The Gryphon Highlord

by Connie Ward

  Gregaris dismounted to join the melee, stomping among his enemies like a giant among dwarves. He swung his six-foot battle-axe with deadly speed and accuracy, scything through Royalists with the ease of a farmer through ripe summer wheat. I could well believe this barbarian Cyclops had fought his way out of Pixley with just his bare hands.

  Beside me, Saxton watched with admiration as Gregaris and his horde of Crusaders ravaged the Royalists. He leaned forward to tell me, “Gregaris was a free gladiator from Glanshayda. He'd won championships in the sports arena until he lost his eye to a berserker's swordtip, which forced him to retire. Then some crazy fool showed him how to handle an axe.” Saxton grinned. “Frightening, isn't it?"

  I nodded bleakly, agreeing with his observation on more than one level. With the arrival of Gregaris, there was no longer any question of a victory for me. By rights, I should be delirious with joy. The problem now became how to prevent a massacre and the demolition of my ancestral home. Between them, the warring factions pounded Gryphon to pieces. Sporadic fires still raged unconfined, and rampant horses trampled everything and everyone in their path. I had to end the carnage, the havoc, before it went beyond my ability to control. But how?

  To make matters worse, Ginger got into the act. A streak of flame arced into the sky and exploded in a dazzling spray over the bailey, a starburst of violet, fuchsia, and chartreuse. As the shower drifted down, wherever a spark struck, whether stone, steel, or flesh the mote of light swelled until it belched forth a gout of mucous and engulfed its unfortunate host in a glutinous cocoon. Stairs became too slippery to climb, cobbles too slick to tread, and weapons too gummy to wield. It was as if some ailing titan had expelled a glob of phlegm onto the castle.

  Once, I caught a glimpse of the mage atop the opposite wall, diabolical in all his glory, as lustrous charges of sorcery darted around him. Periodically, a streak detached itself from its frenetic orbit to hurl itself down into the yard, spreading flame and mayhem wherever it landed. It was a spectacular display of power, of colour, of light. Through my dismay, I was compelled to admit I was impressed. Ginger's magic, albeit barbarous and perverse, was wondrous to behold.

  So while I gaped in awe, dithered in confusion, and wallowed in my own impotence, it happened. A stray arrow found my young captain.

  Hearing his grunt of pain, I turned to see Saxton lurch, then topple perilously close to the edge of the wall. I reached out to grab his surcoat, a foolish thing, for his weight would have taken me over the parapet with him. My fingertips grazed his sleeve as my hand closed around empty air.

  Mercifully, Saxton was dead before he ever hit the ground. I'd seen his eyes as they stared at the nameless shaft impaling him, and there had been no light in them; the arrow had pierced his heart. Now he lay sprawled below on the rocky slope, a twisted and broken doll.

  A sob caught in my throat, and I closed my eyes, though they remained imprinted with the image of yet another senseless, wasted death. Reeling away, I sank to my knees upon the battlements, my grief a physical pain. My gallant young captain was dead. I prayed him rest in peace and hoped there were horses in heaven.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  "Highness, are you all right?"

  A young Crusader approached me where I knelt with my face in my cupped palms. Bolder than his fellows, he extended his hand and helped me to my feet. “Shall I send for Ginger? Perhaps, he can—"

  Almost immediately the youth became aware he'd said the wrong thing. I shrugged out of his solicitous grip and swung on them all with a look of such fierceness they stepped back, doubtless to give the madwoman room. In truth, I think I was half-mad, overcome with sorrow and fury and guilt.

  Grief assailed me, along with a feeling of panic and failure. My thoughts were in turmoil, all tangled together, confused. I could not contain them, but neither could I organize them into something solid.

  Below me on the parapet a rumbling started from deep in the castle, echoing up from the dungeons, from the teleportal itself. Restless at its confinement and captivity, as restless as my own thoughts, the opposing forces of magic collided and clashed. The castle quivered, the bailey shook. A shrill whine, the shriek of iron against iron, began low then rose to a piercing screech. All around me people teetered and tottered as the ground slid out from under them with the sway of the keep. The collection of wooden outbuildings threatened to collapse, sagging and leaning like drunken sailors. Everywhere weapons racks tilted, spilling their contents. Lamps tipped and torches toppled, their flames leaping out to devour whatever was handy. The Shouda sent up a frantic baying.

  Then Ginger was by my side, a fawn coloured Shouda bitch with him, kneeling on the stones of the rampart. “Whatever you're doing,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “stop it."

  "I can't,” I moaned. “I'm not doing it on purpose."

  "Try, Kathedra. Do you want to destroy Gryphon? Turn this into another Idyll and prove Bertrand right?"

  That snapped me into clearer focus, almost as if he had removed a blindfold from my eyes. But the damage had been wrought. The castle still shook down to its very roots. I had undermined Ginger's powers with my own, severing what little control he had over the teleportal. “Can you shut it down?"

  "Not from here."

  "C'mon.” I grabbed his hand and hauled him after me from the ramparts, dodging bodies and fallen weapons. Smoke rose skyward in billowing black columns, obscuring the bailey and our descent. Staggering, stumbling, we picked our way over the debris in the compound while the keep shuddered and groaned around us. The Shouda trailed us as far as the stairs, then refused to go any further. Snatching up a torch we descended into the bowels of the castle, leaving the dog behind to whine and pace fretfully.

  In a corridor on the second level we bumped into Averi, panicked and disoriented, heading topside at a dead run. He grabbed the mage's arm, swung him to a halt. “What went wrong?” he demanded, his voice high and tremulous. “I did exactly as you said! It's not my fault!"

  "Slow down,” I snapped. “Do you have anything to report?"

  Averi caught his breath, waved an arm in the general direction of the dungeons. “They're all in there. About fifty of the bastards, including Chiverly himself."

  "You've done a fine job.” I shoved him out of my way. “Come along if you like. We might need a sacrificial victim.” I think he half believed me.

  Down here, so close to the teleportal, on the verge of self-imploding, the tremble underfoot was so severe we could hardly walk. We inched along the corridor, arms outstretched for balance, not unlike navigating onboard a ship in a storm-tossed sea. Ginger stopped us in the archway that led to the dungeons. “This is as close as I dare."

  At his command we sank onto our knees, as much for stability than any ritual of magic. Swallowing my distaste I joined hands with Averi. Together the three of us formed a triangle. Ginger explained, “You two are my anchors. If things get a little scary, hold me down. If you let go, if you break our link, we're all dead."

  I squeezed Averi's hand in my metal encased fingers, warning him brave. Ginger began to chant. We felt the power rise and surge against us, trying to barrel a way past us in its struggle to escape the mage's control, to escape its bondage. Ginger tried to contain it, to push it back, but it was like trying to hold up a falling wall. It crushed down upon us, bearing us beneath its weight and ferocity. I felt the mage's hand slip from mine, felt Averi waver on the other side of me. The pressure was too much. Averi was torn from my grip; he did not voluntarily release. He flew across the room, his body striking unyielding stone with a thud.

  Ginger and I collapsed together in a heap on the floor. “Kathedra,” he murmured, too battered, too exhausted from his otherworldly battle with the teleportal to move. “I can't stop it. It's too far gone, too far out of my control. Run. Go as far as you can get."

  I ignored that. From where I sat, or more correctly sprawled, I saw only two choices; let the fight end here, while I stood on the verge of victory, and be burie
d under mounds of rock and wood and iron that was Gryphon, or try to stop the threat myself.

  I staggered onto my feet, turned to peer into the holding cells, my view vaguely distorted. The air before me shimmered, expanding and contracting. I stumbled towards the entity; it had a will of its own, repelling me, keeping me at a distance. The captive Royalists lay on the floor, splayed every which way, knocked cold.

  I glanced back once at Ginger, where he lay unconscious. He had said such a force of energy could not be restrained by iron and stone, bonds that did not give or bend. I recalled the strip of leather I'd wound around Averi's wrists, commanded there by thought and adhered by will. I required more flexible shackles, something of unshakable strength but as ethereal as air.

  Then it struck me. An earth shattering revelation. Maybe I did not require anything tangible, anything of this world. Maybe all I needed was already at hand.

  I shaped thought out of will, wove it strong with fortitude and purpose, more durable than chain, yet soft as cloud. I headed for the teleportal, trailing my mystical ropes of power. Only sheer determination moved my feet forward to the bars of the holding cell. It was like wading through water up to my chest, the tide trying to push me back with each step.

  Finally, when I could go not an inch farther, I released my ropes. They slithered and writhed unchallenged between the bars of iron, spinning and twisting as they entwined themselves around the entity pulsing within, where it strained against its stone and iron prison, about to burst asunder in its effort to break free. I wrought more rope, binding my cocoon of power fast. I wove them together, tying up all loose ends, knotting them strong with unbreakable resolve.

  The energy shifted, paused. I held my breath, wondering if the entity would fight, if my magic would yield before it. My chains stuck, as strong as my will, formed into substance by my Teki powers. A moment passed, then two. I perceived not surrender or retreat, but a sort of non-resistance, a sense of stability and peace. So delicate, so subtle were these bonds that the elemental force it bound did not even know it was fettered.

  But I had no time to marvel over the feat I had wrought. I knelt beside Ginger, deep in his catatonic sleep, and smoothed the forelock from his brow. “I'll come back for you, but first ... there's something I must do."

  * * * *

  I emerged into the bailey to thunderous cheers. Stunned, I saw the compound ringed with wearied but victorious Crusaders, standing shoulder to shoulder with my former Royal, that of the Gryphon Highlord. Naren approached me, a smile of triumph on that normally stoic face. “It's over. It's done. You did it, Kathedra."

  I guess I had.

  The hoopla subsided; the keep went unnaturally still. Only a Shouda's plaintive whimper broke the quiet as I looked out over the yard, where the Crusaders seemed to have everything well in hand. According to Naren, the remnants of Roche's thieving mercs had thrown down their swords and pled for mercy. Gregaris had subdued Urharde's Seventh, though Urharde himself was missing. Arial's and Tock's Royals had pretty much obliterated each other. Tock had fought until the bitter end, falling to a well-placed sword thrust. Of Arial, there was no sign.

  Victory was mine. I savoured the emotion, having known no deeper feeling of accomplishment. But my elation soon soured, for now the victorious must deal with the vanquished.

  I bobbed my head in the direction of the one-eyed giant. “I'm so glad to see you, Naren ... and your friend."

  Briefly, he explained, “Gregaris had just liberated Pixley when I came across him headed for Idyll. We sent a messenger on to Belvemar, then rode for here with reinforcements."

  "In the nick of time,” I replied, embracing him warmly. “Thank you, Naren. Thank you."

  He hugged me back. “You've won."

  Suddenly afraid, suddenly uncertain, I whispered, “But at what cost? I fear I've paid too dear a price. Saxton is dead. He—"

  Naren gently pushed me away. “I know. I saw. Don't speak of it now. Time to grieve later. There is still much work to be done."

  His smile faded, and once more that mask of gravity settled over his features. “What are your orders?"

  I straightened my surcoat, then donned a replica of Naren's stone-sober face. “Have the prisoners taken to the cells below the keep. And send a doctor down to check on Ginger. Keep an eye out for Arial. He's not to be harmed. You can dispatch your couriers at first light. For now, tend to the wounded and start the clean up. I'll handle everything else later. First ... there's something I must do."

  "Wait,” Naren implored. “What about Valleri?"

  "Leave him to me."

  He seemed about to protest but refrained. “As you wish.” He departed with a stiff bow to carry out his instructions.

  Confident that Naren and Gregaris had the situation under control, I slipped away to find Uncle. At no time during the battle had I seen him and I feared him dead. The notion did not sadden me, except in the sense I had been cheated of my revenge.

  I hurried to the secret passageway, no longer secret if ever it was, and followed it to my apartments, stepping over the corpses of Halberdiers. I opened the hidden panel to see my teak and silk screen in a broken tangle ... and Uncle lying beneath it, the far door barricaded against his enemies.

  I had heard Uncle had been damned near untouchable with a sword in his younger days, before he'd let himself get fat and soft. Now he'd been forced to take one up again to defend his very life. One fist still clenched the blade while the other clutched at a heavily bleeding wound. It was an effort, in his wretched condition, but he lifted his head at my entrance.

  He groaned a single word. “Kathedra.” Dropping the sword, he reached out his hand.

  The tyrant Bertrand had indeed come to a pathetic end. “Look, Uncle,” I sighed, crouching beside him. “Look at what you have done."

  He nodded feebly. “I know. It's all my own doing.” He clasped my fingers in his and gazed up at me. “Beautiful, beloved Kathedra. I thought never to see you again. I'm so glad you're here."

  Awful damned convivial since last I saw him. Perhaps he entertained the hope I would somehow find a way for him to escape his fate. Even now.

  "Oh, Kathedra. What cruel punishment you did me,” he continued, near to tears. “Had I known you'd leave, I wouldn't have forced you to wed Lesuperis."

  Contrite? Tearful? Maudlin? This was not the Uncle I knew. I presumed the severity of his injury had made him delirious.

  "I fled for my life, remember? You decommissioned me. Imprisoned me. I believed next you'd kill me."

  "Kill you?” he howled in disbelief. “Stupid, faithless wench. Why would I kill you? You are my sole blood heir."

  Now this was more like Uncle. “Because my Teki powers had exceeded your ability to control them.” I spoke slowly, gently, as if speaking to a dull child. “I had to be removed."

  "You had to be rendered impotent, yes. I won't refute it. But I addressed the problem by retiring you and arranging you a marriage. I don't recall signing a writ of execution, although some may argue there is no difference."

  That couldn't be a joke. Uncle was not known for his snappy wit.

  "You ordered my death,” I accused.

  "I ordered your capture."

  A long pause followed as I attempted to solve this little discrepancy, for until now I had been convinced Uncle wanted me dead.

  "How can you believe I'd kill you, Kathedra? I'd not harm a red hair on your head. You are my sister's daughter."

  I swallowed back the hurt caused by previous rejections. “Nonetheless, you said some hateful things to me."

  "And I regret them all. I spoke out of fear and anger. Can you forgive me?"

  "Forgiveness is not something one can deal out like cards.” But deep down inside, past all that simmering Umagi blood, a certainty embedded in my bones, I believed his remorse genuine.

  Brokenly he whispered, “They told me you were dead."

  "Who told you?"

  "Valleri and Averi. They said the Crusad
ers found you first. I saw the body. I ... I didn't...” He choked on the words. “I didn't even recognize it."

  Sinking to my knees, I lifted his head into my lap. Aware he was dying, Uncle felt a need to confess. He talked and I listened, in a detached sort of way, letting the words drift in my brain until they found a place where they all made sense.

  "You had grown proud and wilful, so like your father. I knew you could not bear to see Thylana in such turmoil; I feared you would try to take over. Each day you grew bolder, more rebellious, your Umagi powers soaring to a level beyond my restraint. I know what I am, a man twisted by grief and hatred. I also know I can't be forgiven for all my atrocities. But I swear, Kathedra, I intended you no harm."

  "Yet, you still hurt me."

  "In my arrogance and haste, yes. I thought if you had a lover to ease your cares and divert your attention, you'd abandon the war, your powers."

  "So you went to Valleri?"

  "I didn't think any damage could be done by it. I warned him to be discreet, for I did not wish a scandal. As you know, it didn't work. If anything, you became stronger, more determined, and I was forced to take drastic measures. I knew you would not accept retirement easily, so I plotted to marry you off and get an heir sired on you. There would be no time for a new bride and mother-to-be to concern herself with Crusaders or magic. I did not think, however, that you'd buck me so strenuously. When I told Valleri to use the secret passageway to see you, I never dreamt you would use it to escape."

  At my expression of surprise Uncle explained, “Yes, I knew about it. Your mother and father employed it often before they were wed, or so I'm told."

  I squeezed his hand imploringly. “What happened, Unc? What happened to make Valleri turn on you? It's clear he doesn't covet the throne. What else could he want?"

  "I told him if he agreed to help me I would give him your command, once you lost interest in it. But you never did. So when I decided to announce your retirement I ordered him to end the affair, whereupon he could assume your generalship."