by Rex Hazelton
In time, they passed over the coast and continued heading northward, deep into the Nour Sea. The need for stealth had determined their route. Once they were far off shore, the powerful griffin banked gracefully and headed eastward toward the foreboding Isle of Regret and the dark fortress of G'Lude.
The lights of Wynskynd, the capital city of Vineland, could be seen off in the distance to their right as the great cat's wings beat rhythmically against the air, looking like they were swimming through an ocean of darkness. Not having lost all their avis instincts, they organized themselves into the familiar V-formation common among migratory birds. For a time Bacchanor flew alongside of Grour Blood, who had taken the point. But eventually the wizard found it easier to follow in sync, drafting behind the other griffin. The weather for the flight was clear but cold, and the speed they were flying only added bite to the air. All of this made Jeaf wish that they were actually migrating southward toward a warmer warl. But this wouldn't happen. He knew they were flying right into the teeth of the monster, hoping to strike the first blow in a war they desperately needed to win.
After long hours of laboring, the great griffin headed inland to the northern reaches of the Crescent Steppes, a small coastal range that had originally been a volcano, much like the Mountains of Sorrow on the Isle of Regret once were. After the men were safely deposited, the hungry cats headed back out to sea, returning once they had a catch of fish. With the sound of bones being broken and flesh being shredded filling the raiders' ears, the sky grayed with the coming of the morning. Spending the day in hiding among the craggy cliffs, the men quietly prepared their meals without the benefit of a fire. Aware that Koyer's foul forces were amassing by the shores of the Cragmar River, not far south of their present location, they slept with guards posted, just in case a patrol passed by or a hunchman came sniffing about.
After a long day of anxious waiting, the raiders were once again soaring due north over the Nour Sea, under the cover of night. Flying much farther out to sea, on the circuitous route their plans dictated, the resolute deliverers purposed to approach G'Lude from the east where the Nour and Breach Sea met. To do this, the mighty griffin would have to circumnavigate the Isle of Regret at a far enough distance where they wouldn't be spotted by the fortress guards, or the cretchym that patrolled the island. This meant, the determined raiders wouldn't reach their destination until well past midnight, leaving them only a portion of darkness in which to make good their getaway.
Bacchanor, who had assumed the form of the white-faced owl, led the sober company of warriors. Flying at the point of the V-shaped formation, cutting through dark air that seemed to thicken as they neared the Breach Sea, the raiders raced onward, each ready for battle after having spent the past day resting and sharpening their weapons until they could cut flesh with their slightest touch.
Later that night, the guards, walking upon G'Lude's thick black walls, saw the dark form of a great owl fly overhead. Swooping down into the nearby courtyard, it began to flutter up against the lower portions of the stockade like it was trying to fly through the wall.
“Look at that Cruyd!” One of the short heavily muscled Archan warriors shouted, “That bird must have lost its bearings, or its mind, the way it's flitting about.”
“Why, it looks like it's trying to find a way to get inside,” Cruyd replied after he spotted what Lak was pointing at.
Pulling out an arrow from its sheath, Cruyd, who was only one of two guards that carried such weapons, carefully aimed his poisoned-tipped dart at the heart of the bird and let his missile fly. Missing the great owl by only inches, he reached for another arrow to continue the sport that was breaking up the night's monotony. The sound of his shout and the subsequent clang the arrow made as it struck a heavy metal door, drew the other guards', attention to the proceedings. Soon, another archer was fixing his own arrow to his bow while his companions began wagering on which bowman would bring the doomed bird down.
Arrows sparked as they glanced off the black stockade, the archers snarling each time they failed to hit the owl that stubbornly fluttered along the wall.
“Damn it, Cruyd, I could do better with me dagger!”
Angered by the jibe, the frustrated archer replied, “You better shut your filthy mouth Lak, unless you want me to think it would be more fun shooting at you.”
“Come on, Cruyd! I'm only kidding!” Though Lak was Cruyd's friend, he knew the angry archer could easily do what he had threatened. He had seen him cut a man's head off just for cutting in line at the mess hall. Wisely, he chose to redirect his friend's energies back toward the owl. “By the Fires of Darkness, look at how the owl is going from door to door. Owls don't use doors, do they?”
“You dumb pile of bull-splatter, you barely know how to use a door.” Cruyd struck at Lak with his words to exact a portion of revenge for his earlier slight. “How's an owl going to?”
“You can make fun of me all you want, Cruyd. But look for yourself.”
Detecting his friend was now talking in earnest, the cruel archer turned to examine the owl's movements. Sure enough, the great bird was clearly moving from one door to the next, pausing at each one it encountered.
“By the Fires of Darkness, that's odd!” Cruyd spoke as his suspicious nature was aroused. “Quick! Run to the tower and get me a couple more archers. We need to kill that thing.”
Lak's short powerful legs churned wildly as he sprinted toward the tower while his friend called out to the other archer, who had been playfully shooting at the owl, and commanded him to take his task seriously.
Soon, two other archers hurried out of one of the towers that intermittently rose above G'Ludes parapets and began fixing arrows to their bow strings. But before they could fire, the Archan were amazed to see the owl take evasive actions as if it knew the jeopardy it was in had increased dramatically. When the arrows began striking about the bird like an erupting hail storm, the owl swooped along the ground to avoid providing a silhouette the foul archers could sight in on before it shot up and over the wall, heading deeper into G'Lude and away from the threatening warriors. Then, negotiating a u-turn once it had reached a safe distance, the bird headed back out into the Breach Sea.
“What do you make of that Cruyd?” Lak asked as he took off his helmet and scratched his wiry-blond hair.
“Me thinks it has the smell of magic about it!” Cruyd responded while he tried to decide what to do. “Lak, why don't you go down to Blog and tell him what we're seeing up here.”
“You want me to wake Blog!?” Lak's fear of the commander was so much greater than his fear of his friend that he reached for his own sword when Cruyd menacingly withdrew his blade.
“You pile of bull-splatter! If you pull your sword, I'll split your skull down the middle and have your brains cooked with me eggs when breakfast time comes. Besides, Blog will kill us both if it ends up we failed to tell him something that turns out to be important!”
“You're right!” Lak let his hand fall from the hilt of his weapon as he wheeled about and begrudgingly headed for Blog's quarters.
As Lak disappeared into the tower and began descending a set of winding stairs that led down to Blog's quarters, the swooshing sound of the great owl's wings returned. Strangely enough, the raptor was back in the courtyard fluttering in front of the compound doors that led to the prison cells where Koyer held the royal offspring.
Shouting out orders to the other archers, Cruyd reached for another arrow. “Don't let that fire-blasted bird escape again!” Carefully sighting in on the great owl, the foul Archan hissed, “Now I got you, you little pest!” But before he could fire, two of his fellow archers mysteriously disappeared, their bows falling harmlessly upon the parapets where they had been standing as they did. The direction the warrior's screams came from let Cruyd know they were, oddly enough, flying high up into the night sky. Before the Archan warrior had time to puzzle over this weird phenomenon, the bodies of his comrades reappeared, plummeting to their deaths in the courty
ard below. “By the Fires of Darkness, I was right!” The frightened Archan spat out his words. “There's magic at work here!”
Growling out a command to sound the alarm, Cruyd saw a third archer disappear. Then, adding to the confusion, two other warriors were struck down by arrows that materialized out of thin air. “What the...” But before he could finish his expletive, a thunderous whooshing noise rushed at him, out from the direction of the courtyard, and as quick as one could say splat, the foul Archan disappeared. Massive claws, digging deeply into his chest, jerked the unlucky man into the inky black sky to meet the same fate that the others had.
While the Archan watched Cruyd's pathetic body fall onto the rocks laying between the Breach Sea and G'Ludes black walls, two more Archan warriors disappeared. Horrified, the others huddled up against the parapet, thrashing madly about with their weapons, not knowing where to strike. Hoping to escape the magic devastating their ranks, the Archan inched their way toward the nearest tower. Shuffling along, they saw their comrades reappear high above their heads. Plunging downward, their bodies fell among the dead. Crushed and twisted by the horrendous impact, they were soon numbered among those littering the courtyard floor.
A thud, sounding like a bale of wool had been dropped in front of them, was heard by those who were trying to escape. A deep rumbling growl followed. The tower, they were heading towards, blurred and then it was blocked from sight by a man sitting astride a huge figure. Squinting, the Archan guards saw the image of a giant cat come into focus, a pair of magnificent wings spreading out from its well-muscled shoulders. But their amazement was short lived. The pulsating beat of massive wings announced their deaths. Turning to face their doom, they were horror-struck to see a phalanx of huge winged-lions swooping down on them, from the direction of the Breach Sea.
In time, the griffin, claws wet with warm blood, leapt down into the prison courtyard, leaving the rent bodies of the fallen warriors splayed about the fortress ramparts.
Jeaf was slipping the ring that held the magical Wisdor Stone back onto his finger. Fyreed had done so earlier.
Bacchanor, who had resumed his own form, called for Alynd. “Quickly!” he said. “The locks are strong.”
Leaping lightly off Tor Blood's back, the Elf-Man hurried towards one of the doors. Behind the portal an heir from one of Nyeg Warl's kingdoms stood waiting as Bacchanor had instructed him. Reaching into the leather pouch that he always carried at his side, Alynd pulled out another one of Andara's tears. Holding it against the lock, he let his breath pass over the sphere, releasing amber light that fell like powder upon the door. With this done, the Elf-Man reached out his hand and opened the portal. Passing from one to another, not taking time to greet the stunned prisoners who stumbled out of their cells like those who were dreaming, soon seven doors were opened and seven men stumbled forth.
Prince Phelp, after hugging his brother Hartshyll, gave brief instructions to those who looked shocked by the sudden turn of events. When the prince finished, the raiders helped the royal heirs mount the mighty griffin. Manaleyous, King Romome's son, and Hectyr, King Nestor's son, due to the weakened state that they were in, rode in front of Jeaf and Fyreed. The others were able to sit atop a griffin under their own power. With passengers aboard, the winged-lions took off before more Archan could arrive.
So, the Nyeg Warlers departed from G'Lude strung out like a caravan loaded with treasure. The two griffin that were free of burdens- for Manaleyous and Hectyr, needing support, rode with others- were sent to the two nearest towers. There they met the first of the reinforcements. The hapless screams that followed were silenced once the guards' throats were crushed between the great cats' powerful jaws or their necks broken by a swat of one of their massive paws. The gruesome deaths forced the rest of the Archan warriors to retreat long enough for all to escape without even a single arrow being fired.
With bugles echoing throughout G'Lude, sounding the warning, the griffin fell into the familiar V-shaped formation and headed for home.
Jeaf, holding Manaleyous emaciated body against Grour Blood's mane, surveyed the scene below. An armada of strange ships lay at anchor in G'Lude's harbor. This meant, as they had suspected all along, that Ab'Don was sending vast numbers of reinforcements out of Ar Warl hoping to supply Koyer with enough strength to overwhelm his foes. Noting that G'Lude was devoid of snow, Jeaf witnessed the precision of Ab'Don's magic that wielded control over the extreme winter weather they had been having. As a result, supplies could easily pass out of the evil fortress, through the Blood Canyons, and on to the front lines; whereas, the rest of Nyeg Warl had to deal with debilitating snow and ice.
Lifting himself up to peer over Grour Blood's wide head, Jeaf could just make out the silhouette of the Verdant Mountains, whose maze of peaks and valleys would be used as the company's escape route. Turning back to look at G'Lude's receding lights, he wondered if the horrible cretchym were already in pursuit. But try as he might, he couldn't detect a thing in the dark moonless night.
They were in a race, one where griffin strength would be matched against cretchym speed. Their hope of escape would now be found in the crags and canyons cutting their way through the steep Verdant Mountains. The rub to all of this was that the griffin had to reach the range of peaks before the burden free cretchym caught up with them. On-and-on the noble blood flew faster than Jeaf knew they were capable. Grour Blood's huge chest heaved, his breathing sounding like a horse running in a race, as he extracted every drop of strength he possessed in their bid for freedom. The young Woodswane wondered what kind of reserves the powerful griffin would have left to fight, if the cretchym overtook them.
The dark silhouette of the Verdant Mountains grew larger and larger the closer they flew. In time, they passed over the lower hills and were just beginning to race between the first of the larger peaks when Bacchanor's deep griffin voice sounded the alarm. “Faster, the cretchym are upon us!” Wheeling around, Jeaf saw a black cloud moving against the backdrop of the graying sky.
With morning fast approaching, and the cover of darkness fleeing before it, the winged-company had to find a hiding place before the dangerous cloud got too close. When daylight came, it would be nearly impossible to escape detection. Grour Blood, pondering these thoughts, banked his large wings and led the others up a narrow valley cutting its way into the side of one of the peaks. Flying in single file, the griffin clung to the canyons walls trying to stay out of sight. Then as quickly as they could, they slipped over a pass in the rocky heights. Fleeing like a herd of deer, they swept down the other side. Reaching a gorge that dug its way into the far side of the valley, the griffin slipped up through the jagged cut and around another peak. Racing down the slope, barely a man's height above the rocky incline, the raiders found another gorge, nestled in the mountain side, one filled with trees. As if on cue, the griffin dropped beneath the cover the dense foliage provided.
Disbanding into smaller groups to hide from sight, no more than three winged-lions stood in close proximity to the others. Jeaf pulled off his ring and handed one of the Wisdor Stones to Goldan. Immediately, the magic of invisibility blotted his group from sight. Fyreed, who was with Prince Phelp, did the same thing. Using one of Andara's tears, Alynd enveloped those who were near him in amber light. A moment later, the magical illumination conformed to its surroundings like the skin of a chameleon. Man and griffin alike, were instantly camouflaged and virtually impossible to detect, if they were careful not to move. That left only Bacchanor's group exposed to the naked eye, so they scrambled into the nearby brush growing beneath the trees and waited for the cretchym to appear.
Before long, the ominous cloud began pouring over the mountainside. Looking like fog rolling in from the sea, the cloud broke into tendrils that swept through the gorges and canyons cutting their way down the steep slope. Continuing onward, the cretchym-filled fingers searched a patchwork of rifts, littering the landscape like deep wrinkles on an old man's face, as they raced forward in pursuit of the my
sterious raiders.
A loud clatter of wings vibrated against the walls of the gorge the griffin had settled into as one of the tendrils raced overhead. Standing where he could view the cretchym, the young Woodswane saw a jumble of fur and shell-covered creatures flitting overhead, looking like a troupe of bats running down a host of unfortunate insects.
Breaking away from the rest of the mob, one of the creatures flew right up to Jeaf, sniffing the air as it did. Only slightly smaller than a man, it was hairer than most of the others. With its head moving from side-to-side, saliva dripped from fangs sitting beneath a flat nose that scrunched up as it did its work. Lifting a bow, with an arrow nocked in place, the Woodswane prepared for the worse. Suddenly a large buck, with reddish brown eyes, burst out of a nearby thicket and sped over the ridge. Convinced the animal was responsible for the scent of blood itsmelled, the ugly creature skittered skyward to rejoin the ghastly swarm as it flew out of sight.
Once the foul cloud passed, the company reassembled in what they had decided was the safest spot in the gorge. They did this as quickly as they could, knowing the cretchym might have trailers following behind to catch them if they tried escaping in a different direction. With guards positioned, the griffin and Nyeg Warlers hunkered down and waited for the cover of night to return. After a time, the large buck with the reddish-brown eyes returned and reshaped itself into the brown-clad wizard.
“Quick thinking,” Goldan complimented the clever wizard.
Later in the day, Bacchanor played his beloved instrument, gently and as quiet as a breeze blowing through the trees. Singing songs of friendship, the wizard's words washed over the weary warriors, refreshing them with his magic. While the healing melody wafted on the crisp winter air, Alynd stood before each prisoner, in turn. Holding one of Andara's tears in the palm of his hand, he breathed upon the sphere sending its amber light into the princes' lungs to fight off any infection they might have contracted in their weakened state and to reinforce the healing magic found in Bacchanor's songs.
