The Griffin Mage Trilogy by Rachel Neumeier

Author:Rachel Neumeier [NEUMEIER, RACHEL]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780316205931
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2011-11-16T00:00:00+00:00

Metichteran and Tashen had grown up from simple villages at nearly the same time, once the constant warfare between Casmantium and Meridanium had finally given way to the peace created by the decisive victory of Casmantium. Tashen had grown into the largest city of the north: a small bastion of, to Gereint’s mind, rather self-conscious culture. Metichteran, Tashen’s gateway to the south, had cheerfully settled for becoming a comfortable town of farmers and tradesmen. Gereint much preferred Metichteran, though Perech Fellesteden had generally lingered only in Tashen during his occasional journeys from Melentser to the southern cities or back.

The road between the two towns was quite good, if worn and weather beaten. The edges of the stones had been rounded by time. Some of them had cracked right across during the long northern winters; mosses grew in those cracks and along the edges of the road. But not a single stone was so broken it needed to be replaced, nor did the mosses grow far enough out from the cracks to make the road slippery. The builder’s magic that had been set deeply into this road did more than cause the stones to resist weathering. The horses’ hooves sounded just a little muffled on the close-fitted stones, for the builders had set sure-footedness upon their road to protect horses from slips and falls.

North of Metichteran, the forest thinned out to pretty woodlands, and then to fields and pastures that spread off to the east and north. The land gradually shifted from gently rolling to frankly hilly, with scrub woodland left to occupy the steeper slopes. Enormous trees spread out their broad branches to shade old farmhouses that had probably been built before the conquest of Meridanium. Here and there, a small apple orchard was tucked close to a house. The scent of apples was sweet on the breeze.

Low stone walls delineated the edges of the farms and pastures. The hardy little northern cattle grazed in the pastures; in the fields, wheat and barley, already going golden with autumn, glowed with a color that would have looked rich if Gereint had not compared it to the colors of griffins. He looked for griffins now, keeping a wary eye on the sky. But he saw nothing besides a single vulture, its wings slanted upward in the characteristic angle, gliding in its slow circle on the high thermals.

“Are you doing something to keep the griffins away?” he asked Beguchren, breaking the silence that had grown up between them. It was not a tense silence, more a sign of a mutual abstraction. They both had a good many things to think about, Gereint supposed. He wondered if the mage’s thoughts were as circular and uncomfortable as his own.

Beguchren glanced up. He had seemed much stronger this morning, much more himself, but now his gaze was blank and unfocused. Gereint was momentarily alarmed; he had not realized the mage was so weak—he leaned forward, ready to try to catch the small man if he slumped

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