Shard, but spoke with frightening, voiceless howls.
True to his word, Mayka woke Kjorn at the first dull light of morning, when the wolf was on watch. Before moving, Kjorn looked around to get a bearing on the other rogues. Frida and Fraenir huddled, asleep in a tight pile like siblings, and Rok had curled up alone a single leap away.
Mayka nudged Kjorn, assuring him they were fast asleep. Kjorn slithered forward out of the seaweed binds. They fell and flopped away with soft thumps on the ground. Kjorn paused, ears twitching. Fraenir grumbled in his sleep before nuzzling in closer to Frida. Kjorn let his breath out.
The dull light glinted off the delicate golden chain that Rok wore around his neck, though brown feathers hid much of it from sight. Kjorn stared at the chain. Perhaps he could slip it loose, and still creep away without risking a fight against three gryfons. He took a step toward Rok.
“Son of Sverin,” Mayka breathed. “Don’t be foolish.”
Kjorn’s tail twitched, then he turned away. It was only a thing. Only metal. It wasn’t his father. He looked up. Above him, the sky stretched cloudless and dark, still pricked with stars. A rosy gray over the sea marked Tyr’s horizon. For the first time in many days, he opened his wings. Wary of debilitating cramps, he extended them slowly, feeling the long muscles uncoil and warm. He crept away, still stretching his wings so that when he lifted off the draft wouldn’t wake his captors.
“Fly,” Mayka urged, padding up beside him, a soft whine creeping into his words. “Fly!”
“Thank you,” Kjorn said, crouching. “If I ever have a chance to repay you—”
Mayka butted his head against Kjorn and he shoved up, flapping hard in the cool air. He would fly inland. He knew that the Dawn Spire lay inland, and if he flew high he’d either spot it, or be spotted by a patrol. Beyond that, he could only have faith.
Shouts drew his gaze down. Rok had woken. Fraenir and Frida shot into the air like falcons and Kjorn wheeled up high, finding a sliver of warm air to help him.
Fraenir, faster than he appeared, gained air and snagged Kjorn’s tail feathers in his claws. Kjorn tucked down and stooped, his battle cry piercing the morning. Fraenir ducked, yanking free and sending one golden feather fluttering toward the ground.
Rok barreled up toward them, wing beats hard and deep. Frida climbed the sky a leap above Kjorn, surely planning to dive on him.
“I offered you a chance!” Kjorn shouted, banking sharply away as Rok leveled with him, fury in his eyes. “I still offer you redemption and a chance to serve with honor.”
Rok only hissed. Fraenir fell away in deference, and Kjorn, refusing to flee, flared his wings to meet the lanky gryfon’s charge. He had a longer reach than Kjorn, but Kjorn was heavier, better nourished and muscled.
If I’m to prove I’m a prince, let it be here.
He hissed, and thrust his talons out as Rok crashed into him. They locked claws, wings beating at each other, and Kjorn’s muscles thrilled at the challenge. After a long, helpless, restless winter and a solitary flight over an endless ocean, now was battle.
He would show these rogues the line of Kajar.
Rok shoved his weight forward, trying to turn Kjorn upside down. Kjorn obliged, relaxing and falling back, then kicked the big gryfon’s stomach as they toppled wing over tail. He kicked again as Rok gasped and knocked a wing toward the rogue’s head, slicing flight feathers toward his eyes. Rok threw his head back and the strike caught his neck, making him cough. His talons loosened.
They fell fast, Rok’s wings beating Kjorn’s sides as he strained to keep flying. Kjorn yanked on their locked talons to throw Rok off balance, then let go as Rok flared to keep from bowling forward. Kjorn wrenched his talons free, flapped twice and twisted around to land on Rok’s back.
Fraenir and Frida had hung back, wary of impeding their leader, but now the gryfess screeched
True to his word, Mayka woke Kjorn at the first dull light of morning, when the wolf was on watch. Before moving, Kjorn looked around to get a bearing on the other rogues. Frida and Fraenir huddled, asleep in a tight pile like siblings, and Rok had curled up alone a single leap away.
Mayka nudged Kjorn, assuring him they were fast asleep. Kjorn slithered forward out of the seaweed binds. They fell and flopped away with soft thumps on the ground. Kjorn paused, ears twitching. Fraenir grumbled in his sleep before nuzzling in closer to Frida. Kjorn let his breath out.
The dull light glinted off the delicate golden chain that Rok wore around his neck, though brown feathers hid much of it from sight. Kjorn stared at the chain. Perhaps he could slip it loose, and still creep away without risking a fight against three gryfons. He took a step toward Rok.
“Son of Sverin,” Mayka breathed. “Don’t be foolish.”
Kjorn’s tail twitched, then he turned away. It was only a thing. Only metal. It wasn’t his father. He looked up. Above him, the sky stretched cloudless and dark, still pricked with stars. A rosy gray over the sea marked Tyr’s horizon. For the first time in many days, he opened his wings. Wary of debilitating cramps, he extended them slowly, feeling the long muscles uncoil and warm. He crept away, still stretching his wings so that when he lifted off the draft wouldn’t wake his captors.
“Fly,” Mayka urged, padding up beside him, a soft whine creeping into his words. “Fly!”
“Thank you,” Kjorn said, crouching. “If I ever have a chance to repay you—”
Mayka butted his head against Kjorn and he shoved up, flapping hard in the cool air. He would fly inland. He knew that the Dawn Spire lay inland, and if he flew high he’d either spot it, or be spotted by a patrol. Beyond that, he could only have faith.
Shouts drew his gaze down. Rok had woken. Fraenir and Frida shot into the air like falcons and Kjorn wheeled up high, finding a sliver of warm air to help him.
Fraenir, faster than he appeared, gained air and snagged Kjorn’s tail feathers in his claws. Kjorn tucked down and stooped, his battle cry piercing the morning. Fraenir ducked, yanking free and sending one golden feather fluttering toward the ground.
Rok barreled up toward them, wing beats hard and deep. Frida climbed the sky a leap above Kjorn, surely planning to dive on him.
“I offered you a chance!” Kjorn shouted, banking sharply away as Rok leveled with him, fury in his eyes. “I still offer you redemption and a chance to serve with honor.”
Rok only hissed. Fraenir fell away in deference, and Kjorn, refusing to flee, flared his wings to meet the lanky gryfon’s charge. He had a longer reach than Kjorn, but Kjorn was heavier, better nourished and muscled.
If I’m to prove I’m a prince, let it be here.
He hissed, and thrust his talons out as Rok crashed into him. They locked claws, wings beating at each other, and Kjorn’s muscles thrilled at the challenge. After a long, helpless, restless winter and a solitary flight over an endless ocean, now was battle.
He would show these rogues the line of Kajar.
Rok shoved his weight forward, trying to turn Kjorn upside down. Kjorn obliged, relaxing and falling back, then kicked the big gryfon’s stomach as they toppled wing over tail. He kicked again as Rok gasped and knocked a wing toward the rogue’s head, slicing flight feathers toward his eyes. Rok threw his head back and the strike caught his neck, making him cough. His talons loosened.
They fell fast, Rok’s wings beating Kjorn’s sides as he strained to keep flying. Kjorn yanked on their locked talons to throw Rok off balance, then let go as Rok flared to keep from bowling forward. Kjorn wrenched his talons free, flapped twice and twisted around to land on Rok’s back.
Fraenir and Frida had hung back, wary of impeding their leader, but now the gryfess screeched
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