Griffin's Destiny

by Lelsie Ann Moore

  Magnes sighed then rose to his feet. Separation and loss were a part of life, he knew, but why did it always have to be so hard?

  Working as quickly as they could, Magnes and Ashinji caught and haltered the three horses. After leading them out of their pasture onto the road, Ashinji tied the lead ropes to the halters to serve as reins.

  Gran gathered some supplies into a satchel then swung aboard the little bay mare with ease. Magnes mounted the piebald, grunting as the horse’s prominent spine dug into his crotch. Ashinji must have noticed his discomfort, for he said, “I’m guessing the farmer had no saddle blankets?”

  “Don’t know. Forgot to ask,” Magnes replied through gritted teeth.

  Ashinji chuckled. “I sympathize, my friend.”

  With spare rope from the wagon, Ashinji secured a bag, also filled with supplies, to the back of the chestnut gelding he and Seijon were to ride then quickly mounted. He reached down and grasped Seijon’s wrist then helped the boy to scramble up behind him.

  For a few moments, no one spoke. High in the canopy of the stately old oak, birdsong filled the branches with sweet, piping notes. A tiny butterfly, the color of the summer sky, alighted on the back of Magnes’ hand and clung there, its wings opening and closing in languid sweeps.

  Perhaps this is an omen that everything will turn out for the best, he thought.

  The butterfly fluttered away. Magnes turned to look back at Fadili and the sight of his young friend lying senseless on the road tore a groan from Magnes’ lips. “Gods…We can’t leave him like this!”

  “We have no choice. We’ve done all we can to protect him. We must go now.” Gran’s implacable tone left no room for dissent.

  “May Eskleipas always hold you in His hands, Brother. I’m sorry.” Magnes wiped his streaming eyes with trembling fingers.

  “May the One keep him safe,” Ashinji added. “Which way, my friend?”

  “Northeast, cross-country. We should reach Amsara in about two weeks, that is, if we don’t run into any trouble. There’s a smaller road that parallels this one, but I’m not quite sure how far we’ll have to ride overland until we find it. Since the army isn’t going that way, we shouldn’t encounter any patrols.”

  “Our only hope now is speed,” Ashinji commented, tugging on his ear and glancing over his shoulder. “We haven’t time to conceal our trail, so we’ll have to outrun our pursuers.”

  “Let us pray these horses are up to the task,” Gran responded.

  “They’ll have to be,” Ashinji replied, his voice grim. “Lead the way, Magnes.”

  Together, the little band of fugitives turned their horses’ noses eastward.

  ***

  At sunset, they reached the secondary road and turned north once again. They rode hard until moonrise, then stopped and sheltered in an abandoned barn for the remainder of the night. At first light, they pushed on.

  They rode now through rolling grasslands dotted with small stands of oak and solitary chestnut trees, populated by sheep and brown-spotted cattle. Isolated farmsteads appeared in little valleys or on windswept hilltops then fell away behind as they pressed onward. It soon became obvious their meager supplies would not last much more than a few days. Finding food in this sparsely settled land would be extremely difficult with no weapons for hunting, and they dared not stop openly at any of the farms along the way. The only alternative was the use of Gran’s magic.

  “At the next farmstead we come to, I’ll cast glamours on us,” the old mage said.

  Shortly after midday, they spotted a small, thatch-roofed farmhouse standing in a little hollow about a hundred paces off the road. A stand of laurel trees across the road provided a convenient place of concealment where Ashinji and Seijon could wait with the horses.

  Even after she had explained and had cast the glamour, Magnes still couldn’t believe his eyes. In Gran’s place, an old human woman with iron gray hair and dark brown eyes stood before him.

  “By the way you’re gaping at me, I can guess my glamour is convincing,” Gran sniffed as she tied a scrap of cloth over her head for a scarf. “Now, hold still while I disguise you.” Magnes held his breath as he waited, his eyes riveted on Gran’s every move. A slight wave of vertigo, a burst of tingling along his limbs, and then…

  “Ha! You’d fool your own mother, young man,” the old mage commented wryly.

  “What do I look like? Tell me!” Magnes demanded.

  Ashinji stifled a guffaw behind his hand. Seijon gaped like a startled bird.

  “You’ve got a shiny bald head and a big black beard,” the boy squeaked. “You look like a pirate!”

  “You do look a bit, uh, frightening,” Ashinji agreed, his wiry body shaking with mirth. “You could pass for a pirate. I think.”

  “Oh, don’t listen to them,” Gran grumbled. “You don’t look like yourself and that’s all that matters.”

  Magnes found himself laughing as well and it felt good, in spite, or maybe because of, the danger they faced.

  As Ashinji and Seijon led the horses deeper into the sheltering trees, Magnes and Gran approached the house along a gravel-strewn footpath. They moved cautiously, expecting at any moment to be challenged by dogs, but the yard remained quiet.

  “Halloo!” Magnes called out. “Anyone at home?” He and Gran waited in silence for a few heartbeats before he tried again, louder this time.

  “Halloooo!”

  After several more moments of silence, Magnes looked at Gran and said, “There doesn’t seem to be anyone around.”

  “No, there is someone here,” Gran replied. “I can sense…her. I’m not sure why she doesn’t come out, unless…no, no. I sense no fear. I think she must not be able to hear us for some reason.”

  “Let’s go look inside.” Magnes crossed the yard in several quick strides to the door then pushed it open. He stuck his head in and looked around. A rough-hewn oak table and two chairs stood at the center of the room. The only other furniture consisted of a cupboard against the far wall and two more finely crafted chairs beside the unlit hearth. Natural light entering from two small windows and the open door provided the only illumination.

  “No one in here,” he called out. He entered and stood, hands on hips, puzzled; then, it occurred to him why Gran could feel the presence of a person here, but yet, the farmhouse appeared deserted. “There must be a root cellar and that’s where the owner is,” he speculated.

  Gran entered the room and looked around. “The woman must be hard of hearing, then,” she said. “Let’s get what we need and go.”

  In the area that served as the cottage’s kitchen, they found eggs, cheese, butter, bread, turnips, a seed cake, and a large clay urn buried in the floor, filled with beer. A brace of freshly killed chickens hung from the ceiling. They took all of the eggs, a single loaf, one small round of cheese and one chicken. Magnes fished around in his pouch for a few silver coins to leave as payment.

  “What’s this, then!”

  Slowly, Magnes and Gran turned to face their unwilling host.

  The farmwife stood blocking the open doorway, a small club in one upraised fist, a plump matron ready for battle. Magnes, though flushed with consternation, could also not help but feel amused. He took a single step forward, hands folded in supplication.

  “Please, missus,” he said. “Me old mam an’ me was just travellin’ by on our way back home, an’ we was runnin’ outta food. We saw yer farm and I did call out but no one answered.”

  “So, you thought you’d just come on in and help yourselves, is that it?” the woman replied, voice sharp with sarcasm. Magnes ducked his head as if ashamed, and in truth, he was, a bit.

  “I’m real sorry, missus,” he murmured. “But we was goin’ to pay. Me mam and me ain’t thieves.” The woman sniffed and slowly, the club sank to her side.

  “Huh, well. Can’t let it get about that I refused aid to them what’s in need,” she huffed.

  Especially when there’s money in it for you, Magnes thought. H
e produced two silver sols and held them out on the palm of his hand. The woman scooped the coins up and promptly secreted them away within the folds of her skirt. She flashed a gap-toothed grin.

  “P’raps yer old mam would like a mug of beer before you move on,” she offered, her suspicion transformed into solicitousness by the power of money. Magnes opened his mouth to politely refuse, but before he could speak, Gran stepped forward and tapped the woman on the forehead with her forefinger.

  Magnes gaped in surprise as the woman’s eyes grew as round as saucers. Her fat lips stretched wide to scream, but instead, she gurgled, then went rigid.

  It’s like she’s turned to stone, Magnes thought. No, more like wax.

  “What did you do to her?” he demanded, rounding on Gran.

  “We’ve run out of time!” The old mage grabbed his arm and pulled. “Ashi just mindspoke to me. The slave catchers are on our heels. We’ve got to run!”

  Magnes’ heart leapt into his throat. “But…but how did they manage to catch up to us so fast?” he gasped.

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Come on!” She led the way out of the cottage and back up the slippery path to the road. Magnes paused for a heartbeat to look back at the house.

  “Don’t worry about her,” Gran snapped. “The spell is temporary.”

  Magnes turned and followed Gran’s fleeing figure toward the laurel grove where Ashinji and Seijon waited. They found the two mounted and ready to ride.

  “I scouted back to that little rise in the road,” Ashinji said, pointing over his shoulder. “I spotted the posse. I think they may have seen me.” Seijon clung with arms locked around Ashinji’s waist, his face drained of all color. The big chestnut pirouetted beneath them, sensing his riders’ agitation. Magnes waited until Gran had scrambled aboard her mare before climbing onto the piebald’s sharp back. Even before he drummed his heels into the horse’s sides, the animal sprang forward, chasing after its fellows.

  We’ll never outrun them! Magnes thought, mind reeling in desperation. He began searching the terrain for a place where they might make a stand, but even as he did, he knew in his heart it would be futile, unless…

  Unless Gran uses her magic. It’s our only hope!

  He urged his horse alongside hers. “We can’t run anymore!” he shouted. “Gran, you’ve got to stop them!” She glanced at him for just an instant, but Magnes saw consensus in her pale eyes. He also saw something else—resignation.

  Ashinji, who rode in the lead, pointed ahead to a hill topped by a crown of oaks. They made for it, their tired mounts laboring up the slope. At the top, the horses stumbled to a halt, sides heaving. Magnes slid to the ground and ran to the edge of the grove to look back the way they had come. He spotted the posse, riding hard, heading straight for their position.

  “So, this is what it’s come to,” Ashinji said. He had moved to stand beside Magnes and now gazed pensively at the approaching horsemen.

  Magnes glanced at his friend. Ashinji’s hair had come undone, and now hung in a rumpled gold cascade across his shoulders and back. Rivulets of sweat cut tracks through the grime on his skin, and the fresh scars from the wounds that had nearly killed him traced angry red trails down his bare flank.

  Even in such a disheveled state, Ashinji’s beauty remained undimmed.

  Magnes well understood Armina de Guera’s determination to get back her most prized possession. He shivered, beset by a rush of powerful emotion, his body reacting of its own accord to feelings he dared not confront. To do so would only court disaster.

  Magnes could never betray Jelena or jeopardize his friendship with Ashinji in order to make sense of his tangled desires. Some lines could never be crossed.

  He shook himself and refocused on the present danger.

  “Do you know what Gran is going to do?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at the old mage who now stood immobile in the center of the grove, eyes closed, arms hanging loosely by her sides.

  Ashinji shrugged. “I’m not sure, but whatever it is, it will drain her. She’ll be incapacitated, perhaps for several days. If we manage to escape, we’ll have to find somewhere to go to ground because she won’t be able to travel.”

  “I’m going to look for something to use as a weapon,” Magnes said. It felt like a useless gesture, but he had to do something.

  Ashinji put out a hand to stop him. “Magnes, promise you won’t do something foolish to save me. Concentrate on protecting Seijon and getting him away. Armina de Guera won’t pay those men for a corpse, so they’re going to do everything in their power to capture me alive. Seijon is worthless to them, and Gran is condemned for aiding my escape, as are you. If I have to, I’ll surrender to give you three a chance to escape.” Ashinji spoke without a trace of fear or indecision.

  “Ashi, I promised I wouldn’t let you be taken and I intend to honor that,” Magnes insisted. “Please don’t make me say otherwise.”

  Ashinji sighed, and looked at his feet, then lifted his eyes to meet Magnes’. “You and my wife are a lot alike,” he said softly. “You can both be downright pig-headed when you’ve a mind to.”

  Magnes chuckled. “When you see my cousin again, you can tell her that.”

  The two young men watched in silence as the posse fanned out to surround the hill, though they made no move to close in; instead, the riders drew rein and waited. After a few moments, a man on a white mule urged his mount forward, cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, “Come on down, tink! You can’t run anymore. You come quietly and we’ll let the others go.”

  Ashinji bared his teeth. “They must think we’re stupid,” he muttered.

  Magnes flicked the man a rude gesture with his finger.

  Without warning, the ground at the base of the hill exploded.

  Consequences

  The hill lurched violently, throwing Ashinji and Magnes to their knees. Acorns rained on their heads as dust billowed in a choking cloud. Screams of terror rent the air. Coughing, eyes tearing, Ashinji crawled to the edge of the grove and stared in disbelief at the scene below.

  Tree roots, flailing like the tentacles of a maddened sea creature, had burst from the earth to attack the slave-catchers.

  Ashinji watched in horrified fascination as a root the thickness of a man’s arm whipped around the posse leader’s neck and ripped him from his plunging mule. The man struggled and tore at the unrelenting wood, his bulging eyes wild with terror. His face flushed purple before turning gray as his kicks and twists became weaker. Finally, he dangled like a broken puppet, his tongue protruding grotesquely from his mouth.

  A second, then a third man each met the same fate.

  The others did not wait to witness the final death throes of their comrades. Even as the three victims swung above their heads, they wheeled their panicked horses and fled. None of them looked back.

  Dizzy with shock, Ashinji backed away from the slope and rose on shaky legs.

  “Goddess,” he whispered through dry lips.

  “Ashi! There’s more coming up the back!” Magnes shouted.

  Too late, Ashinji remembered the posse had split up to surround them.

  He whirled in time to see three men charge into the grove from the far side of the hill, swords raised. They ran straight for Gran, who remained locked in a trance, unable to move.

  Gran! Ashinji cried out in mindspeech, but she did not respond. Magnes pelted forward to intercept them, Seijon hard on his heels.

  “Seijon, no!” Ashinji screamed. He flung himself after the boy, straining to catch him but even as he did so, he knew he would fail.

  Magnes reached the men first, barreling into them like a charging bull, knocking one man flat and sending the second one stumbling to his knees. He pinned the fallen man and started pummeling his face with his fists. The third man twisted aside and lunged for Gran.

  Seijon, brandishing a tree branch, leapt in his path just as the slaver’s sword swept around in a glittering arc. The blade sliced through the wood and
cut across the boy’s body, sending a spray of blood into the air.

  Seijon fell without a sound.

  Without warning, a terrible pressure grew within Ashinji’s head, just behind his eyes. With a shout of rage, he loosed it like a taut bowstring. The recoil knocked him flat on his back.

  Seijon’s killer burst into flames.

  The man dropped his sword and staggered in an erratic circle, shrieking, until he finally collapsed. Acrid smoke filled the grove with the stench of burnt flesh. The two men whom Magnes had knocked to the ground had regained their feet. The one Magnes had beaten leaned like a drunk against his comrade, his face slick with gore. Both men raised their hands above their heads.

  “Please, don’t kill us!” the injured man croaked.

  Ashinji rose to his feet and without thinking, loosed another bolt of energy. The slave catcher flew through the air then smashed into a tree trunk with a meaty thud. His body slid to the ground, broken and lifeless. Howling with terror, the remaining slaver whirled and bolted away from Ashinji , running hard for the edge of the grove. Magnes lunged but his fingers closed on empty air.

  “Let him go!” Ashinji cried. Sick with horror, he stumbled toward where Seijon’s body lay and sank to his knees.

  No, no, not you, Little Brother!

  The sword had sheared open the boy’s belly, making a ruin of his innards. Death had come swiftly. Ashinji drew in a shuddering breath and gently lifted Seijon’s head to cradle it in his lap.

  The boy’s half-open eyes and parted lips made him look as if he had one last thing he needed to say. Ashinji stared into the small face—so pale and still—trying to dredge up from the darkest place in his soul a spark to re-ignite the rage that had called down fire to destroy a man, but he couldn’t. The fire had burnt out, leaving only sorrow and bitter regret in its stead.

  “This is my fault,” he whispered. “I should never have allowed you to come with us. If I’d made you stay behind, you’d still be alive.” Hot tears sliced through the dirt on his face. The air in the grove had grown thick and oppressive, as if it had become saturated with Ashinji’s grief and could hold no more.