The Gryphon Highlord

by Connie Ward

  My anger returned tenfold. My voice shook and my whole body trembled with it. “He's ruined everything, Val. By retiring the Gryphon Highlord he's eliminated the only person who cares. My influence maintains reason and restraint when Uncle's Royals would slay the weak and try the innocent. My presence forestalls the retaliation of wizards who can just as easily inflict chaos. Mine, Valleri. Mine."

  I heard Valleri leave his chair and walk toward me. “Be calm, Kathedra,” he said in that clipped tone which always made me feel like a small child. “You're still reeling from the shock of it. It will pass."

  I spun, his words sounding like so much nonsense. “Be calm? My world has come crashing down around me and you tell me it will pass?"

  Too long repressed, too long leashed, my powers erupted, overwhelming rational thought. I couldn't stop it. Maybe I didn't want to stop it. Vulnerable to my will, the horrible green goblets exploded to scatter a spray of crystal splinter at Valleri's feet. In that moment a look crossed his features, almost as if he were recalling that day at Idyll. Then just as quickly it was gone. His jaw tensed beneath the masked expression, and the sky-blue eyes went a shade deeper. He backed away a step.

  I caught my breath, stunned by what I had done, appalled by what I'd seen in his face. I held out a shaky hand. “I'm sorry, Valleri. I didn't direct it at you."

  Lifting his chin he regarded me warily, as if not quite knowing whether to believe me. I'd never lost control before in his presence. He'd never seen me so wild, so helpless, and I'm sure he didn't know what to do.

  "Please, Valleri,” I begged. “Don't be afraid of me. Now, more than ever, I need you not to be afraid."

  Until today, grief and fear and uncertainty were things I'd always hidden from Valleri, controlled by either sheer will or my tonic. My display of emotion touched him deeply. More importantly, he realized that I needed him like he'd never thought possible.

  To my relief, he stepped forward and pulled me into his arms. I clung to him, grateful for his compassion.

  After a while he withdrew to hold me at arms length. “Beautiful, tempestuous Kathedra. You have been caged for so long it is truly a wondrous thing to see you fly."

  His words moved me, for it was the first he'd ever revealed his heart to me. In some ways we are very much alike. But the words he spoke next caught me unprepared.

  "I love you, Kathedra."

  It was then that I realized I loved him as well. “Truly, Valleri?"

  "Truly. I didn't want to love you. Our dalliance was meant to be a diversion, a way to forget duty and war, a way to escape. Though it wasn't supposed to get so complicated, I think it was inevitable. Even natural. We depend on each other for everything, even survival. We share the same terrors, the same triumphs. How can I not love you?"

  I clutched at him fiercely, ashamed that he should see me this way. “I'm so humiliated, Valleri. Are all the terrible things Uncle said really true? Am I so expendable there's no need to replace the Gryphon Highlord? What a fool I am, in my pride and arrogance. Uncle's right. I'm not indispensable. I merely take my orders and pass them to you. You, Valleri, are the warrior, the strategist, the true commander. The glories, the victories, all belong to you. I'm just a figurehead, a symbol without substance or reality."

  "That's not true,” Valleri admonished, tilting my head back so my eyes met his. “The Gryphon Highlord is a symbol, but a very important one. You give us courage when we lose faith. You give us strength when we feel beaten. But most of all, you give us pride. We are the finest of Gryphon's Royals because of you. We follow you into battle. We rally around your standard. There are times when you become more than a symbol. I've seen you fight to the death defending that standard. Don't let Bertrand's shackles fail your spirit. Don't let them fetter your heart."

  His speech cheered me enough to risk a smile. “I'll miss you, Valleri."

  "Miss me? Whatever do you mean? Once Lesuperis is dead we can continue to be together."

  I drew back, chilled by his tone. “Once Lesuperis is dead?"

  "Of course,” Valleri crooned, nuzzling my neck. “You didn't think I'd let that lout marry you, did you? I'll take care of him."

  I pushed him away with more force than I intended. “No, Valleri. I want no family blood spilt."

  There is one ancestral law I refuse to break, one commandment I revere above all others; family blood is sacred. To shed it would bring me a dishonour I could never bear.

  Once upon a time, when the first rumblings of revolt broke loose, I had an advisor. When I had railed in vain against Uncle and this needless conflict, my advisor suggested the only way to avoid bloodshed and save the throne was to assassinate Uncle. I had the man quietly executed. I have not appointed another advisor since.

  Valleri had argued with me then, chiding me for my hasty action. He argued with me now.

  "Do you really consider Lesuperis family? The man has barely a thimbleful of royal blood in his veins. Neither he nor Bertrand has any honour worth considering."

  "Then I shall have enough for us all. I will not sanction his murder. You must swear that no harm will come to him. Swear it."

  "I swear,” Valleri sighed with more than a hint of belligerence, “no harm will come to Lesuperis not of his own doing."

  Not exactly the oath I had in mind, but I did not press it.

  Valleri snorted and strode to the window. Facing me, he leaned against the casement and folded his arms over his chest. “Whatever shall I get you for a wedding gift?"

  I sensed beneath the bitterness his pain at the thought I should be given to another man. His anguish both touched and amused me. Smiling, I went to his side. “Oh, Valleri. There isn't going to be a wedding. I'm sure Uncle will rethink his brashness and come to his senses. I need only be patient."

  "You deceive yourself if you think Bertrand will relent."

  "At least I am giving him the chance, which is more than he gave me."

  "And if he does not reconsider? What will you do then, Kathedra?"

  I hadn't given that any thought, confident of Uncle's capitulation. “I don't know. But I won't wed Lesuperis, even if the price of defiance is disinheritance. There are people in Thylana who still believe I am the rightful heir, those who would see me on the throne. Perhaps I'll join the Crusaders. Who knows? They might even win me my crown."

  I jested, of course. But Valleri took me seriously. “That may not be wise. While there are those who would resurrect you to the throne, there are just as many, particularly in the Umagi camp, who would rather see the Gryphon Highlord's head on a stake. I can see the benefits in switching sides, but too many Crusaders I fear, have long memories and won't forget you once fought against them. They won't trust you. You'd probably be executed."

  "Valleri, it's a jest. You talk as if it's an option."

  "Forgive me, Kathedra. I'm just not thinking straight, is all.” He shook his head and pushed himself away from the window. “I'm tired of talking. I'm tired of arguing. It's all too mind-boggling to comprehend right now. Perhaps we should sleep on it. We'll be able to think more clearly in the morning."

  "I'll be a long time falling asleep.” I glanced up hopefully. “Can you stay tonight? I really don't want to be alone."

  "Sorry, no. I can't risk being here.” Grinning, he slipped my hand into his. “But I'll linger awhile, until you fall asleep."

  The door was bolted, so we need fear no intrusion. Valleri has a way of making me forget my troubles. He did not disappoint me this night. It was easy to lose myself in his embrace, to fall under the spell of urgent hands and eager lips. Yet, afterward, I could not shake the feeling this tryst had been our last.

  I guess I slept. For in the morning, Valleri was gone.

  * * * *

  I spent the next three days pondering my tumble from grace. Meanwhile, I continued to receive my required dose of tonic. This I succumbed to meekly, for it is administered by the one person I fear even more than I do Uncle. Grezalia—my former governess, now my j
ailor.

  A stern old spinster she covers herself head to toe in drab robes that serve only to emphasize her ample girth. Tall and stout, she towers over my slight stature and probably weighs twice as much. She wears her dark hair, now peppered with grey, in a tight, modest bun, the pain of which I assume accounts for her surly disposition. In addition is an ever present smirk—a smirk that has stretched considerably since my disgrace and subsequent confinement.

  My fear is rooted in childhood, when her formidable shadow loomed over me, threatening the imperial posterior with a switch. I view her still with the eyes of a twelve year old girl, who'd never committed any offence worse than filching honeycakes from the kitchen, but who now, over a decade later, faces down a horde of Crusader fanatics on any given day.

  "This is all your father's fault,” she huffed, watching as I drank the concoction. “From the moment that witch man set foot inside this castle I knew he'd cause nothing but problems."

  "I see,” I replied with sugary venom, feeling particularly brave today.

  "Not only are you a governess and a jailor, you're also a prophet."

  "It doesn't take a prophet to tell it is that very same insolence which has brought you to where you are today. Hmph. An Umagi trait, I suppose. Your father was no different, so arrogant, so...” and she was off, foaming at the mouth.

  With an ease born of practice, I shut her out and let my thoughts turn inward. It is her inclination to blame everything on my father, for it was from him that I inherited my Umagi powers.

  Father was Teki; a member of that branch of the Umagi family tree whose magical source derives from telekinesis, the most mysterious and unpredictable of all Umagi talents. Thus, it is paramount that Teki children are able to learn young how to control and wield their extraordinary powers. As a five-year old I can remember the early lessons he taught me: Will must control thought. Power is the strength of will. The walls separating emotion from thought must never be breached, or chaos ensues. Alas, my father, a respected Umagi healer, broke that cardinal rule himself while tending a farmer severely injured in a fire. So badly did he want that man to live, desire over-rode will, and he let slip too much power. His patient survived, but he didn't.

  Devastated by his loss, which followed closely behind the disaster at Idyll, Mother was prone to manipulation. In the turmoil following these events, she was pressed by some, not just Uncle, to restrict the Umagi and their powers. But she didn't believe that protecting one portion of her subjects by sacrificing another was the answer. In my case, however, she bent beneath the pressure when it was pointed out that Thylana might not accept a witch-queen. Thus, to appease her brother and his supporters, she gave the apothecary permission to concoct a tonic to repress the manifestation of my powers.

  "No, it's Uncle's fault,” I blurted, interrupting Grezalia's tirade.

  She glared down at me with the visage of an avenging harpy. “Impudent witch child! How dare you? Have you no respect for your uncle, for your sovereign?"

  Ahh, poor deluded Grezalia. She's had hopes of snaring Uncle for herself ever since he arrived, bemused and distraught, on Gryphon's doorstep with orphans, widows, and wounded in tow. Maybe she thought she could ease his heartbreak, and in time make him swell with new life, but her efforts went wasted. Uncle might as well have lost his sight along with his heart at Idyll, for he never saw another woman since the loss of his fair Pepet.

  In vain attempts to woo his attention, she has taken boot kissing to an art form. But if she believes her mental torture of me will set her in Uncle's good graces, she is mistaken. She is just a bitter old woman who has thrown away her life, pining for a man who repays her devotion with ignorance, who neither knows, nor cares, that she exists.

  Nevertheless, I could tolerate Grezalia's impertinence no longer. “Get out,” I snapped. “Take your medicine vials and vulgar comments and get out."

  Collecting her tray, she stalked to the door where she paused to throw me the taunt, “You know, if you had any honour at all, you'd cut your wrists."

  "Rot you,” I muttered, plucking a toy horse from its shelf and hurling it at the closed door. I was rewarded with a solid, satisfying thud, for the piece was constructed of a sturdy wood and had weathered well similar treatment.

  Regretting my temper, I retrieved the horse and stroked the fresh nick in its glossy, timbered hide as I pondered Valleri's words. Had he spoken them out of sincerity or kindness? Either way, did it matter? Regardless, they filled me with renewed doubt and suspicion.

  Perhaps it is self-pride, but I believe my role as the Gryphon Highlord more than just a symbol. While it is true I rarely participate in hand-to-hand combat, I recall frequent times when we underestimated the Crusaders’ ingenuity and I was forced to enter the fray. I fought on horseback when challenged and I dismounted to engage in swordplay when my braver enemies thought themselves superior enough to take my standard—an insult I will not endure, a victory I will give no one.

  So if Valleri spoke the truth, how can Uncle retire me? Surely my duty to produce heirs can wait until the Crusaders are vanquished and Thylana is secure once more. Certainly Uncle can overlook gossip about my romance with Valleri if it means deliverance for Thylana. Still, Uncle's term abrupt dismissal puzzles me. Beyond a doubt I am the most valuable of his officers, the majority of whom are useless cowards.

  So why do I sit behind locked doors, like any common prisoner, awaiting marriage to a man I despise?

  A riddle I have only four days to figure out.

  CHAPTER THREE

  My third day of captivity and still no apology from Uncle. The door remains barred except when Grezalia brings my tonic, or dear sweet Cook arrives with my meals. My wedding gown has been delivered, along with silk slippers and matching veil. I hated it on sight. It is very beautiful; all lace and satin, trimmed with pearls and fancy bows. But it is virgin white. I distinctly recall telling the head seamstress scarlet, for I wished to make a statement. Uncle wouldn't allow it. No veil, then. I shredded it to ribbons.

  Fretting that Uncle would not relent, I sent messages pleading for an audience, but he refused them. His rejection hurt, so much that if not for my tonic I'd have wept buckets. This is what has become of the glorious Gryphon Highlord.

  At last, on the fourth night, Valleri came to visit me in his secret fashion, for I am denied personal visitors. I could barely contain myself, so starved was I for news of the world beyond my prison walls. Still, I felt it only polite to inquire first into our military situation.

  In terms of warfare the revolt began over a year ago, despite the fact that unrest had been brewing since Mother's death. It began with small demonstrations or marches against the Regent's purported oppression, then progressed to civil disobedience with the perpetration of such acts as vandalism, looting, and arson against those who supported Uncle's edicts.

  Mind you, all the great armies are gone now, having devoured one another on the fields of blood three centuries ago. Only one kingdom rose from the bones of the dead: Thylana. Nevertheless, Uncle retaliated the only way he knew how. After several decades of domestic peace, he reinstated the office of the Gryphon Highlord and divided his castle troops into Royals, then sent them out to quell the violence and muzzle the outspoken. He put me in charge because I was the only person he trusted, not because I was necessarily most qualified for the job.

  But to Uncle's everlasting dismay, the Umagi refused to be herded back into exile and the commoners only grew more aggressive. Soon the Citizens Risen Up to Stand Against a Dread and Errant Regency was established, which had money to hire, of all things, mercenaries to back up its lofty ideals. Head firmly planted in the sand, Uncle dismissed the organization as rabble and denounced them as outlaws. Too late he realized the Crusaders were serious.

  The castle troops had previously spent their time patrolling the borders, quashing poachers, and ridding the countryside of bandits. Their duties included policing fairs and market squares, on the alert for thieves, cutpurses,
and drunken troublemakers. To be truthful, the Royals knew little about real warfare, but we were learning, as were the Crusaders. Learning too well I feared.

  I don't believe Uncle had ever wanted to kill anyone, but there was blood on both party's hands now, and he would do anything to restore order, to save his throne. Even if it meant making war on his own people.

  As it stands now our military might is spread pretty thin. While raiders from across the far northern sea continue to wreak havoc on the borderlands, the Royals are hard pressed to contain what Uncle insists is an outbreak of unrest instigated by a misguided few. But we try. When the Crusaders seize towns, we drive them out. When they block roads, we open them by force. When they waylay merchant caravans, we cut off access to the highways. But always more towns are seized, more roads blockaded, and more caravans robbed. Thus, this tug of war has escalated and will continue until one side or the other loses patience and launches an all out assault.

  "Any major developments?” I asked, affecting a tone of interest.

  Valleri seemed distracted. “Tock broke the impasse at the southern crossroads. He dealt the Crusader commander there a telling blow. It's believed he is permanently out of action if not dead. Still no word from our spies, however. I fear our agents are being discovered and dispatched before they can contact us."

  "But that's good news,” I chirped. “It leaves us one less outlaw champion to worry about. Without its leaders the organization will fall apart. Tock has scored a major coup."

  "Good news for Bertrand, yes."

  He fell curiously silent, forcing me in my impatience to demand, “Well? Have you heard anything? What is the rumour in the castle?"

  "It's not good, Kathedra,” he replied, his tone ominous as he slumped into a chair.

  My shoulders sagged, and though I sensed the worst, I asked anyway. “Uncle hasn't changed his mind?"

  "And I'm here to tell you that he won't."