A Royal Guide to Monster Slaying

by Kelley Armstrong

  The trick to killing a gryphon is to weaken it first. Don’t go straight for the heart, because if you miss, you’ll lose your weapon in that thick hide. Weaken the beast with blade-slices and arrow-pierces. When it tires, strike the killing blow.

  That’s what Jannah explains. She also reminds us—well, me—that we are there as observers. For us, this is a lesson. Nothing more.

  “Can you…?” I clear my throat and sneak a glance at Rhydd. “I know that’s how to kill a gryphon in theory, but how did you do it? With the one that…”

  “Killed your father,” Jannah says, her hands tightening on Courtois’s reins.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I know you don’t talk about it, and the bards…”

  “The bards make up their own version, in absence of the truth. They tell the most heroic version.” She glances at my brother. “You must get used to that, Rhydd. You must not argue, even when you wish to set the story straight. That was the hardest lesson for me to learn. The bards’ tales of valor can be difficult to hear if that’s not quite the way it happened. But those tales are for the people. So they may feel confident in the abilities of their monster hunters. What matters is not the way that the gryphon died, but the fact that it did.”

  Rhydd nods.

  Jannah continues. “The bards say that your father and I attacked the gryphon side by side. When it grabbed him, I made the killing blow, and it died. Unfortunately, it was too late for him, and he perished alongside the beast.”

  “And the truth?” I ask, my voice fainter than I’d like, my insides twisting.

  “That is the truth, Rowan. With one omission. A small thing that is not small at all. As monster hunters, we sometimes make mistakes that will haunt us for the rest of our lives. The truth…” She inhales. “The truth is that the gryphon went for me. Your father leapt between us, and the beast grabbed him instead. And as it was distracted with him, I drove my sword through its heart. I chose…” Another deep breath. “I chose to focus on killing it rather than freeing him.”

  “But killing it would free him,” Rhydd says. “That seems like the right decision.”

  “It was not. By the time the beast died, so had your father. Maybe if it happened again, I’d try to save him, and we’d both die. In the heat of battle, sometimes there is no way of knowing which choice is right. We can’t foresee the future. We make a decision…and we live with the consequences.”

  Jannah reins Courtois to a halt. “And we’ve gone far enough. All the sightings were south of here, and I haven’t seen any signs. Have you two?”

  We shake our heads.

  “Then let’s pause to check our map.”

  She swings off Courtois. I try to do the same with my gelding but I’m too close to Courtois, and the beast nips my butt. I twist back onto the saddle, snarling at him…and the jackalope leaps from my head onto Courtois’s neck and sinks his teeth in right below the unicorn’s horn.

  Courtois tosses his head. The jackalope doubles down, all his claws latching on for a better hold. I’m leaping from my horse when Courtois rears.

  “Courtois, stop!” I shout, heart hammering. “Let me get him off!”

  The unicorn ignores me. I rush in, and one flying hoof whips past my shoulder.

  “Courtois!” Jannah barks.

  Jannah grabs Courtois’s reins and pulls him down. I’m lunging to seize the jackalope when the little beast snorts in satisfaction—as if he’s subdued the terrible unicorn—and he jumps off by himself. Jumps and lands on Malric. The warg’s head jerks up in surprise. The jackalope looks around and then settles onto the warg’s broad back, as if thinking he makes a very fine fur rug.

  “Bad idea,” I say as I rush over. “Very bad.” I scoop the jackalope up. “Sorry, Malric.”

  The warg eyes the jackalope. Then he sniffs it and slowly opens his massive jaws, one yellow eye on Jannah.

  I yank the jackalope away. “Uh, no. Not a bunny dinner.”

  I hoist the jackalope by the scruff of the neck. “You are trouble, you know that?”

  “He was defending his princess,” Rhydd says. “Courtois nipped you, and he attacked. He’s a jackalope bodyguard.”

  I glower at him as he tries to hide his laugh.

  “Rhydd’s right,” Jannah says. “I always said I’d get a warg pup for you if I could. Now I don’t need to. You have a killer jackalope.”

  “More like a killed jackalope,” I say as I lift the beast, looking him square in the eye. “If he continues attacking monsters twenty times his size.”

  He licks his paw and grooms one ear.

  “He needs a name,” Rhydd says.

  “How about BBR?” I say, looking the jackalope in the eye again. “Blasted Bunny Rabbit.”

  He bares his teeth and chatters at me.

  “I don’t think he likes that,” Rhydd says.

  “Good, because I’m not naming him. That would imply I’m keeping him.” I glare at the jackalope. “And I am not.”

  “My lady!”

  A shout rings across the open field. We turn to see a young man astride a pony, pushing it as fast as its short legs will go. The hunters—who have been keeping pace around us—drop their hands to their swords but leave them sheathed as the young man rides up. He’s dressed like a farmer, with thick boots and coarse breeches.

  “You are the royal monster hunter, yes?” he says, struggling for breath.

  “Yes,” Jannah says. “You have news for us?”

  “I have need of you. The gryphon is attacking my parents’ farm. Right now.”

  “Lead us.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  he farm isn’t nearby. When the gryphon attacked, a neighbor said she’d seen the royal monster hunter pass. The young man had hopped onto the nearest pony and ridden as fast as he could to catch up.

  We finally reach the property. The crowd of pitchfork- and ax-bearing laborers tell us the gryphon is still around. We ride across the field, trying not to trample the sprouting crop. Ahead lie the stone buildings and thatched roofs of the farm. An older man runs out to meet us.

  “The beast is in the barn,” he says.

  Jannah’s eyebrows shoot up. “The barn?”

  He points at the pasture. “It killed two sheep, and the animals ran into the barn. The gryphon followed.”

  Jannah smiles over at us. “We might have a bit of luck here.”

  Rhydd nods. “A barn limits the battle arena and gives us the advantage of limited exits.”

  “Unless it bursts through the roof,” I say. “That’s possible, isn’t it? It might fly up and break out.”

  Jannah’s head tilts as she surveys the barn. “Rowan’s right. That roof won’t hold if it really wants to escape. So what would you two suggest?”

  “Archers on the corners of the roof?” Rhydd says. “The gryphon would burst through the middle, and they’d be safe on the edges.”

  “Flaming arrows,” I say. “That would drive the beast back down.”

  “It’d also set the straw roof on fire,” Rhydd says.

  “Could we burn down the barn with the gryphon…? No, there’s livestock.”

  Jannah nods. “If barn-burning was a foolproof plan, I would sacrifice the livestock. It’s a good idea, Rowan. We need that creative thinking when dealing with monsters.”

  She looks at Rhydd. “We also need your clearheadedness. Yes, flaming arrows would set the roof aflame…with hunters below. A clever idea but dangerous. We’ll stick with regular arrows, archers posted on the corners.”

  She calls her hunters over and explains the plan. Her two best archers will climb onto the roof while we go inside.

  Jannah asks the farmer about the entrances—from here we only see the big door for the animals. He says there’s a small one for people around the adjoining side. She sends two hunters to guard the smaller entrance. The remaining two will enter through the large one.

  “Guard our horses, please,” Jannah tells the farmer. “I’ll need your people to stay bac
k.”

  “Oh, we will, your ladyship. We’ve seen the beast, and we’ll steer clear. My sons will help with the horses.” He turns to the unicorn. “I’ll personally tend to yours.”

  Courtois shakes his mane, his iridescent horn glimmering in the morning sun. The farmer steps forward as if entranced. Jannah catches his sleeve.

  “That was a warning display, not an invitation,” she says. “Courtois will look after himself, and I would strongly advise you not to go near him. That horn is sharp, and he’s not afraid to use it. I have a special monster charge for you. Rowan? Let him take your new friend.”

  I reach around my saddle to where the jackalope has fallen asleep. I scoop him up as the farmer stares. When the jackalope awakes and sees he’s going into a stranger’s hands, he tries to bite the poor man. I show the farmer how to hold him, avoiding the sharp parts.

  Once the animals are looked after, we head for the barn on foot. As we approach downwind, I can see that the livestock entrance is two swinging doors. Both stand open. The sun is on the other side of the barn, casting this entrance into shadow, and we can’t make out any details through it.

  Jannah stops close enough to see the layout of the barn. Malric thumps down at her side as she surveys it. Then she looks at us.

  “And how would you handle our entry?” she says.

  “Close the doors,” I say. “Sneak up on either side, swing them shut and bar the entrance.”

  “Only if it’s safe to close them,” Rhydd says. “If the gryphon is right there or the doors make too much noise, it’ll come running.”

  “Which could be a good plan,” I say. “Jannah and her hunters can be ready to attack, with the archers poised overhead.”

  Jannah beams and squeezes both our shoulders. “Excellent. You’ve learned your lessons well.”

  “So we’re ready to be hunters?” I say.

  “Ready to plan a gryphon attack,” Rhydd says. “Not to execute one.”

  “Your brother is right,” Jannah says. “A good plan is important. But following it in the heat of battle is…” She inhales. “You’ll see.”

  “We’ve fought monsters before,” I say.

  “Not like this.”

  I nod and promise we’ll stay back.

  * * *

  We follow my plan. I could explode with pride at that, but I try not to show it. Rhydd and I stay behind Jannah and Malric, who stand ready to fight if shutting the doors alerts the gryphon. From where I stand, I can’t see inside. I strain to listen. Thick stone walls muffle any noise within.

  Two hunters ease the big doors shut, and I’m almost disappointed when the gryphon doesn’t charge out. They bar the door and guard it while Jannah, Rhydd and I creep around to the smaller entrance. The two hunters guarding that spot join us. One whispers to Jannah that the gryphon is at the far side of the barn. Jannah considers, and then tells us we may enter with her, but we must stay well back from the beast.

  Jannah goes first, with Malric at her heels. The two hunters join her; we follow. Once past the doors, Jannah and the hunters fan out, a sword-edged wall between us and the beast.

  It’s dark and cool inside, and it smells of straw and musk and dung. There’s another smell, too, a coppery one that makes me flinch. I can’t be a monster hunter and not recognize the scent of blood. To us, it’s usually the smell of failure, a monster we had to kill.

  Sunlight filters through holes in the thatched roof. The spots of light polka-dot the dirt floor, highlighting a trail of blood to my left. Beyond it lies a mangled sheep. I look away quickly.

  There are other livestock in here, too, alive and trapped with the beast. They’re trying to be quiet, like hiding children. An injured sheep lies on its side, groaning in pain, and I want to run to help it. Horses press against the backs of their stalls, panting with fear, and I want to rub their noses and tell them it will be fine. I console myself with knowing it will be fine. Jannah is here, and the gryphon won’t kill anything else.

  My gaze slides to the dead sheep. A thought pokes at the back of my mind. Something that tells me to stop and think. But I can’t. There’s a gryphon in this barn, and I have no attention to spare. I must focus on my surroundings. I’ll figure out the answer to this puzzle later.

  There’s a gryphon in this barn.

  An actual gryphon.

  I’m going to see a gryphon.

  I am only a few dozen feet from one. I can hear it, making horrible ripping and gulping noises as it devours its prey. I can smell it, too, its dank musk overpowering the smell of the livestock.

  At the gryphon’s stench, again I feel that weird poke at the back of my mind, the one that tells me to stop and think.

  Stop and think about what? I’m being careful. I’m staying behind Jannah. I’m not that little girl who longed to see a gryphon, the one who’d want to push past and say hello. Nor am I the one who spat on that tuft of mane from my dead father’s pocket, the girl who’d want to rush at this beast and drive my sword through its heart. I may be reckless, but I’m not stupid. That little voice must just be warning me to stay careful.

  Jannah motions for us to stay well back of her. We do. Well, Rhydd does, and when I try to creep closer, his hand closes on my arm. So maybe that voice of caution has a reason to be whispering after all.

  I’m going to see a gryphon.

  A real gryphon, just ahead. King of all monsters. It is truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

  From here, though, all I see is a dark shape. The roof is patchy, with small holes. The light coming through isn’t enough to illuminate the beast. The shadowy figure is smaller than I expected, no bigger than an ox. When disappointment stabs through me, I remember stories about the size of the one that killed our father, and I am glad this one’s small.

  A young gryphon will be much easier to handle. If it’s young enough, Jannah might even let us get close.

  The beast faces the other direction. Jannah gestures that she’ll approach on the left side, by its heart. She glances back at us, and I can tell she’s debating. She’s assessing the size of the creature and our readiness. Weighing her concern for us against our need for battle experience. When I see her considering, my heart leaps.

  I might fight a gryphon. An actual gryphon.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  annah lifts five fingers: Stay five paces behind me. That means we’ll get closer than I expected, though she won’t let us enter the battle. Rhydd must sense my flush of dismay. He gives me a hard look and shakes his head.

  I make a face at him. A good hunter obeys her commander. I am a good hunter.

  Jannah bears left. We follow, circling wider and staying back. As we move, the niggling feeling pokes at me again.

  That smell. That sheep. Think, Rowan. Think.

  Think about what? I don’t—

  Oh. Wait.

  I see the shape of the beast now. I see its tail and hindquarters, like those of a giant cat. I see folded wings. I see a thick mane. Exactly as I expect. But something’s not quite…

  The forelegs. They should be talons. Instead, they’re paws. The front legs look like the rear ones—a giant cat’s.

  When the beast lifts its tail, in my gut I already know what I’ll see on the end. Not tufts of fur but a trio of spikes.

  The dead sheep. Killed and tossed aside. More animals slaughtered outside. Wanton destruction rather than selective feeding. A gryphon—like most predators—kills only what it needs to eat.

  Then there is the smell. I’ve never smelled a gryphon, but I ran across this stench in a den once. A den at the edge of the mountains, where Jannah let us see the lair of a predatory monster almost as rare as a gryphon.

  “Manticore,” I whisper.

  Rhydd looks over, and his eyes go wide. His head swings toward Jannah, his mouth opening as if trying to figure out how to warn her. I shake my head. Our aunt already knows what this is. That’s why she didn’t make us stay farther back.

  A manticore is dangerous. But a mant
icore is not a gryphon.

  It’s an easy mistake to make if you’re not a monster hunter. Both have the hindquarters and tail of a big cat. Both have manes. Both have wings. But manticores are smaller. They have bat-like wings instead of feathered ones. Their faces are very different. And manticores have the front legs of a giant cat rather than an eagle.

  Almost every time a farmer reports a gryphon, it turns out to be a manticore. Jannah always asks people to describe the head, the wings and the front legs, but sometimes they don’t get a good look at those. They only see a giant cat-like animal flying overhead or terrorizing their livestock. Also, the gryphon is the more famous monster. So even if the beast is a manticore, they describe a gryphon to Jannah. And sometimes they lie, thinking the royal monster hunter will come faster for a gryphon.

  This is not a gryphon. I should be relieved, but in my deepest heart, I’m disappointed. Like Dad, who would come back from yet another gryphon hunt and slump beside my mother.

  “Manticore,” he’d say with a sigh.

  “You should be glad of that, Armand,” she’d say.

  “I know…”

  You should be glad of that, Dad.

  I wish you’d come home the last time, slumped in that seat, given that dramatic sigh and said, “Manticore.”

  I wish it so much.

  Jannah closes in on the beast. Then she turns to me and mouths, “Shall I ride?” Rhydd’s brow furrows. He doesn’t understand. But I do, and I nod.

  This is Jannah’s method of killing a manticore as quickly and humanely as possible. Because we must kill it, unfortunately. A manticore might not be as dangerous as a gryphon, but it’s even more destructive, able to slaughter an entire flock of sheep in a night.

  Jannah positions herself a few paces from the rear flank of the manticore. It’s still busy devouring the sheep. I’ve always heard that manticores are gluttons—and not terribly bright—and now I see the truth of that. We all stay back and out of sight, of course, but if this were a gryphon, it would have noticed us by now. The manticore doesn’t.