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WE DIDN’T HURRY AWAY from the Aerie, for Parick wisely decided to stick to that safe haven while he declared himself and the word spread that the King of Morva had come forth. The Regent was declared a traitor and pronounced dead, a fine point perhaps, but Trey and I chose not to trouble him with it. Envoys were sent to the east in the form of detachments of Sky Guards, bearing messages with the King’s signature and marked by the royal seal, which Veresa had carried in her shoulder bag all along — not even Parick had known that. The news was greeted with skepticism, which was to be expected. Parick summoned various government officials to travel to the Abbey to meet with him. A few members of the Senate were willing to fly with gryphons, which worked to our advantage, since when they went back they could vouch for having actually met Parick face-to-face without delay. All were middle-aged men and women who had watched Parick grow up; no few were reduced to tears, seeing him alive and well.
About the time Sid and I healed enough to be sparring partners, among other things, the chief magistrate of Morvain and the First Minister of the Senate came to the Aerie to determine the truth of the matter. Seems not everyone believed that first group of officials, and supporters of the Regent were calling it a hoax. The First Minister was one of these, but after he saw the truth of the matter he renounced the Regent who had duped him, and named names. Those individuals were ordered to attend the King as soon as gryphons could fly them there. Very few came; after a lot of red-faced bowing and scraping, they declared fealty to the man who was their King.
As for the rest, some fled the country and sought asylum in other Adrathean nations. And some simply vanished. I can make an educated guess regarding what became of them. I expect someday their graves will be found. Or perhaps not.
Slashtail became an enigma. For a while he was simply gone, leaving those who had carried Sixtalon into the mountains when that task was done, and vanishing. No one knew what had become of him, and I know Ironwing was worried. Her scouts brought back no news. Then one morning he returned, saying nothing of where he’d been or what he had done. He rarely spoke at all in the weeks that followed and seemed listless, deflated, with all his earlier anger and arrogance gone. Just once I saw Ironwing offer a comforting wing over his shoulders, but Slashtail turned from her and, head held low, walked away.
As we came into the end of the summer rains, Parick announced his intention to return to his home town. He’d long since given the order to remove the razor nets; the journey home began as soon as removal was verified by a contingent of Guardians sent to Morvain. We must have been quite a sight, cruising through the sky and the late summer clouds. Ironwing carried both Sid and myself, and laughed off the suggestion that two of us together would be a burden.
Slashtail flew with us, but pretty much kept to himself as we traveled. Sixtalon’s death had hit the young gryphon very hard. We all left him alone to heal as best he could. He knew where to find us.
We stopped at Daylis, a short day of travel, as much to give Parick a chance to be seen by his people there as to rest. As luck would have it, the players were still in town, and that was a happy old-home-week sort of thing. I was more than a little appalled by how many of them had known, all along, of his true identity. Certainly Parick was shocked, though he managed to laugh it off, and rewarded them with a permanent gig at the palace for their loyalty.
Our stay in Daylis lasted two days and nights, and on the second night I found myself a bit restless. I left Sid sleeping and went out into the garden beside the inn for a breath of air and to look up at the stars. I wasn’t out very long when I heard wind in feathers, and felt loft wash over me. I assumed it was Ironwing, but found Slashtail striding toward me instead.
“I will do you no harm,” he assured me.
“Of course not,” I said.
“My mother would kill me. She would actually tear my head off.”
“That’s probably true,” I replied. “But even so, I’ll trust you. We’re not enemies. Never were. I think you understand that now.”
He said nothing for a time, then, “No, we are not enemies.”
“I’m sorry about your grandfather,” I said. “I liked and respected him. He was my friend. I wish I could do something to honor him.”
“But have you not?” Slashtail cocked his head a bit to one side. “You destroyed the Alvehn device. You freed us! As you said, that was why he fought, to give you that chance. You made good on the promise he fought for.”
“You followed him into battle,” I said. “What made you decide I was telling the truth?”
“I never believed you,” he replied. “Until you smashed the stone.”
“Then why...?”
“To protect an old fool bird,” he replied. “I feared it would be too great a battle for him. So I came. And he died anyway!” Slashtail whirled away from me, wings flicking in agitation. I barely avoided being hit and injured.
“That wasn’t your fault!” I said. “I’ve spoken to others who were there. You fought well and bravely beside him, outnumbered. And you held the line when he fell. We succeeded in the end because you were there, Slashtail. You have nothing to be ashamed of!”
“Your words are kindly meant, Outworlder. But I am not ready to hear them!”
So saying, he lofted and, with two mighty wingbeats, vanished into the starry night sky. I said nothing of the encounter to Ironwing — or anyone else — the next day.
The rest of the journey back to Morvain turned into an ad hoc grand processional, with stops at several small cities along the way. At each, the cheers were louder, as word spread that rumor was reality, and Parick yet lived and was coming home to make things right. Whatever doubts or reservations people had regarding the gryphons were dispelled by Parick, with Veresa perched before him, arriving at each stop astride a proud young male gryphon named Swiftstroke, who had flown with him into battle. The two had since become close friends, and Parick let that affection show.
When we stopped at Kalerain, Trey, Sid, and I returned to the tavern where we’d met, to the great delight of the couple who owned the place. Parick caught up with us there. Serving the Heir to the throne their self-proclaimed “common brew” was almost more than they could take. But Parick charmed them both, and declared everything about the place most excellent. And he made sure plenty of other people knew he thought so. Last I heard, the family had three other establishments, one in Morvain itself.
At last we soared into Morvain. Every church bell in the city was ringing, flags were flying, and the streets were crowded with folk peering up to watch the Sky Guard escort Parick home. There were dreyfts tethered to every tower, and people leaned from gondolas to wave and cheer. The King of Morva led the way astride Swiftstroke, with Ironwing — bearing Sid and me — on his right, and Trey flying with a grey and white gryphon named Sleet on the left. The Sky Guard contingent, an even dozen of them led by Captain Smathe with Tallcrest, followed in a wide double line. Half a dozen more gryphons followed with the baggage, such as it was — we were traveling light.
Ten riderless gryphons made up the rear guard. Nine of these were gryphon Guardians who had been in the Aerie when the massacre occurred more than two years before. They hoped to find their former partners, or at least verify their fates. Like Sixtalon, all were older or even elderly, the elders being the ones first called to council in the Aerie just before that terrible night.
The tenth gryphon in that group was Slashtail; he’d been with them from the beginning. He never offered an explanation, and since Ironwing didn’t question him, I’d left well enough alone.
We circled the city to give as many people as possible a chance to take in the sight, then from the seaward side glided toward the central palace. The tallest and broadest tower of the palace was oval and flat on top, defined by a broad wall that in most places came to around the middle of my chest. I knew this because, long years before, I’d flown on a gryphon to this place. It was the station of the Sky Guard assigned to the palace. The wall was much taller at one end of the oval court, and centered within its curve, high over the courtyard, was a pillar of white stone topped with a stout steel pole. It would soon bear the banner of the King, but although Parick had declared himself King, he wasn’t wearing the crown yet. By his instruction, the flag would not be raised until after the coronation.
The sky-high plaza was not at all empty. The delegation that awaited us was led by the First Minister and the chief magistrate of Morvain. Behind them were high officials and representatives of the Brotherhood of the Two, along with men and women of the larger Guilds and trade organizations. They were here to either acknowledge Parick as their King, or to challenge his right to ascend. Sid and I, along with Captain Smathe and his lieutenant, Harta, would stand as honor guard as those in attendance did one or the other. Trey had offered himself up as herald. If Parick was acknowledged, the preparations for the coronation would begin.
This was usually done in the Morvain cathedral at ground level, but Parick wanted to make a visible statement regarding his relationship with the Sky Guard and the gryphons. This place was designed for the coming and going of gryphons in large numbers, so it was the logical choice.
We all landed, with the baggage bearers at the far end of the ellipse. The boldest of the liveried servants rushed to them and relieved them of their burdens as the rest of us arranged ourselves at the foot of the barren flag tower. The Guardians landed on the tall segment of the wall, looming over us, and in their midst sat Ironwing. The rest of the gryphon contingent settled on the wall, taking up most of the available space. Once they were in place, they became very quiet. They might have been statues placed around the wall, except for blinking eyes and feathers ruffled by the breeze.
Sid and I wore shiny Morvan armor under our great coats, which we wore open, the very picture of respectable mercenaries in the service of the Crown. Our swords were drawn as tradition required of those who might be called upon to defend the honor of the claimant to the throne. The Captain and Harta wore white tabards with rampant gryphon silhouettes over their heavier mail, and also had their swords ready.
Trey stepped forward, dressed all in dark blue, with a gold-trimmed dark blue cloak flowing from his shoulders — gold and blue being the colors of the Royal Family. His pale hair was loose, and fell past his shoulders. In a clear voice that carried easily he declared, “Silence! The King of Morva will speak!”
The hush that followed his words left me wondering if anyone was breathing. We didn’t even hear the drag of a boot on stone. Parick’s footsteps were clearly audible as he strode forward and stood before the crowd.
“I am Parick, son of Staven and Heir to the throne of Morva. I have returned from exile to claim my birthright as King of this land. Who among you would deny me?” His voice was loud and clear, and he swept the crowd before him with his eyes. Veresa stood beside him, dressed as he was in the leather and linen and bright mail of the Sky Guard, but with tabards of green with a golden gryphon, soaring. Her eyes were shining. There was a long pause as he gave them a chance to respond. No one spoke.
“Let all who accept this claim kneel before their King!” Trey shouted.
In moments, not a single man or woman remained standing.
Parick made the sign of the Two over them and said in a clear, strong voice, “Stand, good people. Stand with me and rejoice!”
The top of the tower was no longer silent. After a while, Trey raised his hand and called for quiet. It took a little longer, that time, for silence to be restored.
Parick turned to look up at the gryphons on the high wall, and beckoned. Ironwing lofted, opened her wings and spiraled down into the open space that was created as the crowd hastily drew back. Parick met her halfway as she strode toward him. When they were close enough to touch, Ironwing began to lower her head in respect. Parick put a hand on her hooked bill and said, “No, great lady, you do not bow before me, not even here. For you are a Queen, and my equal. And you are my friend and ally, now and forever.”
“My people and yours,” said Ironwing, “will work together to restore the Sky Guard. It has been decided, and so shall it be!”
The crowd cheered loud and long at that pronouncement. It was a relief to see the suspicions sown by the Regent so quickly thrown out. Then, as the cheering stopped, seven men and women, middle-aged and older, dressed as Guardians with faded tabards, emerged from the crowd. They were led by an old man bearing a staff around which a banner was furled. And even as I realized who these people surely must be, a gryphon let out a whistling shout, lofted from the wall and rushed toward the group. Another did so, and two more, and then all the elder Guardians were hugging the necks of gryphons, all of them laughing or weeping, in a few cases both at once.
Did I say all of them? All but one. The old man with the banner stood alone, weariness and grief clear on his face. “Tell me,” he said, addressing Ironwing. “Where is my old friend Sixtalon?”
My heart sank like a stone.
“You are Orguin,” said Ironwing.
“I am,” the old man replied.
“My father has fallen,” she said in a voice that was little more than a harsh croak.
Orguin sighed deeply and shook his head. “Then I will fly no more,” he said, his voice low and harsh, aged eyes filling with tears. His shoulders sagged as if grief and age only just then settled on them. “And command of the guard will pass to...”
“Fly with me!” a gryphon voice shrieked, startling all of us. One on the far wall lofted high overhead, flapped his wings twice, and came to land beside Ironwing. “I will bear him.” Facing Orguin, Slashtail bowed so low his beak touched the stones. “I will bear you, and honor my grandfather.”
The old man stared at Slashtail a moment, then said to Ironwing, “He is your son?”
“Yes,” she replied. “And he pleases me greatly.”
“What is your name?” Orguin asked.
“I am known as Slashtail.” Then he gave his true name in gryphon speech.
Orguin made no visible reaction at first, then he stood straight and squared his shoulders, the very image of a man who's been given a new lease on life. “I will fly with you, young gryphon, and together we will honor the spirit of Sixtalon!”
The old man strode forward, all signs of age and weariness for the moment banished. Slashtail took the standard from him and, holding it gently in his beak, bent a foreleg to assist Orguin. Half the crowd took a step toward them to lend a hand, but the frail-seeming commander of the Sky Guard was astride the gryphon’s neck in a moment, sitting tall and proud. Slashtail tilted his head back, and Orguin took the standard back from him. From beneath his coat he pulled a pair of goggles and settled them over his eyes, then gave a shout of command that Slashtail echoed a heartbeat later with a shriek of gryphon speech.
All of Orguin’s companions had mounted by then, eyes covered by goggles, the serene looks on their faces telling of lives back in balance, and of hope restored. Orguin unfurled the banner and it rippled out into the breeze, the white field and black sign of the gryphon rampant. All around us, gryphons called out in salute. And from the crowd came shouts and tears of joy.
The old Guardians lofted, circling the tower. Ironwing said something to a gryphon nearby, who went to Sid and extended a leg to facilitate her ascent. Ironwing turned to me and said, “Fly with me again, my friend. We, too, will honor the fallen!”
A moment later I was mounted, all but hoisted by the gryphon Queen. She lofted and fell in beside her son, and I felt her quiver; it must have been a proud moment for her. Slashtail and Orguin circled the tower beside us, the long banner of the Guard snapping as they flew, with the others in a line behind them. Sid and her gryphon were right behind us. Orguin made a gesture and shouted something, and we formed a skein and dropped down over the city. We saw the crowds waving in the streets below, and I could just hear a multitude of voices shouting and cheering through the wind in my ears. Bells began to ring again as the old banner and its bearer were recognized.
We flew over the university, and over the grand cathedral of the Two. The gryphons began calling out like exultant eagles. Below us, people in the streets shouted and waved. We banked and flew out over the Old Wall, and swept through the sky over the suburbs. Turning again, we passed over the shores of the sea, and then over the harbor, where ships' bells clanged, sailors and merchants made the sign of the Two at us, and seagulls fled in terror.
At the head of it all was a proud old man, restored to a place he’d surely believed was lost to him forever; and a young gryphon who had, at last, found himself.
I was a part of all that. I’d played a roll. It was one of the proudest moments of my life, and one of the best.
In six days, it was followed by one of the worst.
