The Gryphon Highlord

by Connie Ward

  "How many more like you are there?” I asked them.

  "Two thirds of your former Royal, highness, would cross to you without hesitation,” the sergeant replied. “The rest could be persuaded."

  "Good. Round them up and pass the word—there's a coup afoot. When I need you, I'll yell. Try to stall Valleri as long as you can."

  Saxton ordered his mercs back to the gatehouse, and the two of us proceeded below ground. “What now?” I asked.

  "Nothing's changed except the timetable. You and I will head to the cellar as planned, and don our disguises. Ginger has control of the gate now and will hook up with us as soon as he can."

  The original plan had been for Saxton to post Crusader guards under their mercenary guise on the battlements. It was Ginger's task to sabotage the castle's war machines with spells, so no opposition could hamper Belvemar's approach if he were spotted. But now Valleri had forced us to act prematurely. If we went ahead on our own, how long could we survive without Belvemar's assistance?

  "Perhaps we should wait for Belvemar. Just a few hours."

  "Forget it, highness,” Saxton harrumphed, hurrying us through the maze of corridors. “In a few hours you'll be wedded and bedded by Valleri ... and that Ginger absolutely will not allow."

  For some unfathomable reason that statement raised my hackles. “Oh, really? Who is he to decide what I shall or—"

  "Someone who loves you, highness."

  That silenced me like nothing else could.

  "Here's the situation, highness. Although we'd prefer to avoid a clash of arms with Valleri, if it comes to a conflict we'll have a modicum of inside support. Roche's mercenaries—"

  "Kathedra."

  "Beg pardon, highness?"

  "Call me Kathedra."

  "If you order it so, highness. As I was saying, Roche's mercenaries, if forced to take sides, will be inclined to cut their losses and run. So far, the Gryphon Highlord's troops are loyal to Val. They worship him as they did you. They are in awe of his battle prowess, basking in victory after victory. His charisma holds them in thrall. In their eyes, he's a hero. But this only holds true while they believed you dead. Their first loyalty has always been to you. I'm confident that if you asked for their support they'd give it, just like the guard said."

  Heartening words indeed. “So where does that leave us if Valleri wants to cross swords?"

  Saxton frowned. “Lacking, I'm afraid. As you know, Fleurry is indignant at being under Valleri's thumb, but he's still in Pixley with orders to remain there until Gregaris breaks. And Bertrand's Halberdiers, barricaded in the tower, is of no concern. It's Chiverly and Tock we have to worry about."

  He paused briefly in our march down the corridor to draw a dagger from his boot and give it to me. “For protection ... just in case."

  I tucked the blade into my belt, muttering, “Serasteffan really has got to go."

  "No argument here, highness,” he replied with a snort. “Serasteffan's leadership has turned Arial's Royal into a pack of bullies. Only Arial himself can bring his men to heel. Stef is Val's faithful minion, make no mistake."

  We swiftly descended the stone steps, burrowing deeper into the roots of the castle, past the dungeons and crypt. Taking a torch placed there for us, Saxton pushed open the worm-eaten door to the cellar. An army of furry things fled the torchlight as we crept down the flight of rickety wooden stairs, hoping the contraption would not collapse beneath our weight.

  Our descent complete Saxton set the torch in a bracket to have a look around. I found the bundle of clothing atop a crate. With Saxton's help I slipped into my mercenary disguise. As he lifted the finely meshed mail shirt over my head, I asked him, “How in the world did you get involved in all this?"

  He shrugged. “Just bizarre timing, I guess. It didn't really start until after the incident in Dundurn. It doesn't really seem all that long ago."

  "You were hardly more than a child,” I sniffed, donning Roche's black and white surcoat.

  "Yes, and a stupid child at that. I left my village a foolish, beardless boy eager to seek his fortune; I grew to manhood fast. I owe my life to a stranger I met on the road, after I'd been waylaid and robbed by a gang of thieves not two days out."

  I hazarded a guess. “Repachea?” Wrinkling my nose at some unidentifiable odour, I pulled on the leather coif and tucked every last wisp of telltale red hair inside.

  "Naren. An ex-housecarl for some fancy lordling up north. But he was young and bored, and the lord's pay was crap. So he headed south, hoping to hook up with a merc outfit. I was just lucky he came across me on the way. Anyhow, he let me tag along. The first town we came to was Dundurn. We lingered a while because the ale was good and the place was full of Umagi students, some of them female and pretty, gathered there for some kind of protest against the Regent's decree, which banned the use of magic. Before we knew it, Bertrand's troops had arrived to quell the riot. But it wasn't really a riot, highness. Just a group of over-zealous Umagi and their supporters, a little drunk on ale and the high that comes from defying authority. Then the screaming started, and all hell broke loose."

  He lapsed into reflective silence, causing me to prod, “So you were one of the original conspirators?"

  "I suppose you could say that. I was present in that room in Dundurn when Ginger carried in Nelia's broken body. He just dumped her on the table in front of me and collapsed on the bench beside her. Her eyes were open but I could tell she was dead. Actually, I though they were both dead. Then people started to crowd into the inn, some of them weeping and bleeding, all hysterical, seeking refuge from Bertrand's troops. Naren took charge right away, calming them down, sorting them out. When the soldiers came, looking for insurgents they said, I had Nelia and Ginger looking like two lovers snuggled by the fire, so Naren was able to convince them to go on their way."

  Saxton had told me all this in a dispassionate tone, until he'd come to the part about Ginger and Nelia. Here his eyes grew wide, their whites gone red as they bore into mine, as if he struggled for understanding, his voice betraying his bafflement. “But Ginger just disappeared, wandering away somehow in the commotion in a stupor of grief and hatred. No one saw him again until Idyll, when he volunteered to help erect the teleportals."

  He paused to pass me a pair of gauntlets two sizes too big. “To his dismay, Naren came out of it looking like some of sort of champion to the Umagi and they enlisted him in their cause, which was to force the Regent into capitulation over his decree. With his help, the Umagi were able to persuade two old, worn-out mercs, who'd tired of bleeding and killing for rich people's profit, to join them."

  "Belvemar and Gregaris?"

  He nodded. “Repachea and Sestus soon followed, outraged by the tragedy at Dundurn. Castarr was the last. Obnoxious and arrogant even then, he was tolerated because we needed his money to finance the movement. Ginger came later, drawn by the rumours of insurrection."

  "What about Ragsey?"

  "By the time he arrived with the mage I was already gone. When word leaked out from Gryphon that the Regent was hiring mercs to help squelch the uprising, I signed up with Roche. It was my task to undermine the Royalist defence.” Saxton favoured me with a sly grin. “It was not solely Roche's fault Church Grove was a debacle."

  I took the dented and rusted helm he held out to me, one that my great-grandfather might have worn into battle. I looked but there was no sword. “You had a hand in that?"

  His tone turned smug. “The Crusaders planned very carefully right from the start. They realized the advantage of having an insider working on their behalf. So we devised a complicated network of code by which we could contact one another in a crisis ... and here I am."

  "I remember you,” I announced, surprising him and myself.

  I recalled a dark-haired youth with soft, compassionate eyes, kneeling in the muck of the soggy road from Church Grove, straining alongside me as we strove to free my charger. The horse was mired in a sinkhole, weighed down by mud and mounds of g
ear for which he hadn't been bred to carry. It had happened during a Crusader ambush, led by, I was later told, Repachea. Three days of torrential rain and biting wind hampered our retreat. All was panic and chaos, our wagons abandoned in clay-like ooze, our supplies transferred to balky rampagers. Nevertheless, harried by the enemy and drenched by the merciless downpour, I refused to leave behind my stallion, to let her him die trapped in the mud. Spying my difficulty, a passing mercenary stopped to help me.

  "You saved him ... my horse."

  Saxton smiled. “I didn't think you remembered. Foolish I know, but I just couldn't bear to see the poor beast struggle.” He shook his head at his folly. “You wouldn't desert him and I feared for your life.” His eyes met mine and I glimpsed sincerity in their depths. “I'd always tried to protect you, highness. Through all my deceit and sabotage, it was never my interest to harm you."

  I could still picture that day in my mind. He'd had been kicked and bitten and thoroughly abused by the panicked horse as the stallion flailed to free himself. Saxton might have been killed. His efforts had been nothing less than heroic and I'd treated him as if he were invisible. He was a peasant, a merc, an inferior, and I hadn't even bothered to ask his name.

  I reached out a hand to touch his cheek. “Oh, Saxton,” I murmured, feeling so ashamed I almost wept. “Did I once say thank you?"

  He let his gaze slide away from mine, embarrassed I think, to acknowledge this failing in his future queen. “It was enough to see the poor animal pulled free. I've always had a fondness for the noble beasts. Once this is all over, I hope to pursue my dream of breeding and training war-horses. I even entertain the absurdity I might sell a pair to Thylana's queen for her royal stables."

  He grinned at me through the grit that smeared his face. “For a small fortune, of course."

  I patted the rogue's shoulder, convinced he could sell me the whole damned herd. “I'll take two of every colour."

  A voice beside us said, “Well, isn't this touching?"

  I whirled to see the mage. He wore a haughty sneer and there was mockery in his eyes. “Are you making this a practice then,” I snapped, “sneaking up on me like you do?"

  Ignoring me, he shifted his gaze to Saxton. “Are we ready then?"

  A mask of granite slipped over Saxton's face. Once more he became the confident, no nonsense soldier I'd first encountered, a guise he could don at will. “How are things up top?"

  "Quiet. Chiverly's men are scouring the castle for Averi. Everyone else is on alert. It endangers our plan some."

  "What's Val's Royal doing?” I interrupted.

  "Nothing special. Just standing around. Why?"

  Briefly, I enlightened him. “They won't move against Valleri unless I give the word. Until then they'll follow his orders to the letter to keep him from suspicion."

  I tabulated figures. “It's not enough. Sooner or later Valleri and Urharde will find us. We're too short on manpower to offer adequate resistance. We need Arial. We need him free to take back his outfit from that lunatic Serasteffan. We have to get to the dungeons. Our entire plan hinges on that. There's no room for failure."

  Saxton agreed. “No trouble. I can bluff a few guards."

  "There's only one problem,” Ginger conceded. “How do we get Arial out without being seen? We can't stroll blithely through the castle. We'll encounter too many people. And ... what if we run into Valleri?"

  "That's two problems,” Saxton pointed out.

  "It's too late to worry about that now.” I donned my helm, scooped up an extra uniform and stuffed it under my tunic, beefing up my disguise. “The darkness will work to our advantage. Let's go."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  We reached the dungeons without trouble. Guards congregated in the doorway, exchanging idle talk, some of them disgruntled at being relegated below ground to keep watch over a few forgotten prisoners. I counted a dozen at least, probably too many for us to overwhelm without causing an alarm. Urharde himself was nowhere in sight. I identified the key holder, a short, stocky sergeant, then beckoned to Saxton and Ginger crouched behind me.

  "Are you ready, Saxton? We'll only get one stab at this."

  "As ready as I'll ever be."

  We flanked Saxton as he strode towards the guards in the entryway. I tried to walk a little taller, adding a male swagger in the hope I lent an air of arrogance to my disguise. Apparently our facade was rather impressive; as soon as they caught sight of us, the guards bolted for their posts and stood to attention.

  We stopped in front of the sergeant. Even I towered over him. No doubt, from his disadvantage, he found Saxton extremely intimidating, especially in his coat of light chain mail, with helm tucked in his elbow. Caught loafing, he made a great show of obeisance. “Greetings, sir,” he gabbled at the ground, unable to meet Saxton's withering gaze. “I ... we ... did not expect to see—"

  Saxton cut him short with an impatient gesture. “I've come for the captain. Give me the keys."

  Surprised, the sergeant stammered, “Do ... do you mean release the prisoner Arial, sir?” He glanced uncertainly around him. “But Captain Urharde didn't mention any of this to me. My orders are to keep one eye on Arial and the other on the alert for Averi."

  Saxton took a menacing step forward; the sergeant stumbled back a pace. “Aye, sir,” he demurred. “Right away."

  I grinned behind my helm as the sergeant removed a set of keys from his belt.

  "What's going on here?” came an angry shout.

  I jerked my head in the direction of the speaker, none other than Urharde himself. He marched towards us at alarming speed, fussing with the ties at his breeches, his face set in a scowl. Beside me, Ginger muttered, “Rot his eyes, where did he come from?"

  My guess was the privy. Leaning close to Saxton, I said, “Just get the damned keys."

  The sergeant tried to spit out an explanation, but Urharde talked right over top of him. “Saxton, what are you doing here? You look as if you expect a riot. Do you know something I don't?"

  Saxton gave his head an emphatic shake, making his battle gear jingle and rattle. “Tell your sergeant to open Arial's cell. Valleri wants the captain released."

  Urharde's eyebrows nearly shot off his face. “What? Why? Valleri was just here an hour ago, telling us to tighten our security."

  "Well, obviously he's changed his mind and has decided to execute him instead."

  I stifled a yip of surprise. That was not in the script. Saxton what the hell are you doing?

  "Oh, why didn't you say so?” Urharde drew his sword, tested its edge with his thumb. “I'll truly enjoy cleaving that self-righteous bastard's head from his neck."

  Urharde started for the cells, but Saxton swung out an arm and gripped his shoulder. “No. Valleri wants it public. He wants to make a statement, to send out a warning to anyone who questions his authority."

  Urharde hesitated. “If you say so.” He sheathed his sword, much to my relief. “Has he decided what he's going to do about Kathedra?"

  "How should I know?"

  "We'll, he'd better hurry,” Urharde grumbled, snatching the key ring from his sergeant. “If he doesn't bring her to heel soon she'll stir up more trouble than he can handle."

  "Yeah, well—” Saxton began, but Urharde wouldn't let him squeeze in a word edgewise.

  "I keep telling him that he needs to take a heavier hand with her. She's too bold, too independent. Women like her only respond to strong discipline. But he indulges her every whim, showing leniency when he should be breaking her to the bit. Mind you, I'm not blind to her feminine charms, and I admit she must make a delightful mess of his bed. But he can't allow his codpiece to rule his head. Am I right?"

  His what?

  I couldn't believe my ears. I took a rash step forward, intending to yank out the oaf's tongue through his nose, but Ginger's hand snaked out and rapped my wrist. He could not contain a muffled snort of laughter. No doubt, the mage found the situation vastly entertaining.

  "
Yes, quite right,” Saxton agreed. “He should turn the little vixen over his knee every once and while just to take the edge off her."

  I elbowed Saxton's ribs, prompting him to grunt, “Captain, the keys, if you please."

  "Saxton, are you sure this is wise? Perhaps you should try to change Valleri's mind. I mean, Arial's pretty popular with the troops. They might start grouching if—"

  "Are you questioning Valleri's orders?” Saxton snapped, impatient now. “Do you recall what happened the last time his directives were defied? Why don't you make yourself useful and take your men to aid in Chiverly's search for Averi? I'll handle Arial."

  Urharde gave all of us a once-over, but capitulated to Saxton's demands. He may not like the fact that a young upstart like Saxton was Valleri's second, but he wasn't going to jeopardize his own standing with the Gryphon Highlord by flouting his authority. “Aye, sir. Right away.” He lifted the ring of keys into the air and let it drop into Saxton's open palm. “Just be careful. Arial still has a lot of fight in him."

  "Valleri's counting on it."

  Urharde grinned at that, then turned, rounding up his men and heading for the stairs.

  Satisfied they were gone, Ginger and I left Saxton to watch the stairs, then proceeded to the cell area. While I had known Arial was not the dungeons’ sole prisoner, I was ill prepared for what awaited me. The captain occupied the cell furthest from the door, which forced me to walk the length of the block. Lesuperis had the first cage all to himself. He resembled more a legendary yeti reported to inhabit the northern mountains than the pompous, strutting dandy I recall. More beast than man, he huddled in the shadows, moaning and whimpering to himself, his thin, scab-encrusted arms wrapped around his torso, wracked with shivers.

  I moved on, nearly jumped out of my skin as the occupant in the next cell reached past me with a bone white hand to clutch at Ginger's tunic. Startled, the mage had half-drawn his sword before he realized who it was—a middle-aged woman, her iron-grey hair, always so neat and tidy in its bun, now tangled and knotted like the nest of a bird, her simple homespun garment dishevelled and soiled. The stench of her struck me in the face with the strength of an open fist. Her fingers clawed at Ginger's sleeve a moment before slipping free; her pale moon face, drawn and besmirched, loomed against the bars. She crowed at him in her hen's cackle, “Master Valleri, get back to your studies. The tutor is looking for you. You've missed your lessons for the last time. I will see the hide stripped from you back for this insolence."