The White Gryphon

No, first deal with convincing them that I know what I’m doing. At least Drake is with me on this.

He waved his wings to emphasize his point. “Drake’s the one these people think is the real mastermind, if not the author of most of the murders. He’s in danger from anyone who decides to go back to the old ways of court assassinations. Shalaman told us that much.”

“But he’s staying mewed up in his quarters like a sensible person, not lurking in the gardens at night, trying to catch someone climbing in a window,” Aubri countered.

“That’s because he can’t,” Skan interrupted. “He never was a spy or a fighter, and I was both. And I can beat you, broadwinger, at any game you care to mention.”

Aubri shook his massive head, and clacked his beak at Skandranon. “You won’t catch me in that trap. I’m not in shape, and I’ll admit you are. That still doesn’t make the game you’re playing any saner.”

Skan sighed. He’d done his best to convey the urgency of their situation to the Silvers who’d arrived in the guise of diplomats. He thought he’d convinced Judeth, and she was really the only one he needed to convince, since the others were all her underlings. But Aubri was stubborn—

Aubri is old, said a small voice inside him, noting the weight at the keelbone, the slightly shabby plumage, the care with which the broadwinger moved. He’s older than you are, and he took a lot of damage in the war. Well, you did, too, but you were young when you took it, and the young heal fast and thoroughly. He’s old, and he’s as cautious as any old creature would be. He’s forgotten how intoxicating danger can be, and all he remembers is the pain of failure.

Not that Skan had forgotten the pain of failure—but he wasn’t willing to let his actions be dictated by it. Not when the safety of all the people in White Gryphon depended on it.

To his way of thinking, “token” warfare all too often became real warfare. If Shalaman’s casual description of the restless nature of his young fighters was at all accurate, Skan didn’t think that a “token” effort to displace the settlement would remain that way for long. The first time a Haighlei was hurt or killed in their “token” siege, all the rules would change. Shalaman would be far away, and commanders with a grudge to repay would be on the site.

“Just remember the old soldier’s rule, Skan,” Judeth said, from her couch among the shadows. “Battle plans seldom survive past the first engagement with the enemy. Be flexible, and be prepared to change your mind and your plans.”

She was right, and Skan knew it, and she knew that he knew. He didn’t have to like it.

“Who knows?” he said instead. “It may turn out that it’s so important that I fly night patrols that you dye Aubri and send him out too!”

“Not if I can help it,” Aubri growled. “One crook-beaked fisher-bird is enough.”

Skan flexed his wings, testing the feathers for lack of anything better to do.

Who decided that Drake was in charge? Judeth? Drake himself? Both of them together?

Amberdrake had been one of the most expert feather-painters in the whole of Urtho’s contingent, and he had learned a lot about feather-dyes in that much-different time. He had sworn to Skan that he could take the barrel of black dye the others had brought, thin it with certain chemicals, and produce something that would dry quickly and without stickiness in the oppressive humidity of this place. It would also have the possibly beneficial side effect of coming out glossy.

Well, no use trying to deny to yourself that you’re hurt, Skan. Now be reasonable. Does it matter who’s in charge? Objectively, it probably didn’t; Skan would do whatever he thought was best, and both Amberdrake and Judeth probably knew that. Objectively, it was actually better for everyone if Skan didn’t have to worry about coordinating plans and keeping everyone informed while he was flying clandestine missions.

But it was hard to be objective when you thought you were the Gryphon King and you walked in to find someone else sitting on your throne.

Still, he was going to have to think this one through, calmly and rationally. There was no point in getting upset.

I don’t want to be calm and rational! I want to be upset about this! But— no, I guess I’m not really upset. I guess I just have hurt feelings because nobody consulted me.

“Where’s Drake, anyway?” he growled. “I think Evening Court is about to start; shouldn’t he be here?”

“He said he was going to give everyone something to think about besides the murders,” Judeth replied, her