The Gryphon Highlord

by Connie Ward

  Ginger was another matter entirely. Though his arm had been rendered immovable by the chain encircling it, he refused to release the blade. No amount of pressure, wielded by thought, could bend his grip. His will to defy me was stronger than my ability to break it. Apparently he had not spent all his magic on the teleportal. An impasse ensued; I would not yield and he would not surrender.

  Losing patience, I snapped, “Ginger, throw down your weapon. There is no one left to fight."

  "Except you."

  "Why? Why do you have to turn this into a battle of wills? Please, put away your blade."

  "Sorry, Kathedra. If you want me to do that, you'll have to break my wrist."

  Struggling to raise the sword, his arm quaking from the effort, he rounded on Valleri, where he lay unconscious. I had no idea whether I possessed the strength to do what he said, and in truth, I had no desire to find out. Nonetheless, I would not be coerced this way. Therefore I appealed to Gregaris for assistance.

  "Disarm him."

  The flame-haired giant marched up to the mage and demanded in a thick northern burr, “Give me the blade, Ginger."

  Though Gregaris towered above even Ginger's exceptional height, the mage refused to be intimidated. He glowered up at the burly Crusader with the audacity of a precocious child. “If you want it, you're going to have to take it from me your—"

  But before Ginger could finish his sentence, Gregaris had the mage by the collar and the sword yanked from his fist, unimpeded by my ethereal chains. Then, breaking the blade over a knee, he flung both pieces at Ginger's feet and walked back to my side.

  "Thank you, Gregaris.” I could see such a man would prove handy to have around in the days to come.

  "No trouble, highness."

  The chains of thought dissolved, making Ginger staggered under their sudden release. He righted himself, closed his eyes, waiting for his outrage to pass. When his lids lifted next, they revealed a gaze black with fury. It slid to Valleri, his one-time friend come mortal nemesis if only out of habit. “What about him?"

  "What about him?” I countered.

  "He's your enemy. He can't be trusted. You must take steps to remove his threat."

  Certainly if I wanted peace in Thylana I had to do something about Valleri. But I did not consider him a danger. He was beaten, defeated not by an adversary but by his own hand. I knew what I must do. Nevertheless, I would not be commanded by Ginger.

  Bobbing my head at Valleri, I said, “Take him to a cell,” whereupon Naren dragged Val to his feet and had him hauled away by two husky Crusaders.

  Ginger asked, “What will you do?"

  I sighed, waving a weary hand. “I won't discuss this with you. Please, just take yourself to the infirmary and get your head checked. You don't look so good."

  His complexion was ghostly pale, lines of strain etched into his face. Pain and exhaustion had clouded his judgment. Blood dripped from the gash in his brow. Wincing, he tottered forward. “It's nothing. A scratch,” he insisted. “Answer me. What will you do?"

  My patience hung by a slender thread. I had not slept more than eight hours in three days nor eaten since yesterday. Fatigue and grief had exacted an emotional toll. “Either take yourself away to the infirmary,” I spat, “or I will have you taken there in chains. Real chains. Of iron."

  His mouth twisted into a snarl. “Aye, Your Glory. You bellow and I shall jump. Is that how it is to be?” His words were slurred, his eyes glazed. Though I knew it to be the hurt of his injuries and bruised pride talking, the barb stung nonetheless. So I watched, with a certain amount of satisfaction, as he took another wobbly step and fell flat on his face. Had the situation not been so grim and he not so pathetic, I might have laughed had I been able to summon the energy.

  "Gregaris?"

  At my behest the giant stooped and slung the unconscious mage over a brawny shoulder with no more exertion than heaving a sack of turnips. Relieved, I gazed after Gregaris as he strode away to the infirmary with his burden. With luck, Ginger's injury would keep him on his back for a while and out of my hair. That is not to say I was not concerned about him. His wounds, albeit relatively minor, were the sort that could generate complications. Everything I had gained at so dear a price would mean nothing if I lost Ginger now.

  Naren snapped out a command to his men, then gently turned me from the sight of Uncle's body, lying twisted and bloodied amid the wreckage that had been my apartment. Nevertheless, a wayward glimpse brought unexpected grief, not for the Uncle I knew but the one that I had been cheated of by a boyhood prank gone awry, and all the mistruths and misdeeds it had begat.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Glowering, I slumped upon my throne, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, crown askew atop my dishevelled mane. Though tired beyond belief, I had to attend to this next bit of business before I could seek the solitude and rest I craved. The time for reckoning had come. My faithful would be rewarded and the faithless cast out. I had not even changed my filthy clothes, though I'd taken time to wash the blood from my hands, still clad in my borrowed surcoat and stained breeches. My elbows leaned on the velvet armrests, an empty wine chalice dangling from my fingers. Not exactly a representation of queenly glamour I admit, but I was not much in the mood for regal splendour.

  I had left Gregaris in charge of the work details that toiled throughout the keep. Saxton's body had been retrieved and now lay in the Great Hall. Likewise, one small corner of the hall had been dedicated to Uncle's bier, under heavy guard to dissuade thieves and pranksters. Shredded, broken, Arial languished in the infirmary, clinging to life by a fingernail, too stubborn to accept the grim truth that he was dead. Urharde remained a fugitive in the castle, though every available man was set on his trail.

  Only one of my officers attended me: Naren. He stood in mute vigilance at my side as I dispensed justice in Uncle's audience chamber, now mine. One by one an infinite procession of supplicants streamed past the double doors so they might approach my throne and beg forgiveness, plead mercy, or pledge fealty ... or any combination of the three.

  Gregaris was on housekeeping detail, sweeping Roche's mercs, bereft of their booty, and the survivors of Uncle's Halberdiers, including their captain, out the front door. Chiverly and his men had revived, sending up a clamour in the dungeons, all the while proclaiming themselves loyal to the throne and by extension me. Chiverly, however, was untrustworthy and lazy. I had no choice but to disband his Royal and send him packing. So it went, until the flood became a trickle.

  I thrust out my cup to be refilled. Naren leaned over to whisper discreetly, “It's gone, highness. There's not another drop of wine to be had in all of Gryphon. Gregaris is out somewhere trying to scare up a keg of ale."

  If anyone could scare up anything it was Gregaris. But the knowledge did nothing to placate my spleen. Inexplicably, such a triviality infuriated me. My patience eroded. All my frustration bubbled forth. With a savage oath, I threw my goblet against the far wall, where it bounced off the stone and nearly clipped a page's nose.

  Leaping from the dais, I stalked to the hearth and leaned my forearms on the mantle, staring down between them at the bright, crackling flames. “Cripes, Naren,” I groaned. “All I want is a lousy cup of wine. Is that too much to ask?"

  Wise, always intuitive Naren knew my outburst had little to do with absent wine. “Not much longer,” he assured me. “Then you shall be able to seek your bed and rest easy knowing that Gregaris and I have everything in hand."

  I sighed, grateful. “Thank you, Naren. You're a godsend. I want you to know I will reward you for your loyalty and support. All of you. Gregaris, Sestus—"

  The faint hiss of chains and a polite cough interrupted me. I lifted my head from my arms and turned to see that the last supplicant had been brought. He stood alone, his wrists manacled before him, rumpled and begrimed, yet still quite dazzling. It broke my heart to see him bound like an enemy, but on the other hand, Valleri wore iron very, very well. A shadow waited
in the corridor, just beyond view, restrained not by chains, but admirable self-control.

  Straightening, I pushed myself from the hearth and approached Valleri. Braced for a confrontation I mustered swift courage, for without a doubt, these next words would be the hardest I've ever had to say. Gravely, I intoned, “Valleri, you are hereby banished from Thylana. You will be escorted to the nearest border and sent into exile, never to return. There will be no future contact between us, no written word exchanged. If you step one foot back into Thylana, you risk execution."

  Though I tried to interpret his reaction, his face was a blank. “Is there anything you wish to say?"

  At last, his vacant gaze sighted on me and he allowed a rueful smile. “Your lenience is touching, Kathedra. Though I deserve nothing less than execution, I am grateful for your act of mercy. Know that I bear you no ill will and shall accept banishment without complaint."

  My fierce countenance softened at Valleri's contrition, which I believed sincere. Maybe his stay in the dungeons had provided him opportunity for reflection, allowing him to come to terms with the destiny he'd wrought for himself. He seemed serene and replete, if a bit sombre, his demons finally exorcised. I knew he would not apologize; it was not his way. The title of queen I owed partially to him, but I could not applaud his manoeuvres even if I could rejoice in the outcome. Val would go to his grave believing he had done the right thing.

  After a thoughtful pause, Valleri added, “Before I go, I have a last request."

  He took a step towards me. Before I could react, Naren had interpreted it as a move of aggression. The Crusader leaped between us, his sword a naked threat.

  Valleri is not easily intimidated. He raised his bound hands in a gesture of peace, but did not retreat. “Heel, Naren. I mean Kathedra no harm."

  While he lowered his blade Naren did not sheathe it, watching with cold, hateful eyes this man who had killed his friends. “Give me a reason, Valleri,” he warned, stepping aside. “For I would dearly love to run you through."

  "At ease, both of you.” I gestured for a guard to free Val's hands, ignoring the look Naren threw me. “Valleri, speak your piece."

  Rubbing his wrists where the iron had chaffed, he said, “I wonder if you might do something for me."

  "If I can."

  "Sit on your throne for me. I just want to see you on it, if only once. A memory to take into exile."

  Naren looked at him as if he were crazy, and suspecting a trick, drew me closer.

  I had no trouble understanding Valleri's request. His desire to see me sit as queen upon Thylana's throne had been one of the last things of which Val had spoken before my flight from Gryphon all those months ago. “It's all right, Naren,” I murmured, extricating myself from his grip.

  I straightened my crown, then mounted the dais. Gripping the ornately-carved armrests, I lowered myself onto the purple, gold-stitched cushion and tried to affect a regal dignity. I realized all too well I did not cut so majestic a figure, clad in ill-fitting soldier's attire, with soot on my face and blood in my hair. Valleri didn't seem to notice. He broke into a radiant grin, his eyes glittering as they fell upon me. “You will make a magnificent queen, Kathedra."

  I accepted his compliment with quiet grace, somehow managing to contain my sorrow. Then I beckoned for the guards, declaring in a steady voice, “Take him away."

  Painful as it was to see him cast out, it had to be done. I gave Naren orders to install Valleri in his apartments under house arrest, then got to my feet, fully intending to drag myself off to the nearest bed, when the shadow from the corridor stepped inside. Ginger.

  Naren slipped from the room to await me without. I sank back down onto the cushion, prepared myself for a lecture on my folly.

  "I just wanted to let you know that I've disabled the teleportal. For good. I can't raise another on my own. Belvemar didn't reach it in time, so it's my guess he'll hook up with Sestus and take the long way here. Also, Gregaris believes that Urharde has fled the castle somehow. There's not a trace of him anywhere."

  Oh. “Well, yes. Thank you. If that's all—"

  "No, it's not all,” he snapped. “I also want to tell you what a foolish mistake you've just made."

  I presumed he referred to the leniency of Valleri's sentence. I bristled. “Really? I've always been under the impression that mercy is a desirable quality in a monarch."

  "Mercy, yes. Idiocy, no. The man is a threat to you, and your attachment to him,” Ginger sputtered, “blinds you to the danger he poses.

  I heard Valleri himself say he expected execution."

  "The man is my friend,” I reminded him, then added, though he pretended not to hear, “and yours."

  "He is your enemy. You're being completely unreasonable."

  I half-rose, my hands clenched around the arms of the chair, fighting to keep my voice calm. “And you're being disrespectful."

  "I'll risk it. Damn it, Kathedra! How could you do such a thing? It is inconceivable that you would so blithely grant Valleri his freedom. How can you be certain he won't return some day with an army to challenge you for all that is rightfully yours?"

  Naren, too, had put the same question to me, albeit with a degree more tact. I gave the mage the same answer I'd given him. “I saw no other option. I can't kill everyone who opposes me, everyone I perceive a threat, unfounded or not. To do so would make me no different a tyrant than Uncle."

  "I respect that. But you are generous and merciful to a fault. I'll concede execution is extreme, but you can imprison him. Let him live out his days in the deepest darkest dungeon or the tallest, most luxurious tower, I care not which. But this?"

  He whirled away in a fit of temper. “This is the finest piece of lunacy I have ever seen. Valleri's history only proves his knack for treachery. I can't see him accepting this as over."

  "Why not? He has what he wants. Uncle is dead and I have the throne."

  "That is not what he wants,” he shot back, trembling now with either fury or frustration. “He wants you."

  Ah. Now I understood. “Ask yourself this, Ginger. Do you want Valleri dead because you believe him a menace to my rule, or because you believe him a rival for my affection?"

  "Don't flatter yourself. I'm trying to protect you."

  "Well, I have guards I pay to do that."

  "Damn it, Kathedra, you don't have to pay me for anything!"

  A hostile silence engulfed us. I stared at my fingers, laced before me on my lap, refusing to yield to his dramatics, unable to fathom his hatred for Valleri. Eyes downcast, I said, “If it will ease your mind, pay Val a visit. Talk to him, talk about what happened at Idyll. Or at least say good-bye. The last time you parted, you didn't get the chance."

  My suggestion was met by still further silence.

  "Ginger?"

  I glanced up to see myself alone in the room. The bastard had not even the decency to slam the door.

  * * * *

  Later I learned that Ginger had not gone far. Naren found him collapsed in the outer corridor, too weak to storm any further. He had not fully recovered from his magical battle with the teleportal before exchanging blows with Valleri, thus his tantrum in my throne room had tapped the last reserves of his strength. When Naren took me to see the mage in the infirmary, I found him flat on his back, looking so pale, so drawn I feared him dead. Only his heartbeat against my ear, the whisper of his breath in my hair as I lay next to him assured me he lived still.

  The feud with the Umagi was over. Thylana was saved. My enemies had been vanquished and I had my crown. I had achieved my fondest dreams. I should be drunk on the wine of victory. Instead, it left a sour taste in my mouth. The price it had cost me was too dear. I had lost Uncle, Valleri, Repachea, and countless others. I could not lose Ginger, too.

  I spent the night there with him on that narrow cot, only to be chased out come morning by the physician, quoting infirmary rules to me ... the queen, if you please.

  Naren tried to distract me with talk
of castle business. Arial had survived the night and was expected to pull through, which I was grateful to hear. Urharde remained on the loose, his ability to escape custody making the walls ring with Gregaris's howls of frustration. And last but not least, the escort that was to accompany Valleri across the border was ready to depart.

  "Give me a moment first, please."

  He bowed and stepped away, while I slipped back into the infirmary. The female Shouda, the rangy, fawn-coloured one, lay on the cot by Ginger's feet. She lifted her snout from her paws at my entrance and thumped her tail in greeting. I sat beside her, running my hand over her sleek head. “Ahh, so dogs are allowed while the queen gets turned out on her royal rump? Very well. You can stay.” Actually I had no choice. The Shouda refused to obey the command to disperse in the presence of Umagi. Owyn's amulets worked a little too well, a glitch he promised to fix once he had revised the charm that would make the effect permanent, all at no small cost in silver to me. The alternative was to destroy the dogs, and looking into the animal's soulful, topaz eyes as she gazed adoringly up at me, her tail beating out a rhythm against Ginger's thigh, I knew I would pay that swindler whatever he asked.

  Rising, I cast a last, lingering glance at the mage. A flush of colour had returned to his cheeks and he stirred restlessly, on the verge of waking. My hand lifted of its own volition to smooth away the strands of silky dark hair from his scarred cheek. He moaned at the touch, irritated or pleased. Who could tell with such a prickly man? Satisfied, I left him to the dog's tender watch and rejoined Naren in the hallway.

  We entered the compound together, where Valleri and his escort awaited me. Already life in the castle was returning to normal, with repairs well underway. Smiths hammered in their forges, trying to keep up with the carpenters’ demand for nails. The gate was open, admitting country folk come to trade their wares with those of the stall keepers inside, as well as groups of wearied refugees who had fled Idyll via the teleportal before its demise.