Chapter Five

The creamy aqua magess felt the power first. Bright peridot eyes went round at the awesome array of pure magic that rolled in a wavelike motion towards her.

"What is it, Shyela?"

The gryphoness grabbed her apprentice, eyes shining. "He has come, Tuloc! The one of the Prophecy!"

Tuloc blinked, turning his senses in the direction Shyela was facing. The same flow of energy met his questing touch. "Are you sure? Which part, Shyela?"

The elder magess grumbled with good-natured excitement. "The first, Tuloc! The second can never come before the first. We are seeing the winds change before our eyes, my boy!" She got to her feet, adjusting her mage-badge around her neck. "Come! Before Tyan's warriors catch heed."

One thing that Sular actually enjoyed about reconn was the types of people he was able to meet. While this wasn't extreme First Contact with these sentients, the isolationist mindset the Garicon Commander had told him about hadn't surfaced. At least, not in this female.

They walked, rather than flew. Ziara had sustained wounds to vital flight muscles in her excursions, as well as to tone down appearances. As he'd told her, long experience had taught Vahazayi that the sight of winged creatures their size frightened folks -- which they exploited to their advantage many-a-time in war. Indeed, a predator of any size who sported a meathook in the center of its face, formidable wingclaws and talons -- not to mention the ability to breathe and control fire (the former Ziara did not know about) -- was a cause for caution. Resurrection was a powerful tool, too.

Ziara paced evenly with her bipedal companion's long strides, keeping up with the odd semi-roll, semi-strolling walk Vahazayi affected. When she asked Sular about this, he paused momentarily to find the right word.

"The closest I can come is 'toddle,' " he told her, struggling briefly with the Glacial term. Try as she might, the midnight blue gryphoness could not stop looking at the deep impressions Sular's black feet left in the hard-packed snow. It wasn't easy for him, having such a vertical frame, or more importantly, his height. Easily fifteen feet tall, Sular dwarfed her and just about everything else baring trees and the mountains. So while she patted on the crust with ease, he had to wade through the toughness. Though, he didn't seem to be frustrated. Ziara swore she saw steam hissing from the ground as he moved.

What are you, Sular Ventrishika? she wondered, awestruck for the hundredth time.

On they walked, with the Phoenix asking general questions about life here on Glacial Prime. Ziara told him about her race, the elves near the equator, the colddrakes . . . He listened intently, crest at a relaxed level.

As they crested a small rise, Ziara was startled to see Magess Shyela and her apprentice -- Ziara's cousin Tuloc Flurrith -- sitting there, waiting. It was Tuloc who showed surprise at Sular, but Shyela took all things in stride. Her wise old eyes crinkled in merriment as they came the last few paces.

"What brings Fire to the world of Ice?" she asked without preamble, craning her neck up to look Sular straight in the eyes.

Having met mystics before, the brown-grey and white Vahazayi knew how to treat them with respect. More often than not, they spoke truth, and more often than not were pushed aside as cranks. "Reconn soldier Sular Ventrishika of the Vahazayi Phoenixes," Sular answered with an inclination of his white-crested head. Shyela smiled with pleasure, her cheeks dimpling. "I am on a mission to map out this sector of space for my people."

Ziara started. He hadn't told her that!

Shyela nodded all the same. "I'm afraid you came to rest on the wrong world, Sular Ventrishika. Glacial Prime does not welcome visitors."

"I have been told thus, Lady. However, my orders superced racial prejudices."

Tuloc sucked in air; Ziara shot her cousin a startled look. No one defied a mage! But Shyela chuckled. She was a rare Glacial gryphoness, this one; open-minded to a fault. Much like me, Ziara thought grimly.

"Then the Prophecy speaks true."

Sular's eye ridges creased, lowered over his eerie eyes. He wasn't expecting this. The grey feathers of his cheeks puffed up, nares wrinkled in unease. The last thing he needed was to be caught up in a twisted alien prophecy! His fate was his own; Vahazayi were tied by one bond and one bond only -- to save innocence from the grip of evil. They went where they wished according to that axiom and no one else could tell them otherwise.

"Prophecy, Lady Magess?" Sular was surprised to hear the catch in his voice.

Shyela nodded again, fingering her medallion with a creamy dexterous paw. "Yes, Prophecy. Given to my predecessor many years ago in a dream. She passed it unto me: It spoke of a day when Fire would walk the tundras of Glacial Prime and set into motion a great change." She smiled at Sular. "In the dream, my mistress saw a great flame with diamond-shaped eyes," she pointed with a painted claw to Sular's face, "grey, like yours. Thus I have reason to believe that you, sir, are the one."

Sular blinked, ruffling his wings in agitation. "And the rest?" he asked in a strained voice. Ziara glanced up at him, concerned. A fine bead of sweat sprouted upon his white cere, trickling down the corner of his beak. A pink, forked tongue snaked out and caught the droplet self-consciously.

"The rest is known only to myself and the other mages," Shyela replied smoothly, not recognizing his discomfort. "It will be revealed in time."

Sular opened his mouth to reply -- I do not have time to be thrown into your civil war, Lady! --

"Magess Shyela!"

Heads swung upwards, noting the hovering shapes of the clan's warriors. At a signal from their leader, the warriors dropped to the ground, encircling the small group. Some of the gryphons carried modified pikes strapped to their backs via leather harnesses. The leader held a gryphon-sized halberd in his right paw, bound with black leather and honed to a great sharpness. This he angled at Sular.

"Who is this invader, Magess?"

Shyela padded over to the Phoenix and sat, curling her wolfish brush of a tail about her raptorine hind feet primly. "He is part of the Prophecy, Jerant, therefore subject only to mages."

The brawny blue-grey male snorted, leveling his halberd. "Nonsense, Magess! There is no Prophecy -- Kerndè was raving in fever when she spoke those words. Others will never walk Prime's snowy plains, especially this one. Tell him to go back where he came from -- we have no use or want for him."

His attitude struck another hidden cord within Sular. "Do you control this world?" he asked in crisp Glacial gryphonic, leveling his sad eyes at the commander. His booming baritone startled the warriors. They turned their gazes upward and stared into the visage of the Vahazayan, who lowered the lids in a bored manner.

Jerant rose on his hind legs and placed the tip of his halberd against Sular's breast feathers -- or tried to. The smaller gryphon, even on his hind legs, could only reach the top of the Eagle-Head's groin. The pacifist in Sular allowed this attempt at bullying; he merely focused his attentions on Jerant, fixing a mournful gaze with his glinting diamond-shaped eyes.

And whirled them.

Jerant fell back, dropping his halberd in the snow. He turned and threw up in a hastily-dug hole.

Sular's eyes stopped moving and returned to their normal state. It was a trick he'd learned a long time ago. More often than not, it made people sick, conceding victory without violence. Shyela reached up and took a hold of the reconn's leg feathers. "We're taking him to the camp, Jerant. See you there." And with that, Ziara and Tuloc followed them through the broken circle of warriors.