Mercedes Lackey: The White Gryphon

Amberdrake liked and admired Judeth. Iwould have willingly named her Clan Sister even if no one else had thought of the idea. Members of the Kaled’a’in Clan k’Leshya comprised the bulk of the humans who had wound up together—and with no qualms on anyone’s part, they had adopted the mixed bag of service-fighters, mercenaries, kestra’chern and Healers who had come through with them. The adoption ceremony had ended the “us and them” divisions before they began, forging humans and nonhumans, Kaled’a’in and out-Clan into a whole, at least in spirit. And the journey here had completed that tempering and forging. . . .

Well, that’s the idealistic outlook, anyway. Amberdrake did not sigh, but his stomach churned a little. Most of the people of White Gryphon were folk of good will—

But some were not. The most obvious of those had marched off on their own over the course of the arduous search for a place to build a home, and good riddance to them, but some had been more clever. That was why Judeth’s people still had a task, and why they would continue to serve as the police of White Gryphon.

Because, unfortunately, the Silvers are needed.

In an ideal world, everyone here would have had meaningful work, status according to ability, and would have been so busy helping to create their new society that they had no thought for anything else.

But this was not an ideal world. There were shirkers, layabouts, troublemakers, thieves, drunks—any personality problem that had existed “back home” still existed somewhere among k’Leshya. There were even those who thought Skandranon was the villain of the Cataclysm, rather than the hero. After all, if he had never taken Urtho’s “suicide device” to Ma’ar, there would never have been a Cataclysm. And in a way, there might have been some truth in that idea. There would only have been the single explosion of Urtho’s stronghold going up—not the double impact of all of Urtho’s power and Ma’ar’s discharged in a single moment. Perhaps they would not now be suffering through the effects of mage-storms.

And perhaps we would. Even Snowstar is not certain. But there is no persuading someone whose mind is already made up, especially when that person is looking for a nonhuman scapegoat. Not even Judeth herself could reason with some of these idiots.

As if the thought had summoned her, Judeth arrived at that moment. Her carefully pressed, black and silver uniform was immaculate as always. The silver-wire gryphon badge of her new command gleamed where her medals had once held pride of place on the breast of her tunic. She wore no medals now; she saw no reason to. “If people don’t know my accomplishments by now,” she often said, “no amount of medals is likely to teach them, or persuade them to trust my judgment.”

She smiled at Amberdrake who smiled back. “Well, this is three—Silvers, Mages, Services—and I know that Cinnabar can’t be spared right now for Healers, so where is our fourth?”

“On the way,” Snowstar said promptly. “Zhaneel had Kechara call him.”

“Ah.” Judeth’s smile softened; every one of the Silvers liked Kechara, but Amberdrake knew she had a special place in her heart for the little misborn gryfalcon. Perhaps she alone had any notion how hard Kechara worked to coordinate the Silvers, and she never once took that hard work for granted. “In that case—Amberdrake, is there anything you want to tell us before Skan gets here?”

“Only that I am acting mainly as Chief Kestra’chern in this, rather than as Chief of Services.” With no one else to coordinate such common concerns as sanitation, recreation, medical needs, and general city administration, much of the burden of those tasks had fallen on Amberdrake’s shoulders. After all, the kestra’chern, whose unique talents made them as much Healers as pleasure-companions, and as much administrators as entertainers, tended to be generalists rather than specialists. Amberdrake had already been the tacit Chief of Urtho’s kestra’chern, and he was already Skandranon’s closest friend. It seemed obvious to everyone that he should be in charge of those tasks which were not clearly in the purview of Judeth, Snowstar, or Lady Cinnabar.

Judeth raised an eyebrow at that. “Is this an actionable problem?” she asked carefully.

“I think so.” He hesitated.

“I think you should wait long enough for me to sit down, Drake,” Skandranon said from the doorway. “Either that, or hold this meeting without me. I could always find something pointless to do.”

The gryphon grinned as he said that, though, taking any sting out of his words. He strolled across the expanse of unfinished stone floor to the incongruously formal Council table, the work of a solid year by one of the most talented—and unfortunately, disabled—woodworkers in White Gryphon. Since an injury that left him unable to walk or lift, he had been doing what so many other survivors at White Gryphon had done—used what they had left. He’d built the table in small sections, each one used as an example to teach others his woodworking skills, and then had his students assemble the pieces in place here. Like so much else in the settlement, it was complex and ingeniously designed, beneath an outer appearance of deceptive simplicity.

“So, what is it that was so urgent you had to call a Council meeting about it?” Skan said, arranging himself on the special couch that the same woodworker’s students had created to fit the shape of a gryphon. “I know you better than to think it’s something trivial—unless, of course, you’re growing senile.”

Amberdrake grimaced. “Hardly senile, though with an active two-year-old underfoot, I often wonder if I’m in danger of going mad.”

Skan nodded knowingly, but Amberdrake was not about to be distracted into discussions of parenthood and the trials thereof. “I’m afraid that as Chief Kestra’chern, I am going to have to bring charges against someone to the Council. That’s why I needed three of you here—I’m going to have to sit out on the decision since I’m the one bringing the charges. That means I need a quorum of three.”

Snowstar folded his hands together on the table; Judeth narrowed her eyes. “What are the charges?” Snowstar asked quietly.

“First, and most minor—impersonation of a trained kestra’chern.” Amberdrake shrugged. “I do not personally remember this man being in Urtho’s service, as a kestra’chern or otherwise. I can’t find anyone who will vouch for his training, either. I do know that his credentials are forged because one of the names on them is mine.”

“That’s fairly minor, and hardly a Council matter,” Snowstar said cautiously.

“I know that, and if it were all, I wouldn’t have called you here. I’d simply have examined the man and determined his fitness to practice, then put him through formal training if he was anything other than a crude perchi with ambitions.” Amberdrake bit his lip. “No, the reason I bring him up to you three, and in secret session, is because of what he has done. He has violated his trust—and if he had been less clever he would already be in Judeth’s custody on assault charges.”

Judeth’s expression never varied. “That bad?” she said.

He nodded. “That bad. We kestra’chern are often presented with—some odd requests. He has used the opportunities he was presented with to inflict pain and damage, both emotional and physical, purely for his own entertainment.”

“Why haven’t we heard of this before?” Skan demanded, his eyes dangerously alight.

“Because he is,” Amberdrake groped for words, “he is diabolical, Skan, that is all I can say. He’s clever, he’s crafty, but above all, he is supremely adept at charming or—manipulating people. He has succeeded in manipulating the people who came to him as clients so thoroughly that it has been over a year from the time he began before one was courageous enough to report him to me. Even the other kestra’chern were fooled by him. They couldn’t tell what he was doing behind his doors. But I know—I have felt what his client felt.”