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Gryphon of the Hidden Realm
Gryphon of the Hidden Realm
Gryphon of the Hidden Realm
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Gryphon of the Hidden Realm

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This is a long, classic fantasy book, in the tradition of Tolkien, CS Lewis and David Eddings, set in a different world.
Female gryphons are disappearing, abducted by the evil elves, the rulers of the Nomoi Empire. Hwedolyn must find out what is happening to them. He meets partisans, men, and must question ancient lore if he is to survive.
The story begins when a young orphan boy, a serving hand at the tavern high in the mountains, knows that every new moon, a barrel of mead is left out on the plateau, and in the morning it is gone and two goats are left as payment. Who or what is it that collects the mead on this, the darkest night of the month? He decides to stay awake one night and see what manner of monster it is.
In this, the second book in the Gryphonomicon Gryphon Dragon Histories, the story of Hwedolyn the gryphon and Gwendolyn his eyrie-mate continues.
Note - this is Book 2. All three books in this series are available in the "Robert Denethon Fantasy and Alternate History Collection."

LanguageEnglish
Release dateAug 13, 2014
ISBN9781310229756
Gryphon of the Hidden Realm
Author

Robert Denethon

Robert Denethon is a nom de plum and a character in his own footnotes. The real author lives in Lockridge, Western Australia with his naughty two year old puppy dog, a used piano, and a bunch of burgeoning bookcases. His books were written with you in mind if you like gripping fantasy and sci fi novels, some with strange footnotes, weird invented languages, unusual names, disturbing alternate realities, with a slightly realist bent. In other words, he has attempted to write the kinds of books he likes to read. Think somewhere between the extremes of Philip K Dick, Tolkien, Neal Stephenson, China Miéville. He wants people to read his books and would be extremely pleased if you enjoy them!OTHER BOOKSYou may also wish to view Robert Denethon's other books, written under the name Andrew P Partington https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/AndrewPartington

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    Gryphon of the Hidden Realm - Robert Denethon

    Gryphon of the Hidden Realm

    Robert Denethon

    Copyright 2011 by Robert Denethon

    Smashwords Edition

    Dedication;

    from the Unknown to the Unknowable

    Oh, Aye,

    Tis Manly to Leave the Town

    In which you grew into Manhood,

    Travel, & make thy fortune friend!

    And this you did some weeks past

    Truly going,

    Upon the wing

    Leaving yr past sorrows,

    Parting to never tread those pathways again.

    For even in slavery none has authority over a mans soul;

    A mitre borne by the poor is temple fane heart!

    To be candid

    To exist

    Or to name the one who ever take & tumble thee

    2 where names & form are forgottn

    (For

    Ever in love

    Are the common

    And the excellent

    Both foregone

    2 have even only one)

    True love

    Doesnt speak it thoughtlessly

    Nay though this bee not Shakespeare,

    It was a labour of love,

    That I wrote for thee,

    25

    CHAPTERs by 25 months

    Not counting spaces

    Carriage returns

    Or any but letters, commas, marks

    A square effort

    XXV; RD

    ~

    ~

    Thanks

    With thanks to my editors, Jan Barker and Jan Knight, and my first-readers Adrienne, Rachel and Elise, Michael Evers, John. And everyone at St Barts. And Denis and Cliff, Dad, Alex and everyone at KSP. And to any others whose contribution I may have momentarily forgotten, please don't think I didn't appreciate your help; you can be sure that I did. And He whom I have called Ellulianaen in these novels, I thank most of all, for His grace and help and so many blessings. Oh, and to Submarine Media for taking a chance...

    Contents

    Cover Page.

    Copyright

    Dedication

    Thanks

    Contents

    A Gryphon

    Chapter One ~ The Tavern-Keeper and the Boy

    Chapter Two ~ Hwedolyn, Truth and Gwendolyn

    Chapter Three ~ Oathbreaker

    Chapter Four ~ Midnight Flight

    Chapter Five ~ Udvéwyn

    Chapter Six ~ History Lesson

    Chapter Seven ~ Seeking Gwendolyn

    Chapter Eight ~ The Attack

    Chapter Nine ~ Through the Wilderness

    Chapter Ten ~ Azure Bloodstone

    Chapter Eleven ~ Dragon Swarm

    Chapter Twelve ~ The Watcher and the Fireplace

    Chapter Thirteen ~ Rhigludae Hamü

    Chapter Fourteen ~ The Krypsos

    Chapter Fifteen ~ Escape

    Chapter Sixteen ~ The Habits of Gryphons

    Chapter Seventeen ~ The Haunted Forest of Dyddym Hae M’Thaiden

    Chapter Eighteen ~ The Veterinarian and the Doctor

    Chapter Nineteen ~ Guardian of the Gate of Hwendörillaen

    Chapter Twenty ~ The Beginning of the Battle

    Chapter Twenty One ~ The Hunter Becomes The Hunted

    Chapter Twenty Two ~ The Great Journey South

    Chapter Twenty Three ~ Stormbreaker

    Chapter Twenty Four ~ The Courts of Emperor Raglan

    Chapter Twenty Five ~ The Attack Begins

    APPENDIX I~The Arganoth Saga of Horanathnllyn

    APPENDIX II~Glossary

    ~Other Submarine Media books available

    A Gryphon

    Chapter One

    The Tavern–keeper and the Boy

    Boy was hiding in a small hollow in the ground beneath the bramble thicket. The taverner had left another barrel of mead out on the plateau again today – and Boy had noticed late in the afternoon that tonight was the new moon, for the moon had arisen early, showing only its dark face like a gap in the sky, as the stars came out around it and the last, fading vestiges of the violet sunset died away.

    Boy waited several hours before climbing through the window and crossing the cold, silent, deathly rocky plateau.

    It was even colder than the night a month ago. As the stars made their slow procession across the sky, Boy began to lose the feeling in his fingers, so he tucked his hands under his armpits, for his clothes were little more than rags and did not keep him warm. The breath was freezing on his lips and his teeth were chattering, and he would have gladly gone back to his bedroom in the tavern, but he stayed where he was because he wanted to see the monster again.

    He had to know what it was.

    He had only glimpsed it the last time, but it was the most terrifying thing he had ever seen. He remembered shaking like a mountain pine in a storm wind.

    He crouched in the thicket, silently waiting, for a terribly long time. The stars wheeled about slowly above as the hours dragged on. The cold, silent darkness of the night chilled him to the bones, until he could think of nothing else, but that he would be a frozen corpse in the snow and someone would find him ten years later. He began to think that he would be crouching there forever, and that the monster would never arrive.

    Then suddenly, without warning, a rumbling, thundering, deafening, clap!, clap!, clap!, filled the air; it was the flapping of giant wings! Boy shrank back into the hollow. A great black shape descended in the darkness, toward the mead barrel.

    What in all the worlds could it be? It was an absurd thing - he could not make sense of it – hooves, talons, tails and wings, all jumbled together, like some unnatural beast sewed together from the parts of different animals by a mad mage. Boy’s eyes widened as the two enormous wings eased the monster’s descent, obscuring the heavens for a moment like a mighty tent.

    With two final, almighty thunderclaps the monster landed heavily on the earth, talons scratching and scraping in the dirt. Boy heard a goat’s plaintive bleat and the scrape of a stake being plunged into the stony ground, then a pop; that must have been the cork in the barrel being removed. And then the monster gave forth an awful keening sound, the sort of sound that a dragon might make if it was in pain, or a lion, lamenting a loss; a gruesome, growling, howling yawn.

    Boy peered through the branches of the thicket.

    The monster will lift itself up into the sky again on its mighty wings soon, I will be safe; it didn’t stay very long last time.

    But it didn’t leave.

    It just stood there.

    It had stood there for too long – now he was certain it wasn’t going to leave!

    Oh, Udvé help me.

    Perhaps it knew he was there? Boy’s heart began thumping.

    Suddenly the monster blared out a noise like the mighty bellows of a blacksmith being drafted, sucking all the air into huge concertinaed bladders. Boy had no idea what sort of noise it was, or what it could possibly mean.

    The monster’s head was silhouetted against the stars; was that a beak?

    Suddenly he realised - the monster was sniffing the air! Boy was certain that was it! He wondered if it could smell humans – perhaps it could smell boys - perhaps it could smell him? Its giant head formed an indistinct shape in the darkness, but Boy was certain that two eyes, glinting in the darkness, were staring at him. The monster did not move. Boy’s heart was ramming against his chest now like a blacksmith’s hammer, smashing, shaping a broadsword from an unwilling piece of steel, wap! wap! wap!

    It was too much for him. He couldn’t endure it any longer. Boy jumped up in panic and tried to run, but he only stumbled backwards on the rubble, fell over in a twisted tangle of limbs and scraped his knee. He turned over and stared up at the creature from the ditch, like an armadillo looking out from its bony armour; the monster was huge, and it was about to eat him. Better to face the end bravely, like a lion, or an eagle, than to flee like a dog.

    Certain that his doom had come, he stood up.

    The boy and the gryphon, from the original manuscript.

    * * *

    H – h – hello, said a small, frail voice in the darkness.

    Hwedolyn, intent on sniffing the honeyed scent of the mead, was completely startled. He took several steps backwards in midair, flapped his wings and arched his back. What is it? he shrieked, in an embarrasingly parrotish tone. Then he saw the interloper – it was nothing but a tiny, little human, a mere cub; the thing had not even yet sprouted the untidy facial bush that grown humans have, that they call a beard (somewhat like a mane, but not a fraction as attractive). Hwedolyn examined the creature carefully, trying to work out if it represented any threat.

    Trembling, the human cub said, I am a boy, and people call me Boy. Who are you? Or, more to the point, what are you?

    Is this the first time you have seen me? Hwedolyn demanded, leaping up and alighting upon the ground in front of the human cub. The little thing stumbled backwards in fear.

    Hwedoyn repeated, Tell me, human cub, is this the first time you have seen me? If it was the first time it had seen him, he would take it up to their nest and grow it there with them so that it could not tell any other men, or fly it to a faraway land where it did not know the tongue and leave it there, or even...

    No. I saw you last month. I live at the tavern, the human cub gabbled, its words tumbling out trippingly and falling out everywhere in an untidy mess. Every new moon the tavern–keeper puts an extra large barrel of mead out on the plateau and there’s a goat there in the morning so I wanted to know who the barrel was for, so I came out here last month and hid in the thicket and waited to see who came or what happened! And you came, but you flew off so quickly – so I walked back, climbed back through the window of my bedroom in the tavern, and the tavern–keeper and his wife were none the wiser in the morning - so I thought I’d do it again, see if you could talk, for, as the proverb says, ‘he that drinks much, talks much,’ the human cub concluded, swallowing a deep breath.

    Hmmmph, said Hwedolyn, turning away with his beak in the air, for he was definitely not pleased with the human cub’s final comment.

    * * *

    And then there was an uncomfortable silence during which Boy could hear his heart thumping loudly and unevenly, as though a rabbit was stuck in his chest.

    So you told no–one about me? the enormous monster turned to him and said, with a queer glint in its eye.

    Only the stablehand, Bert... And he did not believe me. So… do not fear, nobody knows about you… Boy added hastily, Of course, if I was to disappear, I suppose they’d start looking for you, or at least for whatever it was that made me disappear. Boy did not know why he said that – he had blurted it out – look at the peculiar way the gryphon is eyeing me. Try not show how much you are trembling.

    Hrmmph. As the monster snorted a small trail of flame spurted out of his nose and sprinted across the ground, extinguishing a pale patch of grass in a burst of black smoke. Boy jumped out of the thicket, stumbled, stood a little further off, shaking.

    I suppose you have me there, said Hwedolyn, advancing on him like a lion stalking its prey, I do not suppose I can make you disappear, for then they might start looking for me. So I wonder what your name is? I shall not tell you mine. Gryphons cannot be too careful.

    * * *

    Then Hwedolyn immediately regretted saying anything at all, for now the human cub knew what he was, and he reflected on how long it had been since he had held a conversation with a human, and how he had lost the subtlety needed for this.

    Trembling visibly, Boy said, So you are a gryphon, are you? But you breathe fire like a dragon. And although he did not know it, this was exactly the right thing for Boy to say, for there is nothing a gryphon dislikes more than being compared to a dragon; Hwedolyn’s ire rose at the comparison, and this made him forget, for a moment, the danger that Boy represented.

    Boy, there is a world of difference between dragons and gryphons, and the sooner you learn that, the better. Why, if you knew the wars that have sprung up on this sorrowful earth because dragons hate gryphons and gryphons hate dragons you would never even think to compare them – sheep and goats they are, apples and pears as the cubs of men like to say. Light and darkness they are, and never will they agree, for a dragon’s will is wholly given over to destruction, but a gryphon has a far greater purpose in life.

    And what would that be?

    Well, let me think... ...to eat goat, to sleep, and to drink mead! A deep rumble came from deep inside Hhwedolyn’s chest, and Boy realised that the gryphon was laughing at himself, which somewhat softened his fears. He took a step closer to look at the gryphon’s wings, sparkling golden in the firelight.

    The gryphon said, Though our legends tell of a time when this was not so, when gryphons were great heroes and helped the elves...

    I always wanted to see an elf, said Boy wistfully, and glanced at the gryphon to see if he was still watching him in that unsettling way. But he was not. For, once a gryphon is involved in the telling of a tale, he forgets everything else. Hwedolyn settled down next to Boy on the ground, folded his wings behind him, and snorted at the thicket, which burst into a bright flame. Boy stood warming his hands at the burning thicket while the gryphon told his tale.

    Aye, and long ages have many gryphons wished they had never seen any elves. For long ago it was that one of the H’Nomoi tricked Horanath, the great gryphon warrior, so the story goes. Aye, ‘twas in the age of Arganoth, when the H’Nomoi started their rebellious, despotic rule.

    In my classes I am told that the Nomoi are wise and good rulers.

    Aye, they would tell you that, would they not?

    Was it not always so?

    Ha! the gryphon said, Cubs - they are known to ask awkward questions, be they gryph, man or elf! Nay, let me tell you what the Nomoi prince is said to have done to the great Horanath, and you tell me whether it was a noble deed or scurrilous! It was in the time of the sons of Arganoth, when the Other Elves had asked Horanath to guard the gate to their land, for there was but one way into the valley where they dwelled.

    Why did Horanath help the Other Elves? They’re the bad elves!

    Are they indeed? They tell you that in your lessons too, I suppose.

    Master Rafisthur would beat me with a stick if I said the Other Elves were good elves. Why did Horanath help them anyway? They weren’t gryphons.

    Gold, Boy, gold, it could have been. Or perhaps his sense of honour... They asked him to help, and he agreed, and gryphons always keep their word, as any decent creature does, be he elf, dwarf, human or gryph.

    But my tutor, Master Rafisthur, says that the Other Elves have no honor, and no sense of shame or decency. He says they’re deceptive, and never to trust one if I was ever to meet one...

    Hwedolyn snapped, Oh, well this was a long time ago, Boy, long before people had the stupid ideas they have today. But do not interrupt any more, because I must tell you the story.

    Boy sat down quietly and listened, partly because he was afraid to move, for the gryphon’s great wings were but inches from his shoulder and his great talons glistened in the light of the fire and when he had snapped at the boy his beak had been but inches from his nose. Even so, before much longer he found that the rich sibilance of the gryphon’s voice had lulled him into the world of the tale, and he forgot his fears and listened with wide eyes.

    Prince Shloynoi was a mighty warrior, the general of all the Nomoi armies. The Emperor had ordered him to invade the valley of the Other Elves. But Horanath was standing guard in the ravine which was the only way into the valley. Now, Prince Shloynoi knew that by force of arms no elf could defeat a gryphon, for sharp are the claws of gryphons, and keen are their eyes, and quick are their wings and fleet are they in flight! So instead of the sword, Shloynoi brought a cup of mead. Ah, crafty was the prince of the Nomoi! And sweet the honey brew! A cup of mead instead of a sword...

    A cup of mead? But how on earth could he defeat a gryphon with a cup of mead?

    "Yes, a cup of mead, to defeat the guard that stopped the army from getting into the valley! And the Nomoi prince said to the gryphon guard, ‘I felt sorry for you, dwelling here night and day, unsleeping, unmoving, guarding the gate to the kingdom of the valley. So I brought you something to drink.’ Until then, no gryphon had ever tasted mead.

    "Horanath drained the cup and loved the taste and wanted more, but Prince Shloynoi told him he had no more mead to give. But that night, the prince put out a whole barrel of mead at the corner of a bend in the ravine, where the gryphon could just see it from the gate to the valley, and poured himself a draught and drained the cup where he knew the gryphon would have to watch him drink it! At midnight, sure enough, the gryphon quietly left his post to taste another drop, and finding the barrel and drained it in one gulp! And afterwards, he almost fell asleep, but he caught himself and managed to stay awake...

    "The next night, Prince Shloynoi put another barrel a little further around the corner of the ravine, and the gryphon sneaked out at midnight to taste just a little more, but the taste was too delicious and he finished that barrel also in one gulp! And afterwards, he napped for a moment, but realised and woke himself up again and stumbled drunkenly back to his post. And all the H’Nomoi elves watched from the crevices in the rocks, ready to mount their attack the moment the gryphon’s guard was down.

    The next night Shloynoi put the barrel far around the corner where the gryphon could not see it. But he could smell it (we gryphons have an excellent sense of smell) and the smell of it drove him mad! A minute after midnight, he snuck away from his post and drank the whole barrel in one gulp. But then he looked a little further along the ravine - and there was another barrel - he drank that one too! And another! And another! And then he slept on the stony ground far from his post, for the first time in seven months, for great gryphons are able to go without sleep for many, many months, but a barrel of mead will send them off into dreamland in a moment. And the Nomoi army passed him as he dozed on the stony ground with his beak open, and they slaughtered the elves in the valley, to the very last one! And they say that Ellulianaen cursed gryphons ever after with a taste for mead, all because of the failure of Horanath. And the honey brew has been the ruin of many a gryphon since those early days of the world.

    Why did the Nomoi army want to invade the valley?

    Ah, well, I’m glad you asked that question. It all began when...

    The story continued in a winding tale with no beginning and no end and Boy could not recall the details of it afterwards, except that it enthralled him and that it was about wizards and elves and trolls and dragons, but at the centre of each story was a gryphon. As the fire died down, Hwedolyn noticed that Boy’s eyelids were drooping. He was falling asleep fast against his flank, and the goat was snuggled in against them both, so Hwedolyn snorted another flame at a bush, setting it alight, and then shook Boy gently with a talon. Boy! Back to your tavern! It is time I returned to my eyrie.

    Boy woke up with a start, realised where he was, jumped up and ran towards the tavern, then suddenly turned back and said, Will you be here next new moon? And the gryphon replied, Yes, immediately regretting it as his enormous wings lifted him up into the clear night sky. He lingered among the stars until he had seen Boy climb safely through the window, then set off again across the summit of the mountain, carrying the barrel of mead in his talon.

    * * *

    That very night, while Hwedolyn was flying back to his eyrie, a Nomoi company arrived at a crossroads less than two hundred miles southeast. There were forty-three footsoldiers, a Nomoi knight, two captains and a mage. In the midst of the company was a rusty iron cage with wheels like a wagon, pulled by four horses. The cage was covered with a hessian sheet to hide it from prying eyes in the skies above.

    The mage turned to his underlings. Pointing at one of the soldiers who was not standing to attention, the mage snarled, Stand to attention! This is not a holiday in the north. Do not start thinking I am your friend – I am your commander! Five lashes for the slothful one!

    The lieutenant nodded. The mage continued, The advance scouts have found a cave large enough to hide the cage in. Send out the soldiers in squads to seek news of gryphons. The first squad to the east; search the plains all the way to the Cherethif river. The second to the forests in the north. The third, to ask at any settlements in the forests and hills to the north of the Cruhiti River. The fourth to the mountains in the west and the valley of Eryodol. And do not forget to go to every tavern! Ask someone other than the taverner, for he may be reluctant to lose a regular client. Then try to find the place where the taverner leaves out a barrel every new moon...

    * * *

    Chapter Two

    Hwedolyn, Truth and Gwendolyn

    Sleep was fitful and fruitless for Hwedolyn that night.

    On reaching the eyrie he had laid down his barrel of mead. Gwendolyn must have been worried. He had looked over at her and realised with a shock that she was eyeing him with one eye, like a gryphoness watching her prey, waiting for it to make an attempt to escape so that she could pounce. She had been waiting for him to return to make the futile attempt to explain to her why he was so late tonight.

    He had told her that a human had been walking on the trail – that he had waited until the human had gone into the tavern before he left – and that was far enough from the whole truth to unsettle his conscience.

    The mead, though golden and sweet and milky with his meal, made it all the worse, because he knew deep down in his heart of hearts that he did not deserve it.

    He had wanted to tell Gwendolyn everything – but what if she wanted to hurt the human cub? Or would want them to leave their nest and find a further spot to live? And he realised that he really did not wish for either of those things to happen, particularly since it had taken him so much effort to make this eyrie habitable.

    As dawn approached Hwedolyn realised he had not slept a wink – he had spent the whole night watching the cavern walls with wakeful eyes, tormenting himself, worrying and cogitating. Strangely, he thought of his past self with envy - how carefree he had been just one day ago - how happy, how foolish he had been.

    Yesterday, he had not had to worry about this boy – his life had been idyllic, in gryphon terms.

    Their life had been simple. Perfect, in a certain way, except for the fact that they didn’t have a cub. And that hadn’t changed.

    He had found her the eyrie they lived in, complete with a stone stand for the stewpot and a special place for the barrel of mead and the cooking implements. They had developed habits of life, certain things that they always did the same way, forming that settled way of life that gryphon mates have. Some nights it was he who hunted and Gwendolyn who had cooked the stew and on other nights they reversed their roles. Gwendolyn collected herbs, if he was hunting, and he collected the herbs on the days when she was hunting. They always awakened at dawn and stretched their weary limbs and legs, and flew out over the valley to welcome in the new day. They had eaten, slept, hunted, drunk mead, and, on nights when the mountain mists hid their eyrie from the eyes of the world they had sung the ancient sagas to one another and the stars.

    But now a secret had come between them; a lie of omission. Untruthfulness between eyrie-mates is the most grievous sin of all in the gryphon-lore. Ellulianaen, if her parents knew, the things they would say! They would most certainly bring up the subject of Lydlaedlyn, his notorious ancestor… The fact that Hwedolyn was descended from ‘the gryphon who lied’ had been a serious impediment to their marriage in Gwendolyn’s parents’ eyes, and it had taken Gwendolyn a lot of effort to convince them to accept the match. Heaven knows, they barely even accepted it now. This was just what they had always wanted - proof that Hwedolyn’s bad heritage had infected him as well. Proof that he wasn’t good enough for her.

    The guilt was eating Hwedolyn up inside; it felt as though snow ants were eating his innards, or worse, as though a mage had cast a spell to make his intestines consume themselves.

    For the next few days they were both uncharacteristically sullen, and Gwendolyn did not always eat all her share of the goats and sheep that he caught.

    The thought tormented him more and more, that she knew, somehow, that he had lied to her, though how she could possibly know he had no idea. But he was better able to ignore his guilt, to push it into a dark corner, so to speak, and she cheered up a little as well, when the spring leaves appeared on the trees in the valley below and the winter snow on the mountains above began to thaw.

    And before Hwedolyn had realised, another new moon had arrived. A large part of him did not want to go to the plateau to get the mead because he did not want to face the fact that he had lied to Gwendolyn the last time. Even so, another secret part of his soul was looking forward to seeing Boy again, though barely admitted it even to himself. Though gryphons are truly solitary, they still do look forward to company, especially when such company provides a ready ear for a long tale. He set off somewhat awkwardly with a goat in his talons and the rope and the stake trailing behind, and turned his head to watch the new moon pursuing the setting sun over the western horizon as he glided silently down to the plateau.

    Boy was not there. Hwedolyn placed the goat on the ground and peered at the faroff tavern but the windows were shuttered and no lamps were lit. Slightly annoyed despite himself he snorted flame at a bush, but still Boy did not come, so off he flew.

    * * *

    As Gwendolyn cooked their dinner she wondered whether Hwedolyn would be back on time tonight, and speculated in quiet but troubled thought what could have made him return late last new moon, that he felt he could not tell her. She knew he had lied – poor Hhwedolyn! For a descendant of the ‘gryphon who lied’, Hwedolyn was a terrible liar himself.

    * * *

    The Nomoi mage sneered at his men, You lot are useless. We have had no success to the south of the Eryodol valley. We go west now. A farmer told me that there is a tavern on the Bukolvahalae plateau, and there are rumours of a customer who only picks up mead every new moon, a customer who prefers not to be known, a customer who never deals in silver or gold but only barters with live sheep or goats.

    The captain said, A gryphon. It must be. Pack up the camp, then, men, we set forth – it is likely that we have another gryphon to catch. We will reach the tavern in five weeks.

    * * *

    The weeks went by quickly and Gwendolyn had begun to forget about Hwedolyn’s puzzling lateness the new moon before the last. But as the next new moon approached the previous month’s questions floated back into her mind.

    She couldn’t help wondering why he had been late. His story about a man on the trail - that simply wasn’t believable! The only sign of human presence Gwendolyn had witnessed lately was a Nomoi border patrol on the southern reaches of the valley – something Hwedolyn would certainly have mentioned if they had waylaid him. Apart from that there had been no other sign of men, nor elves, nor dwarves, neither spent campfires nor footprints - and Hwedolyn’s excuse had been so very vague. She couldn’t help wondering if her eyrie-mate had lied to her. But the thing was, she couldn’t understand why he would...

    Thinking that Gwendolyn knew that he had lied to her, Hwedolyn set off once again, quietly this time, goat in talon, rope and stake trailing behind, not making a big fuss about it, as if he didn’t want her to notice that he was leaving. She certainly noticed that he had left without saying goodbye, and that fact started her worrying again.

    When Hwedolyn arrived at the plateau Boy was sitting atop the barrel waiting for him, his legs swinging to and fro lazily. Hwedolyn placed the goat down gently, jammed the stake in, still flapping his gargantuan wings, and bumped down noisily next to the barrel. In all his rags, with his unwashed face and the welts on his arms and legs where he had been beaten, Boy looked so very plaintive and pathetic that Hwedolyn’s heart went out to him.

    Hwedolyn said, Hello, Boy.

    Boy replied shyly, Do gryphons live on their own?

    Hrrmph. You wish to know about gryphons. Sometimes, indeed, sometimes they do, Hwedolyn stated. But usually gryphons have an eyrie, which is somewhat like an eagle’s nest, with their eyrie-mate, and perhaps a few young gryphons too, if they’re lucky.

    Do you have any young gryphons? Boy asked, Is there not a name for young gryphons, chicks or pups or kittens or something?

    Twnum’qæ… Cubs – Gryphon–cubs in your tongue; in ours twnum’qæ... No, we do not have cubs. Gwendolyn and I have not been that fortunate. But we hope to get cub–eggs this spring. Anyhow, why should you want to know all about gryphons? We are very private creatures, Boy, we do not like others nosing about in our affairs… What of you? Is the inn–keeper your father? And where were you last month, Boy? I was a little worried when you were not here.

    Why were you worried? The innkeeper’s called Haran, but his wife’s the one who really runs the place. I call her Auntie Shruwville, but she’s not really my Auntie. They call me ‘Boy;’ nobody really knows my name. I know nothing of who my parents were or where I come from. They died when I was young, and a friend of my father’s, I know not who, brought me here to the inn. I don’t know why he did that. Auntie makes me muck out the stables and wash the dishes and clean the floors and serve mead in the tavern in the evenings. Ben gets all the easy jobs; he’s their son. Then sometimes Master Rafisthur comes up the mountain to give me my lessons in Maths and Astrology and Letters. I don’t like him; I do not think he likes teaching little boys. He would rather be a wizard in the fortress of the wizards, but he was not good enough at magik.

    Boy sighed and added, I’m sorry I didn’t come last month. Auntie caught me staring out of the window towards the plateau when I should have been working, and she was watching me funny all night, so I didn’t come. I didn’t want to put you in danger. I saw you light the bush with your flame, though...

    Hwedolyn nodded, and the Boy seemed so like a gryphon cub to him in that moment that he wondered at it, for they had not known each other for very long. Hwedolyn decided to test Boy’s booklearning, as a gryphon would his own cub.

    He turned over onto his wings and pointed a foretalon at the stars. Cub, does not Master Rafisthur teach you the stars? What is that constellation to the southeast?

    Boy laid on his back as well and looked up at the group of stars the gryphon was indicating. That’s the shepherd – the three stars below the star of the king form the top of his crook.

    Where will the shepherd be next new moon, Boy?

    South – from the three stars to the prince will be in a direct line north to south…

    And what day will the new moon be?

    The ninth of Lostashus, in the reckoning of men.

    Hwedolyn said, Indeed, Boy. Gryphons are knowledgeable about such things, and very mathematically minded, you know. You are perfectly correct. Indeed, I am amazed at your answers – either tuition for human cubs must have improved greatly in the eighty years since I have had anything much to do with humans, or else your tutor is very good.

    Boy said, Master Rafisthur teaches me everything, but he hates it if I get things wrong or if I’m late for my lesson because Auntie had me doing some work. I got five strokes of the cane when I was late the other week.

    Hwedolyn nodded but the mention of lateness gave him a sudden attack of conscience; he realised that if he did not leave soon he would not be able to think of any excuse that would satisfy Gwendolyn. He did not want to lie again. He really was not a very good liar, and Gwendolyn would be sure to see through it.

    Are you going to tell me a story tonight? asked Boy, That was a good one last time. All about gryphons and dragons and wizards. It was one of those stories that never seems to come to an end.

    Oh, no, I really must leave. Gwendolyn – my eyrie-mate...

    Oh, just one story, please! – a quick one. Tell me about Aros.

    Aros? The capital of the world? The city of the Nomoi elves? I’m not sure –

    Yes – the Nomoi city. Master Rafisthur makes me say it every morning, yet I know not what it means; ‘In the name of Ellulianaen I swear allegiance to the Nomoi Emperor who sits in Aros –’

    Stay! snapped the gryphon, Speak not that evil oath! You know not to whom you swear allegiance! Let it suffice for your yes to be yes and your no, no! And Boy shrank away from him in surprise and fear, such that it rent the gryphon’s heart. Hwedolyn bent his head and spoke more gently, So you wish to know about Aros, do you? Well I could tell you - but you ought to be to your bed, though, if you have so much work to do tomorrow, washing dishes and serving mead and book-learning… And to himself the gryphon reflected that Ellulianaen might perhaps not judge a good–hearted cub when he speaks an oath of allegiance to an evil power unknowingly.

    I will sleep much better after a story, said Boy plaintively.

    Oh, and Hwedolyn pretended to sigh, though his heart was strangely uplifted. He could not possibly go home now. Just one story, then… In our day, the Nomoi elves rule the world, and have no enemies but those who hide in holes and behind mountains, for they rule with an iron fist inside a silk glove. Elves, humans and dwarves, and other creatures, like gryphons, have freedom, so long as they do not rebel. But the Nomoi’s wrath against known instigators, rebels and partisans is swift and final.

    You speak differently from my tutor. He only says nice things about the Nomoi.

    Ah, but in those days, Hwedolyn said, "the Nomoi dwelt in caves far below the surface, they hid from their enemies in the caves of the dwarves, in the dark, next to pools of black clear water, and their magik turned all the waters of Aros to bitterness!

    "Yet how time changes all things! Aye, for when the Nomoi elves hid in the ground, people said they it was because they had been cursed by the gods. But now, the Nomoi rule the world! People even say Ellulianaen the High King of Heaven blesses them, though the elves actually worship Aphazel, a foul demon of bat dung and enshadowed dens. And in these days other proud and foolish races dwell in holes and behind mountains and in deep caves below the earth, and people say they are cursed! So the wheel turns and the great become small and the small become great.

    "But back in the days when the Nomoi lived underground, one elf decided to come out of the cave to see what the world was like. His name was H’fychethay–ædefyyr, or ‘Hides in the Dark’ in the common tongue. For, you see, he had boasted that he would go to the world above, but all the other elves had called him a coward and said he would not reach it, so he climbed

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