Finally one spoke, her voice quick and dangerously nonchalant. “Where did you learn that?”
“I saw it performed the night before Ariadel was taken. I have a very good memory.”
She frowned. “Apparently so. Come.” With that, and no alteration in her expression, she turned, sweeping down the hallway like a ship at full sail. Vidarian hastened to follow.
The priestess's heels echoed on the marble floor as they traversed a narrow hallway. At her raised hand, the other two gave identical demure nods and turned off at a crossway, disappearing down the passages. After some thirty feet, along which the decorations that filled occasional niches in the walls grew increasingly ornate, they came to a door that swung open under the attention of a grey-robed novice.
Tall and golden-haired, the priestess turned intensely blue eyes on Vidarian as she took a seat before a heavy ebony desk. “Now then,” she said quietly. “What can we do to aid you in your quest to return my Sister?”
“You know her?” Vidarian asked abruptly, surprised to be taken at his word so easily now.
“There are fewer full Sharlin priestesses than you might think. I do know of Ariadel, and the gesture you performed was her sign.”
“I see.” He scrutinized the priestess, but found no strategy. “I need passage to the High Temple at Kara'zul.”
Her demeanor slipped. “What?”
“Passage, I said. To Kara'zul. I must speak with Endera.”
“That is impossible. Only the inducted are permitted to travel to the High Temple.” At his visible umbrage, her brow furrowed. “I myself have been there only once.” When Vidarian did not waver, the priestess spoke again, folding her hands on the desk with earnestness. “I wish to help you, truly, but what you ask is not within my power.”
“Then who should I seek?”
She stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. “If you travel to the foot of the Mountains of Sher'azar, where Kara'zul lies beyond, you will find another conclave of our Order.”
“Sher'azar…those mountains are weeks away.” He spoke mostly to himself, a horrible discouragement sinking down around his shoulders, but she answered.
“Luck is with you in that much. Your crew must stay here, but there is another way for you to go, if you are strong enough.” A glint of speculation shone in her eyes, and it reminded him painfully of Ariadel.
“Show me.”
She smiled. “Go to your crew and tell them of your journey. I will bring the rest to you.”
When Vidarian returned to the cart he saw the crew in a new light. It was apparent that, throughout his passage in the halls of the fire priestesses, they had not spoken. Each sat slumped, eyes not quite focused, and he recognized their pain as his own. He cursed himself for not realizing that the crew might also blame themselves for not protecting Ariadel.
Breaking into a trot, he closed the gap between himself and the cart and swung up onto the driver's bench. Clasping Calgrath's shoulder, he shook the men from their introspection.
“The priestesses have agreed to help us,” he began, and they brightened, “but I must ask you to stay here. They have some way of giving me passage to Kara'zul, but only on the condition that you remain. I cannot ask it of you…” He trailed off, looking at them.
Calgrath glanced at the other two, then settled his eyes back on his captain. “We'll be here, sir.” With that, he reached up to clasp Vidarian's shoulder briefly, but firmly. The others nodded.
Vidarian was about to offer his thanks when all three of the other men suddenly gasped. Two of them reached for weapons. Expecting the worst, Vidarian turned.
Passing through a large archway came a trio of creatures, filing one at a time, that were straight out of a storybook. A very lethal storybook-one of those where the children get eaten at the end.
Their forequarters were of a goshawk, if a goshawk could be the size of a horse-complete with white and navy feathers and slightly unhinged-looking red eyes. The hindquarters were heavily built, something like a mountain lion's, but with claws that did not retract and which dug divots into the packed earth of the courtyard as they walked. Massive wings shifted with each supple movement and their tufted ears flicked to and fro with alertness.
Gryphons. The holy books said that each of the goddesses kept them, but he'd never quite believed it. Now he understood the statues that decorated nearly every elemental shrine he had visited before. None of them did the creatures justice.
While he was still gawking, the first of the three captured his gaze with burning red eyes. Then there was a voice in his head, coppery like the taste of fresh metal: // My, my, Captain. You look as if you've swallowed a fish sideways. //
It was too much. It was too gods-be-damned much. Vidarian, who had ridden three hurricanes and safely navigated Dead Man's Hook four times without breaking a sweat, fell over in a dead faint.
He woke to the sensation of being gently rocked in the embrace of a soft hammock. A faint creak as of braided hemp on wooden beams vouched for this illusion, and he could almost hear the rush of the sea. Vidarian opened his eyes to the sight of a soaring sky spreading overhead in every direction.
But the rhythmic pulse that vibrated in the air was not the rush of waves against a rocky coast.
As he looked around, bleary-eyed, Vidarian found that he rested in a large basket. The contraption sloped upward all around him, and the rim was just above his eyes. Further up still, three gryphons beat strongly and regularly at the air with long speckled wings, one to either side of him and one-smaller than the other two-directly before. It took him a long moment to calculate how high up they probably were.
One of the gryphons, a long-necked fellow to his right, must have seen Vidarian's bulging eyes. // Don't look down, // he warned, and this mind's voice was like salt on bread, sharp but humble. // It's a little startling if you haven't flown before. //
Vidarian stiffened as the creature's voice echoed in his mind. For once, the grief, restlessness, and guilt he had borne since Ariadel's capture worked for him; his anger forged a forced acceptance of the situation. A talking gryphon. It really wasn't that bad.
“My men!” Vidarian shouted finally, finding that he had to work even to hear himself above the beating of the gryphons’ wings. “I remember-er-collapsing…” Fainting. He hadn't really fainted, had he?
// You did indeed, Captain. // This from the gryphon to his left, her voice female like the first, though with no resemblance whatever to a human female's voice he couldn't say how he was sure. Her voice called up the warmth of a hickory-fueled hearth in winter, spiced and soothing. // We explained to the men that we had given you a traveling draught to ease your comfort in the air, and that it had acted faster than we expected. Fortunately, they believed us. // Vidarian felt a flush heating his cheeks. Likely the men knew exactly what had happened, but forgave him. As he moved further into the waking world, he found himself able to cope with a strange situation made much stranger.
“In the stories, you speak like men,” Vidarian shouted over the wind. The gryphon to his right clacked his beak, a sound like timber cracking. Cocking his large head to one side with catlike pupils flaring, he somehow looked surprised.
// What, with our voices? // The feathers all along the creature's long neck fanned outward and he released a trilling call that deafened Vidarian momentarily. It sounded like warbling laughter. // Speaking telepathically is not something easily explained in a children's book. But it is said once that we did speak your tongue, long ago. All things come full circle; perhaps we will speak again someday. //
Vidarian hunkered back down in the basket and pulled his coat shut against the wind. As he scooted toward the back of the basket to redistribute its weight, he found that it carried built-in wicker bins, three of which were tied securely and a fourth that was only loosely fixed. Curious, he peered inside, and found that it contained a smaller basket covered with white linen cloth.
// Help yourself, // the gryphon to his left offered, catching sight of his movements with her sharp eyes.
Vidarian needed no further invitation, discovering an abrupt wave of intense hunger that washed darkness across his vision. Within he found a waxed and stoppered bottle of a thick golden wine, two rounds of hard-crusted bread (curiously tangy, he found upon tearing one open and taking a bite), and equal portions of dried beef and fresh green grapes. Pausing every now and then as the basket gave a lurch and temporarily obliterated his appetite (// Sorry, breakage in the wind currents, // came quick apologies), over the next hour he made himself a simple but satisfying meal of the provisions.
Stomach full and heart empty, he finally allowed his weariness to overcome him. Though not knowing how in the lilting movements of the basket, he slept.
For the second time Vidarian woke in the basket's embrace, but this time it was discomfort that roused him. The gryphons were rapidly descending, and as they neared the earth he found an alarming pressure building up in his head.
// We're landing, // the forward gryphon announced, turning his head to look back on the passenger. // Move your jaw, it will loose the pressure in your ears. // Vidarian did as he was told and found to his relief that, after a slightly worrisome pop!, the pain did recede. This process repeated itself perhaps three times before the mountain below hove into view.
The gryphons’ great wings tore at the clouds as they descended, sending tendrils of thick moisture spiraling away in their wake. Directly below, golden-capped spires began to appear, and they sparkled in the mist.
“Is this Kara'zul?” he shouted.
// No, // the gryphon to his right answered. // It is Sher'azar Temple. We cannot take you directly to Kara'zul; you will have to speak with the gatekeeper here. // As he spoke, the gryphon landed in tandem with the other two, setting the basket down lightly on the mosaic-tiled ground. On legs that did not quite want to work properly, Vidarian managed to lever himself out of the basket, and landed weakly.
// Here we must leave you, // the front gryphon said, giving a bow of his beak. // We have tidings to bring to the high priestess. //
“Then I thank you most sincerely for your aid,” Vidarian said, giving a bow of his own, and knowing little else what to do. “If I can ever be of service to you, please let me know of it.”
// We will keep it in mind, // the right gryphon answered, with a twinkle in his eye. Then the leading gryphon gave a nod and the three creatures leapt once more into the air. The wind from their wings beat strongly down upon Vidarian and he squinted as he watched them ascend. Within moments they had disappeared back into the clouds.
Vidarian peered intently at the handful of tiny buildings that comprised the Temple at Sher'azar. Built in black lacquered hardwood, the structures echoed those of the lightning-scar settlement priestesses, reaching up into the slate-grey sky like the remnants of kindling in a smoldering fire. None were quite the same height.