He strode forward and got a better glimpse of what was happening. Several guards stood in a circle around another guard who held a woman restrained on the ground. She was writhing and screaming something unintelligible. The guards ordered her to be silent, but she didn’t acknowledge that they were even there, lost in the throes of some kind of seizure.
Ameyron cleared his throat loudly. “What’s going on? I need to examine this woman.”
One of the guards held up a hand. “I’m sorry, sir, but you need to stay back. We’re doing what we can to keep her from hurting herself.”
“I am here on order from Duke Galenos and Warlord Varranor,” Ameyron said in his most officious tone. Thanks to months of practice, he managed to pull his insignia out of the correct pocket on the first try and flourished it before the guards. “This woman is wanted for questioning in relation to the attacks. Let me examine her and I may be able to treat her… condition.”
The guard looked closely at the insignia, then stepped back with a respectful bow. “My apologies, Mage. We thought something about this woman seemed suspicious, but all we’ve seen so far is that she seemed to be in some kind of fit, bashing her head against the ground. I sent someone for a physician, but please, take a look for yourself.”
Ameyron knelt on the ground near the tortured woman. She was dressed like a peasant, not a priestess, smeared with dirt and blood, but all of it appeared to be recent from her current state with no signs of injury from gryphons or marewings. There was a superficial wound on her forehead which matched a nearby rock on the ground. The guard had to hold her firmly to constrain her violent thrashings.
He placed a hand on her head and spoke a simple calming spell, but it seemed to have no effect. She tried to bite at his hand like a wild animal and he had to pull back out of range.
He got back to his feet, brushing off his robes. “Well. Let the physician take a look at her, but keep her in restraints. When she’s calmed down, she should be taken to prison where we can question her safely.” He looked around the clearing. “Was there anyone else here?”
The guard shook his head. “Most of the citizens are inside their homes, as ordered. We saw no one else.”
Ameyron felt a tug on the sleeve of his robe. He jumped, then looked down and realized Aristia had come up to his side. “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you come over. Could you tell if there were others?”
Aristia glanced at the guards suspiciously, then nodded. “I think they ran off. But you won’t be able to make her better.” She pointed at the thrashing woman. “She’s gone mad. The wyld magic did that to her, broke her mind.”
Ameyron frowned. He’d heard reports that wyld magic, in excess, could have negative effects on the user’s mental state, but he’d never been able to examine a sufferer to confirm it for himself. The last person said to be driven mad by wyld magic was the head priest of the cult, who called himself Varula Soma, but he died while fighting against the city’s liberators. And in fact, the only evidence he currently had that this woman was a priestess wielding wyld magic to summon gryphons was this little girl’s testimony—he was inclined to believe her after the night’s strange occurrences, but he needed concrete proof.
Ameyron patted the girl on the head. “We’ll see what we can do.” He turned back to the guards. “In the meantime, we should put the city on lockdown and keep an eye out for other suspicious characters.”
The guard nodded. “Of course. Let me get confirmation from my captain.” He turned to speak with one of the other guards, who went off to find out what the official orders were.
The physician arrived with his bag of tools and a stretcher, and Ameyron stepped back to let him carry out a more thorough examination. He stared at the woman in fascination and tried to decipher her babbling. He knew he should be tired after staying up all night, but instead he felt invigorated. There was a new mystery to be solved here and he couldn’t wait to unravel it.
Korinna XI
Pain lanced through her midsection, startling Korinna awake. She cried out and clutched her belly. Through the haze, she dimly wondered how this could be happening again—weren’t the attacks over? She thought they had won and everything was fine again. And yet the pain went on.
At last the wave passed, leaving her gasping for breath. She lifted her head and looked around the room. It was dark, the candles and lanterns all blown out, with only a faint haze of light seeping through the cracks of the eastern windows. She couldn’t make out any figures.
“Are you there?” she called into the gloom. “Aristia… Ameyron?”
But there was no answer. They must have left.
Another wave of pain gripped her again, just as bad as the first. She tried to breathe through it but starbursts clouded her vision. She feared that she might black out. She heard another scream rip from her throat, but at a great distance, as if someone else was controlling her body and she was only a passive observer.
Hurried footsteps, followed by a door slamming open. Korinna looked up, squinting against the sudden light, and saw only a silhouette. “Help,” she gasped out.
The figure rushed forward and warm hands gripped her. “Oh, my lady,” Egina, the housekeeper, said. “I’m so sorry that I didn’t hear you sooner. What’s wrong?”
Korinna struggled for another lungful of air. “The baby… something’s wrong. It’s too early.” She clutched her middle. “It hurts.”
Egina turned to fumble around on the table and managed to light a candle. She lifted it up and gasped. “By the Mother—I’ll send one of the children for the midwife.” She ran to the door and yelled for the others to come quickly.
What had shocked the other woman so much? Korinna looked down and saw red soaking through her dress and onto the couch below her. Blood—but how?
This is all my fault, she realized. The wyld magic had been too much for her. She never should have tried to wield forces that she didn’t understand.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, even though she knew it wasn’t enough. She’d let her baby down, her husband, and everyone else who was relying on her to nurture Kyratia’s heir. The weight of the guilt almost blocked out the incredible pain she felt.
Egina lunged forward to grab her. “Stay with me, my lady!”
But the darkness was already rushing up to swallow her.
Varranor VII
Varranor leaned against the edge of the tower’s wall and watched the last of the marewings disappear into the darkness. Their bearing took them northwest; he could only hope that they were heading to the main fort to wait for their riders. If they flew somewhere else, he wasn’t sure how they would get them back. Would they have to catch them all over again?
But he was too tired to worry about that problem right now. His head ached from the boom of the cannons, despite the protective cotton wads stuffed in his ears. He signaled wearily for the guards to cease their fire and stand down. Gods willing, the city was out from under threat at last.
He headed for the stairs wearily, waving off the salutes from his soldiers. They fell into step behind him. Although they’d just won another victory, not one of them seemed happy about it: all were silent, staring at the ground. Of course, they all must feel the same weight that he did, the regret at driving off their own marewings.
Varranor racked his brains to find the right words to say. “Good work, everyone,” he said at last. “We did what we had to do. At the very least, I hope we’ve earned a rest.”
“Yes, sir,” one of the riders muttered, but the others remained silent.
He mentally added boosting morale to the long list of things he had to do. He only hoped that sleep could come first.
The cannon tower was several blocks away from the military compound, and Varranor didn’t have the energy to move quickly. He looked around the damaged city in the growing light of dawn. Rubble and bodies lay strewn about. It wouldn’t be easy to clean up, but at least that was one responsibility he could leave to someone else.
An angry shout rang out. “There they go, the butchers! Slinking away without so much as an apology!”
Varranor turned his head. He saw that the city guards had stepped back from the houses, ending the citizen curfew, and some of the people who were emerging from their homes had turned their rage toward the soldiers. He identified the shouter as a middle-aged man and leveled a withering stare at him. “Is this how you express your gratitude for all of the fighting we've done to protect your city?”
“Protect us?” The man spat on the ground. “You brought those monsters here in the first place! The gods are punishing all of us for consorting with such heathens.”
Varranor rested his hand on his belt knife and took a step forward, but a hand on his arm stopped him.
“Steady,” Navera warned. “Now is not the time. Let's just get out of here.”
Varranor shook his head, but he stalked down the street away from the angry man. She was right, it wasn't the time to argue. But he would remember that man’s face and have a word with his brother about punishing treasonous speech when he got back to the compound.
They hadn't gone more than a few yards when a woman's wail caught their attention. She sobbed by the side of the road, tearing her hair and clothes in an extreme gesture of mourning. “My children are dead!” She pointed an accusatory finger at the marewing riders. “It's all your fault! They were crushed by the sharp hooves of those demons you brought into our city!”
This time, Varranor didn't even try to respond. He ducked his head and gestured for the other riders to increase their pace. They needed to get off the street and away from these people before things turned ugly.
But more citizens were coming out of the buildings, and their shouts drew crowds from nearby streets as well. Anger and pain escalated into a cacophony of hatred for the marewing riders. The city guards tried to hold them back, but they were quickly becoming outnumbered.
Varranor was just restraining himself from breaking into a run because he didn't want to seem afraid of the mob. He could feel the energy rising in the air around him, waiting for the spark that would ignite a riot. A few more minutes, though, and they would be safely behind the compound walls.
He just glimpsed the gates waiting open for them when the first rock flew. It glanced off Varranor’s shoulder, barely more than a sting, but the rage rose in him. He whirled around. “What idiot dared to strike me?” he growled deep in his throat.
“Drive the demon-lovers out of the city!” a man’s voice shouted hoarsely.
Varranor looked around wildly for the perpetrator, but the citizens shrank back a few steps. He could feel their eyes on him, though, burning into him on all sides. “I won’t stand for this,” he said with a snarl.
More citizens were pressing in. Another rock flew, clattering harmlessly to the ground, but it seemed to set off the others. The protestors began kneeling and grabbing anything off the street that they could find—broken pottery, clods of dirt, debris from the damaged buildings. A rain of projectiles fell around the soldiers and a few struck with dangerous consequences, drawing bruises and scrapes.
“Shields up!” Navera gave the order, and the soldiers responded quickly, lifting their shields to protect their heads. She gave Varranor a strong shove toward the gate. “Get inside the compound! Prepare to close the gates!”
His training kicked in, and Varranor followed after the others, holding his shield up to block the assault. To their credit, the riders managed an orderly retreat despite the chaos at their backs. Those already inside the compound heard the shouting and hurried forward to push the gates closed. The large wooden doors creaked on their rusty hinges—they were rarely shut in the peaceful city.
Then it was closed and the heavy bar was lowered into place. The sounds of the mob outside were muffled by the thick stone walls, but they wouldn’t just go away. The citizens had turned on them.
Varranor ran a hand over his face. Oh, how he wished at this moment that he could turn to someone else and let them take the responsibility for dealing with everything, either Navera or his brother. But if he did that now, he would show weakness as a leader and his soldiers might never respect him. He had to be strong.
So he let the rage course through his veins again, energizing him for the work ahead. He signaled to more soldiers nearby, barking out orders. “I want guards posted at this gate and along the walls. I need reports from the city guards on the current state of affairs, watchers for the return of any marewings.” He turned to Navera. “Set up a schedule to cover the base and allow a rotation for sleep. Then meet me back in the War Room along with the senior officers.”
Navera saluted and left without comment, which meant that she must approve of his actions. He was grateful that he wouldn’t have to stop and listen to a lecture from her right now. He knew that he hadn’t reacted the right way outside the gate, forcing her to step in for him, but he wasn’t ready to deal with that issue yet. There was only time to keep moving forward right now.
He looked around a final time as he headed back inside. The troops were carrying out his orders, but he still felt something was missing. Then he realized that he’d seen no glimpse of wrinkled robes in several hours and let out a heavy sigh.
“And someone find out where that blasted mage has gotten to!” he called to no one in particular. Then he stalked inside, slamming the door behind him.
Galenos X
Galenos thought that he must have fallen asleep and woken in a nightmare.
Everything was going wrong. He’d gone from the military compound to City Hall, only to learn that the Council had accused him of abandoning them during the marewing attack. The marewings had been driven out of the city, but the populace was fearful of their return and demanded greater protections. He was receiving reports that a growing crowd of protestors was gathering outside the gates of the military compound, calling for all mercenaries to leave the city for good. The list of damages and casualties from the two attacks were mounting. Ameyron had shown up with a small squad of the city guard, claiming to have found and arrested several cultists who had orchestrated both attacks.
After the night’s chaos, he wanted to go home and check on his wife, but everyone else was demanding his immediate attention. So he changed into a clean set of clothes and went to the Council chamber. Some of the other Councilors straggled in to take their seats, all of them looking haggard with lack of sleep. On the other side of the table, the many petitioners filled the room.
The captain of the city guard was the first to speak. “This situation is growing too large for my officers to contain,” he warned, refusing the offer of a seat. He stood with his arms folded and kept glancing toward the door, as if he were expecting more bad news to come at any moment. “I think it would be better for the mercenaries to temporarily withdraw from the city, at least until things calm down. The citizens will want answers for what happened last night but they’re not in any mood to listen yet.”
Galenos tried to maintain a straight face. “I don’t feel comfortable sending away our protection. We don’t know what enemies could strike at us next. Couldn’t we win some goodwill from the people if the soldiers helped to clean up the city and repair the damage? The last time this city was attacked, the Storm Petrels did a great deal of the work to help us recover.”
“With all due respect, Your Grace,” the captain said with a barely-repressed sneer, “this isn’t like the last time at all. We welcomed the mercenaries as if they were our rescuers, but this time, the attack came from their own forces.” He looked down his no
se at Galenos across the table. “Can you understand why people would be reluctant to trust them now?”
Galenos leaned back in his chair and lowered his head. “I understand that this was a terrible accident, but the men and women of the Storm Petrels shouldn’t be held responsible—”
“Shouldn’t they?” one of the Councilors interrupted him. “The riders are supposed to control those monsters, and they failed. Who else do we blame? Do we punish you instead, for bringing them here?”
Councilor Diokles silenced her with a glare and pounded on the table. “Enough. There’s no need to speak so disrespectfully to the duke.” He gestured to Mage Ameyron. “I understand that we may already have an explanation for this attack.”
Ameyron stepped forward with a bow. “Current evidence suggests that several exiled priests of Varula managed to sneak into the city disguised as refugees and used a ritual to draw both the gryphons and the marewings here, spurring them to violence.” He gestured to the guards, who were holding the suspects in chains at the back of the room. “Through careful searching, I believe we now hold all of them in custody. I intend to investigate their methods further.”
Councilor Charis raised his head suspiciously. “That seems very convenient. How did you find them so quickly? And how can you be sure that you’ve caught all of them?”
Ameyron fumbled with the sleeves of his robe. “I, ah, am not prepared to launch into a full explanation just yet, since my technique is a new one and has yet to be properly discussed with my colleagues at the Academy—”
“A likely story,” Charis said, tossing his head back.
Galenos pushed himself to his feet. “Enough. This isn’t an interrogation of the mage or the prisoners.” He gestured to the guards to lead them away. “Mage Ameyron has been studying the problem of the gryphon attacks since the beginning, so I’m sure he will be prepared with a great deal of evidence by the time we hold a trial for these priests. Will you allow my people to do their work so they can find the truth, or will you only be satisfied by spilling more blood without reason or justice?”
A Pride of Gryphons Page 32