s time, when I return, we may speak again.”