Alliances

magically.”

“One forgets yours is an ancient and noble lineage.”

Hytanthas bristled at Porthios’s casually rude tone, but Kerian shot the young elf a warning glance. To Porthios, she said, “You know this rite? Why didn’t you say so sooner?”

“We had no griffons. Now we do, and I am telling you.”

It was the Lioness’s turn to feel hackles rise. She asked whether he’d ever performed the rite. He reminded her no one had, not since the days of the Kinslayer Wars, when the great demand for griffon cavalry had made it necessary.

“Were you a scholar or a warrior in Silvanesti?” asked Hytanthas, curious to know how Orexas had come by his obscure knowledge.

Porthios could hardly say he had been much more, and in Qualinesti, not Silvanesti. His throne was lost; his identity scorched away. Orexas was as good a name as any for a walking corpse.

“I was taught the rite as a youth.” Not a lie, merely an incomplete truth. “It isn’t long or complicated. We’re dealing with the minds of beasts, after all.”

Kerian snorted. She thought a great deal more of the mind of her Eagle Eye than she did of most people she knew, elf or other.

Specific ingredients were required. The parchment Porthios had left with Alhana contained a list of them. A liquid concoction must be made, which the would-be rider and his animal must drink.

“And we must shed blood.”

“Whose blood?” Kerian wanted to know.

Porthios glanced at Hytanthas. “Does it matter?” he asked in a particularly sepulchral tone.

Hytanthas began to protest, certain he was talking of sacrificing one of the griffons they would catch. Porthios walked away and Hytanthas followed, still peppering him with questions. Kerian frowned.

If she didn’t know better, she would swear Porthios was teasing them.

* * * * *

The elves took the female Golden griffon (suitably pinioned and muzzled) to a convenient flat-topped spur and tied her to a stake. Hidden in ravines on both sides of the spur, camouflaged by dirt-colored drapes, Kerian and Alhana’s warriors waited, ready to pounce on any griffon drawn to the female bait. In two days they caught eleven Golden griffons, ranging from small yearlings to an elder male almost as big as a Royal griffon. Kerian had feared the trap would frighten off other males once a few had been seized, but just the opposite happened. Even when airborne griffons saw the elves capture one of their kind, they came back anyway. Their ardor was so great, they ignored the danger.

Alhana suggested an alternative view, that the males were glad to see a rival taken, and came back because they were certain they were too clever and powerful to be caught. Kerian asked if she’d learned that from her childhood among the griffon-breakers of Silvanost.

“No,” Alhana said dryly. “It’s just how males think.”

Still concerned by Porthios’s dire pronouncement that blood was required for the taming ceremony, Hytanthas complained to Kerian until she told him to stop being so foolish.

“Alhana isn’t worried, and she knows more about griffons than anyone here,” the Lioness snapped. “Blood may be required, but I don’t think Orexas intends to kill anything or anyone to get it.”

Her reassurance was too vague for the young warrior, but she saw to it he was kept too busy to harry any of them further about it. To him, she gave the task of feeding the captured griffons. He and three Bianost volunteers tossed deer and goat quarters to the griffons every other day and made certain they had fresh water. The hunting skills of Kagonesti and Silvanesti alike were required to bring in sufficient game.

While the captures continued, Porthios prepared for the tath-maniya. His list of requirements included iron, copper, bronze, wine, and specific flowers. The last were the most difficult to come by, but searchers had scoured the canyons and crevices and found them all: peony, foxglove, ivy rose, and bluecup, an aromatic fungus that grew in shady niches at that altitude. The Bianost arms cache provided the iron, copper, and bronze he required. For the wine, Porthios wanted white nectar, but they had only Alhana’s Qwermish stock, so he would have to make do.

The metals would be used to create a sacred circle. The wild griffon and the elf who was to be its rider were brought into the circle. The flowers and wine were muddled together in a stone cup, then mixed with the blood of a griffon. The brew was fed to elf and beast. The one performing the rite (who must be of royal blood) intoned special words of command. The result was a bond that lasted the life of both rider and mount. The rite had been created by the Brown Hood mages of ancient Silvanesti but had fallen into disuse. Speaker of the Stars Sithas distrusted the Brown Hoods, during his reign a more laborious method of griffon-bonding had been favored. The tath-maniya faded away in the land of its birth, but the knowledge of it was preserved in Qualinesti as part of the training given the heir to the Speaker of the Sun.

When the total number of captured griffons swelled to twenty-nine, the elves ran out of harnesses strong enough to restrain them. Alhana counseled that they proceed with what they had rather than risk losing animals due to inadequate materials. After a few days’ wait for the necessary moonless night, Porthios assembled the sacred circle. Chathendor assisted him. The old chamberlain had trained long ago as a priest of E’li, and he knew how to consecrate ground for many types of rites.

The first griffon to undergo the tath-maniya would be the eldest male Golden, by far the largest beast the elves had caught. He was the hardest to control because of his size and strength. I Taming him would ease the strain on the elves’ resources.

Alhana wanted to be the first rider bonded, but her reason for wanting that was precisely the reason the others refused to allow it. She mustn’t be the test case. If something went wrong, she could be injured, perhaps killed. Even Porthios was against it. He spoke a few quiet words to her, and she insisted no more, drawing a little away from the rest of the group.

Kerian was surprised by Alhana’s meek acquiescence and Porthios’s sentimentality. As the others continued to wrangle, she went to Alhana. Before she could ask what had passed between them, Alhana told her, roughening her voice in a parody of Porthios’s hoarse tone. “Save your noble sacrifice, lady. This requires a warrior.”

Kerian protested, but Alhana said, “He’s right.” A rueful smile quirked her mouth. “Though that didn’t lessen my desire to denounce him for saying it. I thought it better to remove myself from the temptation.”

The wrangling had ended. Samar would be the first to at- tempt the bonding. Kerian did not argue. She intended to have one of the beasts for herself, but she didn’t need to be first. Looking very pleased, Samar went to prepare himself.

The sun would set in a few hours. Above the eastern peaks, clouds billowed, dull purple below and roseate on their tops. Kerian wondered if they presaged rain. Her idle speculation was interrupted by a command from Porthios.

“I need griffon’s blood-one gill. Fresh, not drained from a carcass.” He thrust a clay cup at her.

She jerked the cup from his hand and went. As she walked away, a grin flashed over her face. Her lack of argument had so startled Porthios, he’d nearly dropped the cup.

A gill was only a quarter pint. No animal would die from losing that amount. After the nuisance Hytanthas had made of himself over it, she intended he should be the one to collect the blood.

She found him by the griffon corral. When he saw her approaching, he stood quickly. His three helpers, roused from their naps, slowly imitated him.

“It’s time,” said Kerian, holding out the clay cup. “Orexas needs a quarter pint of fresh griffon blood.”

He stared at the container. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

He took the cup and drew his sword. Before she could stop him, he vaulted into the corral-not the section that contained the smallest, yearling griffon, but the portion in which resided only mature beasts. All the griffons were asleep, lying with heads tucked under their pinioned wings. The elves had hobbled both sets of their dangerous feet and tied their beaks closed with broad leather straps.

Kerian hissed at him to stop, but it was too late. At Hytanthas’s abrupt entrance, griffon heads rose in unison, and the creatures watched him with predatory eyes. Disdaining the rest, Hytanthas made straight for the