He had a leather band spanning his girth, and Aron could see the hilt of the silver dagger nearest him, at the ready if it was needed. Iko knelt, and Aron grabbed the Sabor-now-gryphon’s mane and hoisted himself up behind Iko’s neck. He knew they were being watched, that dozens of reports would fly back to Stormbreaker, Dari, and Lord Baldric, too.
Good. Let them come. Let them follow.
“They can find our bodies, at least,” he shouted into the wind as Iko charged down the byway in the direction of the forge. Then Aron clung for his life as his huge wings flapped, lifting them over the eastern wall of Triune and up into the vast skies of Eyrie.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
ARON
Aron’s teeth clenched against the frigid wind as Iko flew high and fast.
How long since he had awakened in Endurance House? Fifteen minutes? Half an hour—or more? Time was slipping away just like his balance.
Iko’s wings seemed much larger than Blath’s, as did his entire gryphon body, and Aron lurched and slid with each powerful flap. His tunic and breeches whipped and stung his legs and face. It was almost impossible to breathe, and when he could gulp air, he had to fight to close his mouth again. Aron was convinced that any second, his skin would strip off his bones, leaving Iko to land with a frozen skeleton as his only passenger.
When Iko did dip beneath the clouds, Aron battled to turn his head left, then right, eyes watering even as he tried to take in the rapidly approaching landscape below. Grasslands stretched across his view like a woven green rug, but he saw no nearby villages. As Iko took them lower, Aron squinted and made out copses of trees and even small wooded stretches. Smoke rose from one of those patches. Their destination.
Aron’s heart beat even faster when he realized a group of guardsmen were bearing down on that same location.
He had two swords and three daggers, but only two hands, and no great years of experience. How could he take on a contingent of fifteen men—no, twenty, maybe more. Some sort of procession. Brother save them all.
The lead horsemen had spotted them, and Aron saw them rein their mounts. When the roar of the wind lessened against his ears, he could hear them shouting along their column, passing word of a winged creature ahead.
Iko’s wings swept upward and held, and the force of their descent nearly jarred Aron free all over again. He had to throw himself forward and wrap both arms in Iko’s mane to keep from tumbling to his death.
Heedless of Aron’s distress, Iko struck the ground so hard Aron’s bones rattled with the thump, then each slowing step. He half slid, half fell to his feet as popping and cracking sounds reverberated from Iko. In moments, the Sabor was back to human form, running beside Aron toward the clearing, daggers already drawn.
Aron’s senses swam from the harsh flight, and his body buzzed from the wind’s abuse. The pain kept him alert, and he quickly counted seventeen horsemen leading a procession of four wagons and a finely wrought yet hardy-looking covered travel carriage. The horsemen remained where they had been. They pointed to Iko and Aron, and more shouting ensued.
Aron didn’t bother trying to discern their words or meaning. “They’re in the trees,” he called to Iko. “Nic and Snakekiller. Can you get them to safety?”
Iko slowed his pace, putting himself between Aron and the woods. “Them, and you as well, unless that Guard contingent has bowmen. Any bird, even gryphons, can be felled by holes in the wings.”
Aron pumped his arms as he sprinted forward with absolutely no idea what he would do when he drew even with the Guard. He hadn’t even figured out if they were friend or foe, since they weren’t wearing colors or bearing any standards. No matter. Instinct—no, graal—told him they shouldn’t be allowed to reach Nic or Snakekiller.
“I’ll stand them off, Iko. Take Nic and Snakekiller to Triune, then come back for me.”
Iko stopped running, forcing Aron to slow, then stop to listen to him as he assumed cranelike battle stance. “You are overly optimistic, and I’m not here to serve you—or leave you to be Guard fodder.”
Three guardsmen had broken away from the rest, and they were slowly edging their mounts toward Iko and Aron’s position. The men wore standard battle armor, leather, copper, and silver, with some iron at the chest and neck, but without rank marks or