by Alec Silva
"An egg", she said, pulling out of the bag the object that she protected fiercely since found. "I think it's a drag..."
"Dragons do not lay eggs this size, shape or color pattern", interrupted Gahren, watching the egg carefully.
"Would it be a griffin or..."
"Have your Master not taught you how to recognize the eggs of creatures?"
The old man looked angry. He went through a passage in the counter and approached the girl, taking the egg she held.
"Griffons eggs are golden or jade or emerald colors", he said in a didactic tone. "Hippogriffons don't lay eggs before you suppose it to be one."
Gahren examined the entire length of the oval object, marveling at what he saw.
"Look at these marks!", he asked, pointing to the almost runic symbols. "No creature I met put eggs with these marks. Not even the Roc birds."
"So, you do not know what species is it?", Vannora asked, visibly frustrated.
"It is difficult to give an answer, but look at the shape of birds of prey's eggs in it! And it has the hardness of a reptile egg."
The glaucous old man's eyes followed each marking carefully, as his fingers touched the roughness of the shell.
"Yes, it has the characteristics of a dragon egg, but it's not", he continued, almost like an excited child. "It can retain moisture and hatch by itself, regardless of the heat. But the shape, yes, the shape is the one of a bird of prey."
The merchant leaned his ear to the egg, his eyes widening.
"The puppy is about to be born!", he exclaimed. "This is wonderful!"
"Born?!", the warrior was awed.
"Yes. The shell will beak and the puppy will emerge! And when that happens, we will know the species!"
"Sorry to spoil your joy, Gahren, but I have no time to stay here waiting. I really need to just leave this city before..."
The door of the establishment opened before she concluded the sentence. Two men entered with military steps, pointing crossbows to both. Three more entered, carrying sabers in attack position; at last, entered a well-dressed man, black hair tied in a sleek ponytail. He carried a scroll, which was curled up, probably a proclamation.
"Vannora, nice to meet you", he said, cynically. "I heard impressive stories of your fighting skills and other things too."
The girl stood firm, staring at the men, particularly the officer, to whom she had no sympathy for his cynicism and impudence. Her mind working laboriously, scheming a plan for that situation.
"And you, Gahren, what a shame!", said the unsympathetic man with debauchery. "Betraying a friend for money!"
Vannora's eyes stared at the old man, fulminating him. She should expect a cowardly act like that of a man involved in trades and money.
"I'm sorry", he explained, "but I need to pay my taxes.”
Gahren moved away just two steps to finish the sentence; Nykh pierced his chest. The egg escaped his hands, but a quick movement of the killer kept it from falling.
"No one will dare to take this from me!", she barked, staring menacingly at the men, sword dripping blood, with the tip over the inert body of its latest victim.
The officer smiled, not allowing the soldiers to shoot their crossbows.
"You know it's crazy to fight my men", he said, calmly. "There are two crossbows and three swordsmen. You could not kill me before one of them decapitate you."
"Are you sure?", she taunted.
"Do not be stupid! Pass me the egg and I will spare your life, even for the crimes you committed. You will have a fair trial, I promise."
Vannora smiled with debauchery.
"Sorry, but I do not believe in liars", she said.
Just like a shadow, she moved forward, cutting off the hand of one of the bowmen; she kicked the weapon from the other, as she cut the throat of the officer. She slipped to the left and dodged a sword, which struck the mutilated man. She threw the egg up and drew a dagger, nailing it to the neck of the first swordsman, while the mystical blade defended an attack that aimed at her head.
She picked up the oval object three feet from the ground, moving quickly away from the opponents.
She felt glad. Had killed the unsympathetic man and two potential attackers, and disarmed the other crossbowman who had drawn his sword strapped to his waist. Now they would fight as equals, only with swords.
One of the swordsmen moved forward, shouting in a reckless attack. He fumbled and stumbled, a mistake that cost him his life, as he opened his guard; he stopped his steps feeling his viscera leak by a horizontal cut. In the following seconds, the blonde warrior beheaded the second striker and dodged the third, which was the crossbowman, to then pierce his heart from behind with supernatural accuracy.
When the fight was over, the girl cleaned her Nykh in the officer's robes. She looked at the dying man, who was trying to prevent the leakage of his guts. She pitied him. It was not her like to see anyone suffer like that; and not part of the code of the clan that trained her. She put the egg in the bag carefully. Then, she took the crossbow on the ground and fired it at the head of the hapless, giving it a slightly more dignified and honorable death than he could have if he continued in that pathetic attitude to stop the loss of bowels.
She left quietly, noting the horror and awe looks of those who saw the corpses left behind. She grabbed the mantle of a priest who was undaunted by the insensitive look, covering her body and merged with a group, sneaking until no one could find her.
She walked over deserted streets, enjoying the late afternoon, a time when the shadows made it difficult for anyone to identify her. Upon leaving the city, she entered a dense forest, avoiding the roads, and stopped only when she was far from the urban center.
She withdrew the shoulder-belt bag and examined the contents that had been causing her so much strife. She realized it was cracked; for a moment, she thought of reprimanding herself for it, but then she remembered what the deceased merchant said. The creature harbored inside it was about to be free.
She sat on a huge rock, putting the egg near her feet, and ate a piece of bread that was in the same space she kept the unknown cub hidden. Luckily, there was still some wine, which helped that silent meal.
Time and then she looked at the egg, always noticing a significant movement of the shell breaking. In the ninth time, it looked like the shell would break and the creature would emerge, was it a Roc, chirping like a bird of prey, devoid of feathers, however, the size of an adult eagle or a dragon, howling annoyingly, puffing hot air, already with sharp predator's instinct.
However, it was a futile wait. It was not yet the moment the animal would free itself from the primary prison and conquer freedom.
The night dragged on during Vannora's the lonely vigil, who was indifferent to the hours passing slowly. The training taught her to sleep enough to recover, even if little or in intervals of days; She had not only trained her body for years, losing what little remained of innocence and childhood; but also trained the mind and spirit to be a strong and tough fighter.
It was near dawn when finally the creature came out of the shell, revealing a bird head with grey scales, a snout ending in a beak, protrusions resembling both scales as feathers on the top of its skull; it released a mix of chirp and draconian roar, its white and serrated teeth tearing of the structure that kept it still captive.
The warrior was amazed by the spectacular view of the birth of a life. However, she still held as a precaution, the dagger at ready, for any aggressive gesture of the cub, which was more focused in freeing itself than to give attention to her.
The hybrid fidgeted, breaking all the hard shell with effort, showing at once its body. Beautiful wings, with protruding scales, fingers on the ends, stretching up, still wet while the four legs held its slender body in an incredible fight.
It was neither dragon nor bird of prey, but a mixture of both, taking the best of each species. It had the front very similar to a bird, but the rear reminded the flying reptiles that haunted the unfortunates who fo
und them. It was hard not to think of griffons or hippogriffs before an animal so slender and majestic since they both had that body pattern.
"What are you?", asked Vannora bending her body forward to analyze it.
The creature cocked its head to one side, showing curiosity. It was its first contact with a living being. Everything was new to its senses. Its lungs burned, but that did not bother it; it’s hearing caught the smallest forest movements; it could smell odors impossible to humans, it sniffed the smell emitted from the girl — and it was not fear —; and its vision was worthy of an eagle or owl, precise and accurate.
"Do not be afraid!", asked the warrior, reaching out to the puppy.
Perhaps the instinct had made it repel the gesture and bite the human's fingers or impelled it to breath hot air against it, but all that it did was let be, closing its silver eyes.
"It is not as aggressive as a dragon", said the girl, stroking the head and neck of the hybrid, feeling moisture and roughness of the reptilian leather. "And you have the sweetness of a hatchling."
She deduced more or less what it was. She was not cognizant of the creatures, as many who trained with her master, but she knew something. She remembered the legends coming from the East and of wayfarers' reports of those who crossed the beasts and escaped by a miracle from hideous and deadly monsters, like the Roc, but fire-breathing. As the few survivors were affected by madness, their narratives were seen as unrealistic, taking little credit, even among adventurers and mercenaries, always eager for emotions, money, and some glory.
As she stroked the animal, her mind was thinking about its fate; she could sell it to someone and get a generous amount, after all, it was a rare specimen in the West and certainly valuable; or leave it there and let the future give it what it deserved.
However, the killer, always cold, did not enjoy any of those viable and useful options. In her heart arose a third alternative, which would divert her for a few months of her main objective.
She gasped, chiding herself for that latent maternal instincts, even if she has never been a mother or had anything to cling to, not even a pet. She looked at the puppy, warning:
"You better not even try to bite me, understood?"
The hybrid just grunted softly, docile like a helpless bird.
III
Two weeks passed since the day the blonde warrior decided to make the trip to return the puppy to its land of origin. Still trying to figure out who was willing to take a creature like that to an unknown location, one that was shrouded in mystery and legends, superstitions and exotic creatures.
Due to the limited monetary resources available, when she arrived at the port, with the animal on the shoulder, weighing a little, she accepted to serve as crew on a merchant ship, becoming one of the sentries. She regretted taking it because the merchants made stops in places away from the main route, further delaying things for her.
At first, traders tried to buy the creature who accompanied her — and she would have sold if it was not the promise she made to take it safely to the East —, but soon they abandoned the idea when they saw the runic mark she bore on the left shoulder, warning she was a disciple of Master Ronan.
Everyone in the West knew the fame of the clan that man formed. Who would not know the only God to live among mortals, teaching the most accurate and effective arts of killing? The powerful clan was trained year after year, until the time when the pupil felt ready to go and walk his own way. Those who wanted to stay at their side were bestowed as a warrior in the service of justice and honor, being the elite of many orderly kingdoms.
But, unlike his companions, Vannora's motivations and ambitions were not to serve someone and be known as righteous, although many times she had played such a role; what had her supplicate to be trained and go through years and years of hard physical and mental preparation was something else; so she left the clan when she felt ready to receive the Nykh and the promise that no one there would stop her from having what she wanted — provided she didn't hurt innocents.
One who bore Ronan's mark, without exception, was feared and always seen as a trophy to be won, which caused, in cases of warriors out of the elite group, a series of bloody fighting for life and death.
Therefore, the killer was feared and respected by the men, who left in peace without trying to seduce her with silly stunts and stupid promises. Let her be with the pet, which reveled in the rats that infested the vessel.
Althair, as she called him because of his slight resemblance to an eagle, showed himself very aloof with others, but it was incredibly gentle with the warrior who showed great affection for him, coming to cede part of her meals with the animal, to supplement his diet.
It was usually possible to see them in the walled ship, watching the sunrise or sunsets; she leaned and rested on her elbows, like a child, golden hair flowing; and he would lie without fear of falling, even without being able to fly yet.
After a week of travel, Vannora saw fit to train the animal, showing how he should behave, or soon they would be expelled due to small fires or his habit of biting people.
Patiently she taught him not to spit fire at anything, even in mice he hunted, and got permission from the captain, the crew and merchants for Althair to lit the torches, the stove and anything that needed to be burned, so allowing it to not accumulate too much fiery energy. With this measure, no one cared about the creature's dangerousness.
Next, the killer was dedicated to helping him develop the flight, a task that was still being worked on when docked in the north, in the frigid land of rough men and warlike values.
"You better not land with it", warned the captain, stroking his graying beard, addressing the girl, but keeping his stare at the mixed creature. "They hate dragons."
Vannora knew it well and did not dare to risk the life of the puppy, leaving it hidden in a compartment she found on the ship. Therefore, she went alone for a visit to the port, hopefully, to buy some things.
When the hybrid realized that he would not accompany his adoptive mother, he was saddened, scratching the trapdoor. He even blew a small flame, charring the wood, but it was all in vain. There was no way he could get out by those means.
He looked around, searching for an alternative.
Contrary to what was supposed, fierce and monstrous creatures also possessed intelligence and wit, acting either by instinct or by calculated planning.
In addition, Althair was smart and shrewd enough to associate a shy gap with an alternative flight. It did not take long for his small brain to mastermind a quick plan that would make use of two other excellent features of its exotic species: fire and persistence.
He breathed the entire length of the wall crack, always striking the charred area with his claw, further increasing the gap that would allow the desired freedom. Impatience was great, but he acted well.
It didn't take more than half an hour for his slender body, squirming a bit, go through the gap and achieve the storeroom of the ship, which, luckily, was with the door open; without hesitation, always careful not to attract attention, he left there by the stairs.
Thanks to the body in the form of a huge lizard, he managed to climb the stairs and reached the deck, avoiding the crew and merchants who went from one side to another, carrying goods and objects in a great hubbub.
He was hiding between barrels and wooden boxes, time or another stopping for a few minutes in one place, to make sure he could proceed. He was cautious, even being just over two weeks of age, proof of his formidable intelligence.
His body felt the temperature change, yet it was not a cold-blooded animal, as many reptiles are; his species was similar to dragons and Roc, which although not live in the glacial lands, could spend long periods in them without dying frozen.
When he had the chance, he descended the ramp connecting the vessel to the port, hiding among a pile of boxes.
His sense of smell identified Vannora's natural perfume despite it being merged in the foul smell of fish and seafood,
the bitter sweat of anglers and sailors, and so many other strong and striking odors. It was enough just to focus on the specific scent and follow it, ignoring the others.
Always ducking and avoiding being seen, Althair reached the establishment in which the girl was. He found a hole big enough to get through and followed through a narrow tunnel that leads into another.
The mixture of smells was stronger. Alcohol, sweat, smoke and toxic bodily hormones shuffled in exorbitant doses, starting to confuse the puppy, which had to resort even more to its accurate sight, seeking to find there his protector.
At that same moment, the killer was in a table negotiating with a man, trying to find out more about the East. Soon she realized that he could not deliver much unless the offer was something bolder, something that obviously he was looking for in that tavern. It was repulsive, but she had to trick him with provocations if she wanted the necessary information.
After starting the strategy, the traveler answered more clearly the questions.
"They call them dracogriffons because they have both features of dragons and Roc, the giant birds of prey", he said, seduced by the chance to have such a beautiful woman in his bed very soon. "They claim that they spit the most powerful fire and are feared by both dragons as the Roc, being sovereign of the highest mountain peaks."
"And is there any chance of it being real?"
"Yes, there is. A friend of mine, a mercenary, stole an egg from a nest and brought it to a king to the West. I met him the day before he was killed in a tavern brawl."
Vannora knew who that warrior was. It was one of many who passed by Ronan Master training and became mercenaries. The relief was knowing that those cowards that poisoned and stabbed him in the back were dead, thanks to Nykh.
"And the egg?", she asked, knowing the answer.
"It was stolen from the king when he ordered it to be taken to a secret location. Some say it was the Lady of the Victorious Sword who stole it", the man replied, scratching his sloppy beard.
"I heard about her..."
