by L. E. Horn
The blue Gryphon approached Lianndra and extended her hand to slip the amulet off the Healer’s wrist. Then she looked into Lianndra’s eyes.
“Welcome, Healer,” she said in perfect English. The violet eyes danced as the edges of the long nostrils curled with what Lianndra interpreted as the Gryphon equivalent of humor. “I think we have much to talk about . . .”
Chapter Sixteen
MICHAEL’S FIRST ATTEMPT TO OPEN his eyes didn’t go as planned.
He heard a familiar voice nearby. Female. Groggily, his mind groped to connect the voice to a name. Not Lianndra. Hannah. Hannah spoke. Something about broth. And me. Getting me to drink it.
As he finally opened his eyes, a kaleidoscope of color assaulted him, stabbing into his brain, causing him to raise an arm to block the light. It got tangled in cloth—a blanket. Michael thrashed it free but lost control of his arm and smacked himself across the face. He clobbered himself so hard his nose throbbed and his eyes flooded with tears, which resolved part of the original issue by whitewashing the painful sunlight.
“Michael!” Hannah grabbed the errant arm to settle it back against the blanket. “You’re awake!”
I never thought Hannah had a habit of stating the obvious. Michael opened his mouth to speak, but only a hoarse croak emerged. Is nothing working properly? Where the hell am I and what happened to me? He struggled to remember but all he gleaned were scattered, blurry images that didn’t seem to connect. Michael’s last clear memory was of Lianndra standing on a tree branch, her hair glowing gold in the sunlight.
“Lianndra.” The name came out as a whisper.
Was there a slight hesitation before Hannah responded? “She’s not here now.” Hannah’s voice sounded brisk. “Can you drink some of this? We’ve got to get fluids into you.”
Strong arms slipped beneath his shoulders as Michael tried opening his eyes, this time to mere slits.
Drake smiled at him . . . at least, he thought it was Drake. “Welcome back, mate,” the familiar voice said, confirming Michael’s suspicion.
Michael fought to sit up, but to his dismay, he seemed as weak as a newborn kitten. Drake helped, propping him against a couple of packs.
Wincing against a twinge in his abdomen, Michael cautiously opened his eyes a little wider. He sat in the sunlight near the mouth of a cave. This time, things went more smoothly, enabling him to look around. Not far away, he saw Bradley standing on guard. Past the Zraph, the rebel camp bustled. Try as he might, he couldn’t see Lianndra’s distinctive form.
Hannah distracted Michael when she wove into view holding a mug of liquid. He didn’t have the strength to refuse, so he let her feed him the broth one spoonful at a time.
He soon shook with exhaustion. Drake helped Hannah ease him back down onto the blanket. Although he wanted to express his gratitude, Michael passed out before he could whisper a thank you.
TARK’TOSK LEANED CLOSER OVER THE technician’s shoulder as if her mere presence encouraged the transmission to come in clearly.
If the war coordinator intimidated the technician, she didn’t show it. Her fingers, with clipped claws, flew over the console, trying to reduce the heavy interference within the message.
Decipherable Tlok’mk words suddenly pierced the static. The technician gave a grunt of satisfaction and sat back as the Farr commander’s message played out over the comm.
The commander’s voice gurgled and crackled as he spoke in his native tongue. He’d discovered three slaves with collars that seemed unresponsive to his commands. They were part of a unit that recently lost its Fang commander and most of its members in a frontline assault. He discovered the defective collars while questioning the slaves about the attack.
When the message ended, Tark’tosk straightened. Her Fara technician had been correct. This message required an immediate reply.
“This requires an explanation,” Tark’tosk said. “It could be a new Gryphon strategy or a technology glitch we have never run into before.” The coordinator’s eyes narrowed. “The commander is authorized to use whatever means he deems necessary to explore this issue. Tell him to send two captives immediately for analysis.” She paused. “No, change that to two of the defective units. We do not need living hosts to determine why they are malfunctioning. It will be more efficient to just send the heads and collars.”
The technician nodded before beginning the return transmission. “It will take time to reach him through this interference.” She gestured to include the other technician in the room, who quietly sipped on a beverage. “We have been having trouble all morning.”
Tark’tosk turned to Sark’naek, who put down her drink. “Was there not a message a short while ago about a missing unit?”
“Yes, coordinator,” Sark’naek said. “I have a commander gathering information.”
“Have him check the collars,” Tark’tosk said, “and report back.”
Sark’naek nodded and turned to initiate contact on her console.
Tark’tosk turned her back on them and walked to her office, hiding the unease this latest message instilled in her. The collars were always a reliable means of controlling not just humans but most captive species. There had been minimal complications with them over their many years of use on slaves. To have faulty collars surfacing now troubled her.
Never had they engaged in a war that neutralized so many of their strengths. Have the Gryphon found a way to affect the slave collars with their shield? The thought made her hearts leap. If the collars malfunctioned, it signaled the end of the ground war. They would be lucky to get the Farr component of their army back to the safety of their Motherships. The few primitive projectile ships they employed within the shield could only hold a fraction of the Tlok’mk still on the planet.
Not only did the Gryphon’s shield prevent them from using the battle technology that would have ended the war in the Tlok’mk’s favor a long time ago, but it made communications over any distance tricky.
Never mind. This is soon to end, Tark’tosk thought, soothing herself as she entered her small office. She walked to her window to gaze out at the lush jungle, grimacing at the midday rain in progress. All this water. She shook her body as if shaking off raindrops. As soon as the Motherships make the latest modifications, we will destroy the shield once and for all. Her lips opened, and the tips of three long, pointed blood-teeth emerged. Then we will see how the Gryphon’s primitive weapons stack up against our war machines.
MICHAEL AWOKE TO DARKNESS AND chaos. Around him, people rushed about in semi-organized confusion. He barely had time to blink before hands heaved him to his feet.
He struggled to stand even with the support of a person on each side. Drake appeared out of the darkness, a tiny light sheltered in one hand. “You’ve got him? Good. Take him up the cliff, follow the others.” Then he strode off.
The two men each threw one of Michael’s arms over their shoulders and dragged him out of the cave.
Once out in the night, Michael made out the bulky bodies of two Zraph. They stood as still as statues, silhouetted against the moonlight, just beyond the cave entrance. Both stared out across the grasses far below them. Out on those grasslands, Michael saw lights moving toward them. Danger permeated the surrounding air.
“Fang,” one of his escorts hissed.
They turned him away from the silent giants to negotiate a steep rise. The loose shale beneath their feet made the going treacherous, and Michael struggled to help them, forcing his legs to work. After only a short distance, he was sucking in huge amounts of the cool night air, his body drenched in sweat.
Ahead, others made their own way up the cliff’s side. Near the top, they squeezed through a series of narrow crevices. The slim openings meant Michael must navigate some on his own. His arms felt leaden and useless but he muscled his way along. Past the crevices, two new recruits took up their posts on each side of him.
Michael had nothing left. “Look, just leave me.” He gasped. He didn’t want them to ri
sk themselves. I’m slowing everyone down.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Hannah came from behind, her face lined with worry. She pulled out a hypodermic salvaged from a Fang med kit. There was a brief sting as she shoved it into his arm.
“Adrenaline and a painkiller,” she said. “Now, get moving.”
She took up position just ahead, lighting the way in the darkness with a small handheld torch. Their progress accelerated after the adrenaline kicked in and Michael managed more cooperation from his legs.
Behind them, the night sky lit with laser fire. The Fang had found them.
MUCH TO LIANNDRA’S AMAZEMENT, THE party of thirty Gryphon made no more noise than the smaller troop. They traveled in twos, which confused their numbers for anyone tracking them. The pair of scouts kept a distance ahead, communicating via whistles and clicks with those in the forward part of the column. It was an effective system. The long, tufted ears picked up the communications above the muffled thumps of their feet as the party sped over the ground, weaving through the tall grasses with ease.
Lianndra rode on a large female in the center of the column. Her former scout partner volunteered to carry her again. Lianndra could not pronounce the Gryphon’s name, but she shortened it to Kaye. Grateful that Kaye had no biases against being a beast of burden, Lianndra wondered if all of them would be so generous considering the extra weight involved in carrying a human passenger.
A fast Gryphon is a live Gryphon, Lianndra thought. Their speed, strength, and knowledge of the terrain allowed them to fight a better-armed and larger army. Those skills and their planetary shield were all that stood between them and slavery or annihilation. The Gryphon obviously counted on the shield to deter invaders. It seemed they didn’t have weapons more advanced than aged hand lasers, so most remained armed with swords, knives, and spears.
Why are the Fang going to so much trouble to acquire the Gryphon? Lianndra theorized the big aliens’ physical advantages made them a valuable species to enslave. An army of them could move heavy artillery over many kinds of terrain and would be a strong addition to any ground war. Still, it seemed the Fang were paying a high price to capture this particular species.
Lianndra had discovered that the little Gryphon she and Hannah healed in the jungle possessed the designation of shiev of the principal valley. Virra is sort of like a prime minister, although she apparently reports to the Gryphon Council. Important captive, indeed.
She had little chance to discuss the rebellion with Virra. As soon as Lianndra mentioned the rebels, the miniGryph wasted no time in putting a rescue party together. With a serious expression on her blue-furred face, she explained she had plans for the humans and remained concerned about their fate. Virra wanted them brought back as quickly as possible.
Most of the full-sized Gryphon spoke little English since it was a difficult language for them to master. Virra told her that, much like the Farr, the full-sized Gryphon had a jaw and tongue structure too heavy to allow proficiency in some languages, including English. They managed single words, carefully chosen to communicate as much as possible. With their smaller, more refined features, the miniGryphon prided themselves on speaking many languages, including English. As the Gryphon traveled, Lianndra marveled that the Gryphon selected English as a language to learn. She tried to ask Kaye for details, but the big female possessed too limited a vocabulary to answer. The full-sized Gryphon would likely get better at speaking with more exposure, but right now a full conversation was beyond them. Instead, Lianndra concentrated on deciphering some of the Gryphon’s communication. The human talent for mimicry proved useful. As they traveled, Kaye trilled or whistled to her, pointing to various geographical features and plant life, and Lianndra soon learned a smattering of Gryphon words for things like grass, rock, and water.
The hours slid by, each seeming longer than the one before. Kaye’s spikes heated up. Lianndra noticed the Gryphon’s tails twitched more to encourage air movement. Sweat trickled down Lianndra’s body. To cool off, she grew an impressive tail tuft and took turns fanning Kaye’s spikes as well as her own face. Her mount shook her head and rattled her head spikes, which Lianndra took as a sign of appreciation.
There were no big males in the party. Lianndra assumed this meant they needed speed rather than power on this particular venture. She could now distinguish between the immature genders. A few smaller males ran in this group, only slightly heavier and taller than the females. Their manes appeared rudimentary, mere tufts at times, but the feathers were as bright as their bodies. The females’ crests often possessed vivid colors but their bodies were more subdued. Kaye’s body fur was pale yellow with chocolate-brown spots, while her crest glowed bright yellow. Lianndra assumed the males in the group were small due to youth, so they’d yet to attain their full size. She remembered her error with the miniGryphon and decided to find a way to ask sooner than later. Lianndra didn’t want to risk embarrassing herself or offending them.
As they neared the site where the Fang ambushed them the previous night, Kaye fell silent, and the entire troop went on high alert. The forward scouts signaled all clear as they passed through the scorched grass tufts. It looked different in daylight. Tension in the group subsided as they trotted through the burned landscape.
The scouts trilled something sounding like a query, and Kaye broke ranks to canter ahead to a swath of trampled ground. The tracks headed directly toward the rocky cliffs.
Where the rebels hid.
Lianndra’s heart clenched. Michael, Drake, Hannah . . .
Kaye said something in their musical language, and the scouts exchanged looks before turning to follow the unit’s path. Kaye resumed her place in the column but no longer seemed in the mood to continue language lessons. Lianndra agreed with the Gryphon. She tried to estimate how far the Fang unit had traveled in the past thirty-six hours. Had the Fang found the rebel camp? Would the Gryphon get to the rebels in time?
The party resumed their forward trek at a reduced pace. Their progress seemed labored, but Lianndra knew they made the best time possible. The Fang unit could be close, but they couldn’t tell for sure. Ahead, the scouts moved in bursts to keep distance between themselves and the column. Periodically, they stopped to stand on their strong hind legs, surveying before dropping again to bolt forward.
Over one hundred pounding feet could generate a lot of dust. Watching them, Lianndra observed how Gryphon carefully snapped their feet up with each stride, minimizing the dust displacement. She scanned the horizon for a cloud raised by an entire unit of foot-dragging Fang slaves. After a while, she noticed the Gryphon scanned ahead as well, eyes and ears focused.
Their spikes raised and lowered often—a sign she now recognized as uneasiness. Kaye took care not to poke Lianndra with her torso spikes, something the Healer appreciated.
Shrill whistles split the air and the entire column slid to an abrupt halt. Lianndra’s heart pounded. She only just stopped herself from nudging Kaye with her legs to encourage her forward.
She isn’t a horse, she reminded herself.
It took Lianndra a moment to realize what they examined: a large campsite complete with fire pits. Lianndra recognized the layout as the camp of a Fang fighting unit. The trampled area had a wide trail circling around a clump of scraggly trees before heading for the cliffs—straight for the rebel camp.
“How old are the tracks?” Lianndra asked the scouts. Their spikes rustled. Lianndra pointed to the tracks, the fire pits, and traced the sun’s path in the sky. “How old?”
Kaye seemed to understand and queried the scouts. After a brief discussion, one answered in broken English. “Night ’fore.”
Last night. Many hours ago. While the Gryphon carried Lianndra safely away, the Fang unit identified the rebel’s trail. This is my fault. If it weren’t for me, the Gryphon would’ve found the Fang unit before it progressed this far into the grasslands. They could have called in their warriors to deal with the Fang on their turf. Instead, they found me.
/> She looked to the looming cliffs. It couldn’t have taken the Fang long to reach the rebels. Lianndra’s group would be too late to do anything but regret they hadn’t been there faster. She felt her throat close with tears, but she forced them away. Act now. Cry later.
“Camp. That way!” Lianndra pointed along the tracks, her entire arm shaking with urgency.
Kaye whistled and moved forward at a long gallop, the rest of the Gryphon joining her. Lianndra realized her new friend had sensed her anxiety.
Drake is smart. He would see them coming. Her heart pounded in rhythm to the beat of the Gryphon’s feet. Drake would know what to do. He would get them out of there. Lianndra closed her eyes, trying not to cry. Michael is alive . . .
EWTK’FISK CLUTCHED THE ANIMAL SKIN closer to her as she hid in the shadows of an enormous generator. There had been a time when she couldn’t stand in one spot for more than a few moments without seeing a maintenance slave. Now, the war had called upon so many, silence remained her only companion in the ship’s depths.
Soft footsteps alerted her to Xoek’sank’s arrival. Her friend appeared, warmly wrapped and looking around nervously. Ewtk’fisk gestured, so her friend joined her in the darkness.
Xoek’sank looked rather pale. “I am sorry to summon you again,” she said. “I did not know who else to talk to.”
Ewtk’fisk felt the surge of fear she had been stifling ever since her friend sent her the clandestine message. “What is wrong?”
“I have news from the war, passed through the usual channels.” Xoek’sank didn’t have to say what channels she spoke of: the rebellion. The phrase still made Ewtk’fisk’s hearts pound.
Xoek’sank seemed to take her friend’s silence as an indication to continue. “One of our operatives found information on the war coordinator’s computer.”
