Shadow's End (Elder Races, #9)(23)

It did so, because it couldn’t do otherwise.

He plummeted down to earth in the park where he and Bel had parted. As he landed beside the large oak tree, he thought he was alone with nothing but the deep green of the rich grass for company.

Then the shadow underneath the oak moved. Whipping around, he held his impulse to violence in check because part of him was still convinced the moving shadow was the tree. They carried the same signature energy, the same scent.

The shadow became a tall female Elven warrior. A thrill ran over his muscles as he recognized Bel.

The pure, inviolate maiden from the masque had vanished, along with her simple, feminine gown. The starlight overhead was dimmer than the light that shone in her large, dark eyes.

She had braided her long hair and dressed in leather, sturdy and more suitable for quick travel than Elven armor, and she had strapped a sword to her back. Over it all, she wore a cloak. Instead of the plain black cloak from earlier, this one was more subtle as it took on the colors of the night around her.

This was the Lady of the Wood. She knew the wild spaces of the world. She had given birth to many of the oldest of them. People of the Elder Races from all over the world revered her, and not least among them were the Wyr.

Most times, it was easy to set aside ancient memories and knowledge, to make way for the prosaic living of the day to day. Looking at her now, the gryphon knew fully who she was. He remembered, and, proud though he could sometimes be, he felt an almost overwhelming urge to kneel.

He didn’t, but he did bow his head deeply. My lady.

She touched the long, pure line of his beak. Beautiful gryphon. Thank you for carrying me on this journey.

I will carry you anywhere you need to go, the gryphon told her. He crouched. She leaped onto his back, and the place at his shoulders that had begun to feel empty in her absence felt complete again.

He launched into the night air and climbed until they had left civilization behind.

Only then did he wheel in a great arc and fly west.





SIX


Even though Bel had experienced the gryphon’s flight once already, they hurtled through the air much faster than she had believed possible. Her heart soared as, within minutes, they left London behind.

They would find Ferion. She knew it. They would find him before he could do too much financial damage. If Graydon would consent to carrying both of them back to Grosvenor Square, they might even be able to return before daybreak, or at the very least by noon.

With any luck, Calondir might not have even returned from the masque. Or perhaps he might linger over an assignation and not return until later that day. Either way, for the first time that evening, she was filled with hope.

Briefly, Graydon slowed his speed. Even as she began to question it, he surged forward again with an adjustment in direction, until she realized that he had started to follow the path of a shadowed road below.

Soon they came to a cluster of buildings. As the gryphon decreased his altitude and wheeled, Bel studied the area.

While most of the buildings were dark, the biggest one was clearly a posting house and inn. Even though the hour was late, lamplight still shone in the windows.

Would you like to stop and inquire, or do you want to travel onward? Graydon asked.

After a moment, she replied, I think we should travel onward. This place is too close to London. I don’t believe Ferion would have stopped so soon.

Very well. Once again, the gryphon surged upward. As he picked up speed, she thought she would never tire of the experience. The cold, fitful wind sliced away her tiredness and discouragement, until her mind felt keen and blade sharp.

She asked, How long will it take us to reach Wembley, do you think?

I doubt it can be more than an hour’s flight, he told her. Locating a country estate without specific directions will take longer.

Perhaps, if we can find the astonishingly terrible inn, we’ll be able to get directions from there, she said dryly.

I hope so, he replied.

Curious, she asked him, How do you suggest we search?

He paused. I don’t suppose Ferion left you a note?

She shook her head before remembering he couldn’t see it. No, he didn’t, so we don’t know when he actually left.

In that case, I don’t think we need to stop until we reach Wembley. Once we’re there, we can work backward along the road. With any luck, we might run into Ferion himself, but if we’re too late to catch him, at the very least, we can hope to get directions to Malphas’s estate. It’s owned by a Djinn. Any visitors Malphas has will be much more distinctive than the average traveler. Someone will know of the place.

That makes sense, she said. His logical thinking gave her a sense of deep relief. He was a mature predator. He knew the strategies for how to hunt better than she did.

How are you? he asked. His deep mental voice had gentled again. Not too cold, I hope?

Her relief metamorphosed into a warmer emotion. Not only had he volunteered to help her, but his concern for her well-being was genuine.

He was a good man, a kind man, and he had gone significantly out of his way for her without ever hinting at payment or recompense.

Dragos doesn’t deserve him, she thought. She trailed her fingers lightly over the sleek, strong line of the gryphon’s neck. If he were in his human form, it would be unthinkable to let herself be so familiar, but letting herself touch him while he was in his Wyr form was immensely comforting.