To Catch A Sorcerer

Gray was pinned in a cage of talons, winded. The claws cracked the ancient cobblestones and dug into the grit.

Killian swung his sword. Light bounced off the blade.

‘Stop!’ cried Gray. His voice broke. His voice ached.

The sword stopped, less than a millimetre from the leg of the griffin.

The cold of the cobblestones seeped through Gray’s torn clothes. His breath ripped out of him in a shudder.

The weight of the griffin’s claw was steady. Ready to crush at one wrong move.

‘Killian,’ whispered Gray. ‘Get back.’

‘No.’

‘Get back.’

‘Nice try, kid, but I’m not going to let him fly off with you.’

‘He’s angry, he’s not going to fly off with me-’

The griffin let out a powerful huff.

The heat of his breath was almost steam, it almost burned.

The soldiers shuffled back.

Killian, with a very precise movement, pulled back his sword. He backed away, ever so slightly.

The griffin leant close to Gray.

The sharp edge of his beak touched the point of Gray’s chin. Then, down to Gray’s exposed neck.

The griffin tilted his head so that Gray was suddenly looking him very closely in the eye.

Gold and so damn angry.

Gray couldn’t hold its gaze.

Carefully, Gray turned his face away.

The griffin moved closer, his weight threatening in his claw. His breath huffed into Gray’s ear.

Like a physical punch, Gray was hit with sensations. An involuntary groan ripped from him.

Sensations flooded his chest.

It was anger, at the Ancients being pulled up and violated. Protection, and the desire to keep their resting places intact. Sadness, at the looting of the lovingly selected gold and goods the Ancients had been buried with.

It was too much. Gray needed to curl in on himself. He needed to hold his head.

Gray felt his magic curling up in response.

Fear rippled through him.

The tendrils of his magic were snaking up within him, too fast.

Out of control.

It was ripping through hairline cracks in some internal wall.

It was lighting up his skin.

No.

Gray struggled to push his magic down.

Down, down, down.

His skin thrummed as he battled to get his magic down.

You are not doing this here, he told himself firmly.

Not now.

Control it.

But, the griffin was pulling his focus. He could barely breathe for the heat and power washing up and down like stormy waves within.

The griffin was bombarding him with images.

The soldiers - Killian - and tomb guardians breaking down some of the most sacred resting places - the wisest philosopher in the old graveyard - the silver lady in the oldest alleyway - the sweet child in the ruins near the forest -

’Stop.’ The word was wrenched from Gray’s tongue. It pierced the air.

He didn’t know if he meant the soldiers had to stop stomping through the tombs, searching, searching, or if he couldn’t bear the fury and despair from the griffin, or if he needed his magic to stop breaking through the internal walls he was building.

Gray held the golden glare of the griffin. ‘I’ll ask them to stop.’

The weight of the claw pressed threateningly.

Gray’s ribs groaned.

‘I’ll stop them.’

The griffin remained still.

‘I’ll stop them,’ said Gray. ‘But, you must leave now.’

The griffin was so close that Gray could see the swirls of brown and honey in his gold eye. The iris contracted.

‘I promise you.’ The words were ripped from Gray. They echoed against the town square.

With one last press of weight from his huge claw, the griffin straightened. He stretched out the enormous expanse of his wings, and with enough force to buffet the formation of soldiers back in a tumble of swords, shields, and scattered caps, the griffin took flight.

Up, he flew. Through stunned fighters. Past shattered third story windows, and over the crumbled rooftops.

The power of his wings thudded the air, and wind blew through Gray’s torn clothing, chilling his skin.

One by one, the other griffins followed.

Stillness settled.

No one moved.

No one made a sound.

Then, from those left standing, erupting -

Chaos.

—

Killian hauled Gray up.

It was like someone was lighting a candle and then blowing it out in a pitch black room. Gray could only take in moments, like his consciousness dropped out every two seconds, only to roar back with startling clarity.

Bodies were pressing close.

Soldiers.

Townsfolk.

Gray’s ears rang.

The screaming crowd blurred in and out of focus.

Hands grabbed him.

Gray stumbled.

His knees buckled.

Someone tried to yank him backward, their fist strong on the back of his sweater.

‘Back.’ Killian’s command rang over the clamour of voices and the scuffles of the feet.

Killian held Gray close, pulled under his arm, tucked in an iron grip against his body.

His sword was out. Pointed. Dripping blood. He spun in a tight circle, dragging Gray. Steel glinted in the sun. It kept the press of the chaos at bay.

Killian stepped forward.

The crowd was forced back, at sword tip.

Again.

And again.

Gray couldn’t tell if the crowd was friendly or angry. Excited or scared. His head lolled forward.

-

They were inside the Hall. The muted sounds of the chaos outside drifted to Gray’s ears. His pulse thudded, making his head ache.

‘They going to return?’ said Killian. ‘Hm, kid?’

‘No,’ murmured Gray. ‘I don’t know.’

Up the main staircase, shoving past clamouring workers. Killian’s sword was still drawn.

Up, and into his room.

Gray staggered, sliding down the wall.

Killian locked the door. He dragged a dresser and set it up against the door as a barricade.

Exhaustion was flooding Gray. His hearing flickered.

He wanted to sleep for a hundred years.

‘Nope,’ said Killian, roughly untying the rope from Gray’s wrists, ‘you stay with me.’

Gray was sitting in a chair. Barefoot. He was rolling forward, towards sleep. Everything went very dark and very still. It felt so, so good.

‘I need answers, kid. There’s a time for sleep, and it’s not now.’ Killian pushed him upright, hard against the back of the chair. He waved some kind of powder underneath Gray’s nose. ’Don’t you dare.’

Gray startled away from the sharp sting of the powder.

Killian peered into his eyes. ‘You going to tell me what the damn that was?’

‘Huh?’

‘The griffin.’

Killian’s dark gaze was nothing after staring into the griffin.

His dark hair was matted with sweat and blood.

His uniform was torn.

‘That looked a lot like master and servant,’ said Killian. ‘And you weren’t the master.’ Killian hesitated for a moment. His dark gaze swivelled up and down Gray. ‘Bonded griffins don’t behave like that.’

‘No shit,’ said Gray hoarsely. A wave of fury and humiliation was rampaging through him. This man had smashed him in the office when he’d tried to warn him the griffins were coming, like he was nothing. He’d thrown up in front of those soldiers, like some overprotected prince who’d never seen gore before. He’d been owned by that griffin in front of everyone.

You know I haven’t been trained, he wanted to yell. I could’ve died.

He fought it down.

It wasn’t important now.

‘You’ve been into the tombs,’ said Gray. ‘That called them. The griffins.’

There was no change in Killian’s stance. No change in his face.

‘You’ve been breaking into them,’ said Gray. ‘You’ve been looting-‘

‘I collect and protect valuables for the crown. It’s not looting. This is my job.’

‘You call the griffins when -’

‘I call the griffins?’ said Killian.

‘You called them. You call them when you desecrate the tombs.’

‘Desecrate -?’

‘They’re angry,’ said Gray. It was vital Killian understood this. ’They protect the tombs. You’ve been breaking into too many resting places - they’re upset-'

Killian rounded on him. ‘They protect the tombs? Griffins?’

‘Yes,’ said Gray.

‘No.’

‘Yes.’

Killian was shaking his head. ‘The Ancients didn’t use griffins.’

‘I …’ Gray faded out, confused, unsure, what the damn Killian was talking about.

‘Some of the Ancients used dragons to protect their most important tombs,’ said Killian. ‘They didn’t use griffins … there’s no records of … not that I …’ Killian’s voice was growing soft. ‘The griffin told you this?’

‘He showed me, he showed me which ones you desecrated, I can tell you exactly which ones, you mustn’t go into any more -‘

‘He showed you?’ Killian’s face was stone. ’You didn’t call those griffins?’

’No.’

‘And now, you’re taking orders from them?’ Killian said.

‘You are,’ said Gray, his voice cracking. ‘You go into any tombs, they’ll come back -‘

Killian made a derisive sound and began pacing. ‘Mages ride griffins, they call them, they don’t take bleeding orders from them-’

‘You will take their orders!’

It would’ve been a lot more impressive if Gray could raise his voice.

It came out as an angry hiss.

Killian stopped his pacing, facing the window. Probably searching for the threat of more specks in the sky.

‘You didn’t feel it,’ said Gray. ‘You - you didn’t see what he showed me. I don’t care what your job is. You can’t go in there any more.’

‘I do what my king tells me. I don’t obey griffins. And I certainly don’t obey damn baby sorcerers who can’t even get a griffin to cooperate-’

‘He - he cooperated - in a way …’

Killian whirled around. His face was frozen. His shoulders were tight. ‘The last time a mountain griffin came here … it was for the same reason?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Gray, fighting to keep the heat out of his voice.

Killian’s head was bowed. He held himself perfectly still. ‘They come when there’s a threat to the tombs?’

Gray opened his mouth to say yes, and then paused, turning his head sharply.

Listening hard.

The distant clamour of noise, the chaos outside, was getting louder.

Closer.

It sounded like they were inside the Hall.

Coming up the stairs.

Killian gripped a scarred hand hard in his sweaty hair. His shoulders were tight. ‘Gods.’

He snatched up his sword and jostled the dresser away from the door.

‘You,’ said Killian, way too calm for how loud the storm of voices and footsteps were, ‘push this back across the door. And then you get underneath the bed. Understood?’

This was crazy. Gray forced himself up out of the chair. ‘They’re not going to-’

‘They will.’

‘Why -?’

‘Because,’ Killian said, and there was an edge of pure ice in his voice, ‘they’re fucking idiots.’

And suddenly Gray was moving, he was hopping across the floor, he was blocking Killian from moving the dresser, and he was in the way of the door. Because he’d seen Killian like this right before he’d gone out and finished off the poor souls Codder had injured, and he knew what was coming.

‘You can’t call them that,’ said Gray, ‘they aren’t idiots-’

‘Move.’

‘Let’s talk to them,’ said Gray. ‘Don’t -’

‘Oh yeah,’ said Killian, ‘I’m risking losing one million ardents because you want to play diplomat to a bunch of fools who don’t have two brain cells to rub together.’

‘Don’t kill them-’

‘I’m not killing anyone, my men are being fucking idiots, too. I’m going to take care of it.’

There was way too much menace in Killian’s words.

‘You,’ said Gray, swatting away Killian’s hands hard enough that he raised his eyebrows in warning, ‘you think-’

‘I think,’ said Killian, his words rushed, fast, as the clamour of voices and footsteps were now much too close, ‘to an untrained eye, it looked semi-impressive. You were glowing - because you can’t control your damn magic, you’re a damn walking hazard - you yelled I promise, and the deadly griffins flew away.’

‘That’s not-’

‘To someone who knows a thing or two about griffins and sorcerers, you looked like a numpty. Which you are. That griffin made you his bitch.’

‘You already -’

‘A bunch of these people think they can tear you apart, very easily, and make a lot of money. Which they can.’

‘Killian-’

‘And a bunch of these people think you’re some kind of fated chosen one that’s going to lay all their fears about the boogeyman to rest.’

‘No-’

‘Which you’re not, you can’t do shit,’ said Killian, leaning very close, the smallest hint of a snarl in his curled lip. ‘Which is why when I tell you to put this dresser back across the door and hide under the bed while I take care of this, you need to obey me. Because I'm not risking one million ardents and an early retirement, kid.’