Magic, Myth & Majesty: 7 Fantasy Novels

by David Dalglish

  As the archers stood to shoot at the wasps, Cragyn’s bowmen launched waves of arrows. Below, Cragyn’s men broke from their defensive positions to rush the towers. Hoffan’s men fought them back for a few minutes, but with the archers on the walls beset from two directions, Veyrians gained the lower levels and fought their way up. Hoffan and Whelan ran down the stairs to join the battle. Markal overlooked the battle with a grim look on his face, while Sofiana shot her crossbow with little success.

  Darik froze, torn between staying to help the girl and wizard with his short sword, and going after Whelan and Hoffan. From the ever-closer shouting and clanking of swords below, the battle would reach him either way. Dragon wasps swooped again and again at the walls. Two archers atop the Eagle Tower itself fell to assault, leaving only Darik, his two companions and a single bowman.

  From the mountains at their back, a scream, high and inhuman. A moment later, an entire chorus of screams. And then he saw them, coming over the mountains, shimmering white and oh, so gloriously beautiful against the sun. An entire flock of griffins. Head and front legs of an eagle, and back haunches of a lion, they were as big as horses, but graceful as Whelan’s falcon as they wheeled in the air. Each griffin held at least one man on its back, sometimes two, and these men shouted as the griffins swept into battle. Their mounts joined them in another ear-splitting shriek. This time the dragon wasps and their riders lifted up from the walls to meet them.

  Markal broke from his stupor. New hope brushed across his face. “Flockheart! He’s come!”

  There were only a dozen dragon wasps, compared to twice as many griffins; the wasps and their riders, so fearsome a moment earlier, looked weak and pitiful in comparison. Some of the griffins wheeled immediately at the dragon wasps, while others dove for the green, attacking Cragyn’s men with claw and beak.

  Two griffins seized a dragon wasp in the air overhead. One tore at its eyes with its beak, while the other raked its belly with claws. The griffin riders dragged the dragon’s kin from his mount and hurled him to the rocks below. The wasp followed its rider, broken and dead. One of the griffins dropped to the Eagle Tower and Darik and Sofiana instinctively shrank back.

  Two men rode the griffin and one slid free, sword in hand. The man remaining on the griffin looked bird-like himself. He’d slicked back his hair like the curved feathers around an eagle’s ears and he cocked his head and eyed Darik before turning to the wizard.

  “Flockheart,” Markal said. “You’re just in time.”

  The second man, to Darik’s surprise, was Whelan’s brother Ethan. He looked different than when Darik had seen him in the tavern a few days earlier. He wore Eriscoban leather armor, covered with sheets of metal scale. Ethan slid his sword back into his scabbard, hung over his shoulder in the same way that Whelan wore his blade. From its battered, overly polished scabbard, Darik guessed it had seen plenty of battles.

  “Well met, Ethan,” Markal said. “How did Flockheart know we needed him? He’d have no news of this battle in his aerie.”

  “I met Saldibar’s agents soon after you left. They were looking for you, thinking you Veyrian spies who’d set fire to the Slaves Quarter. We exchanged a few, uh, pleasantries until we properly established identities. I’m afraid I left them somewhat worse for the wear.”

  “But alive, I hope,” Markal said.

  “Yes, of course. So they brought me to the grand vizier in the Tombs of the Kings and he sent me to catch you. I’ve been riding hard, and I met Flockheart and his flock chasing a pair of dragon wasps who’d stumbled into the mountains and stirred up trouble. So we already rode in force.”

  “Where is my brother?” Ethan asked.

  Sofiana said, “Down below.”

  “As should I be.” Ethan turned and ran down the stairs. Darik took up Hoffan’s short sword and made to follow, but Markal stopped him.

  Dragon wasps killed or driven away, the griffins swooped at the attackers, lifting many into the air to tear apart or dash on the rocks. Hoffan’s men fought free from the towers. Victory for Cragyn’s army turned into a rout. Yet again, the Veyrians fled down the hill.

  Darik, Markal, and Sofiana made their way to the green, where Darik returned his sword to Hoffan, embarrassed at its lack of use. But the big man hugged him and grinned. “Well done.” He eyed the griffins with a curious look that encompassed both awe and fear. “All those sheep paid off after all.” He turned and shouted instructions to organize his men against the next attack.

  “No,” Markal shouted after him. “It’s over. We can’t win, not even with the griffins.”

  “Are you asking me to abandon Montcrag?” Hoffan asked.

  “No, I’m telling you to abandon Montcrag. The griffins can carry us to the top of the mountain and we can hike to Eriscoba from there. We have no choice. This defeat is just a sting to the enemy, while we’ve lost half our men, dead or injured.”

  Hoffan hesitated, then turned and shouted new instructions.

  Darik and Sofiana found Whelan before Ethan, but when Whelan heard that his brother was searching for him, he started looking. They found Ethan shortly. The two embraced, then Ethan said, “I’m glad I found you. You’ve got to return.”

  “To Balsalom? How badly was the city damaged?”

  Ethan’s expression turned grim. “The dark wizard has murdered and carried away thousands of people.”

  “And the khalifa?” Whelan asked in a tired voice. Years lined his face and the glint dulled in his eyes. “Did she die easily or did he torture her?”

  “Kallia?” Ethan said, a smile coming to his lips. “I forgot to tell you. Kallia is alive. She sent me to find you.”

  10

  Hoffan sent men to guard Montcrag’s entrance, now unprotected by gates, while Flockheart’s griffins carried the others to safety on the ridge. The ridge topped the mountain like a lizard’s bony spine. Cragyn’s men could scale the mountain with effort—that was Montcrag’s escape route, after all—but the griffins could hold back the armies long enough to make pursuit impossible. Some of Hoffan’s men climbed onto the griffins with terror on their faces, clinging to the rider and clenching their eyes shut. Others rose into the air with looks of exhilaration.

  Darik gathered his belongings and returned to the green. Hoffan climbed onto the back of one of the griffins, and gave a sad look over his shoulder. Montcrag had never fallen to direct assault. Until now.

  Flockheart and his griffin Brasson returned to the bailey green, followed by a second beast and rider. Whelan approached Flockheart with Scree securely in his hands. He’d covered the falcon’s eyes with a leather hood, but the bird still struggled. She screamed, and Brasson eyed the bird with a curious gleam in its eyes. Recognition? Darik had no idea how intelligent the griffins were.

  “Boy,” a voice called from the second griffin. A girl sat on the back of this second animal, or rather a young woman, not a girl. About Darik’s age. A thin leather harness looped around the griffin’s neck, then tied to her belt to keep her from falling should she lose her grip; there was no saddle or bridle. She gestured for him to come.

  Darik swallowed hard, trying to steady his nerves, then slowly approached the griffin. He held out his hand like he might to a strange dog.

  “Not like that,” she said. “She’ll take your arm off.” She grinned. “Come on, just climb on back.”

  Sheepishly, Darik climbed onto the back of the animal and wrapped his arms around the girl. The griffin shifted its weight. It felt much like sitting bareback on a horse, but it moved like a recently broken stallion. The girl tied the leather strap around his waist, and wrapped it around his legs and pulled it tight at the crotch.

  “There,” she said. “You feel secure?”

  “No, not really.”

  She laughed. “You look all right to me.”

  The girl climbed in front and secured herself, then told Darik to hold on. “Ska!” she shouted, digging her heels into the griffin’s ribs.

  Darik felt a terrifi
c lurch and they were airborne. The ground receded rapidly and the wind buffeted his face. Darik looked down at the ground, fighting terror.

  The griffin wheeled south over the walls before banking sharply. As it did, Darik held on tight, stunned by the speed. The griffin flew as fast as a galloping horse, but smoother. Cragyn’s men looked skyward, shielding their eyes against the sun. Darik flew too high to see faces, but he imagined envy, fear, longing. Now turned completely around, they climbed swiftly toward the summit. His stomach lurched when they hit a pocket of wind and dropped suddenly, before climbing again. The griffin picked up speed.

  It took Darik a moment to recover from fear, from the shock of battle, from the change from ground to air. But then he felt it. He was flying!

  Darik let out an exulting shout. The girl looked over her shoulder and laughed, a high, joyous sound.

  Most of the griffins landed on the ridge to drop their loads before flying back to the castle for a final, brief defense. Darik and the girl, however, continued over the mountain. Whelan and Markal had decided that Sofiana and Markal would continue with Hoffan before breaking west for Eriscoba with Ethan. Whelan and Darik, however, would fly to Flockheart’s aerie, then return to Balsalom.

  Trees flew by underneath them. The terrain was rugged and barely passable, except through the air. They followed a small river pouring from a canyon, and flew over a waterfall cascading down the mountainside. He stared in amazement at it all. Occasionally, the girl would turn and point out some feature of the landscape, naming Bestor’s Hollow, and the Sacred Copse. Flying at such speeds made it hard to hear and several times he had to ask her to repeat herself.

  After the initial burst of energy, Darik noticed something else. The girl was quite beautiful. She had a smooth face and an attractive pucker to her lips when she leaned into the wind; her eyes sparkled with life. He still held her tightly around her waist, and her breasts pressed into his arms when they leaned into a turn. Her long hair swung free in the wind, brushing through his face like a horse’s mane, and he loved the feeling. She had dark hair like a woman of the khalifates, but her face was as white as cream, like a barbarian’s.

  He leaned forward. “What is your name?” She said something, but the wind carried it away. “What?”

  She turned around again and put her mouth next to his ear. “Daria. What is yours?”

  “My name is Darik.”

  She laughed. “Darik and Daria. We could be brother and sister.”

  Darik’s sister’s name was Darikia, although he called her Kaya for short, so she wasn’t far off. Brother and sister, however, wasn’t on Darik’s mind at the moment.

  They rode for some time before spotting the aerie. It might have been an hour, but it felt like less. Darik didn’t want the flight to end.

  The aerie rose from a copse of trees, invisible until they were upon it. It sat in an old watch tower, half-crumbling with age. Ivy gripped the tower, working its way into the stone. The windows in the upper reaches were broken out to accommodate griffins.

  “Watch your head,” she said as they swooped toward one of these openings.

  Darik ducked and shut his eyes, sure the griffin would miss its entrance and slam into the wall at such speed. It didn’t, but came to an easy stop inside. He found himself in a wide room with a stone floor. A bed of evergreen branches lay in one corner. In another, two small griffins woke as they entered. They rose to their feet and waddled toward them, squawking.

  “Yes, I know you’re hungry,” Daria told them. “But you’ll have to be patient.”

  She climbed off the griffin, then untied Darik and helped him down. His backside was sore, as were his arms from gripping Daria too tightly. The griffin turned and eyed him.

  Daria laughed. “She’s wondering who’s been riding on her back.”

  “And no doubt thinking what a poor rider I am.”

  “Ah, you weren’t bad. And you didn’t panic when we took off like most people do the first time.”

  “Where are the other riders?” Darik asked.

  She looked out the window. “They have their own aeries. We’re only expecting my father and your friend, but Brasson took a nasty scratch on his haunches, so Father won’t ride him hard. Do you want to help me rub down Averial?”

  The question surprised him. “Yes, very much.”

  Daria pulled two brushes with hard wire bristles from the wall. “Averial grooms her own feathers, but she has a hard time with her haunches. Here, let me show you how it’s done.”

  She took his hand with the brush and rubbed it with the grain of the fur. Averial’s haunches were hot from the flight. It was exactly like rubbing down a horse, which Darik knew how to do. But he kept his mouth shut, enjoying the touch of Daria’s hand.

  “There, you’ve got it. Keep brushing while I get some food for these two before they start pecking at my legs.”

  She disappeared from the room. Darik kept rubbing, but it made him nervous to stand alone with the griffin and her fledglings. The younger animals eyed him hungrily, perhaps wondering if he was their lunch.

  Daria returned with the severed hind legs of a deer. Not, he noted, one of Hoffan’s sheep, although that might appear regularly in their diet, as well.

  “Do they eat mostly deer?”

  Daria said, “Deer, rabbits, wild goats, and sheep. Pretty much anything we can catch. Usually, the adults hunt on their own, but we ride to catch food for ourselves, as well. If you want, you can come hunting with me tomorrow.”

  “I’d like that,” Darik said, “but I doubt Whelan intends to stay that long. How much do they eat, anyway?”

  “Maybe three or four deer a fortnight. More if they’ve been flying a lot.”

  As they finished grooming Averial, Daria told him more about the griffins. There were wild griffins in the mountains far to the north, but this particular breed had lived among humans for hundreds of years.

  Daria’s father came from a long line of riders and was the leader of those few who still raised and trained griffins in the old way. Like her father, Daria loved her griffins and planned to stay here all of her life.

  “How many riders are there?” Darik asked.

  “Oh, lots of us,” she said. “Maybe a hundred and fifty. I see other people all the time. Once a month, at least.”

  Darik nodded. He’d seen a hundred times that many people in the Grand Bazaar at once, rivers of people that eddied and flowed and could drown you if you didn’t know how to move with the currents. No doubt Daria would be shocked to visit such a place.

  “As for griffins,” she continued, “when we have extra fledglings, we usually free them in the mountains. There are several hundred higher along the Spine, where they’ve made aeries. Not exactly wild, but not entirely tame, either. If you’re ever in the high mountains and see a griffin, be careful.”

  Whelan and Flockheart arrived about twenty minutes later. Brasson bled from one haunch and Daria and her father tended to his injuries. Whelan unstrapped the saddlebags from its back.

  “Give me a hand with this, Darik?” Whelan asked.

  Together they carried it down the stairs to the human rooms. “This is heavy,” Darik said as they staggered around the corner. “What’s in here?”

  “That steel book. Markal didn’t want to carry it over the mountains, but didn’t want to leave it for the dark wizard either, so he sent it with me. We can leave it here and he’ll come get it later.” He shrugged. “Or we can, if we return first.”

  Darik kept his emotions veiled, but inside he was pleased. Perhaps tonight he could get a longer look at it while Whelan and Flockheart talked. But then, there was Daria. He’d like to talk to her more before they left.

  “When are we leaving?” he asked Whelan.

  “Tomorrow morning, or maybe even tonight, but Markal warned Flockheart that a storm might be coming. The Sea Brothers have begun their battle.”

  Every fall and every spring, the North Sea Brother and the South Sea Brother war
red to control the ocean. In fall, the colder, northern waters prevailed, and in the spring, the southern waters won the struggle. Rather than accepting the inevitable, the two brothers did battle for several weeks, sending storms west across the plains.

  Whelan said, “Flockheart doesn’t want to ride into a thunderstorm. Too dangerous. We might be grounded tomorrow, depending on the weather. We could make a go on foot, but in this terrain and with the Desolation between us … “ He trailed off, gnawing at his thumb.

  “Worried about the khalifa?”

  “Very. But also relieved that she’s alive. But more than that, even, I’m ashamed at my cowardice.”

  “Cowardice?” The claim bewildered Darik. He’d seen the man battle at Montcrag with no thought to his personal safety.

  Whelan nodded his head. “I’m only delaying my return to Eriscoba by returning to Balsalom. Perhaps I am afraid of death, being killed by Knights Temperate whose loyalties run deeper for my brother than for myself. But more than that, I’m afraid of my brother’s scorn. His hatred.”

  “But the Khalifa needs you,” Darik protested. For Whelan, going to the Free Kingdoms may very well mean facing his past, but it would mean running from the larger problem—how to defend Balsalom from Cragyn’s armies.

  “She does,” Whelan admitted. “And so we return.” He laughed. “We fly back to danger and yet I feel an overwhelming sense of relief that I don’t have to face my brother yet.”

  “That is,” Darik said, “we fly back if the weather holds.” Darik changed the subject. “Whelan, will you teach me how to use the sword?” He looked down to the ground in shame. “I wanted to do more at Montcrag.”

  “Montcrag meant everything to that bandit friend of mine. To surrender it to the dark wizard is a sore blow indeed. We all wish we could have done more.”

  Yes, Darik thought, but the difference is, everyone else did do something useful. Even Sofiana killed a man. Darik nearly succeeded in killing himself when he blundered into battle with Hoffan’s sword.