The White Gryphon

badges and ornamented bracers to show their station to even the most drunken of viewers, were as well-trained as they were well-equipped. Fortunately for Skan’s peace of mind, the stylized silver-wire badges they wore, created by a displaced silversmith who was tired of never being able to make jewelry anymore, bore no resemblance to Skandranon, White or Black. After all, there was only so much adoration a sane mind could accept. The former soldiers had applied their military training to other matters under Judeth’s supervision, and at the time Skan had only felt relief that she was giving them something to make them feel useful.

I thought that gradually we’d be able to phase all those old warhorses out, that once we knew we weren’t going to need protection against whatever is out there in the wilderness, they’d become mostly decorative, rescuing children from trees and the like. Silly me. So now we have police; and it looks as if we are going to need them.

No wonder that Judeth had insisted that the Silvers always travel in pairs, with one of the pair being a Mindspeaker—and no wonder she had politely requisitioned Kechara’s talents and service. Skan hadn’t thought much about that, either, except to be glad that Judeth was giving poor little Kechara something to do to make her feel useful. He’d been too grateful to care, since that got her out from under Zhaneel’s feet most of the day. The eternal child, she’d been fine until Zhaneel gave birth to the little ones—and the sheer work caused by the presence of three children in the lair, one of them half the size of an adult, was just a bit much for Zhaneel.

Even the addition to the household of another hertasi, a young lizard named Cafri, who was Kechara’s best friend, playmate, and caretaker all rolled into one, had not helped until Judeth had come to Skan with her carefully- phrased request. Now Kechara went up to a special room in the Silvers’ headquarters in early mom-ing and did not return until after dark—not that Judeth was abusing her or overworking her. The “special room” was very special; it had a huge open high-silled window, a fabulous balcony, was cooled by the breezes in summer and warmed carefully in winter. It was also crammed full of all the toys the grandmothers could make. There were playmates, too. The mated gryphons among the Silvers brought their own offspring to play there as well. It was just that Kechara of all the “children” would be asked from time to time to Mindspeak a message to someone. She would stop whatever she was doing, happily oblige, then get back to her latest game.

Mindspeech seemed to take no effort whatsoever on her part which, in itself, was rather remarkable. She often forget to say things with words, in fact, projecting her thought or feeling directly into the mind of whoever she was “talking” to, particularly when she was impatient. Acting as message-relay for the Silvers did not bother her in the least—in fact, she was rather proud of herself, insofar as Skan could tell, because she had a job, and none of her playmates did.

:Papa Skan?: said that cheerful little voice in his head, suddenly, and he wondered with startlement if she had somehow picked up his thoughts about her and assumed he was trying to talk to her. :Papa Skan, Unca Aubri says you need to know something.:

He sighed with mingled relief and resignation. Relief, because he didn’t want to have to explain what he had been thinking to Kechara, and resignation because Aubri had been assigned to the unpleasant task of ejecting Hadanelith from White Gryphon. Something must have gone wrong. . . .

:What does Uncle Aubri want, sweetling?: he asked carefully, keeping his own feelings out of what he sent. She was quicker to pick up on emotion than thoughts.

Her reply was prompt and clear. :Unca Aubri says to tell you he’s up on the cliff and that there’s a ship that isn’t ours, and it’s coming in to the docks and he wants you to come where he is right away please.:

His head snapped up. A ship? A strange ship? Friend or foe? :Tell him I’m coming, sweet,: he replied quickly. :Can you please tell Uncle Snowstar and Uncle Tamsin what you just told me? And ask Cafri to run and tell Judeth the same thing?:

:Yes, Papa Skan,: she said with a giggle, largely because she really liked to Mindspeak with “Uncle” Tamsin. She told Skan it was because “he has a furry mind, and it tickles,” whatever that meant. :There, Cafri is gone, I’ll talk to Uncle Snowstar now.:

Her “presence,” as strong as if she had been in the same room with him, vanished from his mind. He leaped to his feet and called to Zhaneel, who came quickly out of the rear of the lair.

“Aubri’s seen a strange ship coming in to the docks,” he told her hastily, and her golden eyes widened as the hackles on the back of her neck stood up a little.

“Who?” she asked.

He shook his head. “We don’t know. I’ve had the Council summoned; we’ll have to go down and meet it, whoever it is. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

She nodded, and shooed the twin gryphlets into the nursery—which just happened to be the most defensible room in the lair. She knew; she was a child of the Mage Wars, after all. They dared not assume this was a friend, or even a neutral party. They must assume the worst. “Stay safe,” was all she said, over her shoulder, her eyes wide with worry that she would not voice. “I love you, Skandranon Rashkae.”

“I love you, Brighteyes,” was all he could say—then he was off, out the door of the lair and onto the landing porch, using the low wall to leap from. A wingbeat later, and the White Gryphon was clawing his way against the wind to the top of the cliff, where Aubri was waiting.

Amberdrake shaded his eyes and stared at the bobbing sail just beyond the mouth of the bay, even though he