Solomon gave a choked gasp of shock, trying to process what was happening.
Galahad was beginning to understand, though. The final dead guy’s wrong-way face survived the collision, so it was easy to recognize Tuesday Grundy. (He was the only one missing a nose.) The three dead brothers had indeed been keeping watch from on top of the buildings lining the street, no doubt acting as sentries to keep the elves in line.
Solomon dragged his eyes away from his dead brothers and onto Galahad. “You did this.” He seethed.
Galahad got to his feet. “Technically, no.”
He could take an educated guess as to who was responsible, though. God, Trystan really did belong on television. The man had a true flair for drama.
The Grundys began scanning rooftops. They didn’t have to look hard, since Trystan now stood on the edge of the nearest building, unconcerned about all the angry people below. His face wore the misty veil of battle, giving his features the look of an eagle. A hot desert breeze plastered his clothes to the strong, hard lines of his body.
No one else had ever been so beautiful.
For one timeless moment, everything went still and there was only Trystan. Invincible and Good and extraordinary in every way. Voices whispered in his head and Galahad understood exactly what they said. He couldn’t translate the gryphon dialect they were speaking, but he knew the truth they told him.
Because he saw it too.
“Holy shit…” Solomon’s eyes went wide, horrific memories from the War flashing over his face. “It’s him. I seen him once. It’s that goddamn demon!”
Galahad didn’t even hear him, transfixed by Trystan. His wings were impossibly huge behind him, perfect and white as an angel’s. A warrior sent to protect the innocent. A gift from God. In that second, gazing up at Trystan, Galahad saw the future. He saw everything right there in front of him, silhouetted against the cloudless sky.
And it was beautiful.
“That’s Trystan Airbourne!” Solomon screamed at him, like maybe Galahad didn’t comprehend what was happening. “It’s really him!”
“I know.” Galahad felt his mouth curve, seeing his path so clearly that it dazzled him. “That’s the man I’m going to marry.”
Chapter Thirteen
Uther was determined to have the graal. This is what started the first Looking Glass Campaign.
He rallied all of his gold, and all of his knights, and all of his weapons. Then he marched into Lyonesse, cutting a swath of destruction and pain. He demanded that the gryphons show him the location of the Looking Glass Pool and vowed not to stop the slaughter until he had claimed it for his own.
Even if we had known the location of the lost temple, we would not have told it to him.
How the Wingless War Happened
Skylyn Welkyn- Gryphon Storyteller
The Town- Edge of the Wilds
Seeing an opening to overthrow their oppressors, the toiling elves began to rush forward. Hoes and rakes held high they charged the lesser Grundys. Thursday, Monday, and Wednesday were swarmed with angry serfs trying to win back their freedom. The men began beating them away, but the small creatures were coming in waves.
The rest of the town began joining in the fight, although it was hard to determine whose side they were on. Mostly they were just panicked. Guns began firing out windows, aiming at anything that moved. Solomon and Galahad had to rip their eyes away from Trystan and duck behind water barrels on opposite sides of the street to avoid being hit.
This whole plan could’ve been going better. Why did no one ever act reasonably?
“Flags was the battle you were punished for losing, knight?” Trystan called from the rooftop, calm in the midst of pandemonium. He must have been listening to Galahad’s argument with Solomon.
Galahad winced a bit. He didn’t like Trystan knowing about his part in the War. Nothing Good could come from it. “I didn’t lose the battle. I just didn’t win it.”
“Fucking pussy.” Solomon reiterated, glaring at Galahad. Blood dripped from his injured nose onto his chin.
Trystan ignored him, his attention fixed on Galahad like he was fascinated. “Uther demoted you, because you ordered your men to stop firing on the gryphons?”
“Technically, I was demoted for ‘showing mercy to the enemy in wartime.’”
That rule was ridiculously vague and not at all in keeping with the Knights’ Code. Galahad had stated as much at his disciplinary hearing, not that anyone cared. He’d received his rank back after a couple months, though, when the king needed him to kill more people.
Trystan considered that for a beat. “Well, not to agree with Uther, but stopping the assault at Flags was a terrible strategy. Why would you do something so stupid?”
“Because the gryphons were retreating.” Galahad yelled back. That was the same question Uther had bellowed at him after the skirmish. Right before he locked him in the stocks. “You don’t shoot people who are retreating. Not if there’s another way.”
Trystan’s scoff was audible even at a distance. “You do, if you want to win.”
“In war, there are no rules.” Solomon insisted loudly. “Even the gryphon knows that and he’s a goddamn demon!”
“If you’re killing unarmed people, then it’s murder.” Galahad knew that. “It’s a rule, no matter if it’s wartime or peace.”
“You pious little prick! The gryphons would have picked us off, if the situations were reversed.” Solomon looked up at Trystan like the two of them were suddenly on the same side. He must not have heard the part about Galahad intending to marry the man. “Wouldn’t you have picked us all off, Airbourne?”
“When men come to kill me, I kill them first. It’s why I yet survive.”
That was true. Under Trystan’s take-no-prisoners command, ten knights died for every gryphon and most of them had never seen it coming. The man was a genius at guerrilla-style combat. Galahad wasn’t. He was willing to admit that. He’d tried to strictly follow the rules of engagement.
But Trystan had been fighting armed knights, who knew what they were getting into. Galahad had been trying to wage a war in towns and villages, surrounded by civilians. When he’d encountered non-combatants, he stopped his troops and let the people peaceably disperse. Even if warriors slipped away with them, the alternative had always seemed far worse. Galahad didn’t apologize for erring on the side of caution, when it came to sparing innocent lives.
Not when the alternative was children dead in the grass.
“Damn right, you kill them first.” Solomon nodded at Trystan’s words. Somehow he was blaming Galahad for all this, even though Trystan was the one who’d tossed his brothers to their deaths. “If Trystan Airbourne was in charge, we’d have won the goddamn War.”
Galahad was getting pissed, now. “We did win the War!” Unfortunately. “I did what I had to do at Flags and I’d do it again. There were women and children in the crowd.”
“So the hell what?”
“So I’d never fire on women and children! No true knight would.”
Trystan froze.
Galahad was beyond noticing, the argument with Solomon bringing back memories he’d rather forget. “Innocent people are not my enemies. It’s my job to protect them. It’s right there in the Knights’ Code.”
“You’re the only one who ever gave a shit about that code!” Solomon screamed. Blood from his nose had gotten into his mouth and coated his teeth, giving him a demonic look. “You’re why Bedivere died saving those little bastards at Legion. You had to be. I knew him and he wouldn’t have done something so stupid on his own.”
Trystan’s head tilted.
“I never made Bedivere do anything.” Galahad didn’t like to get angry, but this entire conversation was pissing him off. “He made his own choices and he lived with them.”
“Bullshit!” This time it was a screech. “It’s your fault he’s dead. I wasn’t even there and I know it was all your doing.” Solomon turned his attention to Trystan. “He
y, Airbourne! You and me don’t have a problem here.”
“I disagree.” Trystan intoned. “You have upset my knight. This is a problem for you.”
“This ass-clown was Captain of the King’s Men. He’s your sworn enemy. Now, you might be a monster, who just murdered by brothers, but I’m thinking it’s really his fault.” Solomon jabbed a finger at Galahad. “Everything is always his fault.”
“I have noticed this, as well. The man’s very aura creates disruption.”
Galahad sighed, praying for patience.
“Both of us have reason to hate Galahad, gryphon.” Solomon was warming to his own logic. “He’s fucked us both over, just by being such a do-Gooding bastard. Go ahead and kill him and we’ll call it even.”
“That’s a remarkably tempting offer.” Trystan allowed. “The knight is no end of trouble to me. He cannot even enter a store without igniting a shootout in the street.”
Galahad rolled his eyes, no longer on the verge of losing his temper. Trystan’s calm voice soothed the edges of his anger, even when his future husband was being a jackass.
“Yet, I have a deep and confusing interest in keeping the knight alive.” Trystan continued and nonchalantly jumped off the roof, his huge wings keeping him aloft. “So he will stay alive.”
Jesus, the man truly did look like an angel. Galahad gazed upward, in total and complete wonderment. Everything Trystan did was just so beautiful.
“Abandon your plan to harm my knight and I will cease killing you and your multiples.” Trystan told Solomon. “Don’t and I will rid this town of all of you for good.”
“Screw that!” Solomon screamed back. “You side with him, you both die!”
Galahad’s eyebrows soared. Hang on… Was Trystan calling him “my knight?” That was awesome. Did Trystan try to be awesome or did it just come naturally to him? God, it didn’t even matter. No one else in the world could ever compete with this man.
Around them, the firefight continued to rage. It seemed like the whole town had been a powder keg, just waiting to go off and Galahad had lit the fuse. Most people were aiming at the Grundys, though, so that was a positive sign. Galahad always tried to look on the bright side. Solomon and his brothers had apparently pissed off everybody with their tactics, because now they were the targets of a lot of pent up frustration and hate.
A couple of the lesser Grundys managed to escape the elves. The other one was ominously still, with a shovel planted in his chest. The two remaining men made their way toward Solomon, crouched down to avoid all the flying bullets targeted at their heads.
Trystan didn’t seem to notice the chaos. He landed on the ground, smoothly transitioning from flying to walking. He didn’t miss a single step. Didn’t even hesitate. He just strolled through the battle, with total confidence.
It was awesome.
One of the Grundys raced towards Trystan and Galahad slammed the flying carpet right over his head. Trystan didn’t really need his help, but Galahad couldn’t help his instincts. He protected Trystan, first and always. The dense weave enveloped the Grundy’s skull like shrink wrap, winding round and round. The man hit the ground, gasping for air and trying to pry it off his face before he suffocated.
Trystan glanced at the struggling moron and then arched a brow at Galahad. “Now you wish to fight?”
“A rug isn’t a sword, Trys. I’m well within my rules of nonviolence.”
The Grundy continued to thrash around like a beached fish.
Galahad ignored him, his eyes on Trystan. “Hey, did you get me any Gala-Chips?”
“They only had the caramel-and-whey ones.”
“Ew. I hate caramel-and-whey. Why does anyone like it? Why is that always the best-selling flavor?”
“I am shocked any of your gods-awful concoctions sell.” Trystan stomped a boot into the man’s stomach reaching down to pry the carpet free. “But, at least you are focusing better and managing to make this thing fly.” Galahad eased back on the pressure he was exerting to keep the fabric in place and Trystan removed it from the guy’s face. “I told you so. The rug is authentic, yes?” He tossed it back to Galahad. “Do not damage Avalon’s gift. She will have words for us both.”
“Kill Galahad, brothers!” Solomon ordered. “We’ll see him dead and then get the rest of these monsters under control. They’re all about to learn who they’re dealing with!”
Trystan’s attention flicked to him, again. He looked like a gunfighter, all set for a shootout. Galahad had always had a thing for cowboys and he had an even bigger thing for Trystan.
Jesus, Galahad was just completely sold on the man. Planning-their-dream-wedding, adopting-an-adorable-dog-together SOLD. For real. Galahad was already up to the step where they bought and restored their dream home. Which he could totally do, because he had a contracting license and a real interest in historic architecture.
All that stood in the way of a future filled with fuzzy puppies and claw foot tubs was convincing the way hotter, way cooler, way more awesome half of their partnership that they had a future together.
Trystan headed up the center of the dirt road like he owned the whole damn town. “Are these the former King’s Men who want you dead because of the map, knight?”
Galahad cleared his throat. “No, this is a different group of ex-soldiers who hate me.”
“For Lyrssa’s sake… I think the wingless soldiers despise you more than the gryphons.”
“I explained that I had a problem making friends, didn’t I?”
“This is not a problem. This is an epidemic. Everyone we meet wants you dead.”
Solomon nodded, like Trystan was once again making a lot of sense. “Preachy do-Gooder deserves it, too.” He stood up, ready to make his last stand, and looked at his brothers. “Kill Galahad.” He repeated in a commanding tone. “No matter what, he dies today!”
Trystan’s head tilted at some predatory angle. …And then Solomon was in the air. Trystan launched himself into flight, blasting down the street and hitting Solomon like a torpedo. Solomon shrieked in fury and terror as he was lifted into the sky. Ten seconds later, he hit the ground again, only now he was in two separate pieces.
Galahad cringed a bit at the mess.
The last two Grundys raced at Galahad, eager to carry out their brother’s final order. They only made it a few steps when the sidewalk behind them exploded. Wooden boards were propelled twenty feet in every direction, along with about a ton of dirt and rocks. A new being stood in the center of the crater that was left behind.
The sandman had re-formed himself.
Galahad had never actually seen one before. His body was shaped like a man, but it was made of swirling dust and grit, creating the sensation of motion even when he was standing still. It was remarkable. Like a cyclone had been given life.
Everyone in the town ran for their lives.
The sandman’s glowing topaz eyes fixed on the last two Grundys and the ground beneath them began to churn. The men screamed as the dirt rose up, spinning and reeling around them at incredible speeds. The whirlwind was concentrated on the Grundys, but its colossal strength fogged the entire street with debris. Galahad had to shield his eyes from the power of it. Then, just as quickly as it began, the grinding wind stopped and the air stilled, again.
And all that was left of the Grundys were sandblasted bones.
“Holy shit.” Galahad whispered getting to his feet.
The sandman’s attention switched to him, an unreadable expression on the ever-changing features of his grainy face.
“Uh… Hi.” Galahad raised a hand at him, wondering what to do next. “Listen, what do you say we have a reasonable discussion about this?”
The sandman started towards him, but he didn’t get far.
Trystan landed right between them.
He slammed down with massive force, hitting the ground in an animalistic crouch. Holy shit, the man was awesome. Slowly straightening up to his full height, Trystan braced his legs apart, ready for
the next fight. His back was towards Galahad, his face towards the sandman, and it really was like an angel intervening. No one could have defeated Trystan. Galahad believed it without reservation.
The man was the greatest warrior in the world.
The sandman hesitated. “I am not a threat to your knight.”
“Nothing is a threat to my knight.” Trystan’s eyes stayed trained on the sandman’s swirling form. “Not for long, anyway. I make sure of it.”
Yeah, he had definitely said “my knight” that time. Galahad’s mood soared. That was a really optimistic sign for his seduction plans.
The sandman and Trystan continued to watch each other. They both seemed to be waiting to see what the other would do next.
The sandman relented first. “I doubt a fight would end well for either of us, gryphon.” His voice was like listening to sandpaper scrape across wood. “And there is no need for one. I simply want to speak with the knight. I owe him a debt. I was locked in that water cage for over a week. I do not understand why he helped me, but I thank him.”
“You’re welcome.” Galahad said with a friendly smile. See? Now things were going smoothly. You just needed to stay positive. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
The sandman stared at him, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Uh… You don’t literally owe me anything, you know.” Galahad assured him, in case that’s what he thought. “Really. I was happy to help.”
The sandman squinted a bit. “You freed me with no thought of reward? That’s… ridiculous.” He glanced back at Trystan, as if he needed to make sure he wasn’t imagining this whole thing. “You see that is ridiculous, don’t you?”
“Yep.” The word was infused with all the frustration in the world.
“Does the knight do these ridiculous things often?”
Trystan arched a brow, apparently deciding the sandman wasn’t a danger now that he was agreeing with Trystan’s point of view. “Yep.”
“Well, you should stop him.”
“I’ve tried.” Trystan gestured around the decimated town. “Witness my success.” He was pissed. Galahad had been totally right about that prediction. Now that he’d decided the threat was over, Trystan was ready to start shouting. The man was the most emotional man ever born without emotions. Ever.
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