A Shard of Sun (40 page)

Shard felt as if his feathers had caught fire, so hot was he with amazement and rage. “You’re not even listening!”

“Great Empress, Ai-hime.” Natsumi’s autumn wind voice whispered delicately. “Please, hear him. On behalf of us, the new born, on behalf of Amaratsu, who was his friend—”

“Friend?” Empress Ai turned with liquid grace and lowered her head to address Natsumi. “Or victim? How do we know he didn’t assist in her death and hatch Hikaru only to find his way here? Natsumi, you’re too young to—”

“
You’re all young,
” Shard shouted, losing hold of his anger. He whirled, slipping a little on the ice, to behold the dragons staring from the higher tiers. “I’ve lived ten years. I should be a wizened elder by your reckoning, but you treat me like a witless beast, a kit, or spy. I know more of the world than any one of you ever will, if you stay on this wind.”

The torches fluttered. Shadows shifted.

Shard turned back to Empress Ai. “I have no interest in your rocks and metal. I care for Hikaru. I care for my pride. I need your
help,
and all you care about is peace, quiet, and gold.”

“I will hear no more of this. Your assumptions and insults are too much to bear.” Ai planted her forepaws on the ice, head rearing back. “Honored Chronicler Ume, you will be punished for indulging this behavior in the young ones, and for enabling the gryfon’s acts of spying and attempts at thievery.”

“My radiant empress,” Ume began, but Ai laid back her ears, warning her to silence.

“I will not be accused of ignorance, so you will show me to this tale you claim is the true account of the Red Kings.”

“Good,” said Hikaru. “Then you—”

“Be silent, winterborn. You’ve been indulged too far, and not to your betterment.” Ai raised her great swan wings, looking aflame in the torchlight. “Isora, you will take the gryfon away from here, and see that he cannot return. We may educate ourselves in our own time, without arrogant interference.”

“No,” Hikaru said. “You can’t! Shard hasn’t done anything wrong—”

“Be still.” The jade dragoness who had come upon them in the hall of histories slithered forward to contain Hikaru. “Be silent now, young warrior. We must be better in your discipline.” Hikaru was not fast enough to keep her from snaking him in her coils, and closing her claws around his snout.

Isora came at Shard in the same moment, and before Shard could twitch a feather, the dragon grabbed him, rolled him up in careful azure talons and surged into the air, bearing Shard as easily as a gryfon would its nestling.

“Shard!” Hikaru shouted, twisting his head free of the jade dragon’s grasp. The orange sentinel fell in to help restrain him, and the empress called in others to contain Ume and Natsumi if needed. “Stop!” Hikaru called, then his cries were muffled again.

Shard managed to shout, “I’m all right, Hikaru—”

But Isora had flown out of the ice cavern, winging through the halls and tunnels with the speed of a serpent whipping through the grass. At least the dragon was careful to hold Shard tightly without piercing his skin, and so Shard held as still as he could to avoid the appearance of struggling. It would do no good anyway. By the time he craned his neck to see where they were he was lost, utterly lost in the inner mountains.

He tried to track where they were going but was only able to note the change when they flew into the halls of ice. The air felt cold and still on his face.

They flew through long tunnels, through one expanse of open night air between mountain peaks that lasted a blink and smelled of seawater, and dove again into a rougher, unrefined series of rock and ice caves.

Through the dull dark and phantom moonlight that suffused through the ice into the caves, Shard saw a glimmering, subterranean lake.

“Breathe,” Isora warned, and Shard sucked a sharp breath in the same instant the giant dragon plunged underwater.

Pure ice seemed to grasp Shard’s feathers, his muscles, his eyes, and he was grateful for the warmth of the dragon’s paws wrapped around him.

The dragon wound and twisted under the water, swimming fast. Through blurred bubbles and stinging eyes, Shard made out dark, underwater passageways and dead-ends. Just when Shard’s chest burned for a breath, Isora lunged out of the water.

There, he dumped Shard on the ground. Shard shook himself quickly, getting his bearings. He stood in a cramped, dark cave of ice, with a pool of slushy water before him just wide enough for Isora’s head to emerge. He bobbed there, checking the walls to make sure Shard had no other exits but the water. Satisfied, he looked to Shard.

“You’ll stay here.”

Shard eyed the water, and Isora set his claws on the ice around the pool.

“I don’t recommend trying to swim out. It’s a labyrinth. You’ll freeze or drown before you find the right tunnel out.”

“How long will I be here?”

“I don’t know.” Isora watched him, and Shard seized on the fact that he hadn’t yet abandoned him.

“You’ve seen me more than the others have, Master Isora. You’ve seen me with Hikaru. You’ve seen me fly and spar, surely you don’t think everything you’ve learned about my kind is true? Or that you can judge all of us based on a single event involving a few gryfons, that isn’t even remembered truthfully?”

Isora’s rumble vibrated the water into ripples around him. “I will not disobey my empress.” He sank lower in the water.

“Wait!” Shard jumped forward, poised at the edge of the pool. “What will happen to Hikaru and the others? You must know that Natsumi didn’t do anything wrong, nor Ume. If you must, put all the blame on me, but not them.”

“I will let it be known you said this.”

“Thank you. What will the empress do?”

The blue dragon paused, his claws tightening on the ice ledge around the pool. “Hopefully,” he said, “she will only forget about you.”

With that, the blue dragon plunged below, leaving Shard alone in the small, icy prison.

F
OR SEVERAL DAYS THEY
rested at the Ostral Shore.

Though
rested
was not quite the right word.

Kjorn ramped to his full height and slashed talons at Asvander’s flank, scoring just deep enough to draw blood.

The Lakelander swore, whipping around to see that he’d lost, for they fought to first blood. A crowd of fledges cheered, or hissed if they’d hoped for Asvander to win, but all were well entertained. A cloudy evening brought gloom on the lake, and Kjorn smelled rain.

“That’s the
third time
,” Dagny grumbled, shoving past Kjorn before he could move out of her path. “Isn’t that enough?”

“He’s the one who wishes to spar,” Kjorn said, unable to contain his pride at winning. Again. “Ask him.”

The Lakelanders were a sturdy, hearty pride of gryfons whose focus and point of honor was their skill in fighting. In general tall with a long reach, or stocky with big muscle, they ranged in colors from seabird grays to more dusty, hawk-like hues. Their clear lines stretched back to the Second Age, and during his stay, Kjorn had listened more than once to old timers’ tales of their own fights and great battles of their ancestors, told in such detail they might’ve been there themselves.

“I will figure out how in all winds you do it,” Asvander said, glaring at the spot of blood on his flank.

“I had a good teacher,” Kjorn said, and raised his voice to add, “a warrior once from the Ostral Shore.”

Older males and females called their approval, and a gaggle of younger initiates crowded forward to interrogate Asvander and Kjorn on how he’d won, if they could spar, and what technique Kjorn was using.

“Give him a rest,” Asvander said. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to humiliate all of you in due time.”

Kjorn chuckled. “Perhaps in the morning. It’s growing dark.”

A chorus of groans answered him, but before Asvander or Kjorn could offer one more lesson or spar, they heard Brynja shouting.

“Kjorn!” the red gryfess bounded toward the cleared sloped where the fledges trained. “Asvander, Dagny, oh—the scouts have returned.”

“They’ve brought word?” Asvander asked.

Brynja stopped beside Kjorn, breathless, almost laughing.  “They’ve brought more than word. Come!”

Asvander looked at Dagny, then Kjorn. Dagny was the first to hop forward, and they followed Brynja toward the lake.

A crowd of Lakelanders had gathered at the dawnward shore, the farthest border of their territory in that direction. Asvander had to shout and shoulder his way through, driving a trail for Brynja, Kjorn and Dagny to follow. From the excited chatter, Kjorn gathered that a large number of Aesir, exiled from the Dawn Spire, had arrived with the returning scouts.

“Why did they take so long?” Asvander demanded. “I sent scouts a whole moon ago, and the Reach is less than three days’ flight.”

His question was answered not by a particular gryfon, but as word spread through the throng that, for some reason, they had walked the entire way.

Loud talk, laughter, and old acquaintances calling each other’s names overwhelmed Kjorn until at last they broke through the crowd to behold the newcomers.

“Valdis,” Brynja cried. “Kjorn, I see my aunt, come and meet her!” She sprang from Kjorn’s side, shouting. “Oh, Valdis!”

Kjorn turned, watching her greet an older gryfess of similar bearing and color. His hope burned. Perhaps Shard had not gone to the Outlands. Perhaps he’d gone to the Dawn Reach and would be here even now.

He strained up, searching the sea of gryfon faces in the fading light, seeking gray feathers and green eyes.

“So,” snarled a gruff voice. “You’re Kjorn. Son of Sverin.”

Surprised, Kjorn turned, looking for whomever had addressed him. “I am.”

“You’re the famous, just, kind, golden prince Shard nearly killed himself in loyalty to.”

In the growing dark, an older gryfon separated from the throng, coming forward through the shadow only to reveal feathers black as shadow.

Kjorn couldn’t speak as he found himself sized up, and the gryfon snorted, ruffled, and smoothed his feathers again. “I thought you’d be taller.”

“I know you,” Kjorn said quietly. “You’re…” he found himself staring, speechless, into the gryfon’s single, moss-green eye.

“You know me. Now, you tell me where, in all great blazes, is my
nephew?
”

W
HEN ENOUGH LIGHT GLOWED
under the water that Shard knew morning had come, he made his first attempt at escape.

Filling his chest with air, he dove into the freezing pool. At first it shocked him where his feathers were thin, and he kept moving, stroking his wings like fins, peering through the sullen blue. He’d thought a clear source of daylight would make it easy to find his way out, but now from under the water he saw multiple tunnels equally aglow with promising turquoise water.

After surfacing for a breath, he dove again, trusting the thick down under his feathers for at least three chances before he went completely numb.

He followed one tunnel, keeping track of the pool behind him. Pale blue brightened to white. Diffused rays of sunlight lanced down through the water up ahead.

Shard swam fast in a wake of bubbles, only to strike a wall of clear ice. He slashed and kicked against it, then, throat tight, whirled and swam back to his pool. To his prison. After warming up, he would try again.

The light shifted to late day as he made more attempts, rested, then leaped circles around the pool to warm his muscles again. When the water became dull he knew it to be evening, or a gathering storm, and he knew it would be wisest to rest.

He settled as far from the cold water as possible, scrunching himself against the cold rock that formed his prison, and worked very hard not to panic.

He closed his eyes, feeling that the rock was shrinking in around him.

The ice creaked and groaned. Scrabbling up, Shard stared around, ears flicking. Slowly he realized it was an echo, that the ice shifted or expanded or tightened elsewhere, but was not about to crack beneath him.