The Silver Gryphon

He ignored anything outside the tent to the point where it simply didn’t exist for him, concentrating fiercely on tiny currents of air, sounds, movement, and what little he could see reflecting from the burning spilled oil. His talons connected several times with something that felt like snakeskin, tearing through it to the flesh beneath, and he clenched any time he was able to, so that he might rend away a chunk of meat. But his opponents uttered nothing more than a hiss, and they dashed away through the double rents in the tent canvas as if his fierce opposition surprised them. The fight couldn’t have lasted for very long, for not only was he not tired, he hadn’t even warmed up to full fighting speed when the attacks ceased, and the attackers vanished, silent shadows sliding between the raindrops.

He stood over Drake a while longer; the kes’tra’chern had the good sense to stay put and not move the entire time. When Amberdrake finally moved, it was to pat the flame out with the edge of a bedroll and then right the lantern.

“Are they gone?” came the voice from between his feet.

“I think so,” Skan replied, shaking his head to refocus himself. Only then did he hear the moans of wounded, and the sound of Bern calling his name.

“We’re here!” Drake answered for him as he relit the lantern with a smoldering corner of the bedroll. “We’re all right, I think.”

“That’s more than the rest of us can say,” the scout replied grimly, wheezing and coughing. “Can you get out here and help me? If I let go of this rag around my leg, I’m going to bleed myself out.”

Drake swore, scrambled for the medical kit in the darkness, and pushed through the ruined tent wall. Skan followed slowly.

When the lantern had been relit so that Drake could see to treat wounds, and everyone had been accounted for, they discovered that Regin and Filix had been killed by more of the things. They had probably died instantly, or nearly so. Amberdrake reached for the bodies, and could only locate so many pieces. At the very least, they got the mercy of a quick death. There wasn’t much left of them. Blood was spattered everywhere, and it was difficult to tell what part belonged to whom.

He left the tent quickly, reminded all too forcefully of some of Hadanelith’s victims.

And of Ma’ar’s.

I’m supposed to be hardened to this sort of thing, but maybe I’ve just seen too much death, too much suffering. Maybe I am not as tough as I thought I was, or wish I could be, even after all this time. It was one thing to think about cutting losses — another thing to lose people like this. We were caught unprepared, despite my hoped-for lessons of experience.

Amberdrake remained for a few moments longer, and when he came out, he surprised Skan by the thoughtful look of concentration he wore. Finally, as the other men bundled the two bodies hastily in the remains of the tent, he drew Skan aside.

“Are these things animals, or not?” he asked.

Skan blinked. “They certainly fought like it,” he replied cautiously. “Extremely efficient predators. They didn’t have weapons, just talons and teeth, and . . . and speed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything that fast since the last makaar died. Fierce predators; no wonder we haven’t seen much game, and all of it small. They must have emptied out the forest around here, of ground-based game at least.” He shook his head. “We should have figured that out, and assumed they’d attack us for food. They must be half-mad with hunger by now; they can’t live long on rabbits, snakes and bugs, not as big as they are.”

Drake nodded, as if he had expected Skan to say that. “In that case, tell me this; why didn’t they drag their prey off with them to eat? Why didn’t they try and kill more of us?”

Skan opened his beak to reply, and shut it with a click.

Why didn’t they, if they’re just big hunters with an incidental ability to eat mage-energy?

“Maybe we don’t taste good?” he suggested lamely.

“Maybe. But that hasn’t stopped lions from becoming maneaters when they’re famished. Shalaman showed us that, remember.” Amberdrake chewed on his lower lip a moment. “I have a feeling . . . that these things are planning something. And that they don’t intend to let us get away. Skan, they’re a lot worse than they seem.”

“They seem bad enough already to me,” Skan grumbled, “But I see your point.”

He didn’t have time to think much more about it, however, for Bern, as acting leader, decreed that there would be no more rest that night.

They spent the rest of the dark hours in the open, sitting in a circle with their backs together, facing the forest with weapons in hand.