by J. C. Owens
They had received a report of a sighting of wyverns to the east, and Lasrem had asked Daren and his wing to accompany them. Eager to fly, Daren had accepted.
He had to admire the riders who flew with Lasrem. The four men seemed solid, silent, and not in the least boastful of their place at the commander’s side. He had not met them before but was cautiously optimistic as to their character. He could not imagine Lasrem accepting anyone of dubious morals within his own wing.
In the matter of his wingmen, at least Commander Lasrem had some choice. As to his officers at Farfall, he had none. Lasrem never said anything, but Daren had the impression that he held no respect for either Byrant or Vatner. Habnin was a bit more of a mystery.
Apparently Andon sometimes flew with Lasrem’s wing as well, as a substitute rider if one of the others was ill or when a grif needed rest. Daren had selfishly wished for one of the others to bow out so that he could take his first flight with Andon, but duty came first today. He was hoping he might be able to coordinate his next day off with Andon’s, and that his mate might agree to fly together.
He mused pleasantly on that image for a while, then snapped back to the present as he saw Lasrem signal for them to descend. He kept a sharp lookout for the wyverns, but Gretnel said he saw nothing, felt no wash of hatred, as wyverns so often projected toward grifs.
The town below was small, on the edge of a lake, with green fields fed by irrigation channels. A tiny oasis of green next to the golden sands. No wonder the wyverns would be attracted. As they drew close, he saw the solid fortifications that surrounded the town. These people were no strangers to attacks, by the look of it.
They landed with sharp precision, and Daren saw people on the walls reacting to their arrival. Moments later, two heavily armed men approached as the riders dismounted and the grifs sniffed at the wind. Gretnel was on high alert, pressing close against Daren, protecting him.
“Commander Lasrem.” The foremost townsman was tall and lean, with a tired, worn expression.
“Hatnem. Good to see you. We came as soon as we got the message.”
Hatnem blinked, tilted his head, frowning. “We sent no message.”
* * *
It was unbearably hot at Farfall. For once the wind was completely absent, and the heat hung like a physical presence, driving everyone, grif and human alike, to find shade.
The salle was not a refuge. The open doors did no good; there was no breeze to drive the heat through and away. By the afternoon, Andon canceled both lessons, and the cadets were grateful, escaping to find refuge by the hall, where a man-made pond would provide welcome and wet respite.
Andon hated days like this, few though they were. Coming from a much more moderate climate, he could not say he had ever acclimated to the desert. He glanced west, to the mountains, with longing.
He found Ceris lying outside their wing house on the north side, wings fanned out to keep them cooler. Her color did not suit this part of the world and often made her uncomfortable. She longed for her homelands as much as Andon did.
Freed from duty, Andon stripped out of his shirt and sat with his back to the wall. Ceris laid her head next to him with a groan of discomfort, and he gently stroked her ears.
Glancing at the clear, brilliantly blue sky, he wished he could have gone flying with Daren. Having to remain behind was wearing on his nerves. The last time Daren had flown off, he had almost not returned.
Ceris’s head snapped up, and she growled. Andon’s hand flew to his dagger as he rose swiftly.
Vatner skidded around the corner, eyes wild, out of breath.
“You’ve got to get out. Now!”
Andon snarled in response. “What in the hells are you talking about?”
“Riders—here! I’ll try to stall them—”
“I don’t think so, Vatner.” Byrant’s voice was calm and cold, his tone dismissive. “They’ve come here under my direction, by order of the king himself.”
Vatner whirled, placing himself in front of Andon, drawing his sword, eyes blazing with rage. “You can’t do this. You know what the king wants of them, what it will do to them!”
Byrant tilted his head, a slow, cruel smile curving his lips. “Yes. I do.”
Andon stared at them in complete confusion, comforted as Ceris rose behind him, a warning hiss as she watched the two men.
“I won’t let you take Andon!” Vatner’s tone was full of grim determination.
It was only then that Andon realized what was playing out. Horror suffused him, and he staggered back against Ceris.
“We must fly!” Ceris’s alarmed tone tore at him, and he turned to her, grasping her mane as she offered her foreleg.
Ceris gave a startled cry. Andon turned, fury rising to unmanageable heights as he saw a stranger behind them who had shot a massive dart deep into Ceris’s haunch. He leaped, and the man dodged, not attempting to engage him but fleeing.
Andon took two steps after him before circling back, grasping the dart and yanking it free.
His fear rose as Ceris mantled her wings, snarling with rage and pulling him close against her, trying to watch in both directions at once.
To their left, Vatner and Byrant were facing off, to the right, several men hovered at the corner of the building, waiting.
Andon desperately wanted to escape, but he knew whatever they had injected into Ceris could well cause them to crash. He had no wish for Ceris to be wounded, perhaps permanently.
He gave a roar of rage, leaving Ceris’s protection to go after Byrant.
The man took a step back, fear in his eyes. He knew far too well that Andon was a force to be reckoned with.
Vatner took Andon’s right side, swinging at one of the strangers who had come forward to join the fray.
Andon didn’t even pause to consider the utter impossibility of Vatner’s protection. He focused completely on Byrant, who gave way, defending himself, but no more than that.
Andon heard Ceris’s warning cry and he whirled, catching the stranger’s sword on his, deflecting it and driving his blade down into the man’s thigh.
The man hardly had breath to scream, and then Andon was surrounded, harried, encircled.
Ceris screamed, a sound of fury, then struck out at those closest, her teeth snapping. They did not press close again, simply kept him and Ceris from being able to engage a single man.
Beyond them, Andon caught sight of riders and cadets standing some distance off, staring, making no move to come closer.
Cowards.
Andon’s hatred rose like a tide. He charged two men in front of him, his speed unstoppable, slashing at both of them as he forced them back. He heard their cries of pain, but any mercy was burned away in his fear. They had done something to Ceris. They were going to take them both to the king, where there would be no escape, just a lifetime of misery and captivity.
He fought like the street child he was, cold and hard.
They fell to him, but there were many, and his skill could not save him from exhaustion, the heat sapping his strength. They circled and taunted, like hounds with a lion, keeping their distance but never letting him rest.
When they drew back some distance, he stood alone, chest heaving, sword held ready, teeth bared. The reason for their retreat soon became obvious.
Ceris made a terrible keening. Andon turned as she collapsed to the ground, wings limply sprawled out, brilliant eyes turned hazy and dull.
Horrified, he rushed to her, curling fingers into her mane as her head slumped to the ground. Tears rose, despite all his fury. His beautiful grif, once free, now betrayed by those who sought to use her. He should have fled long ago, even if it had meant their deaths. His Ceris was not meant for captivity.
They would never let her fly again. He knew that in the deepest parts of his soul.
“If you value your grif, surrender,” Byrant called. “She will need you where she goes. Will you sacrifice her to your own pride?” Byrant smiled. To his side, Vatner struggled in
the grip of three men, swearing, arms pinned behind his back, disarmed.
There was a shout from the direction of the hall, then Andon saw Palresen stalking toward them, his expression livid.
“What in the hells do you think you are doing, Byrant? Who are these people, and why have they not reported to me?”
Byrant grinned, pulling a folded piece of paper from his flight jacket. “They are here by order of the king. Andon and Ceris have been summoned to the court. Effective immediately.”
Palresen snatched it from him. He read it, a dark frown on his brow, before his gaze snapped up, taking in Andon’s protective stance and Ceris’s limp form.
“What kind of order calls for this treatment of a captain of the corps and his grif?” Palresen demanded. “He is not the enemy!”
“He resisted the order, and as you well know, those who work against the king may be arrested. In this case, it is for Andon’s own good. If he had attempted escape, we would have had to hunt him down, and both the captain and a valuable grif could have been lost.” The man’s smooth conviction made a shudder of distaste run down Andon’s spine. Byrant gave a mockingly respectful nod to Palresen. “You know that none of us can refuse a direct order from the king. If anyone did, they would guilty of treason, wouldn’t they?”
Palresen glared, tucking the paper into his jacket. “I will be informing Commander Lasrem of this. We will not let a member of our base be treated in such a fashion.”
“I am sure the commander will come speak to the king himself, but the answer is already evident. This has been something the king has considered for a long time. It was supposed to happen when Andon first imprinted the grif. The commander circumvented that plan, and the king has not been pleased with him since. But we can see how that meeting goes. Until then, Andon and the grif are coming with us. Now. I am sure you don’t want the king’s wrath falling upon everyone here?”
Palresen shot a glance at Andon, anger evident in his expression. With a stiff, belligerent stride, he bypassed the king’s men and approached him. “The commander should be back shortly.”
Andon nodded, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “Not soon enough to stop this. I won’t have the king bring harm to others because of my own fears.”
Palresen swung a hand to indicate the entire situation. “Fears? I would say rightly so. This is nothing moral, nothing right.” He glared at Byrant. “Release Vatner. I will not have you assault either Captain Grazon or Captain Krans. Regardless of the king’s orders, there are penalties for such things here.”
Byrant nodded to the men, and Vatner jerked himself out of their grasp, his expression black with fury. He leaned to pick up his sword, spitting on the ground near Byrant before going to Palresen’s side, standing slightly in front of Andon and blocking him from Byrant’s smug leer.
“I’ll contact my father. He has influence at court. Perhaps my brother…” Vatner’s pause was significant, the fear in his eyes very real.
Andon shook his head, gritting his teeth as he sheathed his sword. “They have Ceris. I will not leave her, where ever they take her.”
“I swear, I will see you free.” Vatner’s eyes gleamed with intensity.
Andon was quite sure that he did not want to be in this man’s debt, no matter the reason. There was too much in their shared past for him ever to be trusted.
Palresen laid a gentle hand upon Andon’s shoulder. “The commander and I will do everything we can. We will convince the king that this is a travesty of justice.”
Andon glanced over at Byrant and the small smile that curved that cruel mouth. Palresen and Vatner might seek justice, but Andon was all too aware that such a thing was rare in the hearts of men.
“When the commander returns, we will immediately send out a contingent from this base to come support you.” Palresen’s voice was crisp and strong as he met Andon’s conflicted gaze evenly.
In the back of his mind, Andon wondered where all this support had been when his abuse had been happening. He knew he had kept it covered up, but surely…
He cast the thoughts aside as unproductive. The past was the past and nothing could change it. If there were people now who could make this less horrific, save Ceris, then he would take that support and count it a blessing.
With a feeling of sick inevitability, he handed Palresen his sword, then his dagger. “Keep these for me, for when I return.” He wished he believed his own brave words.
Palresen nodded, his eyes softening ever so slightly. “I will. This is only temporary. The king will not sacrifice someone so important to the base. You have taught hundreds of cadets, and I cannot think of a single soul who could replace you. We will make sure the king understands this.”
Andon nodded, but the dread within him did not lessen.
Byrant moved closer, and Andon stepped away, going to the other side of Ceris to avoid the bastard’s presence for as long as possible. Byrant’s earlier statement of how he was going to apply to be Andon’s “keeper” rang in his mind. Surely even the king would not be so cruel as to saddle him with his rapist as overseer.
Surely.
The strangers swarmed round Ceris, laying out a sling and gently rolling her onto it. The king’s men brought two of their grifs over and harnessed them to the sling.
“You will ride with me.” Byrant’s smug words raised Andon’s hackles.
“You may force me to go, but I will not be in contact with you. Not ever, if I have my say. I will ride with Ceris.”
His nemesis looked like he would argue the point, but glanced at Palresen and subsided. After all, he had gotten what he wanted. Andon knew that he would have no protection once they reached the capital. This man could have power unimaginable, and with Andon’s upbringing, he would have no skills to survive within the court.
He gritted his teeth and turned his back upon Byrant, meeting Palresen’s gaze. “I trust you to tell Captain Phalnir what has happened? I can’t imagine Gretnel’s response once he realizes his mate has been taken.”
Palresen glared at Byrant. “Neither can I. A true bond is something we have little knowledge of, but I think we are about to find out how truly fearsome a male grif can be when his loved ones are endangered.”
Byrant clapped his hands. “Enough. We need to leave now. Daylight is wasting, and we have a long flight to the capital. Don’t worry, Palresen. Andon will be safe and sound. After all, the king would not want to endanger the rider of the only wild grif we have in our possession.”
Palresen scowled, then squeezed Andon’s shoulder. “Be strong,” he whispered. “We will come.”
Andon nodded, wishing he could believe in that.
He climbed into the netting, bracing himself under Ceris’s head so that he would not be crushed by the force of the sling.
The grifs took flight, hovering, slowly pulling the netting taut, before they rose.
Andon pressed his face against his grif’s warm hide. Hidden from all those around them, he let the fear and despair overtake him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Gretnel let out a roar of rage as they approached the base, and Daren felt his heart sink. He had been hoping, praying, that he was wrong and that their false mission had been a mere mistake, nothing so dark as he was imagining.
By Gretnel’s reaction, the truth was even worse.
Commander Lasrem sprang down from his grif, his face grim and tight as Palresen strode to them. The second saluted crisply.
“Andon and Ceris have been taken. Andon and Vatner fought back, but Byrant had a writ from the king, demanding their presence in the capital, willing or not.” He glanced at Daren, apology in the look. “I could do nothing. I think Byrant would have killed anyone that opposed him at that point.”
Lasrem laid a calming hand upon his second’s shoulder. “You did the right thing. It would only have provoked more violence. This way, you can aid us in recovering them, and I have a reliable witness to what occurred here.” He paused, a dark frown pleating his br
ow. “Vatner fought against Byrant? I thought they were as thick as thieves.”
Palresen nodded. “He did, was injured in the process. He is in the infirmary as we speak.”
“I will need to talk to him. He has far more knowledge of the court than I do, and that may well be vital in our plans.”
Daren listened, but his thoughts were swirling, a growing rage of his own that was amplified by Gretnel’s emotions.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned. Olnar met his eyes. “We are here, Captain. You tell us what you need and we will do it.” He lowered his voice. “If need be, we will go anywhere with you and Captain Grazon.” The others nodded, determination written in their expressions.
Daren gave a grim smile. He could scarcely imagine disobeying orders, turning against his country and king, but if it came down to a choice between his duty and his mate…
He understood, in that moment, the full reason for the rebels and their cause.
Paulsa stepped closer, eyes wet with tears, and held out her arms.
He stepped into the embrace, feeling how the rest of them enfolded him within their protection and their support.
* * *
Andon wished the capital was farther away. He had not realized how close the base was to the seat of royal power and thought he had more time to gather his strength. Instead, they were approaching the city and would be landing within moments. He swallowed with difficulty, bracing himself for what was to come.
He firmed his jaw. He would not cower before the king. If this man, so close to the gods, could act in such a manner as this, then there was no hope for any of them. He had never truly believed in the gods. As a poor child, with no mercy shown to him, he could not imagine a benevolent being having the slightest interest in his existence. Now, about to face their supposed representative on the physical plane, he had no trust in their actions enough to pray.
As always, he had only himself to rely on.
Apart from Ceris, that had always been the case. Now there was Daren.