The Gryphon Highlord

by Connie Ward

  "You know only seven commands?"

  I roused at the jab of Ginger's elbow in my ribs. “Um, yes,” I slurred, groggy from the smoke. “Except for disperse.” That one still eluded me. I noticed the flesh of Ginger's hand was projecting an iridescent gleam.

  Owyn shrugged, opened a velvet packet no bigger than his thumbnail. “What I have is good enough.” Holding the packet over the glowing shape, he sprinkled a pinch of gold powder over his handiwork. Then with a flourish, he pronounced, “The spell is sealed.” And blew the dust from Ginger's palm.

  I looked. I blinked. The symbol was gone. Not a trace of the paint or trisected circle remained. Sounding just as perplexed as I felt, Ginger asked, “How will I know it's still there?"

  "You won't. But it's there. You can't have a magic device visible where Royalists might see it, can you?"

  Well, no.

  He tapped Ginger's palm with the end of his brush. “The charm acts as a repellent against the Shouda. They should not come anywhere near you, but if you stumble upon one by accident, it will bear you no harmful intent. Their behaviour should mimic that of as any other dog. To their canine noses you'll smell like any other noxious, ill-tempered biped."

  Ginger studied his hand a moment, then rose with a grunt of satisfaction. “Do the same to the princess, and yourself as well. And be quick about it.” He left me to Owyn's care to go confer with Saxton, both of them staring off into the distance as if they expected company.

  Owyn dipped his brush again into the blue woad and took my hand in his gnarled fingers, surprisingly dexterous for a man of his age. While I had a few moments alone with him I thought to use the time to my advantage. “Owyn, what do you know about bindings, if I may ask?"

  He paused in his work to move the pipe, still spewing noxious fumes, from one side of his mouth to the other. “I know some, highness. But protection spells and curse-lifting are my specialties. Along with male member enlargement.” He wagged a cautionary finger at me. “But I must warn you, it is costly and I don't reveal my list of clients."

  "Oh. Interesting. I'll keep that in mind. Male member ... really? There's a demand for that sort of thing?” Truly I thought he jested with me.

  "Very much so, highness. Before Bertrand outlawed the use of magic I made a decent living in the village of my birth on that alone.” He gave me a sly, knowing wink. “The enchantment is not permanent, so it makes for repeat customers."

  I gave my head a shake, gathered my regal dignity, certain it was not proper that I should be discussing the matter. The contents of his pipe had gone straight to my head. “Anyway...” I described Valleri's tattoo as best I could, then voiced my suspicions.

  He nodded gravely. “Possibly a binding, yes. Though I am unfamiliar with the design. Such a spell is beyond my meagre talent, however."

  "Could it be removed?"

  "That depends if the enchanter who placed it there put a permanent anchor spell on it or not. Why do you ask, highness? Would you like one for yourself?"

  "No!” I said sharply, startled. “Certainly not.” The notion had not entered my mind until he spoke it, and I strove to put it right back out.

  Owyn resumed his artistry, along with his chant. Seemingly detached from myself, I floated in the miasma of smoke, lost in the sorcerer's spell. Tranquil, dreamy thoughts meandered through my head, altogether a pleasant sensation, far better than any induced by pretty crystals. No wonder Owyn was so cheerful.

  "Highness, I am finished."

  "Oh.” Reluctantly I stirred from my doze. “Thank you.” I reclaimed my palm and examined it. Nothing was there to indicate the talisman's existence. I flexed my hand, feeling no tightness of dried ink. “Splendid work, Owyn. You are a true artist."

  "Many women have told me so, highness,” he replied with a saucy wink.

  He turned to the task of packing away his supplies while I rejoined Ginger where he shared a flask with Saxton. He passed it to me and I drank deeply, the cool water chasing away the taste of smoke. “Just how well do you know, Owyn?” I asked in my most innocent tone.

  "Well enough. He is trustworthy, I assure you. His work is beyond reproach."

  "Quite,” I agreed, taking another sip to conceal my smile. “I mean from what I have seen of it. Have you, ahem...” The words caught in my throat, still clogged with smoke. “Have you had cause to use his services before?"

  He gave me a look of exasperation. “I've gone to him for herbs, ones that Biddy couldn't supply, as well as a few enhancement spells. What's so bloody funny? Did he give you a puff from his pipe?"

  Any reply I might have managed through my burst of giggles was interrupted as a lookout shouted, “Riders!"

  "Whose standard?” Saxton asked.

  "Ours, sir."

  Saxton and Ginger exchanged a triumphant glance, before the mage said, “That has to be Naren."

  Peering towards the road at horsemen approaching at a hard gallop, I spotted Naren and five sentries from Idyll, plus a dozen more Crusaders disguised as mercenaries, none of them Castarr. “But ... how?” I blurted, pointing to Saxton. “I heard him give the order to destroy the teleportal. I saw the Royalists put the barn to the torch. I saw it destroyed."

  "It was destroyed,” Ginger replied. “But Naren came through the smaller one, our escape tunnel if you will, the broken down shed nearby. We were counting on the Royalists not being smart enough to fire it, too, and our bet paid off. They're probably six miles out of Idyll by now, looking for a place to camp for the night."

  Naren reined in his blowing, sweat-lathered piebald and dismounted before the beast had slid to a complete stop. He and Saxton embraced, laughing and trading ribald jests. Then Naren turned to face Ginger.

  All mirth and revelry faded from the mage's eyes. “Castarr?"

  Naren, too, had sobered, his previous ebullience gone. A cold expression swept his features. “It's done. As you feared, Castarr refused to surrender his key without a struggle. Jory agreed to stay behind and mind the teleportal. I left him strict orders to open it only to Belvemar or Gregaris."

  Ginger nodded, satisfied. “Thank you, Naren. You know we had no other choice. I only regret circumstance elected you."

  "It was my pleasure.” Naren's hand came to rest meaningfully on the hilt of his dagger.

  It did not take a genius to figure out Naren had carried out a death sentence on Castarr at Ginger's order.

  "I sent word to Belvemar,” Naren continued. “He'll be ready."

  "Belvemar?” I interrupted. “He's all right? He's safe?"

  "Yes, he's fine,” Ginger replied. “He's in the forest with nearly two hundred men."

  I was flabbergasted. Someone had a lot of nerve to double-cross Valleri like that. And here I had suspected him of treachery. “If Valleri finds out, he'll have your hides hung from the castle walls."

  "So who's going to tell him?” Ginger retorted, a sharpness in his voice I did not recognize.

  "Let's move things along,” Saxton interrupted. “Valleri will wonder at an overlong delay."

  The four of us withdrew to discuss the situation. I asked Ginger, “What happened? Castarr told us you'd disappeared during a Royalist charge."

  The mage snorted. “I'm sure he saw what he wished to see, but I was only knocked unconscious. One of my men dragged me to safety. By the time I'd roused, Valleri had already won the skirmish and withdrew. We found a safe place to hole up, then I sent word to Saxton's agents saying we needed him. When the reply came back that Castarr had ransomed you, Saxton and I arranged an ambush."

  "So you attacked the escort, then donned their uniforms and armour,” I finished. That explained Saxton's delay.

  Ginger nodded. “We left behind some men disguised as mercs to inform Naren of our plans and rode to your rescue."

  Quite ingenious. Roaming the countryside under Roche's banner and Saxton's leadership, the impostors were safe from Royalist scrutiny.

  "In the meantime,” Ginger continued, “once the deal had b
een struck with Valleri, Naren sent out scouts. They found Belvemar tucked away in the forest with his survivors."

  Naren added, “When I learned the report of Ginger's death had been premature, I dispatched Jory to inform Belvemar. I left my second behind to see the refugees safely out of Thylana. Sestus has rallied some and Biddy is confident of a complete recovery, but he's still too weak to take command."

  "You should know, highness,” Saxton added, “that Bertrand and his Halberdiers have barricaded themselves in your tower. The Regent sensed some time ago that Valleri was about to make his move on the throne. Val's not too concerned about him, though."

  I nodded bleakly, out of time and out of ideas.

  It seemed nobody knew what to do next. Apparently, my rescuers had not thought the plan through this far. But they agreed on two things: revenge and glory. They still entertained fantasies of turning a victory. As for me, I was just grateful to be alive, that Ginger was alive. I was happy, too, to be free. The urge to turn around and leave with Biddy and the others was tempting. I was willing to admit defeat.

  Ginger did not share my sentiment. He sketched out the bones of a hasty plan, the audacity of which petrified me. When I voiced my reservations he challenged me. “Why quit now? The battle is half won. Where's your imagination, Kathedra? Or have you lost your nerve?"

  I stiffened at his sarcasm. Our reunion had not necessarily changed things between us. “I've not lost my nerve, mage,” I shot back. “But it seems you've lost your wits. Perhaps that blow to your head was a little harder than you realized."

  Naren and Saxton glanced away, trying to blend into the scenery.

  "Excuse us, gentlemen,” Ginger snarled. “The princess and I have a few things to discuss.” Snatching my arm, he took me aside and demanded, “Shall we part here? You go your way, I go mine?"

  His belligerence put me on the defensive, which was perhaps his intention. He did not want to be the one to give in. “You know that's not what I want. If you'll remember, it was you who rejected me."

  "You were not honest with me!"

  Ah, this again. “Will you never forgive me?"

  "Not as long as you don't trust me."

  This seemed to be the crux of it. He could not forgive me and I could not forget. After a lengthy silence, Ginger sighed, “I promise, Kathedra. If you walk away now, you'll never have your throne. This is your last chance to claim it. I say we seize the moment now, when we have Saxton to get us inside the castle."

  His plan, I confess, made sense. But it was risky. Strolling into the den of one's enemies is not something to be undertaken lightly. If anything went wrong we'd be trapped inside. The whole thing made me skittish. Feeling threatened, I dug in my heels like a stubborn goat, refusing to see reason, imagining insults and deceits.

  "Don't rush me. I need time to—"

  "You need a nudge,” he interrupted. “See, Kathedra? This is exactly what Repachea meant. Your indecisiveness and vacillation will be the bane of us just as it was the Royalists."

  "Oh, so because I don't run off on the first hare-brained scheme which pops into that empty space between your ears, I'm indecisive? I'm gutless?"

  I shook my head, dismayed. Ginger and I were such opposites. He was impulsive and bold, almost reckless, willing to do whatever was necessary, no matter the peril, no matter the cost, while I was naturally cautious and patient. I liked order, discipline, direction. Ginger happily courted chaos and danger.

  "Do what you want. You will anyway. You don't need my blessing."

  He wore a look of abject indignation. “Your ingratitude is astounding. Do what I want? I'm doing this for you."

  "For me? Hah! All you want is revenge and you intend to use me to get it.” If I had not been so distraught, perhaps if I'd listened more closely, I might have understood exactly what it was Ginger tried to say to me—that he was committed to my cause and supported unequivocally my claim to the throne. But all I'd heard was his bitterness and conceit.

  "Use you? Is that what you think?"

  "Admit it. You want my powers.” Thrusting my hand in his face, I pointed to the ring. “Isn't that why you rescued me? You need my magic to help you reap your vengeance."

  His eyes, widening first with disbelief, then narrowing in fury, flickered from me to the ring. “Is it a show of faith you want?” Seizing my wrist, he yanked the band from my finger and hurled it far into the bushes. “How's that? Is that proof enough of my motives?"

  I gaped, unable to fathom the mage's latest dementia.

  "I don't need your powers to achieve my goals,” he hissed, his brow thunderous. “If you want your crown, use your Teki magic to defeat Valleri. Use it of your own volition, with clarity of purpose and deadly force."

  "It's not a question of choice,” I countered. “It's just I don't know if I can do what you ask. I don't know if I hate Valleri enough to wield my powers against him."

  His voice contained a strange mixture of disgust and pity. “That's your biggest problem, isn't it? You let your heart rule your thoughts, your powers. If it is true control, true order, you seek, then you must cast aside your feelings. You must change how you think. Not what you think."

  He had a point. Arrogance and ignorance had combined to keep me weak, my powers erratic and limited. Magic wasn't about talent alone. It was about discipline, confidence, determination, things it had taken Ginger years of practice and diligence to acquire. I was but a novice.

  Humbly, I said, “So teach me."

  "I can't teach you in an hour,” he harrumphed.

  "I know. I'm asking for as long as it takes, whether that be a year or a lifetime."

  Ginger gazed at me for a long moment, his face cast in a deepening sadness. “If all you need is a teacher, you've got the wrong man."

  He gave me no opportunity to ponder this new riddle, immediately launching into a fresh tirade. “What do you think to do? Run away like you did before? The Umagi can't protect you. Not from war. Not from duty. Valleri needs you to legitimize his claim to the throne. He will never let you go. Never."

  Unfortunately, I knew everything he said to be true. I had to confront Uncle. I had to supplant Valleri. I would not live out my life a frightened, hunted thing, endangering those I loved because I was too scared to act now.

  "I must take action,” I agreed. “But I have one condition.” Not giving him a chance to object, I rushed on, “No harm must come to Uncle or Valleri. They are mine to deal with in any fashion I deem fit."

  Even before I'd completed my last sentence I could see Ginger was going to balk. “You overstep yourself, Kathedra,” he murmured. “I've waited twenty years to serve justice on Bertrand and I won't be denied my due. As for my feud with Valleri, that is between him and me. Stay out of it. I promise you, if either one of them comes within reach of my sword, I'll not hesitate to run him through."

  "Ginger, please don't force my hand on this."

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  "I know about Valleri. I know what happened in Idyll all those years ago. Hasn't he suffered enough? If I can forgive him, why can't you?"

  "Forgive him? Kathedra, you really have no idea what you're talking about."

  I lifted my chin, squared my shoulders, dredging up every ounce of courage. He left me no recourse but to prod his failing memory. “Back in Idyll you promised to protect me, to serve me unquestioningly. I beg you to remember that promise now."

  He scowled, shocked that I dared issue him an ultimatum, furious that I dared threaten him. Of course, bullying Ginger was probably the wrong thing to do. His pride would inevitably compel him to ascertain the logical, then do the opposite. Nevertheless, I commanded here, by sanction of the surviving officers.

  "And if I choose to forget?"

  "If you break your oath to me I will charge you with treason. I don't need to remind you of the penalty it carries."

  "Then, highness, on the return of your throne I will present my neck to your executioner's blade."


  He was laughing at me, I knew, mocking my authority. He had called my bluff, and if I desired his respect, that of his comrades, and ultimately, that of my subjects, I had to take a stand. I could not back down from Ginger or anyone else.

  "Do what you must. But for a broken vow, for disobedience, you will find yourself banished again from Thylana."

  That pricked an old wound, firing his rage anew. “You would exile the man who won you a kingdom? You would banish your own champion? Hah! You don't deserve my—"

  Ignoring his tantrum I turned and strode to where our companions waited. I refused to argue with him. A commander need not debate orders with her subordinates. I would not permit my directives to be questioned.

  Naturally, Ginger took exception to my curt dismissal. “Don't turn your back to me,” he growled. Marching up behind me, he snagged my arm and swung me around. “I'm not finished with you. Listen to me. You cannot afford to show the least mercy to Valleri and Bertrand. If you spare either of them, he will be a nagging thorn in your side forever. Your throne will never be secure. Your life will be in constant danger."

  I held his glower, defying his anger. “I will not countenance their deaths. Besides, their fate is not yours to command. It's mine."

  Ginger was livid. “This is how you reward my loyalty? This is how you express your appreciation?"

  "Enough. You need to forgive them, Ginger. You need to let it go, to reconcile your pain to the past and leave it there. You can't heal inside unless you forgive yourself, and you can't do that if you're holding grudges against everyone."