The Gryphon Highlord

by Connie Ward

Dear, sweet, gentle Naren even tried to comfort me. He joined me where I slumped on a bench out of the general commotion. At his light touch on my back, I lifted my head from my hands to meet his sombre gaze.

  "If there were any other way to save what remains of our people I would do it. But there's not."

  "Why not shut down the teleportal? Burn it. Deactivate it. I know its drastic, but—"

  "The Royalists have it well guarded. We can't get near it. Valleri has patrols posted all over the place. And we don't have the numbers to go against them."

  "What about the Umagi?” I pleaded. “Couldn't one of them close it?"

  "Only one of the Umagi who originally erected it can do that and as far as I know they're all dead or missing. I'm sorry...” He hesitated, rested a gentle hand on my leg. “About Ginger. I'm sorry. I wish—"

  "I know, Naren. I know."

  He nodded, having absolved himself of any guilt he might be feeling. A lengthy silence stretched between us. Then in a hushed voice, he said, “Don't give up, Princess. I haven't. It's not over yet."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I'm not at liberty to explain. I don't want to jeopardize our chances. But we still have one last iron in the fire."

  Since Castarr had not seen fit to waste a meal on a prisoner when it could be better spent on a Crusader later, Naren shared his meagre rations with me. Afterward, I cajoled him into letting me see Sestus one last time. He accompanied me to the makeshift infirmary in a corner of the cellar.

  Biddy donned a baleful glower especially for me. “Why'd you bring her here?” she snarled at Naren.

  "She wanted to see Sestus. And I thought she could be of use to you."

  "Hmmph,” she snorted, glaring around the crowded sickroom. “Hasn't she done enough already?"

  "Biddy, you know you can use the help,” he chided.

  Unable to refute that, Biddy grudgingly relented. Once Naren had left, she spat at me, “This is all your fault, you know."

  I noted her haggard features and weary eyes, feeling sick to my stomach with helplessness. “I did not betray you,” I managed in feeble defence.

  Raising her chin, she bit back, “I never believed you did. But as the Princess Kathedra it is your duty to protect your people ... and you failed."

  No argument here.

  Without another word on the matter, Biddy led me to the corner where Sestus lay on a pallet. Although most of the more seriously wounded had been loaded onto carts to be transported from Idyll, he still awaited his turn. His right leg had been crushed by the weight of stone and timber under which he'd been trapped when the building collapsed. Despite the swift response of rescuers, he had suffered minor burns to his face and arms before being pulled from the rubble. His raven mane was singed and stank of smoke, his clothes torn and sooty. A patch of blood stained the white scrap of linen wrapped around his head.

  Biddy had done all she could for him in the little time she could spare. Because she loved him, because he was an officer, did not entitle Sestus to constant care when so many others had dire need of her skills. Although Castarr and Naren had each brought a physician with him to Idyll, only one had survived the Royalist assault. Together, he and Biddy shared the monumental chore of tending the casualties.

  As I watched, Biddy pressed a cool compress to Sestus's brow. He moaned, but she shushed him and said aside to me, “He drifts in and out of consciousness. He's very weak. I fear...” She paused, biting her lip to stop its tremble. “I fear the rigors of travel may kill him."

  I tried to console her. “That won't happen. Sestus is strong and healthy. He's too stubborn to die."

  Biddy nodded. “Yes, stubborn like an old pack mule.” Raising her gaze to mine, she gripped my arm with her stubby fingers. “Can you help him?” she pleaded.

  I swallowed over the lump in my throat, shaking my head. “No, Biddy. I can't. I'm sorry.” I could not even use the ring on my finger as an excuse. “It just doesn't work that way."

  Biddy forced a weak smile. “I understand.” She rose stiffly and shuffled away to attend her other patients.

  I remained by Sestus's side, mopping his feverish brow and talking to him in the hope he would wake. As I kept vigil, memories from childhood resurfaced. I recalled the day he'd given me my favourite toy: that battered old wooden horse with its mane and tail of real horse hair. I remembered, too, a picnic in the park, with my parents, Uncle, Val, and Sestus, as he bounced me on his shoulders. I heard again the birds chirping on that sunny day, Valleri's boyish laughter when Father threw him in the fish pond, and Mother's cheerful chatter as she set out the food.

  Memories flooded me, memories I hadn't even known existed, of ease and joy and love. How I missed those gentle, happy people. They seemed as if from a dream.

  "Little Red?” croaked a voice beside me.

  Still smiling, I looked down at Sestus to see his eyes flutter open. I clasped his hand as it reached for mine.

  "I feared you were dead,” he groaned.

  "Gallant Naren rescued me.” I held a cup of water to his lips so he could drink. Red-faced with shame, I said, “Forgive me, Sestus. I should have listened to you. You were right about Valleri all along. How could I have been so wrong?"

  He squeezed my hand, offering me comfort instead of rebuke. “Sometimes we become blinded by our hearts. There are worse crimes."

  "It's over, Sestus."

  "Nah.” He shook his head, wincing in sudden pain. “If I know Ginger, he'll have a back-up plan for his back-up plan."

  I battled down fresh tears at the mention of the mage's name, but put on a brave face for the sake of Sestus. I would not divulge his comrades’ plans for me. Sestus would fight tooth and nail in my defence, and in his condition, any exertion or upset could kill him.

  "I have a question, Sestus, and I want you to answer with the truth.” I let out a deep sigh, going over the phrasing in my head, not knowing how to put it into words. “Tell me what might happen if one day a young boy, a young Umagi boy, unskilled and untaught in the ways of magic, was fiddling with a spell, let's say a levitation spell or a concealment charm, and he made the wrong gesture or spoke the wrong word, and it collided with, accidentally of course, a mindspell? What would happen, Sestus? What could happen?"

  After a long, long silence, Sestus replied, “I think you know, Kathedra."

  A tear leaked out; I swiped it angrily away. “All this, Sestus, over a child's mistake? It doesn't seem possible."

  "Of course it's possible. It's just impossible to make sense of it."

  And I still couldn't. Not all of it. “Mauranna was Teki?"

  Sestus shook his head. “There was a Teki involved, yes. But Mauranna is not the person you want. She was just a simple hearthmage."

  "If not Mauranna, then who?"

  But my question went unanswered as the porters arrived, which was just as well, for Sestus had begun to drift away on me. I kissed his cheek and whispered farewell, letting his hand slip from mine. As they departed with his litter, he lifted that same hand and waved good-bye.

  I pondered the mystery he had left me with. While Ginger is certainly an Umagi adept he is not Teki. If he hadn't miscast the spell, that only left one other person: Valleri. Hardly a logical assumption, it would, however, explain the animosity between him and Ginger, as well as Ginger's cryptic comment in the ruins of Idyll's kitchen. If true, that would mean Val had hidden his powers not only from me but Uncle, too. And for a young, untrained Teki that would be nigh impossible, unless he employed a potion similar to my tonic or a device such as the ring on my finger.

  I wracked my brain, ransacking treasured childhood memories for anything that might serve to repress or control magical powers. An amulet, maybe? A bracelet containing a mystical stone such as my amethyst? Was it something he might eat or drink? An herbal infusion in his morning tea or a drop or two of elixir in his wine? What about scars or blemishes on his body, which might indicate some bizarre blood ritual or—

  The tatt
oo. Of course! The imagery seemed obvious now, decipherable even to a novice like me. The wings could easily belong to an owl, a bird long associated with the occult, instead of an eagle. The heart wrapped in chains represented a binding. It's possible he'd received it while still a youth, since I had never seen Valleri without shirt or tunic, as propriety demanded, until relatively recent. The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Such a device would not only protect him from Uncle's decree but also strip him of raw, unmanageable powers that had already proven themselves deadly. Poor Val. The guilt and grief he must suffer is unimaginable to me. How does one recover from the knowledge that he is responsible for so many deaths, so much destruction? Surely the damage this secret has done to his soul is irreparable. Only someone without conscious, without remorse, would remain unaffected. And yet there were those who might argue, Ginger for one, that Valleri behaved exactly so.

  But the revelation did nothing to ease my grief of the moment.

  I sought to ease my heartache by lending my modest expertise to the infirmary. A grateful Biddy put me to work dressing wounds and mixing restorative potions. Glad for the distraction, I laboured there far into the night, until exhaustion claimed me, until Naren arrived to physically convey me from the room. He insisted I get some sleep, and despite my protests, I fell into a dreamless slumber the instant my head touched the hard slats of the bench.

  * * * *

  Naren roused me just before noon and took me away to await Valleri's henchmen. Castarr, bless his worm-riddled heart, permitted me to breakfast on stale bread and muddy tea. The musty stone rang with an unnatural quiet, ominous in its stillness. The evacuation of Idyll had been completed on schedule. We three alone remained in the dungeon, plus four token guards and a pair of lookouts topside with the Crusaders’ mounts.

  The minutes crawled past. By the end of an hour, Castarr was pacing. “What the hell is taking him so long?"

  "I told you,” I said from my chair. “It's a trick. Valleri won't keep his word. The Royalists plot some treachery. I warned you, but you wouldn't listen."

  The captain stalked over and made a motion to strike me, but Naren intervened. “Let's try to stay calm."

  For all his reasonable words Naren was just as antsy. His fingers raked his hair and his teeth gnawed at his lower lip, his expression one of keen distraction. I could see he had second thoughts about their hasty bargain with Valleri. He hadn't liked it from the start.

  "Perhaps we've made a mistake."

  Castarr's eyes grew round and big. “We had no choice. It's her or us."

  "Ginger wouldn't approve."

  "Ginger's dead,” Castarr snapped back.

  "That's speculation only."

  At that moment Jory hurried into the room, diverting my attention. “The escort is here."

  Everyone heaved a great sigh of relief. Everyone except me, of course.

  Saxton and his escort of twenty armed horsemen sat their steeds as we climbed aboveground. Squinting from the sun's harsh glare after the gloom of the dungeon, I surveyed the foreign colours. I recognized Roche's standard but I could not place the uniforms—a motley assortment of battered helms, unfamiliar surcoats, and nondescript armour. Mercenaries. Hire-swords. Goons-for-sale.

  I waited while Castarr and Saxton exchanged terse words, as each party determined whether the other had lived up to his end of the bargain. The nearest horseman was only ten feet away from me. He sat a tall blood bay, its muzzle encased in steel plates. At his subtle cue, the animal snorted and imperiously stamped a hoof.

  I cast a sullen glance at the bay's rider, studying me from his lofty perch. He radiated rage and menace. I knew very few of Roche's men and I did not recognize this one's costume. I prayed not all the mercenaries harboured such hostility towards me. Frightful images of Averi resurfaced. Naren stood behind me, his hands resting on my shoulders, and I drew courage from his presence.

  At last the formalities were done and Saxton approached me, leading a hardy mare. Before I could put a foot in the stirrup, Naren scooped me up and swung me onto the saddle. “Remember, Princess,” he murmured into my ear. “Faith."

  I threw him a questioning glare but he had turned away.

  At Saxton's command we departed the sprawling ruin of Idyll. My horse started forward and I fell into the middle of my grimly silent escort. We rode at an easy canter along the winding road that led up the gentle rise to the teleportal. We trooped through the barn, iron-shod hooves muted by the hard-packed dirt floor. Upon reaching the far door, Saxton dismounted to insert the key that Valleri had given him, acquired at the expense of Repachea's life. A pair of Royalists from the detachment assigned to guard the teleportal from Crusader sabotage slid open the barn door and waved us through. We emerged on the nether side, into Royalist territory.

  As we did so, Saxton leaned down in the saddle to confer with the detachment's commander. I had no trouble hearing what was said; Saxton was not trying to hide what he did. Acting on Valleri's instruction, he ordered the barn to be torched, thereby destroying the teleportal it housed. The merc captain made it clear that the guards were not to return to Gryphon until nothing save ashes remained. Such a directive did not shock me. After all, neither Valleri nor Uncle could allow such a device to remain in place. Nor could I see either one of them ever having the inclination to want to use it to reach Idyll.

  The guards immediately set about fulfilling their orders. By the time we had reached the tree line, and I had summoned the nerve to look back, flames had engulfed the building. As tongues of fire licked at the thatch, I thought of those I had left behind. Naren, Sestus, Biddy, and all the rest were hundreds of miles away now, whisked off on the wings of time and space.

  We had the road back to the castle all to ourselves. I anticipated no delays or surprises, so when our procession veered from its route and halted in the cover of a stand of beech, I immediately assumed the worst. Saxton was going to finish me himself, here and now. I stared down at the mare's mane, willing myself brave.

  Someone said, “It's not over yet, highness."

  I looked at the rider nearest me, but the man had his gaze trained on the gap between his charger's ears, ignoring me. A lot had happened during these past three days. I was numb with shock and fear, steeped in grief over Ginger's disappearance. Therefore, if I did not recognize his voice right away, I believe it was understandable.

  "Precious."

  Perplexed, I swung to see the bay had trotted up behind me. Panic gripped me at the stranger's approach. Our horses were nose to nose when he drew rein and removed his helm.

  Ginger?

  He leaned an elbow across his mount's neck and grinned his foxiest grin. “Did you believe you'd gotten rid of me so easily?"

  My heart nearly burst from my ribcage. He was alive! Alive. Not dead. I almost pitched off my horse in dizzy delight. My expression must have been comical, for Ginger's grin only widened.

  He dismounted and plucked me from the saddle. I clung to him, drinking in the tangy scent of leather, running my hands over his dusty, steel-clad body, unable to believe he truly stood there. I caught a glimpse of Saxton watching us with an indulgent smile.

  "Why the ruse, Ginger?” I murmured. “Why all the subterfuge?"

  "It was necessary. Castarr wouldn't have given you to me without a fight. It might have gotten ugly.” He withdrew to brush away the tears that coursed unchecked down my cheeks. “How could you ever doubt I'd come?"

  "I never doubted your loyalty,” I sniffled. “I knew you would come for me if you could. Of course, I would have understood if you were dead."

  He laughed then, a pleasant sound if unfamiliar, and kissed me until wolf whistles and catcalls rose from our audience.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Breaking our clinch Ginger introduced me to the merc captain, who dismounted and sank to a knee. Ah! Some respect at long last. “This is Saxton, our most deeply entrenched agent. Not even Ragsey knew about him."

  I lifted a brow, i
mpressed. “Please, Saxton,” I said, touching his shoulder. “There's no need for such formality."

  "Kathedra, come. There's someone else for you to meet.” The mage put an arm around my shoulder and led me towards a nearby stump. At his gesture, one of the mercs dismounted to shuffle over, staggering under the weight of his over-sized hauberk, a leather pouch in hand. A little old gnome of a man, he climbed out of his armour and removed his rusted helm to reveal wizened features and a ragged black beard. “Good afternoon, highness,” he said cheerfully, grinning a snaggletoothed grin.

  "Good day to you too, sir.” I passed Ginger a quizzical glance.

  He ignored it. “This is Owyn. An Umagi sorcerer. I've asked him to place a talisman on us for protection from Shouda.” To the gnome, now extracting all manner of magical devices from his pouch, including dye pots, herb jars, and delicate horsehair brushes, he snapped, “Let's get to it."

  Ginger knelt beside me and placed his arm upon the stump, palm up. I watched as Owyn, puffing on a pipe throughout the procedure, dipped his brush in one of the pots, which contained blue woad, then began to draw on Ginger's hand. Slowly a trisected circle took shape, an Umagi symbol of protection. When that was done, he opened the jar and tapped out a sprinkle of herb onto the still wet dye. I sniffed the air, wondering at the unfamiliar scent, got a snoot full of smoke for my trouble.

  "Tarragon?” I queried.

  Teeth clamped firmly to his pipe, the gnome replied, “Thyme. It's an anchor. A component to hold the spell in place."

  "How long will the charm last?” Ginger wanted to know.

  Owyn shrugged. “That depends on what you're paying me."

  "How about calling it a personal favour for the future queen of Thylana?"

  "You're already getting two for the price of one."

  Ginger capitulated with a weary, drawn-out sigh. “Then what will three half crowns get me?"

  "About three days."

  "Good enough."

  "Highness,” Owyn prompted me, “if you will speak the commands that govern the Shouda."

  I glanced at Ginger, and at his nod gave Owyn the information he required. As I spoke, then spelled, each command, the gnome applied a corresponding character less than a millimetre across to the points of his diagram with silver ink from a second jar. As he worked, he began to chant in a language known only to Umagi sorcerers. Time passed, and soon I thought I saw rune-shaped symbols form in the smoke, twisting and writhing in some arcane dance, but I couldn't be sure, for the smoke had a heavy, sweet smell to it and was doing strange things to my brain. My thoughts were fuzzy, indistinct, whether from the smoke or the magic weaving around me I could not say.