The Flight of the Griffin (30 page)

‘My brothers, my people, I have returned from the realm of man and their flesh is as sweet as you all remember, soon I shall go back and you shall come with me. The time of the demons is at hand.’ The demon horde roared its support and Belial smiled. A king must lead and this would be his greatest moment as he brought his people back to the realm of man.

‘But how will you go, my King?’ The question came from a hunched figure standing to the side of him; Curohl, one of many brother princes and a pretender to his throne. Word had reached him that Curohl had started to plot against him as soon as he’d left, and it could be that he would test him for the throne here and now if allowed.

‘Were you not dismissed back to us?’ Curohl started to walk towards him. ‘Were you not...
Aauughh!
’ He never finished his sentence as Belial’s knife embedded itself into his brother’s eye. Curohl fell to the floor whimpering and kicking out in his death throes. Such was justice dispensed in the realm of the demons. No other moved to give aid, no voice was raised in protest as Belial’s gaze swept the cavern. If Curohl had friends and sympathisers, they wisely chose to do nothing. He continued as if the interruption had never occurred, delighting once again in the power that was his to control.

‘I have the key to go back, I can return whenever I desire, bringing as many of you with me as I wish. Do you not crave to return with me and fill your bellies with the flesh of man, to feast upon their pain and their suffering? Am…I…not…your…King?’ He held up his hands, inviting an answer and received it as the gathering roared his name over and over.

‘Belial, Belial, Belial…’ He smiled and drank in the attention. Now if he were only able to find the final piece of the puzzle he could indeed return with this army of demons and their minions. He could locate the Hawk and make the gateway, but how to hold it? The cavern continued to resound with the echoes of his name and for now he satisfied himself in the worship of his people. In front of him the body of Curohl twitched one last time and he observed it with interest as the final moments of his brother’s life ebbed away.

****

After two days, both Pardigan and Tarent were becoming relatively used to the swinging momentum of the palanquin. Neither was enjoying it, both still felt ill, but so far today neither had been sick. The evening before they’d been deliriously relieved when the caravan had eventually stopped and they were able to crawl out and feel solid ground. They hadn’t noticed Azif watching them, a huge smile on his face as he stroked his immense stomach in anticipation of the evening meal.

‘How you like our Palanquin, eh? Is this not true luxury to travel the desert in comfort and shade while those of a lesser class ride the camels?’ He waved his hand derisively towards the back of the caravan, with riders still arriving amongst a huge cloud of dust. ‘You are lucky Azif has decided to like you, yes? Come, eat with me at my tent.’

What the boys really wanted to do was crawl into their own tent and sleep. Riding in the unpleasant palanquin all day was far from restful and the only sleep they’d been able to manage was unsettled and filled with strange dreams, giving little rest between bouts of vomiting. They’d eventually relented and gone to Azif’s tent, but only after he’d sent one of his retainers in search of them. Once seated, they had sat through and endured an evening of entertainment, while tray upon tray of food was left mostly untouched. Finally, they had slid off to find their own tent, to sleep an exhausted sleep filled with more strange dreams.

The current day had been one of torture. At midday, as the sun reached its highest point, the caravan came to a welcome stop at a watering hole. The camels had smelt the water some distance off and had been calling and grunting in anticipation for some time. They now gathered with heads hung low, sucking great mouthfuls deep into their huge stomachs. Pardigan and Tarent had crawled from their palanquin and were sitting with their backs propped against the side of a shallow cliff, observing the milling throng around them.

‘I feel awful,’ muttered Pardigan. Tarent did no more than glance at his friend. There was nothing left to say.

The Dhurbar organised the brief stop as efficiently as they did everything else. All the camels were seen to and watered before the Dhurbar themselves gathered in small groups, lighting fires and cooking up small cups of the thick black beverage they favoured over the Freyan brew and baking flat gritty bread.

Tarent picked up a stone and tossed it towards the water; it bounced a few times but didn’t quite make it to the edge.  ‘I’m so tired, I’m going to sleep for a week when we get to Dhurbar and find a proper bed and I don’t ever want to be the one travelling alone with you again. You always manage to get us into trouble of some sort.’

‘At least I make life interesting, eh? We are…’ Pardigan stopped short as all around them the ground literally exploded. Earth and mud flew up wrapping around camels and Dhurbar alike.

‘Mudlarks’
came a cry as Pardigan and Tarent watched for a moment, trying to make sense of what was happening as the Dhurbar slashed at the mud forms with their swords.

‘What’s a mudlark?’ asked Pardigan glancing wildly around him. Tarent felt something slide around his neck and jumped up, tearing himself free drawing the twin swords from his staff. A mudlark, if that’s what it was, leapt out from the bank he’d been resting against, the swords flashed and what had looked and felt like a solid being a moment before, splattered to the ground into separate lumps of wet sticky clay.

‘I think that’s a mudlark,’ said Tarent, but Pardigan was already engaged with two others. One had a brown sticky arm around his neck and was fast covering his face, trying to suffocate him. The other didn’t last long as his knife found some source of its life and it dropped as a puddle of mud to the ground, coating him to the waist in thick brown goo, the second lasted only moments longer. Tarent spun around and watched as the Dhurbar fought the attackers, swords flashing. To their right a camel was being dragged into the pool and two Dhurbar had jumped to its rescue only to be attacked by more of the strange beings. Up and down the caravan similar scenes were unfolding accompanied by the scream of terrified beasts and the shouts and cries of the Dhurbar.

‘Come on,’ shouted Pardigan, any thought of sickness or fatigue forgotten as he threw his cape to the side, pulled his knives and tripped a mudlark, sending it flying as it lurched past. He finished it and ran on.

Azif was standing on a rock shouting orders and directing his personal guards as they fought savagely around him. A mudlark vaulted up and over its fellows, flying towards the stout caravan master and Pardigan let fly a knife that literally exploded the creature in mid air. Azif waved cheery thanks as they ran past; Pardigan retrieved his knife, and they went searching for where they were needed next.

For what seemed an age they travelled the length of the caravan helping out where they could. The mudlarks were interested in both humans and camels as they successfully dragged both into the pool and down into its depths. The boys quickly realised that once into the water, there was very little help they could give man or beast as hundreds of muddy arms grabbed and dragged their struggling burdens under. On land the mudlarks were easier prey and the boys became covered in sticky mud as they fought; swords and knives flashing alongside the Dhurbar. Towards the rear of the caravan the fighting was heaviest and the boys ran to help as a group of mudlarks began tearing and pulling at a palanquin and its camels, its helpless occupants squealing in terror. Tarent and Pardigan went in with blades flashing.

When fighting in a group, the mudlarks tended to attack from as many directions as possible, trapping legs and feet and attempting to bring an opponent to the ground where they could then drown them in mud. The boys fought bravely and were aided as at least one of the palanquin's occupants attacked from behind. As the mudlarks were beaten back, Pardigan glanced up to thank the man who had just knifed a mudlark that had got too close, only to realise he was face to face with Matheus Hawk. Both reacted at the same time; Matheus screamed an oath and reached out for Pardigan while Pardigan jumped over a slippery pile of former mudlarks, desperate to get some distance between him and the angry hunter. Tarent turned to see what was happening and taking in the situation, called to Matheus.

‘For now we fight together, our differences can wait until we’ve beaten back the mudlarks, agreed?’

Matheus stopped and glared at him, then nodded an agreement. Tarent studied the palanquin but could see no sign of Bartholomew Bask under the pile of quivering cushions but knew he must be there. A new wave of attackers erupted from the ground and once again the caravan was a heaving mass as mud, men and screaming terrified camels fought for control. Tarent and Pardigan began to move away from where the Hawk stood fighting alongside a handful of Dhurbar, and made their way back towards the front of the caravan and their own palanquin.

‘We may well need the good favour of Azif. The Hawk and Bartholomew Bask are going to come looking for us when all this is over,’ Tarent muttered, and sure enough they did.

As the fighting subsided and the caravan attempted to pull itself back together, Matheus Hawk, accompanied by the indignant Bartholomew Bask, came marching up to where Pardigan and Tarent were standing alongside Azif.

‘Hold them young thieves there,’ shouted Bartholomew. Azif glanced up from a report an aide was trying to give him.

‘You have thieves, hoodlums and pirates riding with you, man.’ Bartholomew strode across and attempted to grab hold of Tarent, who ducked out of the way and drew his two swords with a flourish. Bartholomew retreated hurriedly, allowing Matheus Hawk to come up alongside him. Matheus bowed slightly to Azif and addressed him more politely.

‘My companion is correct, I fear. We’ve been tracking a band of young thieves for some time now and these are indeed two of them. We ask you for justice. That you hand them over to us, unarmed, so that we may take them to stand trial.’

Pardigan bristled and fingered the sword at his hip; Tarent stood alone making no move to reform his swords into the staff. Azif smiled pleasantly.

‘I am sure you good gentlemen are mistaken. These two fine fellows are under the protection of the caravan, and indeed are my personal guests…’ a spluttering red-faced Bartholomew Bask interrupted him.

‘Mistaken! Why I’m as sure as eggs is eggs that…’ he never finished as Matheus clamped a hand across his mouth.

‘As you see fit, my lord, but I take it that the protection of the caravan will only extend until we arrive in
Dhurban City?’

‘If it is protection as you call it, then yes, my obligation is over when we reach Dhurban but having seen these two young fellows in action, I feel it may be you two gentlemen that will need protecting if you seek to tangle with them.’ He laughed and every Dhurbar within earshot joined him.

Matheus Hawk inclined his head in acknowledgment, but said nothing and dragged the still spluttering Bartholomew Bask back to their palanquin at the end of the line. Azif addressed Tarent and Pardigan.

‘Pirates! And what was it he called you? Ah yes, thieves and hoodlums, what interesting lives you boys lead. We will have much to discuss around the fire tonight, I’ll wager.’ He returned to his aides, to deal with the ragged remains of the caravan.

‘How did they find us here?’ hissed Pardigan as Tarent slipped his swords together with a twist and stood leaning on his staff.

‘I have no idea, but I think we’d better make plans to depart the caravan, before reaching Dhurban. While the caravan is underway I don’t think they‘d dare do anything to us, but when we get there…’ he left the sentence unfinished and shrugged. They watched the departing figures of Matheus Hawk and Bartholomew Bask and were dismayed to see Mustep the knifeman running over and talking with them. ‘Well at least our enemies are all getting to know each other. Old Mustep must have heard the whole exchange and recognises a friend when he sees one.’ The three were all staring back at Pardigan and Tarent.

‘I’ll be glad to be back with the others,’ said Pardigan, giving Bartholomew a little wave. Tarent slapped his hand down crossly.

‘Oh, give it up, Pardigan! You just never know when to stop, do you?’ Pardigan grinned.

‘I just like to annoy the merchant; he asks for it, doesn’t he?’

‘Yeah, but he doesn’t need it, he hates us enough already, honestly, look at him!’ Tarent shook his head and walked off.

Pardigan stared at the red glowering face of Bartholomew, waved again, and then chased after Tarent.

The caravan rested at the pools only long enough for the camels to be reloaded and the palanquins to be hitched up, before it once again resumed its plodding pace back out into the desert towards a range of distant mountains and the far off city of
Dhurban. Pardigan and Tarent lay back in their palanquin, quickly returning to their former sick and unhappy state. While at the back of the line, Bartholomew and Matheus Hawk lay in grim silence in the swaying murky heat; all awaited their arrival in Dhurban, still more than a day away.

****

It really was good to fly again, but Mahra hadn’t needed Quint to tell her that. She soared out over the city riding the thermal waves of warm air rising up from the buildings below. Above her the stars shone brightly and she was experiencing one of those ‘good to be alive’ type moments that came rarely after a thousand years of life. Earlier she’d flown over the city and spent some time around the palace listening at windows and doors for any titbits of information. The palace was divided, as they’d thought, into one half for males and the other half for females, with common rooms in between. The royal wives and their children, of whom it seemed there were many, were in yet another separate section at the rear of the palace. For all of her listening and eavesdropping on conversations she’d yet to identify the princess they sought. She had finally decided to fly out over the city and the desert beyond, simply for the fun of it, before heading back for one last round of the royal apartments.