The Flight of the Griffin (27 page)

After so many centuries trapped here, he had no wish to be back amongst his kin. Even for a king of demons it wasn’t a pleasant place to be. He tried to trace the patterns of the Magic that had brought him to the realm of man. He’d managed to summon his brethren to him once he was there. Couldn’t he find his own way back? Maybe, he could.

A scampering sound echoed around him, but from what, a wall, a cliff? His eyes were becoming accustomed now to the dim luminescent glow. His hand shot out and he drew it back, peering down to see a small creature staring back at him with large saucer-like eyes. He slowly broke its neck with the pressure of his thumb and tossed it to the ground. No, he wasn’t ready to start eating demon food just yet. He crawled on his hands and knees, feeling his way to the cliff-face then leaned back against it to afford some protection while he started to chant. He had no plan to be here for long, not after the sweet air and fine food of the human realm. Now he had retribution to add to his list. Matheus Hawk and his fat friend Bartholomew Bask would die as surely as those brats and this time, he’d do it properly.

****

Chapter 18

Seas of sand

Two days after setting out from the
Island of Minster, the little boat made its way into the harbour at Freya and tied up at the far end of a long line of trading vessels. This boat wasn’t as spacious as
The Griffin
and both boys were eager to be back on dry land after its somewhat cramped confines.

The subject of what they’d do when finally arriving, had been the centre of debate the entire voyage. A room at Blake’s, a decent brew and some fresh cinnamon buns were at the top of the list. Tarent was also looking forward to a long soak and a snooze in a tub of hot water, a desire that Pardigan didn’t share.

‘We’ve washed lots lately,’ he whined, sniffing tentatively at his armpits.

Tarent shook his head. ‘If you’re going to sleep in the same room as me, and then travel with me to Dhurbar, you’re going to have to wash in a proper tub.’ He cuffed his friend’s ear and darted off with Pardigan hot on his heels calling him a scented dandy.

They got their room at Blake’s and stowed their gear, being sure to leave the bag with the skull in with Blake downstairs. It was common knowledge in Freya that Blake, or one of his staff, regularly searched the guestrooms and helped themselves to things that took their fancy. If, however, you took advantage of the house’s offer to guard your valuables in their strongbox, for a small price of course, then your belongings were in the safest place in all of Freya.

First stop after Blake’s was the public bathhouse situated halfway up The Cannery. Reluctantly, Pardigan had his clothes washed while he and Tarent lazed about in hot tubs splashing water around. It was good to lay back and relax and even Pardigan felt better when a few hours later, they walked out in search of the bakery and the sweet cakes it offered.

Market Square was its usual buzz of activity with traders trying desperately to out-scream their neighbours and draw customers to their wares. Two traders, both offering similar cooking pans, were arguing heatedly and ignoring the protestations of the shopper who was trying to buy a pan from one of them. Tarent and Pardigan sat down outside a bakery and ordered glasses of iced lemon water and watched as the two traders started hitting at each other, accompanied by the loud
clunks
and
dongs
of the pans they were using as weapons. A crowd started to gather, jeering and hooting at the combatants and Pardigan noticed two of the watchers were wearing the colourful flowing robes of the Dhurbar horsemen. He nudged Tarent.

‘We may be in luck; it looks like a caravan’s in town. Let’s go to the stabling ground, the caravans usually camp out there.’

‘Sounds like a plan if ever I heard one,’ said Tarent, draining his glass and standing up. Some of the onlookers had now been drawn into the argument and the whole thing was turning into a small scale riot. As Pardigan and Tarent walked away they could hear the high-pitched whistles of the city watch getting closer. They followed the two Dhurbars as they broke from the crowd and headed away in the direction of the stabling grounds.

When they arrived, they found the stabling grounds were indeed host to Dhurbar traders, lots of them. It appeared that either one huge caravan was in town, or possibly several smaller ones had met up. Whatever the case, the horsemen were using the occasion to celebrate. Corrals had been set up to hold their precious horses and camels, and brightly decorated tents, woven with a patchwork of bright colours, beads and tiny mirrors twinkling in between, had been put up all around. The smoke and smell of cooking meats, exotic spices and baking flat breads was thick in the air, mingling closely with the musky smells of the animals. Many of the locals of Freya were walking around, curious of their desert visitors and their stalls from which colourful clothes and Dhurban souvenirs were being sold to the milling crowd, no Dhurban liked to overlook a chance at making a profit.

After asking around, the boys found out that in fact two caravans were encamped, each going in a different direction. The one they would be interested in was the caravan of  ‘Azif Benhoudin Sharif,’ who, they were told, could be found either in his tents, easily found as his flag of purple and gold would be flying from its top, or walking with his retainers.

‘You won’t miss him,’ cackled an old Dhurban, his grey beard yellow-stained around a mouth totally devoid of teeth, giving the impression that his face was collapsing whenever he stopped speaking. ‘Big fellow is Azif, and he’ll have a large group of people around him, mostly cooks. Likes to eat does Azif, maybe he’ll eat you, boy.’ He stabbed a bony finger into Pardigan’s chest.

‘Go eat dung, you old goat,’ snarled Pardigan, rubbing his chest. Tarent hurried him away leaving the old man cackling behind them.

‘Pardigan, try and be nice, these people are all carrying knives; we’d be better off making friends here, not enemies.’ They wandered on, thrilling to the sights and sounds around them, and found Azif’s tent easily enough, but the large Dhurbar standing at the entrance informed them that Azif Sharif was not in residence. The guard had fierce eyes and appeared eager to draw the large curved knife he was fingering at his belt, so the boys retreated into the crowd.

‘Maybe we should find another way to get to Dhurbar, Tarent. These aren’t the friendliest people we’ve met lately, are they?’ Pardigan pulled out the book and sat down close to a tent. He closed it a short while later and stood up, looking disappointed.

‘Nothing else in the book so I suppose this really is where we’re meant to be.’ They continued walking, searching for Azif in the crowd. They eventually found him watching a camel dashing around a roped-off area, trying unsuccessfully to rid itself of the rider perched on its back. Seated on a pile of cushions, Azif was laughing hysterically and eating from a variety of plates being offered by a small group of animated men around him.

Azif Benhoudin Sharif was an extremely large man. The folds of cloth wrapped around him would surely have been enough to make one of the colourful tents if he hadn’t been using them to cover his ample frame. He had a purple and gold cloth wrapped around his head in the Dhurbar fashion and under this, his great rubbery face was moulded around an extremely large powerful nose. The moustache beneath would be large enough to double for a broom if one were ever needed.

Tarent took one look at Azif and grabbed hold of Pardigan. ‘Don’t you let me down, Pardigan, if you start laughing at this man, we may well end up dead, the whole Quest would end and Chaos would reign. This is
very
serious.’ He stared at Pardigan, hoping the message would get through. ‘Do you hear me?’

‘I’m not stupid!’ retorted Pardigan. He had actually been about to make a joke, but decided Tarent was right. These people probably wouldn’t take a joke too well. They walked closer and stood waiting for an opportunity to speak with the massive caravan master.

****

The Griffin
swept lower and lower towards the distant city in the sand. They’d been flying over the featureless desert for far too long and were now exhausted from the constant buffeting from the wind, exposure to the sun and the necessity of holding on to the great beast beneath them.

It had been quite beautiful first thing in the morning; the dunes and cacti sending long shadows across the desert giving them wonderful scenery to look down upon. As the sun had risen however, the shadows had become fewer and fewer and they could see little difference in anything below, everything had blurred into a fiercely bright featureless expanse.

‘How do the Dhurbar navigate in this?’ asked Loras, peering down through his fingers to shield his eyes from the glare. ‘One sand hill seems the same as another to me and I don’t see how any road or path would last long down there.’

‘They navigate by the stars and by landmarks that only they can see,’ explained Mahra, holding her head close to Loras so he could hear her. ‘Two similar-shaped hills may be called the brothers, or a large hill close to a small hill may be the mother and infant. What appears as a featureless landscape to you is a well-documented landscape to them. They would find it incredible that Quint was able to find his way over water, when no landmark at all is visible.’

‘Mahra, I
also
find it incredible that Quint can navigate at sea, but I get your point about the desert.’

Mahra smiled. ‘We each have our abilities which we find comfortable ourselves, but seem impossible for others to understand. I can change into other forms, Quint can navigate and send an arrow into a tiny target from a thousand paces, and you, Loras, can change boats into beasts. I still have no idea how you did that.’

‘It wasn’t actually that hard. Do you remember how you tried to prompt me when I wanted to make the fire hotter back on The Isle of Skulls? You had an idea it could be done. Maybe you’d seen it done before. When I read my books the answer was to increase something that was already there. In the case of the fire, it was easy; just increase the warmth that was already available. The change of
The Griffin
was really no harder than that.
The
Griffin
was a
Griffin
in all of our minds, even though it was only a name. All I did was to expand on that and make the name grow…easy!’ Loras grinned but Mahra remained silent, regarding him thoughtfully.

It was late morning when they spotted the desert city of
Dhurban. At first it was an irregular feature in the bright desert, then later appeared as an extension to a range of crumbling mountains. As they got closer still, it gradually resolved into the ancient city.

They made long fast sweeping turns searching for a likely landing spot, the warm air rushing over them making it difficult to see through tear-filled eyes. Dhurban was about the same size as Freya but the two cities shared little in common. Dhurban was a walled city, with watchtowers and battlements all around as if expecting attack from an army emerging from the desert. A copper-domed roof, centred with a spike, topped each watchtower like outlandish hats worn by a desert merchant. The roofs of the buildings inside the city were either flat, or were similarly dome-shaped as the towers. A few of these also shone copper or gold and were flashing in the brilliant sunlight as
The
Griffin
sped past overhead. The three flyers were excited about the city, if not a little nervous about what their reception would be. They could see several market squares and then what must be the sultan’s palace in the north; it was the only building with green gardens surrounding it. Huge golden domes topped the building and as they got closer they could see fountains set amongst the lavish gardens; this seemed like the spot they should land in and Quint coaxed
The
Griffin
towards the front of the largest building.

As they got lower they were spotted, armed soldiers began running around after them, peering up and shouting as they tried to anticipate where the strange creature would land.

Mahra raised her voice over the rush of the wind. ‘Let’s try and do this right, no arrows, and no magic unless we have to, all right?’ They nodded their agreement and
The
Griffin
descended with claws outstretched and wings beating fast, gently coming to a perfect rest amid a great cloud of dust. Folding her wings,
The
Griffin
settled herself as soldiers, coughing from the dust, surrounded them. With spears pointing at the great beast, they gazed on, eyes wide with the wonder of this strange visitor.
The
Griffin
ignored them and sat staring at the closest fountain, its head cocking from one side to the other, mesmerised by the play of light through the dancing water.

The soldiers wore burnished armour chest pieces over golden robes, and conical helmets similar to the roofs of the buildings. The same golden cloth fell down behind the helmets to protect their necks from the fierce desert sun, they looked very smart. A large man pushed himself to the front and marched forward brandishing a spear. He spoke rapidly in a language that none of them understood, then seeing the lack of comprehension on their faces, he changed to Freyan.

‘Who are you that come uninvited to the great sultan’s palace?’ He saw they’d understood him and went on. ‘Quick, tell me who you are before I kill this thing you sit upon and cast you all into the dungeons.’