The Black Gryphon

Of course, according to rumor, that would change. Trainer Shire was pushing for it, and he had the backing of some of the mages, who saw this as an excellent place to train apprentices in combative magics. But until this training became official, anything Vikteren did here was going to be with strictly limited resources.

Neither of them knew what had gone on in Zhaneel’s “little talk” with Winterhart, other than the fact that Zhaneel appeared much more confident—and that she had told Aubri that the Trondi’irn Winterhart actually “had a point” worth considering. The “point,” it seemed, was that gryphons who ‘ were unsuited to her style of attack-and-evasion tried to emulate it, and that she and the trainer needed to supervise them before they hurt themselves. So now Zhaneel actually found herself in a position of authority, which had to be a unique experience for her.

It seemed to be doing her a great deal of good, at least from what Skan could see. He observed that there were a number of positive changes in her. She walked, stood, and even flew with more confidence, more energy. She looked others straight in the eyes, even humans, to whom she had formerly deferred with abject humility. Her feathers were crisp and neatly preened, her coat shone with health.

In short, she was the most desirable creature he had ever laid eyes on in his life. However, he wasn’t the only gryphon to make that particular observation.

It did not escape his notice that the other male gryphons exerted themselves and —posed—whenever she happened to look their way. It was also apparent that she was perfectly well aware of their interest.

It was enough to make him grind his beak in frustration.

She treated them all impartially, which was some relief, but she wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to him, which was no relief at all. He was sitting quite prominently in the open, after all. He was always conspicuous to gryphons, especially in the daylight. Surely she saw him. Had she forgotten already how he had defended her to Winterhart?

“So, how are you coming with spreading your little secret around?” Vikteren asked, idly braiding grass stems into a string.

“It spreads itself,” Skan replied, watching as Zhaneel demonstrated a tuck-and-roll maneuver, and wondering if his poor flesh arid bones had healed enough to permit him to join her pupils. His dancing skills would surely help him in becoming a star pupil. What had become of that shy little gryfalcon who had so aroused his protective instincts? The instinct she aroused now was anything but protective! “I told the eight wingleaders and their mates. They in turn told four more gryphons each, and so forth. As Tamsin said, it is an absurdly simple thing, once you know how much was simple misdirection. I expect that in three days, every gryphon here will know.”

And that includes Zhaneel. But the information I want to give her— I must find a way to get her alone. I need to tell her what she really is.

“Has anyone asked how you came by this?” The young mage glanced at him sideways. “Or are you playing stupid?”

Skan laughed and raised his ear-tufts. “I seldom need to play stupid! If anyone asks, I have half a dozen different tales to explain how I learned this information. None of them are true, and all of them are plausible. The greater truth is that this is so important to us all that no one is likely to question the origin, so long as Tamsin and Cinnabar can verify that it is accurate. And it is so important that I do not believe there is a single gryphon who will even tell his hertasi that he is privy to the secret. At least, not soon. No one wishes Urtho to learn that we have this knowledge until I am ready to tell him.”

Vikteren raised both eyebrows. “So you’re the victim—sorry—the volunteer who’ll take him the bad news and get nailed to his workroom wall?”

Skandranon’s nares flushed deep red. He could have done without hearing that. “Urtho is my friend. And right or wrong, it was my idea to steal the secret. I should be the one to face Urtho, and not a messenger. The gryphons are all agreed that I will be the one to tell him that he no longer controls us through our wish for progeny. They believe I am the one who can best express this without causing him to react badly.”

“You mean, they think he’s less likely to remove portions of your hide than that of any other gryphon,” Vikteren observed. “They’re probably right.”

“I can only hope,” Skan muttered. “I can only hope.”

Will Zhaneel know where the knowledge came from when it is passed to her? He sighed. I wish I dared tell her myself. . . .

Amberdrake had taken to finding Zhaneel for a few moments every day just to talk, if he could; this evening was no exception, and this evening, for a change, he had quite a bit of free time. That was just as well; all the recent improvement in her spirits and morale had triggered a partial molt, and she had a number of new blood- feathers with feather-sheaths that needed to be flaked and preened away. He hadn’t done that for any gryphon except Skan since his days as an apprentice and a feather-painter. The simple task was oddly soothing. Feeling the hardness of the feather-shaft against the softness of the insulating down, the pulse of her heartbeat just under the deep red skin, and the incredible heat a gryphon’s body generated was always exhilarating.

“He was there again today,” Zhaneel told Amberdrake, as he helped her groom her itching feathers. “I saw