A few hours later, he’d taken the watch atop the tower when a shadow came across the full moon. Darik threw off his blanket and put a hand on his sword hilt, but didn’t call the alarm. A moment later he was sure and relaxed. The griffin swooped twice around the tower and came in silently for a landing.
Markal climbed off first. He was shivering and seemed glad to get his feet under him again. There was no fire or any light but that cast by the moon, and Darik offered him one of the spare blankets, which he took with a grateful nod.
Daria calmed the skittish griffin, then slid her lithe body from its back. She grabbed her braid, the raven-black hairs coming undone, and twisted it in a casual knot. She tucked a pendant with a glittering stone into her tunic. She wore furs and didn’t seem particularly cold in comparison to the wizard. A smile crossed her lips when she met Darik’s gaze, but then she smoothed it away and he couldn’t read her expression or mood in the thin light.
“Hello, Darik.”
His mouth was dry. “Well met.”
“I’m glad you weren’t killed. I was afraid for you.”
“Same here. I thought that arrow was going to hit you.”
“It was nothing.”
Darik took her hand, which was icy cold, but she pulled away after only a second of contact. He didn’t press, unsure if she was feeling shy or if the encounter was awkward after so much time. The griffin was more demonstrative. He had been sniffing and now came pushing his head against Darik’s chest.
“Joffa, is that you? Look at you, still growing. You’ll be bigger than a golden griffin if you don’t stop eating.”
Darik rubbed at the spot where the feathers blended into fur, below the griffin’s eagle-like head and neck, where it met powerful shoulders. Joffa let out a sound midway between a keen and a cat-like purr.
“It’s time for someone else to take watch,” Darik said. “Are you hungry?”
“Joffa caught a deer,” she said. “We’ve eaten.”
“There’s a fire below. And hot tea.”
“What about Joffa? He won’t fit through the door.”
“I’ll throw open the gates. You can bring him in the front.”
She flinched. “There are a lot of men down there. We’ll sleep up here. No one else needs to come up. Markal can help with the watch, right?”
“I suppose so,” Markal said. He didn’t sound pleased. “I’ll need more blankets.”
Darik wasn’t about to argue with Daria’s quirks. He was too delighted to see her again after all this time. “Wait here, I’ll get blankets.”
“I’ll come with you,” Markal said. “I’d like to warm up by the fire, if that’s all right.”
When Darik and Markal were through the door and winding their way down the staircase into warmer rooms below, Darik turned to the wizard. “She isn’t angry with me, is she?”
“Why would she be angry?”
“I told her I’d return to the mountains as soon as I was done asking Sanctuary. That was weeks ago.”
“You had other duties. We were going to ride to Veyre, remember.”
“Yes, what about that?”
“Soon. Don’t be so impatient.” Markal stopped him at the entrance to the main chamber on the lower level, where the men slept around a fireplace that crackled and radiated heat. He lowered his voice. “If she were angry, she’d tell you.”
“Then why did she pull away?”
“I don’t know, but Daria understands that you have duties. It’s a war. You are a knight.”
“Am I? I don’t feel like one.”
“Daria is the leader of her people now. They are reluctant allies. Daria’s mother returned after the war determined that the flatlanders could fight their own battles. Others are even more insistent. They want to fly their entire population to the snowy northern reaches of the Spine, make their homes among the wild griffins of the north. No dragon would bother them there.”
Darik found his spare blanket, and woke Brannock softly to tell him that the wizard had arrived and together they’d finish out the night atop the tower with no need to be relieved. Darik closed the door quietly as the two men regained the staircase.
Markal was in front and came to a stop midway up. “I have good news.”
“You can tell me up top.” Darik was anxious to see Daria again. He’d regained his bearings and was more confident that he could speak to her without tripping over his tongue.
“No, you don’t want to be making this decision in front of the girl.”
“I thought you said you had news.”
“I do, and it influences what you choose to do.”
“I’ve already made my decision. I was never planning to ride forever with the knights.”
“I never wanted you to.”
“I know what you want, and I don’t think that’s for me, either.”
“You have a talent for magic. I didn’t force that on you.”
“And Whelan said I have a talent for the sword,” Darik said. “Both of you want me to walk in your footsteps. The path of the sword or the path of magic. I understand that. It’s natural. But what if I don’t want either one?”
“They aren’t comparable,” Markal said. “The way of the sword is a hard, brutal road to follow. I’m offering you much more. There’s so much you can learn. Ancient wisdom. Knowledge. Others nibble at life, while a wizard feasts on it. The things you will live to see . . .”
“At the cost of severing myself from friendships and family. Of watching the people I love grow old and die.”
Markal fell silent for a few seconds. “There is a cost. I’ll admit it. But I think it’s worth it.”
“Of course you do. That’s why you chose that path. I’m not sure that’s what I would choose. I don’t know yet.”
“And the path of the sword?”
“To be a Knight Temperate and a captain of men? That I’m more sure of. No. I’ll fight, because it’s a war, but that’s not what I want.”
“That’s the good news I’ve got for you,” Markal said. “We followed the ravagers into the mountains for a stretch, then flew across the northern borders of Cleftwell, to look for more enemies. Hob Longley is ten miles south of here with forty more knights. I stopped and shared news. They should be here by mid-morning.”
“That is good news.”
“When he arrives, you’ll be free to leave Roderick’s company in his hands. I’d like you to come with me. Hob can hunt down and kill these ravagers.” Markal started back up the stairs.
“And where will we go?” Darik asked, cautiously. “With Daria?”
“No, she has her own reasons for being abroad. Narud and I have been tracking Chantmer the Tall.”
“He’s still alive? Didn’t the dark wizard kill him in the Citadel?”
“I’m afraid not. Come with us, Darik. Help me confront Chantmer, see if we can turn him back to our side.”
“Turn him? That’s impossible. He’s a monster, as bad as the dark wizard himself. Worse, because he betrayed his own people.”
Nevertheless, Darik felt the pull of Markal’s call. He thought of the wonders he’d seen while traveling with the wizard: magic tomes, orbs of power, ancient spells and incantations. And he remembered the haughty way Chantmer had dismissed him. Once, when he dared to question how Chantmer was caring for the sick and dying king, the wizard had filled his mouth with shards of glass. Darik imagined standing as a man, a Knight Temperate and an apprentice wizard, in front of Chantmer the Tall.
“So what exactly is Daria up to? Do you know?”
“Darik.” A note of disappointment entered Markal’s voice.
“They have more griffins than riders. I know how to fly. There are other ways to fight the dark wizard.”
“I didn’t drag you from Balsalom across the Desolation so you could go soaring over the mountains at the side of a pretty girl.”
“Are we going to stand here arguing all night? It’s dark and I’m cold. And I want to talk to Dari
a.”
Markal sighed and continued up the stairs. Why was Darik’s old friend being so difficult? Never mind if he was a wizard whose years had spanned the lifetime of several men. He had changed. Something had happened in the battle, Darik was sure, and his old friend and mentor seemed less uncertain. Some of his doubts had evaporated and his new-found certainty seemed to extend to Darik’s own life. And how strange was it that he was dismissive of the griffin riders? Without the riders, Arvada would have burned. All of Eriscoba would be under the dark wizard’s boot. The riders had earned that victory at terrible cost.
Darik was still puzzling over this when he followed the wizard back onto the tower roof. He drew short. Another griffin had joined Joffa, and the two beasts nuzzled each other in greeting. A second woman, equally slender, stood facing Daria with her hands on the young woman’s shoulders. They conversed in low voices.
The two women turned at the same moment. The newcomer was striking, with full lips and a penetrating gaze. Like the other riders of the mountains, she had dark, almond-shaped eyes like someone from the khalifates, but pale, almost luminous skin. A single strand of gray caught the moonlight in hair that was otherwise as black as Daria’s. The resemblance between the two women left no doubt as to their relationship.
“This is Palina,” Daria said. “My mother.”
“Well met,” Darik said. “Did you have any luck in the Wylde?”
“What?” Palina said.
“Weren’t you in the Wylde trying to tame a golden griffin? No, wait, Daria said you were taking Joffa’s sister and—”
Darik stopped at the scowl on the older woman’s face. He glanced at Daria, but she looked away.
Palina turned to Markal. “My daughter has done as you asked, Talebearer. We’ll be leaving now.”
“Are you really?” Darik asked Daria.
“Mother has new information about the dragons. I need to investigate.”
“It can’t wait until morning? Markal?”
If he thought the wizard was going to intervene, he was disappointed. The wizard didn’t say anything.
“It’s on the other side of the mountains,” Daria said. “Miles and miles from here. We’ll fly by moonlight and sleep in the mountains. Perhaps you could . . . ” Her voice trailed off.
“Could what?” Darik asked.
Palina put her hand on Daria’s shoulder and turned her around. “Hurry, we have a long way to fly and no time for talk.”
“I’m sorry, we must be going,” Daria said.
Why was she letting her mother bully her? For that matter, why didn’t Darik jump on Daria’s faltered invitation? Was it that strange business about the golden griffins, or something else? He was trying to work up his courage to come right out and ask if he could travel with them, and already they were on back of the griffins, who stretched their wings and hurried to the edge of the tower, ready to leap out.
“Daria—” Darik began, faltering.
Joffa jumped into the air with a powerful flap of the wings and carried her away. Palina and her griffin followed. Mother and mount sprinted into the darkness, but Daria kept Joffa circling the keep as they gained altitude.
When she was about a hundred feet overhead, silhouetted against the moon, she called down, “Goodbye, Darik. See you soon.”
Then she was gone, flying swiftly east toward the mountains.
Darik sank to the cold stone, while Markal draped a blanket over his shoulders. “Life is long. You’ll see her again.”
“Thanks, that’s really comforting.”
“I was torn, I’ll admit it. I would have smiled to see you sitting behind her, arms wrapped tightly around her waist, the two of you grinning like fools as you flew off into the night.”
Markal joined him sitting. He pulled the second blanket around his own shoulders. His hands already seemed to be healing, much faster than Darik remembered happening in the past.
“So why didn’t you help me?”
“Daria has her path, you have yours.”
“The crooked path to the thorn tree, is that it?”
“Something like that,” Markal said. “For now they intersect occasionally, then veer in separate directions. Perhaps someday they’ll continue side by side.”
“That’s not helping.” He eyed the wizard. “You’re different.”
“So are you.”
“Of course I am. I was a boy a few months ago. You’re hundreds of years old. I’d expect you to be past the changing time of your life.”
“Change is change. That’s what the crooked path means. You never know when you’ll be strolling through a meadow, enjoying the flowers, when suddenly you find yourself entering a dark wood filled with monsters. When you do, you don’t come out the same on the other side, no matter how old you are when you started or how many other woods you’ve survived.”
“What happened?” Darik asked.
“You first.”
“Most of it you know. I’ve killed men. And not always in a pretty way.” Troubling images came to his mind, of men screaming for mercy. He tried to push them aside.
“Killing is never pretty.” Markal reached into his robe. It came out with a glass sphere, which he rolled absently across his palm.
“Is that Memnet the Great’s orb?”
The wizard glanced down with a look of surprise, as if the orb had found its way to his hands of its own volition. He put it away and didn’t answer the question. “I heard something about a Veyrian encampment. Is that where it happened?”
“There were two battles,” Darik said. “In the first, the Veyrians feigned surrender. Some had been forced into the dark wizard’s army. They claimed they wanted to fight with the khalifa and swore they’d been trying to find their way back over the mountains when we caught them. Roderick trusted them. We were escorting them to the Tothian Way, where Prince Ethan had gathered a band of prisoners to march through the mountains to Balsalom. They turned on us, killed two knights before we overpowered them and put them to the sword. It was ugly business.”
“What choice did you have?”
Darik took a deep breath. “That wasn’t the fight that troubles me. The next morning we startled another party of Veyrians. They threw down their weapons and begged for mercy. Twelve men in all. We’d buried two dead knights that morning. Good men, with families in Arvada. Cut down treacherously by men who had already surrendered. Our bloodlust was up. Roderick shouted something—I think he was trying to call us back, but I don’t know for sure. All I know is that two minutes later a dozen unarmed Veyrians lay butchered in the road.”
Markal put a hand on Darik’s wrist. “And you? Did you kill any of those unarmed men?”
Darik swallowed hard. “I’m not sure. I—I think maybe I did. If I didn’t, it wasn’t for lack of trying.”
Something sounded in the distance. He stared into the darkness and concentrated on the sound. He hoped to hear the cry of a griffin and see its dark shape swoop down by the light of the moon. Instead, it was the call of a distant horn.
“The Harvester,” Darik said. “May he gather Roderick’s wight and my other fallen brothers.”
“Unfortunately, no. The enemy has bound their souls to their dead bodies. The Harvester has no power over them now.”
Another long note sounded from the distant horn and then it was gone. A breeze picked up from the direction of the mountains. It was cold, and hinted of the approaching winter. Darik wished he were back in the warm, sunlit lands of the east, where oranges and pomegranates grew.
“So that’s what happened to me,” Darik said. He pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders. “I’m proficient with the sword. I can ride all day and get by on three hours of sleep. I can hack down an unarmed man. What about you? What changes a four-hundred-year-old wizard?”
“Look at my hands.”
Markal held them out. They were pink and raw looking, as if they’d been doused in boiling water. But they were no longer withered.
�
��They heal faster than before?”
“Yes, and I can call more magic. Nothing like Chantmer the Tall, but my spells no longer fizzle and die. You remember my pathetic attempt to turn back the enemy forces when they assaulted Montcrag? Today I could put up a better fight, maybe even hold the castle. Everything changed the day we hunted the dark wizard.”
“You doubted your magic before. Now you’ve seen what you can do.”
“Perhaps.” Markal raised an eyebrow. “I preferred the old way.”
Darik laughed. “You liked being the weakest wizard in the Order?”
“Not at the time—at the time I hated it. I was older than them, wiser. I knew the ancient learning, but a new wizard would outstrip my skills in twenty, thirty years. A blink of time. But looking back, yes, I liked who I was. I was physically weak, but mentally strong. Now I feel more certain, more demanding. Magic comes with a cost, Darik. Most obviously, you earn it by stripping your life essence—or the essence of others—and throwing it into your spells. But the more powerful a wizard, the more arrogant and domineering he becomes. It happened to Toth, it happened to Cragyn. Chantmer the Tall became mesmerized by his own abilities. Nathaliey was blind to the machinations of her rivals. Narud has become almost mad, like the animals whose forms he mimics. I don’t want to change. I want to be the same cynical, doubting—and yes, weak—wizard I always was.”
“Can you turn back? I don’t know, find your doubts again?”
“No, I don’t think I can.” Markal fixed him with a hard look. “And neither can you, my friend.”
They sat in uncomfortable silence for the next few minutes, before Darik cleared his throat. “So Chantmer the Tall is alive.”
“I believe so, yes. He escaped the battle at the Golden Tower as a wisp of red smoke. He didn’t have enough power left to bind his body and soul together. Somehow he ended up in Estmor, body rotting at the bottom of a swamp while his wight lingered nearby. By the time I figured out what had happened, he was gone. Someone brought him back to life.”
“How is that possible?”
“Wizardry. Perhaps the enemy, but I think not. One of the tattooed mages of the sultanates, I suspect. I detected their magic nearby. They were either helping Chantmer, or watching him raise himself. And I doubt he could manage that.”
The Golden Griffin (Book 3) Page 4
