The Golden Griffin (Book 3)

by Michael Wallace

“You weren’t watching, were you?” Markal said.

  “I tried. Where did his cloak go?”

  “It became his pelt.”

  “So we won’t come out the other side naked?”

  “No.”

  “Then what about my sword? Couldn’t I have turned it into one of my horns or something?”

  “Not at your skill level,” Markal said. “We’ll be lucky if we can pull it off at all.”

  “Then you could have carried it. And the food, too.”

  “No, I couldn’t have. I’m not that good at this either. Besides, we won’t need food. Goats eat everything—twigs, bark, grass. We’ll get all the food we need.”

  “Yum.”

  “You remember the words?”

  Novum lycanthus cabiris.

  “I do.”

  “Good, because we don’t have much time. Narud is hard enough to manage in human form. As a goat, forget it. He’ll be long gone in about five minutes.”

  As he said this, Markal pulled something from his sleeve and set it on the road. To Darik’s surprise, it was Memnet the Great’s glass orb.

  “You’re just going to leave it there?”

  Markal fixed him with a hard look. “You can ask questions later. Now do what I say. Your best magic flows through your dominant hand, so lift your right hand, palm out.”

  Darik did as he was told.

  “Perfect, now we’ll need everything you’ve got. This is no sleazy little tracking spell, this is deep magic. Here’s how to draw it. Think of that moment when you approached the Sanctuary Tower, how you felt. When you’ve got that memory fixed, think of your devotion to your khalifa. You love Kallia and would give your life to defend her and your people against the enemy, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Now think of Roderick falling into the hands of the ravagers. He was your captain, and you had fought at his side all summer. How did that make you feel?”

  As Darik considered these things, his hand grew warm and his head light. He felt like he could float out of his skin. A smile spread across Markal’s face as he studied Darik, and he nodded.

  “Now. Speak the words.”

  “Novum lycanthus cabiris.”

  Darik’s right hand felt like it was on fire, but the sensation was quickly overwhelmed by the cracking, breaking pain in his feet and legs. It felt as though a dozen men were pounding at his bones with hammers. He collapsed with a cry of agony. His clothing melted, burned into his skin.

  Markal winced. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you. The first time in any new form is uncomfortable.”

  “Do something!” Darik begged.

  “Nothing to do but fight it out. It will be over in a second. Hold on.”

  Sweat poured down Darik’s face. He was on the verge of passing out. Then, as quickly as it had come, it was over. The pain in his legs turned to a dull ache, then faded entirely. He grew stronger with every gasp.

  His right hand was withered and throbbing, but he was still a man. Only his cloak and tunic had disappeared, leaving him shirtless in the cool mountain air.

  “Hmm,” Markal said. “That’s different.”

  “Why didn’t it work?”

  “It kind of worked.”

  “No, it didn’t. Look at me.”

  “I am looking. Take a look yourself.”

  Darik rose shakily to his feet. His legs felt funny and he could swear he was shorter relative to Markal. And he felt strangely springy. Then he looked himself over and gasped.

  His legs and feet were gone. In their place were a pair of hairy goat legs finished by a pair of sharp, horny hooves. The hair spread up his belly to his chest, but other than that, his upper half was all human. Darik took a step back, and wobbled like a jongleur on stilts before he caught his balance.

  Markal’s concerned expression faded, transformed into a delighted grin. He caught Darik’s glare and turned away. He slapped his hand over his mouth and swallowed a guffaw.

  “Markal!”

  “I thought the satyrs were mythological creatures. But here you are, standing in front of me.”

  “All right, I see. It’s hilarious. Now when do I finish changing?”

  “You don’t, that’s it. You lost it at the end and the spell faded.” Markal scratched at the back of his head. “Hmm.”

  “Then you have to do it.”

  “I’ve got to change myself.”

  “You have two hands. Use one for me, the other for yourself.”

  Markal turned his hands over. One was completely healed, the other still pink and soft. “No, not yet. I’d need about six more hours to do it properly.”

  “Then what do we do? Narud is a mile away by now.”

  “I suppose you could go back down the road and look for your friends. They could protect you until you change back.”

  “Like this? I’m a naked goat man! Forget it.”

  “In that case, naked goat man, you’ll have to go over the mountain with the rest of us.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “You’ve got goat hooves and goat balance—you’re already lighter on your feet. I’ll transform and you follow me. Do your best to keep up.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Very. This is all quite funny, but we’ve got to get moving. Give me some room.”

  Darik sighed and took two goat steps backward. His butt felt twitchy. When he looked back, he discovered a tail, which was the source of the twitching. Oh, the Harvester take him if an advance party of Knights Temperate rode around the corner just now. He’d never be able to show his face in the Free Kingdoms again.

  Markal stood above Memnet’s orb and raised his hand. He closed his eyes and spoke the words.

  Darik was determined to watch, to figure out where he’d gone wrong. But once again his attention drew elsewhere. When he looked back, a mountain goat stood in the road. It was smaller than Narud and without a beard, but the same gray color.

  The goat spied the glass orb. He took a tentative nibble, then took it in his mouth and struggled to swallow it whole.

  “I could have carried that, you know,” Darik said. “Anyway, you might think about Narud coughing up the owl pellet, and do your best to pass that before you transform back.”

  Markal bleated.

  “Bah, bah to you, too. Now let’s get out of here before Hob and Brannock spot me.”

  The goat bounded into the brush. Darik allowed himself one final sigh, then trotted after him.

  Chapter Eight

  The dragon kin must have been lurking in the crags above, watching the battle. Afraid to approach the two raging beasts, but curious about the outcome. So long as Daria had remained hidden, their attention had fixed on the dragons, but the moment she’d stepped into the open, they must have spotted the riders and their mounts.

  Daria turned on her heel and sprinted back the way she’d come. The first wasp dove for her head. She dropped and rolled, and came up with swords flashing. The enemy ducked away, then climbed for another dive. Meanwhile, her mother ducked behind a rock as the second wasp landed and snaked its head to snap at her face.

  Joffa and Yuli struggled to get out of the crevices into which they’d wedged themselves. They screamed in anger and frustration. Palina cried for Daria to hurry.

  Daria reached the rocks. She slashed and connected with the perched wasp’s clawed front leg. It screeched and lifted skyward.

  Joffa was free. Daria jumped on his back without letting go of her swords.

  “Ska!”

  The griffin flapped his wings and got airborne. No time to grab the reins or rope herself in. She kept hold of the blades and dug in with her knees and heels. The slope was steep, and Joffa dodged wildly to keep free of the dragon wasp’s claws and teeth. It was all Daria could do to keep from pitching loose. She was already fifty feet off the ground. Meanwhile, the weasel-faced man on the back of the wasp had a spear, which he thrust at Daria. She twisted as the tip pierced her cape. A fiery pain stabbed her s
ide. She hacked at the spear.

  The kin cursed and pulled it free. He leaned over for another thrust as griffin and wasp tussled in the air. The second wasp came in fast from her left flank. She glanced over in time to see the sneer on the rider’s face as he readied his spear for a killing thrust.

  Then her mother dove in from above. Woman and griffin screamed. Her mother had her single, longer blade in hand. She brought it around from her shoulder as Yuli slammed into the wasp. The sword landed a crushing blow against the kin’s shoulder. The man screamed and fell from his saddle. He tumbled end over end to crash in the boughs of the trees. Now riderless, the wasp veered aimlessly away from the battle.

  The griffins pulled free of the remaining dragon wasp, but they were not yet in the clear. Daria looked up the mountain and was alarmed to see half a dozen more wasps gliding down from the peaks.

  “South!” Palina cried.

  Yes, south. The Swansin aeries lay no more than ten miles in that direction. If they could reach them in time and call the alarm, the Swansins would fly out in force. Add another dozen griffins and they would destroy these wasps and their riders. Then they could settle down on the hillside and destroy the engorged, sleeping dragon. Daria sheathed her swords, grabbed the reins, and pulled hard to the south.

  But as she and her mother got turned around, the dragon kin seemed to recognize their intent. They moved their wasps swiftly to intercept the griffins and cut them off. The remaining enemy from the initial encounter flanked them on the side of the mountains and forced them lower. Behind, the main body of wasps was now at two hundred yards and closing quickly.

  With no other choice, Daria banked north. She dug her heels into Joffa. Her mother was by her side. They gradually pulled free of the closest rider and climbed in altitude. The higher they got, the colder the air, the greater their advantage over the dragon wasps.

  The enemy didn’t give up the pursuit. The faster ones tried to keep pace to the right and left, while the bulk remained in a small but lethal knot to their rear.

  At first, the griffins pulled gradually ahead. The wasps became dark specks to their rear, first a mile distant, then two miles. A little more and the riders could shoot up over the top of the mountain, then come down on the Eriscoban side of the range and hide in the woods. But the enemy hung on, tenaciously following.

  A few minutes later, Daria glanced over her shoulder and was alarmed to see that the enemy was closer than it had been. Joffa was tiring, and Yuli wasn’t doing much better. They had flown hundreds of miles over the past two days, and the sprint was taking its toll. They couldn’t keep going. Not at this pace.

  They had reached the outskirts of the vast northern forests known as the Wylde. It stretched on both sides of the mountains from here to the coastal range and from there to the frozen wastes where ice giants hunted mammoths on the glaciers at the banks of the Frigid Sea.

  The mountains above the Wylde were higher, craggier, the peaks well above the tree line. Permanent ice fields clung to the uppermost reaches.

  Daria’s mother caught up with her. She made hand signals.

  Going back. Fight.

  “We’ll be killed!” Daria shouted. The wind swept away her words.

  “Not you,” Palina called back. “Just me.”

  Daria hazarded a glance over her shoulder. The enemy lay a half-mile back. Closing, but slowly. She pulled Joffa next to Yuli until the griffins flew wingtip to wingtip.

  “If you go, I’m following.”

  Palina’s eyes glittered. “You won’t follow. That’s an order.”

  “By what authority? I’m the flockheart, not you.”

  “But I’m your mother. And it’s because you’re the flockheart that you must live. I’ll hold them off. Go over the top. Hide.”

  “You’ll be killed.”

  “And if I don’t do it, we’ll both die.”

  “No!”

  “Daughter, I’m begging you.”

  Daria pulled Joffa away. She gave a sharp chop of the hand.

  No. And that’s an order.

  She stayed off Palina’s rear flank. Let Mother try to return and she’d see. Daria would follow her back. They would die together.

  Joffa huffed. His chest heaved like bellows. They sank lower. In a few minutes they’d be in the trees. The dragon wasps kept coming. Their stamina was terrifying.

  A canyon yawned to the left. A river had scoured a deep gorge, marked with waterfalls and huge, thrusting spires of granite. Gnarled trees wrapped their roots around boulders and dug into fissures to keep their grip. The mountain gales had forced them into bizarre, twisted shapes.

  Daria gestured to her mother. Follow me. Up there.

  Normally, she wouldn’t risk it. Swifter, more powerful fliers, the griffins had an advantage in the open skies. Narrower quarters favored the dragon wasps and their greater maneuverability. But the chase must have left the wasps drained, too. Anything could happen up that canyon. Wait to be overtaken, and the enemy would tear them to pieces. They were too numerous.

  Daria banked hard to the left. Palina followed. The women ducked into the canyon and climbed above the river toward the summit. The dragon wasps gave chase.

  Half a dozen pursued from the rear. Two more dropped from above. Daria couldn’t remember drawing a sword, but suddenly one was in her hand and she was stretching and slashing at the underside of the beast as it passed. The sword tip grazed its belly. It veered away with a scream. Its rider fought to control it, while the wasp jerked its head from side to side and snapped its jaws.

  The griffins sped toward the base of a waterfall, where the river plummeted two hundred feet to land in roaring whirlpool. Dragon wasps bit at their haunches. At the last moment, the women jerked hard on the reins and the griffins lurched up. Daria clung to Joffa’s back as he shot skyward at a near vertical angle. The wasps couldn’t follow.

  But the griffins barely reached the top of the waterfall without crashing into the river. They steadied themselves, wings beating furiously. Joffa’s muscles trembled. The poor thing was on the verge of collapse. But Daria didn’t dare let up. Already, the wasps boiled over the top of the waterfall and renewed the chase.

  Above, the canyon narrowed to a few dozen feet wide. Rock walls towered on either side. Daria scanned them for a cave, a fissure, or a promontory from which to defend themselves. What she saw made her heart lurch in mixed terror and hope.

  Outcrops thrust from the canyon walls like giant fingers of stone. The largest, most isolated outcrops sported huge nests. Giant, eagle-like heads peered over the edges.

  Wild griffins. And they were nesting.

  One of the wild griffins screamed a warning, and suddenly the air filled with flapping wings. Half a dozen of the beasts threw themselves from their nests and came swooping down. The sun was at their backs, and Daria squinted to see where they were going. If they came at her and her mother, she had to get clear so they could see the wasps, their real enemy. One of the griffins flew right at her. Joffa screamed a challenge.

  “No!” She pulled back on the reins.

  Then one of the dragon wasps came past her, and the lead wild griffin changed its course. It seized the rider in its talons and tore him free. Suddenly, the wild griffins launched into a violent frenzy. They tore at the invaders with talon, claw, and beak. Those wasps and kin who could flee did.

  The wild griffins were huge.

  Daria got turned as one of them shot past her in pursuit of a wasp. The kin had slipped from the saddle and clung to its tail. The griffin slammed into the wasp and sent it and its rider careening into the canyon wall.

  Sunlight caught the griffin’s feathers. They glinted gold, rich and red at the base, out to a glimmering, yellow gold at the tips. The fur-covered back haunches were a tawny bronze gold.

  Golden griffins.

  One of them flew past. As it did, it fixed her with a hard look, then banked to come around at her. She kicked at Joffa to take him back down the canyon.

/>   “Ska!”

  The griffin caught up with them at the base of the waterfall, but there it was distracted. The battle continued between the wild griffins and the dragon wasps. Two griffins had one of them gripped between them and rapidly shredded wasp and kin to pieces. But other kin thrust with spears while their mounts fought back with their claws and biting jaws.

  One man speared a golden griffin in the wing, and it lurched away with a cry. The remaining griffins massed and charged at the surviving enemies. They blasted the formation of wasps to pieces. Two riders broke free, but they and their mounts were hunted down and destroyed before they could escape the canyon.

  There was no need to watch the final, bloody outcome. Daria spotted her mother and gave her an urgent signal. The two women fled back down the canyon. Soon the screams faded behind them.

  Daria brought them down in the thickest cover she could find. Joffa and Yuli could scarcely brace themselves as they crashed through branches. They landed on the ground and sat heaving for air and trembling, while pine needles showered down on their heads.

  It was quiet beneath the pine boughs. And dim. So little sunlight reached the forest floor that nothing green grew through the spongy mat of pine needles. Scallop-shaped mushrooms sprouted like dragon scales from fallen tree trunks.

  The women retrieved their waterskins from their packs. They gave half to the griffins, then drained the rest themselves. For several minutes they sat without speaking. The only sound was birdsong and the huffing breaths of the griffins and their riders.

  From above came the unmistakable cry of a hunting griffin. Another hunting cry sounded from the south. Then a third griffin called to the north.

  “What will they do if they find us?” Palina asked. “Kill us? Drive us off?”

  “I don’t know, but you can bet they’re not trying to thank us for leading a dozen dragon wasps into their nesting grounds.”

  “We’d better stay put. When night comes we’ll flee.”

  “What’s down from the mountains here?” Daria asked. “Is it still the Desolation of Toth?”

  “No idea. As a general rule, I avoid thinking too much about the flatlands. In this case, I’ll take my chances though. Once we get about twenty miles south, we can cut into the mountains again.”