Sword of Ice and Other Tales of Valdemar

couldn't die, not yet, not while this small, so-very-alive creature was depending on him.

Leryn reached out a weary hand to ruffle the gryphon's fur, then staggered to his feet.

'Come on, baby. We'll see how much farther we can get.'

The gryphon shrilled in sudden alarm. Leryn stumbled back, staring blankly at the men who'd come out of hiding and into whose arms he'd almost walked.

For a moment Leryn's mind simply refused to function, noting only that these strangers were warmly clad, and looked well-fed. But the gryphon continued its shrill screaming, stubby wings fluttering, trying its baby best to defend him against:

Bandits, Leryn realized through the haze of weariness. Maybe even the same who attacked me the first time.

What difference did it make? He certainly didn't have anything on him of value, and if they just waited a bit, he'd probably die of hunger or exhaustion and save them the trouble of—It was the gryphon they wanted. They were going to kill his little friend for its fur, or carry it off to captivity.

'Like hell you are!' Leryn roared (or at least thought he roared), and charged.

The first bandit was so astonished by this rush of strength from such a worn-out creature he didn't defend himself in time. Leryn tore the club from his hands and laid about with it with half-hysterical fury. The gryphon baby, shrilling a childish battle scream, fought with him—small, sharp beak nipping, small, sharp talons scratching. But of course they hadn't a chance of winning, not one weary man and one little gryphon.

At least this'll be faster than dying of hunger, Leryn thought wryly.

Thunder deafened him, wild wind buffeted him. For a dazed moment, swathed in sudden shadow, Leryn could only wonder how a storm could have struck so swiftly.

But the storm was moving, shrieking, and all at once he realized that what was looming overhead was a gryphon, two gryphons, and he forgot all about the bandits as he stared in wonder at the living golden wonders soaring down at him.

The bandits didn't waste time in staring. They scattered in all directions, racing off into the underbrush like so many terrified rabbits, and Leryn could have sworn he heard one of the gryphons hiss in soft, fierce laughter.

They landed in a wild swirling of wind and dust. The baby gryphon let out one startled little yelp and ducked behind Leryn, then took a wary step out from hiding, gaping, every line of its small body rigid with astonishment. For a long moment, Leryn stood frozen as well, staring, too weary for fright, at the savage, splendid, vibrant size of them, at the wise, keen, alien eyes watching him, at the beaks, wickedly elegant as curved swords, that could snap him in two, at the gleaming talons that could rend him apart as easily as he might tear worn-out fabric. He should be afraid, Leryn thought, he really should.

But the last of his desperate strength was ebbing from him. Leryn felt his exhausted body crumple to its knees.

And then he knew nothing at all.

He woke slowly, languorously, to warmth, wonderful, spicy-scented warmth. Meat was being pushed at his lips, and if that meat was raw, at least it was fresh and full of the promise of life, and he chewed and swallowed without protest, feeling the dawn of strength returning to him.

Then Leryn came to himself enough to realize he was cradled like a baby against a gryphon's side, a golden wing sheltering him, and it was a deadly beak so gently offering him food. The beings must have known he was half-dead for want of food and warmth.

Ah, warmth, yes ... it was so good to be warm again . . . warm and fed and cozy ...

. . . cozy as he'd been with Elenya, his own sweet wife cuddled beside him in their bed, and the promise of new life growing inside her.

The promise that had gone so terribly wrong.

The memories hit him without warning, hit him so hard that Leryn, still too weak to control his will, broke as he had not during all the long, empty, dry-eyed days of mourning. Broke and wept against the warm, tawny side, sheltered under the soft, golden wing while the gryphon churred ever so softly, stroking his hair with a gentle beak as though he were her child.

Her. He had no doubt of his protector's gender. And Leryn heard, or felt, or sensed, he couldn't have said how, the gryphon's own grief. She who had died in the storm had been this one's sister, long lost from the nest: too proud, too sure of herself, heeding no one's advice, taking an aging mate, one who'd died and left her and her young one alone.

Race, species were forgotten in their mingled grief. And out of mingled grief came at least the seeds of healing.

'Eleyna, Eleyna, I still miss you, and shall miss you all my life. But. . . I am alive. And I must go on being alive.'

He could almost have sworn that somewhere, far beyond space and time, she'd heard, somewhere she'd smiled.

Leryn sat bolt upright. The gryphon raised her wing to free him, and he found himself staring into the wise, amused eyes of her mate.

'ssso. You live.'

'You speak!' Leryn reddened. 'I—I mean, of course you speak, it's just—I didn't expect—I don't know what I expected.'

The gryphon chuckled. 'We hardly expected you to ssspeak our tongue.'

'Uh, no. I ... uh ... I'm not familiar with your kind.' Leryn glanced about, seeing a neat-walled cave— no, not a cave, a ruin of some sort, human-built but plainly now the gryphon pair's nest. 'But the baby!' he suddenly remembered. 'The little gryphon. Where is—'

A small thunderbolt sent him staggering back into the side of the female gryphon. The baby leaping at him, churring with delight, wriggling like a happy puppy, until a quiet word in the gryphon tongue made it reluctantly settle to the floor.

'You've brought my sssissster's child to me,' the female gryphon murmured. 'For that we thank you.'

'You kept the little one alive,' said the male. 'And that,' he added with a chuckle as the wriggling baby eyed then pounced on his tufted tail, 'could have been no easssy thing. For that we thank you, too.'

'I could hardly have let a—a child die!' A little shiver ran through Leryn at the memory of his own son, who'd never known the touch of life, but he continued resolutely, 'Besides, the child kept me alive!' It was true enough. 'Without this little ball of fur, I would have given up a long time ago.'

'Yesss, but now the quessstion isss: What do we do with you?'

'Ah.' What, indeed? No funds, no weapons, not even

a change of clothes. 'I don't know. In my home town, I'm a merchant of gems, but—'

'Gemsss? The pretty ssstonesss you humansss like? Then thessse mussst belong to you.'

'My gem pouches! Where did you—'

The male gryphon licked his talons with a lazy tongue. 'I chasssed the banditsss,' he murmured, eyes glinting dangerously. 'It wasss good sssport. And asss they fled, they dropped everything they bore.'

Leryn stared at the fortune glittering in his hands. His gems, returned to him. Ah, gods, now he could start over, and not waste the life he'd been given!

Suddenly it was all too ridiculous. Leryn burst into laughter, gasping, 'I—I've come a long way just to find the—the path back to myself. And I could have managed without the hardships, thank you! But,' he added, bending to stroke the baby's furry head, 'I think everyone's happy with how things worked out.'

'Everyone sssave the banditsss,' the gryphons murmured, and gave their churring laugh.

The Salamander

by Richard Lee Byers

Richard Lee Byers worked for over a decade in an emergency psychiatric facility, then left the mental health field to become a writer. He is the author of 7776 Ebon Mask, On A Darkling Plain, Netherworld, Caravan of Shadows, Dark Fortune, Dead Time, The Vampire's Apprentice, and several other novels. His short fiction has appeared in numerous other anthologies, including