Gondell's Quest - Book 1 - Destiny - Free Sampler Edition
Chapter 14
“We are emissaries of the Guild of Free People,” Tillendur shouted up to the seemingly deserted ridge, “On who's authority do you threaten us?” His voice echoed from the rocks but silence returned without bringing any answer. “I say again,” he shouted standing tall and proud, showing no outward fear, “We are agents of the Guild, you have nothing to fear from us, show yourselves, and then let us talk.”
“Deliver the demon to us first, only then will we feel disposed to any discussions.” a deep voice eventually rang out.
“I know of no demon,” replied Tillendur, “We do not keep the company of such creatures.”
“She knows of who we speak,” the voice spat, a sound laden with fear and hatred.
“It is worse than I had feared.” Fiorina whispered.
“You are secure.” replied the Elf, hoping that his assurance would not prove to be as hollow as it sounded to his own ear. Stepping forward a pace and slowly sliding his bow from his shoulder, he looked up to the rocks above. “Fiorina is an agent of the Guild, and as such, she enjoys their full protection... you have no right to demand anything... or are you in league with Lord Kangan?”
A second arrow whistled in a blur to bury itself deep in the ground between Tillendur's feet. “You dare to enter our lands in the company of our greatest shame, and then you casually insult us. Is this what the Guild calls diplomacy?”
“I might ask you a similar question.” shouted Tillendur, his voice heavy with defiance, “Shoot first... ask questions second? Is that how you treat all friendly guests?”
“You are all still alive,” stated the voice, “And how do we know that you are friendly?”
“If you truly oppose Kangan, then the Guild is your friend, as you should well know, we protect all free and peace loving peoples, be you members of the Guild or no.”
“This I have heard told, and maybe I can accept that your intentions here are not hostile, but you keep strange and dangerous company Elf. Even hiding behind clothes we know her, and be it a thousand years, or a million, we will always recognise the temptress.”
“Then what is it that you wish?”
“Hand her over for judgement, then let us talk of your Guild.”
“Judgement,” laughed Tillendur, “You would deem yourselves fit and qualified to judge her for an act that has been festering in your hearts for a millennium? Give me your name, it insults me to bandy words with a faceless voice.”
“If you desire a name, then you may call me Gygax.” the Griffin Rider responded.
“Then Gygax, hear the words of Tillendur of the House of Thamina. On what charge do you insist we release Fiorina to you. Is she accused of the crime of beauty, is that why you try her... because she is too fair to resist?”
“She is a temptress and a demon.” he shouted, a growing anger in his voice.
“She is a Nymph, not a demon,” snapped Tillendur in reply, “That was a fact well known to both Krossus and Manus. You dare not try her for being what she is. Do you think that you can punish her for her nature, that would be like judging the birds in your court because they have the ability to fly, or punishing a fish because it can swim. She is what she is, she is not responsible for your shame. Rather look to your own weaknesses if you want to apportion blame, you do not blame the bottle should you drink wine until you puke, blame yourselves Griffin Rider, and when you have seen the truth, put aside your weapons and let us pass in peace.”
A heavy silence lay on the mountains, and all of the company thought that Tillendur had said his piece, but they were proven wrong as he drew an arrow from his quiver. “Let us pass without further let or hindrance, for our mission is greater than the sum of all your people and your insignificant land, the very fate of the free world is in our hands, and you delay us with petty quarrels that have seethed in your small hearts for a thousand years. Now in the name of the Guild, I demand that you let us pass, I tire of your pettiness.”
“Proud, yet dangerous words,” shouted Gygax as he stepped from behind a ridge of stone, revealing himself against the bright blue sky, “You are outnumbered many times over, one hundred arrows are trained upon you even as we speak.”
“Then loose them and have done.” shouted Feron, “Or ease your bowstrings and let us pass, we have no time for this delay.”
“Of what mission do you speak... Elf?” replied the Griffin Rider ignoring Feron's outburst.
“That information is our own, and I feel disinclined to discuss while the threat of doom is upon us. Lower your weapons Gygax, then come in peace and friendship, you have nothing to fear from us, and maybe much to gain.”
“Pride and defiance, even under the threat of certain death,” laughed Gygax, “It would appear that you are worthy of a little trust. And you spoke true words, we do resist the whispering of Kangan, he seeks to tempt us, he offers gold and power for our allegiance, but we stand firm, even though not yet openly against him, so yes, maybe we are a little sympathetic to the cause that the Guild pursues.”
“Then lower your weapons, and join us, let us talk. But.” he added in a clear, strong voice, “Set aside all ambitions that you may have toward Fiorina, relinquish your claim upon her, or shoot now and let us waste no more time.”
“You have my word.” Gygax called from above, “While she is under the protection of the Guild, none from my kingdom will raise either hand or bow against her... but mark well my words, our enmity runs deep, be not found alone in our lands, Nymph, for you will find our judgement swift and severe.”
“This is the best we could have hoped for,” Fiorina signalled privately seeing Tillendur nod slightly, his keen eyes scanning the cliffs above.
“I agree,” he replied, “But be wary, I feel their hatred, so strong it is that I can almost taste it on the breeze. Caution my love, do not relax. I will only be happy when we have passed through these mountains and the Kros are far behind us.”
“My love.” Fiorina whispered, and with a smile embraced his words, words given so freely, and spoken directly from his heart.
Gygax stood across the sunlit glade, flanked by a small guard, and held his open and empty hands aloft. “I bring no weapon, I come forward in the spirit of trust and friendship.” he announced before stepping from the shadows cast by a line of tall trees, and into the bright sunshine.
“Well met, Gygax,” replied Tillendur, bowing his head in respect. “I am Tillendur of the House of Thamina, and with me my brother, Feron of the Clan of Felstog, first cousin to King Felstog of the Dwarf Kingdom, and Ulaff, my brother who represents the realm of Ogres. And of course, you are already aware of the identity of our fairer companion.” He held Gygax's eye, studying his reaction, testing if his comment be taken as a taunt. Gygax's expression remained impassive, and Tillendur allowed himself to relax slightly. “Keep up your guard,” he warned Fiorina, “But I sense that he will remain true to his word.”
“Then tell me of your mission,” Gygax signalled for his guard to sit, before stepping forward and lowering his bulk of defined muscle to the grass, sitting cross legged, relaxed, a small smile playing on his lips. “It must be of great import to risk so much, it would have been easier and safer to detour around my realm.”
“Your realm?” asked Feron.
“My realm,” nodded the Griffin Rider, “I am King Gygax of the Kros, so now you may relax, be secure that my words carry ultimate authority in these mountains, none shall hinder you.”
“Well met indeed,” replied Feron with a growing respect, and sat himself upon the short cropped grass, laying aside his hammer.
“We pursue a band of Goblins,” Tillendur began, “But they took the tunnels beneath these mountains, and they move at great speed, which is a concern, for they have a free world captive with them, a Gnome. Normally we consider those people to be quaint and of little importance in our greater struggle against the darkness spread by Kangan, but the Goblins must consider him of value.”
“A prisoner?” King
Gygax tugged and twisted his long beard, deep in thought, “I must agree, we know much of those dark creatures that teem beneath our feet, they take few captives. Your Gnome must be of great importance to them.”
“Teem?” laughed Ulaff as he joined the discussion, “I thought that the tunnels were all but deserted?”
Gygax looked up quickly, his expression serious, “Is that what the Guild believes... deserted!”
“You know differently?” Tillendur felt his stomach tighten into a solid knot, fearful that his long held suspicions were about to be confirmed.
“For many years the caves and tunnels were empty, bar a few wandering and dark creatures, but the Goblins have returned, and in great strength.” King Gygax looked up, catching the concern on Tillendur's face. “It is the truth that I speak, for almost five years they have grown in numbers, and with numbers comes courage. Openly they have opposed us, sent scouts and raiding parties into my kingdom. They prod and poke, test my resolve and power, I fear that we are on the cusp of outright war. Then, my fine Elf, it would seem that the people of Kros will be forced to take sides, maybe even ally with the forces of the Guild, if they be prepared to intervene in what many would consider little more than a territorial dispute.”
“I cannot speak directly for the Guild.” replied Tillendur, “But I can assure you that they are unlikely to consider this development as simply a dispute over territory, the fact that the forces of Kangan are building this far to the south will be considered a serious threat. Now it would appear that our mission is of even greater importance. King Gygax, on behalf of the Guild, myself, and my companions. I say thank you for your understanding and tolerance, but we must depart immediately, we have even greater need for speed now, if we are to rescue this captive Gnome before the Goblins reach the desert.”
“They will use the Iron Gate,” Gygax nodded, “Pray tell me, what manner of lead do they have over you, hours or days?”
“I know not how long it takes to come through the mountains using their tunnels, but I estimate that they entered no more than fifteen hours ago.”
Gygax turned to his guard and whispered quietly, instantly a broad soldier jumped to his feet, and hand clenched tightly against his chest, bowed, before turning to run into the line of tall trees.
“If they did not pause, it is possible that they may have reached the Iron Gate by now, but have no concern for the moment, I have sent scouts to spy upon the plains, within the hour we will know if they are still beneath our feet or no. So, Emissaries of the Guild, I invite you to break bread with me while we await the scouts return.”
“An offer that we gratefully accept,” replied Tillendur, as he heard Fiorina agree quietly.
For those not familiar with Griffin, some explanation may be in order. They are dangerous and unpredictable beasts, unless raised in captivity, and even then should be treated with the greatest of caution. Standing taller at the shoulder than any horse, they are an astounding and confusing amalgamation of eagle and lion. Look first to the head, and note the powerful and viciously hooked beak, large and sharp enough to sever the head of an Ogre, a superb design of nature providing more than sufficient power to crush and snap the spine of the monstrous Aurochs of the plains, their preferred prey. Note also the black and shining eye, far seeing, sharp and cruel. Watch as that cold obsidian orb studies unblinking your every movement, know also what passes through the mind behind, and if you be alone, feel fear. Let your gaze wander, note the wide folded wings, the feathers constantly preened and maintained in perfect order. When spread, feel the rush of wind and the sun blocked from view by the span. Notice also the solid legs, scaled below what would be considered the knees, and above, small soft feathers. Talons like steel hooks grip the rocks below its feet, the feet of a giant eagle, talons that close like a spring trap driving deep into living flesh, their deadly embrace inescapable. From behind the shoulder and the axis of the powerful wing the feathers become more scarce as close lying hair takes prominence. The body of a giant lion, muscle ripples under the sleek coat and sinew stands proud in solid hind legs, legs designed for running and leaping, the paws armed with smaller, yet no less formidable claws. A creature of awe and great beauty, savage and noble in the same instant. A beast to fear, yet also provoke sensations of wonder and respect.
Feron felt all of these mixed emotions as he scrambled thankfully from the close fitting leather saddle that nestled just behind his mounts wings. Such strength and power, it carried both me and it's rider so effortlessly, the thoughts brought with them additional awe.
And this is a capital city like no other I have ever seen, he declared silently as he gazed wide eyed around the stone spires and towers that stabbed high into the clear sky. Little wonder that these Kros should appear so secure and confident, few can challenge them up here!
Set high up in the mountains, the city nestled in a huge bowl-like depression, a space almost as if cut out of the highest peak, sheer cliff face behind, smooth and secure, a deep abyss to the front. And there is no path or road that leads up, Feron noticed, a city only accessible by air. A secure fortress, war can rage on the plains, yet these people need never worry.
Buildings ringed the circular plaza where his Griffin had landed, clearly made of the same rock as the mountains, their walls shone in the late afternoon sunshine, parts of the façade, worked, natural stone, polished to a mirror finish, other sections white washed, gleaming and clean. The plaza itself Feron considered a work of art, the floor laid out with intricate mosaics, many months or even years in the making, and set with such skill that barely a single joint could be seen. “They have some cunning craftsmen among them.” he stated, as Tillendur slipped from his feathered mount running a casual hand over the shining cream and brown plumage, the Griffin cocking a wary eye at the unaccustomed touch.
“Skill within a warrior race, that is not so unheard of, your own people display similar traits.”
“True,” agreed Feron, “If I did not know to the contrary, I would almost suggest that there is a Dwarfish influence in their masonry work.”
“We are as comfortable with a chisel as with a bow, or sword.” said Gygax overhearing the exchange, “Masons and artists are held in high esteem amongst my people. We were once only concerned with battle and conquest, but those days are over, now we prefer the pursuit of culture and beauty.”
“And what of the Man?” Ulaff asked, placing his bulk protectively between the King and Fiorina who looked frail and vulnerable stood in the heart of the city that housed so many of her sworn enemies. “Have they also found culture, or has the darkness touched their hearts beyond hope of redemption?”
“We know little of them,” replied Gygax as he glanced furtively at the members of his guard.
Even I see the lie, noted Feron, I would guess that he knows much more about the Man than he wishes to admit... but for what reason the secrecy?
“It has been many generations since we last had contact with them, but the divisions between us are deep, and painful, beyond repair.” added Gygax, regaining his tone of confidence.
Honest people do not lie well, and it is obvious that lies do not issue easily from this king's mouth, thought Feron, but why this deception? I must speak privately with Tillendur, I begin to trust these people less and less... and now we are completely at their mercy, unless we can sprout wings of our own and fly away.
“Come friends, my scouts will soon begin to return bringing news of your quest. On foot it is many hours hard trek to the Iron Gate, but astride a Griffin, the distance counts for little. I have instructed them to fly high and far out across the plains. Soon we will have news, let us eat while there is time.”
The four companions were led into a grand hall, a central fire drawing the eye, while a small army of cooks raced hither and thither, carrying groaning spits laden with slabs of beef and whole lambs.
“This is our public house,” announced Gygax, “And as you can see, both nobles and commoners mingle freely, we sta
nd on little ceremony here.”
“Are all of your people within the city?” asked Tillendur as he took the low padded seat offered.
“But of course not,” laughed Gygax, “I would be a very poor king if the entirety of my subjects could be counted in only one city... we have many such places throughout the mountains, from here to the Gap of Akar, and in the opposite direction, our largest city overlooks the sea. Do not underestimate the Kros, we may be dispersed out, but we are many.”
“And you could easily hold the mountain passes... should an army march from the north?”
“A curious question to ask, considering that we have no formal allegiance with the Guild,” Gygax replied with a cunning grin, “But if we were to speak hypothetically, between friends sharing a mug of ale... then I would reply; there is no army, regardless of numbers that could pass these mountains without my leave.”
“Then between friends, I would say that this news gives some comfort to my heavy heart. So hypothetically speaking, the only threat would come from the Gap of Akar, or from the tunnels beneath our feet.”
“What you mention is fact,” nodded Gygax, “But personally I should not become over concerned about the tunnels, in many places they narrow to the point where two cannot walk abreast, it would not be possible to move an effective army by that dark path... unless time were in abundance. More I would worry about the Gap, it is true that the valley is also narrow, but it would be possible to march a significant force from the plains, a force that could be difficult to match if not met before it deployed upon the open dales to the south.”
“A point well noted,” Tillendur nodded, and accepted a rams horn of wine, ruby red and rich. “A fine wine indeed,” he remarked after his first sip.
“Our finest vintage,” chuckled the king, “And a commodity that we rarely share with outsiders.”
“Then I am honoured,” Tillendur bowed his head in respect, “King Gygax, I fear in my heart that Kangan is planning an opening strategy, I also regret to say that many of the Guild Council do not wish to accept this possibility. That is why I feel that the captive Gnome is vital, and must be rescued at all costs. It becomes more obvious with every passing minute that he is of great value to Kangan, and this is my greatest concern. The question will not leave my mind, it will not leave me to rest... why is he so important?”
“I know little of Gnomes,” replied the king, “Tell me, are they great warriors? Strategic thinkers, maybe creatures of political influence?”
“None of these things.” Tillendur chuckled now, amusement clear on his face, “I can find little use, but no fault in them, lest it be a high degree of selfishness. They care little for world events, and possess no intrigue or influence, and I doubt that there is one warrior among them.”
“Curious,” Gygax studied the Elf with serious eyes, “I now understand your urgency, something of so little obvious value, yet coveted so highly by the darkness must hold a great secret, or is maybe the key to a much wider move.”
Fiorina broke into his thoughts, she had remained silent up until that point, yet her own concern had built as she followed the discussion. “I must talk with you soon,” she pressed, her suspicions mounting as pieces fell into place in her mind. Pieces dragged from ancient memory, parts of a puzzle, her conclusions frightening. “I think that I now understand why this Gnome is so important to the enemy. Tillendur, search your memories, is not the keeper of the sword a Gnome?”
Fiorina felt sickness flood the Elf's body as the colour drained rapidly from his face, “Pray that you are wrong,” he signalled back, but couldn't disguise the horror that filled his soul.