I yield, son of Baldr.”
The ring of onlookers’ gazes darted from Shard to Asvander. Shard caught Brynja’s bright gaze, and near her, Kjorn, a fierce look of surprise and approval.
“I yield,” Asvander said again, low but clear. He shifted and stood, favoring a hind paw as he addressed the spectators. “I cannot defeat him.”
The Vanir broke into cheers and roars, and Shard heard Stigr shouting and calling him the Stormwing once again. He allowed himself to feel a moment of kit-like, ridiculous pride.
“Impossible!” Asrik marched forward, wings raised, his feathers ruffed as if the wind blew the wrong way. “That’s no way to fight!” Before Asvander could defend them both, Shard stepped forward, opening his wings in challenge.
“Fight me yourself then. See that my win was genuine.”
Asrik gazed at him, eyes narrowing. Then he looked at his son, taking in his battered feathers, his short breath, the injury to his paw. “Asvander, you can’t possibly—”
“I cannot defeat him,” he said again. “I yield the match, and my claim on a pairing with Brynja.”
Before Asrik’s feathers could lift any higher, Stigr came forward as well. “No one can say Shard didn’t use skill to fight the way he did. Blood and bruises isn’t the only way to win a battle.”
Asrik looked doubtful. A tense, quiet moment lingered, then he inclined his head. “It was . . . unexpected. I see it was truly won. I know my son to be honest, and I could see he gave his best. I concede."
“Good,” Shard said, and found himself mobbed by Brynja, Dagny, and the younger of the admiring Vanir.
“All right, all right,” Stigr said, pushing through the Vanir. “Off with you. To your fishing, to your lessons. Ketil, lead them?”
She eyed Stigr, then called the group away. When at last they cleared, Shard’s friends remained. Stigr sat down, preening his wing. Brynja stood at Shard’s side, head high and proud, Asvander remained, and Dagny romped forward to butt her head against Asvander’s shoulder and murmur an encouraging word.
Kjorn approached and ducked his head. “Well fought, Shard. You’ll have to show me where you learned some of those moves.”
Shard felt it would be too much showing off to say, from the dragons, so he simply lifted his wings. “Of course. And see, I didn’t lose you any allies.”
Asvander flicked his tail. “Hardly. If anything, you impressed them further.” He shifted his weight, still favoring one hind paw.
“You should see a healer,” Dagny said, eyeing Asvander’s feet, then looked at Shard. “Both of you.”
“I think Shard’s fine,” Asvander said dryly. “I barely recall laying a talon on him.”
Kjorn lifted his wings. “If you please, we need to discuss our departure.”
“Yes,” Shard said. “Of course.”
They remained where they were as they reviewed the plan. They would secure an alliance with the painted wolves that roamed the lands bordering the Ostral Shores, then move on to the Vanhar on the windward coast.
Kjorn eyed the windy sky. “When Nilsine parted from us, she promised she would speak to the elders on my behalf, but that they would still like to meet in the flesh.”
“Naturally,” said Stigr. “While you lot are traveling that way, I’ll lead the Vanir to the Voldsom Narrows. Any who wish to join the fight can, and any unable or unwilling can take shelter in the canyons, provided the eagles are still friendly.”
“They are,” said Brynja.
Kjorn looked pleased. “On our way to the Vanheim, we’ll also seek out the painted wolves. Ilesh and his pack, and see if they’ll fight with us.”
Shard looked proudly at Kjorn, still impressed that he was now so willing to seek help and alliance with creatures other than gryfons. “After the Vanheim, the lions?” he asked. He thought of Ajia, the lioness singer and healer who had first shown him the wyrms of the Winderost. He thought perhaps she could help him with the
The ring of onlookers’ gazes darted from Shard to Asvander. Shard caught Brynja’s bright gaze, and near her, Kjorn, a fierce look of surprise and approval.
“I yield,” Asvander said again, low but clear. He shifted and stood, favoring a hind paw as he addressed the spectators. “I cannot defeat him.”
The Vanir broke into cheers and roars, and Shard heard Stigr shouting and calling him the Stormwing once again. He allowed himself to feel a moment of kit-like, ridiculous pride.
“Impossible!” Asrik marched forward, wings raised, his feathers ruffed as if the wind blew the wrong way. “That’s no way to fight!” Before Asvander could defend them both, Shard stepped forward, opening his wings in challenge.
“Fight me yourself then. See that my win was genuine.”
Asrik gazed at him, eyes narrowing. Then he looked at his son, taking in his battered feathers, his short breath, the injury to his paw. “Asvander, you can’t possibly—”
“I cannot defeat him,” he said again. “I yield the match, and my claim on a pairing with Brynja.”
Before Asrik’s feathers could lift any higher, Stigr came forward as well. “No one can say Shard didn’t use skill to fight the way he did. Blood and bruises isn’t the only way to win a battle.”
Asrik looked doubtful. A tense, quiet moment lingered, then he inclined his head. “It was . . . unexpected. I see it was truly won. I know my son to be honest, and I could see he gave his best. I concede."
“Good,” Shard said, and found himself mobbed by Brynja, Dagny, and the younger of the admiring Vanir.
“All right, all right,” Stigr said, pushing through the Vanir. “Off with you. To your fishing, to your lessons. Ketil, lead them?”
She eyed Stigr, then called the group away. When at last they cleared, Shard’s friends remained. Stigr sat down, preening his wing. Brynja stood at Shard’s side, head high and proud, Asvander remained, and Dagny romped forward to butt her head against Asvander’s shoulder and murmur an encouraging word.
Kjorn approached and ducked his head. “Well fought, Shard. You’ll have to show me where you learned some of those moves.”
Shard felt it would be too much showing off to say, from the dragons, so he simply lifted his wings. “Of course. And see, I didn’t lose you any allies.”
Asvander flicked his tail. “Hardly. If anything, you impressed them further.” He shifted his weight, still favoring one hind paw.
“You should see a healer,” Dagny said, eyeing Asvander’s feet, then looked at Shard. “Both of you.”
“I think Shard’s fine,” Asvander said dryly. “I barely recall laying a talon on him.”
Kjorn lifted his wings. “If you please, we need to discuss our departure.”
“Yes,” Shard said. “Of course.”
They remained where they were as they reviewed the plan. They would secure an alliance with the painted wolves that roamed the lands bordering the Ostral Shores, then move on to the Vanhar on the windward coast.
Kjorn eyed the windy sky. “When Nilsine parted from us, she promised she would speak to the elders on my behalf, but that they would still like to meet in the flesh.”
“Naturally,” said Stigr. “While you lot are traveling that way, I’ll lead the Vanir to the Voldsom Narrows. Any who wish to join the fight can, and any unable or unwilling can take shelter in the canyons, provided the eagles are still friendly.”
“They are,” said Brynja.
Kjorn looked pleased. “On our way to the Vanheim, we’ll also seek out the painted wolves. Ilesh and his pack, and see if they’ll fight with us.”
Shard looked proudly at Kjorn, still impressed that he was now so willing to seek help and alliance with creatures other than gryfons. “After the Vanheim, the lions?” he asked. He thought of Ajia, the lioness singer and healer who had first shown him the wyrms of the Winderost. He thought perhaps she could help him with the
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