it overwhelmed him completely. I can turn what little we have into something important, whether I can fly—or even walk—again. He had to be of use—he couldn’t bear to slide off into oblivion meekly. So, then, what was there to do? Assuming he couldn’t move, he had to somehow use what he was rather than what he could do. He was unique in the camp—an oddity. He had reputation here, even a growing mystique.
The elements were there: the soldiers’ superstitions about how he was good luck. A tent full of invalids making arrows. And to bring it all together, Ammari’s secret, beautiful mixture, that shone like—
Magic.
The history was told lovingly, in the way only someone who loved tales, and had actually experienced a part of them, could tell a story.
Far off to the west, there was a city made of hope and light. It was made to honor its peoples’ savior, and named for him. White Gryphon was built of terraces and sweeping walkways carved from a white cliffside overlooking a perfect bay. In the centuries since its founding, its wings had gradually spread out around the bay, enfolding it as a loving protective bird would cover its nestlings from cold or rain. Its wings, in fact, truly did appear to be wings—canopies and promenades swept in complex curves on a massive scale, to outline individual feathers when seen from the sea and barrier islands. The city center was a huge complex of overlapping towers making the hackles, breastfeathers and lower mandible. The highest and widest complex, crested the whole of the city in a stylized beak, with its eyes and ears facing north. In summer, the sunrise cast the shadow of a raptor across the bay waters, and at noon the eyes of the beast were completely concealed by shadow. At sunset the water reflections shimmered upon the creation and the sun’s colors blazed upon it while the thousands of small lights and fires came up one by one to greet the stars for the oncoming night.
To the immediate east was the more conventional side of the city that had sprawled out as more housing, workshops, and trade centers were needed—but past that, the terrain became terrible indeed. Forest that became impassable. Trees as broad as eighty men thrust up to a canopy three hundred feet tall, above treefalls and hidden rivers as deep as oceans. Deadly ravines lurked under simple ground cover, and nightmarish beasts hunted anything that ventured in.
Past that came hundreds of miles of marshlands and desert, two entirely different kinds of forest, and then mountain ranges and a jungle. Then grassland, and finally after all of that, the other great forest. The Pelagirs.
Gryphons need the help of trondi’irn, though, like me, sometimes gryphons learn some healing along with other powers. Yet, one pair endured the venture for over six years, alone, blazing a trail eastward from White Gryphon, until they found their city’s long-lost brethren.
“. . . That pairrr was Trrreyvan and Hydona. When I call them the Grrreat Onesss, it isss becaussse they arrre the brrravessst explorerrrsss of ourrr time. And they arrre herrre, in Valdemarrr. They helped everrryone sssurvive the Ssstormsss. And Hallock Ssstaverrrn knows them . Essscorrrted them around Haven—perrrrsssonally!”
Jeft looked up at Kelvren in amazement, having utterly forgotten the bow-wrapping he’d been tasked with, tangled between his fingers. The few other locals and Guard in attendance, and all of the convalescing soldiers had similar expressions. It wasn’t just that they had a six-hundred-pound, taloned, killing fury telling them fireside stories, it was that these stories were uplifting. His tales fired the imagination in ways no one had expected. Most of the soldiers would probably never see active duty again, but instead of being stuck with the wasting-away grousing of lousy encampment and the same old blather, this creature they’d first thought would be an intrusion instead had become needed because all of his
The elements were there: the soldiers’ superstitions about how he was good luck. A tent full of invalids making arrows. And to bring it all together, Ammari’s secret, beautiful mixture, that shone like—
Magic.
The history was told lovingly, in the way only someone who loved tales, and had actually experienced a part of them, could tell a story.
Far off to the west, there was a city made of hope and light. It was made to honor its peoples’ savior, and named for him. White Gryphon was built of terraces and sweeping walkways carved from a white cliffside overlooking a perfect bay. In the centuries since its founding, its wings had gradually spread out around the bay, enfolding it as a loving protective bird would cover its nestlings from cold or rain. Its wings, in fact, truly did appear to be wings—canopies and promenades swept in complex curves on a massive scale, to outline individual feathers when seen from the sea and barrier islands. The city center was a huge complex of overlapping towers making the hackles, breastfeathers and lower mandible. The highest and widest complex, crested the whole of the city in a stylized beak, with its eyes and ears facing north. In summer, the sunrise cast the shadow of a raptor across the bay waters, and at noon the eyes of the beast were completely concealed by shadow. At sunset the water reflections shimmered upon the creation and the sun’s colors blazed upon it while the thousands of small lights and fires came up one by one to greet the stars for the oncoming night.
To the immediate east was the more conventional side of the city that had sprawled out as more housing, workshops, and trade centers were needed—but past that, the terrain became terrible indeed. Forest that became impassable. Trees as broad as eighty men thrust up to a canopy three hundred feet tall, above treefalls and hidden rivers as deep as oceans. Deadly ravines lurked under simple ground cover, and nightmarish beasts hunted anything that ventured in.
Past that came hundreds of miles of marshlands and desert, two entirely different kinds of forest, and then mountain ranges and a jungle. Then grassland, and finally after all of that, the other great forest. The Pelagirs.
Gryphons need the help of trondi’irn, though, like me, sometimes gryphons learn some healing along with other powers. Yet, one pair endured the venture for over six years, alone, blazing a trail eastward from White Gryphon, until they found their city’s long-lost brethren.
“. . . That pairrr was Trrreyvan and Hydona. When I call them the Grrreat Onesss, it isss becaussse they arrre the brrravessst explorerrrsss of ourrr time. And they arrre herrre, in Valdemarrr. They helped everrryone sssurvive the Ssstormsss. And Hallock Ssstaverrrn knows them . Essscorrrted them around Haven—perrrrsssonally!”
Jeft looked up at Kelvren in amazement, having utterly forgotten the bow-wrapping he’d been tasked with, tangled between his fingers. The few other locals and Guard in attendance, and all of the convalescing soldiers had similar expressions. It wasn’t just that they had a six-hundred-pound, taloned, killing fury telling them fireside stories, it was that these stories were uplifting. His tales fired the imagination in ways no one had expected. Most of the soldiers would probably never see active duty again, but instead of being stuck with the wasting-away grousing of lousy encampment and the same old blather, this creature they’d first thought would be an intrusion instead had become needed because all of his
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