by C. M. Gray
'What are you all saying?' asked Pardigan after pondering the whole thing for a few moments. He was happy that he wasn't at the back, but unsure what the others meant when they said things like, 'bound to fall off,' and 'accident prone.' He got up behind Tarent and then turned to help Loras get up behind him. They fidgeted for a few moments to get comfortable before the conversation resumed.
'Well, you are the only one to have fallen so far,' said Tarent.
'And you tend to attract problems and…' chimed in Loras.
'Okay, okay let's just get going before I attract more problems, which I don't think I do. I'm a highly adept thief able to get into and out of…' He suddenly noticed Bartholomew glaring at him, so shut his mouth with a snap then buried his head in Tarent's shoulder. 'Let's go,' came his muffled voice.
Mahra grinned and patted Loras on the leg, he smiled back at her. 'Don't worry, Loras, if you fall I'll let Quint know. I'll be right alongside you. Just don't pull Pardigan off if you do fall… hold on tight both of you!'
As The Griffin rose to her feet and spread her wings, the crew called hasty promises to Bartholomew that they would speak on his behalf, requesting that King Hugo go leniently on him after all his help in recovering the two crystal skulls.
'And you have the word of a Guild Merchant and a gentleman that I shall turn himself in and clear my good name. I shall help them track down, capture and kill that scum hunter, Matheus Hawk. I shall wrestle the other skull from his treacherous betraying hands myself and then bring it to the King; for I am his loyal and honest subject, so I am… you tell him that, my oath on it! And you can also tell him…'
But Bartholomew's words were lost as The Griffin exploded upwards in a giant leap with her passengers doing their utmost to hang gamely on.
Below the departing Griffin, The Esmerelda continued on her way, her huge white sails startlingly bright against the deep blue of the ocean, caught in the first rays of the rising sun as it cast a brilliant orange sunrise between the horizon and the covering of cloud that still filled most of the sky. It had stopped raining, and this side of the mountains there was no sign of snow.
Riding on the back of The Griffin, as she clawed her way up through the frigid air was still incredibly cold for her passengers. The trick they now knew was to keep as low on her back as possible, to escape the worst of the cold wind and to grip onto the warm shaggy pelt with fingers becoming rapidly numb. As The Griffin turned west, they were able to take a last look down at the ship below as it crashed on through the waves, none of them believing that Bartholomew would keep to his word, yet there was nothing more they could do, they needed to get the skulls to safety and then travel on to Dhurban as quickly as possible. There had been no other choice but to leave Bartholomew to his own devices and hope he didn't return to a life of mischief.
* * *
Water rippled beside a lily pad as thick white lips delicately sucked a floating morsel from the surface. As the beautifully mottled fish slowly sank back out of sight into the green depths of the pond, several more small pieces of bread landed close by in cascades of interlocking ripples, tempting more of the shy creatures from hiding. The fish obliged, two this time, one a deep golden colour with an orange strip down the front of its face, the other one almost bone white from tip to tail, the shading of its features making it seem as if some misshapen skull had risen from the depths. It was the fish the Emperor had been waiting for, his special favourite. It amused him that the fish resembled the crystal skull that Matheus Hawk placed such great value in. His eyes were drawn to the rock in the centre of the pool where the real crystal skull had been placed, before returning to his prized fish.
'Ahh, my precious ghost has come to visit. You have been tempted from your lair, and now you shall blow me kisses.' The Emperor's soft lilting voice carried around the small courtyard, blending with the soft tinkling of the fountain at the far end, and the last rays of a fading sunset casting a rainbow in the fine mist. Tossing the last few pieces of bread towards the lily pads, the Emperor leaned out to see his ghost fish better as it moved towards the floating crust, but then the clatter of shod feet and the rude banging of a door broke the moment. The fish turned with a splash of alarm to seek the sanctuary of the depths.
The Emperor stood, wiping a stray drop of water from his cheek, and turned to see who it was that had disturbed his peace. A large warrior, armoured from head to foot in polished red hide and dusted with the filth of the far away desert, came to a halt and struck his arm across his chest in salute, his eyes were cast to the floor.
'Mighty Emperor, my Lord of Shadows, our forces are nearing the great city of Dhurban and shall arrive with the morning sun. Some form of demonic beast that was able to hunt them has now expelled your wraiths; however, the survivors report many deaths were made, and great fear and havoc brought upon the city. Magic of some kind is now at play and stops them from re-entering. We await your wishes and instruction.'
The Emperor, Djinn Tsai, smoothed his robes and walked past the man without saying a word. As if in deep thought he plucked a lemon from the small tree that overhung the pond and slowly circled the courtyard. The warrior stood unmoving, waiting.
'You rudely disturbed my presence, General.' His voice echoed from the surrounding building. 'This is a place of peace and tranquillity, yet you barge through, entering my presence like a swarm of angry bees.' The warrior trembled slightly as the Emperor circled, stroking the lemon with long lacquered nails as if in deep concentration. 'However, you come with welcome news, so how should I react?' Stopping in front of the warrior, the Emperor gazed up into the face of the taller man and, reaching out, lifted his chin. The General closed his eyes and swallowed; yet dared not pull away. To look directly into the face of the Emperor would surely mean death and eternal pain. 'I shall offer you a present,' he offered the lemon, 'and ask that, in future, you enter with a little more… grace.' The warrior took the proffered fruit his eyes still managing not to look directly at his Lord. 'You have done well, you may eat… eat it all.'
Without thought or complaint the warrior bit into the lemon and chewed. By the third bite, his eyes were watering, and the nerves in his face were betraying the tart sourness of the fruit, yet he continued to chew, juice dribbling down his chin to drip upon his armour cutting bright trails through the dust.
'For one such as you, a mortal man, the lemon is very beneficial. Would you like me to pick a second for you?' The warrior did not reply but instead took another large bite. 'I shall join our forces at first light. Make camp upon arrival. Do not attack. Do not communicate with the enemy… finish your lemon.'
The general crammed the remaining part of the lemon in his mouth and with eyes streaming, managed to chew and swallow without gagging. 'Go General, your Emperor is pleased.' With another firm salute, the warrior backed away and then, spinning on his heels, strode towards the door.
'So now we come to gather souls across the Great Expanse.' The Emperor watched his General leave. 'How interesting.' Gathering his robes in clenched fists, he shuffled towards the door, the fish now forgotten. The anticipation of collecting more souls for his crystal driving away the feeling of apathy that had previously so overcome him, once more he felt motivated and eager to move on. Upon entering the palace complex he called for his valet, 'Bring me my armour, bring me my weapons, it is time once again to reap a fine harvest.'
* * *
The return to Deniah was swift and without incident. The crew arrived some distance from the city amid the cold bare branches of an apple orchard so as not to cause alarm. They were chilled but in good spirits, happy to be back again and able to return at least two of the stolen skulls. Stamping feet and swinging their arms to bring some circulation back, they offered their thanks to The Griffin before sending her on her way. They were cold, wet and weary, and the final walk back towards the high walls of the city turned into a mostly silent slog. Even Pardigan had stopped his incessant chattering, preferring to push on through the mud and into
the city.
It was mid-morning, the rain had ceased, the sun was trying hard to break through the low scattering of clouds and at some time during their travels the midwinter feast had been celebrated and, although not warm, there was the promise of spring in the air. The rain, wind and frosts of winter had driven all the old brown leaves from the branches, and now the first green buds of the new season were starting to show on the apple trees.
'I'll be glad to get to Dhurban and feel some warmth on my back,' muttered Quint. 'I know I'll be moaning about sand in my teeth, but I'm going to try and hold onto the memory of cold and wet, wet and cold and then smile as I bake!'
Mahra shuddered as a gust of wind rocked them on their feet. 'Let's just give the skulls to King Hugo and move on as fast as we can. I don't know if I ever mentioned this, but cats do not like to be cold or wet and it feels that's the way I've been for so very long. Oh, no…' she stopped and tried to free her boot that had become stuck in a patch of deep mud. 'Oh, Quint, help me will you?' She began to make frustrated mewing sounds as she struggled. Quint and Tarent both moved over to her and grabbed an arm each to help while the others trudged on.
The outer city of Deniah was its normal bustling self. Pardigan bought clay mugs, filled to the brim with hot soup from the first small eatery they came to and handed them over to the others as they came limping in helping the shivering Mahra. It was thick, hot, and none of them really cared to know what it was made from, but it renewed their energy and a short while later they were able to walk through Lion's gate and into the city to present themselves at the palace.
'Thank the Source, you have all returned!' As the bedraggled group were ushered into the throne room, King Hugo Payne leapt to his feet, his smile expressing his relief at seeing them.
'Sire,' Magician Falk approached the throne and went down on one knee in front of his monarch; the King drew him up and embraced him.
'Silas, my old friend! Seeing you safe and back at my side gives me hope for the tasks ahead of us. He greeted the others and bade them all join him at some chairs clustered about a roaring log fire. 'What news do you bring? We have heard nothing for many days… will Morgasta, and her Barbarians be attacking from the North?' He leaned forward; worry returning to his face as he waited for Magician Falk to reply.
'Our friends here are indeed angels of the Source, your Majesty. We managed to block the pass, there will be no invaders from the north.'
The King leant back and let out a sigh. 'Thank you Silas, thank you all. The Realm is in your debt. And did you manage to locate the skulls? There has been unrest in Sterling Port for several days. We kept their theft a secret for as long as possible, but word is now out and the people fear for our future.'
Pardigan lifted the sack he had brought into the room and placed it at the King's feet, but before he could say anything, Elisop came forward, bowing and wringing his hands as he simpered, 'Your Majesty, my loyal helpers and I battled through the streets of both Bedlam and Mayhem. Infiltrated the palace of Morgasta, and finally entered the deepest confines of the Chaos temple in Mayhem. It is my deep pleasure to return these two magnificent skulls to you.' He backed away still wringing his hands and making small squeaky simpering sounds then fell over, thumping down onto his bottom with a howl. He glared at Pardigan who leapt to his feet to help the little man up. Loras was almost doubled up in silent giggles.
'I'm so sorry Mr Elisop sir, what kind of loyal helper am I to your august self if my feet get in the way?' Elisop slapped his hands away but obviously thought better of making a further scene.
'The Realm is grateful to all of you. I look forward to hearing the details of your adventures later, but we must return these skulls to the temple at Sterling as soon as we can. Do we know where the third and final skull is located?'
'The final skull was taken by the traitor Matheus Hawk and is thought now to be in the possession of the invaders to the south.' Magician Falk drew a map from his cloak and spread it on the small table. 'Do we know where the invaders, the Soul Eaters, as we now know them to be called, have reached?'
King Hugo didn't even bother to look at the map. 'I am sorry to say that they stand before the gates of Dhurban.'
* * *
'Eat your soup, you dim-witted girl.' Matheus Hawk sneered across the dirty table at his captive and brushed Nhasic back, who was about to dash in and grab at the bowl set in front of the Princess. She sat slumped and uncooperative opposite him. Slowly raising her head, she offered a look of loathing and contempt that contorted her dirty face.
'Your stupid monkey can have it I don't care. It tastes like filth, it tastes like your monkey has been bathing in the pot when you weren't looking.' Upon hearing this Nhasic scampered out of the Hawk's reach, chattering angrily in denial of the alleged crime.
'I don't care what he has been doing in it, you will get nothing else and you will die if you do not eat. You keep telling me your young friend is going to come rescue you. Wouldn't it be a little unfortunate if he arrived and you were just a skinny disgusting corpse? He wouldn't find you very attractive then, would he? So eat!' The Hawk finished his own bowl and wiped a piece of bread around to mop up the last of the soup, then pushed the bowl to the side and stood up. 'I don't care; die if you wish. They will come to find you whether you are dead or alive it means nothing to me. You smell bad enough already… like a walking corpse,' his lips drew back in a sneer.
Gathering her resolve, Fajira leant forward, brought the bowl to her mouth and began to slurp the soup down as quickly as she could. She would not give this pig the satisfaction of seeing her fade away and die. Loras would find her, and when he did then he would rescue her and end this puffed up conjurer's life with one mighty spell that would leave him dead and defeated like a steaming pile of camel dung.
The little demon thing was getting closer again - edging nearer and nearer ready to pounce, it didn't think she had noticed. Its master was distracted, consulting his endless notes and the foul creature was going to try to dart in and steal her bread. She continued to sip at the broth and then as it appeared about ready to make a final lunge, she darted forward and spat a stream of soup into its face.
Matheus Hawk jumped up as Nhasic let out a shrill scream and then scrambled to rescue his notes from the soup-splattered table. The little demon was scurrying around in circles, flapping its arms and licking its face with either alarm or relish… she wasn't quite sure if it was happy or angry to be covered in soup, but at least she was smiling. Nhasic made a run at her, screaming and jabbering madly, and then she backed hurriedly out of her chair.
'Get away, horrid thing, take it away from me. You will both die terrible deaths when Loras arrives. He will snap his fingers and your skin will feel as if it is being eaten by sand worms, leaving you screaming and grovelling for mercy. Go… get away… filthy beast!'
Nhasic lunged, but he wasn't seeking to strike the Princess, he snatched the bread, hissed one final time, and ran chattering up onto a rock shelf to devour his prize. The Hawk let out a bellow of laughter and clapped his hands in delight, but then ducked hurriedly as an empty soup bowl narrowly missed his head and smashed on the wall behind him. He rose slowly and glowered at the Princess - she had a good aim, he had to give her that.
'Hang me back on the wall. I have eaten, I am still alive, and I will wait for Loras on my own, away from you… you pig!'
'Yes Princess, we shall all wait. We shall wait, and when your small friend gets here, I shall kill you both very slowly, and Nhasic will delight in sucking on your bones. Now get into your shackles and be silent, I have plans to complete.'
* * *
Chapter 20
Patterns in the Sand
The cold was a shock as they flew over the desert. In the north, they had expected it, but a desert by its very nature is a hot, dry and, usually, a very sandy expanse. Hanging on to The Griffin as it dipped and soared effortlessly through a clear blue, cloudless sky using the air currents that rose from the larger sand du
nes below to gain tremendous stomach churning lift, it was numbingly cold. They had been flying for most of the day, and now as the sun was setting in a splendour of colour, the crew were fighting fatigue and in danger of collapse, which at this height would be fatal. There was also a need to eat, to set a fire and warm up before the real cold of the desert night set in and, finally, to find some sleep.
Feeling stiff and exhausted from the constant buffeting and battling with the elements, Quint craned around to glance back at his friends. Each was caught in their own little world of suffering, holding on in dogged determination and leaning into each other in an effort to keep warm and escape the wind. Their eyes were closed, their hoods pulled up as they dealt with their own silent torments after a full day of flight, constantly flexing and gripping on as The Griffin turned, dropped and soared… it was definitely time to land.
Concentrating, Quint tried to find his voice, which wasn't easy. His throat was parched, long robbed of moisture by the dry desert air, and his voice when it did emerge was parched and croaky and instantly snatched away on the wind. Leaning as far forward as he could towards The Griffin's strange feather pointed ears, he shouted, 'Griffin… go down… find… find a place… a place to camp.'
Legs aching and fingers numb from exposure, he suddenly had serious misgivings about his ability to loosen his hold where his fingers gripped stubbornly upon the thick pelt at the base of The Griffin's neck. He rolled his neck and turned around again to warn his friends.
'We're going down,' he called over his shoulder, 'hold on.' As if sensing their readiness, The Griffin dropped and banked to the right. Quint felt his stomach lurch at the sudden movement, his legs responding, gripping fiercely, and his fingers found some last vestige of life and tightened their grip, and he knew, that behind him, the others would each be doing the same.
In the early days of them learning to fly, Pardigan had actually parted company with The Griffin's back, left up in the air as The Griffin had dropped away beneath him. Afterwards, he had tried to explain that his fingers had been cold, and he had been warming them… just for a few moments. The next thing he knew was The Griffin had gone, and he was floundering, flapping his arms in mid-air and screaming as he fell towards the ground at an alarming speed. They had caught him before he had hit the ground, of course, but it was a valuable lesson for each of them. From then on they always kept one hand tightly gripped on, even when they were warming the other in the folds of their cloak.