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BEFORE MIDDAY WE CAME to the crossing of the road to Morvain and the main route to lands north and south. So close to the sea, the air was hazy, and fat, white clouds drifted through the sky, marking the land below with patches of shadow. The north-south road is always the busier of the two, so it was no surprise that after the crossroads, traffic increased significantly on the way to the city of Morvain. There were travelers on foot and plenty of horse traffic, both riders and horse-drawn carts and wagons. As we headed away from the crossroads and into more heavily developed land beside the road, bicycles became commonplace. For short-distance travel, Adratheans are fond of bicycles; they make them good and sturdy, able to cart significant loads. Some of the bicycles, and a few four-wheeled carts, were operated by electric motors fed by batteries. I wondered if that was according to the Alvehn plan? It wouldn’t have been the first time an arrested world, having been given such a gift, ran off with it. It wasn’t even the first for Adrathea.
We hadn’t gone very far east from the crossing before we could see the city in the hazy distance. Much of the land around us, away from roadside development, was farmed, a collection of family holdings generations old, that provided much of the food for the city. A couple of miles to the north, on my left as we rode, a broken line of trees could just be seen in the hazy air. These marked the run of the Salixa River, near the end of its long journey to the sea. The gaps were river port facilities.
In other words, we passed from open commons to a populous and prosperous region. It was orderly and peaceful, and very busy. You’d never guess that crisis loomed over the land.
Until, that is, a party of armed and armored guardsmen passed us, headed west. Their breastplates bore a stylized blue “R” on a white field. Men loyal to the Regent. You could see nothing of their faces or expressions through the helmets they wore; the visors had been pulled down. There were no cries or warnings to clear the road. Their horses moved at a trot and people just got out of the way. Those on the road with us did so as if unsurprised by the rudeness, though no few glares followed the patrol as it moved off. Sid and I yielded the right of way along with everyone else. The last thing we wanted to do, at this point, was attract attention to ourselves.
Keep your head down, Trey. I wished we could use radios to stay in touch, but Edren would pick up any transmission in a flash. Such would stand out, since the Alvehn hadn’t yet introduced radio communications.
The day soon turned warm and humid. Sid and I rode side by side, but didn’t talk much. Just before noon we came to the edge of the suburbs that surrounded and made up the bulk of the city of Morvain. Most of the population lived north or south of Old Morvain, sitting within its ancient walls. These lobes of settlement crowded the sea, and were built on the low hills that marched away from the shore. You could see the rusty stain of the commonly used red roof tiles through the hazy air. Where the main road approached Morvain there were fewer permanent residences and more inns, shops, merchant holdings, and craft halls. We passed establishments from which wagons laden with merchandise emerged, wagons of ceramics and glassware, the heavy clanking produce of smithies, bolts of cloth, barrels of beer, and, well, the usual stuff of commerce you’d expect along the main road to the city. Side streets branched off on either hand, all clearly signed and with smaller signs pointing the way to inns, shops, and hostels.
In time we came to the main gate in the walls of Old Morvain, the true capital and the site of the Morvain throne. The walls are a sight to see, all by themselves. Almost one hundred and fifty feet tall, broad enough that you could drive three lanes of traffic along the tops, and built of such finely seated stone blocks that the joins weren’t easily seen. The actual construction of the walls is lost in legend. Old stories claim they were set in place by the Two, marking the city of Morvain as the heart of the world.
At regular intervals around the top of the wall were tall steel towers that reminded me of large radio antennae: dreyft tethers. Much of the top of the ancient wall had long since been converted to an airfield for dreyft traffic. From the ground the long, fat, green ovals of dreyfts — and there were dozens of them over the wall — looked like small blimps. The equipment strapped to them — wing-like solar collectors and the motors that ran their propellers — added to the illusion. But dreyfts are living things, botanical chimeras originally from a world I’ve never seen, brought here by the Alvehn hundreds of years ago. They are photosynthetic organisms with no self-awareness, and in the wild simply drift with the breezes, suspended by hydrogen they split out of water and capable of loft, absorbing the sun and whatever moisture was in the air. On Adrathea they provide a slow and gentle form of aircraft. There was a lot of dreyft traffic overhead, that fine morning. That was perfectly normal.
The complete absence of gryphons was not.
There are three gates on the landward side of Old Morvain, and we were about to ride through the one facing west. It was wide open, also quite normal, though the token watch normally kept on it had been replaced by a dozen bored-looking soldiers bearing the “R” of the Regent and carrying swords and rifles. The increased guard didn’t surprise me, though it was depressing to see. Edren had done an excellent job of convincing the Morvans that they were beset by danger. The spot inspections being made of wagons and riders passing to and from the city were accepted, or at least not protested openly, though to be fair, I didn’t see any of the guards abuse their authority. They were polite and efficient, in addition to being insistent. Still, I was glad I’d left my firearm with Trey. I had the necessary paperwork, courtesy of the Alvehn at the Rip Station, but I didn’t want to be too open with my identity.
We rode through the gate, and the sun seemed slightly dimmer, as if the haze had thickened overhead. I glanced up and was so surprised by what I saw that I stopped the horse. “What the bloody hell is that?”
“Gryphon nets,” Sid replied with a grimace. “That’s what I was told. Made of razor mesh.” She shuddered visibly at the thought.
I couldn’t blame her. A gryphon flying through that stuff would be cut to bloody bits. The netting ran from the inner edge of the top of the city wall to a set of what looked for all the world like giant wooden utility poles linked by heavy steel cables. Another expanse of net spread from these, out over the city. The poles were nothing new, being the supports for the city’s lightning rods.
“It goes all the way to the inner wall around the Palace,” she said as we moved on down the wide main boulevard.
“But not over the Palace grounds?”
“I was told that remains open for the sake of dreyfts,” Sid replied. “I have not seen for myself.”
One of the guards apparently noticed our hesitation and shouted a greeting over the noise of carts and voices. “Welcome!” he said, holding up a hand to stop us. “What brings you to Old Morvain?”
“My companion and I are on the way to the University,” Sid replied. “We seek the library and its maps.”
“You’ll be staying the night?”
“Most likely,” I replied. “We haven’t decided how long we’ll be here, and the purse is hardly bottomless.”
“It’s like that all over, these days,” the guardsman said. “Welcome to Morvain, then. Peace be with you.” He made the sign of the Two and stepped aside, and Sid answered in kind before we rode on.
“Well, the place hasn’t completely surrendered to paranoia,” I observed when we were far enough away to avoid being heard. That wasn’t a great distance; Old Morvain is a busy place, and is rather noisy along the street leading in from the west gate.
Morvain is a curious mix of our world and something older. The city inside the wall has had the same layout for almost a thousand years, but buildings have been taken down and replaced over time as new methods and materials became available, or as fires and other catastrophes worked their form of attrition. The stout wooden posts with their guidewires staked into the ground are set in patches of open ground planted with trees and flowers — pleasant little green spaces when the weather is good. The metal pole atop each one, now rising above the ghastly razor mesh, protects neighborhoods around it from the frequent electrical storms the region endures each summer.
Concrete and brick construction is used with a facility equal to that of our modern world, though the styles look like something out of a history book. There’s no garbage or sewage in the streets; there is a very modern, even by our standards, sewage removal and treatment system in place, and they had that before the Alvehn came along. At night, the city is illuminated by the gentle light of bioluminescent glow lamps that ring each lightning rod and dangle from lamp posts along the streets.
Electricity, as I’ve said, is known to them, generated by light wind turbines and now by Alvehn solar collectors, but at that time the Alvehn, staying with their slow and steady plan, hadn’t set up an electrical grid to distribute power on a general basis. The clever folk of Adrathea, working over the generations with various organisms that could generate light, had long since found beautiful ways to light their city streets at night. I hope they never abandon the glow lamps, or the bright oaks and gleam willows.
“How long were you here, after your ship docked?” I asked Sid, as these ruminations rattled through my mind.
“A few days,” she replied. “Why?”
“Ah, so you’ve been here at night, already.”
“Yes, and I have seen the trees.” She looked around with a smile at the glossy-leaved bright oaks and gleam willows that grew tall and strong at every intersection, and other places as well. “Of this marvel I had heard. We have not grown such on the Islands. They don’t thrive, for some reason. So when the sun went down that first evening, I found myself living in a tale I’ve heard since I was but a lass.”
“I was half hoping you hadn’t yet,” I said, smiling back. “Would have liked to see your first reaction.”
“Not to worry, my friend. I doubt the wonder of it has deserted me.”
We rode without speaking for a time, surrounded by the noise and energy of the city. Morvain is a busy place, being not only the capital of the Kingdom but a major seaport and a center for trade. It’s also possessed of an ancient but robust university, larger and older than any other on Adrathea. The Morvain University draws students and scholars from all the civilized parts of that world. If you’ve ever lived in a college town, you know the influence such an institution has on the community around it. This University, with its emphasis on the arts, takes it to another level. In the immediate neighborhood of the Morvain University, most street corners hosted performances of some sort, mostly musicians and acrobats. In one green open space we passed, half a dozen artists had set up easels and chairs. In another a group of students, both genders, performed an elaborate dance routine around the lightning rod. Cafés and inns punctuated the line of shops along the street leading to the University. All were filled with young faces and doing a brisk business, as if in defiance of the mood of the land.
The sole jarring note was those damned nets. Made me want to hunch my shoulders, riding under them. I was seriously annoyed when I realized the tallest of the bright oaks had been topped to accommodate the damned things.
“We go left from here,” I said at one intersection, and nudged my horse to turn. Sid followed suit and we rode slowly down the street leading to the main gate. Traffic wasn’t as heavy, and was mostly made up of bicycles and horse-drawn cabs, but it still slowed our progress a bit.
Ahead rose a low wall of dark brown stone with an open gate of ornate iron bars. Through the gate could be seen a sprawling structure of brick, two multi-story wings extending from a central building topped by a tall dome of white marble. Tucked inside the walls within this complex were more buildings, dorms and classrooms, forming, with the main building, a semicircle that embraced a wide lawn. A brick-paved road led from the gate to a similarly paved area outside the entrance to the heart of the institution. Trees, luminous varieties and otherwise, shaded all the newer structures. The domed building in the center of it all was taller than any of the trees, and in fact was part of the net support system. This was the original university, and was now the heart of the community within the community that was Old Morvain. Only the palace was taller, and it loomed behind the university, gleaming and white, with banners snapping in the sea breeze that flowed in above the city wall.
Two students, a boy and a girl, hustled out of the main entrance and took charge of our horses. These kids were both dressed casually as you would expect of students anywhere, with the young lady flaunting current custom and wearing pants. They were almost certainly first-year students, since those were most often set to watch for travelers, and see to their needs.
“Your length of stay, sir?” the tall, black-haired boy asked.
“The afternoon, and no longer,” I replied. “We’d appreciate having them watered, but don’t stable them. We won’t be spending the night.”
“In that case, we’ll keep them ready for you over here.” He indicated the graveled yard to the right, with a sturdy rail around it. There were three horses there already, reigns loosely tied to the rail. Looked like something from an old-style horse opera.
“Thanks.”
“Do you know your way, sir, ma’am?” the girl asked. She had my horse, and the young gentleman had taken Sid’s.
“The library,” I replied. “Has it relocated of late?”
“Not in more’n three hundred years.” She grinned.
“Then I still know the way,” I replied, and bowed to her, which made her blush.
I kept my sword, but left the gear on the horse. In this place, I knew, our stuff was as safe as it could be. At least, I hoped this aspect of the University hadn’t changed. Insisting on carrying packs with us would have revealed suspicions on our part, and I didn’t want to draw that sort of attention.
You could feel the age of the campus, see it around you. Inside the heavy wooden doors of the main entrance, which were pulled open for us by another pair of students, we crossed a wide atrium lit by skylights far overhead in the atrium dome. The floor was a mosaic of colorful stone slabs set out in a broad spiral. The wood-paneled walls were lined with more than a dozen glass display cases containing a variety of items: ancient pottery, wood carvings, fossils and mineral specimens, a huge and very old book, a sword in a black scabbard decorated with Alvehn script, and a stuffed Sobran bearat standing on its hind legs, as tall as I am. Looking at the teeth and claws of that thing, gleaming against short black fur, made me glad bearats were extinct. Those were just the things that stick in my memory. I’m not doing the collection justice by a long shot.
I realized Sid was walking slowly and gazing around with wide eyes. “It’s an impressive collection, isn’t it?”
“Indeed, it is.”
“And this is just a sample,” I told her. Our voices might have echoed in such a vast space, but with so many students coming and going, we were just a small part of the background noise. “The actual museum is in a different wing. If the chance comes your way, plan on spending a day there.”
“I will keep it in mind...” she said, and her voice trailed off as she veered away from our path across the atrium.
“Sid?”
She walked slowly toward one of the cases, a tall, slim box of glass and highly polished wood. Inside, suspended point down by a glass support, was the sword I mentioned. In length and style, what most experts call a “hand and a half” sword, the same as the one I carry. The cruciform hilt was as plain and unadorned as my own. It was in a black scabbard of Alvehn material and design, decorated in silver with Alvehn characters. The auto-peace bond was engaged, like two slim, steel fingers hooked over the cross piece.
“They call that ‘The Rogue,’” I told her. “A monk at the Tylian Abbey found it on a mountain path one day, or so it’s said. I forget how long ago that was. It’s definitely Alvehn, but the sword smiths of the Alvehn have no record of it, and so no one has been able to track the original bearer.”
“Why did the Alvehn leave it here?”
“That’s more curious than the lack of a bearer,” I replied. “They can’t remove it from this world. Trying to carry it through the Rip Station sets up some sort of destructive feedback. It’s as if the sword resists being removed. I’ve never heard of another Alvehn blade doing such a thing. If the Alvehn ever figured that one out, Trey would know.”
“But why here? In this place, I mean,” and she gestured around to indicate the University.
“That speaks to another unexplained oddity. Humans can handle it safely as long as it remains sheathed. The Alvehn can’t — it makes them sick.” Autoimmune reactions were another thing I’d have had serious trouble explaining to anyone without Adrathean medical training. “That’s not the way it’s supposed to work. Anyone at all should be able to handle it, so long as it stays sheathed.” I stood next to her and peered into the case. “The Alvehn gave it into the keeping of the Brotherhood of the Two, and the Abbot of the Tylian Abbey sent it here for display a long time ago.”
“The Alvehn are sure it was made by their own people?” Sid was frowning intently as she once again examined the sword.
“As sure as they can be,” I replied with a shrug. “It looks like a sheathed Alvehn sword, but no one has been able to draw it. The peace bond is very definitely Alvehn technology, and it won’t budge unless it recognizes its bearer.”
“And no one but that bearer can wield it?” Sid asked.
“Just that one,” I replied with a nod. “Whoever it was. Alvehn swords are, well, attached to their bearers. There’s a sort of connection, a form of wordless communication between blade and bearer. One of those Alvehn things that might as well be magic.”
“You speak of it as if it lived.”
“Feels that way, sometimes. But it’s really just an extremely sophisticated device in the form of a sword,” I said. I nodded toward the glass case. “Like mine, that sword would have been matched to a bearer. If anyone else drew it, and that would be unlikely since it can lock itself in, there would be a discharge of energy that would at least maim, and possibly kill, whoever held the blade.”
“So there is no way it could be used against you,” she said, looking thoughtful. “Clever.” Sid peered into the case. “I can’t read Alvehn script. Do you know what the words say?”
“Sure. ‘Whosoever holds this blade holds also the fate of this world.’”
Sid quickly made the sign of the Two, but didn’t look away from the case. Her nose all but touched the glass. “Such a beauty,” she whispered.
Alvehn weapons do have a certain elegance to them, but beauty? And yet Sid was standing right at the glass, eyes wide, as if the sword had mesmerized her. The feeling of something being not quite right began to niggle away at the back of my mind.
“Uh, yeah, the Alvehn certainly do good work.” Her nose was about to bump the glass of the case. “Sid?”
She jerked back with a gasp. “What?” Sid faced me, blinking and looking sheepish at the same time. “Oh — I am sorry. I...” She frowned, eyes downcast for a moment, then looked back up at me, brow still furrowed. “Did — you hear it?”
“Hear what?” More than a little worried at this point.
“It...” Sid shook her head, blinking as if waking from a brief sleep. “It’s nothing, Daffyd. Let us go on our way.”
We strode from the atrium and down the main hallway that led deep into the University. From the set of her shoulders, I had the distinct feeling she fought the urge to look back. I’ve never given the Rogue much thought in the past; it was a problem for the Alvehn, not the likes of me. Now I was thinking about it in an anxious way, aware that something strange had just happened to Sid. Resolving to ask her about it later, I returned my attention to our mission.
Nothing had changed since my last visit. The hallway and the main library at its end were both ancient and kept in exquisite repair. The library of the Morvain University is one of my favorite places among the dozen or so worlds I’ve visited, and considering I’ve been to the Alvehn home world, that’s surely saying something. There’s no door at the entrance to the library; by design, you just walk in and are surrounded by books. The stacks rise four stories around you, each floor open to the vast space of the library proper. We paused, and Sid gazed around, eyes wide with wonder.
“They tell stories of this place, in the Islands,” she said softly. “The tales fail to do it justice.”
“Yes, that’s a lot of books,” I agreed. “I’ve always felt at home here.”
Ahead of us, near the back of the lobby, was a long, chest-high desk. Library staff in burgundy scholars’ robes were busy behind it. As we approached, one of them, a stocky fellow with black hair graying at the temples, stopped stacking books on a cart and smiled at us. “How may I be of assistance?” he asked.
“We seek one named Grevin Kulain,” Sid replied.
“You have found him, my lady,” the man replied, placing a hand over his heart and bowing slightly.
“Well met.” Sid returned the gesture and I followed suit. “My companion and I desire access to the map collection. We’ve been told that you have the expertise we would need to help us answer a question.”
“And what might that question be?”
“It would be far easier to ask with a detailed map of the Shikinma Mountains spread before us,” Sid told him.
“Half a moment, then,” Grevin said. He spoke briefly to a colleague, a much older man with white hair and a face like a topo map, who grunted and waved him off. “This way.” And Grevin led us into the library proper, then left into a wide, book-lined hallway.
No one spoke as we strolled between tall aisles of shelves, packed with books of every possible description. Grevin led and we followed, walking side by side. The sound of our booted footsteps was muffled by the mountains of books rising on either hand. Another turn to the left brought us to an open doorway and into a long room lined with racks full of metal tubes.
A few feet into the map room, Grevin stopped and turned to face us. “The Shikinma Mountains, you said?”
“Yes,” Sid told him.
“Specifically, the Tylian Abbey and the Gryphon Heights,” I added.
“Indeed?” Dark eyebrows rose. “The latter is an unlikely destination for travelers of any sort, these days.”
“So we have heard,” Sid replied. “And we have no firm plan to go there, yet. Much remains to be seen, depending on what we learn in Morvain. Strange tales have come to the Isles, rumors of war in the north and of the breaking of the covenant between Morva and the gryphons. Part of my errand here is to investigate these rumors.”
“Not rumors,” the librarian said. “No, sadly, the covenant seems broken. Surely you saw the great razor nets over the city?”
“We saw them,” I admitted. “How often did the gryphons attack the city, after the massacre?”
“They didn’t,” Grevin admitted. “It was feared they would do so, afterward, and the nets went up.” He shrugged, adding, “Very hard to believe, but after what happened to the Guardians...”
“What did happen?” I asked.
“There are no living witnesses,” Grevin replied, “but I was out taking the air when it happened. I saw gryphons fleeing into the night, and it looked like most of the Morvan contingent.”
“Were there riders?” Sid asked.
“I couldn’t say for certain,” Grevin said, shaking his head. “I thought so at the time, but considering what happened, well, it was a moonless night. My eyes may have played me false. I assumed some emergency had developed, and they were leaving in response to a call. Later, when the alarm bells rang, I learned otherwise. And, afterward — I saw for myself.”
“You saw?” I asked, startled.
“Several members of the University staff were involved in the immediate investigation of the scene. I was one of those.” Grevin looked none too happy thinking of it, but after a deep breath and a sigh, he went on. “There were men and women and gryphons dead all through the barracks. The place was wrecked. All of the Guardians, human and gryphon alike, appeared to have died fighting. The bodies were — mutilated. In most cases. The gryphons all seemed to have died in great pain, and the one I looked at bore a deep puncture wound.”
“Lance?” I guessed. “Bayonet?”
Grevin had kept his gaze on the middle distance while recounting what he’d seen. At that point he met my gaze and focused. “No,” he said in flat-out denial. “The others convinced themselves of that, but these were wounds unlike any I’ve seen. And I’ve seen and treated a few. His Highness and I were teammates, you see, in the Martial Games held each year. There are often injuries.”
“Puncture wounds,” I repeated.
“Yes, and made with great force, I would say.”
“You believe the Sky Guard faced a common foe,” Sid said. “You believe they were attacked?”
Grevin looked nervous, but nodded. “I put forward that possibility, but when no other evidence was found to support the notion, I went along with the majority.”
“But you still have doubts,” I said.
“Yes.” He sighed again. “We turned in our report, and the Regent released the official statement that the gryphons had betrayed us. He managed to mix it up with the unrest to the north, as if the gryphons were in league with Sobra.” Grevin shook his head, frowning. “It made no sense to me at all.”
“What of the Sky Guard contingents not based here in Morvain?” Sid asked. “Was this massacre repeated elsewhere?”
“No word of such has come to us,” Grevin admitted. “The truth is, no one knows what became of them. But since that night there have been attacks in the northern provinces, mostly after dark, and the survivors say flying beasts are involved. We’ve yet to hear a coherent description, but the Regent is convinced these attacks are being carried out by gryphons. His belief is that the new Queen in the Aerie has sided with Sobra, though why such a thing would be true is beyond me.”
“He wants a war with the Sobrans,” I said. And it made sense. Edren meant to rule all of Adrathea. He would take it piece by piece, if he could. “For all that Morvans take seriously the idea of being ready to defend the realm, there has been no real war here for a very long time. They’d need motivation.”
“And few things motivate quite like fear,” Grevin concluded with a nod. “So, now you know the official explanation for the events that trouble the leaders of Wulde, and you know one man’s doubts. I would appreciate it if my name is not mentioned, when you return with your tale. And you should do so sooner, rather than later, if you’ve asked these questions of others. The Regent doesn’t encourage investigation. I doubt you’ll be able to go home with better than what you now know.”
“That remains to be seen,” Sid replied. “There is a journey to take, first.”
Grevin gave her a long look, then said, “What do you hope to find near the Gryphon Heights? Aside from gryphons, of course.”
“If we were to go that way, the Tylian Abbey would be our first stop. As for what we might find there...” I glanced at Sid, who gave me a tiny nod. “We seek the heir to the Morvan throne.”
Grevin went stone-faced. “And you seek him for what reason?”
“To preserve his life,” Sid replied. “And to restore him to his proper station.”
“Assuming he still is alive, of course,” I said. “A mutual friend believes you might help shed some light on the matter.” And I gave him Trey’s full name.
“God and Goddess,” he whispered, face suddenly pale. “Where is he? It would be most unwise for him to enter the city.”
“Trey’s safe,” I assured him. “I am Daffyd Outworlder. My friend and I are here in his place.”
“You’re...” The pallor was abruptly replaced by a flush of excitement. “If this is truth, then you bear a very special blade.”
“I do, indeed,” I replied, and stepping back a bit drew the sword up over my shoulder so he could see its nature.
“But of course. Who else would he travel with in times such as these?”
“Just me, and the occasional stray Islander,” I said. I released the sword and it dropped back into the scabbard. Sid smirked and did a little bow, but didn’t offer her name, leaving it to me to make a proper introduction, which I did without further delay. “Trey said you and the Prince were close. Do you have any idea what became of him?”
Grevin went to the door of the map room and looked around, then closed the door behind him as he returned. “They say he fled the city because he murdered a man. Has that story come to you?”
“It’s one of the tales we’ve heard,” Sid replied. “Also that the Regent has had him locked up or killed.”
“No, His Highness did leave, though not because he killed anyone. He took his lady to safety. They fled the city together.”
“Why?” I asked.
“The young lady in question is, as you’ve heard, not of noble birth.”
“I don’t recall the royal family being fussy about such things.”
Shaking his head, Grevin said, “No, indeed, and by that they’ve kept the bloodline quite robust for almost a millennium. The Regent went to some pains, however, in an attempt to convince the Prince that this girl was somehow unsuited to him due to her station in life, but family tradition ensured the effort was for naught. It didn’t help his cause that Veresa charmed the court with her wit and intelligence, to say nothing of her beauty. All of us were in love with her, after a fashion, including the Regent’s Captain of the Guard. When the Regent couldn’t convince His Highness that Veresa was an unfit companion, the Captain tried to make the girl his own.” Anger clouded his expression for a moment as he added, “in a manner of speaking.”
Sid bristled beside me.
“Fear not, lady,” Grevin said gravely when he saw her reaction. “Veresa has some skill in weapons and fighting, since all who enroll here must pass such courses. In fact, I was one of her coaches. In truth, it was Veresa who killed the fool, not His Highness. It seems the good Captain made certain assumptions regarding her gender when he tried to take her. It cost him his life. Parick arrived too late to intervene, but what he learned from his lady made up his mind in the matter. The Captain had come to claim the lady and to kill Prince Parick.”
“And you know this — how, exactly?” I asked.
“They came to me seeking advice, told me what had happened, and what the Captain, in his overconfidence, said to Veresa,” Grevin replied. “If they followed my advice, they made for the Abbey, though not directly. They didn’t leave the University right away, though, and I don’t know why. This was just a few days after the massacre, so when they did depart many suspicions were raised. After that, they disappeared.” He wore a troubled frown as he added, “They did not appear at the Abbey, and there has been no sign since then.”
“Why there?” Sid asked. “And would not the Regent’s men simply follow them?”
“The Brotherhood would surely stand with the rightful heir, once they knew the truth. They are a martial order, and the Abbey would be easy to defend from anything but an attack from the skies.” Grevin looked thoughtful and added, “I have not heard of an expedition being sent there, but if it was done, they came back empty-handed. His Highness remains a wanted man.”
“The Abbey is also within reach of the Aerie,” I pointed out. “And past Abbots have maintained good relations with the gryphons. The gryphons would be powerful allies.”
“And possibly a great risk,” Grevin agreed with a nod. “But His Highness never brought himself to believe the official explanation for the massacre. He just couldn’t believe it was true.”
“Smart man,” I said.
“To be safe, he took the Gryphon Stone with him, so I believe he means to seek them out, learn the truth, and heal the rift if he can.”
Startled, I asked, “You’re sure he has the Stone?”
Grevin shrugged and said, “I must confess that’s an assumption. The Stone was in the care of His Highness, as demanded by the Covenant. The Regent himself came here, seeking it, but it was never found.”
“That’s something, at least,” I said. I decided this was not a good time to mention that the damned thing was malfunctioning. And it made perfect sense to go to the Abbey, if the Prince sought to restore the alliance. The first alliance between humans and gryphons had been born in Tylia, at the great Abbey on its high cliff near the Gryphon Heights. The original riders, those who founded the Sky Guard, had been of the Brethren. If there was a place on the planet where the old accord still held between the two species, the Tylian Abbey would be it.
“What advice did you give him regarding the route to follow?” I asked.
“I made no specific recommendation,” Grevin replied. “After all,” and he shrugged, “if I don’t know his route, I can’t be forced to betray him.”
“Good man,” I said. “Not so good for us, of course, but I can live with that.”
“We’d best return,” Grevin said. “If we tarry much longer, suspicions will be raised, and not everyone on the staff can be trusted.”
Grevin led us back the way we’d come, and as we walked Sid opened a discussion of routes and passes through the mountains. By the time we were within earshot of other librarians, we were in the middle of just the sort of conversation you might expect of travelers with a cartographer in a university library. There was a brief pause at the main desk, but instead of thanks and a farewell, Sid surprised me by asking, “What do you know of the artifacts on display in the atrium?”
“A fair amount,” Grevin replied. “I worked with the Museum staff as a student. If you are curious about our treasures, I’d be more than happy to oblige.”
“Yes, please.” Sid turned on her heel and strode toward the entrance.
Grevin gave me an inquiring look as we set off after her. All I could do was shrug, although I was pretty sure which artifact would be asked about first, and most often. The uneasy feeling caused by The Rogue was back.
