by Laurence Yep
They ran on all fours, but because their legs were longer than their arms, it gave them a peculiar humping gait. Still, they moved with a speed that suggested they could be quite nimble despite their clumsy way of running.
“Steady,” Bayang said.
Scirye was standing behind her to her right with Māka and Tute while Koko and Leech had positioned themselves to her left. Kles began to growl, the sound reverberating in his chest, every feather and hair bristling, his eyes gleaming with a ferocious light. The griffin clans had fought the lyaks for thousands of years, and Kles was surrendering to a battle rage so old it was almost instinct by now.
Inside Leech’s head the Voice was screaming, What are you waiting for! Hit them now!
His fingers tightened around the weapon ring, remembering that murderous fury that had filled him in his fights up in the Arctic. No, he told the Voice. We can’t go charging out there by ourselves. You’re going to just get us killed.
So you’ll let the dragon murder us instead, the Voice argued but then fell into silence.
9
Bayang
The lyaks’ howls grew higher and more frequent as they excitedly straightened and began drawing their weapons, ambling toward them on just their hind legs now.
Bayang crouched, getting ready to spring out and swell in size when Māka’s voice rose suddenly in a shrill chant. “Ñake!” Māka finished.
A bouquet of roses suddenly bounced off the head of the lead lyak. He stopped dead in his tracks and nudged it suspiciously with a paw.
“Well, that will work if he has hay fever,” Tute drawled lazily.
Unfortunately, the lyak had neither allergies nor a sense of humor. Deciding that the bouquet was no deadly threat, he trampled it into the snow.
“Hmm. What did I do wrong? That was supposed to be a bushel of swords,” Māka murmured.
Bayang could hear her rifling frantically through the pages of her pamphlet. It was just as her lynx had said, if only the sorceress’s skill matched her grand title.
At least the other lyaks had stopped in surprise at the floral attack, and the dragon took advantage of it. She sprang from the cave mouth, muttering the spell and signing with her forepaws in midair.
Bayang landed in a shower of snow, now three times her former size and lashing out with a tail the size of a tree trunk. Three lyaks went down, but she felt something sting her shoulder. From the corner of her eye, she saw the axe with part of its edge embedded between two scales.
Pain on her left hind leg told her that another axe had struck her. The problem with being this big was that it was impossible to miss her. She spun on her legs, sweeping her tail out like a club. Two more lyaks went down, but the others were just as nimble as she had feared.
One of them managed to leap onto her back. “Tarkär!” screamed Kles. Casting aside all reason, he struck, becoming a furred and feathered lightning bolt aimed directly at the face of the lyak.
With a howl, the creature toppled off Bayang. And then she could hear Scirye shouting her war cry and Leech and Koko echoing her. “Yashe! Yashe!”
A lyak ran past screeching as it tried to pull Tute from its back, and then bouquets of roses began plopping everywhere as Māka must have panicked.
Bayang should have stayed in the cave, blocking the mouth with her body as she had intended. She was making one mistake after another. Not only was she in danger of losing Leech’s friendship, but now she was going to get him killed.
Forget Māka’s overconfidence. It was Bayang’s own skills that didn’t match her pride. She was just about to order the hatchlings to retreat when high above her, she heard a cry.
“Tarkär!” screamed a voice far deeper than Kles’s.
More voices took up the call. “Tarkär, tarkär!”
Bayang risked a glance up and saw giant war griffins swooping down toward them.
10
Scirye
While a lap griffin like Kles was small and lithe and graceful, these war griffins were large and powerful, capable of carrying an armored warrior—though at the moment they wore no riding tack and their backs were bare of riders. There were a half dozen of them, and each wore a large steel oval over their chest for protection while smaller metal pieces protected their broad shoulders. It took great strength indeed to flap their large wings, and their thick bodies and limbs were roped with muscle too.
Since they were chanting the same war cry as Kles, they must belong to his clan, the Koyn Encuwontse, which meant Iron Beak in the Old Tongue.
Immediately, the surviving lyaks whirled around and tried to race away, but the war griffins hunted them down mercilessly. Scirye knew the two species had been enemies for thousands of years, so she understood the griffins’ ruthlessness in a way. Even so, she found herself looking away from the battle on the lake, searching for her own lap griffin.
The lyak whom Kles had been battling was trying to flee, but the little griffin swirled around the creature recklessly. Afraid the cornered lyak might hurt Kles in desperation, Scirye held up her gauntleted hand.
“Kles,” she commanded. “To me.”
But fighting an age-old enemy seemed to have brought Kles’s battle fury to the point of madness, and the lap griffin, ignoring his own safety, continued to bite and slash at the lyak.
Koko let out a whistle. “Remind me not to get on his bad side anymore.”
“I’ll go after him,” Leech volunteered from the air.
“No, if he doesn’t come of his own will, she’s lost him,” Bayang said, voicing Scirye’s own worries.
Scirye spoke even louder, using his formal name. “Klestetstse, I order you to come!”
The order nearly proved her friend’s undoing, for when the griffin paused in a daze, the lyak nearly knocked him from the air. The only thing that saved Kles was a bouquet that suddenly materialized, ruining the lyak’s aim.
“Kles, if you don’t come this instant, I’ll never speak to you again,” Scirye said urgently.
Kles flew to her then with awkward beats of his wings as if the obedient part of him was struggling with the warrior part of him for control of his body. But he came, slowly, reluctantly, to perch on her leather-covered wrist as the mad light in his eyes slowly died.
Scirye instantly gathered him against her, stroking his ruffled feathers and fur. “You were so brave, Kles,” she murmured. “You fought well.” Remembering her manners, she looked over at Māka. “Thank you.”
Māka the Magnificent was rolling up the pamphlet hurriedly so she could hide it in her sleeve. “The print is so small it’s hard to get the spell right.”
“Well,” Bayang said, observing the floral bouquets littering the landscape, “at least the effort was there.”
“Māka doesn’t know when to quit,” Tute agreed, “which is both a strength and a weakness.”
“If the magic doesn’t work out, you can always become a florist,” Koko suggested.
“I would if they lasted very long,” Māka said, blushing. Even as she said that, the bouquets began disappearing with soft puffing sounds.
Out on the lake, the war griffins were returning, looking almost cheerful from the battle. As they hovered before the cave, their powerful wings raised the snow in spurts with each beat.
Parts of their fur had been woven into braids, each griffin twisting the strands differently. Lumps of jade and raw golden nuggets were entwined within the strands as suited the fancy of each griffin. The braids of everyone, though, were held together at the tips by cylindrical beads of lapis lazuli. Around their legs were steel greaves and armbands in addition to the discs across their chest.
Their leader was a griffin whose braids held large coral beads. Encircling his thick neck was a golden torque cast in the shape of a serpent with scales of turquoise and large carnelian eyes.
“Why have you trespassed on the lands of the Koyn Encuwontse?” he demanded.
Kles squirmed out of Scirye’s hold and stood up straight on her gauntleted w
rist. “They are my guests.”
The griffin leader squinted. “Ragtail, is that you?”
Kles cringed for a moment as if the war griffin had swatted him. But then the lap griffin lifted his head again. “It’s been a long time, but I haven’t forgotten you either, Kaccap.”
“Captain Kaccap,” the griffin leader corrected.
“Well, Captain,” Kles said. He fluttered into the air and gave a grand flourish of paw and wing to Scirye. “This is my Lady Scirye—.”
Kaccap bobbed up and down in the air as he roared with laughter. “Since when does a lady dress like a court jester?” In her furs and coveralls, Scirye thought she probably did look like a clown.
These new arrivals had an attitude that reminded Scirye of the bullies she’d encountered in the various schools she had attended as she had followed her mother from embassy posting to posting. It didn’t matter the country, they acted like little kings and queens of their domain.
These war griffins might be at the top of the roost in the eyrie, but in the greater world where Kles thrived, they would have been country bumpkins.
Kles shot forward, his claws stopping only inches from the griffin’s head so that the war griffin flinched.
“You may say what you like about me,” Kles growled, “but watch what you say about my Lady Scirye of the noble House of Rapaññe, daughter of no less than Lord Tsirauñe the Griffin Master.”
At the mention of her father, the griffins instantly grew silent, and Scirye felt their eyes scrutinizing her. Her father was responsible not only for all the griffins at court, but also handled the relations between humans and the griffin eyries, which made him a powerful figure.
With great dignity, Kles indicated Leech and the others. “And these are her friends.”
Kaccap dipped his head ever so slightly. “I humbly apologize, lay-dee.” He spoke her title with obvious skepticism.
Even though he had rescued them, Scirye was developing a distinct dislike for the war griffin. She tried to adopt the manner and tone her mother used when facing down some low-ranking diplomatic bully.
Lifting her head haughtily, Scirye said in a voice that would freeze fire. “We have come a long way on a mission vital to the empire, Captain. You and your squad will take us to Riye Srukalleyis where we can finish our task.”
Kaccap seemed startled by her destination. “And what would a young lady want in the City of Death?”
“I’ll tell you on the way,” Scirye said.
Kaccap stared at her doubtfully—well, she wouldn’t have believed her if she were in his place either. But even if her hauteur had been a poor imitation of her mother, some of it seemed to have worked because Kaccap didn’t speak his doubts out loud.
“We … were returning from patrol when we saw the lyaks,” Kaccap said slowly as he tried to figure out what to do. “We must warn the eyrie first about the raid. They shouldn’t have been able to sneak up this close to our home.”
“Every minute counts, Captain,” Scirye said, trying one more time.
“If the mission is so important, lay-dee,” Kaccap said her title with a smirk, “then the Keeper of the Eyrie will want to meet you. I’m sure she will provide you with reinforcements.”
Scirye sighed inwardly. With the straw wing gone, it had been worth trying to get the griffins to carry them to the City of Death. “How far away is Riye Srukalleyis from here?”
Kaccap tapped a claw on his beak. “About a hundred miles to the southeast for a griffin. For a human on foot…” He spread his forepaws. “Who knows? There are many tall mountains and deep chasms between you and the city. And it’s winter so there is ice and snow.”
“Ouch.” Koko raised a hind paw and rubbed it for emphasis. “I don’t think these tootsies can make it.”
“It sounds like it would take forever on foot. If we can get help from the griffins,” Bayang added, “it’s worth a slight delay.”
“Too lazy to fly yourself, dragon?” Kaccap demanded.
“My friend,” Scirye said coldly, “injured her wing fighting the emperor’s enemies.”
“Indeed,” Kaccap sneered.
Scirye glanced at Leech who shrugged. “I’m with Bayang and Koko. I say let’s ask the Keeper for help.”
“I can’t leave my wagon behind,” Māka said.
Kaccap eyed the shining wagon and chuckled. “Is this my lady’s chariot?”
“This really isn’t your battle,” Bayang said.
“It is now,” Māka said stubbornly. “Didn’t I fight side by side with you?”
The last of the bouquets were disappearing. “I suppose so,” the dragon admitted.
Scirye pointed at the cave. “Captain, have your squad pull Māka’s wagon as far as it will go into the cave and then send someone back for it.”
Kaccap opened his beak to protest but shut it with an abrupt clack. At least he hadn’t refused out loud.
The snow swirled as five griffins settled on the slope. As they hid the wagon inside the cave, Bayang shrank again to human size.
When the griffins returned outside, they crouched on all fours. As Scirye climbed onto one, she felt the thick pelt. Their coats of winter fur made them appear even larger. When Kles shed his winter fur in the spring, she was always careful how she spoke to him because he grew touchy about his shaggy appearance.
Koko felt the fur of his griffin. “Whoa, it’s like riding an overpadded sofa.”
The next moment the badger had tumbled to the ground as the griffin reared. “Have a care, you overgrown weasel. You can either ride as a silent passenger, or you can be carried like prey in my claws.”
Meekly Koko put up a paw. “Um, I vote for the first one.”
So the griffin grabbed the badger by the scruff of the neck and slung him up onto his back, making a point to clean his forepaws with snow afterward.
“Squad up!” Kaccap ordered, and the griffins leaped into the air as one.
11
Scirye
As far as Scirye was concerned, there was nothing to beat the elegance and power of a dragon in flight, but the griffins were a close second. And there was something to be said for warm fur rather than cold scales during a winter flight.
She had to suppress a giggle because Koko had been right. She felt like she was flying on a furry sofa.
She’d never ridden griffins bareback and without the proper tack before. Fortunately, Kaccap’s shaggy coat gave her more to grip. It had been years since her father had given her riding lessons, but at least she remembered to try to keep her shoulders straight and parallel to her mount’s shoulders. Her friends were doing their best to copy her but they were only barely managing to keep from falling off.
She had expected Kles to ride with her, but the little griffin had made a point of using his own wings. Kles might be the size of a parrot, but he had the heart of a war griffin.
Ragtail, his clan had called him. His full name, Klestetstse, meant Shabby in the Old Tongue. It was an odd sort of name that didn’t fit the polished courtier she knew. And he had always passed his name off as a joke, insisting that he might have been shabby once but had grown into a magnificent specimen of griffinhood.
However, it seemed now that his own clan didn’t agree with Kles’s claims. His old acquaintances had treated him as some sort of joke.
As Kles struggled to keep up with his larger kin, Kaccap mocked him. “Still falling behind like when we were fledglings.” And the captain brought his wings down in a powerful stroke that sent him shooting forward, and the rest of the squad copied him. The draft from their wings sent Kles tumbling, and by the time he had righted himself the distance between them was even greater.
Kles had always defended her against the bullies and enemies she’d encountered in embassies and foreign schools. Now she would return the favor.
“Captain Kaccap!” Scirye snapped, again trying to imitate her mother’s commanding tone, “I expect all my party to arrive together.”
Kaccap sho
t her an angry look, but he slowed and so did the other griffins. Panting, Kles caught up with them.
“Here,” Scirye said, holding up her gauntleted wrist.
“I’m fine, lady,” Kles said stubbornly and flew on.
By the time they entered a snow-filled pass, though, Kles’s chest heaved with each breath and he beat his wings in a staccato rhythm.
She started to ask for a halt, but she saw Bayang, riding on the back of another griffin, shake her head. And she knew the dragon was right. It would hurt Kles’s pride if the others stopped for him.
The kindly sorceress had also noticed Kles’s troubles. “Let me try to calm the winds a bit,” Māka said, a hand already beginning to move.
Tute, who was sitting with her, reached up a paw to grab her wrist. “No!”
But it was already too late. The beak of the griffin carrying Māka and Tute suddenly turned a bright violet. “My beak! What’s happened to it?” he cried as she stared at it cross-eyed.
“Just give me a minute, noble steed,” Māka said. She had taken out her book and was thumbing through it hastily. “Oh, that’s where I went wrong.”
The next moment, the beak changed in rapid succession from blue to a scarlet red with yellow polka dots.
The griffin dropped several feet as his wing strokes faltered for a moment. “Stop, stop,” he screamed as he clutched his beak protectively. “You’re making it worse.”
Kaccap did a loop so that he was suddenly next to the sorceress. “By Oesho, why did you curse him?”
“I was just trying to help,” Māka said, waving her book in the air.
“You must be the world’s worst magician,” Kaccap snapped. “Whatever made you think you could cast spells?”
Scirye expected sweet-tempered Māka to wilt under the war griffin’s fierce glare, so she was surprised when Māka pressed a fist against herself. “I can’t help it. The magic burns inside me. Right now it’s a wildfire, but when I tame it, I will have a power that will light up the world and destroy the shadows. So I will never stop. To me, magic is like breathing.”