The Gryphon Highlord

by Connie Ward

  "Your wish is my command.” Releasing me, he stepped aside.

  "Is it?” I challenged. “I wish to thwart Valleri's plot and restore peace to Thylana. Will you help me?"

  "Do I have a choice? It appears we want the same things, if for different reasons. The Crusaders are running out of options. Perhaps with you at our head we can force Valleri into capitulation. But first you must purge yourself of him completely. Otherwise, you'll be as useless to us as you were to the Royalists."

  I raised a brow, startled by his favourable disposition toward me. Suspicious, I asked, “What if we succeed? What then? Will you permit me to take my rightful place as queen?"

  "That's not for me to decide."

  "But if it were?"

  He didn't answer. That didn't seem very encouraging.

  "What about your friends?"

  "It's hard to say,” he replied. “I will argue on your behalf for the privilege to reclaim your rank as the Gryphon Highlord, as well as the right to lead us against the Royalists. I will suggest that we announce your return from the grave and reveal Bertrand's failed plot to assassinate Thylana's future queen in the hopes it may incite mutiny in Castle Gryphon. I will also ask to serve as your lieutenant so I may be in a better position to protect you from any opposition. I will do all this because I believe it to be the best way for the Crusaders to accomplish their goals."

  "Thank you,” I murmured.

  "Don't thank me yet. I can't promise my proposals will be accepted. The Gryphon Highlord was never beloved by the Crusaders. It will be difficult to convince them you can be trusted. Our only common ground is we share the same enemy."

  Somehow I sensed there was a huge but in all this. “What will happen to Ruvie when the Gryphon Highlord is resurrected? Will you still love her?"

  His face softened, and he reached out to stroke my hair. “I still love Ruvie. I always will. But I must say good-bye to her. I know you will argue and say that she and Kathedra are the same. Nevertheless, whenever I look at you, I will see only the Gryphon Highlord, and my eyes will not fall kindly upon her. I can't ignore your tainted blood, the same blood that flows through Bertrand. I can't forget we were once enemies."

  Withdrawing his hand, he turned towards door. He paused there, a curl to his lip that might have been a smile. “Repachea should have lived to see this. How he would have laughed at his own arrogance to think he could instruct the Gryphon Highlord in swordplay."

  Then he was gone.

  So, it seemed I would get what I wanted. I would become the Gryphon Highlord again. I would be given the chance to confront Valleri and wreak my vengeance upon Uncle. My throne lay almost within my grasp. All that remained was the Crusaders’ blessing. And I had no doubt I would receive it. Ginger can be most persuasive.

  But what a price it had cost me. Was it worth the revulsion and anguish I had seen in Ginger's eyes? Would the reward of revenge take away this pain in my heart? Did I want to rule Thylana at any sacrifice just so I could sit on my throne alone?

  There were too many thoughts to sort out, too many emotions tangled together, careening around inside me. My confusion prevented me from thinking straight. I was no longer sure of what I wanted. My desires and needs had changed drastically over these past few months.

  I had caged my Teki powers too long. They cried out to be released. I stood in the middle of the room, staring at the door through which Ginger had walked out of my life, and let them come.

  Anger, frustration, and grief poured out from me, unleashing the physical whirlwind of thought. At random, the maelstrom picked up books, cups, dishes, and the pieces of the broken statue, all spinning around me in a rush of colour and wind. Even the lamp was swept up into the turmoil, blazing a trail of fire like a meteor in the sky.

  The wind roared in my ears, gathering speed. Everything hurtled past me too quick to see, a blur of light that crossed the entire spectrum. I heard the flutter of pages and the whistle of fragmented porcelain as they danced in chaotic flight. Fear, guilt and shame joined in, whipping the tumult into a dizzying frenzy.

  The fierce gale lashed my hair, stung my face, but inside all was calm and lucid. Freed of my emotional demons, I soared like a bird as the tempest swirled around me. I let it build and rage until the intensity peaked, then faded and blew itself out. The maelstrom subsided, the flurry dissipated, depositing books, cutlery, everything, in a heap at my feet.

  A flood of pride and accomplishment surged through me as I looked at the mess I'd made. While it might seem a childish tantrum or fanciful escape, it was a long overdue catharsis for me. The Teki equivalent of a primal battle cry.

  * * * *

  Although their informants reported all was quiet in Castle Gryphon, the Crusaders figured that was sufficient cause in itself to worry that the Royalists were probably up to something. As a precaution, they decided to evacuate Idyll of everyone save its defenders. The idea of closing the teleportal was discussed and rejected. The Crusaders were sticking to their original plan, with a few minor adjustments, the details of which I was not privy.

  As we awaited the arrival of Naren, I assisted in the evacuation of the sick and injured. I went about my duties with vim and vigour, sorting medical supplies, filling ration kits, and loading wagons, only because it took my mind off Ginger. He avoided me assiduously. On the few occasions we did come into contact with each other, he refused to speak to me. I was cut off, and it hurt.

  Naren and Ragsey finally arrived three days later. My hour of judgment had come. The surviving outlaw leaders assembled in Sestus's quarters, with the exception of Gregaris, who was besieged in Pixley.

  I wore my ill-fitting masculine clothes, having failed to establish some pretence of glamour worthy of a princess. I suspect it was a blessing there was no mirror handy for my inspection. The weight of a sword at my hip might have lent me some confidence, but of course that was out of the question. I did not even have the comfort of my dagger. Following Repachea's death, Castarr had ordered his room searched and confiscated the blade hidden its niche.

  I donned my cloak and strode into the street, thinking how ironic that after all the lengths I'd gone to in order to conceal my identity, I might actually have difficulty convincing anyone I was truly the Gryphon Highlord. I had more to fear that the Citizens Risen Up to Stand Against a Dread and Errant Regency may execute me as an impostor. I hardly appeared to be a future queen, nor did I resemble the formidable Royalist general the Crusaders had come to dread. I looked and felt like the person I'd become—a fugitive clad in borrowed garments because she possessed none of her own, dependent on the goodwill of others. Insignificant and unremarkable. I had lived with the disguise so long it had grown comfortable, and I was reluctant to exchange it for my former role of commander extraordinaire.

  But all that uncertainty and self-doubt fled when I opened Sestus's door and stepped into the lair of my enemies. My old strength and pride returned as my alter ego resurfaced. She was still there, buried but not forgotten, awaiting rebirth.

  All faces turned to me. While Belvemar and another man, whom I presumed was Naren, seemed surprise, Castarr regarded me with open hostility. Scowling, he snarled, “Who the hell do you think you are, barging in here like this?"

  His arrogance fired my courage. My stance defiant, my gaze unwavering, I replied, “I am the Gryphon Highlord."

  Not only did I say it, I believed it as well.

  Naren stared, his mouth agape, astonished beyond speech. Belvemar, too, was dumbstruck, although I think deep down he had suspected the truth.

  Castarr, on the other hand, was infuriated. He leapt to his feet and dragged clear his sword. Refusing to be intimidated I stood my ground. After all, I had survived Ginger's rage, and he remained the only man I felt I had to fear.

  "Don't do it,” the mage warned.

  "Traitor!” Castarr howled, rounding on him. “You knew who she was from the start."

  "Sheathe your blade,” Sestus replied. “She's no longer our enemy
."

  "No,” Castarr hissed. “She's tricked you, seduced you.” He made a sudden lunge towards me, but Ginger's sword scraped free of its scabbard, halting him in mid-stride.

  "Don't take another step, Castarr.” Then to me, the mage beckoned, “Kathedra, come."

  I went, passing within three paces of Castarr. I almost hoped he would do something stupid. Let Ginger skewer him. But Castarr didn't try it.

  Castarr rammed his blade into its sheathe with vicious force. “They've betrayed us,” he growled at Naren.

  "Don't be an ass,” Sestus snapped. “We did no such thing. I wish you hadn't learned it like this but we had no choice."

  Naren found his tongue. “I think you'd better explain, Sestus."

  So Sestus did.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  "You must be mad!” Castarr was apoplectic. His eyes bulged and the large vein at his temple throbbed.

  "She should be executed,” he ranted at Sestus, “or at least imprisoned, to be ransomed later should the need arise. But to allow her to lead us against Castle Gryphon is unthinkable. She'll betray us at her earliest opportunity. I'll never consent to it. Never!"

  I shifted uneasily where I stood beside Ginger, to be protected by his formidable sword arm if necessary. Castarr himself did not worry me, but I feared the others might find a thread of logic in his heated words and side against me.

  "Calm down, Castarr,” Sestus groaned. “Nothing like that is going to happen. She switched loyalties long ago, when Bertrand first betrayed her. It's in her best interest to help us. Otherwise, she'll never gain the throne."

  "Gain the throne?” Castarr thundered. “Not while I'm alive! You would readily give her what we have laboured so hard to keep out of her hands? You would let our sweat and blood all be for nothing?"

  "The time has come to compromise.” Although the mage spoke in a calm and controlled manner, his contempt for the man bled through. “We can use her to defeat Valleri. At least this way we can control the throne through her."

  "How do you think to control her witch powers?” Castarr sneered. “It is she who controls you. I can understand how our naive and trusting Sestus could be so beguiled—he still sees a three-year-old child. But you, Ginger? Has it really been so long since you had a woman in your bed that you would throw away our lives for a piece of royal tail?"

  Without warning Ginger lunged. Castarr met his charge. Fists flew. Poor Sestus took the mage's left hook in his jaw as he made the mistake of stepping between them. With Belvemar's assistance, he separated the grappling men and pushed them to opposite corners of the room.

  "Knock it off!” he bellowed, wiping the blood from his split lip. “Has it come to this? Will we turn on ourselves? Why waste energy trying to kill one another when Valleri will gladly do it for us?"

  Ginger swore and slumped into a chair, glaring daggers not at Castarr, but me. I could not blame him. Castarr had found us out. Ginger's credibility was ruined. No doubt his comrades would have trouble believing he acted without bias.

  Castarr straightened his rumpled clothes. “What do you say, Naren?"

  Cerebral, unflappable Naren, who had not said more than five words, who had not moved a muscle during the brawl, still leaned against the door, thoughtful and quiet. He was fair-skinned, slightly built—almost effeminate, but not quite. His pale yellow hair fell past his shoulders, swept away from his forehead. His angular face was naturally gaunt, dominated by large blue eyes that had seen far too much in their twenty-five years. Despite his frail appearance he was an able swordsman, a ruthless strategist, and a superb commander. Men followed Naren because they trusted in his abilities, and because they were mesmerized by the wealth of power emanating from that small, fragile-looking body.

  Naren rubbed his eyes with slim, agile fingers, clearly having difficulty standing up. He had ridden non-stop for over thirty hours. Though hungry and tired, he had not allowed his own physical distress to interfere with duty. “I say,” he began in a deceptively soft voice, “I have missed much.” He spared a swift, curious glance at Ginger and me. “How can I say anything when I don't know half of what you do?"

  "That's not an answer,” Castarr insisted.

  "I know, my friend. Bear with me. I have a lot to catch up on ... and I mourn Repachea. It's hard for me to think straight."

  Castarr rolled his eyes. “Belvemar? What do you have to say?"

  Belvemar, too, had not spoken since my identity had been revealed, busy digesting the revelation. Suddenly, he smiled. “You won't like what I have to say, Castarr."

  Castarr's brows narrowed. “Say it anyway."

  Belvemar approached me, his hand on his sword hilt. “Princess,” he intoned, “you saved my life, and by doing so have earned my eternal gratitude. I swear to you that my men and I will follow wherever you should lead. I will do everything within my power to help you gain your throne."

  I swung on Sestus and Ginger. “What about you? Do I have your support?” Both men nodded, one more vigorously than the other. Though I knew full well what his answer would be, I asked Castarr, “Do you also support my quest for the throne?"

  "I do not."

  I looked at Naren, but he respectfully declined. “Not at this time, milady."

  Castarr wore a triumphant grin. “So, all that remains is Gregaris. Maybe he will put an end to this charade."

  "Gregaris is irrelevant,” Sestus replied. “Nothing he can say or do from Pixley will affect us here."

  "He still retains the privilege of casting his vote,” Castarr argued. “This concerns him as much as it does us."

  "You're absolutely right,” Belvemar agreed. “Therefore I suggest you ride directly to Pixley, penetrate Fleurry's siege lines, and scale the city wall to retrieve that vote yourself."

  That struck Ginger as wildly funny.

  Castarr squared his shoulders, bristling at the mage's laughter. “Very well. I'll concede Gregaris is beyond reach, but Legora can vote in his stead."

  Legora was the only Umagi in Idyll anywhere near Ginger's calibre. He had ridden in with Castarr. I presumed he had been responsible for one of the other teleportals, now deactivated until further notice.

  "That's ridiculous,” Sestus snorted. “Ginger alone speaks on behalf of the Umagi."

  "Legora will not speak for the Umagi. He will speak for a Crusader captain."

  "Legora will vote against you,” Ginger whispered to me on the sly. “He'd sooner kill you than look at you. Umagi, Teki, woman, doesn't matter. You're a Royalist, first and foremost in his book."

  "It's out of the question,” Belvemar added. “If Legora is permitted to vote in Gregaris's stead, then Sestus should be permitted to vote on Repachea's behalf."

  Ginger smiled. “I'll agree to that."

  "Absolutely not!” Castarr shouted, his face purpling with rage. “Repachea is dead. We have no way of knowing how he may have voted."

  "The same can be said of Gregaris,” Belvemar retorted. “I'm merely pointing out the absurdity of your proposal."

  "You'll be sorry,” Castarr sneered, casting a baleful scowl around the room. “You'll regret you ever trusted her. You'll see how stupid you all are, when the next of us dies with a blade in his heart.” Then whirling, he stormed out.

  An awkward silence followed his exit.

  Finally Sestus said, “Well, gentlemen. It appears that's all we can accomplish tonight.” He walked over to Naren and put a hand on the younger man's shoulder. “You must be hungry, not to mention tired. Go and make yourself at home. We can discuss this further tomorrow."

  Naren nodded. He spared me a last assessing glance, then dragged himself out the door.

  "I'll go with him,” Sestus said. “Belvemar, pick two of your best men. I want guards on Naren day and night. He's in no condition to fend off an assassin should one strike."

  That left Ginger and me alone.

  "Well, I guess that went as well as could be expected,” I sighed, perching on the arm of Ginger's chair.


  The mage didn't answer. He sat with his fingers steepled before his mouth, pensive gaze on the far wall. At last he said, “What did Belvemar mean by you saved his life?"

  "I don't know."

  "Yes, you do. You healed him somehow telekinetically, yet you weren't even aware you were doing it."

  I hesitated, not knowing how to answer that. “Maybe, maybe not. I hoped he would get better, and he did. But you more than anyone else know that I am too ignorant, too unschooled, to perform such a feat simply by wanting it to happen. If you ask me, it was hope that healed him. Because I believed he would recover, he believed it too, when you and Biddy and Sestus believed he would die."

  In my pride I thought I'd mastered my Teki powers. But I did not consider the subtler thoughts that run random, seemingly without purpose. Castarr is right to fear me. If I cannot trust myself to control my powers, no one else can either.

  Ginger looked at me suddenly. “And were you casting hopeful thoughts in my direction, too?"

  "What does that mean?"

  "Until you appeared I never wanted to love anyone ever again. It's too painful. I was so consumed with hatred and rage and hurt there was no room to feel anything else. But your Teki powers kept Belvemar alive and brought me back to life in a different way. They touched everyone you came in contact with, even Biddy and Sestus, without your awareness.” He paused, lost in his musings, then wondered aloud, “Can you win a war with wishful thinking, Kathedra?"

  I shook my head, pricked by a twinge of sadness. “No. But maybe you can end one with hope."

  Ginger stared at me a long moment. “I know that in time,” he said, soft venom in his voice, “my anger at you will dissolve and I will forgive your deceit, if only because you won't be able to stifle thoughts of me."

  I might have taken exception to his arrogance if he had not been right. As it was, I was simply weary of arguing. “If you would prefer to wallow in misery and guilt, that is your choice. That is the crux of it, isn't it? You have to want the same thought as I do. But you are so comfortable with anger and sorrow that you don't want to feel anything else."