The Gryphon Highlord

by Connie Ward

  The hilltop erupted in chaos. Averi's men scattered, some going for their blades, others going for their horses, but not a single one going to the aid of their stricken commander. I remained where I lay, frozen with fresh terror. It had been no beast, nor any sort of mortal weapon that had flattened Averi. A smell like scorched earth floated on the breeze, one I instantly recognized. The scent of spent magic.

  A man leapt over me, brandishing a sword and bellowing challenge to my fleeing attackers. “Gutless bastards! Do you know no other sport than attacking defenceless travellers? Stand and fight!"

  A couple did just that, taking after my saviour with a vengeance. He made short work of them, however, slicing off the hand of one and skewering the kidney of the second. They fell back, howling and shrieking their agony to the world.

  I had no idea how many potential rescuers had arrived, but there were at least two, for a second voice called from somewhere off to my left, “Behind you, sir!"

  The swordsman spun, deflecting a blow from a soldier that would have half-severed his neck. A fierce show of swordplay ensued, though I missed much of it. I slipped in and out consciousness, the din of clashing blades just an echo from another reality. I cannot be sure that what followed next was real or hallucination. At one point the second rider dismounted to join in the fray. But he was not as handy with a blade as his companion; he staggered under the strike from a sword hilt that dropped him to the ground, rendering him even more nonsensical than myself. Meanwhile, my saviour fought on, pressed front and back by a pair of soon-to-be-dead men.

  At a noise from behind, I managed to tip back my head in time to see Averi rise from the base of the oak, and spying his embattled soldiers, begin to slink from the scene. Helpless, I watched as he bent to collect his sword belt, then climb aboard his horse and heel it back up the slope.

  Feebly, I croaked out, “He's getting away."

  With a motion too swift to follow, the swordsman dispatched first one foe, then another, his blade flinging blood and gore, before turning in the direction of my wobbly finger as Averi galloped for the trees. Seeing this, the survivors of Averi's patrol abandoned the fight and ran for their mounts. The swordsman hurled a slue of curses after them, but did not give chase. Instead he knelt by his injured companion, a youth not yet out of his teens, who roused at his touch.

  The man helped the boy gain his feet, then together they made their way towards me. It was about that time that I felt safe enough to give in to the beckoning darkness.

  CHAPTER SIX

  When next I opened my eyes, Uncle's barbarians were gone. But I was not alone. My rescuers stood looking down at me, perhaps wondering if I had expired. My whole body ached so badly I wished I had died. Every breath was torment, every eye blink agony. I noticed my face was wet, and thought it must be raining, although I distinctly recalled the morning sun rising into a clear blue sky. Thus I was shocked to learn I was crying. I hadn't cried in years.

  But the sky I saw was no longer clear. Dark grey clouds had rumbled in, banishing the sun. Soon it did begin to rain. I thought it fitting.

  The swordsman, a tall, brawny fellow dropped to a knee beside me. As he reached out to roll me over, his breath caught on a stifled oath. I suppose I was no pretty sight. What did it matter? I had no dignity, no pride left.

  "She's alive,” he pronounced.

  The boy, cradling a hand to what must be the grandmother of all goose eggs, grumbled, “I think she'd be better off dead."

  I was inclined to agree with him.

  "And to top it off, it's raining,” he added in an undertone, as if somehow I'd ruined their day. “We can't go tracking in the rain."

  His companion admonished him with an exasperated shush. “Nevertheless, I think she can be saved."

  "But, sir ... we can't take her with us."

  "Jory, if you're not going to help me,” my saviour snapped, withdrawing an object from his pocket and passing it to the boy, “ride on ahead and fetch a healer."

  "Yes, sir,” Jory demurred in a voice that said he was more than happy to leave. He mounted a pretty piebald grazing nearby and turned her muzzle down the slope.

  Drawing me into an upright position, my rescuer held a flask of water to my lips. I sputtered and choked, but managed a swallow or two. Up until then I had been unable to see much of his face, hidden beneath a rain-sodden hood. But as he leaned over me, I saw it was strong and kindly, framed by strands of curly black hair. An easy smile peeked out from between a neatly trimmed beard and moustache. His eyes were a deep brown, warm and friendly. I guessed his age to be somewhere on the nether side of forty.

  Gently, he smoothed a snarl of hair from my eyes, “What's your name, girl?"

  It is only natural when someone asks your name to reply unthinking, and I had lost the wits to be careful. I told him, instantly regretting it. His expression grew suspicious. A glance at my battered field jacket, which I'd had the arrogance to wear, and comprehension lit his features. “The Gryphon Highlord?"

  Though I pretended not to understand, the man was not convinced.

  He stared at me in disbelief, his dark brows knitting themselves into a knot. “Who were those men?"

  "Gryphon's troops,” I choked out, resigned to the fact I could not dissuade him of my identity.

  His arm swept the length of my body, his face paling with shock. “Your own men did this?"

  I don't think he believed me. Not at first. “Not mine but those of the Regent's, yes."

  "Why?"

  Why? The answer eluded even me. I blurted out what had hurt most. “Because I have become expendable."

  He appeared thoroughly repulsed.

  "You're a Crusader,” I said, for I could see enough of his attire to recognize it as a uniform of sorts.

  "Umagi,” he clarified.

  "And a Teki."

  He hesitated a moment, as if he might refute it. “Of modest talent, I assure you."

  Then to my astonishment, he began to rip the insignias from my jacket. Uncle's badge, my rank identification, along with every last button and stitch of piping came away, thrown into the muddy waters of the ditch. As a result my costume, now drab and nondescript, resembled any other traveller's. Strangely enough, stripped of Uncle's trappings, I felt freed.

  Even as I understood that he tried to conceal my identity I never believed it would work. I clutched at his sleeve, straining to pull myself up. “Kill me,” I whispered. “Please. I beg you."

  The man plucked my fingers free of his arm to take my hand in his. “I cannot,” he replied solemnly.

  "You can. Use your sword. End my shame, my pain. Else your Crusader friends will surely do it for you."

  He shook his head, eyes steeped in sadness. “I won't kill you. Nor will I allow anyone else to kill you."

  "Please, friend. You do not know how very desperately I want to die."

  "On the contrary,” he smiled, stroking my bruised cheekbone, “I know how very desperately you want to live."

  "What have I to live for? The things I value most are gone. My home. My throne. My pride.” A tear slid down the side of my nose. “My powers."

  "Your Teki powers?"

  "Yes. They are ... I mean, they have..."

  "Grown beyond Bertrand's ability to control and so he sought to render them inert?"

  I gasped. “You can't possibly know that."

  He flashed me an all-knowing sort of grin. “We guessed, when certain inexplicable losses began to effect us. It's no secret that you carry Umagi blood. Nor is it a secret that Bertrand employs a potion to suppress your powers. News of that magnitude is nearly impossible to guard. Fortunately for you, Bertrand has failed."

  I perked up a little at that. “He has?"

  "Abysmally, I'd say. Let me guess. Back in the trees you attempted a shielding or cloaking spell of some sort?"

  "Well, yes. But I think its pretty clear that it didn't work."

  "Not necessarily.” He lifted an arm to the dull grey sky. “Do
you see? The rain, the clouds, they obeyed your command, your desire for camouflage. They came a little late, but they came. Not the most subtle of spells, I'll admit, but that's to be expected from a novice such as yourself."

  Could that be true? Had my powers been restored? Self-pity and hopelessness had blinded me to the obvious. Hope soared anew. I laughed weakly, rejoicing in the discovery all was not lost. I lived still, and so, too, did my Teki ability.

  I looked up in awe at my gallant rescuer and squeezed his hand. “Who are you?"

  A sombre cast came over his face then, and his voice adopted an air of pain. “You do not know me?"

  "Should I?"

  He lowered his hood. The rain shone in his raven hair and sparkled like tiny diamonds in his beard. “It's me,” he whispered. “Sestus. Have you forgotten?"

  "Sestus?” The name did seem familiar. I let my eyes stray to the faded red emblem stitched over his heart. A memory from early childhood surfaced, images of happier times, when laughter and song filled Gryphon's great keep. Grass had grown in the courtyard, when it was a place for hide-and-seek and tag instead of a barren and dusty parade ground, which was its current incarnation. A maypole stood in its centre, entwined with ribbons of every colour, where young girls flocked and twittered like geese. Mother sat on a blanket, flowers in her hair, which were offerings from the children. Father stood nearby, smiling at their antics. Another man, his features young and carefree, laughed as he bounced a small child on his knee. A mane of dark curls spilled around the collar of his uniform. He gave the child a wooden toy horse and called her...

  "Little Red,” I murmured. The family's pet name for me.

  "Yes!” Sestus cried, his eyes brightening. “You do remember.” Hugging me to his breast, he kissed my filthy brow. “You always were my Little Red."

  I returned his crushing embrace as best I could, though pain ripped through every part of me. But I didn't care, intoxicated by the smothering horse smell of his coat and the warmth of his arms, smiling like a fool.

  After a time we looked up to see each other weeping tears of joy. Sestus laughed, just as he had that day in the courtyard under the maypole. “Ahh, Kathedra. I never thought I'd live to see you again.” He wiped the tears from my face and sniffed away his own. “My word, what have they done to you? Come. Let's get you somewhere safe."

  Reality intruded, in that rude way it has about it. “Sestus, you forget. I'm not one of you."

  "Not to worry,” he assured me, even as he removed his cloak to wrap it around my shivering body. “I'm sure between the two of us we can contrive a plausible story. For starters, you'll have to decide on a new name. Any ideas?"

  Only one came readily to mind. “How about Ruvie?” It was a common enough name among the peasantry, but not obviously so.

  He nodded. “We'll say you were attacked by ruffians attempting to flee the castle."

  Well, that was not so far from the truth.

  "You can fill me in on what happened later, when we've got time.” He patted my leg. “Meanwhile, say nothing. They will understand if you're too delirious to talk straight."

  Although I began to worry who they might be, I trusted that Sestus knew what it was he did, trusted he would do everything in his power to protect me. I had no other choice but to trust him.

  As he lifted me onto shaky legs however, I thrust him aside. “My horse, my sword,” I muttered, reeling in the direction of the trees and hiking up the slope at a determined totter. “My helm."

  "No, Kathedra. They're gone. There's nothing up there. No sword. No horse. Nothing."

  Halfway up the hillside I collapsed, too weak, too heartsick to go on. Sestus was right. My possessions should lay scattered across the slope, but it was empty. That bastard Averi had taken everything of mine. Trophies, I presumed. But the most precious of his plunder was my dignity. Drifting back into oblivion, I vowed to reclaim it, along with everything else that was mine.

  "Ho, Sestus!” hailed a cheery voice. “What the hell happened to you? Jory lit out of here like his tail was on fire. Left you something, too."

  A horse's broad back swayed beneath me, where I rode safe and snug in Sestus's arms. I roused at the sound of this new voice, belonging to an old man in farmer's attire, complete with straw hat and newly patched boots. Leaning against a broom, he stood in the doorway of a rundown barn, perched on a knoll dotted with spring flowers, a smaller outbuilding nestled a stone's throw away. As Sestus dismounted, the man passed him a small opaque object possibly fashioned out of glass.

  "That's breaking the rules, you know, Sestus."

  "Yes, Erol. I know,” Sestus said in response to the gentle admonishment. “But thank you so much. It won't happen again."

  Sestus clucked to his horse and led it by the reins into the barn. Despite my throbbing head and the pain of a bruised jaw, I gave the man what I hoped was a friendly smile. He didn't smile back, eyeing me with a look of speculation and chewing on a blade of grass. Though he hadn't objected to my presence in so many words, I got the feeling I wasn't exactly welcome.

  From between swollen, half-shut lids, I studied the barn with its walls of timber and roof of thatch. Though in good condition, it appeared abandoned; the only sign that livestock once inhabited it were the bits of hay and petrified horse droppings scattered throughout. Sestus led us all the way to the far end to another door, closed and fitted with a lock mechanism. Here, he inserted the object Erol had given him, which I now recognized as a key. There was a metallic ching, then Sestus returned the key to a ring on his belt. Who locks a barn?

  "Are you ready, Ruvie?"

  I answered his wink with a puzzled frown. “Ready?"

  He pushed open the door, admitting a lusty breeze redolent with the scent of wood smoke from the cookfires and forges of the sundered castle in the vale below. Though we emerged on the opposite side of the barn, the scenery was different. Where there should be a stand of evergreens was a sprawling meadow dotted with sheep and—.

  Sundered castle?

  Despite having never set foot in the place, nor even having seen an artist's rendering of it, I knew exactly where I was.

  Idyll!

  * * * *

  A prudent man, Sestus kept his back to me as he guided my mount down the slope, more to conceal his amusement at my slack jaw and glazed eyes than to spare my dignity. My shock was absolute, my brain wholly incapable of absorbing the revelation that the Crusaders not only had the audacity to occupy Uncle's former demesne, the source of all current strife in Thylana at the moment, but that Idyll was almost two hundred miles from Castle Gryphon.

  I twisted in the saddle to find the barn was the same, only the location had changed. This was sorcery of the highest calibre, and yet there was no evidence of such. I fixed my gaze on the crumbling stone edifice growing closer with the horse's every stride and struggled to get my mouth closed. Our approach afforded me an excellent overview. The main keep was in near total ruin, but the outbuildings, stables, and workhouses appeared to be in good repair, which is where the Citizens Risen Up to Stand Against a Dread and Errant Regency had set up shop.

  A hundred questions popped into my mind, the first and foremost being a tossup between why and how. The latter won out. “Sestus ... how is this possible?"

  He slid me a smile over his shoulder as we continued down the slope. “An Umagi dabbler in teleportation created it. It's called a teleportal."

  "You mean Erol?"

  "No. Erol's the caretaker. The lookout. If any outsiders should come nosing around, he'll alert us. But unless one has a passkey, the barn's just an ordinary barn, and the teleportal can't be accessed.” His smile turned sheepish. “I guess I really shouldn't be telling you all this."

  No, Sestus. You really shouldn't. That didn't stop me, however, from listening. I better understood the reason behind the caretaker's reproach. While an impudent and clever device, the teleportal, if discovered, would land Uncle's Royals on the Crusaders’ doorstep with little or no warning.


  But the conversation was at an end, for we had reached the keep and our arrival had caused a stir. People rushed up to greet Sestus, making his horse shy, and soon a babbling, curious mob ringed us. It would seem that Jory had wasted no time spreading the tale of their encounter on the ‘other’ side.

  A dozen eager hands reached up to take me. Sestus passed me down to them without compunction, shouting orders above the turmoil. Despite my protestations that I could walk, a burly man carried me through the throng and into a ramshackle building of wood and roughly hewn stone. He took me past the main room and into one smaller, more sparsely furnished, where he set me down on a rickety cot. Then, doffing his cap to wring it between his hands, he asked, “Can I get you anything, miss?"

  "A physician might be nice."

  "Oh ... yes, miss, right away,” he stammered, and proceeded to back out the door straight into Sestus.

  "Has Ginger returned?"

  The man jumped aside. “No, sir. Not yet."

  Sestus looked relieved, muttered something like, “Small miracles."

  "Sir?"

  "Never mind. Let me know the minute he does.” Sestus clapped him on the shoulder and the man departed, only to collide with someone in the outer room.

  Another voice, brazen and insistent, from beyond the doorway, commanded, “Out of my way. Let me pass. I said move, you big lug!"

  A stout woman, in a flowing frock and tattered shawl, armed with an assortment of bags, shouldered her way past Sestus, the same gangly youth from the hillside trotting in her wake. “Bloody Crusaders,” she frothed, waddling toward me where I cowered on my cot. “Think they don't have to move their arses for simple folk like me. Bah!"

  "Ahh, Biddy,” Sestus sighed. “How nice to see you."

  "Up yours, Sestus, you old goat,” Biddy snapped. “Just you keep out of my way."

  Sestus grabbed Jory by his collar to hiss into his ear, “You had to bring her?"

  Jory flushed and babbled some excuse, the whole time trying to squirm out of Sestus's grasp.