by Rex Hazelton
Noticing that Jeaf was standing behind her, Muriel released the griffin and made introductions. “Gentlemen, I want you to meet my family.” Pointing to each of the winged-lions in turn, she said, “These are my brothers, Grour Blood and Seym Blood. And I am their adopted sister, Muriel Blood from the island of Stromane.”
The young Woodswane stepped forward and bowed. “My name is Jeaf Oakenfel and this is my friend, Goldan of Credylnor. I believe we've seen each, once before, in the city of Thundyrkynd, on the day that you warned us of Laviathon's approach.”
“I see you survived the attack.” Grour Blood's low rumbling voice was heard.
After introductions, and once the hall's candles were put out, the griffin continued getting better acquainted with the men while they walked the women back to their quarters. Infinitesimal sparks of light, flitting about their heads, showed how the remnant of the evening's magic stubbornly tagged along.
****
The next morning, after they had eaten, Muriel and Truamor were trying to coax Jeaf and Goldan into climbing aboard the griffin' muscular backs. The brave warriors, who had already faced many a dangerous adventure, were reticent to try their hand at flying. After the ladies soared above Vestylkynd, displaying how safe griffin transportation really was, the courageous men acquiesced. The six of them, four humans and two griffin stood in the middle of the practice field. Off to the side, Arhnosyn, Alynd, Fyreed and Bacchanor could be heard laughing at the unfolding comedy. With the two couples now aboard, Grour Blood and Seym Blood walked over to the other men and asked Bacchanor and Fyreed if they would like to join them on their excursion.
“But how would that be possible, seeing there aren't any other griffin here?” Fyreed replied in puzzlement.
“Oh, you think so?” Grour Blood laughed good-naturedly as he turned and eyed the wizard. “Bacchanor is that true?”
“What is he talking about?” Fyreed asked his curly-haired friend who, to his utter amazement, was morphing into a perfect replica of the winged-lions.
“Grour Blood knows I can mingle my magic with his own to take on griffin shape, that is, if I am in the presence of one of his kind.” Bacchanor's voice still sounded like his own, except it now had a deep resonating quality to it. “Because their present form was given to them by the Warl's Magic, wherever they go, the magic goes with them. I would be incapable of duplicating their shape without the enchantment being present to help me.”
Without further explanation Fyreed grabbed Bacchanor by the mane and leapt up onto his wide back, sending his locks of hair flying. Explaining his ready willingness to do what the others weren't, he explained, “I've had to stand on the deck of many a longboat while giant storm driven waves heaved it about. And I've stood in the crow's nest sitting high atop the mast as it stirred about like a spoon mixing sugar and butter into a bowl of oats.” Laughing aloud, he added, “The air currents will be no different to me then the currents of the sea. Only the vessel I'll be riding will be different.”
With that said, Grour Blood and Seym Blood leapt into the air and stretched out their massive wings. Feathered oars were soon pulling through the crystal blue sky, lifting them higher with each stroke. Not long afterwards, Bacchanor and his Bjork cargo were lifting off of the ground below, leaving a waving Arhnosyn and Alynd behind. Bacchanor, who was used to taking the shape of an owl and was, therefore, no stranger to flying, quickly made up the distance between him and the others.
Jeaf, grateful for the furs he wore as they sailed through the frigid air, leaned warily forward against the thick griffin mane. Goldan mirrored his posture. Fyreed, on the other hand, rode with his arms outstretched laughing at his friends' insecurity.
Getting caught up in the Bjork's antics, Seym Blood winked at Grour Blood as he mischievously complaine, “I think my wings are cramping.”
Goldan, who thought he caught the hint of a jest in the griffin's theatrics, but wasn't yet convinced, replied, “You're kidding, right? Aren't you kidding? Please stop that!”
Seeing what was happening Muriel, scolded her friend. “Seym Blood, you're scarring him!”
“Forgive me, Goldan.” Seym Blood's words dripped with insincerity. “At times, we cats just can't help playing with the mice.”
“Oh, that really helped.” Muriel replied, smirking at her rascally friend.
Jeaf and Goldan's confidence grew once they realized how easy it was to ride on a griffin's back. So, they settled in and began to enjoy the breathtaking scenery spreading out in all directions beneath them. Winding their way between the Alabaster Mountain's snow-covered peaks and passing over the Vestyl Pass, where the men had an earlier brush with death, the winged company swooped over the village of Ranah before heading north over the Crystal Plains. With morning giving way to early afternoon, the griffin flew past the coast of Nyeg Warl and out over the Peaceful Sea towards a nearby isle called Ship Rock Island. It was given this name by the Hadram who thought it looked like a ship sailing out upon the sea.
From a distance, the mountains, rising in the heart of the island, looked like the sails of a great sea going vessel. A smaller set of cliffs, located on one end of the island, looked like the bow of a ship rising to meet an approaching swell. Faster than the wind blows, the griffin were heading straight for these cliffs, a place that reminded them of their own home in Stromane. Here they deposited their passengers, on a table of rock overlooking the sea.
Once the mighty beasts were free of their burdens, they soared out over the cliffs and dove into the briny depths to catch their noon meal. Their awestruck friends looked on with amazement. Muriel and Truamor unpacked the lunch they had brought with them while Bacchanor used his magic to light the pile of wood he and the other men had quickly gathered. Once they were settled, Muriel repeated the story of how Grour Blood had delivered her out of the hands of the river-children and then took her to Stromane where she was adopted into the Community of Blood.
The stories about Tor Blood, Seym Blood, Mittens, and Slim elicited both laughter and astonishment. When she finally told them the history of how the griffin came to be, each went silent, allowing their imaginations to recreate the harrowing scene: beautiful birds being slaughtered, then consumed in flames, only to be resurrected as mighty griffin- terrifying to behold, the progenitors of the noble Community of Blood who took vengeance on those who had tried to exterminate their kind. With the mind's eye, each saw the sea stained with the blood of greedy men, their ship's splintered hull bobbing haplessly in the midst of the red soup.
Lowering his head in shame, knowing mankind was responsible for killing the griffin' ancestors, Fyreed, who was no stranger to the lust for vengeance, gulped hard at the thought that there might be winged-lions who still harbored ill will towards humans.
Each one, reflecting on all that Muriel had told them, took time to admire the griffin' grace and power. Rising into the air before folding their wings against their backs, the huge cats knifed down towards the water looking like tawny meteors crashing into the sea. In time, another explosion of water followed, announcing their return with a large fish squirming in their iron-like jaws.
As the day wore on, Grour Blood and Seym Blood returned to preen themselves. Once they were sufficiently dried out, they curled up against Muriel like a couple of fur-covered comforters.
Late that evening, the company of travelers approached Vestylkynd, soaring through a bright moonlit sky. This ended the first of many such trips they would take to Ship Rock Island over the coming winter. Though Tsut'waeh, Alynd, Bacchanor, or Fyreed came along, most times only the two young couples would make the trip that played an important part in their developing romances
****
Jeaf and Muriel's love grew stronger with the passing of each moon. Their stay in Vestylkynd would have been idyllic if it weren't for the shadow of war laying across Nyeg Warl. But even this monstrous threat could not dim the indomitable flame burning in the young lovers' hearts.
Time at the School of the Swor
d and Song was spent in doing necessary choirs, learning to use magic, and studying battle tactics to use against Koyer and his blood thirsty hordes. Goldan and Fyreed, due to their training and experience, were assigned to teach the art of warfare. Jeaf was given the job of assisting the students in developing their swordsmanship. Bacchanor gave instructions on the character and nature of the magic that worked in the warl. And Alynd, after rounding up a handful of pupils he thought had a gift for learning how to use N'Rah's power, dispensed his knowledge on the subject.
A large segment of their time was set apart for athletics, singing and meditation. Ahrnosyn and the other mentors believed it was imperative that the students do such things together to develop the bonds of friendship, a message Bacchanor continually promoted. Believing it was important for them to experience both work and play together, if they were to become all that they were meant to be and do all that they were meant to do, the students were also encouraged to share both their dreams and fears with one another; so, that through such meaningful exchanges Nyeg Warl would be enriched in the summers to come.
Knowing the young men and women, now entrusted into their care, would play a vital role in determining the future for all, the mentors were intent on raising up a generation of leaders who would cast aside ancient schisms and embrace an attitude that would allow the various realms to flourish in the richness each had to offer.
The threat that the Board of Regents might disband this venerable institution in next year's vote would not detour the school's mode of operation, nor would it derail its mission... not at least for now. If Nyeg Warl lost the coming war, it wouldn't matter anyway.
Chapter 33: The Raid on G'Lude
One cold night, in late winter, Prince Phelp slipped out of Nyeg Warl's darkness and into Vestylkynd's light. Dressed as a commoner, avoiding the stir of excitement his visits usually elicited, the prince was subdued, his words muted, for the business he was on required stealth. Leading a small company of men that included Truamor's father, the prince had come to talk to Ahrnosyn about a daring plan he had devised, one that could change the complexion of the coming battle.
“In spite of the intolerable weather that plagues us, Nyeg Warl is gearing up for war as best as it can. Fearing the hordes, continuing to pour out of the Isle of Regret, the people are busy turning plows into swords and candlesticks into daggers. Whether we have started our efforts in enough time to stem the rising tide of darkness, or not, cannot be ascertained until the coming spring. Then the proof of the pudding will, so to speak, be made known.” Prince Phelp spoke with as much resignation as he did resolve. “Still in the midst of these makeshift preparations there is one thing we can do that could fill Nyeg Warl with the magic hope brings with it.”
“What might that be?” Ahrnosyn inquired as he studied the prince's determined demeanor.
Withdrawing his sword from its sheath, Phelp placed the tip of the weapon against the floor. Elegantly shaped, etched with intricate design, the spectacular weapon betrayed the royal's true identity. The blade was like a shaft of light piercing through the clouds, reassuring the warl that the sun was still there. The farmer's clothes he wore could no longer hide him. Resting both hands atop of its hilt, he answered the Chief Mentor's question. “As you all know, Koyer holds the lives of the kings' heirs in his filthy grasp.” Prince Phelp's eyes narrowed as he revealed his plan. “These are the trump cards he will play the moment Nyeg Warl needs to act. He will use them when he knows uncertainty will bring the delay he requires to achieve his goal.” Cutting to the chase, the prince squared his shoulders. “I propose that we take the trump cards out of his hand!”
“Go on,” Ahrnosyn encouraged the prince as he leaned back in his chair and slowly rubbed his hand across the top of his bald head.
The others in the room were visibly stirred by what they heard.
“Through Vav, I've learned that Grour Blood saved Muriel and his family from a trap Schmar's children set for them.” Prince Phelp laid is splendid sword on the table top that spread out before him. “Then once he saved them, he escorted Muriel and Truamor to Vestylkynd, carrying them upon his strong back. My proposal is simply this.” Lifting his hand above his head, he imitated a soaring bird that swooped down onto the table top and grabbed up the sword. “If the griffin will agree to help us… we will fly into G'Lude and snatch Koyer's hostages out from under his nose.”
Ahrnosyn sat up and leaned towards the prince. “It'll be as easy as that?”
“Of course, it won't be easy. But it is possible.” The prince stood as straight as a post, once again leaning his weight upon the splendid sword's hilt. “The few Froms that were fortunate enough to escape from G'Lude have seen the place where Koyer holds my brother and the others captive. I'm told they live in rooms that surround an open courtyard, a place located on G'Lude's eastern side. If the griffin will help, and the Warl's Magic is with us, we can fly right in and out before a warning is sounded.”
“But what about the cretchym?” Jeaf inquired, remembering the battle on the road to Thundyrkynd, one in which these flying monsters played a lethal role.
“What are you talking about?”
“The cretchym are evil winged-creatures, Ab'Don's children spawned in a bed of black magic.” Jeaf moved uneasily in his chair as he spoke.
“Yes.” Prince Phelp replied as he pondered the ramifications of this news. “I've heard rumors that such things exist.”
Standing to his feet to command the room's attention, Alynd spoke. “We live in a day when both rumor and legend walk among us, breathing the same air we do.” Looking at Jeaf, blue light flashed out of the Elf-Man's eyes before he returned his gaze to the others and added, “Prince Phelp's proposal has merit and should be strongly considered. But I suggest we speak to the griffin before discussing strategy.”
While Jeaf went to get Muriel and the griffin, the others moved the meeting out of Ahrnosyn's study and into Vestylkynd's Great Hall so that there would be adequate room for the winged-lions to move about. Shortly after the men were settled in, with food and hot drinks provided for those who wished to refresh themselves, the majestic griffin walked into the room with an ease that belied their massive strength. The children of the kings followed in their train.
Once the prince had explained his plan, Grour Blood lifted his head and spoke, carefully measuring each word as he did. “A long time ago, the magic that sleeps in the warl had pity on a handful of birds, saving them from oblivion. Drawing forth a new kind of creature out of the ashes of extinction, the Community of Blood was formed. Ever since that day we have devoted ourselves to preserve and protect others from predators that would seek to do to them what had been done to our frail fathers. To date, we have limited our efforts to the island of Stromane and have tried to stay out of the affairs of those whose ancestors authored our forefathers' annihilation.” The students' faces reflected the great cat's angst as Grour Blood's deep rumbling voice grew in volume. “We of the Community of Blood recognize that you humans are facing a tide of oppression that wishes to wash all goodness away. So, we have asked ourselves, 'Will we help those whose fathers nearly extinguished our flame?'”
Looking at the kings' children, searching their faces as he spoke, the griffin concluded. “After much deliberation, we have concluded that we must not keep claw or fang from the coming battle.”
Cries of Here! Here! echoed through the hall as Prince Phelp slammed his fist on the table top.
Grour Blood nuzzled Muriel forward as he explained the basis for the pride's decision. “We might have joined the fight knowing it could eventually spill over into Stromane. If we had done this, our motives would have been purely self serving. Since Muriel Blood came into our midst, things have changed. She, who is now our sister, has bridged the gap that once lay between humans and the griffin like a gaping wound that wouldn't heal. She is griffin-woman. Because of her, and the goodness we've seen in her heart, we will join paw in hand with those who once sought to harm us and face
the coming storm with them as friends and allies.”
Grour Blood addressed the sons and daughters of Nyeg Warl's kings and chieftains, those who had been invited to hear the plan being considered to free their siblings from bondage within G'Lude's cruel walls. “Listen well! If Nyeg Warl is to carry the day and turn back the tide of wickedness that now laps upon her shores, we must set aside enmity and discord. We either stand together… or we will not stand at all.”
Returning his gaze to Prince Phelp, Muriel's guardian asked, “How many of the Blood will you need?”
“Yes!” the Prince shouted as he returned his sword to its sheath. “Five to carry Jeaf, Goldan, Alynd, Fyreed and myself. Plus, seven others to carry out the hostages. From what I've heard of Bacchanor, we could use his shape shifting abilities as well.
****
Ten days later, twelve mighty griffin flew into Vestylkynd under the cover of a moonless night that had strategically chosen for the excursion. Arriving in Nyeg Warl four days earlier, they had been hiding out on Ship Rock Island until Seym Blood came to get them for the raid. The previous day, the griffin left the island and were resting up for the long flight nestled in the jagged heights of the Alabaster Mountains, in a place near to Vestylkynd.
Once they landed, five warriors, led by Prince Phelp, climbed aboard the griffin they had been assigned to: Jeaf rode upon Grour Blood's strong back, Golden upon Seym Blood, Alynd upon Tor Blood, Prince Phelp upon Tel Blood and Fyreed upon Carm Blood. The wizard Bacchanor quickly transformed into the thirteenth griffin. Ahrnosyn lit a flame and invoked Nyeg Warl's Magic, asking it to grant them success. Muriel, Truamor, and her father stood among those who bowed their heads when the hallowed words were recited.
Once the Chief Mentor finished, Muriel and Truamor stepped over to Jeaf and Goldan and received one last kiss before the daring expedition got underway, Grour Blood and Seym Blood purring as they did.
Then without wasting any of the precious darkness, the griffin lept into the sky. The sound of thundering wings filled the air as the great cats strained to gain altitude and speed. Their flight path took them over Alabaster's eastern foothills as they headed north toward the Nour Sea. Trying to avoid any rivers, to stay out of Schmar's children's eyesight, the determined raiders sped silently through the darkness, racing against the coming day.