On a wooded hillside barely a mile from the walls of the city, he abruptly reined his mount to a halt. The night wind ruffled his feathered mane. The Gryphon cocked his head, eyeing the path before him.
He extended his hand, letting sit on his open palm the object that had led him to this point.
In the dim moonlight, the crimson gem suddenly flared bright.
Ahead of the king, the empty air rippled as if due to the advent of a ghost.
The unsettling effect vanished almost the moment it appeared, but the Gryphon had seen enough. The image had been faint, but still a telltale sign that a blink hole had recently opened here. The portal had been removed, but the residual traces left were just enough for him to use.
Placing the crystal in the pouch at his side, the Gryphon used what limited magic remained to him to bind the residue to his power. He urged it to resume its past casting, become once more what its creator had desired.
And suddenly a gap opened up, a shimmering tear in the fabric of reality. It widened, not only large enough for horse and rider, but for a small force of soldiers.
“One or a hundred,” the Gryphon murmured. “I’ll take you all down if so much as a scratch mars my son...”
With that, he urged his steed into the portal.
General Marner drew a line through the second name on his list of suspects. He had nine in all, those whose alibis had not been available at the time of the initial investigation. The second and eighth now had cleared themselves of possible wrongdoing.
He lifted up the parchment, eyeing the rest. One or more of them had aided in the kidnapping.
“Well?” asked a voice from the door. “Did you find the vermin?”
Quickly rising, the general rasped, “Your majesty! The king specifically ordered you back to bed—”
“My son is missing.” Troia said it in such a way that Marner could think of no further reprimand. Had he been in her situation, would he have simply let everyone else take charge?
“I want to help you,” the cat woman muttered. “I need to help you.”
He frowned. “My lady, your infant—”
“Is due in another month. Don’t worry yourself, Marner. I don’t plan armed combat. I just want to offer...my senses.”
“I’m afraid I don’t—”
She maneuvered herself to a chair in his spartan quarters. Marner, still feeling like an interloper, had only a few personal items in the chambers that had served the indomitable Toos for generations. In the back of his mind, Marner kept expecting the fiery-haired, foxlike mercenary to return to his post even despite the small matter of his death.
The queen’s deep eyes drew the officer to her. Like many of the soldiers directly serving the palace, Marner was infatuated by his mistress. It was a respectful infatuation, of course, everyone knowing their proper place. The pendant she wore had actually been presented by Marner and some of the soldiers under him on her last birth anniversary. To a man, each would have given their life for the queen.
Correction. There was one who likely would have preferred to give the life of the queen for his own.
“I grew up fighting the Aramites, Marner. For all the history my husband shares with them, mine was, in many ways, a more intense, more personal struggle.”
“Your majesty, I still don’t know—”
She raised a hand to silence him. “My people are hunters, creatures of the forest. We live by scent as much as anything else.”
The general blinked. “Are you trying to tell me—”
The veiled eyes drew him nearer. Marner stirred in discomfort, improper emotions stirring. “Yes. I know the stench of wolf raider. It’s very unique. I’ve been distracted, but that’s changed. Send each of them before me, general.” Troia smiled grimly, revealing an entrancing set of teeth—pointed teeth. “I’ll do whatever I have to to sniff our traitor out.”
IV
The blink hole had deposited the Gryphon in the midst of a grass-filled landscape. In the dark of night, he could not at first get his bearings, but after a short ride, it became obvious just where the kidnappers had exited.
He could not see the city itself, but the gradually ripening equine smell wafting from the south was enough to identify the region as near the kingdom of Zuu, famous for its horses. His illusory visage twisted into an expression of frustration; Penacles and Zuu, while not enemies, were also not on friendly terms. The latter was one of the few kingdoms employing wizards of its own and while none approached even the Gryphon’s level of mastery, any notice of his presence by one could cause a costly delay.
The kidnappers would have faced the same risk, which made him wonder why they had chosen to open the portal so far from their obvious destination. One explanation could have been a lack of magic upon which to call; the Aramites likely had no true sorcerers among them. Most of the keepers, as they were called, had perished during the war when suddenly cut off from the seductive power of their god.
But one had survived, albeit touched by madness. He it had been who had first led the wolf raiders to Legar, to what they had hoped a new base and a new source of magic. That keeper had died, as had most of the Aramites, when the Crystal Dragon, lord of Legar, had unleashed a spell that had shaken the earth, bringing it down on both the invaders and the subterranean Quel infesting the region.
Legar had been quiet since then, even its enigmatic master silent. The Gryphon’s spies and secretive spells had revealed nothing. It had been as if the land had become a complete wasteland, devoid of life.
The perfect domain for a wolf raider.
He rode for as long as he could during the night, finally forced to stop for the sake of his horse. Secreting himself in a small valley, the Gryphon rested as best he could. Each time he shut his eyes, the images of his sons filled his thoughts. Darot was almost the exact image of his elder brother, which only served to remind the Gryphon of how much the first loss had touched him.
It had taken years, but he had gained his vengeance. The Aramite officer who had been responsible had died in the destruction of Legar. That had not erased the pain, but it had given some sense of justice. Few times had the Gryphon lost control of himself, but few adversaries had touched him the way Orril D’Marr had.
His eyes shot open. “Orril D’Marr...”
No...that path led to insanity. The cold, calculating young wolf raider lay crushed under tons of rock and earth. He could have no more survived than the scores of other Aramites who had fallen prey to the Dragon King’s desperate act.
It had to be someone else...
With dawn, he raced off to the southwest, aware that his destination lay not all that far ahead. The Gryphon began steeling himself for the journey into the uninviting realm. The Legar Peninsula had always been an inhospitable land. The heat rose to unspeakable levels and the ever-present sunlight combined with the natural crystal deposits to make travel during daylight all but blinding. Wildlife consisted of the typical desert dwellers. The dragon clan itself had always been small and, like their lord, seldom seen. They likely would be no trouble, if they still even existed.
The Quel were another story. They lived deep beneath the earth there, burrowing through rock and creating vast, underground chambers. Until the wolf raiders, all but a handful had been caught in a perpetual sleep, the product of a spell gone awry centuries before. The Aramites had awakened the rest by chance and only the destruction of Legar had prevented further catastrophe. Still, the odds were better that some of the huge, armored diggers had survived. The Gryphon knew that he would have to keep an eye on the ground, watch for any sudden shifting that could not be explained by one of the realm’s incessant tremors.
Late in the afternoon, his surroundings changed, becoming more and more akin to what he expected of Legar. His only moment of danger during the trek so far had been a small patrol to the south. The huge, blonde riders
in leather jerkin and pants had clearly been from Zuu and, as was the kingdom’s way, some of the warriors had been women. Zuu made very little distinction between the sexes when it came to work and war.
Fortunately for him, the patrol had turned back to the east without noticing the stranger in their land. That had not been due to lack of effort, but rather the Gryphon’s own superior experience. More than two centuries as a mercenary and warrior had, at least, benefited him in some way.
At last, he reached Legar.
The high, rocky hills glittered even from more than a mile away. The clouds that had earlier threatened some rain stopped almost exactly at the recognized border, giving way to a relentless sun. A dry, harsh wind blew from the peninsula, offering the newcomer a taste of what to expect.
Without hesitation, the Gryphon entered.
At first, the trek seemed a simple one. While uneven and rocky, the path was not the worst, especially for a horse as well-versed as his. That enabled the Gryphon to focus his attention on the seeking signs of the kidnappers. Near Zuu, the effort had not been so difficult; a party of riders left much of a trail in grasslands and fields. However, here in this dry, hard region, the clues required a more cautious, expert eye.
Several times he reined the horse to a halt so that he could investigate marks. By now the Gryphon knew that there had been five riders, one of them likely his son. The party had stayed close together and had ridden as if the demon Yureel had been at their backs. They feared something...but not pursuit.
Their leader?
Still mulling over that question, the Gryphon directed his mount through a narrow, winding pass. The hills rose high and foreboding around him, then finally opened up just as the sun set.
And beyond them at last he witnessed the ravages of the Crystal Dragon’s attack.
It looked as if the entire world before him had been literally raised up in the air, turned upside down, then dropped. No inch had been left untouched. Legar for as far as the eye could see was a realm torn asunder.
The horse snorted uneasily, stamping its front hoof at the same time. The Gryphon also hesitated, recalling the actual devastation. In many ways, what had happened here reminded him of the events during the desperate war against the Dragon Kings by the wizard Nathan Bedlam and his allies that had culminated in calling the struggle the Turning War. Then, the area of destruction had been elsewhere and the results had finally made the bickering drakes ally themselves long enough to deal with the upstart humans.
Rocks as huge as some of the hills through which he had ridden lay as if tossed about by some giant child. Sudden gaps plummeted deep into the earth, the pebbles that the Gryphon threw into one never making a sound to indicate that they had reached the bottom. Even after years, many areas had not yet settled, the groan of shifting earth assailing him as he traveled cautiously along.
His quarry aided his journey now. By careful study, the Gryphon located their path, the safest through Legar. Even still, he knew that the land could be treacherous and so he finally walked the horse, hoping eventually that he would find smoother ground ahead.
The Gryphon did not realize just how dangerous the peninsula still was until a short time later, when he discovered the bodies.
Initially, he had mistaken the glitter for just more crystal. Only as he drew near did he recognize the glint as from metal.
The Aramite and his horse had died together, crushed into one almost pastelike substance by the rock fall. The familiar black armor that had put fear into a continent for centuries had served as much of a buffer against the tons of stone as silk. Blood stained much of the area, the sun already drying it to a faint crimson chalk.
For several terrifying moments, the Gryphon searched around, trying to discover whether or not Darot had suffered a like fate. Eventually, it became clear that only the one horse and rider had perished. Scratch marks revealed that the others had continued on. Like him, they were now on foot.
The descending sun brought some relief in terms of temperature, but mounting frustration in terms of the pursuing father. The Gryphon dared not travel at night; one false step could quickly end his life. He did not fear for himself, but what the wolf raiders would do to his son if he did not make it to Darot. There would be no use for a young child, then.
Just before the last rays of sun vanished, the Gryphon came across what appeared the most stable patch of ground so far. More or less flat, it was flanked to the north by several jagged plates of baked earth rising yards into the sky and on the south by a gaping ravine.
Alone and feeling as dry as his surroundings, the Gryphon removed the illusion, returning to his true form. In preparation to entering Legar, he had filled several sacks brought with him with water. Already a third of those sacks had been emptied. The Gryphon took one, then held it so that his horse could drink. The animal eagerly swallowed the contents, licking at the empty bag until its master finally pulled it away.
Satisfied that the horse had been watered, he led it to where a few gaunt, skeletal shrubs somehow had managed to grow. The fare was not the best, but it would keep the steed alive.
Seeing to his own needs, the Gryphon drank some more water, then dug into the shrinking bag of rations. Some dried, salted meat served him for now. He had long learned to survive on little during his campaigns and had eaten as healthy as possible before setting out.
A slight tremor shook his immediate surroundings. Pausing in his meal, the former mercenary waited it out. The tremor ceased almost immediately. The Gryphon waited a few moments, then resumed eating.
Styx drifted high in the sky. Of his bloody sister, there was no sign. The pale moon enabled the Gryphon to see for some distance, not that there was much at which to look.
A second tremor started, this one nearer and more severe. Dropping the meat, he leapt up and prepared to move to safety.
His mount neighed. The Gryphon started toward the animal, intent on calming it.
The earth beneath the horse gave way.
The animal shrieked as it dropped from sight. The Gryphon made a desperate grab for the reins, but they slithered out of his reach, vanishing into the dark gap.
Before he could collect himself, the ground near his feet burst open and a huge rock thrust skyward.
No...not a rock. Even in the dim light of night, the Gryphon recognized the monstrous outline.
A Quel.
The Gryphon tried to cast a spell, but felt a force disperse the magic. He cursed silently, recalling that the crystal-embedded ridges of a Quel’s shell gave it much protection from all but the most powerful attacks.
The giant underdweller emitted a deep hoot, then pulled a blunt spear from the earth and jabbed at hiss prey. However, by then the Gryphon had rolled away, coming to a crouch at the edge of the hole down which his unfortunate mount had fallen.
The end of the spear sank into the hard earth just inches from him. He immediately grabbed at the weapon, pulling it free despite the Quel’s tremendous brute strength.
Again the Gryphon felt the ground quiver. This time, however, he was not fooled. Using the spear as a pole, he leapt away just as a second hulking form burst up from below.
The first Quel slashed at the Gryphon with claws nearly a foot long. Had they actually cut, they would have spilled the latter’s insides all over the unforgiving landscape. Instead, as the Quel lashed out at empty air, his more agile opponent used the spear as a pole again—throwing himself up and over the armored behemoth.
The Quel turned, trying to snare him. The Gryphon flipped the spear around, bringing the point up.
He embedded the point in the creature’s throat, the softest part of the Quel’s shelled hide.
As the one dropped, two more erupted from the soil. Still moving, the Gryphon retreated up a massive rock in the hopes of better gauging the enemy’s numbers.
But the rock shifted, tippin
g over and throwing him at an awkward angle. With a grunt, the Gryphon struck the ground shoulder first.
As pain coursed through him, one of his attackers seized the Gryphon by the mane. The Gryphon squawked as the huge creature twisted his head back.
Claws out, he slashed at the Quel’s long, almost tubular mouth. Blood splattered the Gryphon’s avian visage, but he failed to disrupt the shadowy behemoth’s grip.
The other Quel closed in on him. Muscles straining, the Gryphon flipped, turning upside down in his captor’s claws and wrapping his legs around the stocky head. The injured Quel hooted, adjusting his grip so that he could deal with the unexpected assault.
It was exactly what the Gryphon desired. He pulled his head free, leaving bits of his mane behind in the process, then dropped without warning. A normal man would have fallen on his back, possibly cracking it, but the Gryphon twisted again, managing to land on his feet and duck under the Quel’s groping arms.
A spear point came within inches. The Gryphon rolled past it, darting with inhuman agility between two of his assailants.
He leapt up onto a more stable position, then crouched. The Quel turned as one, at least four broad, armored figures seeking his death.
Though they were native to Legar, this attack could be no coincidence. Whoever led the kidnappers had alerted the underdwellers to his eventual incursion. They had calculated that he would have to choose this particular area for his rest stop and had dug a tunnel to it.
The Gryphon eyed the dark path, seeking a way past the four. He spied another rock just behind the furious Quel. It would require a prodigious leap even for him, but it would put the Gryphon far enough ahead of his foes to keep them from ever catching up.
Legends of the Dragonrealm Page 8