A Vanishing of Griffins

by S. A. Patrick

  Barver heard a griffin’s call and looked to see Cramber come under a barrage of arrow-fire. Cramber swerved sharply, but then larger black streaks flew right at him – the shots of bolt-throwers. Cramber was hit: his wings folded in, and he plunged towards the earth below. Barely managing to regain control, he turned back towards camp. From the way he flew, Barver could tell he was badly hurt.

  Merta was next to make it into range of their weapons, and again they unleashed volley after volley, though Barver couldn’t watch her – he was closing on the hill ahead, still far too low for his liking. He put all his effort into getting higher, but the image of Cramber being hit kept filling his mind, and he found himself getting angrier with every beat of his wings.

  And there was the Black Knight, on the other hill. The Hamelyn Piper, standing well in front of his troops, so arrogant that he had left himself exposed…

  Barver looked ahead, to the hill he was flying towards, the archers on top notching their arrows and pulling back their bows.

  He remembered, back at Monash Hollow all that time ago, suggesting to Patch that he just burned the evil Piper: just crept up on him as he played his Obsidiac Organ, and released all the fire Barver had in his throat. And with that memory, his plan changed. The moment a volley of arrows headed his way, he folded up his wings and dropped, feigning injury.

  Gaining speed.

  As the ground loomed, he stretched his wings back out, catching the air and converting all the speed of his descent into horizontal motion; he hurtled over the land now, blisteringly quick, and he only had one target in his sights: the Black Knight himself.

  Harder, he pushed. Faster.

  In a flash he was at the base of the southerly hill, hugging the ground. Up the slope of the hill, he flew, maintaining his speed, and there was the Black Knight, arms by his side, too sure of himself to move even as Barver drew near, readying his fire.

  Patch’s heart was in his mouth.

  Everyone had started cheering the moment they saw Barver and the griffins take to the air. When Cramber had been hit, the cheers had faltered as they watched him fall; he’d just managed to make it back to camp, a large bolt lodged in his side.

  Then Merta had come under attack, and had been forced to turn towards camp again. She seemed unscathed, and headed for Cramber.

  Barver, though…

  Patch felt sick as he watched, Barver seeming to tumble down under a hail of arrow-fire, plummeting to earth, but then – with no sign of injury – he pulled out of his fall, changing his direction and travelling at incredible speed.

  Flying directly towards the Hamelyn Piper.

  Oh, no, though Patch. Barver, what are you doing?

  His speed was astonishing, and Patch sensed a sudden resurgence of hope in the soldiers of the camp, that maybe the Hamelyn Piper had underestimated, and his arrogance would be his downfall.

  But no.

  Patch could feel it as it built, even from this distance. A melody, deep and complex, and he knew at once what it was – one of the many Push Songs, about to be released. The air around the Hamelyn Piper began to shimmer, and a moment later the shimmer exploded outwards at Barver, sending him hurtling back, out of control.

  Barver fell, tumbling down the hillside to the valley floor. He came to a halt and was utterly still.

  Everyone’s eyes turned up, to the last of the four: Wintel had spent all this time gaining height, and now she was little more than a dot above them, surely out of range. But Patch felt the Push building again, even greater than before, and he thought: the Black Knight has been toying with us.

  When the Push was released this time, its power was beyond anything Patch had ever witnessed. He thought of the great Battle Pipes that had defended Tiviscan Castle against the dragon attack, but even those seemed pitiful in comparison.

  This time, the air around the Hamelyn Piper darkened considerably as the Song exploded outwards and up, and they could see it closing on Wintel, closing without seeming to lose any of its terrible force.

  In seconds it was on her, throwing her around as if she was a leaf in a storm. The thundering sound that had preceded the Hamelyn Piper’s voice returned; but this time it wasn’t words that they heard. It was laughter, growing louder as Wintel struggled. Then the laughter faded: Wintel had ridden out the turbulence, and was flying again.

  “No…” they all heard from the thunder-voice, before it died away.

  Patch felt another Push being readied, but by now Wintel was flying due north to safety, beyond the Hamelyn Piper’s reach. The Push was still building, though, and just as Patch wondered what the Hamelyn Piper was about to do with it, the ground a little downhill suddenly exploded.

  The Black Knight was venting his frustration.

  “The attempt to bring down Wintel clearly weakened him,” said Alia. “He can’t have the amulet, surely.”

  The sound of horns echoed across the valley.

  “He may not have the amulet,” said Tobias. “But he has an army, and he plans to use it. Look!” He pointed to the hilltops to the east. Horses galloped over the crest, a hundred or more; then, the same number came over from the west. “Cavalry assault. They hope to swamp us.” He turned to the majors. “Ready pikes! Prepare shields! Take sword until the order is given!”

  Their soldiers hurried to an armoury tent, where long pikes, swords and bows were handed out. Those with swords created a circle around the main tents of the camp and the horse enclosure; those with bows took position within the circle, while those with pikes created a second circle outside the first, and kneeled ready to defend against any cavalry reaching them.

  “Aren’t they going to use their Pipes?” said Wren.

  “Just wait,” said Patch. Take sword, Tobias had ordered: it meant that the Battle Pipers would mix among those with swords, to hide their numbers.

  Patch felt the ground rumble under his feet as the enemy horses grew nearer. He could see how the riders were armed now – many carried bows, some had spears.

  Horseback archers loosed a volley of arrows, and Wren’s mouth fell open in horror.

  “Wait for it,” said Patch.

  “Shield ready!” called one of the majors, and some of the soldiers sheathed swords and took Pipe in hand, beginning to play. In seconds, their Songs were complete; one by one they let them go, creating a shield that covered the entire camp in pulsing waves, the loosed arrows knocked back and falling to the ground shattered, the Pipers preparing their Songs again so the shield could be maintained.

  The rest of the horses were charging at them now on all sides, seeming unperturbed.

  “Charger Shrill at two hundred yards,” ordered Tobias. “Long Fives at one hundred!”

  Wren looked to Patch for explanation, but Patch just wanted to watch the Pipers in action. This was the career the tutors at Tiviscan had suggested he follow – as part of the Battle Elite, much of his apprenticeship would have been spent at Kintner Bastion. This could have been his life, if the thought of battle hadn’t turned his stomach.

  But here, now: he was fascinated.

  As the charging cavalry closed in, some of the Battle Pipers began a new Song. This was the Charger Shrill, and when it was released the sound was extraordinary – a horrible, high-pitched cacophony that hurt the ear, but which was intended for the horses themselves. Patch could see the wavefront hitting the charging animals, the noise creating fear in all and panic in many.

  One third of them stopped or turned, riders holding on for dear life as their steeds became uncontrollable.

  Then came the Long Fives, a form of Push Song that kept the force of the Song focused at distance, blasting chunks of mud into the air around the horses and creating even more panic.

  “Head Level Strike,” called Tobias. “Maximum spread!”

  And now all the Pipers joined together in the same Song, and a blast of air spread out from the circle, hitting the closest riders with such force they were left unconscious or dead, still strapped to thei
r fleeing horses.

  The few riders left in control thought better of it, and started to turn back.

  From the hilltops, horns sounded again.

  “A recall,” said Tobias. He looked at Alia and smiled. “He underestimated us, by a long way.”

  The thunder rumbled once more, and the voice of the Black Knight reached them: “Enough!” it said. “Why waste the lives of good fighters? I will grant you a choice! Fight for me, not for the old world. I will change the ways of every nation in these lands. Never before has the world seen a King so honourable, or so just! Rich and poor, all will be equal under my sight!”

  “Aye,” muttered Alia. “All slaves are equal, aren’t they?”

  “I will grant you two hours to decide,” said the voice. “Those who wish to join my forces, and swear allegiance to me as their new lord and master, will be welcomed into our ranks without prejudice. As for the rest of you…there is only one fate that awaits those who oppose me. The rest of you will die.” The thunder-voice faded, then the Hamelyn Piper walked back over the crest of the hill, out of sight.

  Patch looked to where Barver lay, distant and still. “What was he thinking?” he said, turning back to Wren as his eyes filled with tears. Wren was silent. She hugged him, but a few seconds later she spoke again.

  “You should probably ask him yourself,” she said, and her tone was bright. She pointed, and Patch turned to look: Barver was in the air now, more or less, flying back to them in short hops, landing every few seconds. His left wing wasn’t holding shape properly, and each time he took off he needed a run-up.

  When he reached them, he was grinning, and it was a dreadful sight. His teeth were bloody, his face marked with small cuts; his right eyelid was swollen.

  Patch was too relieved to speak, but Wren went to Barver, scowling. “What on earth were you thinking?” she snapped.

  “I was thinking about incinerating him,” said Barver. “I got pretty close too! Close enough to see he didn’t have the amulet in his chest.”

  This, at least, was good news, but it didn’t defuse Wren’s anger.

  “You got close because he let you get close!” she said. “He was showing off!”

  “But Wintel got away,” said Barver, smiling. “When I flew at him, he ignored Wintel completely. It may only have been a few seconds, but those seconds were precious.”

  Wren’s scowl faded, and she nodded. “They were,” she said. “By the time the Hamelyn Piper took action, he’d left it too late. Which means he’s not as powerful as he thinks he is.” She shook her head. “But one of these days, Barver, you might find you aren’t as indestructible as you think you are.”

  “Maybe,” said Barver. “But not today.” He stretched out his left wing to its full extent, wincing a little. “Although it does smart.”

  Barver, Patch and Wren stood nearby as, with Merta’s assistance, Tobias removed the bolt from Cramber’s side. Cramber was clearly in agony, and cried out in pain when the bolt came free. Tobias began to play his Healing Songs; soon Cramber was asleep.

  “Will he live?” asked Merta.

  “He should,” said Tobias. “The injury is serious, but not as bad as I first feared.”

  Alia came. “Merta and Barver, did you see what other forces lie over those hills?”

  “I had a brief sight before they fired at me,” said Merta. “I estimate their army is two thousand strong. Most of those who stood on the hilltop were archers, and they have dozens of large bolt-throwers. Their cavalry is perhaps double what they attacked with. Some things were covered, though. Camouflaged. Even in daylight, it was difficult to see…” She shook her head. “Even so, how could we have missed them last night? As we flew out to scout, and as we flew back? How could we miss an army on our doorstep?”

  “For a Sorcerer, there are ways to hide things,” Alia suggested. “To make the eye glide off them, unseen. Perhaps the Hamelyn Piper is as powerful a Sorcerer as he is a Piper…”

  “They had no need of sorcery,” said Tobias. “You didn’t see them, Merta, because they knew we were here and knew how to hide from us.”

  “Well, at least one thing is explained,” said Alia. “The rumour of mercenaries heading to the Ortings was absolutely true. Gastyl and Pard weren’t hiring soldiers, but it’s clear who was.”

  “An army of this size would cost a small fortune,” said Tobias.

  “It would,” said Alia. “Though remember: obsidiac is vastly more valuable than gold, and there are plenty of rich Sorcerers who’d be willing to buy it without asking questions. I suspect he’s been building up that fortune over the last few years.” She turned to Barver. “And you, scaring us all half to death with your antics… What can you tell us of the Hamelyn Piper? Wren told me you saw his chest, and there was no sign of the amulet.”

  “Just a hole in the armour,” said Barver. “Also, he used no Pipe. When he played his Song to attack me, he was just whistling it.”

  “Lip-playing,” said Alia. “The armour itself takes the role of a Pipe to amplify the Song. It tired him quickly, though. The armour drains him. Without the amulet, he weakens fast.”

  “With an army like that, does it matter?” said Barver. “How long can we repel it?”

  Alia looked to the sky, in the direction Wintel had flown. “All our hopes rest with her.”

  “Any help will come too late,” said Merta. “But Wintel’s escape will let the world know what happened here.”

  “Perhaps things aren’t as bleak as you think,” said Tobias. “The Hamelyn Piper didn’t expect us to fend off his attack, and now he’s holding back from all-out assault. He must fear that we have more surprises for him.”

  “Well, we do!” said Alia. “I’ll not show my hand until I have to, but the sparks will fly, I promise.”

  “I know they will,” said Tobias. “My point is this: he has a mercenary army, and if he spends their lives cheaply they may abandon him. He can’t afford heavy losses, even if he’s sure to kill us all in the end. His offer to spare those who join him is a way to assess our strength before he attacks. If anyone defects to his forces, he’ll know we’re weak and will attack us at once. But if nobody defects, it shows him we’re confident of victory. If we hold strong, we’ll earn more time.”

  “Then we must hold strong,” said Merta.

  Tobias began playing his Healing Song for Cramber again, making Merta and Barver sit next to him so that their own injuries would benefit too.

  As the Hamelyn Piper’s deadline approached, Patch offered to take over from him.

  “Let’s hear you, then,” said Tobias. He listened as Patch began to play, and nodded. “You learned quickly,” he said. “Play a fraction more slowly, and I think you’ve got it.”

  Tobias and Alia went to the command tent; Wren followed them, as she wanted to know the truth about their situation. She listened, and none of it was good. For all the planning of where and when to place Push Songs and their more destructive relatives, the moment the Hamelyn Piper felt confident about an all-out assault, their chances of victory were non-existent.

  But with forty minutes left, a call came up from within the camp. Soon, all eyes were fixed on the sky to the north.

  Patch stopped Piping and looked. It was barely a dot in the sky, but Merta’s eyes widened, as did Barver’s.

  “She did it,” said Merta. “She did it!”

  “Did what?” said Patch.

  Barver had a tear in his eye as he spoke. “Dragons have answered the call!” he said. “A dozen at least!”

  “Is Wintel with them, Barver?” asked Patch. “Can you see her?”

  Barver shook his head. “I can only see dragons, but she might be behind them.”

  Cheering began within the camp. Patch saw Wren over by the command tent, celebrating with the rest of them.

  “They’re flying in pairs, and each pair carries netting beneath it,” said Merta. “I can’t make out what’s inside.”

  “I can,” said Barver.
r />   The dragons were flying in a line that was spread out considerably – the furthest back were still some distance away, but the nearest pair was soon close enough for Patch to see that the nets were filled with grey spheres. “Are those what I think they are?” he said.

  Barver nodded. “The same kind of explosive devices they fired at Skamos. The Hamelyn Piper’s army will be decimated!”

  Patch wasn’t sure what to think – they were saved, yes, but the slaughter would be horrifying.

  “Barver…” said Merta, sounding anxious. She gestured to the Hamelyn Piper’s forces, still standing on the hilltops around them. “They’re not moving,” she said. “They must be able to see the dragons approach, but they’re making no preparation to defend themselves.”

  She was right. The dragons began to break away from their line, flying to the hills, but as they approached the enemy army there was no reaction at all. The first pair of dragons reached a hilltop. Unchallenged, they flew above the soldiers, disappearing behind the crest of the hill. They reappeared a moment later without their nets.

  Patch’s blood ran cold. “They’re not here to help us,” he said. “They’re here to help them.” The cheering around the camp stopped as the realization sank in.

  The two dragons flew back the way they’d come; they had delivered their cargo, and didn’t seem to want any further part.

  “Perhaps that’s why they’ve been putting off their assault,” said Barver. “They were waiting for this.”

  “But why?” said Patch. “Why help the Hamelyn Piper?”

  “Kasterkan,” said Barver. “It has to be his doing.”

  Patch thought back to what General Kasterkan had said to Yakesha at Skamos: You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve had to do to make it happen. He wondered what deal the general had made with the Hamelyn Piper, but it didn’t seem to matter any more. He wouldn’t be around long enough to find out.

  One by one, each dragon pair did the same thing, flying to a different hill and delivering their deadly cargo. The pair furthest back kept heading towards the camp, however. Suddenly Barver gasped, pointing to them: “I see Wintel,” he said. “She’s in their net.”