The Flight of the Griffin (31 page)

Gliding down on silent wings she spied the sultan himself with a group of people. She landed softly on the roof just above where the exchange was taking place.

‘Why, my daughter, do you always seek to anger me with your foolishness?’ The sultan’s voice echoed around the chamber below. ‘Thirty-eight sisters you have and forty-seven brothers, and who is it that I am always having this conversation with? Why, it is always you!’

‘But, Father, I am not like my sisters, happy to be sitting all day in the palace, and my brothers have some freedom, able to leave when they wish. I just have to get away some time…’

‘Get away?’
the sultan’s voice became angry. ‘You are the daughter of the sultan, you cannot just get away like some common housemaid whenever you like. Three days you have been in those mountains and three days I have mourned the loss of you. You were in the mines again, I know it. I’ve told you before and now I must set a guard upon you, for you cannot and will not go there again. There are travellers here asking about the mines. They shall never be allowed to find them and you shall never visit them again either.’

‘But the guardian is kind and the skull speaks such wisdom, Father.’

The sound of a hand slapping against skin echoed around the hall and Mahra heard the girl sob with the shock of the blow.

‘You will never seek the mines again…and you will not leave this palace until you leave with a husband, as befits a daughter of the sultan. Now go to your chambers and think upon what I have said here this evening.’

Mahra heard the princess run out, a door slamming behind her. She took off and flew in the same direction, hoping to see where the princess had gone. She heard the voice of the sultan echo as she left.

‘What can I do with her? I ask you, that girl…’ His voice faded as she sought out the next window to see the princess and saw the flash of red silks, the same as she’d seen with the sultan. She followed the sound of running feet as they went down corridors and in and out of rooms. Finally the princess arrived at what must have been her chambers and Mahra heard sobbing coming from inside. Landing softly on the balcony, she saw the girl lying on a large bed, thumping her tiny fists on the mattress in frustration.

Well, I think I’ve found our princess, thought Mahra as she returned to human form and walked into the room.

****

Chapter 21

The Guardian And The Flail

A feeble ray of light found its way through the dirty windows past fading grey curtains. It fell upon a figure lying under a thin blanket, the cover gently rising and falling with each laboured breath. A hand, barely more than skeletal bone and parchment-thin skin, reached out for a tattered book. He was desperately fighting the need for rest, but unwilling to give in to the desire, after waiting so long to complete the task which had occupied him for so many years. Muttering incoherently, he fumbled with the knife, his old fingers finding it difficult after so long with little use. After several attempts, he finally fitted the thin blade into the spine transforming the book into another, so completely different from the first.

‘One more, just one and then we can end it…end the waiting…end the torment.’ He studied the words he’d so carefully written, guiding the heroes from one skull to the next, forcing stiff fingers to move the pen. Where were they now? What was happening? Until the next skull was located, he would know little more of the Quest. When would it all end, allowing him to sleep, to rest … to finally die? He coughed and clutched the book to his chest

‘Hurry, Mahra, hurry my daughter…hurry…’

****

Mahra’s conversation with the princess had been an interesting one; the princess hadn’t seemed at all surprised to see a stranger walk into her room and had been delighted to chat about the guardian and the skull he protected. It was there and apparently waiting for them.

‘The skull is wise and has counselled me on many things,‘ the princess had explained. ‘It told me that one day I would guide some strangers to it, helping fulfil its destiny, and now I am happy that this day has come.’ She had appeared downcast for a moment. ‘Except that my father has forbidden me to leave the palace again, especially to go to the mines, but I can escape, I’ve done it many times before.’ Her face had once again, shone with hope.

Mahra looked at the princess. ‘Isn’t it an awful place? The mines were described to us as some kind of hell.’

‘No,’ said the princess seeming shocked. ‘It is no hell, the mines are only tunnels, and the guardian is a sweet old man who loves to have company. He and the skull are like two old friends arguing back and forth - they’re really very funny.’

Mahra thought back on their conversation as she soared above the city enjoying the night air. It was late now and below her, darkness surrounded the sleeping buildings. The mountains rose from the gloom to one side and the great expanse of the desert lay to the other. She gazed out over the endless void.

The Dhurbar had a saying, that should a man and his camel walk out into the great expanse, then it would be his grandchild that would eventually reach the other side. How he was meant to father a child out there was anyone’s guess, but then it was merely a saying to show that the great expanse was a vast patch of sand, and they basically hadn’t a clue what lay on the other side. She dipped a wing and turned towards the crumbling mountains, feeling the warm air rising from the rocky cliffs, sending her circling higher and higher towards the stars that crowded the sky above. On the far side she could see the twinkling lights of campfires, a caravan heading to or from Dhurbar. She gave a cry and headed down to take a closer look.

****

‘Oh they make my blood boil and no mistake.’ Bartholomew Bask paced beside the small campfire that Mustep had managed to light from dried camel’s dung.

‘You’re burning what!’ Bartholomew had exclaimed, wrinkling his nose.

‘Turds, Mr Bask, turds to keeps us warm - this is the desert; there are no trees.’

Bartholomew had watched with a look of utter disgust as the knifeman had bent over the strange pile coaxing a flame.

He stepped away from the smoke, careful not to breathe in any fumes. ‘We get close - they get away. We capture them - they give us the slip. We surround them - they
fly right over us!
Today we should have just snatched them and been done with it. The Dhurbar wouldn’t have done anything once we’d overcome them.’ He eased himself down onto a cushion and chewed on his handkerchief in frustration.

‘Nobody was holding you back from capturing them, Mr Bask. I didn’t see you making a huge effort to get close to those blades.’ Matheus sneered at Bartholomew’s discomfort. ‘Those boys fight like devils, there’s nothing natural about them.’

‘Devils?’ Bartholomew started and glanced nervously about him.

‘Don’t worry, Mr Bask - they’re gone, there are no more devils or demons to disturb your night.’ The hunter laughed but Bartholomew ignored him.

‘Oh, but tomorrow, Mr Hawk, we arrive in Dhurban and we shall have them.’ He clenched his fist around a handful of sand and with a look of frustration and anger squeezed his fist. Matheus watched as most of the sand slipped through the merchant’s fingers and silently prayed it wasn’t an omen. He felt a chill run through him and, try as he might, just couldn’t shake it off.

****

Pardigan emerged from the palanquin stretching his arms as he gazed about. All around him the desert reflected the orange of the rising sun and he stood shielding his eyes from the glare as he took in the caravan waking around him. Most of the travellers were still asleep or in the process of waking, but a few Dhurbar were up tending their precious camels or cooking a leisurely breakfast. The smell of thick Dhurbar brew and baking bread filled the chill morning air making Pardigan’s stomach rumble. He then noticed Tarent walking towards him, grinning.

‘What’s making you so happy this early in the morning?’ asked Pardigan, accepting a steaming cup of brew.

‘I had a good night that’s all. We’re getting close to Dhurban now; it’s just the other side of these mountains.’ They both glanced up towards the cliffs and the narrow canyon through which the caravan would be passing.

‘Morning, boys,’ came a friendly voice. They turned to see the beaming face of Bartholomew Bask standing with Mustep the knifeman.

‘I’m told we’ll be in Dhurban by sundown today and then we can all have a friendly chat about the property you stole and whatever illegal errand it is that you’ve been on, dragging us all around the world like this.’ Both Bartholomew and Mustep were being careful to stand well back from the boys, with the rising sun behind them.

‘Well, Merchant Bask,’ said Pardigan. ‘We’re flattered that you’ve visited us with your new boyfriend. We’ve already been introduced to Mr Mishap the child tormentor.’ Bartholomew glared at him and Mustep reached inside his robes.

Tarent stared unsmiling at the knifeman. ‘Now that would be silly, Mishap, you really wouldn’t want to take out that knife and be shamed by a twelve-year-old boy again, would you?’

Mustep’s eyes flicked from one boy to the other, deciding if he should take a chance with his knife. Decision made he started to pull it out and Tarent’s staff rang as the twin swords were pulled clear, one stopped at Mustep’s throat the other rested upon the hand still in his robe, tapping it gently.

‘Mr Bask, please explain to your monkey that he should be good, will you. How the Hawk let you two out of his sight, I have no idea. When we have all walked through the gates of Dhurban together later today, we’ll gladly sit down, surrender our weapons to your superior force, and tell you everything.’

Tarent glanced from one surprised face to the next as both Pardigan and Bartholomew Bask echoed the same thing.

‘Really?’

‘Sure we will, now go find the Hawk and give him the good news.’ Tarent waved them away, and caught off guard, they walked off.

‘
I’m
not giving myself up to them, what are you up to?’ said Pardigan scowling.

‘We had a visitor last night. Mahra was here. We’re meeting her at the other end of the pass with
The Griffin
.’ Tarent took delight in his friend’s relief. ‘We won’t be walking through the gates of Dhurban, so we won’t have to give ourselves up.’

‘Thank goodness for that,’ exclaimed Pardigan, letting out a sigh. ‘I thought you’d gone soft. How are they getting a boat into the mountains, is there a river?’ Tarent put his arm around his friend’s shoulders as they walked off in search of breakfast and explained his conversation with Mahra.

The final day in the desert wound on and was easier for the boys. They didn’t have to ride in the palanquin, as the hills and rocks around the canyon that ran through the mountain prohibited their use. Walking was hard work but the canyon was out of the direct sunlight and it was cool. They were sure Bartholomew was having a worse time of it. He would be right at the back huffing, puffing and using any spare breath he may have to complain. When they spoke to Azif he was delighted to hear of the boys’ escape plan, although a little sceptical of magical creatures.

‘So this big bird thing will come down, pick you up, and fly off, whisking you away from those gentleman who believe they will be skinning you alive in only a few hours time?’ His booming laughter echoed throughout the rocky corridor they were walking through, startling a flock of roosting birds far above their heads, their cries mingling with the sounds of the labouring caravan below. ‘The nasty cool one, with the hooked nose paid me a visit earlier today,’ Azif continued. ‘He wanted my assurance that my men would not hinder your arrest when we arrive in the city. Of course I told him it would be the will of the Source if he were to arrest you, but that I could not and would not hamper his efforts. I think he must have more people waiting in Dhurban, because he seemed very sure of success. I’m glad you have a flying
beast to come take you away.’

It was past noon when the last of the stragglers emerged from the rocky canyon and into the bright sunlight, squinting across the desert plain at the walled city of
Dhurban. It seemed deceptively close in the shimmering haze, its towers and minarets appearing to float above the desert, the lakes in front of it a non-existent seductive silvery mirage.

Bartholomew emerged from the canyon supported by Mustep as one of the last in the line. He sank down to sit on a rock and wiped his brow with a lace handkerchief that was dirtier than he was. Drinking greedily from the water flask that Matheus Hawk offered him, he gazed across the plain at Dhurban.

‘So we’re nearly there, are we, about time as well. Just keep your eyes on those rascals and no letting them give us the slip when we walk through those gates.’ He squinted upwards as the Hawk replied, a dark silhouette against the bright sky.

‘If your Dhurban agent and his men meet us at the gates as arranged, we’ll stop them with little trouble, let’s hope your message made it through.’ Matheus took back the water bottle and frowned when he discovered it nearly empty.

Bartholomew sighed. ‘I’m tired chasing that scum around, not knowing where they’re off to next or even what it’s all about. There are riches involved here, I’m sure of that and I’m about due for some riches.’

It was then that he noticed a commotion, and guessing it was the caravan getting underway once more, he reluctantly stood up, dusted himself down and searched round for his palanquin. Then the shouting and waving coming from the far side of the bunched group increased.