Mercedes Lackey - The Black Gryphon

Then there was no time to think of anything, as the Eastern horizon erupted with fire—again. And for some reason Amberdrake could not understand, he could feel the death, far away, of the Mage of Silence, content that his people, including those he loved most, were safe at last.

They had just enough time—barely—to establish their shields before the double mage-storm hit. The worst effects lasted from before dawn to sunset. But their preparations held, and they all emerged from shelter to find a blood-red sun sinking over a deceptively normal landscape.

Normal—until you noticed the places where trees had been flattened; where strange little energy-fields danced over warped and twisted cairns of half-melted rocks. Normal—until night fell, and did not bring darkness, but an odd half-light, full of wisps of glowing fog and dancing balls of luminescence.

“We can’t stay here,” Winterhart said wearily as she returned to Amberdrake’s hastily-pitched tent. It was the only one big enough to hold four gryphons—Skan and Aubri, and Zhaneel and Kechara, the former two because of their injuries, and the latter because they would not leave Skan’s moon-white form.

“I’d assumed that. We’ll have to pack up and move West, I suppose.” He looked up at her and smiled, then turned his watchful gaze back down to the slumbering Skandranon. “I don’t mind, if you don’t.”

“Well, I wish we knew how many of the others survived,” she sighed. “But the mages can’t get anything through this—whatever it is. Magical noise and smoke. No scrying, no mage-messages, and we don’t want to risk the poor little messenger-birds. The tervardi don’t want to scout, the kyree are as scared as we are, the hertasi are traumatized, and the gryphons don’t trust the winds. We’ll have to go West and assume any others are doing whatever they have to.”

“So we’re back to ordinary, human senses.” He reached out for her, caught her hand, and drew her down beside him. “Not so bad, when you come to think about it.”

“I have no complaints.” She leaned her head on his shoulder, and stroked one ice-white wing-feather of the still-shocky Skandranon. “Except one.”

“Oh?” he replied. She probably wishes we could stay here long enough to rest — but at least we know there won’t be anyone following us —

“This—” she pointed to Skandranon, curled around Zhaneel like a carving of the purest alabaster, “—is going to make him twice as vain as he was!”

“Of course it will,” came a sleepy rumble. A pale, sky-blue eye opened and winked slyly. “And deservedly so.”

Amberdrake smiled and held his beloved. No matter what tears were shed or what trials were faced, some things would stay the same. There would always be day and night, stars and sky, hope and rest. There would always be love, always compassion, and there would always be Skandranon. And forever, in the hearts of all the Clans, there would be Urtho—and for his memory, a moment of silence.