Free Lord of the Changing Winds by Rachel Neumeier Page A

the word: Griffins have come across the mountains. They despoil your country, your majesty, turning good land into sand and sending hot winds across the young barley; they are killing calves in the pasture and game in the forest. Your people ask you for help in their need.”
    “Griffins,” said Ferris, without expression.
    “Did you see these griffins yourself?” Bertaud asked the courier.
    “Yes, lord: So I could report clearly, I went to Minas Spring and up into the high hills behind the village. There are indeed griffins there. The very rock of the hills has changed its character; it is all red stone and sand there, now. The wind comes the wrong way, from the east, off the mountains. Coming from the heights, it should be a cold wind, but it is hot, and so dry it pulls moisture from the earth—I saw good soil turn dry and crack under that wind. I saw griffins there. I spoke to the folk of Minas Spring and Minas Ford. They say there are many griffins in the hills there, hundreds maybe; that they make all that country their own.”
    “Hundreds, Teien?” Bertaud said, drily.
    “I saw only two,” confessed the courier.
    “It’s more than one or two, to bring the desert wind to this side of the mountains,” Ferris observed.
    “I would be surprised to learn that there are hundreds of griffins in all the world,” said the king. “I much doubt there are hundreds at Minas Spring.” He looked seriously at the courier. “Do they kill the people there? Or only calves?”
    “So far, they say, only calves and the odd sheep.”
    “Still,” said Bertaud, “we can hardly have griffins settling along in the hills on our side of the mountains, making a desert out of our good farmland. Aside from ruining the land, it would not do to show weakness of either arms or resolve.”
    The king made a small, impatient gesture of agreement. “Obviously not.” He signaled to the courier to rise. “Go find General Jasand and send him to me. Then go and rest. In the morning, present yourself to your captain. I suspect he will have a task for you.”
    “Your majesty,” said the young woman, pulling herself to her feet and departing quickly.
    To Ferris, the king said, “Esteemed Ferris, forgive me, but if you will excuse us. Please write me an explanation of the legal matters that created the problem for, ah, Lakas, and send it to me. I assure you I will be interested.”
    The judge, restraining his interest and curiosity, bowed acknowledgment and withdrew.
    Bertaud said, in wonder, “Griffins?”
    Iaor began to walk, waving to Bertaud to accompany him. “Teien saw them herself. Do you doubt her veracity?”
    “No,” Bertaud said. “Of course not. But I don’t understand why griffins would leave their own country—and I certainly don’t understand why they would go as far south as Minas Spring! If they were determined to cross the mountains, why not simply come straight west through Niambe Pass? That, at least, would make some sense!”
    Iaor gave a thoughtful nod. “Perhaps they did not like to fly near Niambe Lake and were willing to go many miles south to the next pass they could find. The natural magic of Niambe Lake would hardly be an amicable magic for griffins. Well, that’s a question for mages and we shall pose it to them, but whatever the reason, it’s just as well, or we might have the griffins bringing their desert to the shores of Niambe, and all the way to Tihannad, perhaps!”
    Bertaud laughed, as his king intended. Feierabiand had never had much to do with griffins, but they both knew it was inconceivable that griffins, no matter how numerous or powerful, would dare trouble the king himself in his own city.

CHAPTER 3

    K es woke as the first stars came out above the desert, harder and higher and brighter than they had ever seemed at home. She lifted her head and blinked up at them, still half gone in dreams and finding it hard to distinguish, in that first moment, the blank darkness of those dreams from