Talon of Destiny

By Robert Denethon

Robert Denethon’s saga continues in the shadow of a great evil - the Mammohulg and his hordes are descending from the north. Will Princess Aerae discover her destiny in the library where she continues to work, or as forthtold: as
Elhu Enuliana, the victorious warrior sent by Ellulianaen to trample the powers of evil? Yet the Eriéneth say that her heart will be pierced by a sword of sorrow...
And Boy seeks his own destiny, studying as a wizard’s apprentice- will he find it there, or with Hwedolyn the gryphon, fighting evil in the north?
Look up my other books! They are available at a reduced price. This book is also part of the "Robert Denethon Fantasy and Alternate History Collection", to be released December the 5th on most ebook retailers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Denethon
• Release date: Oct 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310479809

Robert Denethon

Robert Denethon is a nom de plum and a character in his own footnotes. The real author lives in Lockridge, Western Australia with his naughty two year old puppy dog, a used piano, and a bunch of burgeoning bookcases. His books were written with you in mind if you like gripping fantasy and sci fi novels, some with strange footnotes, weird invented languages, unusual names, disturbing alternate realities, with a slightly realist bent. In other words, he has attempted to write the kinds of books he likes to read. Think somewhere between the extremes of Philip K Dick, Tolkien, Neal Stephenson, China Miéville. He wants people to read his books and would be extremely pleased if you enjoy them!OTHER BOOKSYou may also wish to view Robert Denethon's other books, written under the name Andrew P Partington https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/AndrewPartington

Book preview

Chapter One

Mynowelechw Ayn

Goblin

Koba Læ

About Three and a Half Weeks Earlier...

It really started three and a half weeks before that. King Therek had seen the glint of steel in the dark shadow of the archway, and when the fell goblin came forth and attacked he already had his sword drawn. He had parried and the goblin’s scimitar had gone awry, but the goblin recovered swiftly. The goblin was quick on its feet, dancing the dance of battle like an awkward parody of an elf, and Therek had cursed as he cut and thrust, each moment just a little too late, slicing the air where the goblin’s belly had been but a moment before.

Two-handed, the goblin had grasped its scimitar and brought it down swift and hard towards the king’s collarbone, aiming for his heart.

The king had twisted more agilely than his age would suggest he could; avoiding the sharp edge by the breadth of a hare’s whisker, he had grasped the goblin’s sword arm firmly and yanked it downwards. The edge of the scimitar had made sparks fly from the flint floor. Stamping his foot down the king crushed the goblin’s hand against the floor, forcing it to release the scimitar. Therek had finished the job by thrusting his broadsword neatly through the goblin’s heart.

Then came the first clue they had as to who was behind the goblin intrusions.

The king withdrew his sword and wiped it clean on the goblin’s cloak, and the fell creature coughed, black blood welling up in its mouth. It fell to the floor, coughing more insistently and laughing insanely, frothing now at the mouth, spewing out coal-black foam. The Mammohulg is coming from the north! The Mammohulg is coming! Your destiny is coming! You will all be destroyed! You will all be destroyed! Then the goblin’s breath began to rasp like a carpenter’s saw, so the king chopped off its head to spare it further misery.

The Duke Udvéwyn leapt up the hallway like some sort of demented toad. His humped back heaved breathlessly as he said, From whence came the clash of steel against steel? Then he saw the goblin head rocking to and fro on the stone floor, its dead tongue lolling in its mouth.

The king kicked the goblin’s corpse and said, Another one. Why are they coming here? What are they looking for? If it wasn’t such a wiry bastard I might have let it live and we could have questioned it, but I feared that if I tried to hold onto the cunning little devil it would escape, and who knows what it might do let loose in the castle. Nay, but it spoke words that I do not understand. A Mammohulg, coming from the north. A dark destiny for us all.

The Duke shook his head and said, Mammohulg means ‘leader’ in the ancient tongue. Have you heard anything of this?

The king nodded. Strange rumblings I have heard in the frozen wastelands - the northern borders have been breached - rumours of hordes of darkness coming forth, descending upon whole villages and destroying them.

The four soldiers of the king’s bodyguard came running up the stone passage. Get rid of this, the king told them, kicking the dead goblin again. And send out messengers to call together the kings of the northern kingdoms, said King Therek to his lancepesade, Thrornae Wildstaff, the leader of the palace guard. Arrange the meeting for three weeks hence, to discuss this threat, and also to speak of other urgent matters. Travellers tell us that the war in Aros is reaching its end. Prepare my mount. I must attend my familiar haunts, the taverns I frequented when I was a partisan roaming the countryside. I aim to discover what strange manner of tales the travellers tell of these marauders. I return within three weeks!

Chapter Two

Mynowelechw Sonhayu

An Ambitory Diversion

Hymwndæla Æolyn y Suggyr

About Three and a Half Weeks Earlier...

And about three weeks after that, around the time Therek was due to return, Hwedolyn had had glad tidings to tell! And that was how the Duke had ended up at the gryphon eyrie.

Hwedolyn had leapt up onto the branches of the World-Tree - he wished his friends at the fortress of Rhigludae Hamu to be the first to hear the good news. But even as he had disappeared into the aether, Hwedolyn had felt something pulling him away from his intended destination, even as a many-tentacled llyfrahothrin in a whirlpool might suck a passing ship down into the watery depths.

He had never felt anything like it before, never in all his intrusions into the un-world.

Hwedolyn slid and slipped, a sideways step, the tiniest of movements in the un-world, and felt himself drawn against his will, down, down, into the under-realm of the Nomoi. With all his might Hwedolyn defied it but the power drawing him, wrenching him away from his intended path, was too strong even for the mighty will of one of the mightiest of gryphons.

The many ambits and conflicting dimensions of the aetheric space between the branches disappeared, and the rocks and caves of Nefiloyim-Hamü appeared all about him. There were ragged-winged bats hanging from stalactites and a dreadful, discomfiting darkness enshrouded everything.

There stood before him an elf bearing an insultingly casual pose and a blasé demeanour.

Hwedolyn recognised the elf: Emperor Raglan, the former Ruler of the Known World and Benefactor of Nomoi Elves, and malefactor of everyone else. His clothes no longer shone with the splendour they once had - they were ragged and dirty - yet still he wore them with aplomb.

Feigning a dramatic flourish of his threadbare cloak, the Emperor opened up his mouth and spoke. Ah, gryphon, I heard, or rather, smelt, your approach on the World-Tree. I have little enough to do in these caves but eat bat dung and practice my magik. Yet, behold the power of the Emperor Raglan! For I have managed to waylay you on your intended route through the branches of the World-Tree. Foolish gryphon!

With his heart thumping in his throat Hwedolyn leapt up but went nowhere - some unnatural witchery was holding him there.

Aye, said the former Emperor, holding aloft two erect fingers, the palm of his right hand facing the gryphon, I hold you in my hand, gryphon, like a captured starling. But only that you may know the truth of events past have I grappled you out of the World-Tree - you see, lion-eagle, it is not we Nomoi that hate thee, gryphon. Nae, think not that at all! Think you that it was I who ordered the dungeons to hold the female gryphons or sought to capture them? No, it was not I who gave all the orders. I hold nothing against gryphons.

Raglan was referring to events that had happened many months ago, during Hwedolyn’s battle to save the female gryphons from experimentation in the elven dungeons of Aros, and though every elf speaks the literal truth, Hwedolyn did not believe a single word Raglan was saying. Ever are elves inveterate twisters of words; they make them mean whatever they wish.

Hwedolyn interrupted Raglan’s monologue, saying, Raglan, what are you doing, implying…?

Raglan feigned puzzlement. What do you mean, gryphon? You did not appear to finish that phrase. I am surprised at you - I thought gryphons gifted in the various tongues and languages of men and elves, but that sentence was quite ungrammatical!

Hwedolyn said, You misunderstand me, former Emperor. I said, ‘What are you doing imp, lying?’

To call an elf an ‘imp’ is a grievous insult, but Raglan graciously deigned to overlook the barb and continued his monologue, ignoring Hwedolyn’s fervent wish that he wouldn’t.

Think rather that it was an elf, one of my underlings, who was appointed over the dungeons; perhaps he disregarded my direct orders; was it not possible that he was acting on his own, researching, trying to discover, how to jump the branches of the World-Tree? Was it not this underling who caused me to take the journey to Nefiloyim-Hamü? Though I often wonder if he tricked me into sending myself here, in fact.

Hwedolyn’s heart began thumping wildly with panic, for the elf’s words were beginning to make sense, even though he knew that, objectively, they didn’t. Raglan’s voice was enchanted, and in another, deeper part of his mind Hwedolyn realised that Raglan was certainly trying to give an impression of something that wasn’t true.

Elves never lie, yet they never speak the truth, as the saying goes.

In a short pause in his speech, Hwedolyn noticed the Emperor glancing sideways at a bat that had flown past his head so he decided to attempt jumping the branches of the World-Tree again, reasoning that Raglan’s attention might have waned, but although Hwedolyn leapt partway into the aether he found he could not stay there and snapped back into Nefiloyim-Hamü like the plucked string of a bow.

The gryphon’s mind raced to find some way out of his predicament as Raglan droned on, Reason it out for yourself, gryphon. Why, if I had wished to send myself here, would I not have brought with me the means to return? Could an elf Emperor such as I be such a fool that I would not? And do I have any reason to hold any grudge against gryphonkind? Nay, I possess no reason at all, in this matter. Take me back to the earth with you, gryphon, you have the power to do this, for I was truly never agin your kin, nor did I specifically order the female gryphons to be captured... Not in so many words.

Hwedolyn, unable to believe any of the Emperor’s twisting and turning words, decided to try a different tack. He decided to feign interest, to flatter the elf; to confuse him. Perhaps Hwedolyn could give Raglan a philosophical puzzle to chew on. Perhaps then the former Emperor might be distracted enough to let the spell loose for a moment.

So Hwedolyn said, Now, Emperor Raglan, what you are saying is obviously incredibly fascinating to you; very, very interesting; I can hardly tell how absorbing it must be to someone of your impeccable mental calibre. But you are an elf, and elves always tell the truth, as everyone knows, so even a person who - unlike you - was not incretinous could hardly doubt that he does not happen to believe nothing that you appear not to be saying, could he not? Amazing, incompletely amazing!

And without warning Hwedolyn suddenly disappeared into the aetheric un-world, for his hunch was right: the Emperor could not help it, he could not stop himself from trying to count the negative and positive assertions in Hwedolyn’s verbal conundrum in order to see what it actually meant, and in doing so let down his guard. Elves are intelligent and take pride in their own intelligence, and that is precisely what makes them predictable.

As Hwedolyn left he could hear Raglan’s voice shouting magikally through the aether at him, Gryphon, mayhap I shall see you again! Then I shall tell you more!

Raglan’s enchanted laughter - echoing through the increasing, intersecting realms - followed Hwedolyn through every obtuse twist and turn of the ambits, every strange and peculiar dimension, even though Hwedolyn had already left Nefiloyim-Hamü far behind. Hwedolyn wondered if Raglan was able to project his thoughts and sentiments into the gryphon’s mind; he wouldn’t put it past the craft of a former Emperor-Mage such as Raglan.

As he flew to the place where he would exit those ambits, Hwedolyn thought to himself, I will not tell Gwendolyn about this. It will only worry her. Then he thought again, and said to himself, No, she would be more worried if I didn’t tell her - she would know that there was something I was hiding. I will tell her.

Hwedolyn winked into existence in mid-air above the battlements of the castle, startling the guards and making them scramble to draw their cross-bows and spears. He waited for a moment, then descended once he saw that they knew it was him, immediately forgetting about Raglan, for the joyful tidings he was bursting to share drove everything else from his mind. Or perhaps some enchantment of the former Emperor’s was upon him, for gryphons are not forgetful creatures by nature...

Chapter Three

Mynowelechw Tralis

Glad Tidings

Hamylaluwulæla

One night Boy dreamed that he was walking through the forest when a gryphon flew down to speak to him.

This year is the year of your destiny. You must recognize the call when it comes. Do not forget!

Who are you, sir? asked Boy.

Why do you want to know my name? asked the gryphon.

But when Boy awakened he might have begun wondering about the dream, but a moment later the breakfast bell rang and as he put on his clothes and rushed down to the dining hall the thought had already begun to fade from his mind.

~

Hwedolyn swooped down to the palace courtyard where Princess Aerae and Boy were practicing their swordsmanship with Thrornae Wildstaff.

The Duke was there too, sharpening his sword on the whetstone next to the well when the gryphon arrived. On seeing the gryphon he slid his sword into its scabbard without a whisper, for the blade was well-oiled and the fur lining the sheath was new.

Hail, gryphon! cried the Duke. As Hwedolyn’s talons touched the earth, the Duke clamped his hand on the giant creature’s shoulder and said, It is good to see you, my leonavian friend.

Hwedolyn said, I bear glad tidings, Duke Udvéwynn! I have become a father. My cub was hatched early this morning. They gathered around and congratulated him.

We must surely hold a feast for this occasion, said the Duke, We shall hold a banquet for you here at the castle - I’ll speak to Thrornae about it. He’s in charge of the kitchen while Therek is away.

Come and visit us first at the eyrie, said Hwedolyn. You can stay there with us first, for our celebrations. Then, have the feast in a week or two - Boidolyn will be ready to travel then. You know where it is. Forgive me - I have others to tell - must leave now! Farewell. And he leapt up into the air and disappeared from their sight.

~~ ~

In the castle of Rhigludae Hamu that very afternoon the Duke Udvéwyn, Princess Aerae of the Elven Appearance and the Boy whose Name Nobody Knew saddled their steeds to go and visit the newly hatched gryphon. Three barrels of mead were strapped onto a fourth horse, a gift for the gryphons from King Therek in his absence.

~

Neither Aerae, nor the Duke, nor Boy, had the sense they were being followed, yet above them Hwedolyn swooped from cloud to cloud, their unseen guardian, like a Mihaloae over them. Having returned from telling some relatives in the south, Hwedolyn had decided to watch over their journey - he wouldn’t usually bother, but these were strange days. He may have glanced with approval at the three barrels of mead, he may have licked his beak in anticipation of the forthcoming feast, but his sharp gaze was more fixated on the shadows and hiding places on the road around his friends than on the mead-barrels, and he watched with growing unease.

His gryphon instincts told him that his friends were not alone on the winding forest road.

But the watcher was being watched. Something was watching Hwedolyn, waiting for him, listening for his thoughts; a silvery presence in the distant mists of the sky.

~

Completely oblivious to Hwedolyn’s presence above them, or any other in the clouds, Aerae commented as they rode, Look at the richness of the foliage! How greatly it has grown since the Hhwellwellyn Elves returned. Yew trees, mighty oaks and tall poplars have sprung up, and yellow poppies, wild roses and exotic orchids bloom, even on land that was once barren. What a marvel... The Other Elves...

The Duke pointed to a new, delicate four-petalled white flower shaped like a star that was also to be found growing in many nooks and crannies throughout the kingdom and said, Look! The common folk in the villages and farms have taken to calling that flower Elf-star. A tacet acknowledgement that the Hwellwellyn Elves are real, don’t you think? So few of the villagers would have admitted to believing in them before they arrived - now even the most skeptical among them says he never doubted it.

~

Above them, Hwedolyn stopped and hovered. Something was flitting from shadow to shadow in the trees behind his three friends. He thought he saw the flicker of a cloak.

Was it just his imagination? It moved too swiftly to be one of those goblins that had been lurking about lately in the forest.

What was it? He descended into the lower, misty stratus clouds to watch Aerae, the Duke and Boy a little more closely. Was it just an excitement of the nervous system, fed by what he had heard of the recent goblin attacks? Hwedolyn breathed in quick, short, gryphonesque gasps - he wasn’t completely certain. Whoever it was - if indeed there was someone there - was one of the best trackers Hhwedolyn had ever seen, for there are few among men, elves, dwarves or goblins who can evade a gryphon’s sharp eye.

His friends’ horses climbed over the first mountain, to the far side of the mountain where Hwedolyn’s eyrie was. They were exhausted when they reached the tree line. Higher up there was only lichen and small bushes on rocky ground, and patches of snow and ice. Would the interloper be able to hide where there were no trees? Surely not.

While they watered their horses in a small mountain stream and rested, above them Hwedolyn glided in low, lazy circles. When they crossed the mountain and descended again below the tree line, Hwedolyn was above them in the lower mists, watching with the intensity of a hawk, ready to attack, certain that the unknown figure would leap out from the darkness of the forest below the treeline and attack his friends at any moment.

Nonetheless they crossed over to the side of the mountain on which Hwedolyn’s eyrie stood without incident.

Just as Hwedolyn was about to give up on seeing who or what their tracker was, a distant wind blew a cloud across the sky and the face of the descending sun peeked out, casting a long ray of orange light across the valley. And the gryphon glimpsed a shadow on the ground - the shadow of one who was neither elf, nor dwarf, nor gnome - but a human being. It was no trick of the light, neither was it something he had imagined - he saw what he saw.

And Hwedolyn saw no further sign of the shadow-man, but such was the forest-craft of this sneak that Hwedolyn couldn’t be certain he wasn’t there. Perhaps the shadow-man had seen Hwedolyn above him and had decided to travel more carefully, more slowly. A tracker with skills like that could track humans on horses anywhere, Hwedolyn did not doubt it, so the danger wasn’t over even if they had crossed the mountain safely.

~

The Duke had chosen an ancient hill fort hewn out of a cliff-face for a stable for visits to the gryphons’ eyrie, and there they arrived.

Several bags of oats were stored behind the five ancient stone pillars encircling the entrance. A mountain stream flowing through the ancient halls of the fort provided water for the horses, and Hwedolyn alighted beside them. The Duke tethered Gletherae and the other three horses, making sure that they could reach the water and that they had plenty of oats, as Aerae and Boy greeted the gryphon.

~

As the tint of sunset lingered on the horizon and the first and brightest evening star blinked into sight, Hwedolyn carried Boy over the mountaintop on his back and delivered him to his eyrie, saying, You will be safe here, Boy, safer than anywhere. Boy looked at Hwedolyn with an expression of puzzlement, but Hwedolyn decided not to tell him anything just yet.

He didn’t want to worry the bairn too much. He said, I must get the others.

Hwedolyn twitched his tail and swooped out as the night of the new moon deepened into darkness.

~

Boy looked around at Hwedolyn’s eyrie, a large cavern high in the mountains with a thirty foot wide stone balcony at the front overlooking the forests and mountains of Dyddym Hae, located at the most inaccessible part of a stone cliff-face some three leagues high. Hwedolyn had told him that gryphons and eagles and other wingèd creatures were the only living beings who could reach it.

Gwendolyn was cooking a pot of wild boar and potato stew over a small fire, stirring it with one foretalon whilst Boidolyn was nestled in the other foretalon, beneath her folded wing. With a cryptic nod and a gryphonesque half-smile she acknowledged Boy.

After retrieving the Duke and Aerae, Hwedolyn went aloft again, turned about in midair, hovering on the updraft, and said, I am bringing your horses here tonight; I do not wish to leave them in the stables.

Gwendolyn welcomed her guests.

Pointing her spoon at two logs on the ground not far from the comforting fire, she said, Sit. I must find you some cutlery and bowls. Somewhere in the rear of the cave there is a set of man-sized utensils that my eyrie-mate took from a Nomoi battalion that met an... um... unfortunate end. Boy shivered. He himself had seen Nomoi meet such an end, and it was not a pretty sight.

It smells delicious indeed, said the Duke, reminding Boy of what he knew of gryphon custom; it is always polite to comment favourably on the smell of food at a feast, yet it was surely not an insincere gesture on the Duke’s part for the fragrance of the stew was extremely appetizing.

Gwendolyn brought her gryphon-cub over to him. He held him, and ruffled his fur and stroked his wing-feathers while the downy-feathered cub stared at them with large, round eyes. Gwendolyn went to find the bowls and spoons.

After returning and passing out the bowls, Gwendolyn also allowed Aerae to hold the fur-feathered bundle, but she took him back rather hastily from her.

Boy was clearly privileged.

Once Hwedolyn had finished bringing over the four horses and the three barrels of mead Boy watched him tying each horse to a stalagmite, tearing open a bag of oats and laying it nearby. After ensuring that the horses’ tethers were long enough that they could reach water Boy watched Hwedolyn storing the three mead barrels deep down in the cavern then strutting out to the balcony where Aerae, the Duke and Boy himself were each enjoying a bowl of Gwendolyn’s stew. Hwedolyn took his own gryphon-sized serving.

Boy looked up at the heavens. The evening air was as clear as the crystal morning light that wakes the world, and the new moon was a dark, inscrutable disc, hidden amongst the sapphire stars like an unspeakable secret.

Boy sighed with contentment. It seemed that nothing could disturb the beauty of the night and the starlit dome of the sky. Even tidings from the north that troubled kings seemed little more than false ill omens that told forth the empty breeze, and fears of hobgoblins haunting the forests were forgotten in the homeliness of the eyrie.

Boidolyn, asleep, was nestled in beside his mother, his deep breathing making his little fur-feathered chest go up and down as she ate her stew beside him.

This scene carried Boy into thoughts of his own past. He knew little of his parents, for they had died soon after he was born. And the one person who knew anything about them, the Duke Udvewyn, refused to tell him anything lest the knowledge put him in danger. Perhaps now that the Nomoi Empire was seemingly on its last legs the Duke would tell him everything.

A faint memory came to him, of someone speaking to him about destiny, but he could not remember who had spoken, or what it meant.

As the companions ate their meal, the conversation centred on the hatching of the cub and the simple, common joys of life: hunting, feasting and good fellowship. The Duke had decided not to speak of the rumblings from the north, the rumours of descending goblin-hordes, for he did not wish to ruin the magik of the night. But finally Hwedolyn himself sighed and broke the spell, mentioning the very subject the Duke and the others had studiously avoided broaching.

The others looked at Hwedolyn and their faces told him that they knew his news was unhappy.

Hwedolyn said, I fear that I must tell you the reason I brought the horses up here tonight, instead of leaving them in the stable. From the clouds above I had observed that you were followed, my gryphon-friends. On the path behind you I saw one in a dark cloak.

Was it a goblin? asked the Duke.

Hwedolyn shook his head. "Neither elf nor dwarf nor gnome, but a man, who rode no dark horse but instead ran swifter than the wind, flitting from shadow to shadow, hiding behind ash or willow or oak. Or so I thought. Sly and subtle, shrewd as a gnome he was, for when ye looked about to see that no-one was following he became as the shadow of a shade, unmoving, unhasting, and even I doubted whether he was there. Even I - even when he moved - doubted my own eyes! Truly at first I thought I had imagined him - yet only a gryphon could have espied this man - no other beast nor elf nor mage has the sharp eye for it.

Surely some magik is at work here, or something even stranger. This is why I returned to the barn on the mountaintop to bring your horses back, for who knows what ill such a sneak may be planning? - And I would not want your horses to suffer some dark miscreance because I did nothing.

The Duke replied, Aye, Gletherae and I have been through a lot. It would be a grief to me to lose her. Thankyou, gryphon, for thinking of her. The Duke finished eating his stew and went over and rubbed his horse’s nose and brushed her side, for she stood close to the cave entrance and had stared at him while he spoke, as though she knew that the Duke was talking of her.

Who that sneak is that was following you I do not know, said Hwedolyn, "But I think he will not have followed you here to my eyrie, for when I took the horses from the barn on the mountain-top a deep, thick mist had descended, hiding my flight from prying eyes. None but a dark mage could have seen me take the horses over the mountaintop, and I heard no scent of magik, though some spells be subtle indeed...

But what dark deeds this shadow-man intends I do not know. I think you should keep watch on your tails from now on, though, strictly speaking, you humans have none. They all chuckled at this and something of the night’s magik returned.

Ever is laughter welcome when shadows lengthen upon the earth, commented the Duke, Nonetheless, it brings me to a subject I am loathe to mention on the hatching day of your gryphon-eub. This sneak that was following us may be part of other events, rumblings that trouble the kingdoms in the north. Something I did not wish to mention tonight, for ill news may seem inauspicious...

No ill news can darken the glad tidings of this hatching-day! proclaimed Gwendolyn, her voice ringing out across the mountains like a tolling bell. Boidolyn is hatched on the one hundred and forty seventh day after midwinter solstice, on the eve of the New Moon. Such a hatching is auspicious indeed - seldom has a gryphon hatching been more so. It bespeaks a great destiny. Yet even as she said this, Gwendolyn snuggled Boidolyn’s tiny ears between her wings and her breast, not wanting her young cub to be troubled by any dark vexatious mutterings, for young gryphons may understand much, even when still in the egg, though their tiny beaks and tongues cannot as yet form intelligible words.

The Duke cleared his throat and continued, Then as this strange news is already upon us in the form of the man following our trail…even now, evil creatures are abroad. Another goblin found its way into King Therek’s castle halls two days ago - the third goblin in the past month to broach the castle defenses.

Shivering, Gwendolyn nodded. We had heard about the goblins. And something of the rumours of trouble in the north.

The Duke murmured, Like to the legends of long ages past, or fairy-tales grandmothers tell to frighten the bairns as the family sits in front of the fireplace wiling away the evening hours - a tale of horror. They say a great horde is coming, led by a dragon-king, or perhaps one who bears the standard of a dragon. The goblins call him the Mammohulg.

Hwedolyn said, White gryphons flew into our cousins’ territory from the northwestern mountains, fleeing an unknown terror. Wild were their eyes and their fur was scorched, and they spake no more. Never has a gryphon’s tongue been silenced in living memory by fear; neither do the sagas tell of any such thing.

The Duke nodded. I will tell you what I have heard: travellers say that once you meet the refugees you can never forget them, for their eye is wild with fear, and their hand shakes for the terror of things they have seen and heard - even the grown men, even the hardened warriors amongst them! But no-one knows what it is.

Gwendolyn said, The dwarves must surely know some part of this. Legend says that they haunt the caves and see many things.

Hmm. Perhaps I should seek them out, for ofttimes do the dwarves see things that others only guess at. Long have the gem-hunters been bounden to my kin, the Duke replied, looking into the distance, his eyes glazing over as though he were a sea-captain staring out over the sea. Boy wondered what traffic the Duke had had with the dwarves, for few among the sons of daylight had dealings with the dwellers of Under-Earth.

But finally the Duke took a deep breath and seemed aware of his surroundings once again. He spoke no more of the dwarves, nor of the north, for whatever wisdom he gleaned seemed to have led him to different counsel.

He came over and sat down beside Boy and Hwedolyn beside the fire and said, Come, let us rumble these dark ruminations no more, gryphon; surely some mead is put away in your cavern - let us make merry and mull over merrier musings, for tonight ought to be a night of glad tidings! Let tomorrow bring what tomorrow brings, but this evening is a celebration. Let troubles await the dawn of a new day. The smell of the fire is in our clothes and the night is becoming brisk, and the stars look too beautiful to watch over such a mournful conversation.

Hwedolyn nodded. Indeed, Duke, I do have some mead put away in the cavern, some twenty-five or twenty-six barrels, some from my old hiding place in the distant mountains of Vamyhilae, and others from King Therek’s stores - though these have become somewhat depleted lately, and others again purloined from hapless Nomoi brigades we vanquished in the time of the Empire. And of course there are the three barrels of excellent honey-brew that you brought over.

Well stop jaw-champing and go and get a barrel, gryphon! said the Duke.

Gryphons don’t champ, Duke, we don’t have any teeth; we have beaks. We snap, said Hwedolyn, sprinting down to the depths of the cavern to fetch the barrel, all the while looking over his shoulder, smiling gryphonesquely at the Duke. But then, more than half-way up the corridor Hwedolyn turned about again and froze mid-step.

Leaving the mead barrels where they lay, he half-flew and half-sprinted back up, past the others, to the mouth of the cavern, saying, Shhh. First Hwedolyn peered out into the darkness, silent and quiet with the stillness of the hunter, then carefully moved forward to the mouth of the cavern and peered up at the cliff-face above their eyrie. Then he leant out over the edge of the balcony and viewed the valley below.

What trouble, gryphon-mate? whispered Gwendolyn, holding Boidolyn to her side more tightly then ever.

There was something out there, Gwendolyn.

Are you sure you aren’t seeing shadows in the shadows, Hwedolyn? asked Gwendolyn, What, with all this news of goblins in the castle and troubles in the north?

No, growled the gryphon, I saw what I saw. A shadow, crossing the stars.

He glided out into the darkness. For a moment Boy could see him hovering nonchalantly on the updraft caused by the northerly wind coming up the cliff-face and over the mountain. Suddenly Hwedolyn flapped his wings, swooped, leapt down like a mountain lion onto the vertical cliff-face that straddled the cave-entrance and sprang up into the sky.

The listeners in the cavern heard a scuffle above the cave mouth, a hissing sound, scratches and scrapes. Then gryphon feathers floated down onto the the balcony.

Then nothing.

No sound at all.

Gwendolyn gave a tiny whimper.

Suddenly something outside began making a horrible, high-pitched keening sound, so harrowing that Boy thought the legends of Dydym Hae were true, and Hwedolyn had been taken by a ghost. At that moment Hwedolyn plummeted bodily down onto the balcony with a great thump, with a silvery, flashing thing protruding from his side. For a moment Boy thought he had been pierced through by a giant’s sword, but then the silver thing that he had thought was the tip of the sword’s blade twisted like a snake, and he saw that there was a light in Hwedolyn’s eyes - the mighty gryphon was alive, holding down a bi-clawed, barb-tailed, slim, silver dragon, with his four talons.

A wyvern! cried Gwendolyn. A filthy, stinking wyvern.

The wyvern hissed at Hwedolyn and tried to bite him and scratch at him with its two claws, and the two thumb claws on its wings, but Hwedolyn held the creature securely; it could not move an inch.

Why are you here? Hwedolyn asked it. Did you not realise this is my territory?

It nodded and answered, I did indeed smell the stench of gryphon-piss at the edges of the forest. But I am only crossing this borough, lion-eagle. Fear not. I will not dwell here any longer than I must. I am going south.

Do you not have your own territory? Why not stay there?

I do, gryphon, indeed I do. Far in the north. But it is overrun with goblins and trolls. And I have no wish to be part of that.

Part of what, wyvern?

The wyvern whined, The thing. The whole thing. I cannot tell.

Hwedolyn gripped it more securely and hissed, I’ll slash your neck if you do not tell me what you mean, lizard.

Then the wyvern did something Boy had not known any dragon would do - it bared its neck to Hwedolyn’s talon, daring him to slice it open, and said, Slash away, little sparrow-mouse, if you think it gains you any honour. Nothing you could do to me could match the bestialities and torments they will visit upon me if they find out I told you a single thing, even a single word. Oh, no. I would rather be dead than fall into their hands. Pah, it spat, I want nothing to do with them. Let me go south - as far south as I can - I will not trouble you any further. Have mercy. Have mercy.

Hwedolyn held the wyvern’s throat more tightly and said, Tell me, two-legs - who are they?

Let this creature go, Hwedolyn, said Gwendolyn. I think the wyvern means to escape - let us not become beasts, acting on instinct, just because they always do.

Hwedolyn snapped his beak next to the wyvern’s snout, then scraped his talon along the rocky ground next to its neck and said, Be gone before sunrise, wyvern, or you will surely not live to regret that you ever crossed my territory.

Hwedolyn carefully stepped back and the wyvern lifted itself up rather gingerly, shook its limbs and stretched out its silvery-leather wings, stepping away from Hwedolyn towards the edge of the chasm. The wyvern dropped out and flipped around. Hovering at the edge, it turned to him and said, You should have killed me, gryphon - no wyvern wants to be indebted to a sparrow-mouse. I’ll never forgive you for this. And the wyvern leapt up onto the updraft and was gone.

Hwedolyn leapt out and flew up after him. I have no doubt Hwedolyn is chasing that wyvern to the southern border of our territory. Or maybe he changed his mind, said Gwendolyn.

Suddenly the night seemed colder and they gathered in a tight huddle around the fire to await Hwedolyn’s return.

About twenty minutes later Hwedolyn flew back in, half-glided and half-sprinted straight down the corrider and brought a barrel up, popped the cork and said, Well, well - I warrant we will not be seeing that wyvern flying past the eyrie again. Come, Glaif’m Chadul, eat, drink and be merry! We do not know what fate tomorrow may bring. But tonight we drink to the hatching of my gryphon-cub; may he be destined for great things, and happiness withal!

~

That night singing went out over the forest of Dyddym Hae, echoing from treetop to treetop in the languages of elves, gryphons and men. But when the songs wafted their way to the villages in the valleys below, the people who lived there said it must be the wistful singing of wraiths, or the melodies of Hwellwellyn Elves; a strange distant music that only added to the legend of the haunting of the forest of Dyddym Hae.

In the early hours, the three humans and the two gryphon-mates, with their gryphon-cub snuggled between them, laid their weary limbs down next to the dying embers of the fire. They slept until dawn broke in the eastern sky, golden and glorious, to the boisterous singing of birds, and then they slept on into the morning.

And the shadow-man listened and waited and watched in the dark shadows of the forest of Dyddym Hae, for a hidden destiny had called him to this place, that he wished to fulfil.

~

And so we come to the point at which the tale began: on the Duke’s journey back to Rhigludae Hamu, his beloved horse Gletherae was attacked by a dragon, forcing the Duke to end her life. After he returned to the castle and arrangements were made to retrieve her body, the Duke withdrew to his quarters. King Therek, who had returned from his journeys, gave orders that the Duke be not disturbed.

Chapter Four

Mynowelechw Pedwr

Feast of the Fief-Lords

y y`Gwy lo lla MoLith Ha ychwoman

The great castle gate opened with an almighty din, the clanking sound of chains being dragged upwards.

Fydyr Mahill staggered into the entrance hall of the castle of Rhigludae Hamu, almost stumbled, and gasped, What day is it?, steadying himself precariously against the stone wall as though he was about to tumble off the drawbridge and into the moat.

Thrornae Wildstaff, who was in the entrance hall to welcome the kings who had not arrived, rushed forward and supported him. Neither of them noticed the two goblins slip down the walls, under the castle gate as it closed, and into the shadows.

Fydyr repeated, What day?

Thrornae said, Wednesday the second of Aehilthaethae; the twenty-eighth day of Bearthae in the reckoning of men. The thanes of the northern fiefdoms, the rulers of the northwest, and even one king from the council of Northerniaens, are feasting in the great hall.

Fydyr leaned against Thrornae and said, Good. Then destiny favours me. Take me there for I am the messenger of the new rulers, a Council of Wizards. I rode for nine days without stopping, and then my horse died and I ran the rest of the way here. My journey is at an end. Thrornae and one of the soldiers helped him through the corridors to the dining chamber.

Thrornae threw open the oak doors of the dining chamber and proclaimed, Fydyr Mahill, official messenger of the Council of Wizards! He rode for nine days and nights without ceasing, and he brings glad tidings! The conversation ceased.

Strange how your mind works when you’ve stayed awake for nine days. The first thing Fydyr noticed - he told us afterwards - was the pale crescent moon casting an eerie luminescence through the thin meurtriere windows, far above the heavily food-laden table. The moonlight mingled with the flickering yellow glow of the torches below.

Unshaven and unsteady on his feet, Fydyr leaned against a chair; even so, his face was full of joy. Every eye in the great hall was upon him.

He raised his hands and breathed deeply, silently, for a moment. They were waiting for him to speak. He breathed in another breath, lifted up his head and proclaimed loudly, "The civil war in the distant south is over! Aros is at peace! The evil elves have been defeated! Freedom is ours! Our party, the Wizards’ party, has taken power and pronounced freedom for the whole Empire - the north, and the south, and the east, and the west! They have no wish to lord it over the northern kingdoms, and they are