To Save The Broken Heart: Dragons, Griffons and Centaurs, Oh My! (Dragons, Griffons, and Centaurs, Oh My!)

by Margaret Taylor

  Tollo purred happily in agreement.

  Rygan spit out more drool and levered himself upright. “Well I did not miss him.” He glared at the creature then turned and grabbed the small sack that had been lying next to him. He swung a look around, blinking reddened eyes. “Where am I?”

  Garax sighed. “Where you always end up when you have too much Bloodrum. My poor garden.”

  His friend snorted and none-too-gently stomped his way through the blossoms.

  He jerked the man clear and knelt next to the crushed buds. “Careful you big oaf, it took me 12 rotations to coax those into opening!”

  “Big? Who you calling big?”

  He harrumphed. The newly planted bed was a disaster. He’d have to start all over.

  Rising, he towered over the shorter man, poking him between the eyes with a thick finger. “You will help me clean this up,” he growled. He shoved Rygan toward the back door of his home. “Just as soon as you bathe. You stink of Tecta weed and cheap Colnats.”

  A tick later, Rygan descended the stairs into his kitchen. He looked moderately refreshed from the cleaning, despite the red eyes and hangover pallor of his tan skin.

  Tollo jumped from his shoulder and landed on his chest, slurping another slobber laden kiss up his cheek.

  “Ack! Stop it, you deplorable little monster!”

  He chuckled and stirred the soup he would serve in the restaurant for lunch. Tollo hopped back, nuzzling his neck and trilling happily. He gave his companion another scratch and pulled the pot from the stove. “Care to try my newest recipe?”

  Rygan turned another shade of green and coughed out a loud, liquid filled burp. “No! I would not say no to the Hair of the War Dog though.”

  He jerked his chin toward a shelf, setting the pot to cool on the counter. He’d found Poxshan grog was best served slightly congealed. At least his brother Ogre’s seemed to love it. “There is a bottle of sherry over there. It will not get you drunk, again, but should help. And there is fresh Soya root for your head if you like.”

  Rygan shuffled off and dug out the mentioned items. Sitting at the table, he downed a healthy dose of the cooking wine and chased it with some of the root after it had dissolved in a glass of goat’s milk. Hanging his head, he pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and sighed heavily.

  Typical. He wanted to talk but needed prompting.

  Being a good friend meant he could do one of two things. Listen to him whine or kick his ass for ruining his freshly tended garden.

  He choose the former.

  “Now, tell me why were you passed out in my petunias?”

  Another laden sigh, which Tollo immediately picked up on and jumped from his shoulder to Rygan’s. “Lick me again you disgusting little beast and I will throw you in the fire…”

  It was an idle threat. For all the grumbling, the two adored each other. They always had. For his part, the Ilthe hunkered down and began to purr softly. And for his part, Rygan’s finger reached up and scratched Tollo under what might be his chin.

  With pity, he gave the poor man the out he needed to spill his troubles. “Let me guess, you screwed up, again.”

  A slow nod. Another scratch for Tollo and the story came in a rush.

  “Mother stoned me fourteen rotations ago…”

  Garax’s heart thumped against his ribs and he headed for the bucket of potatoes in the corner. Dragging it to the table, he sat and began to peel. Anything that started with Mother stoned me was going to be a long, long, long tale…

  “If I had known what that wretched son of a heathen was up too, I would have done something to stop it.”

  He chuckled and set another potato on the pyramid in the middle of the table. “No, you would not have. You cannot and we both know it.”

  Rygan’s fist slammed onto the surface, tumbling the tower of spuds. “I would have. I would have found a way.”

  He righted the vegetables. “You say that every time and in 50 rotations have you found that way?”

  Sensing his anger, Tollo jerked awake and skittered back under Rygan’s hair with a trill of fear. Scratching the little guy to coax him out again, he grumbled, sounding more petulant than usual. “I would have this time.”

  “Why?”

  “It would have been the right thing to do?”

  He sounded so desperately hopeful that he almost let him off the self-imposed guilty hook. Almost.

  He sat back, sighing heavily. It was the same argument they had every time and he gave the same answer he did every time. “Yes, it would have. But when have you ever done the right thing.”

  Rygan glared and harrumphed softly. “Well, never, but there is always a first time.”

  He gathered up the potatoes and dumped them in a pot to boil. “True. There is. So, why did you not?”

  His friend’s elbows jammed onto the tabletop and he flicked at a peel. “I do not know.”

  He leaned a hip against the stove. “I think you do. You did not interfere and save the human girl and her Roc, because, you are a coward, Rygan.”

  The half-ogre, half-harpy shot to his feet and dislodged the sleeping Ilthe, tossing the little guy to the floor. The ball of fur and fluff rolled under the table and he shook his head, scooping him up. With a loving scratch, he set Tollo on his own shoulder again. Turning back to the stir the water, he ignored Rygan’s threatening stance and the glitter of anger in his eyes.

  “What did you say?”

  He shrugged. “I called you a coward.”

  The sword inched out of the scabbard on Rygan’s back.

  “What? It is true and you know it!”

  The blade slid out another hair by the scrape of metal on metal. “One more time, old friend.”

  He would never draw it fully, they’d known each other far too long. This was anger talking, nothing more. But he didn’t let up. “I called you a coward,” he said again. “And I will continue to do so until you wake up to the fact that Golix does not control your will. You have the choice to say no.” He turned enough to jerk a nod toward the medallion around Rygan’s neck. “What is the worst he could do? Take that away?”

  The hand dropped slowly from the hilt and his response came out on a low growl. “Yes! But is that not enough?”

  “That I cannot say. It is your choice. Personally though, I would much rather be seen as a monster than truly be a monster.”

  ***

  Silence fell over the kitchen after that little pearl of wisdom.

  Garax returned to the pot, Tollo nestled snuggly under his chin and he sank into the chair. What his only true friend had said was right, blast him to the Nether Worlds and back again!

  He fingered the medallion for the hundredth and one time. It was better to be seen as something dark and evil than to actually be that something. For too long he’d allowed his morals to be persuaded by vanity and it was high time that changed.

  Hooking a digit into the chain, he gave a hard tug, not really expecting it to release. It didn’t. Breaking one of Golix’s spells wouldn’t be that easy, but there was hope, now at least. Feeling empowered for the first time in too long, he straightened his shoulders.

  “Where should I start?”

  Garax chuckled. “I would say, try and fix this mess you created. You can address your past mistakes after that.”

  He balled his fists and rose, leaning on the table. “Fair enough. But how?”

  The Ogre turned down the flame and untucked Tollo from the neck line of his shirt. Cradling the disgustingly ugly/cute fluffball in one hand, his forehead dipped into a frown. “Well, I would think you need to earn her forgiveness. Know a way you could do that?”

  There was one but he didn’t relish the idea of taking on the entirety of the Griffon population to do it. Rescuing the War Advisor wasn’t a task to accomplish alone. He’d need help but he’d never been one for friends, so that left that out.

  Could he get her another Roc?

  No, not that either. A Rider needed
to be present to bond with it.

  Garax pushed off the stove and slapped him, hard, across the back of the head. “Just go after her, you nublet!”

  He cringed, the hit increasing the pounding between his ears. He rubbed the spot and eyed Tollo. “Fine, fine. But only bearing gifts, so she will hear me out.”

  Garax tucked the little guy back and away. “Oh no. No, no and no!”

  “You can find another, Garax. You attract them like bees to a flower. Please? It is the only way. She would be powerless to resist and we both know it.”

  His oldest and dearest friend groaned but ultimately left the choice up to the Ilthe. Holding him up to his eye-level, he sighed. “What say you little guy? Want to help Rygan regain his honor?”

  Tollo’s tongue lolled out of his mouth and with a trilling squeal, he spun in circles on Garax’s massive hand.

  With another groan, the Ogre honored the reply and held him out. “You just make sure he gets there in one piece. If anything happens…”

  Rygan took the creature and gently set him on his shoulder. “Yes, yes, I know, you will never forgive me. Just like you have never forgiven me for any of the hundred other stupid things I have ever done…”

  ***

  Well, this would not do!

  Why were his minions suddenly thinking they were above his control? First someone in his own camp and now Rygan? Why, the nerve, the very thought…

  “Is there an issue my son?”

  “No,” he snapped over his flank. “It is all in hand, Mother.”

  Taking a breath, he backed away from the monitors where he’d been shamelessly watching the pair. He’d checked on the bastard he used when things needed to get, well, messy, only to find him in intense debate with that Ogre he called friend.

  And now the upstart thought he could do other than what he was ordered?

  Drawing the damp air into his lungs to calm himself, he sighed it back out, in control again.

  “Did you need something?” he finally asked.

  Liliana shook her head, mane lifting then resettling against her sleek neck in perfect order, not a strand out of place. “No. But you may.” She jerked her snout toward the monitor again.

  He snorted and pawed the ground, sparks flying from his hoof. “I do not. But it may, indeed, finally be time to put the bastard out of our misery.”

  One perfect red eye pinned him with a look. “And how do you purpose to do that? You cannot kill him.”

  That was true enough. If he caused Rygan’s death and it was found out, the Harpy Witch would become involved and that was a disaster waiting to happen. Despite her age, she was another of the few that could pose a serious hitch in their plans. “No, but I can make him wish he were dead.”

  He turned to the minion at the keyboard. “Access file #1292.”

  The requested information spiraled into view on another monitor and he read over the latest data.

  Ah yes, they were in Aydenton. Perfect.

  “Get me Boma.”

  He could hear the shudder of pleasure in his mother’s next words. “Oh my yes, excellent choice, my son. We have not used the Kobaloi’s particular brand of destruction for some time.”

  A smaller picture blinked to life on the screen and a face only a mother could truly love, blinked sleepily. Rubbing crust out of his bloodshot, green eyes, yellowed, crooked teeth appeared as the creature smiled. “Golix! Good to see you.”

  “And you, Boma. Are you and the boys available?”

  A long fingered hand waved at the camera. Black, razor sharp nails glittered in the minute lighting coming from behind him. “For you my friend, always. What do you need us to do?”

  “Kill an Ogre…”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The van bounced over a particularly deep rut and Haydn smiled as a moan echoed from the rear section. An oomph followed when she purposefully swerved to hit the next and then finally a growl when she swung back the other way to catch a third.

  “Will you stop it!?”

  She snorted and aimed toward a deep pothole, hoping she didn’t blow a tire in the process. “Why should I? You burned down my house!”

  “Ha! Technically, you burned down…” A grunt interrupted the statement when the entire van jostled from side to side. “Your own house!”

  “I did not.” She snapped, maneuvering back into the center of the one-lane strip of dirt. “If you had been faster with your water, the curtains would have never caught fire.”

  “Oh please,” the wench replied on a snort. “If you had not tossed…” The words were again broken off when she swung the front end through a series of washed out ruts. “The thing in the first place…”

  Haydn could hear her trying to get up and twisted the wheel hard over, sending the van careening from left to right for a good length. She smiled smugly as the woman bounced back and forth, cursing fluently in Naiad.

  She interrupted the tirade. “Calling me a Wardogs dangly bits will not change the facts. You were trying to kill me and I was merely defending myself.”

  Phara’s hands slammed into the grate just behind the front seat, gripping the metal to stay upright. “I would not have tried to kill you,” she growled. “If you had not killed Arin Manus.”

  Finally!

  It had only taken the woman two rotations, a bruised pride and the horrible road between Golbu and Aydenton to admit what she’d been after when she barged through her front door. She slammed on the brakes, maybe a little too satisfied when the witches face smushed into the mesh and she let out another oomph before being slung backwards when she stepped on the gas again.

  “What? Nothing to say now?” she managed to ask.

  Oh, she had plenty she could say, but it wasn’t the right time. “It still does not give you the right to burst into my home.”

  Phara appeared again, clinging tightly to the metal this time and she decided to ease up, at least for a tick or two.

  “Does it not? You killed him!”

  She remained silent. Maybe it was jealousy, or the heartache in her chest causing her to jostle her passenger back and forth. She couldn’t really say. Didn’t really care, it was just satisfying.

  They were almost to their destination anyway. She would have to let it go sometime and kept the van in the middle of the road. But hearing Phara relax behind her with a thump, she couldn’t resist one more shot.

  Twisting the wheel hard over, she whipped the vehicle into a fishtail that nearly upended it. For just a heartbeat it balanced precariously on two wheels then righted itself under her guidance just as they topped a hill and Aydenton came into view.

  About a hundred lengths inland from Golbu, it sat in a valley just at the edge of Griffon territory. Large, rocky mountains stretched away from one end of town as far as she could see.

  But, that wasn’t where she was going. The Griffons weren’t her current concern, they were too busy with other things and paid the village little mind. Occasionally they appeared to trade for some commodity, but for the most part, they ignored it and its mishmash of inhabitants.

  She was counting on that. It was the only reason she’d chosen it. A rumble caught her ear through the open window. She slowed and eased over to the side as the pack of nasty looking Kobaloi rocketed past on their two-wheeled choppers.

  She recognized their leader, Boma and tilted her head in a nod of respect, one assassin to another.

  His hand dropped to the side and he pointed a finger her way in respect, one assassin to another.

  She briefly wondered where they were off to. It wasn’t her business, but it was curious. Winter was coming and the Pack rarely left home in the cold rotations…

  Dismissing it for later, she let up on the brake and eased into town at a more sedate pace.

  Everything from Centaurs, to Goblins, to Pegasus called the village home and they roamed here and there, mindful of their own business and no one else’s. It was another reason she decided this was best option when she’d come up wit
h the idea back on the O’lu.

  No one would notice her, or her companion and if they did, they wouldn’t care.

  Aydenton was a refuge for the unwanted masses. Most of them, truth be told, were on the run from something or another and with only one way in and one out, it was easy to see whatever was after you coming from a length away.

  She turned left on Duchy then took a right on Darlenvale, rolling up to the warehouse she’d purchased several Suns ago. She left the van running and unlocked the door. Kicking it up, she eased the van inside before letting Phara out of the back.

  She’d already stripped the woman of weapons while she was unconscious and she expected her to come out fighting.

  Which she did…

  Ducking under the haymaker meant to take her head off, the Naiad spun with her own momentum and she gave the woman a hard shove in the back, just because it felt good.

  Phara stumbled and spun into a crouch, a snarl lifting one corner of her mouth.

  She let her hands hang loose, ready for anything. “Are we going to do this again? Did you not learn your lesson?”

  “You killed Arin.”

  She opened her mouth to finally refute the statement, but was interrupted by a voice coming around the front of the van. “Did you have to stab him in the gut? You know that makes my work that much harder!”

  Phara paused and her fists slowly unclenched.

  She shrugged. “I avoided anything major. What more do you want?”

  A Goblin appeared, crossed his arms and tapped a flat foot against the floor, purple eyes dancing with accusation. “For starters, how about you bring me something semi-healthy to work with!”

  She laughed. “And make earning your fee easy?”

  He threw up his stubby hands and stomped away. “Bah! Assassins,” he mumbled then fell into a long string of curses in his native tongue.

  Phara straightened, her head swinging back and forth. Her brow pinched into a frown and she pointed at Pedric’s disappearing back. “Who? What?”