The White Gryphon

Unless whoever was beneath that shield had something to hide from the priests....

Like more magic? Like— blood-magic?

He had hoped so many times, and had his hopes dashed, that he was afraid to hope this time. And yet—and yet this time all the parameters fit, all of them, and not just some of them.

He waited, and Zhaneel waited, as the water-clock dripped toward three.

Zhaneel suddenly jumped to her feet, uttering a cry that made his ears ring and every hair on his head stand straight up.

"Drake!" she shouted as his heart lurched into a gallop. "Drake, she found him! He is alive!"

Alive, but not necessarily well... according to Zhaneel, Skan was trussed up like a bird for the spit, had been cut on a bit, and had not eaten or drunk since his capture. With his high energy needs, he was not in very good shape at the moment, and he was light-headed with exhaustion. Getting details from a tipsy gryphon through a gryphon with the mind of a child to a gryphon who was giddy with lack of sleep was a lesson in patience.

"Little Kechara is worried about her Papa Skan. I can feel it. She hasn't yet admitted to herself that Skandranon's in trouble, but she can tell something isn't quite right. Skan's been trying to soothe her, but he isn't in very good shape, Drake."

"All right, I want every single detail that she can get from him," Amberdrake said wearily. "I want her to describe everything he's hearing, smelling, and seeing. If he's anywhere in the Palace complex, I might be able to identify the place. The gods know I've walked over every inch of it, looking for clues."

Zhaneel nodded, her eyes closed. "There is the smell of peppers, and of night-trumpet," she said, slowly. "The stone of the wall is a pale yellow, and—it is marble." She lapsed back into silence for a moment. "She looks in his memory, and there are fine furnishings, like the ones in our rooms."

"Could be anywhere," he muttered, mostly to himself. "Could even be out in the city. Damn!"

"Sounds, though. There is no sound of people or traffic, and there are always those sounds in the city," she said, and his heart rose a little. If Skan was somewhere, anywhere,within the complex, it would make things much easier.

"The sound of falling water," Zhaneel continued. "And windchimes, wooden ones. Oh, there are night-singers, nearby, perhaps in a garden!"

That narrowed it down a little, to one of the less-desirable, older sections of the complex. Night-singers, which were a type of singing insect, had fallen out of favor a century or so ago, but no one had bothered to eradicate them from the gardens of those who themselves were not particularly in favor. The fashion now was for birds that sang at night, or no singers at all—or, more accurately, the fashion three generations ago was thus, and nothing had changed.

"Anything else?" he asked, in desperation, as his back and neck clenched with tension. She spasmed her talons in her pillows, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"No—yes!" she said, and her eyes flew open. "There is a sentry, calling the hour, within hearing distance of the room!"

He leaped to his feet, every nerve alive with excitement, his heart racing again. There was only one place where one could hear the hours called as sentries made their rounds, and that was near the outer walls of the huge complex. And because most people did not care to have their sleep disturbed, there was only one building near enough to the walls to hear that—

"He's in the Hall of Fragrant Joy!" Amberdrake said, fiercely. "He has to be!" He thought quickly. "Zhaneel, try to get the priests to let you in to the others. I'll go after him now, while we still have a chance of getting to him before they really hurt him."

"You?" she said incredulously. "You? You are not a fighter! How could you—"

I will not think about this, or I will not have the courage.

"Zhaneel, it is a moonless night and you knowyou don't fly well at night! Skan has enhanced night-vision, but you don't, and if you can't see to fly, you'd have to walk. That puts you on the ground, where you are terribly vulnerable, and that's in the open. Inside—well, I may not be a fighter, but the hallways in that old section of the Palace are narrow, and you would hardly be able to move, much less fight!" He took her head between his hands and looked deeply into her eyes. "And I do notintend to fight! I intend to slip in, find him, turn him loose, and get outof there! If I go now, I can probably manage so that no one notices me. You couldn't be inconspicuous no matter how hard you try."

She made a growling sound but nodded in agreement.

"Go get the others; badger the priests until they let you in," he urged. "Send them after me. Now, I've got to go!"

He was already wearing the best possible clothing for night prowling; his guise of Hawkwind, black-on-black.

She clicked her beak in anxiety for a moment, then appeared to make up her mind, and rushed out the door.

He didn't bother with the door; perhaps he wasn't a fighter, but he hadn't been spending all these years helping to build White Gryphon without learning some rather odd skills for a kestra'chern.

I will not think about this, only do it.

He had a balcony, and it was a lot faster to get to the ground by sliding down the spiral support poles.

And what was more—if their enemies were watching the door, they'd never see him leave.

He went over the balcony railing and hung by his fingertips for a moment, as he felt for the support pole with his feet. In a moment, he had it; he wrapped his legs around it and let go of the railing, sliding down the pole like a naughty boy fleeing confinement to his room.

Except that, unlike the boy, he had no sense of exhilaration. His muscles all shivered, and his heart beat double-time with fear and tension. He was only too aware that he was one man, alone, and that this course was madness.

A moment later, he was crouched in the shadow of the bushes at the foot of the pole, listening for the sounds of anyone else out in the garden. I suppose I could have dropped straight down; one story isn't too far to fall. Yes, but if I'd broken an ankle, I wouldn't be able to do Skan much good now, would I?

He felt the stir of the night breeze against his skin with u

In this case, the best way to be inconspicuous—if a man with a face as pale as his ever wouldbe inconspicuous here—would be to act as if he was going somewhere on orders. So once he made certain there was no one in the immediate area watching him, he stood up, straightened his tunic, and set off for the Hall of Fragrant Joy at a fast walk.

He felt as if there were hundreds of eyes on him, and the skin of his back prickled, as if anticipating an arrow. He wanted to run, but that was hardly the way to remain inconspicuous. No one ran, here. It simply wasn't done.

He couldn't have run in any case; the path was visible only because it was white gravel in the midst of dark green grass. If he tried to run, he'd probably fall and break his neck.