The Fable of Griffon: Book 02 - Herald's Dawn, page 1
The old man wheezed as he returned the first book to its place upon the mantle. Those gathered around him waited patiently, the firelight from the hearth sparkling in their eyes as the wind and rain assaulted the windows.
Gently he removed another tome from beside the first, brushing aside the dust and dirt that had clung to it over the years. He returned to his seat, moving aside the cascade of his silvered beard before turning hard and world weary eyes upon his audience.
‘With this…’ He began as the book creaked in protest. ‘… Began a new dawn.’
Herald’s Dawn:
The Fable of Griffon
The mists spread down from the mountaintops as the dawn broke over the great Southern range. Yuthe coughed harshly as he staggered from one rock to another along the frosty mountain path, blood dripping from his lips as he fought to remain conscious. Black ichor covered his face, dried from the fighting before in that single terrible night. His beard was matted with gore and blood still ran freely from a score of small wounds. He glanced back, the smoke billowing up in the distance as the forges fires spread unchecked through the confines of the dwarven hold, sending a warm musky glow through the mists that began to swirl up around him as he descended the mountain.
He grasped at the deep and painful wound at his waist, blood seeping from it through the great rent in his chestplate. The jagged metal dug in spitefully at the wound if he moved too hurriedly but he turned back to the path and kept going, trying to get away as fast as he could. The haft of his axe supported him as he staggered along, zigzagging across the road as he sought out rocks to rest upon. He stopped by a large boulder as the path curved around the edge of the mountainside, grimacing in pain as he took off the heavy armour and left it discarded upon the ground with a loud clatter.
Too loud.
The sound seemed to echo thunderously along the lonely peaks. He stood for a moment, breathing deeply in short lived panic, his eyes desperately glancing around the path for any signs of a response. Cautiously he got up from the boulder, keeping a close eye around him as he made ready to continue.
Nallaimor wasn’t far; if he could keep his pace up he might be able to find shelter in one of the villages close by. He tried to shake free the images of the night before; The watchtower overrun, the fast malign creatures striking out from the shadows and pulling his brethren into the darkness like grasping nightmares, and through it all their forbidding silence. That was, until they started to feed…
He shook the memories from his head, trying to focus. He had to get to safety, warn the other holds or the people below in the plain. Grasping his axe firmly he hobbled down the path, the mists closing in around him. The cold closed in and he squinted, trying to better judge his direction as the mist became thicker, reducing his visibility with every step. He felt a strange presence close by, and the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. He turned, glancing behind him.
A shadow. Only for a second, there was a moving shape within the drape of the mists. Fear clutched at his heart, filling every pore of his mind with overwhelming dread. He turned and ran as fast as he could, trying to ignore the stabbing pain of his wounds as he rushed into the thick fog that hung over the path.
That same forbidding silence echoed in the air, and his heart pounded in his ears as he moved quickly down the slope. Terror chilled his spine as he ran, the hairs rising on his skin as his eyes darted from one shadow to the next, half expecting a taloned hand to whip out and drag him into the darkness. He gave a loud yelp as he suddenly pitched forward, tripping on a small stone and rolling for some distance down the path.
He picked himself up hurriedly, coughing blood onto the floor as he looked about him in terrified panic. The mists swirled about him in a kind of gentle dance, far from his own graceless movements. The shroud prevented him from seeing any further than a few metres in any direction and only magnified the shadows that the dawnlight played across the mountain pass. That terrible pervading silence dominated his world, broken only by the pounding of his heart and the wheezing of his breath. He turned slowly around, trying to penetrate the curtain of white and grey that flowed about him.
A shadow seemed to be there a short distance before him, stooped low to the ground. It seemed to move only very slightly, as though trying to hide its presence from him. A low hiss echoed from the thing, as it seemed to turn slowly to look at him. Its long slender wolf like head curved down towards the ground, a shadow in the mist.
Yuthe grasped his axe, advancing slowly. It hadn’t attacked yet, and he was going to give it no opportunity to do so.
“Die beast!” He hissed, driving his axe down as he rushed against it in a sudden burst.
The blade impacted hard against the rocky boulder that revealed itself under the mists with a loud ringing cry and a shower of sparks. He glared at the strangely curved rock in disbelief, a long crack left where his weapon had struck. He glanced up and around in a sudden grip of fear, the noise of his attack echoing in the mountains. The low hiss grew louder from in front of him and a shadow rose up high from behind the rock. Its form was indistinct, nothing more than a terrible shape that rose with an ethereal grace. Yuthe looked up at it in horror, unable to move, frozen in fear as his axe fell to the floor. He didn’t even see the other two shadows leapt out from the mist behind him, didn’t have a chance to cry out before they pulled him back into the dark. The shape stood watching as the dwarf’s screams echoed in the dawn’s light.
Chapter one: The Eve of Fate’s Change
Griffon ran as hard as he could down the dark and ill lit passage. Cobwebs brushed against him as he fled, his armour rattling loudly with every step as the boiling waters rushed after him, flowing from deep within the mountain’s core.
“King Griffon run!” Ostler cried out from the doorway further down the corridor’s left side. Its heavy stone door pushed against him and Shump as they struggled to keep it open. Strain was plainly evident on the half orc’s face as he placed his feet up against the opposite side, pushing against the door as the ancient mechanisms of the dwarven contraption fought with him.
Griffon didn’t reply, focusing his efforts as he ran, steam brushing at his heels. He held the gauntlet he had retrieved tightly in his mailed fist as he reached out with his free hand toward Ostler.
“Faster!” Ostler called as he stretched out to him. Steam billowed all around in a great cloud rolling before the tide of bubbling water, the hot drenching mist flowing about him.
Griffon reached forward, throwing himself towards the exit. The monk grabbed his arm and swung him towards the doorway and into Shump to send both crashing to the other side of the door. Ostler quickly sidestepped through the great barrier just before it sealed shut with a loud echoing boom and the roar of rushing water.
The three of them sat there for a moment as Griffon panted trying to catch his breath again. “Thanks.” He smiled up to the monk who nodded back and laughed.
“No problem. Did you get the thing after all that?” Ostler asked, leaning against the iron door for a second before wincing and jumping back from it as he realised how much the water had heated it.
Griffon smiled and nodded, waving the gauntlet at the monk as though it were a kind of puppet. “Iborane’s shadow.” He said as he began to detach the leather straps that secured his old gauntlet, replacing it with the artefact that glistened brightly as he put it on. He closed his eyes as the familiar pulse of energy echoed through him, closing his hand into a fist for a moment before relaxing. “Let’s get going. It won’t do us any good to linger here.” He reasoned, standing up and offering a hand to Shump, helping the barbarian to his feet.
They walked slowly out of the hold into the bright sunshine of the summer’s day. The ancient dwarven hold’s entrance looked out directly over the plains of Tyran’s border with Charadon, a rich green of forests and fields shone up to them as the gentle wind played against their skin. Below a myriad of small streams and reeded rivers marked the beginnings of the great marshlands just to the East, the faded green melding seamlessly with the sea clouds upon the far horizon.
“Well.” Ostler said as they exited the hold, seeing Dabilo there loading up a large bag of loot onto one of the horses. “How many is that now?”
“Only four in all, sword, ring and these.” Griffon answered, looking down at the two gauntlets that glittered brightly, rich silver embossed patterns running over the steel. “How long did it take to find these? Six months?”
“Ten.” Shump grumbled.
Ostler smirked. “You are aware you’re getting a reputation for wandering don’t you?” He moved up to his horse, eyeing it suspiciously for a moment as the creature turned to face him.
“When was the last time you were back in your own capital?” Dabilo added, checking the bags again to make sure they were secure. “I hear from Seth now and again. He’s almost finished that course he started at the mage guild. That should have lasted two years alone! It’s taken a long time to get anywhere with these artefacts of yours. You sure it’s still worth it?”
“If Lazarus is even half right then it’s worth it, but given the trouble we’ve had I’m starting to wonder if the rest really exist anymore.” Griffon looked a little downcast as he mounted up. “And you’re right. It has been a long time.”
“Long time!” Shump cried out trotting up next to Griffon’s horse. “Your little one turns one in less than three weeks. How long since you la
“Has it really been that long?” Griffon exclaimed. He turned away a moment as he remembered the child’s sea green eyes and the eager smile he always carried whenever his father came into the room. Griffon felt a sudden pang of regret. He had neglected his own family for too long. He knew Tar Sheva would understand but after this much effort for so little, even he found he was beginning to believe the quest as little more than an excuse to shirk his responsibilities.
He wrestled with the thought. Tyran was still recovering from the devastation wrought upon it by the attack from Nallaimor almost two years before. Lazarus had advised completing the quest as soon as possible to provide the country the symbols it needed to follow, fearing darker days lay ahead. Such symbols he had said would be ‘the greatest beacons of hope for the people’. In so doing however, his own family had been left behind, and the guilt knotted tightly in his stomach. With the retrieval of the second gauntlet he could leave the quest for a while, head back to Gowaith past the King’s pass and maybe after a day or so’s travel spend some proper time tending to his family and his duties at home. There was no immediate threat to Tyran’s borders at this time, no dangers save for the usual risk of raids from the warlords who now overran Nallaimor. Aside from that and the occasional dark rumour that drifted from the West or down from Lenateth, there was little else to demand his attention outside of the capital. Further to that the uneasy truce declared between Lenateth and Geranodor had calmed the Northern border – though neither was willing to declare a peace, and even Fal Shian and Charadon had seemed to have come to a tenuous agreement of terms for the time being. There was simply no longer any true need for him to pursue the artefacts so fervently. The thought of going home was becoming more and more appealing.
“Hail the Traveler!” Called a voice from the valley path, breaking Griffon from his line of thought. A single horse rode up to them slowly, its rider shrouded in a great dark cloak that hung about his shoulders and hooded his features. The rider dismounted and led his horse up to them before pulling back his hood.
“Phorest!” Dabilo called out excitedly. “How have you been?”
“Good, thank you. Though perhaps still a little scarred.” He replied, tapping his chest a little where Tarin had struck him in Ulyin. “Fal Shian has asked me to serve as their representative here in Tyran. I believe you have made quite an impression back home. Is Kierke still living around here?” He asked.
“No, he moved back to Charadon aiming to settle down I believe.” Ostler answered, nodding to the landscape beyond. “How did you find us?”
“A simple matter really. The tales of the ‘Traveler King’ are quite well circulated. Within your own lands it would appear you are quite easy to follow. I heard you were around here and thought I might try to meet you, rather than head back to Gowaith and hold distant hopes of seeing you.” Phorest’s voice took a slightly concerned tone. “King Griffon, it is perhaps unfair to say, but you should not neglect your queen so. Tar Sheva is a free spirit too, one who was known to have a dangerous manner of reminding people if left alone for too long.”
Griffon smiled, rubbing subconsciously at his hand where a young eagle had mysteriously attacked him the day previously. He rubbed at the location of the bite mark by reflex, remembering the incident. “Yes I had noticed. But it seems you caught us just in time, we were about to head back to Gowaith. It is good to see you again Phorest. But please just call me Griffon. ‘Prince’ was bad enough. I only allow Ostler to keep calling me ‘king’ because I know he can’t help himself.”
Phorest smiled, a gentle laugh echoing from his lips. “It would be my pleasure.” He said as he turned his horse.
#
The five of them travelled for some time along the dusty mountain paths, riding through small patches of forest and across the rocky foothills. The King’s pass finally opened up before them, a thin stretch of grass covered valley between the mountains of the Southern range that split the mountains into its two great stretches. The Eastward cluster known as the peaks of Hursth, after the legendary climber said to have touched every peak, and the Westward range that stretched on far ahead of them all the way to the Cursed plain. Further down the pass was the fortress monastery of the Order of the Red Shield that guarded the valley’s Southern entrance from the encroachments of the centaurs of Rone. The tall watchtowers of the monastery could be seen even from where they stood at the far Northern end of the valley. A small scattering of farm buildings stood between them and the fortress, beside the silvery river that ran down the middle of the valley floor, fed by the streams flowing down from the mountains.
They kept moving, the pass falling behind as they travelled Northward towards Gowaith. Griffon talked eagerly with Phorest about his experiences in the forests of his home. Phorest was happy to answer the young king’s questions, telling of his training in the arts of the bowmasters, and of life within the near mythical forest realm. For his part Griffon was eager to fill in Phorest on the events of his own lands since the elf’s departure, though he was ashamed to admit he could not give as extensive detail.
“So Seth returned to the mage guild, and Kierke to Charadon? What of yourself Shump? Why do you remain here?” Phorest asked him.
“It’s a hobby.” Shump explained matter of factly.
“He enjoys the sense of adventure I think. Perhaps he fears Lenateth’s plains no longer hold enough adventure for him.” Dabilo smiled teasingly earning a dark look as Shump considered whether it had been said as an insult.
“And yourself?” Phorest asked the halfling, turning to her. “Why did you not go back to Geranodor with Seth?”
“With that irritating arrogant fool?” Dabilo asked with some measure of spite. “Hah! I’d rather face Ulyin castle again than stay that long around him.” She said irritably.
“What about Derro?” Phorest asked, steadying his horse as they moved onto a rougher road. The path travelled along through a small forest, the sunlight playing through the leaves of the branches overhead as the wind rustled the branches.
“He said he had to return to Lenateth for some business or another. Left shortly after Kierke did. I think he felt guilty for taking Kierke’s leg.” Ostler explained. “He said he wanted to travel alone a bit, so he returned with Ikkan to the Battlelands. Haven’t heard from him since.”
Phorest nodded. “For the best perhaps.” He said. “And Tar Sheva?” Phorest asked suddenly, turning to face Griffon with a curious expression.
“She was happy and doing well when I last saw her.” Griffon admitted, feeling a pang of guilt as he realized he could not say for sure. “I’m looking forward to seeing her and Ashan again.”
“Ah yes; the young prince. I hear he carries a lot of his mother in his look and his father in spirit.” He smiled a little, but the expression faded quickly as he continued. “Back home, I would often hear of him. Many of my people find the idea of a half blood of such high rank very uncomfortable. I fear some feel even more strongly. The poor history we share with Charadon has done little to ease that. I fear he may have a far harder future because of it.” Phorest sounded saddened. “For myself I look forward to meeting him.” Phorest smiled.
“It’s obvious you have never had children of your own.” Griffon interjected wistfully, remembering the first few months after Ashan had been born. “Noisy, messy, demanding. He will wake you at any time of the night. It’s like he has a sadistically cruel grudge against the two of us for some perceived thing we did wrong. I’m ashamed to admit it but a part of me was almost happy to leave for a while. But I do miss him.”
“Queen Tar Sheva has every right to be angry with you considering you left her with him. I’m sure she will be happy to give him back to you.” Ostler pointed out, causing Griffon to wince at the thought.
Phorest smiled for a moment before continuing. “There have been many rumours, as is to be expected from an occasion such as this. Many of the elders seem to fear that Tyran and Charadon are planning to unite and conquer the forest realms. Some rumours state that the same feeling is felt in Charadon that we are to unite with Tyran and finish them off once and for all. Tensions still run high, and for many the boy’s birth is perceived as a sign of great change.”
