Vallon’s lips thinned at the challenge. He very obviously planned to kill Galahad a lot and then Trystan, too.
Trystan must have sensed the same thing, because he seemed to hesitate. Galahad could see his un-gryphon-like temper receding, as he rethought this whole idea. Questioning whether or not Galahad was capable of surviving long enough to learn the “lesson” Trystan was trying to teach.
Galahad wasn’t worried. He smiled at Vallon. Stay calm and positive. That was his new mantra. Calm and positive. “We can come to an agreement without bloodshed. We don’t have to do this.”
Vallon let out another bellow of impending destruction.
…Or maybe they did.
Chapter Six
The beginning of everything was an accident.
One day, while hunting with King Uther, a wingless man shot an arrow that went astray.
Instead of killing the deer he’d been aiming at, he struck Uther in the groin.
The deer escaped into the woods.
The man was executed.
The king nearly died.
In order to save Uther, the doctors had to remove most of the flesh between his legs. When the king awoke, they were executed, too. But, their deaths did nothing to restore what Uther had lost.
How the Wingless War Happened
Skylyn Welkyn- Gryphon Storyteller
Lyonesse Desert- Welkyn Pass
“I know that you hate my people.” Galahad told Vallon sincerely, feeling sorry for the man. “You have every reason to. But, there are better ways to deal with our differences than with more bloodshed.”
Vallon wasn’t ready to hear that. He let out another roar, a hazy eagle’s mask materializing to cover his face as he prepared for battle. The crowd gathered around the perimeter of the circle shouted approval at the sure sign of gryphon violence.
“P’don.” Trystan muttered, heading towards the ring. “Knight, this is a bad idea. Come out of there and I…”
Vallon defiantly swung his mace straight at Galahad’s head.
Calm and positive.
Galahad ducked under the arc of the swing, the timing of it second-nature to him. It was amazing how long practiced movements stayed with you. The speed of the ball and the angle of its path and the sound of it in the air… He could have avoided it blindfolded, just from muscle-memory.
Trystan’s eyebrows shot up and he halted in his tracks.
The crowd of gryphons stopped cheering, confused by the lack of gore.
Galahad kept his eyes on Vallon. “A frank discussion of differences would get us a lot farther than fighting each other.” He reiterated, as calmly and positively as he could. “Violence is rarely the answer to a problem.”
Vallon disagreed. In a show of intimidation, he used his wings to propel himself ten feet above the ring and hovered there. Untouchable.
Except it would have been incredibly simple to pick up one of the red rocks encircling the ring and smash open his skull. Galahad refrained, of course, but Vallon’s strategic positioning was all wrong. One well aimed throw would do it, and Galahad had been the star pitcher in Camelot’s Charity Baseball League. No one had ever gotten a hit off him in over a thousand games. It had been kind of boring, really.
He felt like he should warn Vallon about his questionable tactics after the fight ended, so he wouldn’t be so sloppy, again. …In fact, he should probably just do it, now. If history was anything to go by, the other man would be in no condition to hear the warning later.
“You see that there are rocks all around us, right?” Galahad pointed them out. “You should make sure that I’m not able to access them. I could walk over and pick them up and use them against you. You want to stop me from doing that.” He nodded, because it really was excellent advice.
Trystan blinked, like he was somehow mesmerized.
Vallon ignored the potentially life-saving tip and swept through the air, straight towards Galahad.
Why did things like this keep happening? Was it Galahad? Something he was doing that just set people off? He tried so hard to be friendly, but even a species born without emotions became furious around him. It was super discouraging.
Galahad pivoted out of the gryphon’s path, still trying to get through to him. “We really could talk, instead of doing battle. It’s the better way.” He eyed Vallon, willing him to somehow feel the positivity and calmness. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Vallon was sure.
He landed on the ground and swung the weapon again, even harder this time. That wasn’t the best technique. It looked cool and took a lot of strength, but chain-maces were best for hitting men in armor. Maybe that was why Vallon used it now. Maybe he associated it with killing slow, armored knights.
Luckily, Galahad had been stripped of his armor when he’d been banished. It made him much more agile. He casually stepped to the side and watched Vallon stumble past him, as the flail knocked him off-balance.
Vallon fell to the ground, skidding in the dirt.
Trystan snorted. If he hadn’t been a gryphon, it might even have been called a chuckle. He quickly tried to cover it with a scowl. “Knight, sooner or later, you will need to actually hit that dickhead.”
“I’m not going to hurt the guy, Trys.” He gestured towards Vallon, who really was a mass of pain and misplaced aggression. “It’s not his fault he’s like this. Without emotions, he can’t even express how hurt he is inside. I think he’s had a very hard life.”
“Who cares about his goddamn life? I do not want to explain to Avi and Gwen that you died of stupidity and blunt force trauma while in my care.”
Galahad shook his head. “I’m trying to defuse his hostility with positivity and calm.”
“And he’s trying to defuse your head with a mace. Stop fucking around and kill him.”
“I asked you to stop me from hurting people, remember?”
“And I did not agree. It was a stupid request.”
“You said ‘fine.’ That’s an agreement, Trystan.”
“No, it’s not. I would have said ‘yes’ if we had an agreement. Why do you consistently struggle with your own language?”
The other gryphons looked fascinated with the argument.
Vallon got up, his eyes fierce. Clearly, he was used to clubbing people to death on a regular basis and he was pissed that Galahad wasn’t cooperating.
“I don’t want to fight you.” Galahad tried for the last time, holding up his palms in a gesture of peace. “I don’t want to fight anyone. We can end this and both walk away.”
Instead, Vallon struck out with the chain-mace, again. In a way, you had to admire his commitment to his goals. But, on the other hand, this was exactly the kind of scenario Galahad had warned kids about on his shows. Once you gave into the darkness, it clouded your mind.
Galahad knew that better than anyone.
Vallon wasn’t going to listen to reason. In his travels, Galahad came across a lot of people who didn’t listen to reason. In fact, he found himself in this precise situation with depressing regularity. Experience had taught him that a cooling-off period was often the best way to deescalate conflict.
…And that cooling-off usually happened best when the other party was unconscious.
Galahad bent backwards.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Trystan’s head tilt, following the movement of his body. He seemed fascinated, his usually expressionless face reflecting open astonishment.
How could Trystan so clearly feel things, when the other gryphons couldn’t? The metal sphere sailed over Galahad’s head, before he could ask. As it came within inches of crushing his skull, he couldn’t help but notice there were bits of blood and hair stuck to the spikes. God, he did not miss the gross parts of war.
Or really any part of war.
Still, the basics of combat were a part of him. Galahad knew more about fighting than he could ever forget, no matter how hard he tried. For instance, he knew that Camelot chain-maces really were terrible
weapons for hand-to-hand fighting. They were nearly impossible to use effectively, unless you practiced for years.
And Galahad had practiced for years.
Keeping his balance, he moved towards Vallon and slightly to the right. It was a single, smooth movement that had him brushing passed the man’s side and ending up behind him.
Caught off guard, Vallon tried to readjust his position. His face whirled to look over his shoulder, trying to see Galahad. It was what everyone instinctively did when they didn’t know how to handle the weapon properly.
But in all physical movements, body followed head.
Vallon’s arm automatically changed direction as he shifted his face around, altering the trajectory of the chain-mace mid-attack. His swing just… kept swinging. Kind of like a tetherball game. The metal ball circled around and slammed right into his own skull. There was a sickening clang as the helmet rang out in protest.
Trystan’s lips parted in something like awe.
The rest of the assembled audience cringed in unison.
“Sorry.” Galahad told Vallon with real sympathy, even though the other man was beyond hearing him. “But I didn’t have to kill you. That’s the important thing.” He nodded, radiating positivity and calmness.
Vallon staggered back, his eyes glazing over. He wasn’t going to die, thanks to the helmet, but his head would hurt like hell when he woke up.
Galahad grabbed the handle of the chain-mace out of Vallon’s hand, right as the gryphon toppled backwards. Otherwise, the man would have brained himself with it again as he fell. Vallon landed with a reverberating thud, dust from the sandy ground wafting around him.
And then the fight was over.
In all it took about two minutes and it was still a colossal waste of time. Like most fights were, really. Why didn’t anyone ever just listen when Galahad suggested that they try rational discussion instead?
There was a long beat of silence as the assembled gryphons tried to figure out what happened. Their eyes seemed to go from Vallon’s fallen body, to Galahad, and then back again, like they were attempting to make the pieces fit.
Trystan’s intense gaze stayed on Galahad, not saying a word for a long moment. “How did you ever convince Guinevere that you’re boring and beige, knight?” He finally murmured.
“I am boring and beige.” It was why people stopped coming to the charity baseball games.
“The bleeding victim on the ground disagrees.” Trystan arched a brow. “Explain your desire to fight with calm positivity, again. The approach is surprisingly effective for knocking people unconscious.”
Galahad made a face at him and dropped the chain-mace to the ground. “Well, Vallon’s calm, isn’t he?” He challenged, sensing judgement. “And I’m positive he’ll be pleased when he wakes up alive.”
If he hadn’t known better he would’ve sworn Trystan’s mouth curved. “Let me guess: you invented that weapon.” He nodded towards the Camelot chain-mace.
“Of course not.”
“You’ve won some sort of award in wielding it?”
“No. We haven’t had that kind of contest in years, because people kept dying.”
Trystan waited expectantly.
“Okay, I did design the Knights’ Academy training course for the chain-mace.” Galahad admitted, after a beat. Aside from his TV shows, it made him uncomfortable to discuss his various jobs and skills. People sometimes thought his resume was bragging or outright lies. It was better to just keep things to himself. He shrugged, feeling defensive. “It’s only an elective in the spring.”
Trystan’s eyes glinted in something damn close to amusement. He glanced over at Ayren. “So… That went badly for you.” It was a flat-out taunt. “Is there anyone bigger you can send against this wingless, bound, unarmed man? Or do you not wish to embarrass our race further today?”
“How was I supposed to know he could do that?” She defended. “No one should be able to do that.” She waved a disgusted hand and there was something familiar about the gesture. “No other of their kind has ever stood in the ring. Next time we’ll send in two men and…”
“I know you.” Galahad blurted out suddenly. “You were in Camelot.”
Every gryphon present switched their attention to him.
“I know you.” He repeated, shocked to see her again. “You’re the woman from the lab. I didn’t recognize you, at first, because you don’t have your eagle face on, but… It’s you!” He was thrilled. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Ayren focused on him for the first time. Really looked at his features. …And he saw comprehension dawn. “Oh, Lyrssa.” She whispered in amazement.
Trystan glanced back-and-forth between them. “What the hell…?”
“I’ve met your knight before, Trystan.” Ayren didn’t take her eyes off Galahad. “When the wingless hoards came and I was captured, they locked me in a cell. Fed me poison to cloud my mind. Shaved my wings and tried to take my body.” Her voice was far away. “I thought I would die there and never see the sky again.”
“This man did that?” Trystan pointed at Galahad. “No.” He shook his head sounding very sure. “You’re mistaken.”
Galahad was touched by that immediate show of faith.
“He didn’t harm me.” Ayren agreed. “Your knight saved me. He held his own man at bay. Pressed a sword to his throat and told me to flee.”
Trystan hesitated. “He used a sword to attack another knight?”
Galahad winced a bit. The scene with Perceval had literally gotten Galahad banished from Camelot and labeled a traitor. Tales of treason weren’t going to help him woo Trystan into bed. The gryphon was very clear about disloyal soldiers being on his shit-list, so that story was exactly the kind of thing he didn’t need to hear.
“I gave up weapons not long after that.” He interjected, trying to mitigate the damage.
That had been the first and last time he’d pulled a weapon in anger since the War. It had been a part of his uniform as Captain of the King’s Men, forever affixed to his side. Later it had scared him how easily he could have used it that day. If Percival hadn’t let Ayren go, Galahad would have slayed his own soldier without a second thought.
Maybe that was the final push he’d needed to throw his sword away forever.
“After he pulled the other man away, your knight told me how to escape. He let me go and stayed behind to suffer the consequences alone.” Ayren continued. “Then, he burned that lab to the ground.”
Trystan’s eyes flicked to Galahad. “This is why you were banished? Why you forsook everything you had? Because you sided with a gryphon over a fellow knight?”
“Percival was an asshole, Trys. I swear, I didn’t have a choice.”
Trystan sighed like he’d reached the end of a very long road and was now stranded someplace he really didn’t want to be. “P’don.” He muttered tiredly and pinched the bridge of his nose.
That resigned curse didn’t sound like someone dying to forge a meaningful relationship.
Ayren’s head tilted, almost like a bird. “Your eyes are purple, knight.” She said abruptly, reaching out and almost touching his face. “Like the twilight sky.”
He wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Ummm…”
“You were the one at Legion, weren’t you?”
The question came out of nowhere, but now everyone was listening for an answer. All the other gryphons were focused on him, with various degrees of confusion and suspicion.
Trystan’s head snapped up. “Legion was five years ago.” He declared and it was a clear challenge to everyone who’d want Galahad’s head. “There were many knights there. We will never know them all. We only know this knight is mine.”
Ayren kept her attention on Galahad. “My younger sister was at Legion, hiding in the grass. Skylyn is a gifted storyteller. She told me of one knight, with blood dripping from his hands, who rode before the Rath.”
Bedivere’s face flickered through Galahad’s mind. The young so
ldier’s gaze blazing, as they stared at each other in the last moments of Legion.
Trystan’s head tilted. “What’s the Rath?”
“A weapon of their godless king.” Ayren said when Galahad remained quiet. “It would have killed the last of the survivors, except for one man. A lavender-eyed knight.” She kept her attention on Galahad. “This knight is you, yes?”
It wasn’t really a question.
Galahad shook his head, not wanting to remember Legion. Not wanting Trystan to know what he did. Not wanting to revisit anything about that day. “I don’t want to talk about the War.”
“I want to talk about it.” Trystan retorted. “Did you do something to stop this weapon? How? How could you have possibly convinced Uther to cease fire, given your abysmal ‘reasoning’ skills and his amorality?”
“I didn’t convince him.” Galahad said honestly. “He was already dead.”
“Lyrssa flew off with Uther, while this Rath was still a threat to her people?” Trystan didn’t seem convinced. “Why would she do this?”
Galahad shrugged.
“The knight is a lesser species, but he shows potential.” Ayren shot Trystan a quick look. “Give him to me. I will mate with him and mold him into a true warrior.”
“What?” Trystan’s attention swung back to her. “No.” The response was instant and absolute.
Galahad’s eyebrows shot up, shocked by both of them.
Ayren frowned at Trystan, like she’d been insulted. “I will treat him well. Certainly, I will not tie him up and let large men attack him with maces, as you do.” She waved a hand at Vallon’s prone form. “You did not even give the knight a sword.”
“That was your fault, not mine!” Trystan sounded outraged.
“And he has no hat. The wingless need hats to protect them from the sun. You should know how to care for his kind, if you plan to keep one.”
“I know how to care for the knight.” The words were a snarl. “I gave him a hat, but he lost it. Then I gave him my hat and he lost that, too. I will get another one, just as soon as I find one to steal.”
Best Knight Ever (A Kinda Fairytale Book 4) Page 11