Aeker Murdock had been invited to a major archery event held in the Kingdom of Xellcarr. As the archery guild’s Master of Crows, he was often called upon to guest inspect private, or national, competitions. His title, a hangover from the guild’s earliest days when members could only shoot with crow feathers.
Within Prince Lev Bergfalk’s royal gardens, warriors presented themselves in lithe armour, with trims of yellow and brown and spotty, striped, or even sandy patterns, to mimic big cats. Ornately sculpted feathers, with ivory, and jet bars, were worked into the upper arms, vambraces, and thighs. They stood in absolute resplendence adding a jewelled aesthetic to the already grand gardens. Ash, birch, and redwood trees towered, with wildflowers of every colour creating avenues and courtyards. Around the large gardens towered tapering mountain peaks, glowing with snowy crowns.
Then, there were the griffins themselves that made Aeker understand his place in the natural world. He couldn’t help but look at the animals with reverence; eagle, falcon, hawk heads, some with crowns, stripes, or plumes of feathers, merging into immense bodies of sandy gold, or scorched spots and rings, or vivid ember orange with abyssal black stripes. All large enough for a heavily armoured person to sit upon.
A novelty by comparison, many peasant’s griffins milled around tables looking for a kind hand. These little creatures were a delight to Aeker, the front half a pheasant and the rear half a fox.
Xellcarrians worshiped griffins, believing they manifested their deities’ spirits alongside the animal’s own. Some were so revered that they would be elevated in status, known as Godheads, and championed for warfare, partnered with only the most skilled archers. Subsequently Xellcarrians did not hunt or eat griffins. However, to honour of any dead griffins, would utilise their feathers and other body parts as a way to let the animal’s spirit live on. Every Xellcarrian archer used griffin feathers on their arrows, believing that the spirit of that griffin provided truer flight, whilst continuing to honour the life of the animal.
In a clearing, with Prince Lev and his stunning wife, Aeker stood in the shade of a birch tree, confused as to how it could be so hot at such a high altitude. Aeker wore his green kangaroo-leather jerkin, with black breeches. The forest greens of the jerkin contrasted with his black hair and pale blue eyes.
Before the first round of the Garden Bout could begin, Lev had a matter of justice to deal with. It likely harkened back to the more primitive times, when these games were opened with a sacrifice, but Aeker wasn’t about to comment on the so-called progressiveness of the Xellcarrian religion – whilst in the company of so many griffins. He watched, trying his best to look impassive, as the prisoner was dragged out, naked, bruised and caked in grime.
“I’m a Reywhern national, I demand to see a representative from my embassy,” the man hissed, with barely the strength to speak, his head bowed in fatigue.
Reywherns were amusing, Aeker had always thought. The only people he knew who were always surprised that foreign countries were in fact foreign. Aeker couldn’t feel sympathy for the poacher. Everyone all over The Sigel knew if you were going to hunt griffins, you didn’t dare trespass into Xellcarr to do it.
Lev ignored the quivering, and gestured to an aide, who disappeared for a moment, then returned with a tiger on a leash. The lean cat sat on springy back legs, with thick trunks of muscles supporting its front paws, broadening into mountainous shoulders. It yawned revealing curved fangs that looked to Aeker as if they could pierce armour and then set about grooming itself.
“Poaching is severe enough, but to slay a Celestial…” Lev sneered, further words lost in disgust. The poacher made to protest, but Lev halted the words with a back hand. Lev then looked to Aeker. “Our beliefs are not so barbaric that there is no room for reformation, I would like to point out.” Lev looked back to the poacher. “This is the Kingdom of Xellcarr, you are free to wander its mountains and valleys, but you have to observe our laws. This fallacy that all land should be free to Reywherns is only going to bring the whole of The Sigel down on your stolen corner of it. You’re fortunate that we’re only taking up our grievance with you, and not your ignorant people. To us, the Griffin is divine – even outside of Xellcarr, I think many people agree that killing animals because you want it as a display piece is unnatural.”
The prisoner had developed a modicum of wit to stay silent.
“Now, you can either fall to an arrow, or the claws and fangs of the tiger.” A chorus of laughter met the statement. “The former is merciful, and the latter, well… I don’t want to say deserving and bias the trial.” More laughter exploded from the crowd as Lev surveyed his people.
And there was Aeker thinking reformation meant if the prisoner could outrun the tiger, he would be free – hardly a feasible task, but Aeker had evaded chimera and worse himself. Though he supposed the whole point of mercy was that it was undeserved, and a quick death here certainly was, both undeserved and merciful.
A bow was passed to Lev, its curved limbs diffusing from dark burnt bronze through to bright grey, with a golden bird’s talon carved into the upper limb tip, and a golden big cat’s paw carved into the lower limb tip. An arrow was handed to Lev, dyed a rich brown with a brass-yellow broad head and cream feathers with black bars.
A growl of impatience hummed over the scene as the tiger was unhooked from its leash. The animal extended its front legs outward, pushing its head down in a great stretch – or it was warming up for the chase, Aeker thought grimly.
“Start running,” Lev said, and nocked the arrow, shifting to a side-on stance.
With a glance at the tiger the prisoner turned and began awkwardly running through the garden with all the clumsy ineptitude of panic.
The tiger took off and Lev raised the bow, delicately griping the handle, a thumb wrapped around the string. The prisoner was clattering through a bright shrubbery, his wailing breaking over pants of fear. Lev drew the bow, coming back to his ear and held it. The beast was on the heels of the prisoner. Lev loosed the arrow with a flourish, whipping the bow down whilst his other hand flashed back.
The arrow descended sharply, missing the poacher by an inch. The tiger’s broad front paws ripped into its prey’s shoulders, pulling the poacher down.
“The Gods did not think well of him,” Aeker ventured, trying not to wince at the wailing.
“Well, that’s what we tell people.” Lev smirked.
