The Flight of the Griffin (34 page)

In Sterling they tied up and took their time in putting the boat in order, then Loras and Tarent paid their harbour fees and went in search of cinnamon buns.

‘I suppose there’s not much delaying what we have to do,’ said Tarent sipping a glass of freshly squeezed lemon water once they had returned. ‘Let’s go to the temple early tomorrow morning when there aren’t so many people about, and place the skulls then. If we’re to fight our last battle, we may as well get a good night’s sleep and choose our own time when there’s no one else to get hurt.’ Everyone agreed and while Loras went into town to poke about the bookshops, the others sharpened weapons and made ready for the morning.

Tarent placed the three skulls upon the table and attempted to talk to them but they remained silent, perhaps gripped by the same nervous feelings as the rest of them, now so close to the end of their journey.

Loras returned with fish and vegetables and he and Quint prepared a stew that they later sat on deck eating as the sun set and the stars came out.

‘That may well be the last day that the sun shines down on a world sliding towards Chaos,’ ventured Pardigan as the final rays of sunlight disappeared.

Mahra set her finished plate aside. ‘It had better be. I’ve not waited a thousand years and gone through this Quest, only to find that tomorrow doesn’t change anything. We’ve done all that the book has asked and we’re now ready to finish what was started so long ago.’ She looked about her at the people she’d only recently met, yet already shared so much with, and raised her tankard to each of them in turn.

‘After a thousand years of waiting, it’s been a pleasure and a privilege to finally meet you and Quest with you my friends.’ She smiled. ‘Here’s to us, to the heroes at the end of time.’

‘To us!’
echoed the crew, smiling and raising their tankards in turn.

****

Pushing back the thin blanket, the old man started the laborious task of standing up, something he hadn’t done in such a very long time. Indeed today was the first time that he’d done it with such anticipation in many years. His bones cracked and he rubbed at his legs trying to get his circulation moving, willing himself to find the strength necessary for this day of days.

‘Not long now,’ he cackled, his voice dry and strange to his ears after so long with little use. ‘The heroes return and the skulls are here in
Sterling. I almost thought it would never happen, almost.’

This was the morning he’d looked forward to, for over a thousand years. It was possibly the greatest morning since man first walked the earth.

‘Hmmm, well maybe there were one or two other mornings to compare since the dawn of man, but not many.’ Giggling happily he began to wish he could jump up and
click
his heels together, but knew he couldn’t, such foolishness was for people several centuries younger than he. He tried to gather his thoughts; he would need all his faculties together for the day’s events and no mistakes.

He sat for a while before finally raising himself up to totter precariously upon stiff awkward feet. Magic was one thing and a good thing at that, but at some point reality had to take the strain and this was its moment with him. It took several attempts but finally he pulled on a robe, then brushing cobwebs and dust from the door-latch, let himself out into the street and the cool early morning air.

****

It was still dark and the stars were twinkling overhead when the crew emerged from
The
Griffin
. The sky to the east was beginning to lighten and it was cold, the air smelt clean and fresh, but that wouldn’t last long before the city once again started to heat up. The crew drew their cloaks around them and huddled together on the harbour walkway while Loras set the guard spell on
The
Griffin
. Pardigan, Tarent and Mahra all carried bags over their shoulders, each of which held one of the crystal skulls and Loras had the knife with him. At this hour nobody was about. Even the chance of bumping into the watch was unlikely.

Pardigan blew onto his hands, his breath a white mist in the chill air.

Quint smiled. ‘Don’t worry it will warm up all too soon.’ He was shielding his bow under his cloak to protect it from the damp and was shivering as much as Pardigan.

Empty streets echoed to the sound of their footsteps as they moved along bunched together, glancing up at shuttered windows, the occupants fast asleep, yet they still expected attack from the shadows at any moment. As they walked, the sunrise began to paint the streets with a warmer orange revealing a thin mist hanging low in the air. A baker came out and opened the shutters to his shop, the smell of freshly baked bread wafting out with him, he glanced over, startled, and quickly hurried back inside, slamming the door behind him.

They took a turn and started to walk a bit faster, the burning need to complete the Quest now overwhelming in each of them.

‘Let’s go back and visit that bakery when we’ve done the skull stuff, okay?’ whispered Pardigan, his breath a plume of orange caught in the early light.

Loras’s stomach gurgled as he replied. ‘I’m with you on that.’

An old man dressed in brown robes came out of a door and stood back to let them pass. He kept his eyes low and backed into the shadows as they trudged past, they barely noticed him.

‘How much further is it, Mahra?’ asked Quint. ‘Are we nearly there?’

‘Look,’ she pointed. ‘The street starts to rise just up ahead. When we turn right at this next corner we’ll be on
Temple Street.’ She shifted the weight of her bag from one shoulder to the other. ‘It’s not far.’

Temple Street
turned out to be a street of orderly houses. One of the
better
parts of the city as the merchants would say, for it was they who lived here.

Two maids in crisp clean uniforms came out of a house and pushed past them, consumed by a whispered conversation that was making them giggle. Smells of cooking filled the air and lamps were now being turned out up and down the street by uniformed butlers. The crew hurried on, aware how out of place they were here amongst this world of servants and masters.

The houses were eventually left behind and the temple was sighted some distance ahead, standing alone amongst the trees, a path winding up towards where it perched on the small hill that bore its name.

The air was beginning to warm as they reached high ground, they turned and gazed back over the city seeing it bathed in the full glory of the sunrise. The sea was a huge sparkling golden band and from this vantage point they could even make out
The
Griffin
far below in the little port.

A rooster crowed somewhere below and was answered by another, several dogs started barking; the city was starting to wake.

‘Well, shall we?’ asked Quint glancing round. They began climbing the temple steps, gazing in awe at the ancient building before walking inside.

The interior was cold and still, and echoed with their footsteps, the noise a rude intrusion upon the holy serenity of the temple. It was a beautiful building lined with tall stone columns, many of which were intricately carved as they reached up to support the ceiling high above them. Row upon row of stone benches stood awaiting the early morning worshippers, the cold hard surfaces ensuring the sinners remained repentant and that the Source blessed might remain awake. The temple was empty, but it wouldn’t be that way for long, the Source priest would be holding Morning Prayer and the devout would be arriving soon now. Quint led them along the aisle, the tiles of which depicted the writhing tangle of branches of the tree of life, he held his bow drawn and an arrow cocked waiting for the first sign of the promised attack.

A shuffling sound to the side caused Quint to spin, drawing the bowstring back against his cheek. The others reacted behind him. Pardigan pulled out a knife and held it poised to throw as Loras cradled a ball of blue energy in his hands. Tarent held his staff, ready to pull the swords apart while Mahra stood tensed, waiting for whatever would emerge. For a moment all was silent save the distant barking of a dog.

The Source priest shuffled in, humming to himself. The moment he caught sight of the murderous looking group in the middle of his temple, he dropped the altar cloth and books he was carrying with a bang that echoed around the temple.

‘Whaooo!’
Spinning on his heels, he disappeared, the sound of his footsteps retreating hastily down the corridor. An unseen door slammed and the temple returned once more to silence.

‘Of course this might mean that this morning’s service is cancelled,’ murmured Pardigan. Tarent frowned at him.

They approached the altar and removed the cloth that covered it along with an assortment of candles and incense holders. The altar itself was a large block of stone, carved on its four sides with scenes from the book of the Source. It sat on squat stone feet and appeared as if it had been there since time began and the temple had been built around it at a later date. The surface was flat except for three shallow depressions.

Wasting no time, Mahra took her skull from the bag and placed it in the first of the smooth hollows facing outwards. It pulsed blue once, then returned to being clear. Pardigan and Tarent did the same, both skulls pulsing blue when placed, then returning to their normal clear lifeless state. Loras handed the knife to Mahra who slid it into the slot in the centre of the table; nothing happened.

‘There are
two
slots,’ she hissed.

‘What do you mean two slots?’ Tarent rubbed his finger over the second slot in confusion. ‘Nobody said anything about a second knife, what’s meant to go in that slot? We can’t have gone through all this for nothing, can we? Where on earth … ’

‘There they are!’ The silence of the temple was broken. ‘Thieves...Scoundrels...Scallywags...Stop right there!’ Bartholomew Bask was waddling down the aisle waving his arms furiously with several people following him; sailors from his ship, Mustep the knifeman, and of course the tall gaunt figure of Matheus Hawk several steps behind. The temple echoed with footsteps as the group approached.

‘
Ohhh,
they’re going to spoil it all,’ whined Mahra.

‘How did they get here so fast?’ asked Pardigan, pulling his sword free. The crew spread out to give each other room and the temple rang for a moment with the sounds of both groups noisily unsheathing swords and knives. Quint drew his bow and deliberately took aim at Bartholomew, who seeing it, stopped immediately, causing everyone behind to run into him with much clanging and cursing.

‘Leave us be, you don’t know what we’ve been through to get here today,’ shouted Quint. ‘I
will
fire, and it will be
you
, Merchant Bask, that gets my first arrow.’

‘What
you’ve
been through!’ Bartholomew stamped his foot and his face turned several shades redder. ‘I’ve been dragged halfway round the world, consorted with demons and just recently chewed on sand for several days and all because of you riffraff robbing me!’ Flecks of spittle flew from his outraged face, ‘...Villains, the lot of you!’

Three of the sailors started to edge along a line of stone benches in an attempt to get around them.

‘Stand still.’ Pardigan screamed the order, his voice echoing around the temple. The sailors didn't stop but continued edging along. Pardigan pulled back his arm and flung a knife; it struck the column next to the lead sailor and stuck fast between two stones. He place-shifted, slapped the startled sailor’s face, retrieved his knife and place-shifted back to his friends all in the beat of a heart. The sailors abruptly reversed their direction, quickly shuffling back the way they’d come, pushing and shoving each other in their haste.

‘It would appear that we’re at somewhat of a stalemate,’ called Matheus Hawk, moving past Bartholomew. ‘You have some talents that most of us here don’t posses, yet you don’t wish to hurt anyone, that much is also obvious.’ He took another step closer.

‘Stay back, old man, or I
will
be forced to hurt you,’ snarled Quint, changing his aim to the centre of the Hawk’s forehead. The Hawk held up his hands.

‘Let us not fight, my friend. Why not explain what you’ve been doing, robbing Merchant Bask here, traipsing around causing all kinds of mischief, and for what?’ He suddenly saw the skulls behind them. ‘And what, by the Source, are they?’ He pointed to the skulls and Bartholomew shoved forward joining him, squinting to try and see what the Hawk was staring at.

‘Whatever they are, I’ll bet they’re mine,’ muttered Bartholomew. His nose wrinkled, trying to set a value on whatever it was. He suddenly straightened. ‘What’s that smell?’ He cast about as if searching for something. Matheus did the same, saying nothing.

‘What are they doing?’ asked Pardigan in confusion. Now even the sailors were sniffing and murmuring. Mahra took a deep breath, her feline senses stronger than those of her friends.

‘There’s a bad smell, a really bad smell, it’s…’ She didn’t get a chance to finish as, to the side of where Bartholomew and Matheus Hawk were standing, the air split in two with a tortured, ripping sound. A long black arm pushed through, followed by the head and shoulders of Belial clad in glistening black armour, his face contorted at the effort of breaching the dimensions.