The Gryphon Highlord

by Connie Ward

  Judging by their angry gesticulations and the pitch of their voices, for I could not make out their words at this distance, it sounded vicious. “Doesn't their carrying on bother you?"

  "Not as much as Repachea's superior combat skills do."

  "What's their story?"

  His eyes, big and startling white in their rings of dirt, narrowed with suspicion. “Why?"

  "I want to help if I can."

  "Leave it be, Ruvie.” He shook his head, flinging clumps of sod from his hair. “It's old and bitter. Hatred and rage is all they know. It brings relief from the pain. I gotta go ... clean up. But, hey. Maybe you and I could spar some time.” He stepped back with a wry grin and opened his arms to indicate his sodden apparel. “I could use the practice."

  "Sure. I'd like that."

  As I scooped up the practice blades to clean and return to the armoury, to the accompaniment of Biddy's and Sestus's fussing in the background, I knew I'd heard their sad refrain before in Uncle's tale of lament.

  Throughout all these antics Ginger is ever present, his watchful spectre lurking in the shadows, although he never speaks to me. In the beginning I thought Ginger a quiet, circumspect fellow, the sort who only talks when he has something important to say. Then as time progressed, I came to suspect he did not trust me enough to speak in my presence. But when we'd meet alone, face-to-face, and he'd not even utter a polite hello I took it personally.

  So when I mustered the courage to demand an explanation from Sestus, I was embarrassed to learn the truth. We sat at the huge worktable at the time, sorting through the latest scout reports from Ragsey. At my inquiry, Sestus stopped reading and glanced up. “Well, in case you haven't noticed, women intimidate Ginger. Pretty ones, especially. They usually don't look at him long enough to strike up a conversation. But you?” He allowed a low chuckle. “You sort of knocked him off-balance."

  "Yes, well, you might have warned me about that."

  Sestus shrugged. “To be honest, I never thought to. I mean, we've grown so used to the way Ginger looks, we just tend not to notice it any more. It's no different than the blacksmith's limp or the wart on the tip of the laundress's nose ... no, wait. Bad example. We do notice that. Really, it's hard to—"

  "So what you're saying is that Ginger is just shy?"

  "Yes. Shy. Or bitter. What have you."

  "Sestus, those aren't the same. Which is it?"

  "Bitter then, I guess."

  "Why? Because of what happened to his face? What did happen to his face? Was it some kind of accident? Was there a woman involved?"

  "Uhm, yes and no. You know, of course, that in the year following your mother's death, Bertrand outlawed all magic and banished those Umagi who refused to comply. Due to what happened here at Idyll, his fear and mistrust included all magic-users."

  "He banished all save one,” I reminded him.

  "Yes. You were spared.” Sestus shook his head. “Why? I don't know. Perhaps even then he retained a shred of family honour, or perhaps he realized you could be of future use to him. But I suspect you were saved persecution because you reminded him in so many ways of his dearly departed sister. You cannot know how much you resemble her, Kathedra. Your eyes, your voice, even your gestures. God only knows where you got your red hair."

  Smiling, he reached out to ruffle the short tuft that had usurped my red-gold mane, for I'd taken Repachea's words to heart and chopped it all off.

  "But I digress. Naturally, there were those who defied the Regent's proclamation and refused to be forced into exile. They remained, living always one step ahead of Gryphon's huntsmen and their hounds, stirring up rebellion and unrest."

  "And Ginger was one of these?"

  "Not in the beginning. First off, you should know that Ginger was present here on that fateful day. The son of the stable-master, he was about the same age as the young prince, Ivor, your cousin, and they became close friends. In fact, he was standing with Ivor in the kitchen, prepared to execute a daring raid on the pantry along with some other boys, at the time that Mauranna's spell went horribly awry. In the same instant that the knife had hurtled through the air to impale Ivor, the hearth fire flared violently, belching up a gust of hot ash and liquid flame that struck Ginger's face. Spell-born, the fire was no ordinary fire, burning long and deep. Miraculously Ginger survived, thanks to a gifted Umagi healer, but Ivor and two of their friends perished."

  I digested all that in a shocked sadness, marvelling at the coincidence that Ginger had known my cousin, a relative I had never even met.

  "Upon hearing of Mauranna's execution and fearing further retribution against the mageborn on your Uncle's part,” Sestus went on, “Ginger's parents spirited him from Idyll, for during his efforts to save the boy's life, the Umagi healer had uncovered their son's budding magical talent."

  Sestus tipped his head, his expression thoughtful. “Now one might think that such a tragedy would cause Ginger to forsake his newfound craft. Instead, it only fuelled his desire to learn. He nurtured his powers under the guidance of an old enchanter, studying long and hard despite constant, nagging pain that haunted him through the rest of his youth. Then Dundurn happened."

  I waited expectantly, for what had occurred at the town of Dundurn had been a pivotal moment in the history of Thylana.

  Sestus cleared his throat, continued, “While studying under the enchanter, Ginger met a fellow Umagi, a fellow student actually, just about the time the outlawed wizards began to trickle back from exile. Her name was Nelia, and she didn't care about Ginger's disfigurement or his turbulent past. They fell instantly and completely in love. Anyway, their youth and exuberance led to stupidity when a radical Umagi faction formed a protest in the streets of Dundurn and they joined in. As you know, an uprising ensued; nothing serious, but Bertrand panicked and sent in his troops."

  That much was true. There are those who argue that if not for this single unfortunate episode, a more peaceful resolution might have been made between Uncle and the Umagi, one satisfying to both parties.

  "Ginger joined the more vociferous protesters, and although the Royalists stick to their claim the Umagi used magic against them, Ginger denies it. As he tells it, the Umagi only retaliated with thaumaturgical means after Gryphon's troops attacked them. As it happened, sporadic scuffles escalated into a full-blown riot thanks to the Royalists’ aggressive tactics. Without any weapon of his own, Ginger soon found himself face to face with a Royalist blade. Somehow, Nelia got between them and in the confusion that followed was impaled on a pike. She died from her injury on the pavement of Dundurn, becoming the first official casualty of the revolt. Dundurn turned into a bloodbath from there. Ginger never forgave himself. He's always felt he should have died instead of Nelia."

  The rest of the puzzle that was Ginger slid into place. “So motivated by guilt and rage and hatred he plans to visit revenge on Uncle?"

  He paused, sliding me a stern look. “I'll be frank. Ginger not only intends to usurp Bertrand, but to ensure his lineage never again sits on Thylana's throne. Now do you see why it is imperative he does not discover your true identity?"

  "That's ridiculous,” I snorted. “I can understand why Ginger is eager to punish Uncle, but why me? I was still taking lessons from my arms master when all that happened. He can't blame me for the atrocities of my uncle."

  "Ginger is not a rational man. He does not think as we do. He has a single purpose in life, one reason for living, which is to see the reign of your family swept into oblivion."

  I stared at my fingers, knotted on the table before me, and wrestled down my anger. “Don't you think this is something you should have told me from the start? Or did you fear I might refuse to aid a fanatic's cause?"

  "I did what I thought best,” Sestus replied, making no attempt at apology. “I believed the truth would frighten you. Fear often leads one to make mistakes, mistakes you can't afford around Ginger. One tiny slip-up can cost you your life. If he discovers who you are too early, he may think to k
ill you."

  "And there is nothing you could do to stop him?” I gasped, astonished. “Are you saying you and Repachea and Belvemar are powerless to oppose Ginger's will? It is inconceivable I should be held responsible for the transgressions of the Regent, even if I am his niece. Where are your noble higher principles now? I can't believe you would permit a lunatic to lead your celebrated Crusaders."

  Sestus remained calm, unflinching before my righteous fury. “You're wrong, Little Red. Ginger is not supreme commander. He shares that position with five other Crusader captains and myself. Together, we form a democracy. No one man has absolute authority. In the event of a dilemma, a vote is held and the majority rules."

  "That is how you hope to keep a madman like Ginger in line? Are you ready to gamble that theory with my life?"

  "In the end Ginger will decide for himself,” Sestus conceded. “He is a man who will die to fulfill his obligation. He is the single most dangerous obstacle in your path to the throne. Therefore, you will need to win his confidence, to earn his trust and to prove your loyalty to our cause. Perhaps then, once we gain the victory, he will see that you truly deserve to wear the crown by deed and not by right. Time is your ally. Use it to your best advantage."

  It galled me that I, the Gryphon Highlord, the rightful heir to the throne, should have to prove to anyone I deserved the role I was given by birth. But did I have a choice? Here? Surrounded by my enemies?

  I got to my feet, prepared to take my leave. “He's mad, you know. How can he not be?"

  Sestus shook his head. “Not completely. He need only be brought back from the brink. Either he jumps, or we pull him back."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "Bloody hell!"

  Repachea stared up at me from the trodden sod of the practice field, arms splayed behind him, a mixture of surprise and bewilderment on his face. I hooked the hilt of his fallen sword with the toe of my boot and tossed it to him. He caught it awkwardly, still reeling from the shock that his pupil had bested him.

  Dusting off my palms, I said politely, “Touch me like that again and I'll break your fingers."

  He climbed to his feet, still dazed with disbelief. “Where did you learn that little trick?"

  "Not from you, surely. Do you think you're the first to try that lame move on an unsuspecting female? You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” He really should be. It was a measure of his desperation for a rake of Repachea's calibre to have to resort to adolescent ploys. I expected better of him.

  The rogue somehow managed to appear sheepish despite his dazzling lupine smile. “You're jealous."

  Only strapped to a rack would I confess to the sliver of annoyance at learning that I was not the wolf's sole prey. An incorrigible flirt, Repachea spent a good deal of his spare time wooing the pretty dairy maid who came with her father twice a week to sell us milk and cheese. Not that I had the slightest intention of accepting his advances.

  "I'm wearing you down, Ruvie. Go on. Admit it."

  I gave him my back and busied myself with polishing rag, grateful there were no racks in the vicinity.

  I considered our practice session ended. And not a moment too soon, apparently. Horses appeared in the stable yard, saddled and loaded with overnight gear, most notably Repachea's black gelding. Whirling on him, I exclaimed, “You're leaving?"

  He grinned his foxiest grin. “Just a little plunder party. Won't be gone long. Hardly time enough for you to miss me."

  A single snowflake drifted down between us, the last of the season. Winter in this part of Thylana was mild enough, consisting of six or eight weeks of moderate cold and sporadic flurries of snow, followed by a cool, soggy spring. The weather never slowed our practice sessions, nor did much to deter Repachea's zeal for mischief and mayhem.

  "You weren't going to tell me, were you?” So keen was my petulance I almost stomped a foot in outrage. For months now I'd been hounding Repachea to allow me to accompany him on a raid. Plundering a supply caravan destined for Fleurry's command post or looting a storehouse filled with luxurious ‘necessities’ for Chiverly had been a secret fantasy of mine, even when I was a Royalist. But always Repachea gave me the same tiresome answer.

  "Ruvie, I'm sorry,” he began, shaking his head, “but no. You're just not experienced enough. I don't want to have to be worrying about your safety when I'm supposed to be sacking and pillaging."

  That of course was the biggest crock of horse manure yet out of his mouth. The fact that he had the gall to say such a thing after I'd just knocked him ass over tea cosy was indicative of the man's enormous ego. But Repachea was good at what he did, which was ambushing caravans and plundering supply depots. He lived for raids, for skirmishes with the enemy. I blush to think that maybe even I had lost a wagon or two to the knave.

  I ached to be able to tell him that I had pillaged and plundered with the best of them, but all I could say was, “I can take care of myself."

  "Ruvie, I said no.” His tone actually sharpened, though he softened it with a smile and reached out to tug at a tuft of my shorn hair. “You did that, cut your hair I mean, just to spite me.” Then he withdrew, gathering up his practice blade and shredded dignity, leaving me with a fey wink. “Defiance. Jealousy. I like it. Keep it up."

  I stood there, pouting, and watched him leave. So. Repachea was gone, along with Ragsey, who was off on a reconnaissance mission. A feeling of desertion set in. I trudged off the field, dragging my sword behind me. I thought of seeking comfort with Belvemar. A visit with him never failed to cheer me up. Sestus, however, was usually in the infirmary at this time of day, and I was holding a grudge.

  My anger with the former Halberdier captain had been reduced to a low simmer, bubbling just below the surface. While we continued to work together in the gloom of the dungeon, our easy banter was noticeably absent. Indeed, immersed in piles of maps and stacks of minutia that seemed to go on without end, I began to view it as a true prison, its dismal walls haunted by Ginger's ominous presence.

  Ginger, the enigma who had only a few short days ago been a source of infinite wonder and terrible fear to me, had turned into a dreadful bore. Not only did he not speak to me, he did not smile. Nor did I see any evidence of his diabolical powers, save for the teleportal, whose energy I assumed he maintained, though no one had said so in as many words. He merely hovered, ghost-like, glaring and disapproving.

  I soon tired of his arrogance, his me-against-the-world attitude, and came to pretend he didn't exist at all. I ignored his sullen gaze, his critical frown, even his oppressive silence, which seemed to bother him immensely. I do believe he actually expected me to cringe under the touch of his menacing mage eyes, and scurry from his path like the rest of Idyll. He got the message, and I think he was even disappointed that his attempts to cow me had failed.

  Truly, death by boredom was my only fear. Even my Teki powers flowed tranquil and serene, tamed by the monotony. How I longed for Valleri. Charismatic, vivacious, always exciting Valleri. To hear his voice or see his smile would be a breath of heaven here in this dull life of exile.

  Things were destined to liven up, however. Although not quite in the manner I would have chosen.

  * * * *

  It was hard to stay angry with Sestus, especially when he flashed me those sad hound eyes. I missed his company during meals, but more so his cooking. The time had come to make up. It only seemed sensible to do so over supper.

  Hence, one night after I'd seen to Belvemar's needs, I borrowed a jar of wine from Repachea's private store and strolled over to Sestus's quarters. He answered my knock quickly enough, yet did not seem so eager to welcome me inside.

  "Oh. Ruvie. This is a surprise.” He spoke to me through a crack in the door.

  "I know,” I admitted. “But I want to apologize for my behaviour. I realize you were only trying to protect me. I want us to be friends again. You're the only one I've got."

  He gave me a lopsided grin. “Only friendship, Little Red? It seems to me you'll starve if you h
ave to eat much more of your own cooking. Well, I'm sorry, but you'll just have to suffer."

  "Oh, Sestus. Don't be like that. Look.” I held up my booty. “I've even brought a peace offering."

  "It was a nice thought, but I'm on my way out."

  Too slowly I got the feeling Sestus hid something. I sniffed the air. “Is that woodruff I smell? Why are you all dressed up? Why won't you open the door?"

  He began to protest but an outraged squawk interrupted him. I pushed open the door to find the white, black-speckled rooster tugging on his bootstrap. “What's going on?"

  Sighing, Sestus scooped up the troublesome bird. “Biddy invited me to supper tonight. I can't imagine why, unless it's to poison me."

  "And the rooster?"

  He looked at the bird where it pecked at the metal doodads ornamenting his uniform. “I don't know. She just said for me to bring it. I expect she's changed her mind, after all."

  It seemed Biddy had taken my advice to heart. “Here,” I said, giving him the wine. “Take it to share with Biddy.” I started down the wooden steps.

  "Wait, Ruvie."

  I turned around to see Sestus trying to juggle the bottle, the rooster, and the door. “Why don't you come along? You know, so I'll have a witness when she tries to put snakefoot in my tea."

  "No, thanks. I don't think Biddy will welcome my intrusion. She'll want you all to herself."

  "Yeah, that's what worries me."

  I shuffled off to my own quarters, resigned to another bowl of gruel all to myself and several pots of wilted plants, dying on the windowsill, for company.

  A voice next to my ear startled me out of a sound sleep. “Don't be frightened,” it intoned.

  It was a voice I'd rarely heard before. When I opened my eyes I realized why. Ginger had materialized beside my pillow. I sat up on my elbows and blinked at him in the gloom. It did not occur to me to be scared, although I was fully aware I lay half-clothed, weaponless, and alone in the presence of perhaps the most dangerous man in Thylana.