Storm Breaking

'Now, gentlemen and ladies,' Tremane said, his tone turning somber, 'Let us consider what we must do if our allies fail.'

'It isn't likely, I don't think,' Darkwind offered. 'A single gryphon, half-asleep, can defeat a squad of fighters with less effort than it takes to preen. This is a group of twenty-and-one, fully awake and eager!' Several of the attendees laughed, looking quite convinced of that by what they had seen of the creatures. 'But you're correct, of course. Preparations should be made for less than total victory.'

The rest of the day was spent making plans for just that contingency, but as sunset reddened the skies to the west, the victors came winging home, quite intact, and with the foes' leader's personal banner, a letter of surrender, and a pledge that he would come in person to swear his allegiance, all clutched proudly in Tashiketh's talons.

The cheers that rose to greet them as they replicated their previous graceful landing in the courtyard were prompted as much by relief as by joy in the victory, but they didn't need to know that.

Darkwind assured one and all that a tired gryphon was a starving gryphon, and Tashiketh's second in command nodded firmly. At the feast, to which the tired gryphons were immediately ushered, Tashiketh formally presented the surrender and pledge, and then modestly revealed the secret of their victory.

'First we dropped rocks through their roofs,' he said, with a faintly cruel chuckle. 'Then we dropped one firepot on a thatched outbuilding, and circled in three subwings of seven each. After six passes, we threatened to drop more. That got their attention long enough for us to claim that we were a mere fraction of the winged army that King Tremane could command if he chose. And I hinted that we weren't too particular about waiting for provisions to arrive in a case like that, and were inclined to help ourselves. The idea of hundreds of us descending out of the sky, smashing big holes in every roof, setting fire to things, and snatching and carrying off who-knew-what to eat, had them in a panic. If that idiot leading them hadn't surrendered on the spot, I think they might killed him and served him to us on a platter with a good broth on the side!'

Several of the generals laughed heartily at this, and even Tremane smiled. Darkwind thought it best to interject a cautionary note.

'It won't do to make them think you're going to carry off children for snacks,' he warned Tashiketh under cover of the laughter. 'How could they trust a King who'd let his 'monsters' feed on children?'

'No fear of that,' Tashiketh soothed. 'I made sure we were eying the sheep when I said that, and added a bit about how tasty fresh, fat mutton was, and allowed as how we could decimate their every flock and herd in a matter of days and just feel stronger for being so well fed. For a people on the edge of starvation, accepting surrender in place of that sounds very appealing. Our rules of combat have always stressed that we're not to intimate that we eat thinking beings. We might not have done this in earnest before, but we've had plenty of training.'

'Good.' Darkwind relaxed enough to chuckle. 'I wish I'd seen their faces when you told them that you were only the vanguard. And of course, they would never know when you were bluffing.'

'It wasn't all bluff.' Tashiketh said smugly, then suddenly took an extreme interest in his food, as if he realized that he had said too much.

Well. Well! Darkwind took an interest in his own meal, as if unaware that Tashiketh had let fall something important. So Iftel has more interest in Tremane's welfare than I thought. Enough that they would back him with a significant force? It certainly sounds that way.

If they would send an army to help him, what else would they be willing to offer? The secret of the Barrier? Other secrets?

And how much of that would be of any use against the coming Storms, especially the Final Storm?

Or would so little be left after that last blow that none of this would matter?

'You could not possibly have conceived of anything more likely to have turned you into the Army's favorites,' Elspeth told Tashiketh, as a roar went up from the watching crowd. Five of Tashiketh's subordinates climbed, crawled, flew, leaped, and contorted themselves across a torturous obstacle course under the bright noontime sun. It was cold enough to numb feet encased in boots and several layers of stockings, but that hadn't prevented the now-usual crowd from showing up as soon as the contest began. Typically, the former Imperial soldiers had gathered to watch, cheer—and then bet on the outcome. This was probably the most exciting entertainment in the entire country about now.

There was not a great deal in the way of entertainment in Shonar, in spite of the presence of the King here; every time the one and only Bard in the town composed a new song, the tavern where he played was crowded to capacity for days, and the soldiers did their best to enliven otherwise dull days and nights with mixed results. One of the highest-priced items to be had among the soldiery was a deck of cards. But now there was a new and novel source of spectacle in their midst, one with all the finest attributes of a fair, a race, and a real contest. Since Tashiketh never participated except to practice alone, the outcome of any given competition was always subject to the whims of chance, which made it perfect for wagering. That in turn made it more attractive yet, if that was possible.

'Would it harm me in your esteem if I confessed that this was a deliberate choice, making our contests public affairs?' Tashiketh asked Elspeth, gravely.