Chapter 3 – Fortune’s Griffin

“Rook’s Nest is in effect. If General Dedrick oversteps – and Gods help us he will – we know what we have to do.”
– Staff Sergeant Evander Penrose addressing his team at the Mayne Lighthouse during the War of the Feathers

Since Ori’s death, it had been one damnable thing after another.

Luci had found herself possessed by wildness she long thought dead. It benefited her, hunting traitors. Then came Evander Penrose with grim news. It did manage to sober her, as Orion’s long-term mission to keep evil from the world was unravelling.

For a week, since the Summiteer had arrived, she had been hunting through Wetsven into Xela. Stalking the same prey. This Headsman who had stolen from Orion during a raid on the Shroud Fastness. Luci hadn’t heard of The Headsman. Worryingly, the Maytoni hardly knew anything either.

“You’re Maytoni, so you know the story of the Celestial Gargoyles?” She had told Evander as they sat in Ori’s office.

“Oh, don’t tell me. Orion’s slain them?” He sounded appalled, but nothing Luci hadn’t heard before.

The story went that the Maytoni god, Tovorn loosed an arrow, separating the schemes of Wrath and Mercy from parting the people of Anordaithe from their Creators. In doing so it carved out what the Maytoni called the Chasm.

From this Chasm leaked molten waste. A gargoyle drank from it and when her nine eggs hatched, the effect was that each juvenile was unique for its species. Whilst gargoyles were made of rock, these were of copper, silver, gold, platinum, amethyst, ruby, sapphire, emerald, and diamond.

The gods later chose them as guardians, to protect the Seal of Woe, behind which, well, Luci didn’t know. This guardianship however had a twist. Only through the combination of the gargoyles’ mercury blood could the seal be opened.

Luci wasn’t sure how much of the creation story she believed, however, these gargoyles were real. Orion had managed to hunt eight of them. Whilst the mercury blood evaporated upon death, the bejewelled heart of the animal remained whole, and the blood it held fresh.

Making matters worse, the hearts were next to indestructible. Even regular gargoyle hearts where known to be almost unbreakable. So, Orion hid the hearts, as he sought out the others.

Luci explained it all to an increasingly disgusted Evander, how they had managed to slay every celestial gargoyle, but one. The diamond gargoyle. No matter how thorough Ori’s research, they never found a lead.

Even if Evander was abhorred by people like her and Orion, it was good of him to allow her to accompany him. This Headsman had stolen from Ori, taking up arms, and she was going to fight on his behalf to keep his legacy safe.

Then came the Gargoylian Fastness. And what a mess that had been. Evander had assured her the Summiteers would have been ready, but grievances between them and the Outriders and created its own chasm through which The Headsman was able to attack.

And now…

Evander was coming around. He was younger than her, mid-thirties. His skin was pale, his eyes hard but the deep green colour assuaged any sternness. Blonde unkempt hair was swept back.

When they came through the portal, rock met them. Evander didn’t land, so much as crash into a boulder. Luci came down behind him, with a sliver of time to see jagged ground and get into a roll.

For the past half a day, as night came on, she had carried Evander up the mountain to its peak for a semblance of bearings. Then sank into a cave, built a fire, and breathed easy for the first time in a week. Her legs burned, her back squeezing out the remaining strain of the climb.

Evander’s eyes shot open, alert, and he made to clamber to his feet, before taking in his new surroundings.

“Don’t move, just rest,” Luci began. “You cracked your head on the exit, you’ve been out for some time.” She leaned over and rotated the mountain rats on their spits.

“I… We have to move. Where’s The Headsman? The others? Ebrill?” He grumbled; his tone subdued by what was likely a blinder of a headache. 

“The portal must have collapsed after us. We’re all there is.”

Evander smirked, looking into the ground. He leaned back, his squirming telling of a man trying to writhe his way out of agony. He squeezed his hands, blinked hard a few times, holding something back. Luci rose, picked up a cup and gave it to him. “You look like you need this.” Evander took the cup eagerly knocking back the contents.

“Where are we? What’s our situation?”

Luci hesitated, hoping her expression wasn’t about to betray her. Evander only stared back, brows raised, waiting for what he had to know was only going to be bad news.

“Well, we’re still on The Sigel… Just somewhere in the southern sub-continent.” And goodness did his eyes widen, the deep green glowing from the flaring campfire.

“Good mercy…”

“You need rest. We both do.”

“We need to move, catch The Headsman… Luciana, you should have left me and gone after him.” The coldness surprised her. Never on a hunt, if things turned grim, would she, or Orion have thought about leaving anyone behind.

“There was no sign of them when we came through… I’m not a mage, but I figure the portal in its death throes has launched us within a much wider radius from the original destination.”

Evander made to rise, but Luci placed a hand on his shoulder halting him. “We’ve been tearing a Chasm all over the north-east of The Sigel the past week. You’re a Summiteer, not a demi-god, and I’m only human too. We need to collect ourselves, plan ahead.”

Evander didn’t look anyway assuaged, but did lean back, shutting his eyes. Through a breath he spoke, “How do you know we’re in the south?”

Luci was reluctant to keep talking about their hunt, not wishing to say anything to get him worked up. If he left the cave, in the dark, in his condition, he’d be easy prey for a lion, or a cliff.

“After I climbed up here…”

“You carried me up a mountain?”

“Yes.”

Evander tried a smirk; eyes still closed. “Don’t I feel like a twat.”

“I forgive you.” Luciana sat down next to him, back to the cool rock. “When I looked to the west, I could see Tenseer.” That had Evander opening his eyes and rolling his head around.

“How far off are we?”

“Eighty miles,” Luciana answered, recalling the murky blue and venomous green looking storm clouds. Beautiful, yet ugly all the same.

“Whose land are we currently in?” He settled back, getting sleepy from the tonic.

“We seem to be east on a straight bearing, so Bricallia.”

Evander was quiet for a moment before speaking, a voice struggling for coherence. “I have no clue.” He grinned, chucklingly weakly, a façade as his clenched jaw and eyes squeezed shut said otherwise. “If The Headsman came out here, he may have allies.”

That made Luciana smirk. “Bricallians are giants. Bricallia is peaceful nation. The Headsman having allies here doesn’t make sense. There’ll be a hamlet close by. We can get supplies.”

“I hope the others are alright.” He sighed. Luci sat for a moment, listening. “Ebrill… I missed her…” After a minute Luci was content Evander was sleeping.

Something was wrong, something he was holding back. In the past week it had been subtle; hesitation in replies, lost expressions he thought she couldn’t see.

Despite their rough start, Evander had been cordial. Not as cold and ruthless as she had imagined Summiteers to be. Game hunting was not just illegal in Maytoni, it was considered a transgression against their gods. Most in the Flint Castle avoided the country. It wasn’t lost on Luci that Ori, her, and others, were set in ink on parchment somewhere under the title, ‘Kill List’.

Several hunters in past decades who had been apprehended received the death penalty. Not much merited such finality in Maytoni, but game hunting was seen as akin to the Wrathfire.

Fire light glimmered over her prosthetic. Metal as cold as the ruthlessness of the Dominator bear itself, gold in colour and trimmed with rich copper. Every digit and joint responded as nimbly as her previous appendage, and the mages had woven in the same level of skin sensitivity. It was a trophy. And, despite the heated bitterness at the time, Luci knew she would have been let down had the beast not taken something from her during their duel.

She gave Evander another look, to make sure he was comfortable, nudged the man’s shoulder with her trophy arm, and said, “Sleep well.”

When dawn came, they were ready to move. Evander was bright eyed and full of energy, thanks largely to Ori’s tonic.

“What was in that?” He’d asked upon waking.

“It’s… Very heavy stuff. Try to go a few days before headbutting another boulder,” she replied.

As Evander tore through the rat meat Luci had left, they took an inventory of supplies and Luci drew a map of Bricallia next to the fire.

“That’s about the most sinister looking sword I’ve seen,” Evander had remarked with a dark smirk. “Even wraiths fear Dominators, that’s something new.” The blade was hewn from Dominator bone, its hilt obsidian, wrapped in the beast’s tanned hide. Tegfan Fielder had made it for her, announcing it his finest craftmanship.

Outside the cave Evander was taking in the vista, largely the blemish of sky over Tenseer. He sighed deeply, rubbing his fingers over the string on his bow. “There’s a saying: you know why the sky is so dark over Tenseer country?” He asked without looking away from the bruised horizon. Luci remained silent, wandering over. “So, when the Gods look down, they don’t have to see it.”

“At least we have point of reference,” Luci said. “Anyway, it gets worse.” He turned, though his face betrayed no concern.

“Are you going to tell me Castle members are wanted here?”

“Ha! That’s rich, given you’re status,” she remarked in good humour. Evander had been in exile when they met.

Allegedly during the War of the Feathers, Evander had killed a Maytoni general to prevent further escalation. Which managed to sound exactly like the sort of dirty thing the Summiteers would do – even if, superficially, it appeared to contradict their bloody nature. Then again, the bonds between Maytoni and its neighbours were like that of kin. Luci hadn’t factored in how discerning they were. Evander was careful in how he’d recounted the affair, but Luci could tell he had made the hard choice. This bolstered her opinion of him, because Luci knew she’d have done the same.

“No. It’s mountains through the midriff of the country, where most of the populace lives – bridge cities connecting every peak from Tenseer to the eastern border,” Luci continued.

“Bridge cities between mountains? Bet it was dwarves who built them,” Evander replied.

“After you passed out, I did a quick scout, found the traders’ trail to the nearest city, but they’ve got plague markers up.”

Evander looked thoughtful, rubbing at stubble which made his brow furrow. He looked as if he was going to say, ‘well why not?’ but instead, “No, it’ll take too long to sneak in, through, and out. Then the plague. I don’t know about you, but I want to go out covered in my enemy’s blood, not my own excrement.”

Luci chuckled at the remark. It seemed Evander was feeling better. “Okay, we can clamber down into the valley and move north. There’ll be hamlets no doubt. Then the bad news.” One thing Luci had noted about Evander in their short time together, was how he preferred non-verbal communication whenever possible. All he did was raise his brows and wait for further information. “The northern parts of the country are heavily forested, and uninhabited… Apart from cyclops. I was thinking we’d need to be careful to avoid the forests, but…” She stopped, waiting for Evander to figure it out. His eyes following an unseen trail.

“If I was head – no pun intended – of an insurgency force, a wild forest would make for good hidey hole.” They looked at each for a moment, then Evander grinned. “Let’s get down to the valley, ask around.”

Their surroundings were jutting peaks, rusty edifices and plateaus draped in the finery of lush vegetation. Between a trio of peaks to the west a lengthy construction could be seen; a bridge which given its size against the vast distance told of the sophisticated engineering and dense populace.

There was a trail of sorts weaving easily down from the peak, though loose rubble and faded ruts told Luci it was seldom used. Foliage became denser as they descended, twisting trunks, dry grey with dark green canvas, or hedges with bright yellow and pink blumes. Birds cried out at their intrusion, melodic profanity. Trail rats scurried frantically for cover. After half a day, they encountered mucky-coloured rams with curling horns, grazing on the thick patches of grass between rocky islands.

“What kinds of predators should we look out for?” Evander asked. They had spent most of the journey in comfortable silence, taking in the views, colours, scents, and noise.

“Various big cats. Thorn wolves, Havicore’s chimera, kite griffins, snakes,” Luci answered.

Then came one of the snakes. Evander froze, stupefied by what he saw; a gigantic coil of glistening greenish skin with flecks of purple mottling, posed in sinister display by a hovel. Spikey hedges, soft greens in contrast to the murkiness of the snake, surrounded the animal. It’s gaping jaw was in the process of swallowing a ram, horns included. Luci figured if stretched out, it would measure forty yards.

“When you said snakes… I thought you meant the nip-at-your-ankles kind,” Evander said, eyes fixed on the grotesque scene.

“They have those too,” she said, clapping him on the back, stepping by.

If not for the precedent of reclaiming the hearts, Luci thought this would have made a beautiful day. It took her back to the far-off expeditions she went on with Ori.

Before confirmation of the archer. The unnatural upheaval which sent Ori, and her, out on another type of hunt. Not one she was familiar or comfortable with. It had taken the familiar, blissfulness of wading through the natural world distorting it into something with darkness leering in the corners, where everything became warped.

Evander broke the silence. “I’m sorry, Luciana. I didn’t know that Alejandro would have been there.” The name was like a blunt dagger pressing into her chest. Simmering heat rose up into her face. “I knew my team was there but not what they were doing operationally,” he continued. He stopped on a flat outcrop, overlooking the decline of the mountain. A few kestrels sat on a boulder peeking up from the jagged growth. Several shaggy sheep grazed; a dozen wild bulls resided in the shade of group of trees further off.

“I knew somewhere we’d meet again…” She said lowly, almost to herself. The news of Ori’s death was surreal. The man had seemed immortal, eternal like Nature itself. Her mind had resisted the news, as the barbs of it clung to her, forcing their venom into her spirit. But the blunt force nature of it was nothing compared the searing stab wound Luci had received when she’d discovered just how far Orion had been willing to go, to slay The Phoenix Archer.

She had been sick. The Scarred Foresters had sedated her and put her back in their medical wards. Tegfan Fielder, an old friend of Ori’s, was desolate from the news. He understood it almost as much as Luci did and could offer some solace. It was he who used the word first, which Luci knew she would hardly have been able to articulate – betrayal.

“Had Ori only fallen to the archer, that would have been tragedy enough… But… To know what he was planning…” The leafy greens, off-whites, and muddy colours all ran into one and other as her vison blurred.

A hand rested on her shoulder, arresting the tears. A touch which sympathised with her.

“Orion was a Chasm of a man. A force of Nature. Complicated, to say the least,” Evander said after a moment. He was speaking matter-of-factly, carefully. Complicated was right, Luci thought. More complicated than she had understood.

“How am I supposed to mourn him?” She found herself whimpering. She was surprised at the statement, as it clarified her feelings better than she thought herself capable of doing.

Evander sighed deeply. “Mourn him however you want. Who was he to you? From what I knew, kin. Father, brother, somewhere in between. He was still that, and I don’t think his… Machinations, should prevent you from holding on to that.” He was silent a moment. Luci struggled to keep her vision clear, as something tight and heavy constricted her ability to speak. “When I first joined the army, there was an attack in the port city of Footfall. Two dozen people were killed, fifty-seven wounded by bomb. It was the Islander Reclamation and Absolution Group – Rags, we call them. Shortly after, the Summiteers announced they had hunted down those responsible. Most were killed, but two were apprehended, to be tried. They were guilty of course and executed by hanging. Their mothers were allowed to attend. I was there, filled with hate… Up until I saw their mothers weeping. Then I saw the pastorals around them, offering comfort. I call it divine wisdom, because I can’t imagine I was discerning enough at that age to figure it out myself, but it occurred to me, the mothers of these, undoubtably evil men, still had a right to mourn as mothers.”

Luci let out a slow, quiet breath and turned to Evander. His pale skin and blonde features where smeared in her eyes, and Luci figured she must have looked a mess. She returned the shoulder clasp and nodded – all she could manage.

It was midafternoon when the pair made it to a large hamlet. Vegetation was shin high, and rife with insects, particularly bees, butterflies, dragonflies, and cicadas. Shades of green encompassed the banks of the vast river, with bright colours from wildflowers breaking through.

The dry air was long gone, and a pleasant chill radiated from the rushing water. On both sides of the river wood and stone buildings filled the banks for a long stretch. Several mills rolled on lazily. Smokestacks on others spouted fumes vigorously, and the snorts of stabled animals carried over the air. A single wooden bridge ran between each side. The populace was large enough for the half-mile hamlet, and diverse enough. Elves, dwarves, orks, manticores – even a few goblins milling around. The road was cobbled, which impressed Luci, and rife with traffic.

As they moved into the main thoroughfare an effigy of a griffin had been hosted up above the road, held between two of the taller buildings, soft grey wings, a beige body, and ruby red legs. “The year of the griffin,” Luci said to herself looking over the model. It looked to be sculpted from wood.

“What’s that?” Evander asked, looking at the effigy.

“Bricallia has, well I suppose you could call them oracles, who take dying trees from the capital and build a pyre from them. Then throw the ashes across an image of their prophet engraved into the floor of the holy palace. From the ashes they perceive the pattern of an animal, the meaning of which determines the success of the upcoming year,” Luci explained.

“And in the ashes, they saw a griffin… Nice. What does a griffin mean?”

“Two great victories.”

“That bodes well.”

After finding a cosy, clean, tavern, Luci was able to bathe in the relief pouring down her back and over her ankles. During their sizable meals, two of the local watch entered, clearly regulars by their openness to the tavern girl, and from their overheard conversation, Luci and Evander found their first track.

Even in the early evening the roadways were busy, filled with carts of goods or travellers. Residences seemed to be built behind the various trade buildings, or on top of them. Luci and Evander kept to the right side, along a paved lane, and saw the hamlet merge into a fishing village towards its end. Wooden jetties and small row boats were packed into the banks, with a few fishers milling around, cleaning their catch, or tying up boats.

Further up the river, in it up to their waists were a pair of giants. One cast a net out into the water, and the other held a spear, poised so still Luci had thought him a statue at first.

“Not seen many giants before,” Evander said, moving along with casual air about him. The pair had to be close to forty feet tall, dressed in waterproof animal skins.

With a thrust, the spear-wielding giant attacked something beneath the churning water, then from the turbulence withdrew a huge eel, its girth that of two people. The giant pulled a club from his belt and clattered the animal on the head.

“I’ve seen plenty, ranging from track-giants to these fellas, to the titans of The Mane,” Luci said, trying to identify the species of eel.

Towards the end of the hamlet, there came a structure, two stories of old, dark wood, with a full skeleton of a cyclops impaled by a large spear, fixed to the flat roof.

“Got to be him,” Evander said, a grimace hanging over his face.

“Ever had to engage cyclops before?” Luci asked, though even she felt unnerved by the image.

“Engage? Get you with the soldiery terminology,” he jested. “No, I’ve never even seen one. Well, until now. You?”

“Yep. A few times – they’re dirty, skulking scavengers, and stalk hunters in the hope of stealing game they slay.”

The door swung open before they had a chance to knock, and an elderly man greeted them, beaming a grin. “Welcome!” The man was tall, gaunt, with swarthy skin and dark bedraggled hair – what little there was. Given the lines carved into his face Luci figured he had to be ancient and was awed by the vigour. His hands looked like tree roots. However, the singular feature was the patch over his left eye.

“Oh, well met, sir,” Evander said, feigning surprise and taking the man’s hand.

“Alvaro Lehmann, local decrepit and amateur gardener.” He waved a hand to the sculpted-out lawn.

“Lu…” Luci caught herself, then continued. “Lullin, and this is my brother.”

“Grast,” Evander said quickly. “Oh, we’re very sorry to disturb you, but my sister and I were wondering if we could talk, about your experiences hunting cyclops?”

“We can compensate you for your time,” Luci added.

Alvaro waved a hand at them. “Oh, no, don’t worry about that. Come on in.” He led them into his home, just as neatly ordered as the garden. About them were shelves of tomes, a few potted plants by windows, and paintings. “At my age, what use is currency, especially as I can still look after myself. No. I have everything I need… Just waiting for the giant squirrel to come and take me off to the golden valley.” A reference to the mythical beast known to lift souls off to the afterworld, Luci noted. She had thought it was a giant gopher.

“Must have been why you opened the door so eagerly,” Evander joked.

  Alvaro laughed. “You got my hopes up, you did.”

They were led into the back of the house, much more open and comfortable with wide panels to let in the light, and the rush of the river. Grabbing Luci’s attention were the skulls; cyclops skulls in various sizes sat in pride of place on a wide, varnished display. In translucent jars, staring vacantly, yet with no lack of menace were large black, red, and green eyes in preservative.

“Ah, I don’t consider myself a trophy hunter, but these ones…” Alvaro waved a hand over the displays. “These are the ones that gave me the greatest trials. Before I gave it up.”

Luci eagerly wanted to sit down with the man and hear every single tale he had, but was crushed knowing she couldn’t afford the time. She made a mental note to return.

“Give it up? Spry as you are?” Evander continued.

“Ha. I do feel it, deep in my bones. Fatigue. Can’t kneel down to tend the weeds without needing a breath.”

On the other side of the room were the hunting dogs, all exceptionally well taxidermized; six wolf hounds with grey coats and warm eyes, and three deer hounds, skinny with blonde, brown coats, and beady eyes.

“My kids, I suppose. This is the first time in my life that I have been without a good boy or girl by my side,” Alvaro added. “Couldn’t tolerate parting with them. And frankly, they did the leg work and bailed me out of the mire more than a few times.”

Evander was endeared by them as they sat waiting patiently for their master. Luci didn’t know what to make of them. Could a painting not have sufficed?

“Now, I know why you two are here. It’s obvious.” Alvaro took a seat in a deep wicker chair, reclining, hands clasped over his chest. He then pointed to their attire, or in Evander’s case, his sheathed bow, and arrows.

“Oh, we’re not hunting cyclops, that’s not why we’ve come here,” Evander replied, taking a seat opposite him. “We hunt – my sister more so than me – but I’m here about the historical significance of the forest, looking for ruins, to see if anyone used to live there. I’m a historian.”

“What do you hunt?” It was a quick follow-up.

Luci sat next to Evander and did her best to match his level of casualness, and easy comfort. “I freelance, culling mostly. My brother prefers easy game, pheasants and such.” She could feel Evander biting his tongue and supressed a smirk.

  “Very good. Yes, always a need for us, always a need to keep Nature in check. Gods and Devils, it’s our duty, isn’t it? To keep the old girl in good health.”

“And cyclops? They’re, well, where do you think they stand in Nature?”

“Oh, that’s one for the academics here.” Alvaro waved a gnarled digit at Evander. “I don’t know. I just kept them in check; dropped their numbers when they encroached on the hamlets along the river. Never anything more of course – didn’t seem right. But, if the woods were rife with brigands, or other nefarious types, then I’d be a vigilante, not a hunter I suppose. Just so happens my talents with bows and such were to be used against cyclops.”

“They’re crafty, somewhere between sentience and animal really,” Luci added, looking to Evander.

“My specialty is history, architectural history at that,” he replied, chucking.

“Well, you’re on to something with the notion of old buildings and such, but I wouldn’t know what to look for. I hope you’re not looking for a guide.” Alvaro laughed. “No. I’ve seen older stone structures, most dying an inglorious death. Deeper in. Deeper than I ever needed to go, it’s believed there are more substantive structures. It’d have been a damn fine place to build a castle with adjoining villages – if not for the cyclops.”

“How deep into the forests have you ventured?” Evander continued.

  “Well, I’ll show you.” Alvaro rose and strode out of the room eagerly.

When he was out of sight, Luci looked to Evander. “I feel bad lying to him. He’s so polite and friendly,” she whispered harshly.

“Got to be done. Can’t have word of a Maytoni and a Castle member getting around – then we’d stand out,” he replied, taking in the room. The casualness of his response perturbed her. This sort of deception was automatic for him.

When Alvaro came back, Luci felt a sharper pang of guilt. “So rude of me not to provide you both with refreshments.” He handed each of them a tall tankard of a foamy, sweet-smelling tonic. “I make it out the back, from the fruit I grow. Can’t have an ale these days without my stomach trying to set fire to my throat later in the night.”

Luci knocked back a mouthful, and her eyes lit up from the rich tang of the berries. It was delicious.

Alvaro set out a few maps between them on the table, weighing down the corners. Evander leaned forward to help.

“Now, I only ventured fifty or so square miles into the forest. But I’ve marked down every single thing I’ve seen. The local watch has copies of these, as does the library in the capital for reference.” He sounded proud, and by the level of detail, not to mention the skilfulness in keeping everything to scale, Luci knew he should be. Mapping territory was a pain

“Does anyone have anything beyond what you’ve seen?” Evander asked, no doubt memorising every detail.

“I’m afraid not. Gods, I’d come with you, if I had it in me.”

“We’d love to have you, Alvaro. You’re so welcoming and knowledgeable,” Luci added. The old man blushed, looked away.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. You haven’t seen me lose at skittles.”

“Would you think that there is anyone still living in there?” Evander continued.

Alvaro looked surprised and leaned back again. “I wouldn’t say so. I mean, we’re talking about cyclops here.” He leaned forward again, a gassy hiss of laughter coming from him. “If you weren’t Maytoni, I couldn’t in good conscience let you go in there.” The brightness of his face fell, darkening into a sombre expression.