The Gryphon's Lair

by Kelley Armstrong

  I scratch behind its owl-like ear flaps, and it rubs against my hands.

  “Princess…” Dain growls.

  I straighten. “I was saying goodbye. Now begone, tiny monster. I have no more suet—or petting—for you.”

  The beast peeps up at me. Then the grass swishes, and the chickcharney startles in alarm. Dain steps toward us, his face fixed in a look that has the chickcharney toddling off, flapping its useless wings.

  I chuckle. I don’t interfere, though. Part of being the royal monster hunter is doing what’s best for the beasts, which is to leave them alone unless they are injured or orphaned or otherwise unable to care for themselves. As I watch it go, something tickles my attention.

  I glance around, frowning. I’m not sure what I picked up—a sound, a smell, a flicker of movement? Dain’s chasing the chickcharney away. Jacko’s napping in the grass. Malric is watching us with his annoyed-babysitter stare and Sunniva…

  Sunniva had been eating when I glanced over. Now she’s stopped, her head up. With a whinny, she races to my side and presses tight against me, a solid wall of white horsehair.

  When I found Sunniva, she was alone. She shouldn’t have been. Even full-grown mares live with a herd. While Sunniva seemed fine, she still wanted her herd, and now she has it with us, so when she’s frightened, she runs to me.

  As I scan the sky, I get that feeling again—a ripple in the air, stirring the hairs on my neck.

  “Princess?”

  Dain follows my gaze and shades his eyes. Then he backs my way, reaching for his bow as I withdraw my sword. It’s heavy in my hand, polished steel and ebony wood with an obsidian blade.

  “Your bow,” he says, without turning, hearing only the thwick of my blade leaving the scabbard. I’m more comfortable with my sword, but he’s right.

  As I switch to my bow, I call, “Jacko!”

  The jackalope races over, and I point down, a command that tells him to take cover at my feet. Well, no, I think he believes it means “protect Rowan’s feet,” but the end result is the same.

  I nock an arrow just as Sunniva bumps me. Jacko chitters at her, and she two-steps, her dainty roan-red hooves coming too close to the jackalope for my liking. I give her a hard look, and she tosses her mane, hot breath trumpeting from her nostrils.

  I try drawing my bowstring, but she’s still too close. Malric lumbers over and nudges Sunniva aside to let her huddle against him.

  “Thank you, Malric,” I say.

  His grunt says we’re all overreacting. He doesn’t see or smell a threat.

  He might be right. Still, I keep scanning the empty sky.

  A distant shout makes me jump, but it’s only Alianor, her triumphant cry suggesting they’ve caught their quarry. As for ours, the chickcharney watches us, unconcerned. Then it realizes Dain is distracted and makes a tentative hop back in my direction. Dain stamps his foot at the beast, and I open my mouth to say something just as a thin gray shape shoots from the nearby forest.

  I catch a glimpse of a fox-like head with tufted ears and a long muzzle opening to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth. Bat-like wings flap twice, and the beast dives straight at Dain.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Wyvern!” I shout.

  I spot an outcropping of rock we can use for cover, but it’s too late for that. I run at Dain. He’s a dozen feet away, and that seems to be where the wyvern is aiming, but just before I reach him, I see it’s actually going for the chickcharney, who’s bobbing in confusion at my shout. I swerve and leap onto the chickcharney instead. The beast gives one bleating cry of alarm before huddling under me, cheeping in delight, as if I’d tackled it in a hug.

  “Rowan!” Dain shouts, just as the wyvern’s claws scrape my back. My hardened leather tunic protects me, but I still feel the impact. I let out a grunt and roll, throwing the startled chickcharney aside. It keeps rolling, long legs pumping uselessly, as I leap to my feet and pull my sword.

  The wyvern dives at me again. An arrow hits its wing and it aborts course, veering up, screaming. As it wheels on us, a second wyvern appears above it.

  “Cover!” I shout. “Take cover!”

  I grab Jacko, run for the outcropping of rock and dive into it. Dain follows, slamming into me, and at a peep of alarm, I turn to see him holding the chickcharney. He looks down at the bird monster as if to say, “How’d that get there?” before shoving it aside.

  We crawl into a spot where an overhang of rock protects us from aerial attack. Malric barricades us, snarling and snapping as the wyverns scream. I catch sight of one. It’s purplish-blue, which means it’s female. The other is brownish-orange—male. A mated pair.

  The female is as large as Sunniva, with a long, whipping arrowhead tail and clawed back feet. Her shadow passes over us, reminding me of the gryphon, and my blood chills at the memory.

  While the wyverns aren’t eager to tangle with Malric, they will. I know that. They’re sizing up the situation, and they’ll soon realize that the two of them can take him on.

  “We need to…” I trail off as I look up at the rocky overhang.

  “Yeah,” Dain mutters. “They can’t attack us, but we can’t attack them either.”

  I wriggle to the left, past the overhang.

  “Princess,” Dain warns.

  I keep wriggling. I’m still protected enough, and the wyverns are busy with Malric. Another two inches gives me an arrow-sized gap. Every few heartbeats, one of the massive beasts flies overhead.

  I hesitate, hand on my bow. Then I say to Dain, “There’s a spot here. You’re better. You should take it.”

  As I edge away, he eases into the spot. He peers out and then grunts. With Dain, grunts and scowls are a language all of their own. This particular noise is satisfaction, acknowledging I’ve found a spot he can indeed use.

  When he grunts again, I translate that one to surprise. Concerned surprise. Something’s not right.

  That’s when I realize I don’t hear the flapping of the wyverns’ leathery wings.

  I cock my head to listen. The chickcharney peeps, and Jacko growls like an older child warning a younger one to be silent.

  I can detect the sound of the wyvern wings, but they’re moving away. I exhale, rocking back against Dain, opening my mouth to say—

  Sunniva screams, and I bolt out from the rocks so fast I bash my head. I reel, and Dain catches my arm to pull me back, but I wrench free and run.

  Sunniva is twenty feet away, rearing onto her hind legs as the female wyvern snaps at her. Shouting, I bear down and pull my sword, Malric at my heels. An arrow hits the wyvern in the flank, but the beast barely seems to notice. The wyvern snaps again at the filly, catching her behind the neck.

  “Sunniva!” I scream. “Run!”

  The pegasus breaks away, blood flecking from her wound. She doesn’t run, though. She wheels and batters the wyvern with her hooves. Another arrow passes, this one missing its target. A dark shape blocks the sun. The male wyvern. He shoots straight up into the air. Then he hovers there, and I know what’s coming. I know exactly what’s coming.

  “Sunniva!”

  I run so hard I can’t breathe. Can’t see either, the world tinged with red. In that red, I make out Sunniva, rearing, her hooves slashing as she fights the female wyvern, unaware of the male plummeting toward her. I reach her and…

  I don’t think about what I’m doing. I react as I have been trained, my aunt Jannah’s voice sounding in my head.

  Protect your mount, Rowan. Always remember that it’s a prey animal. If your mare is attacked, don’t fight alongside her—you risk being trampled. Get onto her back. Fight together.

  I shove my sword into its scabbard, and when Sunniva comes down, front legs on the ground, I grab her and swing onto her back. That’s when I realize my mistake. This isn’t my mare. It’s an unbroken pegasus filly.

&nb
sp; Sunniva screams as if this is a fresh attack. She rears, and I wrap my hands in her mane, clinging for dear life.

  “Sunniva!” I shout. “Hold on! I’ll get off!”

  She doesn’t seem to hear me. I clutch her neck and keep talking, babbling, my mouth by her ear as she writhes and bucks.

  Get off. Just get off her.

  I can’t. I see the ground below and those flashing hooves, and I know I cannot jump off. Before I found her, she’d struck my trainer, Wilmot, with one of those hooves, and it addled his mind. He’s slowly recovering, but he’s said many times that he’s lucky to be alive.

  If I drop from Sunniva’s back, she’ll trample me.

  “Run!” I shout, knocking my heels into her sides. “Just run!”

  Please run. We can do this. Run, and I’ll keep you safe.

  Instead, something bumps my leg, and I twist to see her wings extending.

  “No!” I shout.

  She can’t take off with me on her back. Her wings won’t support the two of us.

  Teeth flash beside me. It’s the male wyvern, with his huge jaws and triple rows of teeth. Leaping onto Sunniva caused enough commotion to thwart his dive, but now he’s trying to grab me as Sunniva writhes.

  Sunniva flaps those beautiful white-feathered wings. One smacks the wyvern, and he drops. Then the filly lifts off. She manages to get a few feet from the ground only to falter, wings beating madly.

  I need to get off her back, let her fly. I have no idea how high we are, but I roll to the side and drop. I hit the ground hard, pain rocking through me.

  Something catches my leg. I look to see the female wyvern’s jaws clamped around my boot. She swings me into the air. As I dangle aloft by one leg, the ground thunders and a voice screams, “Rowan!”

  I catch a glimpse of Courtois charging across the grassland. Then my sword starts to slip from its scabbard. I yank it out as I hang there, the wyvern hovering with me in her jaws. She whips her head, and I sail upward, but I keep my hand on my sword and I slash. The tip catches her in the throat.

  The wyvern drops me. As I hit the ground, I clamp tight on my weapon. It stays in my hand, and I manage not to land on the blade. I leap to my feet and slash at the wyvern as she dives. She sees the blade, lets out a terrible shriek and tries to divert course. I follow, twisting around as my blade whirls. It strikes her neck again. She screams. Then she hits the ground with an earth-quaking thud.

  My gaze shoots to the sky. Sunniva is in flight, hovering as she watches us. To my left, Courtois swings toward me with surprising grace for a creature the size of a draft horse.

  The unicorn charges at the fallen wyvern. On his back, Rhydd has his sword out, ready to strike the killing blow. Instead, at the last second, Courtois ducks, nearly sending Rhydd flying over his head. The unicorn’s horn impales the wyvern. Still galloping, Courtois lifts the beast aloft and throws it aside. Then he wheels and slows, snorting, his front hooves pounding the ground, ready to trample the wyvern if it stirs.

  It does not stir.

  “Prince Rhydd!” Dain shouts.

  Rhydd and I look up just as a shadow passes over. The male wyvern hovers above my brother. Then he dives.

  Rhydd doesn’t need to command the unicorn. This was my aunt’s steed. Courtois hears Dain’s shout, and he moves even before he can see the reason for it. He plows forward…and almost mows me down.

  As I scramble away, Malric charges, snarling at Courtois. Malric turns that snarl on the wyvern as he veers my way. Seeing the massive warg, the wyvern feints to the side.

  I swing at the wyvern. My sword slices into his leg. He screams. An arrow hits his wing, then another in the same spot, tearing the leathery skin. The beast lands and rears up. He only has two legs—back ones. I’ve injured one of those, and he teeters before finding his balance.

  The wyvern’s tail whips, its arrowhead slicing through the air. Malric stands beside me, growling. We face off against the male wyvern. We’re close enough for me to see his fox-like head covered in fine red hair. His eyes are reptilian, slitted pupils fixed on me. When his jaws open, I get far too close a look at those triple rows of razor teeth.

  A thump sounds behind me, with a quick, “It’s me,” from Rhydd, so I’m not startled.

  My brother moves up beside me. Malric growls, telling Rhydd that we have this under control and he is interfering. I shoot Rhydd a glare, but only because he should stay mounted and protect his leg, still healing from the gryphon attack.

  “Courtois stole my quarry,” Rhydd murmurs with a smile. “I can’t let you take down two wyverns.”

  The wyvern snaps at us but stays back, facing us as his head bobs, surveying the situation.

  From behind us comes a whinny and the thomp-thomp of hooves over hard ground.

  “Took you long enough,” Rhydd yells without turning. “You missed all the fun.”

  “Looks like you’re still having it,” Alianor says. “If your idea of fun is facing off against a wyvern the size of a small house.”

  The wyvern rears and unfurls his wings.

  “He is kinda big,” Rhydd says, as the shadow of those wings plunges us into darkness.

  “Not quite the size of a small house, though,” I say.

  “Still, really big.” His voice quavers so slightly that no one else would notice.

  “I’d like to drive it off if we can,” I say, raising my voice as the wyvern shrieks. “They were only looking for dinner.”

  “Agreed.”

  “On the count of three, we’ll charge. Make a lot of noise. Brandish your sword and—”

  The wyvern strikes with the speed of a cobra, that snake-like neck springing. I’m mid-word when there’s suddenly an open pair of massive jaws coming straight for my head.

  I fall back, sword slashing up. The broadside strikes the beast just as a tooth rips into my cheek. Pain, sharp and fierce. Jaws clamp on my shoulder but are stopped by the hardened tunic, and I slam my sword into the beast’s head.

  The wyvern screams and falls back. Blood streams from its side and flecks spatter from Rhydd’s sword. Malric has hold of the beast’s leg. The wyvern wheels on the warg, and I raise my sword to strike. A stone thwacks against the side of his head. The wyvern lets out a terrible cry as he spins on Dain, now holding his slingshot. It’s then that I see Jacko…on the wyvern’s back, his teeth clamped onto his neck. The wyvern’s wings extend, ready for takeoff.

  “Jacko!”

  I run, but Alianor is there first, plucking Jacko off as the wyvern crouches for flight. The huge beast doesn’t notice—he has just spotted his mate, lying dead on the ground. As the wyvern flaps over to land beside her, we stand guard, everyone brandishing their weapons. Jacko is in his shelter spot at my feet, and Malric stands beside me. Sunniva has taken cover in the forest. The wyvern hisses our way a few times but stays with his mate, nudging and licking at her.

  My heart twists as I whisper, “I’m sorry.” I am sorry that we had to kill this beast’s mate, and yet had to are the key words there. Even if we’d given up the chickcharney—which I’m not sure I could ever do—the beasts wouldn’t have been content with that small meal. We had no choice but to fight.

  “Let’s back up,” I murmur. “If it will let us leave, we should do that.”

  “Are you okay?” Rhydd asks, glancing over.

  Hot blood trickles down my cheek, and my shoulder aches, but I’m fine and say so.

  We start our retreat, gazes fixed on the wyverns. Malric stays in place to give us cover. Once we’re about twenty feet away, he allows himself to retreat. Two more steps and I hear a peeping, and look over to see the chickcharney running after us as fast as its stilt-legs will allow, tail whipping as it chirps, as if to say, “You forgot me!”

  Dain sighs. Then he pockets his slingshot, jogs over and scoops up the chickcharney, which peeps in a
larm. Dain runs back with it under his arm like a ball.

  “Looks like you have a chickcharney after all, princess.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  We’re back at the castle. On the way, Alianor—who’s training to be a healer—tended to Sunniva’s and my injuries. Now I’ve been double-checked by Dr. Fendrel. The filly is cut and sore. My shoulder’s bruised, and there’s a sticking plaster on my cheek. Superficial wounds, which won’t spare me from my mother’s wrath.

  Rhydd and I are in her chambers, waiting as she paces. The captain of the guard, Berinon, stands at attention. His face is unreadable, shoulders stiff. Berinon is a head taller than Mom, his shoulders nearly twice as broad. His shaggy black hair is tamed into a braid today. His dark skin shines with sweat, though the evening chill has set in and the fire hasn’t been stoked. That sweat is the sole sign that we aren’t the only ones braced for Mom’s anger. Berinon isn’t in any trouble, though—his concern is for us.

  Berinon was my dad’s bodyguard and best friend, and my mom’s friend, too, the three of them growing up together. At one time, we thought of Berinon as our uncle. Since Dad’s death, he’s become the closest thing we have to a father, guiding and mentoring us while leaving the discipline to Mom.

  She paces, looking out the window as she passes it, her jaw set. She’s wearing a morning gown—the sort that means she won’t be giving audiences today. It’s grass-green, and each time she pivots in her pacing, the gold threads shimmer. So too does the ebony pin that holds up her hair. That sword-shaped pin reminds everyone that she is a trained monster hunter, like all Clan Dacre monarchs. I watch that tiny sword flash and feel the weight of the one on my back, and all the responsibilities it carries…including the responsibility to keep my brother and friends safe from monsters.

  I glance around the room. Mom’s sleeping quarters are the size of mine, but she has this room, too, for working and meeting family away from the prying eyes of staff. Furs cover the stone floor—furs from my father, who’d stayed a monster hunter even after he married my mother.