“Wars come and go,” said the green male. “So do rulers.”
“He seeks immortality,” said Barver.
“Then he’s not the first to try,” said the green male. “And he’ll fail, as all before him have failed. You draw us into a pointless fight, based on guesswork. Fights become wars. All wars are evil.”
“This is not war,” said Barver. “This is survival! I look to a future where the Hamelyn Piper holds sway, and I’m frightened. But not for myself. I’m frightened for the friends I already had, and for the new friends I’ve made.” He looked over to Merta. “I think of my aunt and uncle, and their new baby – my cousin, Kerna. I think of Kerna growing up in a world that knows only cruelty, a world without hope. Merta taught me about the mindful species – griffins, dragons and humans. We are the same, more than we are different. We are equals. We share this world, and we must fight for its future – in whatever way we can.”
He tried to think of something more to say, something that would convince them, but nothing came.
The blue-grey female nodded. “We will make our decision. You and Merta must wait in the passageway.” She gestured to the doors they’d entered by.
“Before you decide, I have a request of my own,” said Merta. All eyes turned to her. “As Barver said, we must embrace one another as equals. Barver may only be half-griffin, but he deserves to be shown respect, and told the truth of this place. He deserves to know our heritage, for it’s his heritage too.” She gestured towards a different set of doors, on the far side of the Eyrie.
The discussion among the griffins was brief. “You may show him, while we make our decision,” said the blue-grey female. “If he swears to secrecy.” Merta nodded, and the blue-grey griffin turned to Barver. “Barver Knopferkerkle,” she said. “Do you swear to hold secret the truths that will be revealed?”
The griffin had a sombre tone to her voice that struck Barver as odd. “I swear,” he said.
“Then take him through, Merta,” said the blue-grey female. “Let him see.”
The doors opened, and Merta led Barver through. His mouth fell open in shock at what he saw: a vast expanse open to the sky, encircled by steep rock. It explained how he could see daylight through the holes in the roof of the Eyrie – the mountain was hollow.
“An ancient volcano,” said Merta, as the doors closed behind them. “Long extinct, its core collapsed. A wondrous sight, yes?” Barver nodded, but Merta put her hand on his shoulder. “Look again,” she said.
He looked out at the mountain’s interior, and saw structures, carved into rock, both on the floor of the massive crater, and on the edifice that encircled it all. He could see holes that were surely doorways, windows; higher up the sides were prominences, on which were rectangular areas that seemed green, surely an impossibility given the temperature.
But the temperature, he realized, was far milder than it should have been. The wind, likewise, was little more than a breeze. He looked at Merta, confused.
“There is shelter here from the bitter ice,” she said. “Just enough sun reaches inside for plants to grow – mosses hardy enough for the terrain, good grazing for sheep and goats. And even though the volcano is long silent, there’s still heat from the deep earth, rising through the rock.”
“What is this place?” asked Barver.
“This is Pripax, Barver. The greatest griffin city that has ever existed.”
Speechless, Barver looked out, his emotions in disarray. His heart soared at the very sound of the words griffin city, but he knew why Merta’s eyes had been filled with sorrow all this time.
Griffins didn’t fill the sky here; their calls didn’t echo from the ridges that enclosed this haven.
Pripax, however glorious a sight it might be, was dead, and Barver suspected that it had been that way for a very long time indeed.
He turned to Merta. “What happened here?” he asked.
“Most believe that the first war between humans and dragons was nine hundred years ago,” she said. “But that is not quite true. There was an even older conflict, lost to legend. Six thousand years ago, the true first war between humans and dragons. All wars bring the same horrors. They bring death. They bring destruction. They bring famine. And they bring disease. New plagues emerge in the chaos, and as war rages on, those plagues can spread unchecked.”
Merta led him further out from the doors, to the edge of the wide outcrop on which they stood. The floor of the crater was perhaps five hundred feet below them.
She continued. “Wild birds were affected first, and then the livestock – the chickens and geese. Humans and dragons paid little attention to it. The disease didn’t infect either of them, and only a small part of their food supplies was impacted. So, the war continued, with no effort made to contain the plague. The chance to stop it was missed. And then a griffin fell ill. By the time the war between humans and dragons ended, it was already too late. The disease had spread to all four griffin cities.”
“Four?” said Barver.
“Yes, four,” said Merta. “The plague was devastating. From the moment a griffin showed symptoms, death was certain. Certain, and painful. The griffin cities cut themselves off, hoping to limit the spread, but the cities died one by one. In time, their ruins were lost to jungle and sea, forgotten by human and dragon, just as the war itself was forgotten. Only Pripax still stands. A monument to when griffins gathered together and lived side by side in their thousands. A testimony to when griffins almost vanished from the world.”
Barver stared at her, stunned.
“You see,” said Merta. “The only ones who survived were those who lived alone, in remote places. Those who shied away from company. They are the ancestors of us all, Barver. That is why most griffins seek solitude to this day. That is why there are so few of us. And it is why we hate war so much. Humans and dragons fought, but it was griffins who were changed for ever.”
Merta and Barver waited for the griffins of the Eyrie to make their decision, and for the doors to open again.
“They’re going to say no,” said Barver. “Aren’t they?”
“I honestly can’t tell,” said Merta. “But I do know this: I saw the look in their eyes as you spoke. They listened to you, Barver, and your words carried weight. If you didn’t convince them, I don’t think anyone could have.”
The doors opened. Barver and Merta walked to the centre of the chamber.
They both looked to the blue-grey female, but it was the green griffin who addressed them first.
“What do you believe you are, Barver Knopferkerkle?” he said. “Are you griffin? Are you dragon? Where are your loyalties? Spending so long with humans, are you part-human too, dracogriff? When the humans and dragons fought, whose side would you have taken?”
“I am me,” said Barver. “What others choose to call me, I don’t care. Where are my loyalties? With what is right. I’ll never be given the Griffin Covenant, but I already have my Covenant. Here.” He placed a hand over his heart. “Whose side would I have taken? The side of my friends.”
The green griffin’s expression was stern, but he turned to the blue-grey female and nodded; she nodded back, then stood. “Barver Knopferkerkle,” she said. “Your father showed courage and honour throughout his life, and also in his death. We see that same courage in you. We see that same honour in you. You are your father’s son, and we will grant you the respect that Merta spoke of. Our decision is this: any griffin who volunteers to help you can do so without breaking Covenant, as long as their activities are restricted to scouting. There is one other condition: Merta herself must personally ensure that this restriction is observed. She must go with you.”
Barver looked at Merta, who smiled at him. “It would be my honour,” she said.
“Thank you!” Barver told her. Then he turned to the griffins: “Thank you all!”
The blue-grey female nodded. “All you need now are volunteers,” she said.
“I know who to ask,” said Merta. “And
we shall gather them on the way.”
They saw the tents in Gossamer Valley and knew at once that Tobias had been successful in his mission. Drawing closer, they could see dozens of horses and a few hundred soldiers.
They landed to cheers, and the sight of them was extraordinary: Barver, Merta, Cramber and Wintel, touching down just outside the edge of camp.
Patch, Wren and Alia dismounted as Tobias rushed to greet them. “Word reached us of the disaster at Skamos,” said Tobias. “I feared the worst.”
Alia nodded. “The worst is a good summary,” she said. “We were there when it happened. But we’ve found our scouts, as you can see! And you’ve raised quite significant help yourself.”
“Kintner Bastion decided to send almost half of its forces on an exercise,” said Tobias, smiling. “Fifty Pipers, three hundred soldiers, forty cavalry.”
“An exercise,” said Alia. “An interesting term for it. I also note there are no uniforms being worn.”
“Of course,” said Tobias. “Calling it an exercise draws less attention. Same for the lack of uniforms. Officially, this is a training expedition.”
“And who is in command of this…training expedition?” she said.
Tobias smiled. “They would have none but me,” he said.
“A monk?” said Alia. “I thought your fighting days were behind you?”
“The Bastion wouldn’t have agreed to it any other way,” he said. “Until this venture is concluded, I am Brother Tobias no more. I am Colonel Palafox, as I used to be. Our airborne scouts should rest ahead of their night’s work. I’ll take you through our plans soon enough.”
Dusk was approaching by the time Tobias summoned them to the command tent. The tent sides were folded up to allow Barver and the griffins access; in the middle of the tent was a large canvas sheet, on which a rough map of the region had been drawn.
With Tobias were two majors, one in charge of the soldiers, and the other in charge of the Battle Pipers.
“The Ortings,” Tobias began. “Ten miles south, it begins: a huge area of forest, scrub, marsh, bog and grass. Somewhere within that expanse, the Black Knight moves around with his forces and causes chaos. We estimate that those forces number a few dozen, but as you saw we’re taking no chances. And although our enemy has great skills with the Pipe, which may be boosted by his armour, we have fifty of the best Battle Pipers in the world. Our problem is finding this foe. The Ortings is vast, parts of it are extremely dense. We have to locate our enemy quickly, without them knowing, and then make sure we can cut off their escape. Then we bring the Hamelyn Piper to justice at last.” He gave Barver and the griffins their instructions, each being assigned an area to scout overnight under the cover of darkness. “If the skies stay clear,” he said, “we should discover the location of the Black Knight’s forces within three days.”
Merta looked to the sky and sniffed the air. “It will rain tomorrow,” she said. “But it will be clear until dawn.” She looked to the others. “Are we ready for the hunt, my friends?”
Cramber, Wintel and Barver all shouted together: “We are!”
Merta smiled. “Then let us take to the skies and find the villain!”
Morning came with no sign of the rain Merta had predicted. Instead, patchy sunshine warmed them all. The griffins slept peacefully, tired after their night of scouting. Barver slept too, but peaceful wasn’t quite the word to use – he was on his back, and his snores were loud enough to frighten the horses on the far side of camp.
Patch and Wren had stayed up into the early hours, as a show of solidarity with Barver, but had fallen asleep long before he’d returned. They’d woken early, the camp busy around them. Weapons were being cleaned, horses tended, and wherever they looked pairs of soldiers were engaged in combat practice. They wandered over to the command tent, to see if anything interesting had been learned from the night’s scouting. Hanging around at the mouth of the tent, they listened to the conversation within.
The voice of Tobias was the first they heard: “…which cuts out all of the southern marshes,” he said. “Wintel’s coverage of the western section here will have to continue tonight, but she’s ruled out a significant part.”
Alia spoke next, and she sounded unusually cheerful. “If the skies are clear again after dark, I think the chances are good that we’ll spot our prey much sooner than we’d expected!”
“Merta said there’d be wet weather today,” said Tobias. “But she thought it would clear by nightfall. We can draw up some possible scenarios for containing the enemy, now that we’ve limited the kinds of terrain we’ll be facing.”
Losing interest, Wren gave Patch a nudge.
“What say we go and see if we can scrounge a bite to eat?” she said.
“Absolutely!” said Patch.
“Watch this,” Wren told him as they neared the mess tent. She gathered herself a little, and then feigned an expression of such utter misery that, for a moment, Patch thought it had to be genuine. Then she grinned. “Think I can get us something with that?”
Patch stayed back and watched a master at work. Wren stuck out her lower lip, strode into the tent, and returned with a handful of dried apple slices and a cup of hot tea. They sat and shared it, before walking back to the snoring Barver.
Soon after they’d returned, Barver stirred from his sleep. He rolled onto his front and stretched. “Did someone say there was food?” he asked, still groggy.
“Not for an hour or two,” said Wren. “Although, really, you and the griffins could just march in and take whatever you fancied.”
“That wouldn’t be polite,” grinned Barver. A short way off, the three griffins were also rousing from their sleep. Cramber gave Barver a nod.
“On you go,” said Wren. “See how everyone’s doing after your long night of excitement!”
Barver didn’t need any encouragement.
“I’m glad he gets on with his new friends,” said Patch.
“Yes,” said Wren. “It’ll do him the world of good.”
They both frowned and looked at each other.
“We sound like we’re his parents,” said Patch, and they burst into laughter. As they laughed, a great thunderclap filled the valley.
“That’ll be the rain Merta promised,” said Wren, but they both looked to the sky in confusion. There were only the lightest of clouds – no sign whatsoever of rain, let alone a storm. Even so, a second thunderclap echoed around them.
Patch noticed that everyone in the camp was stopping what they were doing, and looking around warily. The griffins seemed particularly apprehensive; Barver looked back to Patch and Wren, clearly anxious. He signed to them: Something’s wrong.
The thunder came again, but this time it kept going, rolling on and on, crossing over itself in a curious way. From within it came recognizable sounds, and suddenly it resolved into a voice. Deep and unnaturally loud, it seemed to resonate inside Patch’s skull.
“Good morning to you all,” said the voice. “I think you were looking for me?”
Patch felt a knot tighten in his stomach, because he knew that voice. It had haunted his nightmares for months.
And there, on the crest of the hill nearest them, a figure walked into view. A figure wearing a suit of armour, dark as night, which even from this distance glinted in the sun.
The Hamelyn Piper had found them.
As the thunder-voice continued, Alia and Tobias emerged from the command tent, looking utterly stunned.
“I expected more than this ragtag militia,” said the voice. “I expected the Council to send a proper army! It’s hardly a fair fight, but so be it.”
The thunder faded.
Once it was gone there was silence. Barver and the griffins had their heads huddled close together, and Merta was talking rapidly. Patch could see, in the face of every soldier around them, a grim look of expectation.
“He thinks the Pipers’ Council sent us,” said Tobias. “Why would he think that? Unless…”
&nbs
p; “Unless he wanted them to come,” said Alia. “Good Lord, Tobias…was this a trap all along?”
“If it was, we’re the ones who’ve fallen into it,” said Tobias. His face fell. “Does this mean he’s found the amulet? Did he want to lure an army here, just to show off his strength?”
Alia said nothing, but the worry on her face spoke volumes.
There came a distant sound, of rhythmic footfall and shouts, which grew louder with each second. Cresting the hill behind the Hamelyn Piper was a line of soldiers. Patch watched in horror as the same thing happened on every hill around them.
“There must be eight hundred at least,” said Tobias. “Who knows how many more there are behind the hills!”
“Surrounded,” said Wren.
“Outnumbered,” said Patch.
But then, in a flurry of feather and wing, it became suddenly clear why Merta had been whispering so feverishly to Barver, Cramber and Wintel: all four launched themselves into the air!
Barver flew high and hard to the west, buoyed by cheering from the camp behind him. The Hamelyn Piper was due south; Merta was going east, Cramber north, all three of them heading straight for the Black Knight’s forces.
That left Wintel, who was going straight up.
Barver snuck quick glances to see how they were doing, but he had to stay focused on his own task. The world needs to know what’s happening here, Merta had told them. We need to get word out. Wintel was best placed for that, and so the other three would try and distract while Wintel gained enough height to take her out of the range of any weapon.
But distraction wasn’t their only task. Perhaps the Hamelyn Piper had already found the amulet, and the power the armour gave him was enough to destroy them all; if that was the case, they stood no chance. If not, though, they had to know what they were up against. Seeing over the tops of those hills was crucial – seeing, and reporting back. They only needed Wintel to escape. Whatever defence they hoped to mount, two griffins and a dracogriff might still prove invaluable.
A Vanishing of Griffins Page 22