Daria looked around. The cover was so tight that it would be impossible to get airborne. No room for a griffin to flap its wings.
“We need to find somewhere we can take to the sky if needed,” Daria said. “There are other dangers in the Wylde apart from golden griffins. Rock gnomes, for one.”
“They wouldn’t dare attack two armed women and their griffins.”
“Maybe not, but a stone giant would. How about a cave bear? And there are giant weasels in the northern mountains.”
“You worry too much,” Palina said.
“There’s a reason the golden griffins were nesting on rocky outcrops instead of the forest floor. There must be something up here bold enough to snatch an egg or a chick from a griffin nest. Whatever it is, I don’t want to face it on the ground.”
“I see your point. How about the river? We could hide in the trees, but be close enough to the open riverbank to make a leap for the sky if we find ourselves in danger. Plus, we need more water.”
Daria got her bearings. “It’s this way, I think.”
They had to fight their way through the forest. There were rocks and snags of dead trees and broken limbs. Squeezes that the slender women could fit through proved more challenging for the larger griffins, even when they tucked their wings. And it was dark below the canopy.
They made slow progress for about twenty minutes, stopping only to listen for golden griffins. Every once in a while they heard hunting cries. The search was still on.
Daria was exhausted by the time they reached hillier ground where the forest cover thinned. Here, of course, there was brush, now that sunlight could reach the forest floor. They fought through that, then reached a meadow filled with rabbits and dotted with wildflowers, which made for quicker travel. At last she heard the river. They entered another stretch of forest.
They followed the sound until it became a roar. At last they emerged on the riverbank. The griffins strained eagerly toward the water.
Daria grabbed Joffa’s reins. “You’ll get a drink in a minute. Let me check it out, first.”
The river curved around boulders and spilled down cascades. One enormous rock sat in the middle, and the current split to rush around it. Daria froze. A golden griffin perched atop the rock.
Her mother spotted the animal at the same time and grabbed Daria to drag her back. The four of them retreated about thirty feet into the woods.
“How did it know to search for us here?” Palina asked.
“Are you sure it’s searching? It had its head down.” Daria glanced through the trees, but was unable to see it. “I’d better have a look. Wait with the griffins.”
“If you’re going, so am I.”
The two women tied their mounts to trees and urged them to keep quiet. Then they picked their way to the edge of the forest where it met the river. Still perched on the boulder in the river, the griffin was plucking at the feathers on its right wing. It keened in pain. When it shifted, Daria spotted what caused the trouble. A spear punctured one of its wings where it connected with the shoulder.
Poor thing. If the spear had penetrated further out toward the wingtip, the point would have gone clean through. Then the griffin could snap it in two and draw the pieces out from either side. But with the spear placed so awkwardly and thrusting deep into the muscle, if the griffin tried, it would only succeed in leaving the barbed tip inside its body.
The golden griffin was larger than Joffa by at least a third, but smaller than some of the others that had come screaming down from the canyon. Its feathers were a uniform yellow gold, instead of the mixture of hues of the older animals. In the battle, its smaller size and inexperience had left it vulnerable to a lucky thrust from a dragon kin.
Daria tapped her mother to get her attention and made hand gestures. I want to help.
Mother shook her head, gestured for Daria to follow.
The women returned to Joffa and Yuli. The griffins sniffed at the air with a vaguely alarmed air. They must have caught the scent of their wild cousin.
“We can’t, Daria.”
“It saved our lives.”
“It will rip you to shreds.”
“I won’t leave it to die.”
“It’s too risky. The rest of its flock will find it. They can help.”
“How? You saw. The point is buried in its shoulder. I have a knife and good hands. I can get it out. A few seconds, that’s all I need.”
“Daria, please.”
“Remember those wildflowers we passed at the last clearing? Did you see the moonbalm? I’ll make a poultice to numb the wound, make it heal faster.”
Palina sighed. “You’re determined, aren’t you?”
“Always.”
“Fine, if you figure a way, I’ll help.”
Chapter Nine
Daria and her mother returned to the riverbank for a third time. The injured griffin was still there, perched on the rock and tugging at the arrow. It let out a low keen.
What now? It wouldn’t be easy. There was a reason nobody flew a golden griffin.
When Daria’s people had extra fledglings, they released them into the wild. Legend had it that a lost tribe of riders would some day return from beyond the Wylde to fight the dragon wasps. They would capture and tame these wild griffins.
When released, the fledgling white-crowned griffins generally flew south along the Dragon’s Spine to nest. A few flew north, but they rarely made it as far as the Wylde.
Not only were the white-crowns ill-adapted to the brutal winters of the north, but they were not welcomed by the native animals—the huge, savagely independent golden griffins.
Daria had only seen a golden griffin once before today. Her father had harbored thoughts of breeding one of his griffins with its golden cousin—he assured her that the golden griffins could not be tamed themselves—and he hoped the offspring would be as pliable as a white-crowned griffin, but larger, more powerful. When Daria was about ten, he took her north with two mounts and a young female in heat. For two weeks they’d searched the canyons on the edge of the Wylde, until he’d found a nesting site. He hid Daria and their mounts in an old oak tree, carefully concealed with branches, then led the young female to the nesting site.
Father sent the captive griffin flying back and forth over the golden griffin aeries. Daria hid with the two skittish mounts while she heard the wild ones screaming. A few minutes later, Father swooped over her hiding place on the back of the young female.
“Fly, Daria! Fly! They know where you are.”
The girl rode one mount, led the other. She fled south after her father, while angry golden griffins gave pursuit.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he had told her, shaken, when they’d escaped and landed to rest.
“What happened?”
“The brutes. What’s wrong with them? She’s young and in heat. Weren’t they interested? Instead they tried to kill her.”
Eight years later Daria could have laughed at the ridiculous attempt, except that now she was in a similar predicament, staring at the injured golden griffin. It perched on that rock, she guessed, because it couldn’t get airborne. The swirling river offered it some protection.
“I’m worried about that current,” she told her mother. “It looks strong.”
“The griffin is a male. Did you see that?”
Yes, Daria noted with dismay. A young male was a hothead. That’s how this one had got in trouble, no doubt, swooping in for an ill-advised attack instead of waiting for the rest of his flock.
Screams sounded from the sky. Two shapes flew overhead. The young male on the rock called back. The others answered without stopping. A final, protesting squawk from the injured one. Indignant at being left behind. Griffins were sentimental creatures, unlikely to abandon one of their own. Not so different from a horse or a dog in that way. Or a human, for that matter. But the others would be anxious to return to their nests after the unexpected appearance of the dragon wasps and the strange
griffins with their riders.
It was late afternoon. Daria was famished and they had nothing to eat. She’d had nothing since the chunk of raw goat that morning. Joffa and Yuli would be fine until morning—they’d eaten twenty or thirty pounds of meat. What about the injured griffin?
“I have an idea,” Daria said. “You know the meadow with the flowers? Did you see the rabbits?”
“Yes.”
“Take your sling. Bring me back moonbalm and a couple of rabbits.”
A scowl crossed her mother’s face. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“No arguments—go. Oh, and bring my hunting knife.”
Daria stepped onto the riverbank with no attempt to keep quiet or hidden. When she started to unlace her boots, the golden griffin spotted her. It fixed her with a sharp stare.
“I’m not an enemy,” she said. “I’m your friend.”
She slipped out of the rest of her clothes and set them next to her boots. Then she stepped up to the river’s edge.
The griffin hissed. His boulder was only thirty feet away. Injured wing or not, he could almost leap to shore. And if not, he would be above her when she approached. He’d rip her apart just as the rest of the flock had made short work of the dragon kin they’d torn screaming from the backs of the wasps. Forget a snack of rabbits, she’d make a full meal. No doubt she would be delicious.
“I’m going to help you, but only if you don’t eat me.” She pointed at the broken spear. “I see what you’ve got there. It hurts, doesn’t it?”
The golden griffin looked at his wounded shoulder. Clever beast. He understood at least some of what she was saying.
“I’m sorry about the dragon wasps. I’d have never led them to your aeries if I’d known. We were trying to escape. They’re our enemies, you know.”
The animal stared, so she made a high sound in the back of her throat like a dragon wasp’s battle cry. The griffin screamed. He clawed at the boulder with his talons.
The sight was intimidating, and Daria stepped back from the water’s edge.
She waited until he settled down before she returned to the riverbank. The water was cold, and she gasped at the first touch against her skin. The current was swift and dangerous, the rocks smooth and slick. Lose her footing and she’d be swept away. Daria crossed midway from the bank to the boulder. There the water was deeper, but the current calmer. It was clear and frigid.
The griffin grew agitated again. She didn’t take her eyes from him.
“I’m going to wait here until you calm down. I mean it, stop snapping like that. Stop it.”
Her legs grew numb. What was taking her mother so long? Shouldn’t need more than a few minutes to sling down a couple of rabbits.
Daria scooped a drink, dropping her gaze momentarily as she did. Brook trout swam against the current at her legs. She glanced up to make sure the griffin wasn’t preparing to jump, then bent slowly until her fingers trailed into the water. She lowered them gradually, forced her concentration to remain fixed on the fish instead of the deadly animal only a few feet away. She closed her hands ever so slowly around the largest trout, and snapped them shut at the last moment.
Daria came up with the fish in her hands. It squirmed and thrashed, its scales glistening in the sun and its mouth gaping. It was smooth and cool and beautiful.
“I take your life for my own need,” she prayed.
She bit the trout behind the head. It flopped twice on reflex, then fell still. The trout’s cool, tangy blood lingered on her tongue.
Daria held the fish at arm’s length. “I only took a nibble. How would you like the rest?”
He made a sound that was half chirp, half squawk. It wasn’t so different from what her own griffins sounded like when they were interested, but wary.
Her heart pounded as she approached, foot by cautiously placed foot. By the Wounded Hand, he was huge. And he looked so hungry and wild. She wanted to toss the fish to the rock and flee for the riverbank. But if she were going to do this, she’d have to get a lot closer than this.
Daria took another step toward the boulder. The griffin clawed the rock and squawked. Daria’s heart thundered until it felt like it would burst from her chest.
“I’m serious. If you eat me, you’ll be sorry.”
If she took one more step, he could swipe out with a claw and hook her. The water was to her waist and she was numb with cold. She leaned as far as she could with the trout in her fingers.
The griffin slashed with his beak. He yanked the fish from her hand, tilted his head, and swallowed it with a gulp. He keened.
Trembling, laughing with relief, Daria backed away. When she was out of his reach, she turned toward the shore. Her mother stood there, wide-eyed, mouth gaping. She held a pair of dead rabbits by their feet.
When Daria reached the shore, Palina set down the rabbits, bent, and rubbed vigorously at the younger woman’s calves to restore circulation.
Daria pulled away. “I’ve got to go back before I lose my nerve.”
Palina straightened and looked her in the eyes. “You’re sure of this?”
“I’m sure. I won’t leave him to die. Not after he saved our lives.”
Palina embraced her. “All right, then. Be careful, my dear. Be very, very careful.”
Daria’s mother opened a pouch at her belt and removed a bundle of flowers the pale yellow of a winter moon. Daria wadded them into a ball and stuffed them into her cheek to mix with her saliva. Then she took her hunting knife in one hand and the pair of rabbits in the other. She waded back into the water. Behind, her mother stood rigid on the shore.
When Daria was halfway across, she addressed the griffin in a stern voice. “Now listen to me. I’ve got a pair of rabbits. Nice and tender and tasty. I’ve also got this knife, but don’t be scared. It’s to get the spear out.”
She gestured with the knife to her shoulder blade, roughly equivalent to where the animal suffered the lodged spear in his own body.
“You’re no dumb beast—you know what I’m doing. And you’re not a fledgling, either. You can take a little pain. I’ll make it hurt as little as I can, but it will hurt.”
Daria spoke in her most commanding voice. Inside, she did not feel so confident. She felt young and terrified and convinced she was making a stupid mistake. Parents would be sharing her fate to their little ones as a warning for generations to come.
Daddy, Daddy, tell me the story about the girl who fed herself to the golden griffin.
She took a deep breath and stepped right up to the rock. The golden griffin looked down at her with unblinking eyes. His enormous curved beak lay inches from her scalp. Daria slowly laid the two rabbits at his talons. He gobbled them down.
While he ate, she edged around the back of the rock to his lion-like haunches. She put the dagger in her teeth and climbed up. The rock was warm. Daria took the hunting knife in her right hand, stood clear of the back claws, and reached out her other hand to touch the griffin’s golden fur.
He screamed and whirled on her. Daria barely held her balance above the swirling river. She almost swallowed the wad of moonbalm in her cheek. The hunting knife trembled in her hand and it was all she could do not to clench it in front of her like a weapon. With effort, she tucked it into her belt.
For a long moment, the griffin stared at her, hissing and screaming. She found her voice.
“Stop that. It’s not helping. Now you listen to me. Either you calm down or I’m leaving. And that spear is going to stay in your shoulder. You won’t be flying anywhere and nobody will bring you food. You’ll die, do you understand me?”
He glared back. Daria shot a glance to her mother, who stood on the riverbank, clenching and unclenching her hands. Daria had to settle this quickly or Palina would run back for Joffa and Yulia, then make a charge to free her.
Daria turned back to the griffin. She tucked the dagger behind her back and reached her other hand for the animal’s neck. He opened his beak, but didn’t bite. S
he buried her fingers in the warm feathers. For two or three minutes, she did nothing but stroke his neck.
“There, that’s a good boy. See, it doesn’t hurt. I know you’re wild—so am I. But we can be friends. I’m going to help you and it will feel better. You’ll see.”
She kept her hand in contact with his body at all times as she worked her way around his injured side. As she moved, she continued with the reassuring talk.
“My name is Daria. I have flown griffins all my life. That’s right, I know all about your kind. We are great friends, the riders and their griffins. We hunt together, eat together. We protect these mountains and keep them wild and safe.”
Her hand closed on the shaft of the spear and slid to where it embedded in the griffin’s shoulder. The animal shuddered when she felt around the wound. But he didn’t fight her. He knew.
A delicious shiver shot down Daria’s spine. She had spoken to a golden griffin of the Wylde. Seen into its mind and communicated her intent.
She prodded until she found where the barb hooked into its flesh. Right through the muscle. Not so deep that it would render the griffin crippled when she cut it loose, but the pain would be excruciating.
She removed the hunting knife from her belt. “This is the hard part. It’s going to hurt.”
She pushed around the wad of moonbalm in her cheek. Mixed with her saliva, it worked to numb her lips and gums.
Daria grasped the spear shaft in her left hand, leaned against the griffin’s shoulder, and took a deep breath while she readied the knife. She thrust in the tip of the knife. The griffin kicked his back legs. A wing smacked her in the head.
She cut the muscle, twisted the spear, and yanked. It came free. She threw it into the water. Blood streamed from the wound.
All the while the griffin screamed and thrashed. Daria dropped her knife and clung to its side, tucked herself in ahead of the claws. She grabbed tight at the fur with one hand, spat the moonbalm into her other palm, then slapped it onto the wound and pressed down.
The griffin gradually stopped struggling. At last it lay down, panting and blowing. Daria held the moonbalm in place. She spoke soothing words.
The Golden Griffin (Book 3) Page 9
