Lance of Earth and Sky

For the second time, Vidarian woke in his opulent palace room wracked by pain. A pounding ache through his entire body brought him out of a dreamless sleep, and when he opened his eyes, he wished he hadn't; white light shot to the back of his skull like a hammer blow. He cried out involuntarily, and Rai started barking from somewhere painfully close to his head.

Feet shuffled on the marble, then a muffled voice, young and high: “I could take him to the knights' training field, ma'am? They're all cleared out on patrol.”

// Very good, Brannon. Can you manage him? //

Then a rustling of thick paper, a drifting scent of spice-dried beef, and Rai's barking paused, then resumed, twice again as loud. Every bark lit another starburst across the inside of Vidarian's eyelids.

When the barking finally receded into the distance, Vidarian's senses cooperated enough for sight to return, first in patches: the rumpled sheets, the glass balcony door open to the air—and Thalnarra, sitting on a mat, its pleated fibers protecting the marble from the knife-sharp tips of her talons.

// You're awake, then, // Thalnarra said, her mind's voice pitched low and carrying notes of sage and burning hickory.

“So it…seems,” he managed, halting around a throat dry as paper.

// It was a near thing, // the gryphoness replied. // The armada's healers wanted to dunk you in ice water for your fever. //

A crawling sensation, as though thousands of spiders skittered under his skin, drove Vidarian to shiver and lever himself up in the bed. His stomach flipped beneath another wave of ache, but when it subsided, so did the “spiders.” He blinked against the light, trying to get a better look at Thalnarra—and as he forced his eyes to focus, caught the way her left wing hung lower than it should, a huge patch of feathers burned away at the elbow joint. “You're hurt—” he began, startled at the wave of distress this thought brought.

Thalnarra clicked her beak. // A triviality. You should be grateful for it. Without it I might not have known what had hit you. //

* You should thank her, * Ruby murmured, and even her soft voice set Vidarian's head ringing again. * The healers' treatment might have killed you if she hadn't intervened. And she bears more pain than she admits. *

“Thank you, Thalnarra.”

// You're welcome. Now put it out of your mind, // she admonished, shifting her wing to hide the bare skin. // In another few days it'll hardly be noticeable. //

“Another?” He rubbed his itching scalp, then started at the grimy state of his hair. “How long have I…?”

// Four and a half days, // she said, a crispness in her tone brooking no surprise. // You've quite missed the celebration. Though I daresay there may be another now you've rejoined us. //

“Celebration?” Still repulsed by his hair, he ran a hand along his arm, then choked with startlement when a layer of skin came off in his hand.

// Take care. It's good for that dead skin to come off, but gently. And yes, // she added, her voice going from hearth-gentle to sharp, bitter smoke. // The Aloreans celebrate their victory. None alive today recall the weight of an imperial war, or else they'd mourn. //

“What did she do to me?” Vidarian said, resisting the urge to peel the rest of the dried skin away. It was like a sunburn, but the dead skin was oddly colored, gray like ash.

// We were hoping you could answer that. //

Vidarian's stomach sank with a chill that momentarily blotted out his pain. A numbness in his heart showed him just now much he'd come to rely on Thalnarra's knowledge. And now—how could he explain what his attacker had done? “She…hit me. With this strange energy—it was air and fire, together.”

// ‘She’? There must have been two. //

Vidarian stared at Thalnarra, trying to read her expression. Had she been human, knowing her personality, it still might have been impossible. “No,” he said slowly. “There was only one. She wielded the two elements together.”

// The way that you do? // Her voice was dubious, metallic in his mind, and the tip of her tail flicked thoughtfully. // It's unlikely, but perhaps the opening of the gate created multi-element rogues… //

“No, not like I do. She wielded them together, like they were the same element.”

// That is not possible. //

“I should have demanded more education from the beginning in ‘things that aren't possible,’” Vidarian growled. Thalnarra only blinked at him, unreadable.

// You are tired, // she said finally. // And the battle was intense. If they had some clever way of masking the presence of another— //

“There was no other.” And as he said it, some of the astonishment he had felt just before the battle returned to him. The implications set his head spinning. I am no priestess, the woman had said. If she could meld air and fire, could she also meld water and fire? Did the Qui bear the secrets to mastering his warring magics? Secrets even the gryphons knew nothing of? “They must have a technique—”

// Technique has nothing to do with it. You are suggesting a refutation of the fundamental laws of the elements. // Annoyance licked outward from Thalnarra's mind like flickering flamelets, and would have provoked a surge of heat from Vidarian in return, but he sternly reminded himself he owed her his life.

“I apologize,” he began, and her neck-feathers sank back down. “I've had—”

The door banged open, and Brannon tumbled in, speaking before Vidarian or Thalnarra could chastise him. “Sir Vidarian? We need your help, sir.”

// What is it, child? // Thalnarra said, and the concern that wafted from her voice like bread on the edge of burning told Vidarian that the boy had done much to earn her respect. She'd taken the heads off of younger gryphons for less than Brannon's intrusion.

The boy turned worriedly between Thalnarra and Vidarian. “It's Rai. It's just—you'd better come see, ma'am, sir. And hurry!”


Vidarian had fallen out of bed, not out of clumsiness, but by virtue of the nervelessness of his legs when he pushed himself out from under the heavy blankets. Blood surged through his limbs, tingling his nerves, and then he'd forced himself to his feet out of sheer will. Getting clothed was even harder—anything coarser than silk pulled at his burned skin enough to peel it to blood, and finally he threw a thick, soft woolen cloak around his shoulders and had done. Even the cool marble floor bit at his feet, and shoes were out of the question. Doubtless his appearance would scandalize any courtiers who saw him, but he couldn't bring himself to sufficiently sympathize.

He made his way as quickly as possible toward the Sky Knights' training field, even though “as quickly as possible” turned out to include several stops where his legs gave out again or his vision blackened. What had that woman done to him? Had he really almost died?

Thalnarra kept an agitated eye on him, surreptitiously positioning herself to his right, where her uninjured left side could quickly lean in to support him when he started to fall. By the time they closed on the corridors that led to the Sky Knights' keep, then beyond it to their training fields, Vidarian was drenched in sweat and fighting to breathe without gasping.

Sounds of a commotion reached his ears when they stopped thundering with blood: Rai's urgent warning barks, the raised shouts of knights, and the squeals of their angry steeds.

“They came back early because the eggs were hatching, sir,” Brannon explained quickly. “If I'd known—” The boy's eyes were large with agony.

“Not your fault, lad,” Vidarian said between breaths, trying to put as much feeling into the words as he could, and floundering.

// Eggs? // Thalnarra asked. Her voice was all thistle and hot pine sap, flickering sharp.

“Three of 'em, milady. They think one's a royal, I heard. And…” The boy trailed off, dropping his eyes.

// What is it, child? I have told you, a gryphon-ward speaks his mind. //

At this Brannon stiffened, marshaling himself and lifting his head. “Yes, ma'am. It's just—it's rumor, part of it.” When Thalnarra's neck-feathers lifted with the beginning of irritation, he rushed on, “The last steeds hatched haven't survived the bonding, you see. They're—willful. And they die without getting riders.”

// You're not telling us everything, boy. What do you think is causing this? //

“I think…” He flushed again, then pressed his lips together and threw caution to the wind. “I think they're becoming more like you, ma'am.”

// What? //

“Well—they're smarter, you see. And one of the squires says her steed started talking to her. No one believes her. They think she's gone off in the head. It started when the changes happened.”

Bridge for change-bringing… The gryphon Arikaree's words echoed back to Vidarian, chilling him. And there was no doubt that Rai spoke in his mind. He hadn't lost all of his sanity yet…

* They used to, * Ruby mused, and Vidarian bridled, thinking she was commenting on his lost wits. * Sky steeds. Shapechangers… *

The opening of the gate had amplified elemental magic all over the world, and more than that, it seemed—it had awakened shapeshifters, trapped these thousands of years in single shapes, their abilities forgotten by humankind. He thought with a pang of Ariadel's little ash-grey kitten, which had abruptly—in his presence, while he “carried” a connection to the Starhunter—manifested the ability to change into a tiny golden spider. How could the presence of the chaos goddess in the world change so much?

* ‘Chaos’ is an odd way of putting it. *

He started to argue, but there were more pressing issues than a philosophical discussion with one of Ruby's strange new fragmented memories. “So what you're saying is, three of the last sky steed eggs are hatching, the knights have come to bond new riders to the hatchlings, they'll probably kill them, and Rai is in the middle of it. Wonderful.”

As if speaking his name caught his attention, Rai's barks increased in urgency, and they hurried through the arches to the training field.

The scene that they found paralyzed Vidarian where he stood. Four full knights and their steeds stared across the field, stamping for battle. Opposite them, Rai bristled, his head low and spines lifted along his entire body, barking and snarling warnings. Behind him were three cracked eggs and three hatchlings. One had bonded to a child that crouched protectively with it, while a second, indeed a royal, struggled from its eggshell and squalled, lifting its proud black-green head. And the third was dead.

For now, the knights were holding back their steeds, hauling on lead-lines and keeping them from attacking Rai—surely for fear of their own safety, or the hatchlings', rather than any charity for the wolf pup. The steeds all fought their knights, their eyes rolling with near madness.

The knights had a boy in front of them that they were pushing toward Rai—a squire who, though he looked on the little royal with avarice, wanted nothing to do with the snarling creature between them.

“Rai!” Vidarian shouted, or meant to shout, if his throat would have cooperated. He struggled on, mustering all the authority he could. “Leave them! Come over here!”

Rai whined, his spines drooping for a moment, and his tail also, but when one of the knights took a step toward him he bristled again, lip curling up to expose what had become a set of fearsome white fangs.

// Those creatures are exhausted, and distressed, // Thalnarra said, her red eyes pinning as she sized up the hatchlings. // And—the large one is fighting. She doesn't want this boy they're giving her. //

She dies, brother, Rai said, shocking Vidarian three times: once for his intelligence and clarity, again for the emotion that laced his words—they burned in Vidarian's mind with pain and sadness—and finally, that he called Vidarian “brother.” Then he released another surprise, filling Vidarian's mind with a chaotic series of memories heavy with sensation—the knights pushing the squires toward the hatchlings, trying to force a bond, as even their own steeds resisted them. After the smallest had died, Rai rushed in, warning them all off.

“Enough of this rot,” one of the knights sneered and loosed his steed, slapping it on the hip. “Kill that mongrel.”

The steed reared, and now Vidarian could see from its flattened ears and wide eyes that it was upset, not enraged—but so on edge that it obeyed this command from its rider, and leapt at Rai.

Vidarian cried out hoarsely, first in objection, then in surprise. As the steed leapt, it changed shape—hooved feet curled under, shortening into clawed paws, its tail stretched out and collapsed into a coiling thing, and its head pulled inward, growing larger eyes, broader ears, and teeth. As it landed, snarling, it was a striped cat, a huge one, with wings more sleek and compact than it had in its native horse shape. It lashed out at Rai with a clawed paw.

Rai, far from abandoning his charges, leapt back at the steed—and changed. Massive wings spread from his shoulders, feathered and striped green like his spines; he grew and his paws thickened, his tail lengthened, until he, too, was a winged cat, pacing in an arc around his foe.

The knights all shouted again, in mingled astonishment and fury, while Vidarian tried to make sense of what he'd just seen. The two cats were growling at each other and circling, here and there lashing out with a claw, but neither striking true.

When he regained control of his senses, Vidarian staggered out into the field, stumbling between the two great, hissing creatures. He reached out with his water sense, but immediately recoiled, falling to his knees. All his elemental sensitivity, too, was “burned,” and far worse than his body. It seemed an eternity before the wave of misery passed, and he pushed himself back to his feet again, lifting his hands between Rai and the steed.

She dies! Rai cried again, and roared as he did so, a terrifying sound that cut straight to the ancestral prey creature in all of them. Thalnarra, not quite so affected, rushed over to the hatchlings and spread her wings over them.

“Who can save her?” Vidarian asked Rai, facing him down, trying to block him from seeing the still-snarling steed behind him.

He felt the pulse of Rai's surprise, and then, immediately, a picture: the older steward's girl. Brannon's sister.

“Bran!” Vidarian shouted, “Fetch your sister! Quickly!” He had no idea how she might heal the royal hatchling, but at the very least it would calm Rai down. Brannon yelled something and dashed off toward the palace.

“You've no right to do this!” One of the knights cried, and the others called agreement.

“Hardly,” Vidarian agreed, fatigue beginning to catch up with him in earnest and attempt to force him to the ground. He grit his teeth. “But seeing as you lot were making such a mess of it…”

They started shouting again, enraged, but an arcing line of fire rose up from the ground in front of them, flames licking hungrily toward the necks of the steeds. Vidarian turned, and Thalnarra dipped her beak in acknowledgment. She was still crouched over the little royal, and radiated a steady fury.

Running footsteps sounded, and the girl who had first greeted them in the city arrived two steps ahead of her brother, looking surprised and a little afraid. She skidded to a stop when she saw the battling steeds, the line of fire, the gryphon—and Brannon pushed her, murmuring something urgent. The girl colored, and she turned to leave, but Brannon grabbed her hand and hauled her bodily toward Thalnarra and the little royal.

Vidarian had just long enough to worry that the girl wouldn't know what to do—how could she?—but then, as soon as she caught sight of the hatchling, she broke away from Brannon and rushed toward it, crouching, reaching out to comfort it, heedless of Thalnarra's presence. And for its part the little royal stumbled toward her, lowing.

The royal's eyes flashed blue, bright enough for Vidarian to see even at this distance—and he was reminded suddenly of the way the setting sun had caught the kitten's eyes when Ariadel had first picked it up, so long ago at the dockside in Val Harlon. Or rather, he thought it had been the sun…

Now that it was done, Thalnarra slowly lowered the fire-line, and the cat-steed returned to its original shape and paced back over to its rider, its head low. The rider glowered at Vidarian, ignoring his steed. “You've started a war, Captain. Not in a hundred years—”

// Only that long? // Thalnarra interrupted, laying down on the packed dirt of the field, her body still curled protectively around the royal hatchling and her new rider. A pulse of heat emanated from her, almost lazy, and stirred the smoke that still crept upward from where she'd scorched the ground.

The man purpled, muttered several things under his breath, and stomped off, leaving the other knights to calm their steeds and follow him. The steeds themselves had besieged expressions, if such could be said for horses; their ears lay flat and they held their heads low, wings drooping. All of them stared at the hatchlings, clearly drawn to them, but turned back toward their riders and left one by one.

Rai, still cat-shaped, pushed his head under Vidarian's hand, looking up in apology. Vidarian shook his head, as he fought against another wave of exhaustion that threatened to steal consciousness again. “You saved that creature's life.” With what little remained of his thinking mind, beneath the terrible tiredness, he turned over what Rai's new growth and intelligence meant. Had the other thornwolves been so? He thought back to their attack, and doubted it.

Brannon was crouching beside the hatched royal with his sister, whose face was tear-streaked, but not with sadness. They had lost the one hatchling, but this one survived—and the girl, whose name Vidarian still did not know, would not be returning to the steward's quarters.

“What now?” he asked Thalnarra dully.

// I will watch over these, // she said, extending her wing over Brannon, his sister, and the hatchling. // Now, you go back to bed. //