Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar

Treyvan loomed beside Darkwind and studied the map, twitching his massive wings a few times. “K’Valdemar Vale,” Darkwind surmised, and tapped a fingertip on the map symbol. “He might be from there. Firesong’s new roost. They’re near Kelmskeep, they’ve got a wing of gryphons, and they’re threatened by the land grab. Assuming Kelmskeep and k’Valdemar are on good terms, they may have gotten gryphons to fly scout. Bondbirds can only do so much. Range and stamina would all be improved by a healthy gryphon.”

Elspeth folded her arms. “Yes. Well. It sounds like all aid available’s been given to him,” and she eyeballed Treyvan, “and it’s failing. We only have so many Heralds and Healers, and they’re more concerned about the hundreds of troops digging in. I don’t much like the news from the north.” She reached out and tapped her baton against the largest of the table maps. “It’s more delicate than you might first think. For reasons we still don’t understand, these insurgent leaders feel justified in seizing power and using force. But if we go in and squash that dissent—militarily—we send a poor message to the rest of Valdemar.”

“And allies and rival states,” Darkwind pointed out. “The famed free country of Valdemar, open to refugees and the oppressed—its population pounded into submission.” He leafed through other dispatches, laying them out to match their approximate places of origin on the map. “But we have heard the Bell ring twice since this began. This situation cannot stand, but handling it poorly could do great long-term damage socially.” If anyone was aware of things in the long term, it would be one of the Hawkbrothers who’d think of it.

“Socially, yes, but our agents report the situation began economically. We’ve just sent the Skybolts and what regulars we can spare. Turning in on ourselves, after so many outside threats—it doesn’t feel right. The timing of it. I don’t think we know enough about action at the front . . .” she trailed off, seeing Treyvan—pacing. His raptorial eyes, crystal-sharp, appeared to be focused on nothing in particular, as if he was preoccupied. “What is it?” she asked of him, while a clerk handed her a new stack of notes to be signed.

The gryphon turned his attention back to the others by the table, explaining for the adjuncts’ benefit. “Therrre arrre many waysss forrr a grrryphon to die,” he began, rolling his Rs and hissing the sibillants in the accent all gryphons bore when speaking Valdemaran. “Assside frrrom the usssual overrrcasssting risssksss, frrrom headachesss to unwanted combussstion, overrrworrrk of magerrry can lead to deadly maladiesss, in grrryphonsss. It isss why we take sssuch carrre. The more unssskilled the casssterrr, the morrre enerrrgy isss usssed forrr a ssspell. The ssspell purrrpossse—itsss dirrrective ssstrrructurrre—trrriesss many posssible sssolutionsss to compensssate forrr the lack of prrrecssisssion. Each attempt usssesss powerrr, and then demandsss morrre forrr the next attempt to begin. Without knowledge of the ssspecif—”

“The point?” Darkwind asked, cutting off what might have become one of Treyvan’s infamous lectures on magic theory.

Treyvan shot Darkwind an indignant glance. “You humansss have lesss rrrisssk in magerrry becaussse you can live without it. We live by magic powerrr morrre than food and drrrink. It isss one of hundrrredsss of rrreasssonsss why even cssenturrriesss afterrr ourrr crrreation, we rrrequirrre trondi’irn forrr conssstant help jussst to sssurrrvive. We arrre sssusstained by the converrrsion of magical enerrrgy jussst to live, brrreathe, and move. If a grrryphon pushesss too farrr, vital sssystemsss will ceassse theirrr functionsss. Even losssing too many featherrrsss can kill a grrryphon, becaussse we mussst collect the frrree-field, orrr asss Masssterrr Levy callsss it, parrrticulate magical enerrrgy thrrrough them into the featherrr corrresss, sssocketsss, and frrrom therrre into the interrrlacssed sssyssstemsss of . . .”

“That point you were getting to, Treyvan?” Darkwind prompted again.

“Hurrrhhh. Free-field enerrrgy isss denssserrr sssincsse the Ssstorrrmsss, and ssso, easierrr to sssift frrrom the airrr. A grrryphon ssspellworrrkerrr, asss the dissspatch indicatesss thisss one isss, could heal himssself, if he could heal anotherrr. But the changesss sssincsse the Ssstorrrmsss have made mossst of Valdemarrr—hazy. Like a fog, magically. And any . . . dozen . . . thingsss could be wrrrong, jussst frrrom indissscrrriminate ssspellworrrk alone.”

Darkwind nodded. “Indi’ta kusk, for example. Tcha’ki’situsk. In k’Leshyan, gryphon heavy injuries translate to ‘ruins.’ Most deep injuries cascade into worse bodily failures, and are ultimately lethal. If it is, say, a nullment ruin, hirs’ka’usk, then even what we consider ‘normal’ organs will falter as a result of the magic conversion organs waning.”