Windbreak: Gryphon Riders Book Three (Gryphon Riders Trilogy 3) Page 2

  Tahl raised a bottle wrapped in cloth and jerked his head down the hall. “I’ve got a better idea. Grab a blanket.”

  Eva knew what he had in mind: their secret spot on a ledge overlooking the city. Between the conversation with her uncle and the cold flight, Eva hardly wanted to leave the comfort of her room. But instead of insisting they stay in, Eva found herself grabbing a blanket.

  Outside, they settled down on the cold stone. A shiver ran through Eva, as much from the feel of Tahl’s arms wrapping around her as the cold. She realized the last time they’d been there together was the night before she’d freed Chel from the dungeon and sneaked away with Sigrid and Ivan by cover of darkness.

  “I missed this.” Now that they were there and the blanket started to warm her, Eva was glad she’d come.

  “I missed you.”

  Tahl leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

  Eva felt another rush of warmth and twisted around to face him.

  “You missed.”

  They both snorted at the weak joke and kissed again.

  For a long time after, neither spoke. They contented themselves staring down at the twinkling lights of Rhylance’s capital, Gryfonesse, below and sipping Tahl’s mulled cider.

  “Things are going to change around here.”

  Eva could only nod in agreement. Tahl had no idea and she didn’t feel like ruining the night with more talk about war and politics and responsibility. But as they sat there longer, the feeling gnawed away at Eva until she could ignore it no longer.

  “I have to tell you something.”

  “Hmm?”

  She told Tahl about the council, the First Forge and, most importantly, her appointment to Princess of Rhylance.

  “I’ve only got one question,” Tahl said when Eva finished. “Is the appropriate title your grace, your eminence or most exalted princess?”

  Eva turned around and punched his shoulder. “Oh, ha-ha.” She pretended to pout, then added in a soft voice, “Your grace is preferable.”

  Tahl laughed and pulled her tighter, sending Eva’s heart fluttering. “A thousand pardons, your grace,” he said. “I guess, I should have realized…should have known.”

  “Known what?” Eva said. After the laughter faded, he’d grown aloof again. She turned around, pulling away from Tahl’s arms to get a read on his face.

  “Well…” Eva could feel him shifting uncomfortably against her. And then it dawned on Eva and she realized she was an idiot.

  “You know I love you, what does me being heir to the throne have to do with anything?”

  “Because,” Tahl said, “you’re going to be queen someday and I’m just…just some farm boy who happened to become a gryphon rider and happened to luck out at being good at fighting and flying.”

  Eva snorted. Everyone in the Gyr knew Tahl was one of the most skilled Windsworn in years — maybe since Aleron, her father. By comparison, Eva’s skills as a rider made her look like a duck trying to pass as an eagle.

  “Certainly the almighty Tahl, the golden boy of the Gyr isn’t being self-conscious right now, is he?” she asked, laughing.

  “I’m serious!” Tahl gave her a soft, exasperated shove. “Blood matters with these things. And mine’s about as common as it comes!”

  Eva cupped his face in her hands and pulled him in for a long kiss. “That doesn’t matter to me,” she whispered when they parted. She drew in a quick breath to stop her head from spinning.

  “Marry me.”

  The spinning stopped.

  Eva stared. She searched for something, anything, but her mind wouldn’t form the words. Instead, she kissed Tahl again.

  “Is that a yes?” Tahl asked, grinning when they pulled apart.

  “No,” Eva said. “Because you haven’t asked me yet!”

  “Evelyn, Princess of Rhylance and heir to the Winged Throne, will you marry me, your grace?”

  Eva didn’t think about armies of Smelterborn and Juarag warriors. She didn’t think about being the princess. She didn’t think about anything but one word.

  “Yes! YES!”

  Chapter Three

  “Just relax,” Tahl said for the hundredth time.

  “I. Am. Relaxed,” Eva replied through gritted teeth.

  Behind her, Sigrid snorted. “You two are like a couple of old married folks, snapping at each other and mumbling under your breath.”

  Eva flinched but otherwise ignored the jibe. She and Tahl had agreed to keep the news of their engagement between the two of them for the time being until they at least had a moment to break the news to her uncles. Although she knew Sigrid couldn’t possibly have any idea, the errant comment struck close to home. Eva tried to ignore the pinching in her stomach and focused on the figures approaching from the Juarag camp off in the distance.

  This was their fourth stop and the fourth tribe she’d reached out to for peace talks. After almost a week of flying through the snow and camping in the cold, Eva had no idea what they had to show for it. Winter had left the Juarag ill-prepared to face the bitter western chinooks blowing down from the Windswept mountains on their way across the Endless Plains.

  Each camp looked the same: a scattering of hide tents cased in ice, leaning from the drifts piled against their poles. The people looked worse: half-starved, haggard and desperate. The sabercats they saw were as lean as their riders. More than once, Eva thought the hungry beasts would attack the gryphons, desperate as they looked for fresh meat. Half-eaten carcasses proved they had no aversion to eating their own kind given the chance.

  The awful weather impeded their progress more than anticipated. Most of the tribes were within a couple day’s flight of one another at most, but each group answered to a separate chieftain. No one could give her a count before she left Rhylance but Eva guessed there were close to a dozen different warchiefs in all. The lack of central leadership made her diplomatic mission even more prolonged and stressful.

  So far, two had agreed to King Adelar’s terms while another remained undecided. The most recent, a giant of a woman riding a black and gray-streaked sabercat, would accept peace if Rhylance would feed them for the winter followed by an annual tribute of gold and weapons. Wide-eyed, Eva told the warchief she would have to speak with the king before she could make any such arrangement. She had no idea what the woman would have done had Eva told the Juarag no outright.

  Rumor had it that the chieftain they were meeting with today, however, had influence over the entire council of warchiefs. Chel said his name was Arapheem. His tribe was the largest of the Juarag — the most warriors and the most sabercats. Chel believed if they could convince Arapheem to join their cause, the reluctant tribes would fall in line as well.

  The Juarag’s reaction to Chel was cool at best. Marked as an outcast — which they called Juarag-Vo — some openly spat on the ground at the sight of her, even if they begrudgingly showed her respect due to her place among the gryphon riders. One warchief had offered to provide Eva with a new translator, explaining in broken Westernese that Chel was unfit for such a role. Certainly, aside from knowing the language, Chel provided them with no diplomatic advantages.

  Eva suppressed a shiver as a gust of wind rose up, swirling snow around them. Another gust cleared the flurries between her party and the Juarag. Arapheem looked the part of a mighty Juarag warchief. His dark brown sabercat’s muscles bulged against its scarred hide. The man wore a thick buffalo robe and half the hair on his head was shaved away. Orange war paint covered his face in sharp contrast to his earthy skin. Mounted warriors on full-grown sabercats flanked their chieftain, fully armed and scowling. Eva shivered again when she spotted a pair of shamans trailing behind the party — a man and a woman scarred and tattooed with runes. The white paint daubed on their heads made them look like skulls.

  Behind her, Ivan cursed as the pair drew near. She knew the Scrawls had no love for the Juarag shamans — users of rune magic who, it was rumored, dabbled in blood magics and other dark sorcery. Whereas
the Scrawls retained some of the knowledge of the ancient Palantines after the collapse of their civilization, the Juarag’s magic hearkened back to older, darker, and wilder eras.

  To show their peaceful intent, Eva insisted the gryphons remain a few dozen paces behind them, close enough to aid them if the Juarag proved treacherous but far enough away not to be construed as a threat. Arapheem, on the other hand, had no such reservations. His sabercat sauntered closer until its snarling, battered muzzle and yellowed, dagger-length teeth were within an arm’s reach of Eva’s face. She’d been this close to a sabercat before — it’d done it’s best to eat her and she had no desire to repeat the experience. Although she shook in her boots, Eva forced her fears into the hard, frozen ground and held her place, fists clenched.

  Avoiding the menacing feline eyes of the sabercat, Eva looked up at Arapheem. A long moment passed before his shoulders lifted in a small shrug and he jumped off his mount. Chel took her place at Eva’s side as the warchief drew even with them and held his hand out in front of him, palm down in the traditional greeting.

  Eva did the same, holding her hand, even with Arapheem’s. Satisfied, the warchief waved his sabercat away. With a reluctant snarl, the enormous feline took a few steps and returned to the group of warriors and shamans standing watch a few paces from their leader.

  “Greetings, Arapheem, mighty chief of the Juarag,” Eva said in a loud, clear voice. Her legs might’ve been quaking but she forced herself to sound calm and collected.

  Chel started to repeat the message in the Juarag tongue until the warchief halted her with his hand. “There is no need. Let us speak in your tongue, Eva-lyn Bloodrider.”

  Bloodrider. She didn’t know how the moniker had spread so swiftly among the Juarag but that was what they called her, the rider of the blood-colored gryphon. Eva did her best to hide her surprise at the man’s near perfect use of her own language. The warchief seemed to notice regardless. “We are not all the mindless savages you would paint us out to be.”

  “I apologize for my ignorance,” Eva said. “You honor me with the use of our words — perhaps one day, I will speak your tongue as well as you do mine.”

  Arapheem gave a thin smile. “Perhaps one day, all sky people will speak our tongue, eh?”

  The threat was hard to miss. Eva heard grumbling behind her, and guessed someone — Sigrid, most likely — had reached for their weapon. Across from her, the Juarag’s hands drifted to their own clubs, spears, and swords.

  “Perhaps, but today we are here to discuss peace, not war,” Eva said. She glanced backward and shot a glare at Sigrid who froze halfway through drawing her ax. “Neither of our languages will be spoken if the Smelterborn kill us all.”

  “The iron giants.” Arapheem spat on the frozen earth at his feet. “They are a curse upon this land.”

  “They must be stopped,” Eva agreed. “In this, we have a common cause.”

  “They must be stopped,” Arapheem nodded, “but that does not mean the sky people are not our enemies too.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way,” Eva said, hoping the sudden anxiety she felt at the chieftain’s tone wasn’t apparent in her voice. “The Juarag are trapped between the hammer and the anvil. What does it accomplish to fight two wars at once?”

  “Do you not think us up to the task?” The warchief swept a hand behind him at his warriors, who straightened a little on the backs of their sabercats, poking out their chests and raising their chins “Perhaps we should break the hammer now? What do you say to that, Bloodrider? The Smelterborn might not be a worry to us if we sat inside your stone walls.

  “I do not doubt the strength of the Juarag,” Eva said. “But you face not only Rhylance but Pandion, Maizoro and the Scrawls as well. Even if you were to defeat our combined armies, the Smelterborn would still be waiting and who would be left to fight them? Is Altaris not big enough for all of us to live in peace once the iron giants are gone?”

  Arapheem’s eyes narrowed. “You tell me, Bloodrider. It was your people who came over the western mountains in the days of my grandfathers and drove us east. Any blood we have shed since was only to reclaim what was rightfully ours.”

  Eva knew she was flying in rough skies. Arapheem was testing her. With the right words, she could still win him over. Say something wrong and there would be blood then and there. It all hinged on what she chose to say next.

  “The raiding of our outposts and the driving of your people away from the foothills are both in the past,” Eva said, trying to put some stone in her voice. “We can argue about who has killed who the most or we can work together to defeat the Smelterborn. The golems do not care if it is winter or summer, how cold it is or how deep the snow falls. They will keep coming. Together, we can defeat them.”

  “These are lies,” one of the shamans growled from beside his war cat. “The sky people think they can trick us. They —”

  Arapheem held up a hand and the other man fell silent.

  “What would it benefit us to trick you?” Eva said. “If we wanted to see the Juarag destroyed, we would leave you to the weather and the Smelterborn.”

  “What is this way of defeating the iron giants?” Arapheem asked. “How is it done?”

  Eva hesitated. Had she succeeded or was this still a test?

  “My uncle, King Adelar of Rhylance, asks you to join us at council, in three week’s time. He would also ask that you use your influence among the other Juarag tribes to convince them to do the same. I have spoken with some and not all understand reason.”

  “Hmm,” Arapheem looked past Eva, up at the peaks of the Windswepts in the distance. “How will I assure the other chieftains this is not a trap?”

  “We will meet at Eagle’s Point,” Eva said, pointing to a cluster of mountains shooting off from the main body of the Windswepts. “In the ruins, on neutral ground. To show his good faith, the king has agreed to send blankets and additional supplies to any tribe who would have them.”

  “Your uncle is a desperate man,” Arapheem said, “to give so much without any guarantee in return.”

  “The king is a trusting man,” Eva said. “And in the face of complete destruction, what other course is there to take?”

  “You have my word the Earthfang tribe will honor this agreement,” Arapheem said. “But I cannot speak for the other warchiefs until a council is held.”

  Eva nodded. “I understand. We will return in two week’s time for their answer. Will that allow you to get word to them?”

  “It will be done,” Arapheem said. He stretched out his hand and he and Eva grasped forearms. She fought to keep her hand clenched. The man’s grip made her arm and fingers tingle from the pressure. “I am honored by your visit, Bloodrider. I will do what I can to make this alliance so.”

  Eva fought back the urge to sigh, laugh or cry all at once. Instead, she gave a curt nod, releasing her grip first, as was polite. “We will meet soon.”

  Walking away, Eva felt like her legs were cherry-red metal bars, ready to buckle at any moment. Back at their gryphons, Sigrid slapped her on the back, and Ivan and Chel offered their congratulations.

  “Looks like you were cut out for this diplomatic business after all,” Tahl said, giving her a one-armed hug.

  Eva smiled. A small measure of relief settling over her as she climbed into Fury’s saddle. Deep down, however, she knew the struggle had only begun.

  Chapter Four

  The wind howled around the rocks of Eagle’s Point, driving biting snow at Eva’s cheeks and nose, the only areas not protected by thick furs. The Point, which appeared to have been a lookout post of some sorts in ages past, had little to offer in way of protection. The remaining rings of broken stones poked through the drifts like cracked, rotted teeth.

  “The Scrawls believe this was once a site of power, used to observe the movement of the stars, sun, and moon throughout the seasons.” Ivan’s voice sounded muffled behind a thick scarf wrapped around the lower part of his face.

/>   “I don’t give a flying feather about this hole, even if the sky-cursed First Forge is buried beneath all this snow,” Sigrid snapped. Ice crusted her eyelids and the tips of her spiky dark hair protruding from her hood. “And I’m tired of all this talking, especially when I have to freeze my ass off to listen to it. Let’s fight the Smelterborn already and stop babbling on about it!”

  The gryphons were as miserable and irritated as Sigrid, snapping at one another beneath a coat of sleet frozen to their fur. Eva had to agree. They’d counseled and debated long enough. She hoped the Juarag were miserable enough to keep the negotiations short — and agreeable.

  Regardless of the foul weather, the two parties boasted an array of people the likes of which Eagle’s Point had probably never seen. In addition to the lord commander and dozens of Windsworn, King Adelar attended with his own wing of gryphon riders pledged to his defense.

  Tahl numbered among them, chosen by the king to be among his honor guard for the occasion. Eva saw him now, standing across the large flat space of rock, hooded cloak drawn over his head, hands on the hilt of his sword, scanning for danger. In spite of the added worry his position caused her, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride watching him among the other elite riders. Still, she would have preferred him by her side, if nothing else, to provide some added warmth.

  The high mountain passes from Rhylance were buried in deep snow, meaning all attendees from the western side of the Windswepts had to be flown in. In addition to the twenty or so Sorondarans, there were also a half-dozen Scrawl Elders who had been fit enough to make the freezing journey over the mountains to represent their peoples.

  A handful of delegates from Pandion and Maizoro came as well. Each shivered in their furs and robes, unused to the biting cold of the mountains compared to the temperate coast and northlands from which they hailed. Eva couldn’t imagine a place more different from the mild coasts and sun-drenched farmlands than the bleak rock of Eagle’s Point.