The Talon Fights Back
the rolling emerald hills peppered with monumental marble stones rising at odd angles toward the sky. The view was breathtaking. He’d only heard of Whitestone’s strange beauty in stories. He’d never been to the city of the Griffin Guard. While the circumstance was not ideal, the view was quite the treat for him. He was still getting used to flying, though.
Valurwind glided on the air effortlessly. The massive falcon easily bore the weight of the huntsman. The great bird’s speckled feathers fluttered in the wind, and her wide yellow eyes darted about, taking in their surroundings. She was not used to such vibrant greens, for she flew amongst the stars when not called to this plane, and it had been some years since she soared over their world.
Merrick caught Ralowyn staring from her pegasus not far away. She had expressed to him her complete astonishment at his ability to connect so easily with the astral bird. She looked at him curiously.
He laughed to himself and thought. I am a falconer, after all. Wouldn’t be a very good one if I couldn’t work well with falcons, now would I?
On his other side, Pernden floated, riding his griffin, Rocktail. Merrick was humored by all the new things he had experienced on their trip. Even Rocktail and the other griffins were of some awe to him. The only griffin he’d seen prior was the recovering Silverwing back in Tamaria, as Ellaria had been mending him back to health.
The memory raised thoughts of home. How was his mother doing? And his father? Certainly, his brothers had been picking up the slack in his absence. Grell was a master hunter who had taught Merrick everything he knew. He didn’t doubt his brothers’ skills were growing, and they’d be fine hunters to help the family.
He found it strange that in the calm before the storm, he thought of home. He thought of his brother Greggo and wondered if he were sitting up in Kerathane, looking down on him with pride. Did Greggo know his sacrifice kept Merrick safe for this purpose? He nodded his head.
Greggo knows.
Rocktail let out a brief caw, which made Valurwind roil slightly. Merrick gripped a little tighter. In the heat of battle, he hadn’t thought twice about the height. He merely trusted Valurwind and aimed his bow, sometimes nearly doubling over to loose an effective shot. But without the fires of battle raging in his belly, any unknown movement or noise from the great bird ruffled Merrick’s nerves. The moment passed, and the huntsman settled back into rhythm with the calmed falcon.
Merrick readied himself and floated higher to keep Ralowyn in his view. The three of them watched Whitestone from far off, waiting for the signal.
Danner Kane and the rest of the Talon Squadron emerged from the forest edge just outside of Whitestone, walking directly toward the Grand Corral. They were only halfway across the field before they heard the horns sounding the alarm. The approach was clever, as they were able to get close to the Corral without being spotted. Obviously, Commander Jolan had the guards watching the skies, not the ground.
The horns continued to blow, and the guardians spurred the griffins into a quick lope. Once the other guardians began to rise out of the Grand Corral like a swarm of bees from their hive, the Talon Squadron took to the air to meet them. By Danner Kane’s count, only two squadrons were in front of them. Jolan must have the rest out searching for them. The ones that were present moved themselves into formation. While they were doing so, Danner Kane took the opportunity to approach the forming squadrons alone.
As he neared, a wave of murmuring side conversations erupted. He did not know what lies had been spewed about his demise or defection and could not hear their hurried words to each other. Many looked at him in utter shock. He wondered if they had all thought him dead. But then, why would they be searching so vigorously for him and the Talon Squadron? He thought himself close enough to yell out to them but dared to fly nearer to ensure they heard his words.
Suddenly, Commander Jolan shot out from the Grand Corral, racing past the forming squadrons. Danner Kane stopped. He wanted to be far enough away from the formed guardians that he could have private words with Jolan but close enough that if he raised his voice, they would be able to hear. Jolan zipped past the other guardians and pulled his griffin into a stationary flapping.
“I have been looking for you,” Jolan said, seething.
“I can see that,” Danner Kane made his movements obvious as he scanned the two squadrons before him. “Where are the other squadrons?”
“Some are on the coast of the Gant Sea. Some are scanning the forest. We even have one in Lakerun looking for you. And yet, here you are.”
“Here I am,” Danner Kane raised his arms and turned side to side, showing he held no weapon in his hands. Murmurs ran through the squadrons again.
“Would you like to turn yourself in? Or, though I would not prefer it, would you rather die in this field?”
What a curious question, Danner Kane thought to himself.
He would gladly die defending Whitestone, but it seemed odd Jolan would ask such a question. “What do you gain from my demise?” he asked Jolan.
“What?” Jolan looked confused.
“What do you gain from my demise?” Danner Kane repeated, a little louder, to make sure the others watching heard.
Jolan’s griffin stirred in obvious protest to the commander’s increasing tension. “It is only the first step toward the future!” he snapped, frustrated with his griffin and the old High Commander.
“And what future is that? A future where goblins rule the halls of Whitestone?”
More conversation rolled in a wave through the watchers. Jolan caught Kane’s purpose.
“You seek to turn them against me!”
“I do not. Don’t you see the sorcerer twists us against each other? Divided, it makes the Guard weak. That’s what he wants. He wants us weak, so he can work his evil conquest.”
“You just want your command back!” Jolan spat.
“No,” Kane said calmly. “No, I want my home back. I want Whitestone to rise to its former glory, untainted by the poison that has cast shadow over us.”
“No! Jaernok Tur is the only one who can make things right!” Jolan’s words were hoarse. “He’s the only one who can ...”
Jolan seemed to fade away with his words. His mind had gone to another place, but it was his eyes that struck Danner Kane’s heart with terror. Jolan’s eyes had turned an abyssal black. His stare far off, as he sat silently on the back of his griffin.
Danner Kane took the opportunity to address the formed squadrons. “Brothers and sisters! Guardians! Our home has been invaded, and we posture against each other while the real threat stands unopposed. The future of Whitestone is in its people, not under the thumb of a corrupt sorcerer, but united with purpose. To think that the orc’s plans will end within the walls of the castle and spread no further is folly.
“We must stand together and take back our home. Think of your brothers and sisters out there, right now, who are on a fool’s errand. They have been tricked. They have been lied to, as you have. We must take back our home, so they have a home to come back to.
“I am proud to call you all frien—”
The dagger that struck Danner Kane’s ribs knocked the wind from his chest in a sudden burst. His griffin reeled at the slumping master on its back, trying with great effort to get to the ground without throwing Kane from its back. The onlookers were stunned as they watched him float to the field below.
The act was a jolt to their senses. Commander Mattness, who had been positioned at the point of the closer formation, suddenly ached with sadness. She looked to the seething High Commander Jolan, his shoulders rocking up and down with deep vengeful breaths. And then she looked at all those around her, none sure how to react.
“We are the Guard ...” she said to herself, but others around her heard the words. She repeated them. “We are the Guard. Is it not our duty to guard? And if we cannot even guard our own home, we would be a pretty sorry guard, indeed.”
Those around her nodded. Some even cheered, “That’s right!” and “Yeah!”
“We have been led astray!” she yelled.
Commander Jolan turned his griffin to face her. He floated there, one against two whole squadrons with the Talon Squadron to his rear. The elite squadron had flown in closer after seeing their leader grounded. Jolan was completely outmatched.
He bolted.
“Get him and bring him back to the Grand Corral!” Commander Mattness barked to a handful of guardians who sped off in pursuit of the fleeing Jolan.
Mattness flew to meet the Talon Squadron before they could engage. Her action slowed them as they approached, and Mattness held her hands out wide to stay them.
“You two,” she pointed to a pair near the front. “Go and see to High Commander Kane.”
The two guardians didn’t hesitate. They hurtled toward the ground, each swooping on wide wings near the bottom to avoid a collision. They dismounted quickly and ran to the side of the High Commander.
Mattness turned to the rest of the Talon Squadron. “Deception has been plucked from our eyes like sleep. We must head to the castle and take back our home!”
Commander Fario’s Loralith elves looked nothing of the sort. The Talon Squadron members had given them their own cloaks and garments to conceal their elven heritage. The naturally taller elves looked like teenage boys outgrowing their sleeves and pant legs. The hoods and hats covered their pointed ears and fairer features to complete the ensembles. They had infiltrated the greater town of Whitestone before the dawn and had made their way to the castle square. They had loitered around the square in nooks and crannies that hid them in complete shadow and, one by one, immersed themselves in the crowds as the market stalls opened.
One of Fario’s elves climbed to the top of the wall surrounding the square to watch for any sign from the direction of the Grand Corral. Elf eyes are particularly adept at seeing at long range, and his young eyes, only three hundred years old, would see things others’ might not.
Lanryn walked through the crowd, doing his best to fit in and go unnoticed. He stopped every once in a while at busy stalls where people were too engaged in bartering to recognize the odd figure. To his elf eyes, it was easy to pinpoint all the other elves around the square. But thus far, no man-kin had stopped long enough to catch one of them. He looked over to the castle at the end of the square and followed the straight edges up until he spotted what he thought was the king’s tower. He would stand in that tower before the day was done.
Two human guards stood at the top of the square stairs leading to the castle entrance. Lanryn wondered if they knew what they were guarding. Did they know they defended a castle full of goblin foot soldiers? He didn’t think so, or they were adequately charmed by the dark magic of the sorcerer. Either way, he was confident his squad would disarm the two without killing them.
The elf on top of the wall with his leg dangling like a bored adolescent whistled like a bird. The whistle was echoed by several other bird calls across the square, which would have been noted as strange if the square hadn’t been so preoccupied with business.
Two of Fario’s elves acting as boys playing a game with a sack of beans lobbed it just past the guards. One of the guards was kind enough to turn around and pick it up for them. The elves, however, weren’t there for the toy. They quickly subdued the guards with choking lock maneuvers that put them to sleep. Most people in the square were too busy to notice—most.
“Oy!” a man yelled across the square. “What er you boys doin’?” He scolded them. Several others looked in the direction he was yelling. Seeing the two boys where the guards had stood a moment before struck them as odd, and they began to look on in curiosity.
The two elves ran to the castle doors, mighty and tall. They tried with all their strength to rend them open. One hooted the appropriate call they had designated to indicate the doors were locked.
Lanryn strode through the crowd with purpose. More people looked in the direction of the door; and one man, also walking up the stairs, looked as though he meant to bring trouble down on the mischievous youths. Lanryn’s wand slipped from his sleeve and into his grip. He raised it toward the massive doors, muttered an incantation, and let loose a blast of magical energy that smashed the doors in on themselves with a blinding light and explosive force.
People in the square screamed as goblins poured from the doorway. Fario and the rest of the elves ran in, smoothly navigating the chaos with weapons drawn.
Nera, who had been significantly disguised so she wouldn’t be recognized by the citizens who knew her, threw off her cloak and hurled Santoralier at the swarm of goblins attempting to guard the entrance. A loud deafening crack! rang out, and it was as if lightning struck. The spear dematerialized into a line of pure electric energy colliding with the unlucky goblin at the front of the group, killing him instantly and scattering like a spiderweb onto nearby goblins. Searing arcs of energy snapped at them like whips, downing some and wounding others. The goblins hollered in outrage.
Lanryn let out another blast of his wand that sent half a dozen goblins flying in all directions. He paused on the stairs to help the man who had scolded the youths. He lifted the man-kin to his feet and said to him, “We’re here to help. Get your family to safety.”
The man could say nothing, but his fear-etched face nodded in understanding as he ran off.
Pernden and Rocktail shot off like an arrow. Nera’s lightning strike with Santoralier was their signal. Ralowyn kicked her pegasus into action and sped after the guardian. Merrick took a deep breath, uttered a quick prayer, patted Valurwind on the neck, and set them in motion. They caught the others quickly and took the lead. Valurwind’s speed and ability were unmatched by the other creatures. She and Merrick flew with all haste toward Whitestone Castle. He knew which tower was the king’s, as Pernden had made sure to inform him and Ralowyn, in case something should happen to the young captain.
As they approached, they heard the screams of goblins fighting below and the clanging of metal on metal as some of them parried deft blades once, and occasionally twice, before being cut down by the swift elven warriors. The sheer numbers, however, were in the favor of the goblins, and eventually, the elves would tire. Merrick and the other two needed to accomplish their task before then.
Out of the corner of his eye, Pernden saw a speeding griffin rider being chased by a handful of others. A mass group of Griffin Guard in the distance seemed to be heading toward the castle as well. For a fleeting moment, he wondered how the encounter had gone at the Grand Corral. He worried for Danner Kane and the Talon Squadron—his squadron. He had to let it go and learn their fate later. First, they must get into the king’s chamber. He spurred Rocktail on, as Merrick’s great falcon gained distance from them.
A pair of goblins emerged onto the balcony of the king’s chamber. They appeared to be trying to see the commotion. The surprise on their faces at the incoming falcon and huntsman was genuine. Merrick loosed an arrow that met its mark, downing one of them before Valurwind swooped in to rip the other from the balcony and throw him. The goblin toppled headlong to the ground, far below. The great falcon grabbed at the balcony railing, spreading her wings wide to balance long enough for Merrick to dismount.
When he entered the room, he stopped instantly. The great orc sorcerer Jaernok Tur stood in the middle of the room, staring directly at him. Strangely, though, Merrick sensed the sorcerer was not seeing him, but something else entirely. A curious chill came over Merrick as he looked at the orc. The sorcerer was much taller than him. The orc’s stone arm moved as he spoke in a strange language unknown to the huntsman. The orc’s other hand firmly gripped a long staff with a black stone at the peak. His eyes seemed even more black, if that were possible. He seemed to be pleading, but not to Merrick. To someone ... else.
The huntsman braved a few steps forward, his bow nocked and drawn.
“Merrick, shoot!” Pernden yelled from the balcony. The guardian had just arrived with Ralowyn in tow.
Pernden’s sudden shout startled him, and he loosed the arrow. Time slowed. The arrow moved with sluggish speed through the air. Merrick heard his own heartbeat.
There was a sudden flourish from the sorcerer. His stone arm reached out to deflect the arrow, but his return to the present was late. The arrow scraped and redirected off the stone arm, sinking into the flesh of the sorcerer’s side.
“Arghh!” Jaernok Tur roared.
He brandished his staff, sending a wave of slithering black energy flying at the trio. Ralowyn slammed her staff to the ground, and a purple barrier erupted from the stone floor, blocking the sorcerer’s attack.
Upon hearing the commotion, goblins flooded into the room.
Jolan’s griffin dipped and flapped furiously, dodging arrow after arrow from the pursuers. They flew at breakneck speeds, gaining on the traitor, even as he changed directions often to avoid being an easy target. He flew as direct a course as he thought was safe toward the castle. He had thrown his dagger into the side of the man he used to follow. Unfortunately for him, that had turned the others against him, so his only chance was to make it to Jaernok Tur’s side. He had underestimated the love of the guardians for the old High Commander, and it was possible he had overestimated the charm magic of the Kelvurian sorcerer.
He couldn’t think that way, though. Jaernok Tur was the only being he had ever met who knew some way to bring back his son. If there was any chance at all to see his Anlon again, Jolan would take it. First he had to get himself out of his predicament. He banked suddenly to avoid another arrow that zipped past his ear. He shook his head, trying to keep himself out of his own thoughts and on the task at hand.
That was too close.
As they neared the castle, loud noises of battle rang from the square. The air sizzled with magic as explosions of energy blasted at the forces streaming from the castle. Jolan thought he saw lightning. The scene struck him, as a javelin from one of his chasers struck his griffin.
His griffin died instantly with his wings half unfurled. They careened into the castle, crashing through a window on a higher level into a long hallway and slamming into several goblin soldiers there. The scene was a mangled mess of feathers and shattered glass.
The battle raged at the castle’s entrance. The Loralith elves cut down goblin after goblin with a symphonic and lethal dance. Their superior training and dexterity outmatched the goblins, but the continuous flow of goblin soldiers wearied the elves.
Commander Fario, not one to lead from the rear, sliced down another goblin with his sword, which tangled in the sharp armor. He struggled to free it. He turned toward a laughing goblin, brandishing a jagged sword and even more jagged grin. Fario pulled his dagger from his belt and sighed. If he was going to die, so would the goblin.
An arrow struck the goblin, and his wicked grin shifted to a look of confusion. He hobbled a step toward the elf commander before a frying pan clanged against the side of his head, dropping him instantly. Fario’s face was almost as confused as the goblin’s had been, but then he realized what had happened.
The citizens of Whitestone—men, women, and even teenagers—were hurtling articles at the goblins. They hollered insults at their invaders and brandished lackluster weapons of all kinds: pitchforks, scythes, frying pans, hunting bows, even broomsticks. Their heart gave Fario much encouragement.
He gripped his sword and, with a mighty tug and flick, plucked it away from the dead goblin’s armor. As he faced the goblins once more, he caught the terror on their faces. Many tried to push their way back into the castle, toppling over others that were trying to join the battle. The goblins screamed as they fell over each other. Some pointed to the sky. Fario turned his head to see what horrified them.
The Griffin Guard was coming.
Pernden spun around a jabbing pike, bringing Wintertide down in a flash. The trio in the king’s chamber fought tooth and nail against the goblins pouring into the room. Merrick loosed a few arrows but resorted to close combat, taking up a fallen goblin’s spear. He twirled it like he used to do with his walking stick on so many hunts in his lifetime. Though he was an untrained warrior, he fought with ferocity and wit, following Pernden’s movements and allowing Ralowyn to strike down opponents he didn’t think he could take with ease.
Angry bickering arose from the hallway as goblins pushed each other out of the way. The huntsman had tried to get a clear shot at the sorcerer from Kelvur again, but the wave of goblins had been too great a challenge. The entire time they had been distracted with the goblin foot soldiers, the sorcerer had been conjuring some magical incantation, and the corners of the room began to bend and shift at odd angles.
Boom!
A blast of energy sent goblins skittering in all directions. Merrick clambered back to his knees and nocked an arrow, as all the others in the room regained their faculties. He took aim at the sorcerer, who was lifting himself from his knees, having also been affected by the power of the mirror. Merrick wobbled for a second, steadied himself, and loosed the arrow.
“Nooo!” Jolan screamed as he dove over the shrouded orc. The arrowhead pierced the guardian’s shoulder, between the layered plates of armor.
Jolan looked quite a mess. He had feathers pinned between layers of his armor, though several layers seemed to be missing. The crash he’d endured was a bad one, but the goblins that his hurtling griffin had hit gave him a softer landing than a stone wall. When he’d composed himself enough to move, pure will and determination drove him through the corridors to the king’s chamber. He’d finally pushed his way through hordes of goblins to the doorway, when the room exploded. As he stepped through the door, he saw the huntsman taking aim and hurled himself in front of the sorcerer.
Jaernok Tur turned a wicked eye toward the huntsman. He raised his staff and shot an orb of black magic at the man-kin. The Staff of Anvelorian, however, was swift in the elf mage’s hands, and ribbons of lavender magic swept the black orb safely away.
Ralowyn spun the staff and sent a return volley toward the sorcerer, who batted it away with his own magic staff. The injured Jolan, looking quite like death, pressed the orc toward the smoky portal, and the wounded pair stumbled through.
The goblins in the room were regaining their faculties and picking up arms once more.
Pernden saw their opportunity slipping away. As he raised Wintertide to send a mystic blade flying after the sorcerer, a wretched figure tackled him from the side, screaming, “Nooo!”
The figure beat at Pernden, sitting on him and whaling with his fists. The face was of a man the captain once knew. Then again, he seemed more a wretched, vile creature than a man. He was so thin and pale, Pernden nearly didn’t recognize his cousin Garron.
The butt of a spear struck the side of Garron’s head, knocking him unconscious and allowing Pernden to get to his feet.
“Hurry,” Merrick yelled as he jabbed the spear into the belly of another goblin.
“We must get through the doorway before it closes!” Ralowyn added. “I do not know how to reopen it. If it closes, it could be months before we figure it out.”
She swirled the staff, and a wave of mystical purple force sent a group of goblins skittering into each other. Merrick grabbed Pernden’s arm and hoisted him to his feet as the three hacked and batted at goblins between them and the Alkhoren Mirror.
Screams erupted from the corridor outside the king’s chamber, which halted several goblins by the door. Onward, the trio pushed until finally they reached the smoky portal, took a deep breath, and plunged into the mysterious mirror.
The Griffin Guard had infiltrated the castle through windows and balconies on different levels and sides. The Loralith elves easily sliced through the goblins that filled the corridor to the king’s chamber. The goblin foot soldiers didn’t stand a chance, and they knew it. Many gave up the fight and climbed over others, seeking safety, only to fall on their allies’ swords or axes. In the pandemonium, some were trampled. Many others were slain at the hand of the skilled guardians and their savage griffins.
That sudden shift in the battle gave the elven warriors renewed vigor and speed. Their intent had been to get to the king’s chamber. When the Griffin Guard had arrived and demanded much of the goblins’ attention, they had paved the way for the elves. Commander Fario flagged down the lead guardian, Commander Mattness, and the two conversed briefly, the elf bringing her up to speed on the plan. She barked orders to several guardians that hovered nearby, waiting for their turn to enter the fray. She led several of them toward windows and balconies at higher levels and preceded a group heading toward the king’s room.
In Nera’s capable hands, Santoralier did significant damage in the crowded corridor of the king’s chamber. Goblins screamed in horror as arcs of searing energy bounced off their compatriots and struck them. As Nera and Lanryn led the charge into the king’s chamber, goblins pushed each other and scurried toward the magic mirror. Others looked for things to hide behind in the royal room but were petrified by the three guardians who jumped into the room from the balcony behind them.
Nera and Lanryn turned toward the mirror, the source of the goblins’ escape. Nera looked determined. Lanryn, curious. Goblins shoved each other, each trying to get through the smoky portal first.
Pop!
The room went still for only a second. The energy river that had been circling the smoky doorway had vanished, and the mirror appeared to be just that, a mirror. One unfortunate goblin had tried to dive through and left half of himself in the king’s chamber as the mysterious mirror closed its portal.
The hopeless goblins threw down their weapons and raised their hands above their heads. They cried pitifully, begging for mercy. The elves gathered them and lined them up in the hallway.
Commander Mattness knelt near a limp body on the floor near the king’s bed. She inspected it tenderly. Nera went to greet her, glad to see one of her fellow guardians. She stopped short when she saw the body the commander had been inspecting was human, not goblin.
“King Garron,” Mattness said.
“Is he ...?” Nera asked, feeling a little guilty about her relief that it wasn’t Pernden.
“He lives,” she said solemnly.
“Your king lives. Is this not good news?” Lanryn asked, not looking in their direction but studying the Alkhoren Mirror with great interest.
Nera and Mattness looked at each other. Neither said a word. Neither had to.
Their silence at his question drew Lanryn’s curiosity away from the mirror. He looked from Nera to Mattness and back again. He could not read minds but decided it better he did not ask. They had accomplished their mission.
Out of his pocket, Lanryn retrieved a shell with mother-of-pearl markings. He muttered a low incantation, and a small orb of light appeared, floating above the shell, reflecting the light with dancing shimmers.
“Whitestone has been reclaimed!” he stated clearly. “The city is secure. The king lives, though the sorcerer has escaped through the mirror.”
Nera stared at the elf, watching him speak into the floating orb of light.
Lanryn paused and then repeated, “The sorcerer has fled through the mirror.”