Chaos Storm (The Flight of the Griffin Book 2) (7 page)

An elderly man standing slightly behind the Royal throne leapt forward and brought his staff down with a bang on the small staging. Covered in rattling bones and coloured materials, it made a suitably portentous sound as it struck. If the intent was to send some form of spell at the unfortunate Nhasic, then it failed miserably. The Hawk casually held out a hand and forced the shaman to his knees with a spell of his own.

'Leave him be man,' hissed Bartholomew. 'For the sake of the Source and all that's profitable don't foul this any worse than it already is.' Wiping at his face with his handkerchief, he addressed the Queen doing his best to smile. 'My apologies your Majesty, Mr Hawk here should have kept his little friend out of the way till we were all properly acquainted, so to speak.' Bartholomew waddled forward and tried to help the shaman up, but the old man pushed him away and glared at the Hawk.

The Queen's painted lips continued their smile, unable to do little else. 'You are the ones who bring us the heart of the Southern Realm… do you not? Where is this… heart that you promised us?' The Queen's voice was lisping and girlish, yet Bartholomew could tell this was no young maid in the bloom of her youth. Beneath the paints and powders, the Queen appeared to be older than he was. He came forward with the sack that had been his companion since the evening in Sterling Temple and placed the skulls at the Queen's feet.

Bartholomew offered an oily smile of his own. 'We were told by your agent that you would be paying in gold your Majesty.' The smile became larger. 'I would very much like to return to my ship as soon as possible, with your leave of course.' The Queen looked down at the two skulls at her feet and prodded one with a mud-splattered boot.

'I was told there would be three of them, where is the third?' Bartholomew's smile dropped, and he turned to glare up at the Hawk. The hunter remained as silent as the rest of the rabble, showing little sign that he had any intention of parting with the third skull. Bartholomew flapped a hand at him, making Nhasic jump from one shoulder to the other chattering irritably. The crowd drew back again.

Lowering his hood, the Hawk stared up at the Queen seemingly bored by the whole exchange. 'The skulls are no good to you whether you have two or all three. The power of them is that they are not in Sterling Temple. I shall be placing the third skull elsewhere, to ensure they are never united again.'

The Queen leaned forward, the smell of stale sweat and too much perfume moving forward with her. Bartholomew's handkerchief automatically came up to his nose again.

'But, if I instruct my warriors to take it,' lisped the Queen, 'I would possess all three skulls and save myself a significant amount of gold as well.' She tipped her head to one side questioningly, the crimson smile bizarre amid the tension as she waited for some response from the Hawk. When he did finally react, it wasn't how any of them had expected, especially the cringing Bartholomew Bask. Bowing low to the Queen, the Hawk stepped forward.

'If that is your royal wish.' his tone was low and menacing, 'then that is what you should… try to do. But please, be warned, that anyone attacking us will be killed.' His growling voice spat out the last word, seemingly eager for confrontation as his glare switched from the Queen to the shaman, and then around the tent at the gathered warriors. Nobody moved as all eyes remained on the man with the demon on his shoulder.

The Queen studied him thoughtfully, her long lacquered nails tapping on her throne. 'You are sure of yourself, aren't you Magician? Do you have such power? Or will your ugly monkey come and bite us all?' This brought laughter from her warriors, yet the shaman drew back slightly and then whispered something into the Queen's ear.

'Why not find out,' snarled Matheus. Tossing his cloak back over his shoulders, he drew back his hands ready to cast a spell. Nhasic reclaimed his perch and bared his teeth, hissing at the Queen, but Morgasta continued to smile her frozen smile.

'What would you do to a whole army, Magician, can you fight us all?'

The Hawk threw his head back and laughed as if he had just heard the best joke in the entire world. 'I have no need to fight you,
little Queen
. You are simply a small part of a much larger plan. But, if you need convincing.' He brought his hands together with an almighty thunderclap of noise that exploded through the tent and echoed about the surrounding mountains. As it faded, a new sound began to grow. The creaking and groaning of rocks and ice as the high snow ridges collapsed forming a number of avalanches tumbling to the valleys below.

The Queen gazed about, her brow creased in confusion. Rising from her throne, she stepped down and walked through the tent and out into the chill damp day, followed by the Hawk with Nhasic screeching in alarm from his shoulder. Wherever they looked, all but the two of them and Nhasic were lying on the ground unconscious. On the very fringes of sight, warriors could be seen rising groggily to their feet, but those closest were seemingly dead to the world. She kicked a guard in the leg, he didn't move. Stepping back, she kicked him in the head, and he still didn't move. Turning to the Hawk the painted smile was still set upon her face, but the eyes behind displayed different emotions.

'It seems we have a deal, Mr. Hawk… may I have my army back now?'

* * *

On the day the crew chose to leave Deniah, the wind was howling down from the distant mountains, driving the rain sideways in torrential sheets. All but the foolhardy and evidently those set upon a quest were staying indoors in the dry besides warm fires, a far more sensible option. Slipping out by the Lion's gate, each sheltering under their own square of oilcloth, the crew and Magician Falk joined the small shuffling crowd as it moved past the bored guards.

Past the guards and into the new city, the streets were all but empty. A wet dog glanced up from a pile of rubbish and growled a warning while faces watched from behind windows, secure and dry from this most wretched of days. The crowd gradually thinned as people went their separate ways, and as they left the last buildings behind, passing waterlogged fields instead of buildings,
The
Griffin's
crew were the only ones remaining on the road. There was little conversation; each was concentrating on walking and ignoring the rain.

Eventually, the friends parted company. Quint, Mahra and Pardigan, headed down a sidetrack to call
The Griffin,
while Tarent and the two Magicians continued on the muddy main road to catch a stagecoach for the coast.

'I'm so glad not to be travelling alone with you this time, Pardigan,' shouted Tarent as he walked away grinning. 'The last time, when we went to Dhurban, was enough to drive a priest of the Source insane. Good luck, Quint, and Source be true to you all.' He gave a wave and hunched back beneath his oilcloth.

'Well I'm also glad I'm not travelling with you, grandpa,' muttered Pardigan under his breath. 'I think the book sucked all the fun out of you when it made you a priest. 'Source be true!' he shouted to the retreating figures, then sighed and glanced up at the steely grey clouds.

Mahra put her arm around him. 'He's only looking out for you, Pardigan. The book gave you all very special gifts, and they take some controlling and understanding. Tarent is only trying to keep you out of trouble.'

'Yeah, but that's not his job, is it? He's not my father, and he's only three years older than I am.'

'It
is
sort of his job,' said Quint as they turned up a farm track, their boots making loud sucking sounds as the mud got even thicker. 'He is a priest, he did become part of the Source or something like that… didn't he Mahra?' but Pardigan didn't give her a chance to answer.

'I don't care if he is part of the Source. What he's become is very annoying, so I'm glad I'm travelling with you two this time. You wait and see how Loras does with him.'

After a short while, when they judged themselves to be far enough away from the road and not overlooked, Quint cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed,
'Griffin… Griffin… Griffin.'

'You don't have to shout, Quint,' said Mahra smiling. 'It's a spell, repeat the name three times in a
normal
voice and she'll still come.'

'Or simply put your lips together and blow,' said Pardigan, hopping up and down as he grinned at his friend, his boots deliberately making squelchy sucking noises in the mud. Quint laughed while Mahra shook her head in disgust. Before they could say anything more, there was a sound of rushing wind and the huge shape of
The Griffin
came swooping down out of the clouds.

Gazing up through the rain, they marvelled as she banked over a small hill and let out a raucous
'Kaauuuw!'
that echoed around them, before turning and gliding back. She passed over their heads and the rush of wind rocked them on their feet.

'
Whooohooo!
' shouted Pardigan in delight.

They waited while
The Griffin
stretched out her legs, beating her wings furiously to slow her descent before landing softly. Once on the ground she crouched for them, her tail flicking and her head cocked to one side, with one large yellow eye watching their approach. Her nostrils flared, and she snorted, drawing in air as she recovered from the exertion of landing.

Mahra reached up and hugged the huge head to her. 'Hello,
Griffin,
thank you for coming.' They made a fuss of her for a while before clambering up onto her back. It was good to feel the familiar movement beneath them, the muscles flexing and her chest expanding beneath the warmth of feathers and hide.

Quint took his position in front while the others settled behind him, buttoning up their cloaks, ready for what they knew would be a cold and wet experience and tried to get as comfortable as possible. However, they couldn't delay any longer, so checking they were ready, Quint took hold at the base of the wings and glanced back over his shoulder.

'Ready?'

'Ready,' they chorused.

'Barnham Bolt please, Griffin,' yelled Quint, and the great beast sank back on her haunches, quivering with pent up energy, and then sprang upward into the sky.

Whenever
The Griffin
launched into flight, it was with an incredible explosive movement. Even prepared as they were, it was all they could do to hold on as best they could as her wings extended and she fought against the pull of gravity, heaving herself up through the wet air. Ascending slowly, now up above the tree level,
The Griffin
continued to fight her way higher with great beats of her wings, straining with the effort as she dragged herself through the first wisps of cloud.

Holding on with grim determination, the three friends crouched low upon her back as rushing cold air and rain streamed back over them, and gravity continually sought to drag them from their precarious perches. They hung on with cold, numbing hands knowing the climb would be over soon. As they entered the cold white world of cloud, they were already chilled and soaked to the bone. Flying through the cloud was quite disconcerting. It was hard to see how high they were, and it was almost as if they weren't moving at all, and then, quite suddenly, they broke through the cloud into a whole other world. The sun shone brightly from a deep, blue sky, while below them, a vast alien cloudscape of fluffy white hills and valleys spread as far as they could see through tear-filled eyes; it was incredible.

The Griffin
gave an ear-splitting screech and soared amongst the clouds in obvious delight. Her passengers, however, weren't faring quite so well. Sunny it may be, but warm it most certainly wasn't. Pardigan crouched down, his icy fingers gripping
The Griffin's
pelt searching for warmth, his legs locked around her great body. Ahead of him crouched Mahra and in front of her, astride the wings hugging
The Griffin's
neck to stay warm sat Quint, taking the full force of the icy air as he attempted to guide the great beast.

Each passenger lost track of time, lost in a world of cold and white. Then, after what seemed an eternity,
The Griffin
dipped back down into the clouds. Pardigan was only vaguely aware of the light dimming, the sudden increase in speed and the wetness of the clouds streaming back down his face when they burst from the clouds into a bleak but thankfully now rainless day. Swooping down, they skimmed the top of a small forest, then over a series of muddy fields. A town came into view in the distance, and
The Griffin
flared her wings, finally coming to rest close to a large oak tree, startling several crows into load raucous flight.

Too stiff and cold to move much, the riders fell to the ground like so much wet laundry and lay there unmoving.
The Griffin
turned her head to regard them, her breathing, heavy from the exertion of the flight, pluming as a fine cloud into the cold air.

'Th-th-hanks,
Griffin
,' mumbled Pardigan. He forced his limbs to move and stood up, shivering. His hands were numb, and he was soaked to the skin, as were his two companions. He nudged them both with his boot and then when they started to move, helped them stand.
The Griffin
gave a soft quizzical
'kaawww,'
then dipped her head and started to investigate the berries on a small bush to its side.

They spent some time first walking up and down and then jumping about, trying to bring some feeling back. The flight had taken less than a turn of the glass, but on horseback, the journey would have been several days. Still shivering, they said their goodbyes to
The Griffin,
and then stomped off towards Barnham Bolt, in search of an Inn, a chance to change into dry clothes, some hot food and a fire to dry out their things.

After walking a short distance through dripping pine trees, they crested a rocky rise and got their first real look at Barnham Bolt. They were on an outcrop; high up on a hill looking down into a valley so could see the lay out of the town built within its protective wooden stockade. It appeared quite large and rather shabby. Built around two streets, one running north to south, and the other east to west, it was a sorry looking place. The stockade wall appeared to have been subjected to several recent attacks, large patches were damaged, and a section was blackened and burnt. A team of workers were replacing huge wooden sections using a team of oxen.

'And why are we here… remind me again?' asked Pardigan, peering uncertainly at the ragged remnants of the town's defence.

'To introduce ourselves to the King's agent so we can pass back information, but I know what you mean,' said Quint peering around. 'It doesn't look like a very inviting place does it. I keep thinking we could be fishing at Minster Island, relaxing in the sun. But if you need a reason, I feel good just blaming you, Pardigan. You just had to take the rose, didn't you? And because of it, we're now here.' Pardigan didn't answer, he simply slogged on downhill, slipping occasionally on the mud, towards the gateway, his head held low.

As they approached they could see four guards with crossbows peering over the stockade near the gates. Two others waited below, shuffling their feet trying to keep warm.

'Come forward and state your business,' called one as soon as they were close enough to hear him. He beckoned at the soggy trio to come forward.

'Well our business firstly, is to dry out and get warm,' said Pardigan, his teeth chattering. 'If I were to be any wetter, I'd be a fish. Is there an Inn here?' The guard chuckled and waved them through opening the gate.

'Only Inn in town is The Happy Howler. Just keep walking and you'll find it at the crossroads. Didn't happen to see any troops on your way through, did you?'

'No, why? You been having troubles with bandits?' asked Quint.

'No, we've no trouble with bandits, nor even howlers, lad. We turned back Morgasta's hordes we did. Thousands of them there were.' The guards on the wall watching the exchange were laughing, but the one talking to Quint was keeping a straight face. 'Thousands, and every last one baying for blood,' he leaned in closer to Quint to emphasise his point. 'Orrible they were!' Quint squeezed past, followed by the others, and they walked into the town of Barnham Bolt with the sounds of the guard's laughter trailing behind them.

'Well, I'm glad we've made
them
happy anyway,' said Pardigan. 'Let's find this Happy Howler place and get dry.' He stopped short as he took his first real look at the town. 'Oh, yuck! As soon as we're dry, let's just leave.'

Barnham Bolt was a sorry excuse for a settlement, miserable was too good a word for it. The rains had washed all colour but brown from both the town and its inhabitants. The two main streets were so thick with mud that the crew had to accept the services of a horse and cart, the owner of which was eking out a living ferrying people from one end of town to the other and he looked as sad as the town. He wore a large, soggy black hat that all but hid his whiskered face, and his hands were the only other part of him that emerged from beneath his muddy-patched oilskins.

'Lovely here in spring it is,' he murmured as they set off, his voice as gloomy as the weather. 'Summer can be hot and there's a problem with mosquitoes, but spring is lovely…' The wagon slowly creaked on, and it started to rain again, 'Autumn can be nice as well, mind,' continued the old driver, apparently not caring if they were listening or not. 'But then it starts raining early in the season this close to The Massif… and then the mud comes… and the howlers come down looking for food… but… spring can be lovely.' Mahra looked over at Pardigan and was relieved to see he was too cold to be poking fun at the old man.

The wagon eventually came to a stop outside a building at the crossroads. A faded sign creaked in the wind proclaiming it to be, 'The Happy Howler.'

'Come back in the spring,' said the driver as he turned the cart and set off again. 'Nice here then… in spring.' Pardigan watched him go, the old horse plodding on and slipping every few steps in the thick mud. It started to rain again, and he shivered. 'I wish it was spring,' he muttered and walked inside after the others. 'Meant to be nice here then, or so I'm told.' Thunder rumbled in the distance.

* * *

Water erupted around Loras and Tarent as the foredeck of the small trading vessel struck yet another wave head on. It rose up, bursting through, and they clung to the rail, enjoying the sport as the deck reached the top of its rise and fell away from beneath them again, back into the trough. Icy droplets sprayed around them and foaming water washed the decks about their feet before draining back through the sluices with a hiss. The two friends were quite dry, shielded by a wall of air held in place by one of Loras's spells. Magician Falk was holding a similar spell, but his soaking wet robes were evidence that he'd only recently become the spells master.

The journey so far had been a learning experience for both Magicians. Magician Falk delighting in the simplistic way that Loras formed his magic while Loras in turn had learnt much from the older mage, quickly understanding and performing magic that had taken the old man years to learn. When the frequent storms forced them into their cramped quarters, the pair sat huddled over books and prepared potions as the boat swayed and creaked around them. The new book Loras had purchased on transfiguration was mystifying to Magician Falk who had immediately dismissed it as the raving of a deranged mind, yet Loras was happy to continue its study; seeking the thread of truth that he sensed ran through the large volume. When in the cabin, Tarent was also studying, lying back in his hammock holding up his copy of
Prayers and Rituals to the Source,
trying to catch the dim, yellow light from the swinging lantern. He could sense the power of the prayers even as he silently read them. When uttered aloud, he knew it was possible to control a considerable force.