~
Meanwhile, many leagues behind him, in the eyrie in the cave on top of the rocks where the Mushommyhae River split from the great Iothuiolmae, Gwendolyn arrived with two goats. They were both unconscious already, and she dropped them at Chalyom’s feet. “I found them north of here, on the Western Shore of the river, as you said.” Gwendolyn’s voice cracked.
Chalyom said, “And Hwedolyn?”
Gwendolyn replied, “I told him not to bother coming back. I don’t care for him. It was the last straw. He is quite simply the most insufferable gryphon I have ever met. He chose the worst, most deplorable moment to notice the wyrded circle of dead animals, and I will not forgive him. No, never, I don’t care what you say, Chalyom, I refuse to see him again! I will never see him again!” And at this, Gwendolyn might have let a tear pass the iron sentries that stood at her eyelids, if she was not quite so stubborn.
“Well, don’t cry over spilt milk,” said Chalyom, which was just the right thing for her to say, for Gwendolyn took umbrage, her tail flared up into annoyance, at Hwedolyn, at Chalyom’s comment, at everything and everyone and no-one. And Gwendolyn took hold of an empty mead-barrel which was standing near her, and broke it with one swift slash of her talon. Chalyom ducked more nimbly than a gryphon of her age ought to be able to as a barrel ring flipped off and twanged past her ears and went whistling and bouncing chaotically around a stalactite and down into the nether regions of the cave. “That stupid gryphon,” said Gwendolyn as Chalyom came and scratched at the remains of the barrel, saying regretfully, “I was going to use that to store carrots.”
“That stupid, stupid gryphon!” repeated Gwendolyn vehemently, “He is going to get himself killed and I shall have to follow him and make sure he doesn’t.”
Chalyom opened wide her eyes at Gwendolyn. Obviously, Ellulianaen had not told her this.
And before Chalyom could think to say anything Gwendolyn had flown out of the cave and the old gryphon-crone was left alone with Ellulianaen and the cave walls.
But to find Hwedolyn was not quite as easy as Gwendolyn thought. She first searched near the rocks where they had found what he thought was the wyrded circle but Gwendolyn did not know it was the wyvern’s doing. And she flew many leagues that day looking for Hwedolyn without finding any sign of him. And the sun set, and day turned to night.
So she decided to get herself some food, and went hunting on the Western Shore of the Iothuiolmae River again. Some time later she espied a goat. Swooping to take it, she found the same circle of wyrding that Hwedolyn had found, and saw immediately that they were different from the fake circle they had found on the rocks. She wondered if Hwedolyn had found this clue, hidden away beneath the willow trees, and, being an intelligent gryphon, she even wondered if the wyvern had left the other fake circle for Hwedolyn to find, for, during their hunting expeditions together, Hwedolyn had told her everything that had happened to him, including his imprisonment by the wyverns.
Gwendolyn said crossly to herself, “It is lucky I am here, then. He is certainly in danger.”
And at that very moment, Hwedolyn was hovering in the clouds, ready to swoop down upon the elf-mage, when a familiar voice said, “Planning to swoop are you? The elf-mage down there is he?” And Hwedolyn looked down to see the wyvern ascending the winds towards him like a twisting sea serpent, and wondered how he had found him.
The wyvern said, “Your thoughts are like a torch on a dark night, gryphon, or the lights of the city of Melekae. I just have to listen for the symphony of vengeance that sings in your heart. It is like a melody I know well, a tune that tugs at my heart-strings, for I too sing that dark song, and you are the theme. When I hear it, I come running, gryphon. I lost my brother. You killed him. Gryphon, on you I shall be avenged!”
The wyvern slipped through the air faster than Hwedolyn thought it able to with its injured wing and attacked him. It had a definite advantage, being able to anticipate Hwedolyn’s every move. It breathed a mighty flame, singeing Hwedolyn’s wing, and swooped, slashing, but Hwedolyn moved out of the way at the last moment. Hwedolyn tried not to think about what he was doing, and merely reacted, breathing a flame at the wyvern, but it nimbly swooped aside, avoiding it. The gryphon began to breathe the name of Ellulianaen, and the wyvern stopped in mid-flight and hovered about ten yards below Hwedolyn.
Hwedolyn swooped down suddenly and slashed the wyvern’s wing before the wyvern had time to respond, even with his ability to read Hwedolyn’s mind. But as it fell, the wyvern grasped Hwedolyn’s thigh with one of his claws, and would not let go! Hwedolyn threw himself this way and that way to escape the wyvern’s iron grasp, but the wyvern kept hold firmly. The more the gryphon struggled, the deeper the wyvern’s claw dug in. Down below, the elf-mage was watching them fight and soldiers had begun coming out of their tents to watch also.
They plummeted down, faster and faster, at least a league, and the tops of the trees were fast approaching, and Hwedolyn began to fear that the wyvern was going to kill them both. In desperation the gryphon stretched his wings wide and swooped upwards with all his might! The wyvern’s claw slipped off his thigh, grasping Hwedolyn’s tail instead and gashing it deeply as it slid down, all the way to the end of his tail as Hwedolyn went aloft. The wyvern frantically grasped at thin air as he went into a corkscrew dive, his one good wing rotating chaotically above him. He fell down, down, and crashed into the trees below, giving a strange cry as he crumpled onto the ground.
Hwedolyn swooped into the air and away from the wyvern, ignoring the painful wound the cruel beast had inflicted on his outer thigh. He looked down to see the soldiers looking up at him. None of them had their weapons with them, so absorbed were they with the sight of a gryphon, a sight none of them had seen before. But the elf-mage held aloft his talisman, about to cast a spell.
Hwedolyn had to make evasive manoeuvres or he would be totally at the mercy of the elf-mage’s magic – whether lightning, wind or wyrding, or some other foul spell. The gryphon swooped swiftly, twisting and turning this way and that way, as unpredicteably as he could as the elf-mage cast his spell. Hwedolyn felt a rush of force go past his face and saw the cloud above him evaporate into nothingness. He wondered if the elf-mage had tried to wyrd him and wyrded the cloud instead, but Hwedolyn didn’t stay there thinking about it. He swooped upwards into the very space where the cloud had been, then whipped downwards, plummeting as swiftly as he could with his wings pressed against his sides, plunging down towards the elf-mage, twisting and turning to make his flight-path unpredicteable.
Just as he was about less than twenty feet from the elf-mage, something crashed into his side, and he found himself careening over the trees uncontrollably, struggling to recover his balance. He looked back to see the wyvern, flying awkwardly, with one wing barely working and the other flapping limpingly. The wyvern was in the very place where Hwedolyn had been but moments before, and the elf-mage’s talisman was glowing. Suddenly one of the wyvern’s wings glowed with a purple glow, and his flying suddenly became even more laboured than it had been before. The wyvern turned about and half-fell, half-glided towards the forest about one hundred feet to the north of the elf-mage’s camp, then fell out of the air and collapsed into a heap on the grass below, gasping for breath.
Hwedolyn turned about.
The elf-mage’s attention was directed towards the wyvern, so Hwedolyn swooped and spewed a mighty flood of flame at him. The elf-mage stumbled and fell, flames roaring from his cape and his armour.
The soldiers were still scrabbling about in their tents, getting their weapons. Hwedolyn knew he had but moments to finish the job before he was overwhelmed by force, so he swooped at the elf-mage with both talons outstretched, and scooped him up. Suddenly he felt another presence beside him. Gwendolyn had come out of the trees below and was flying next to him. While Hwedolyn flew off with the elf-mage in his talons, Gwendolyn swooped and breathed a burning torrent of flame at the camp, setting their tents alight and throwing the soldiers
into confusion, giving Hwedolyn a few precious minutes before they attacked.
He looked down. The talisman was glowing in the elf-mage’s outstretched hand, so Hwedolyn threw him into the air and struck at him with a mighty talon, making a great slash that stretched right across his back, from which purple blood began to pump, splashing into the air. Even as he fell towards the earth, the elf-mage cast another spell, but Hwedolyn ducked out of the way then swooped again with his eye on the elf-mage’s talisman.
But the elf-mage saw what Hwedolyn was trying to do, and he bent his elbow and hid his arm beneath his flapping, flaming cape as he fell, and the gryphon’s aim went awry. Gwendolyn breathed flame at the elf-mage as he tumbled into the mud at the river-bank, even as the sky went black with arrows. Hwedolyn and Gwendolyn swooped downwards towards the river, avoiding the cloud of deadly shafts. They glided next to each other above the fast-flowing river, using the tall trees on the river-bank as shelter from the flood of arrows, and making their way upstream to find a place where they could hide.
Gwendolyn said, “Here! I know a place,” and led him beneath the arched branches of two giant oak trees on the riverbank and into a dark, sheltered place some twenty feet from the river.
He could hear the river roaring but he could not see it for he was sheltered in a glade of about twenty huge oak trees, whose ancient branches hung down almost to the ground, knobbled and twisted. He alighted on the bracken where Gwendolyn indicated with a bent talon, but then she flew off, saying nothing. He wondered if that was the last he would see of her.
He twisted himself around and licked his thigh and his tail, and saw that he was bleeding badly, for the gashes the wyvern had made were very deep.
Moments later he heard a rustle in the undergrowth, and stood ready to attack, for he thought it was the wyvern. But Gwendolyn’s head poked through the bushes.
She had a small bag of herbs and medicinal supplies with her, out of which she silently took a pot, opened it, and applied a paste to his tail. It smelled sweet, like honey, and made his tail go numb, though he winced a little as she was applying it. “This will stem the bleeding and prevent infection,” she said. “There are herbs in the paste that will prevent scarring too, on such a fine tail.”
He was not sure if she was being sarcastic.
“Gwendolyn,” he said, “What on earth are you doing here? I thought you were going to leave. You shouldn’t have stayed here, you shouldn’t have helped me. It’s too dangerous.”
Gwendolyn’s tail flicked with anger. She said, “Hwedolyn, I might have just saved your life. Aren’t you even a little bit grateful? Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do, anyway?”
And suddenly he knew with complete certainty that if anything happened to her, he would not be able to forgive himself. He realised that to protect her, he had to make her leave, lest she be caught up in the consequences of his foolhardy actions. He decided to tell a lie, which for a gryphon is a grievous transgression against the fellowship of gryphons, but he could not see any other way.
“Gwendolyn,” he said, his heart breaking, “I do not love you! I do not want to make an eyrie with you! I don’t want you around me! I am on a quest to avenge my cousin’s death, and I cannot abide you around me. Do not stay.”
And Gwendolyn quietly gathered up her herbs and left.
A Feather on the Breath of Ellulianaen Page 40
