Treyvan lidded his eyes, thinking quickly. How he wished this man's superior was here! 'Jussst what doesss he mean by 'demonsss'?' he asked the Herald, who seemed to have some inkling of what the priest was talking about.
'There've always been stories that some of the Vkandis priests could control supernatural night-creatures,' the Herald replied. The priest followed the words closely, nodding vigorously from time to time when the Herald hit precisely on the facts. 'They're supposed to be unstoppable - they keep whole villages indoors at night for fear of them, and they are said to be able to take individuals right out of their beds in locked homes, with no one the wiser. What these things are, I don't know - though from what you and Jonaton there have taught me so far, my guess is they're from the Abyssal Plane, which would mean they aren't real bright. Basically, you haul them out, give them a target or an area to patrol, turn them loose - and try to stay out of their way.'
The priest was nodding so hard now that Treyvan was afraid his head would come off. 'Yes, yes,' he said. 'Yes, and terrible, terrible.'
Treyvan's own magic was of the direct sort; he had little experience in using or summoning creatures of any of the Planes. The closest he had ever come was in calling an elemental or two, like a vrondi. This sort of thing was usually undertaken by a mage with little mind-magic and a fairly weak Mage-Gift, but with a great deal of trained will. A focused and trained will could accomplish a great deal, even when the sorcerer's own powers were slight, provided the sorcerer had a known source of energy. Unfortunately, when a mage's own abilities were poor, the most certain source of energy was that of pain and death. Which was why most of the mages summoning other- Planar creatures were blood-path mages.
This priest seemed to be the exception to that rule; he was somewhere on the border between Journeyman and Master, and he certainly didn't need demons to help him. He seemed very sincere, and very anxious that they know both that he could call demons, and that they were pretty dreadful creatures.
'Terrible, terrible,' the priest repeated. 'But Ancar terrible is. Yes?'
Ah, so what he was saying was that the demons were a dreadful weapon, but they were a weapon Ancar might deserve to get in his teeth.
Now here was a dilemma, if ever there was one. A terrifying weapon, an evil enemy. Did the one deserve the other?
Treyvan ground his beak, frustrated. He had flown out to the front lines once, and it was a damned mess. It had Falconsbane written all over it; there was that kind of callous disregard for life. The carnage could not have been described. Ancar was driving his troops over ground so thick with the bodies of the dead that there wasn't a handspan of dirt or grass visible anywhere. If a soldier lost a limb, he could bend over and pick up a new one.
To use the weapon, or not?
'Could Ancarrr take yourrr demonsss, once you loosssed them?' he asked the priest urgently. 'Could he ussse them?'
The man looked very startled, as if he had not considered that question. Then, after a moment of thought, he nodded slowly.
Treyvan let out a growling breath he did not realize he had been holding in. So much for the moral question. You do not fling a weapon at your enemy that he may then pick up and use.
Or, as the Shin'a'in said, 'Never throw your best knife at your foe.'
'No demonsss,' he said firmly. 'We do not give Ancarrr demonsss he can ssssend back.' The priest looked relieved. The Herald and old Jonaton definitely looked relieved.
'Now,' he continued, 'Let usss once again trrry thisss messshing of sssshieldsss....'
The gryphlets and the two royal twins were playing a game of tag. Of all of them, Hydona reflected, it was the children who were affected the least. For as long as Lyra and Kris had been alive, there had been war with Ancar and danger in Valdemar. For as long as Lytha and Jerven had been alive, they had nested in a perilous world. For both sets of twins, the danger was only a matter of degree. And the tension their parents were under was offset by the joy of having a new set of playmates.
For the two human children, having the fascinating Rris as a new teacher and nurse only made things better. And as for the gryphlets, they now had a brand new playground, and an entire new set of toys and lessons. For the four of them, life was very good.
The youngsters all lived together during the day in the salle. Lessons at the Collegium had been canceled for the duration, and the trainees set to running errands - or, if they were about to graduate, were thrown into Whites and put under the direct tutelage of an experienced Herald. The salle had only one entrance, and that could be easily guarded - and was, not only by armed Guardsmen but by every unpartnered Companion at the Collegium, in teams of four pairs. Inside, ropes could be strung from the ceiling for young gryphlets to climb, practice dummies set up for them to wrestle, and a marvelous maze of things to climb on, slide down, and crawl about in could be constructed for both species. All of these things were done. They caused twice the noise of a war themselves when they were in full swing.
When the children tired, there was always Rris or the two human nurses - a pair of retired Heralds - who were ready to tell stories or teach reading and writing - well, reading, anyway. The gryphlets' talons were not made
