The Flight of the Griffin

by Gray, C. M.

  ‘This is horrible,’ moaned Pardigan, lying back on the pile of many coloured cushions that filled the swaying platform. ‘Oh Source, I feel sick.’ He pulled a cushion over his head. They were only halfway through their first morning, barely started on the three-day journey across the wide expanse of the desert and both boys were already regretting the experience.

  ‘If you hadn’t found such favour with Azif then we could have just hired a couple of camels and ridden instead, that I could have dealt with, but this is ridiculous,’ said Tarent falling back as the camels negotiated a hillock and the platform jolted up. Pardigan scrambled to the edge, nearly falling out in the process, and threw up noisily over the side.

  ‘Three days, we’re never going to last three days like this,’ he gasped back over his shoulder.

  Tarent stared at him. ‘Serves you right for showing off; it’s me I feel sorry for.’

  The caravan moved along at a slow plodding pace across the dunes, negotiating a route between crumbling ancient mountains and across the seas of flat sandy expanse. The palanquins creaked, the harnesses with their bells jingled and sometimes the camels called to each other, their strange grunting cry passing up and down the line. The only other sound was the occasional call of the Dhurbar as they urged each other on but for the most part, the camel train was silent as man and beast did their best to deal with the ever-increasing heat as they went deeper and deeper into the desert.

  ****

  After two days of waiting as prisoners in their rooms, a messenger arrived with an armed escort and bowed deeply.

  ‘The great sultan regrets the inconvenience of your waiting here and begs you indulge him a little longer while he confers with his advisors on this and several other important matters. If there is anything that I can get for you, please tell me and it shall be yours.’

  ‘We just wish to speak with the sultan again. We don’t want more of these fruits or pastries.’ Quint kicked a tray of delicacies into the air and Mahra moved forward, resting a hand on his arm.

  ‘Calm yourself, Quint, this does us no good.’ She turned to the messenger.

  ‘I apologise for my friend's behaviour, he is a little…frustrated about our journey being delayed.’ The messenger bowed again as he backed towards the door.

  ‘It is quite understandable but regrettably unavoidable. I am sure you will be called for soon.’ The door closed with a click and a turn of the lock.

  ‘I’m sorry but this is driving me mad.’ Quint stomped off to the balcony and gazed out over the grounds of the palace and into the city beyond. The sun was beating down without any mercy upon the city as it had done on every single day in its history; as if trying to prove that a city had no right to be here in its desert. It had never rained in Dhurban.

  ‘Somewhere out there is the skull we’re searching for, is there no other way for us to locate it?’ asked Quint quietly as Mahra moved up beside him.

  ‘The book said that the sultan’s daughter would tell and then guide us down through hell. We have to wait and wait and then wait longer if that’s what’s necessary.’ Mahra reminded him. Quint stared at her.

  ‘You're right! We don’t need to see the sultan again at all, it’s his daughter we want, yet I haven’t noticed more than two girls since we got here. There were none sitting with the sultan, so how is she meant to find us and guide us anywhere?’ He glanced up. ‘You have to go flying, Mahra. We can’t get out of here and make contact, but you can.’ Mahra edged away, shaking her head.

  ‘We’ve been told to remain in our rooms; I don’t think they’d take too kindly to finding me missing, do you?’

  Quint stared at her, while Loras put down the large book he’d been reading.

  ‘He’s got a point, Mahra. I mean how is this daughter meant to know about us or know she has to tell us this vital bit of information? Why don’t you go and look about, see what this palace is all about?’

  After a moment she nodded. ‘All right, I’ll fly tonight. Owls don’t fly during the day, but to be honest owls don’t spend an awful lot of time in deserts either, at least not barn owls.’ She walked over to a pile of cushions and leaping forward turned into the cat and curled up, falling instantly to sleep.

  ‘It does make sense,’ said Loras in a vain attempt at appeal, but the cat didn’t stir. She’d be like this now until dark; the boys had witnessed several of her sulks and this was one of them. Loras went back to his book and Quint returned to watching the city, the shimmer of heat that covered it and the distant mountains beyond.

  ****

  Chapter 20

  What’s A Mudlark?

  Figures shuffled in the gloom, large dark silhouettes framed against the red glow that emanated from molten pools of lava. The walls of the cavern oozed a thick syrupy liquid while sulphurous fumes belched continuously from the pools, making the atmosphere thick and fetid. The only sounds as the gathering assembled, were the hiss and burps of the lava and the rasping breath of everything in attendance.

  The meeting was being held for the elite of the brethren and Belial’s nostrils flared with pride. Pride at the mighty that had gathered at his word and in delight at breathing the thick heavy gasses of the demon realm, rather than the tasteless sweet nothing of the realm he had so recently departed. He gazed out into the gloom and saw the shadows gathering, eyes glowing red in the steamy atmosphere. Judging that the meeting was almost complete, he brought a large stone down upon the altar rock, sparks accompanying each crash that echoed around the cavern.

  ‘My brothers, my people, I have returned from the realm of man and their flesh is as sweet as you all remember, soon I shall go back and you shall come with me. The time of the demons is at hand.’ The demon horde roared its support and Belial smiled. A king must lead and this would be his greatest moment as he brought his people back to the realm of man.

  ‘But how will you go, my King?’ The question came from a hunched figure standing to the side of him; Curohl, one of many brother princes and a pretender to his throne. Word had reached him that Curohl had started to plot against him as soon as he’d left, and it could be that he would test him for the throne here and now if allowed.

  ‘Were you not dismissed back to us?’ Curohl started to walk towards him. ‘Were you not...Aauughh!’ He never finished his sentence as Belial’s knife embedded itself into his brother’s eye. Curohl fell to the floor whimpering and kicking out in his death throes. Such was justice dispensed in the realm of the demons. No other moved to give aid, no voice was raised in protest as Belial’s gaze swept the cavern. If Curohl had friends and sympathisers, they wisely chose to do nothing. He continued as if the interruption had never occurred, delighting once again in the power that was his to control.

  ‘I have the key to go back, I can return whenever I desire, bringing as many of you with me as I wish. Do you not crave to return with me and fill your bellies with the flesh of man, to feast upon their pain and their suffering? Am…I…not…your…King?’ He held up his hands, inviting an answer and received it as the gathering roared his name over and over.

  ‘Belial, Belial, Belial…’ He smiled and drank in the attention. Now if he were only able to find the final piece of the puzzle he could indeed return with this army of demons and their minions. He could locate the Hawk and make the gateway, but how to hold it? The cavern continued to resound with the echoes of his name and for now he satisfied himself in the worship of his people. In front of him the body of Curohl twitched one last time and he observed it with interest as the final moments of his brother’s life ebbed away.

  ****

  After two days, both Pardigan and Tarent were becoming relatively used to the swinging momentum of the palanquin. Neither was enjoying it, both still felt ill, but so far today neither had been sick. The evening before they’d been deliriously relieved when the caravan had eventually stopped and they were able to crawl out and feel solid ground. They hadn’t noticed Azif watching them, a huge smile on his face as he stroked his i
mmense stomach in anticipation of the evening meal.

  ‘How you like our Palanquin, eh? Is this not true luxury to travel the desert in comfort and shade while those of a lesser class ride the camels?’ He waved his hand derisively towards the back of the caravan, with riders still arriving amongst a huge cloud of dust. ‘You are lucky Azif has decided to like you, yes? Come, eat with me at my tent.’

  What the boys really wanted to do was crawl into their own tent and sleep. Riding in the unpleasant palanquin all day was far from restful and the only sleep they’d been able to manage was unsettled and filled with strange dreams, giving little rest between bouts of vomiting. They’d eventually relented and gone to Azif’s tent, but only after he’d sent one of his retainers in search of them. Once seated, they had sat through and endured an evening of entertainment, while tray upon tray of food was left mostly untouched. Finally, they had slid off to find their own tent, to sleep an exhausted sleep filled with more strange dreams.

  The current day had been one of torture. At midday, as the sun reached its highest point, the caravan came to a welcome stop at a watering hole. The camels had smelt the water some distance off and had been calling and grunting in anticipation for some time. They now gathered with heads hung low, sucking great mouthfuls deep into their huge stomachs. Pardigan and Tarent had crawled from their palanquin and were sitting with their backs propped against the side of a shallow cliff, observing the milling throng around them.

  ‘I feel awful,’ muttered Pardigan. Tarent did no more than glance at his friend. There was nothing left to say.

  The Dhurbar organised the brief stop as efficiently as they did everything else. All the camels were seen to and watered before the Dhurbar themselves gathered in small groups, lighting fires and cooking up small cups of the thick black beverage they favoured over the Freyan brew and baking flat gritty bread.

  Tarent picked up a stone and tossed it towards the water; it bounced a few times but didn’t quite make it to the edge. ‘I’m so tired, I’m going to sleep for a week when we get to Dhurbar and find a proper bed and I don’t ever want to be the one travelling alone with you again. You always manage to get us into trouble of some sort.’

  ‘At least I make life interesting, eh? We are…’ Pardigan stopped short as all around them the ground literally exploded. Earth and mud flew up wrapping around camels and Dhurbar alike.

  ‘Mudlarks’ came a cry as Pardigan and Tarent watched for a moment, trying to make sense of what was happening as the Dhurbar slashed at the mud forms with their swords.

  ‘What’s a mudlark?’ asked Pardigan glancing wildly around him. Tarent felt something slide around his neck and jumped up, tearing himself free drawing the twin swords from his staff. A mudlark, if that’s what it was, leapt out from the bank he’d been resting against, the swords flashed and what had looked and felt like a solid being a moment before, splattered to the ground into separate lumps of wet sticky clay.

  ‘I think that’s a mudlark,’ said Tarent, but Pardigan was already engaged with two others. One had a brown sticky arm around his neck and was fast covering his face, trying to suffocate him. The other didn’t last long as his knife found some source of its life and it dropped as a puddle of mud to the ground, coating him to the waist in thick brown goo, the second lasted only moments longer. Tarent spun around and watched as the Dhurbar fought the attackers, swords flashing. To their right a camel was being dragged into the pool and two Dhurbar had jumped to its rescue only to be attacked by more of the strange beings. Up and down the caravan similar scenes were unfolding accompanied by the scream of terrified beasts and the shouts and cries of the Dhurbar.

  ‘Come on,’ shouted Pardigan, any thought of sickness or fatigue forgotten as he threw his cape to the side, pulled his knives and tripped a mudlark, sending it flying as it lurched past. He finished it and ran on.

  Azif was standing on a rock shouting orders and directing his personal guards as they fought savagely around him. A mudlark vaulted up and over its fellows, flying towards the stout caravan master and Pardigan let fly a knife that literally exploded the creature in mid air. Azif waved cheery thanks as they ran past; Pardigan retrieved his knife, and they went searching for where they were needed next.

  For what seemed an age they travelled the length of the caravan helping out where they could. The mudlarks were interested in both humans and camels as they successfully dragged both into the pool and down into its depths. The boys quickly realised that once into the water, there was very little help they could give man or beast as hundreds of muddy arms grabbed and dragged their struggling burdens under. On land the mudlarks were easier prey and the boys became covered in sticky mud as they fought; swords and knives flashing alongside the Dhurbar. Towards the rear of the caravan the fighting was heaviest and the boys ran to help as a group of mudlarks began tearing and pulling at a palanquin and its camels, its helpless occupants squealing in terror. Tarent and Pardigan went in with blades flashing.

  When fighting in a group, the mudlarks tended to attack from as many directions as possible, trapping legs and feet and attempting to bring an opponent to the ground where they could then drown them in mud. The boys fought bravely and were aided as at least one of the palanquin's occupants attacked from behind. As the mudlarks were beaten back, Pardigan glanced up to thank the man who had just knifed a mudlark that had got too close, only to realise he was face to face with Matheus Hawk. Both reacted at the same time; Matheus screamed an oath and reached out for Pardigan while Pardigan jumped over a slippery pile of former mudlarks, desperate to get some distance between him and the angry hunter. Tarent turned to see what was happening and taking in the situation, called to Matheus.

  ‘For now we fight together, our differences can wait until we’ve beaten back the mudlarks, agreed?’

  Matheus stopped and glared at him, then nodded an agreement. Tarent studied the palanquin but could see no sign of Bartholomew Bask under the pile of quivering cushions but knew he must be there. A new wave of attackers erupted from the ground and once again the caravan was a heaving mass as mud, men and screaming terrified camels fought for control. Tarent and Pardigan began to move away from where the Hawk stood fighting alongside a handful of Dhurbar, and made their way back towards the front of the caravan and their own palanquin.

  ‘We may well need the good favour of Azif. The Hawk and Bartholomew Bask are going to come looking for us when all this is over,’ Tarent muttered, and sure enough they did.

  As the fighting subsided and the caravan attempted to pull itself back together, Matheus Hawk, accompanied by the indignant Bartholomew Bask, came marching up to where Pardigan and Tarent were standing alongside Azif.

  ‘Hold them young thieves there,’ shouted Bartholomew. Azif glanced up from a report an aide was trying to give him.

  ‘You have thieves, hoodlums and pirates riding with you, man.’ Bartholomew strode across and attempted to grab hold of Tarent, who ducked out of the way and drew his two swords with a flourish. Bartholomew retreated hurriedly, allowing Matheus Hawk to come up alongside him. Matheus bowed slightly to Azif and addressed him more politely.

  ‘My companion is correct, I fear. We’ve been tracking a band of young thieves for some time now and these are indeed two of them. We ask you for justice. That you hand them over to us, unarmed, so that we may take them to stand trial.’

  Pardigan bristled and fingered the sword at his hip; Tarent stood alone making no move to reform his swords into the staff. Azif smiled pleasantly.

  ‘I am sure you good gentlemen are mistaken. These two fine fellows are under the protection of the caravan, and indeed are my personal guests…’ a spluttering red-faced Bartholomew Bask interrupted him.

  ‘Mistaken! Why I’m as sure as eggs is eggs that…’ he never finished as Matheus clamped a hand across his mouth.

  ‘As you see fit, my lord, but I take it that the protection of the caravan will only extend until we arrive in Dhurban City?’

  ‘If
it is protection as you call it, then yes, my obligation is over when we reach Dhurban but having seen these two young fellows in action, I feel it may be you two gentlemen that will need protecting if you seek to tangle with them.’ He laughed and every Dhurbar within earshot joined him.

  Matheus Hawk inclined his head in acknowledgment, but said nothing and dragged the still spluttering Bartholomew Bask back to their palanquin at the end of the line. Azif addressed Tarent and Pardigan.

  ‘Pirates! And what was it he called you? Ah yes, thieves and hoodlums, what interesting lives you boys lead. We will have much to discuss around the fire tonight, I’ll wager.’ He returned to his aides, to deal with the ragged remains of the caravan.

  ‘How did they find us here?’ hissed Pardigan as Tarent slipped his swords together with a twist and stood leaning on his staff.

  ‘I have no idea, but I think we’d better make plans to depart the caravan, before reaching Dhurban. While the caravan is underway I don’t think they‘d dare do anything to us, but when we get there…’ he left the sentence unfinished and shrugged. They watched the departing figures of Matheus Hawk and Bartholomew Bask and were dismayed to see Mustep the knifeman running over and talking with them. ‘Well at least our enemies are all getting to know each other. Old Mustep must have heard the whole exchange and recognises a friend when he sees one.’ The three were all staring back at Pardigan and Tarent.

  ‘I’ll be glad to be back with the others,’ said Pardigan, giving Bartholomew a little wave. Tarent slapped his hand down crossly.

  ‘Oh, give it up, Pardigan! You just never know when to stop, do you?’ Pardigan grinned.

  ‘I just like to annoy the merchant; he asks for it, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah, but he doesn’t need it, he hates us enough already, honestly, look at him!’ Tarent shook his head and walked off.