City of Death (14 page)

As at Kles's home, there were sleek, lithe sports griffins, hulking war griffins, and the hunting griffins whose bodies were larger than the first sort and smaller than the second. Grooms were busy brushing the tangles out of the griffins shaggy winter coats or trimming them or burnishing their claws. Still others bore buckets of food for their charges or rubbed lotion into the leathery pads of the griffins' paws, which had grown so hard they were in danger of cracking. Another group were either repairing or polishing the griffins' tack and gear.

Everywhere, they and their grooms bowed to her father—
and maybe to me too,
she thought with secret pleasure.

And as he sat proudly on her father's arm, there was no doubt in Kles's mind that the eyrie inhabitants were honoring his mistress—and himself too in her reflected glory.

The air grew chillier as they reached a doorway opening onto a wide ledge where a group of griffins circled in the sky.

Lord Tsirauñe gazed up with satisfaction. “Now that's the way humans were meant to fly, not in some metal box of an airplane. It takes centuries for Nature—”

“—to work out all the kinks,” Lady Sudarshane finished for him and patted his arm indulgently.

A large white war griffin stood off to their right. It was Árkwi, her father's riding companion. Next to him was her mother's griffin, Kwele.

“No, no. Steady strokes,” Árkwi shouted to a young brown griffin who was flapping his wings so frantically that he moved jerkily through the sky. He fluttered his own wings in illustration, creating a breeze that made Scirye's robe flap against her ankles. “You're not trying to put out a fire.”

While Kles would always be her favorite and best of griffins, Árkwi would have been the handsomest.

“Look who came to visit,” her mother said.

Árkwi sniffed the air. “I'd know that scent anywhere,” he said and spun around. “Skee!” Skee had been Árkwi's pet name for Scirye.

When Scirye buried her face against Árkwi's massive chest, his smell seemed as familiar to her as hers had been to him. His huge paw covered a quarter of her back when he patted her. “I couldn't have been prouder of you than if you'd been my own hatchling.” With his free paw, he gestured to a human groom who took a battered paper sack from his pocket and handed it to Árkwi.

Pinching the bag's top between his claws, the griffin presented it to Scirye. “There wasn't time for us to fetch it earlier. Here.”

When Scirye took it, she shook out some lumps of jellied candy in the shape of stars and moons.

As Scirye stared at them blankly, her mother cleared her throat. “How sweet, Árkwi,” she said, dropping a hint to her daughter. “You remembered Scirye's favorites.”

Árkwi fluttered his wings pleased. “How could I forget?”

And Kwele laughed. “Scirye's cheeks were always bulging with them.”

That had been so long ago. Scirye cautiously tasted one with the tip of her tongue. The flavor brought back a flood of memories and she popped it in. “Thank you.”

Árkwi waved his paw. “Welcome home, Skee.”

Kles's fur and feathers puffed out in irritation. “It is Lady Scirye.” Was he jealous of Árkwi as she had been of the princess?

Árkwi blinked and regarded the little griffin. “Not to old friends.”

“Even so,” Kles argued, “nicknames aren't suitable for a hero of the empire.”

Scirye reached over and stroked Kles's back as he stood upon her father's wrist. The little griffin's muscles felt very tense. He was a moment away from starting a brawl with a war griffin whose paw was as big as Kles himself. “It's all right, Kles. I don't mind if it's Árkwi.”

“As you wish,” Kles said stiffly, as his fur and feathers flattened again.

Árkwi nodded his head to Scirye. “Now if you'll excuse us, Skee, we have to see to the training of the new arrivals.”

Though the griffin eyries sent only their elite to serve the emperor, none met Árkwi and Kwele's high standards.

“But when those foolish charges are dropped, perhaps we might go for a flight,” Kwele added. Apparently, even the griffins of the eyrie kept track of the intrigues at court.

“I'd like that,” Scirye said.

When they re-entered the imperial eyrie, her father took them off to the right, beaming as he pointed to a spot low down on a large wooden doorframe. “See that? That's the last notch I made before you left home.” He slipped his knife from its sheath. “Stand against it so I can mark your height now.”

Scirye smiled. “I'm too old for that.”

The knife dangled in her father's hand as he gazed puzzled at Scirye. “Well, you may be taller, but that doesn't make you tall enough.”

Her mother clasped Scirye's marked hand and held it tight. “I think what your father means is that you can go back to being yourself. You don't have to try to be a hero anymore.”

“Yes, you're home safe now,” her father said. “Leave this to older and wiser heads.”

Scirye wanted to do just that, but she thought of her pact with M
ā
ka. She couldn't quit now. The mark on her hand felt hot, as if she were holding a warm cup of tea. “The goddess chose me. I can't stay. I made a vow.”

Her mother caressed Scirye's cheek. “It was very rash, and you've been very lucky, my lare.” Lare was “beloved” in the Old Tongue and only used for the special people in one's life.

“We may have been lucky,” Scirye argued, “but we've also been very brave and very smart.”

“I've already spoken with the goddess's priestesses and they release you from your vow,” her mother said soothingly.

It would be so nice to stop the quest and let others take care of Roland and Badik. She thought of her conversation yesterday with M
ā
ka. If ever there was someone with less aptitude for magic, it was M
ā
ka—and yet she kept trying. With the world at stake, Scirye couldn't give up either.

“I wish it were that easy,” Scirye said, trying to explain what she felt inside. “But this is between me and the goddess. Only She can release me.”

“It's better not to meddle in heavenly matters.” Her father frowned sternly. It was a look that made large war griffins bow their heads obediently. “We are not letting you kill yourself, young lady.”

Her mother held up her free hand. “She's not one of your griffin hatchlings, dear.”

Her father scratched behind his ear. “Yes, it's a lot easier to tell them what to do.”

Kles rose from her father's wrist to land on Scirye's shoulder where he turned. “Lord Tsirauñe and Lady Sudarshane,” he said, speaking for her as he so often did. “I know you would like to think Lady Scirye is still little so you can keep her from harm. But you cannot.”

Scirye looked back and forth between her parents. They were treating her like a reckless child playing with matches, but she had fought monsters, escaped magical traps, and traveled vast distances. She was no longer small and helpless, and yet her parents were still treating her as if she were. They didn't want to accept that her adventures might have changed her.

Nor had they grasped an even more awkward truth: It was Scirye who was protecting them and not the other way around. And she would go on keeping them safe whether they wanted it or not.

She suddenly became aware of the gulf between her and her parents and it saddened her. Was this what growing up was like? And compared to battling Roland and Badik, it was silly to fight over measuring herself. Better to indulge her parents and enjoy what might be her last time with them.

“Yes, take my height for old time's sake,” she said and set her back against the beam.

As her father scored the wood with his blade, Scirye felt guilty. The last thing Scirye wanted to do was to hurt her parents' feelings, but she knew she would have to leave.

And soon.

 

23

Leech

Despite the luxurious beds, Leech had tossed and turned the whole night, wondering if Bayang knew about the Voice and what she would do. The strange thing was that he was more upset about losing her friendship than about losing his own life. After years in the orphanage and then the streets, he did not trust many people, so he treasured his few friends. Even when she had nagged him, he knew deep down that it was out of concern for him.

Leech was sitting by a window as the late-morning sun streamed through the glass while he tried to figure out what to do.

You've got too big of a mouth,
the Voice whined.
Why did you have to make the dragon suspicious?

For all of the Voice's skill at flying and fighting, Leech realized the Voice was still a young boy who let his feelings whipsaw him back and forth instead of controlling them. Could the Voice learn to master his fear and anger?

Who knew? Bayang had always cut that process short before that could happen in previous lives.

Leech tried to calm the hysterical Voice.
She promised not to kill me.

She gave that oath to you, not to me,
the Voice pouted.
She can claim the deal is off.

Leech looked anxiously in the direction of Bayang's room. Just across the hall, the dragon would not have to go very far to hunt the Voice down. And yet even as that thought came to him, something else teased his mind just out of reach—something that lay beyond the obvious bond between Bayang and the Voice, the Hunter and the Hunted. But what?

He lost his train of thought when a miniature badger leaned against Leech's boot. “I'm going to get the hang of this if it kills me,” he said in a tiny voice as he drew a paw across a furry brow.

Dozens more slumped against his feet, too exhausted to complain. He was actually ankle deep in little Kokos.

“Maybe you don't have the personality to change into a tiger,” Leech hinted. The little badgers shimmered, merging together into a full-sized Koko.

“When you're in the main ring, you got to play it big.” Koko threw himself onto a cushioned divan. “But this shape-shifting works up an appetite.” Picking up a small bell from a nearby table, he rang it. When an Indian servant in a turban entered, the badger said grandly, “Jamir, bring me one of everything on the breakfast menu.” He sniffed a foreleg. “And then maybe run another tub for me.”

Jamir didn't blink an eye. “Sir, rose petals or jasmine blossoms?”

“Oh, what the heck. I deserve both,” Koko said breezily.

When Leech caught a whiff of his friend, he fought back a sneeze. Koko had already taken so many perfumed baths that he reeked of scent. Cleanliness was even more important to the badger than his usual greed and gluttony, but Momo's comment about his aroma yesterday had driven him into a frenzy of soaping and scrubbing. “You're going to rub off your fur if you keep this up.”

Koko brushed a foreleg. “Got to look good for dollface.”

Since they had arrived, Momo was all that Koko talked about, which was making Leech feel a little jealous. But he quickly told himself to get over that. In all the time that Leech had been with Koko, he'd never met another badger until now. Perhaps Koko was lonely for his own kind.

In a little while, Jamir returned with a tray heaped with food, and after serving them, went into the bathroom to prepare a bath for Koko.

Leech watched Koko wolf down slices of roast lamb, lamb in a piece of flat bread, and then lamb covered in pomegranate sauce. “Slow down, will you? What's Momo going to say when you blimp out?”

Koko sucked the sauce from his claw tips. “She'll tell you that a badger's belly is his glory.”

Careful not to get jabbed by Koko's fork, Leech took a hard-boiled egg. “Any more glory and it's going to take two griffins to carry you.”

A gong began booming through the citadel. The very rock beneath his feet seemed to vibrate. Voices began to shout outside.

Hurrying to the door, Leech stepped outside. A male servant was running down the hallway, his sandals slapping the floor. He was in an Indian robe but the material was a green, yellow, and black plaid. “You'll come with me to your quarters.”

Leech managed to snare the man's arm as he tried to pass. “What's going on?”

The man blinked as if he'd been so preoccupied that he hadn't noticed the boy. He babbled something in Kushan.

Leech looked around until he found Jamir had come to the bedroom doorway. Their servant looked as panicked as the man in Leech's grip.

“The axes,” Jamir translated shrilly, “the axes are gone.”

Leech blinked. “Axes? You mean the ones we took from the museum?”

“Sir, the sacred double axes never leave here. Anything you had were simply imitations of them,” Jamir said. When Leech still looked blank, the servant struggled to explain. “The sacred axes are symbols of the empire. It … it is like kidnapping His Imperial Highness himself.”

Well,
Leech thought with relief,
I know Koko didn't take them.
The boy had been up all night listening to the badger snoring.
From all the uproar inside and outside the palace, someone was in big trouble. And for once, it isn't us.

The servant Leech was holding gave the boy an exasperated push and started to run on even as the boy fell against one of Bayang's double doors.

The door flew open under his weight and he fell onto the floor of Bayang's room. That set off four maids crying out in surprise.

Embarrassed, Leech scrambled to his feet and looked about for his friend. “Bayang?” he asked.

One of them replied in accented English. “She is not here.” The maid gestured to the bed. “That was cold when we came in this morning. Maybe she not even sleep here.”

Leech had a bad feeling about this. Where was Bayang?

 

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