The King's Secret Mission
since King Garron announced changes to the Griffin Guard’s immediate mission status. He had grounded all griffin squadrons, declaring the most necessary mission to prepare Whitestone’s defenses.
Pernden, cousin of the king and captain of one of the griffin squadrons, marched into the war room on the third floor of the Grand Corral. All the other captains were there, seated around the large table, and all but one of the commanders sat in their designated places between their respective captains.
High Commander Danner Kane had called the meeting. He was a rigid man with close-cut grey hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He walked tall, and when he entered, the room fell silent, save for the old master arguing with him as they entered.
“Melkis,” Commander Kane placed a thin hand on the old master’s shoulder. “My old friend, we are following the king’s decree to the letter. Until the time he deems necessary to give us new orders, we shall continue to do so.”
“And what about my squadron?” one of the commanders piped in, overhearing the High Commander’s words. “They’ve been barricading walls around the city. Day and night. Working like miners and masons!”
A wave of grumbling complaints resonated throughout the room, as many of the commanders agreed.
“One of my squadrons has been pulling guard duty for weeks. They were supposed to be leaving on mission two days ago!”
“One of mine has been on Corral training for weeks!”
Arguing broke out around the table. Commander Kane turned to Melkis with a sigh.
“Hey!” Pernden slammed his fist on the table.
The dissident lot quieted, and all eyes turned toward the young captain.
“Commander Hammond, can a guardian ever train too much? How much more prepared will that squadron be when the time comes to fight? ‘Sweat in the Corral saves blood in the skies.’ Isn’t that what we have always said? I imagine all the extra training will fine-tune them into an exemplary squadron. Bards sing of the glory of battles won, but battles are won by the ones who train the most.”
The captains beside Commander Hammond laughed proudly and patted the commander on the back, excited about the victories and glory they would see.
Melkis and Kane said nothing. They watched the young captain with pride as he commanded the room.
“And you, Commander Mattness,” he turned to the stern face of the female commander. “Is not the Griffin Guard, in fact, a guard? Whether in the skies fighting wretched wyvern riders from Drelek to ensure they never reach the good people of Tarrine or guarding the people of Whitestone, is not the charge the same? We are protectors. We are called guardians, and on that we shall stand unwavering.”
All those gathered nodded and grunted their enthusiastic agreement with the bold captain.
“Yes, but what about Tarrine? As far as I can tell, the king is only worried about Whitestone now,” another younger captain blurted what many thought.
“As it should be.” The words issued as a growl.
All eyes fell on Commander Jolan. The grizzled commander was a mountain of a man. When he stood to continue his sentiment, he loomed over the captains flanking him.
“The king is to whom we are loyal. We fight for Whitestone. Look at the crest on your armor. How many years have we fought the battles of others? He sees now, as well as any of us do, that Drelek is mounting. The wyvern squadrons have been more frequent. The goblin sightings on the front range of the mountains have increased. Drelek prepares for something. Where do you think they’ll strike first?”
Commander Jolan didn’t retake his seat. He stood with grim visage, letting the weight of his words linger. A long moment passed as they soaked in the grave reality that hung in the air. The truth was they had all seen the increased Drelek activity in recent months, and every commander in the place had felt in their bones something bigger approached.
Pernden leaned into his stance, both hands on the table, and deadlocked eyes with Commander Jolan. “You are not the only one to have lost someone recently, Commander.”
His words cracked the austere commander’s stoicism, and a hatred glinted in the elder’s eyes. The young captain was right. Not a single commander or captain in the room had been spared from loss because far too many guardians had been lost in recent skirmishes with the enemy.
“He was my son, you little ...” Jolan’s words released as a growl. “You don’t know what it is to lose a son ...”
“No, I don’t.” Pernden’s compassion was evident in his gentle response. “But I know what it is to lose brothers.”
“How can we defend Tarrine if we can’t even defend ourselves?” Jolan asked, wiping the lone tear from his stubbled chin.
The silence around the room was response enough. Every one of them had thought that same thought, but what does one do with such a thought?
“The Griffin Guard has always protected all the peoples of Tarrine,” Melkis’ voice broke the quiet. It carried disappointment in the commanders he had led for many years. “Since the inception of Whitestone’s fabled Griffin Guard, when Koraal the Wise was king, the Griffin Guard has protected all the people of Tarrine. If a war is coming, it will be fought for all of Tarrine, not Whitestone alone.”
Commander Jolan snickered, shaking his head as he intentionally looked to each of the other commanders, save for High Commander Kane. “And what will happen to all of Tarrine should Whitestone fall?”
Melkis reared up, ready to retort, but was halted by Commander Kane’s gentle hand.
“Whitestone will stand,” Kane said with authority. “It must. If a war is to come, then a war we will prepare for. We will protect Whitestone, and we will protect the other good peoples of Tarrine. I hold that charge to be true from inception to this very day. And if that charge were to be laid aside under my command, then I should be the shame of all High Commanders who have served before me.”
The High Commander closed his fist and beat it against the Whitestone crest on his armor.
Pernden and Melkis mimicked the motion, and soon all in the room joined them. Slower than the others, Jolan reciprocated. Whether he was happy about the current state of affairs or not, he was still a guardian, and guardians upheld their duty.
“I will meet with King Garron today at the keep. I will discuss strategy and mission orders for all the Guard. We will be operational again soon. I promise. Until then, prepare. If our enemy prepares, so must we. As our young Captain Pernden reminded us,” Commander Kane proudly nodded toward the younger man. “‘Bards sing of the glory of battles won, but battles are won by the ones who train the most.’ We will train hard, and we will give the bards something to sing about for generations to come.”
Unease grew in Whitestone as the people continued about their daily lives. The sight of so many of the Guard around the city, rather than on mission somewhere, was unusual. Buzzing guardians consumed with preparations around the city tied tense knots in people’s stomachs. Though admittedly, many of the guardian’s spouses were happy to have them home at night.
Pernden walked step-for-step with the older men, his mentors, and, to his estimation, men worthy of the highest honors. He had not seen his cousin since Melkis had brought Garron to visit the Grand Corral.
Commander Kane had requested the young captain accompany him for his meeting. Pernden had served under Commander Kane as the captain of the Guard’s Talon Squadron for only a year but had more than proven his mettle in the role. Only the best of the Griffin Guard were assigned to the Talon Squadron, and Pernden was certainly one of the best. All other commanders were in charge of two squadrons a piece, but the High Commander was responsible for the Guard as a whole. The Talon Squadron was considered the High Commander’s special operations troop and was often tasked with the most dangerous and important missions.
The three walked swiftly through the castle, no hesitation in their steps.
“How has he been?” Pernden spoke over their echoing footsteps in the long stone hallway.
Melkis wasn’t certain how to answer the captain’s question. “Something ... disturbs him. He barely eats. I’m not sure he’s sleeping. More often than not, he won’t even take the time to see me.”
“Losing men is a hard thing to swallow,” Kane stated. “And then to lose his father so soon after.”
The High Commander stroked his neat beard thoughtfully.
“It is ...” Melkis agreed, understanding the truth in the High Commander’s thought but unsure the king’s difficulties rested solely in those tragic events.
When they arrived at the council room, they found it empty. The large table in the middle of the room was covered with maps and records of troop movements and activity throughout the region. Kane and Pernden looked to Melkis for some explanation, but the old master had no answer for the king’s absence.
Melkis slipped from the room and hustled down the hallway to the king’s chamber. An adolescent kitchen boy spun around, surprised by the old master’s determined approach. Melkis noticed the boy had set a plate of food down outside the door and was returning a plate of day-old food to the kitchen.
The master eyed the boy, irritated. “Has he not eaten?”
“N-no, sir,” the kitchen boy stammered, slinking away from the old master’s gaze.
Melkis lifted the plate in one hand and banged on the chamber door with the other. The kitchen boy disappeared down the hallway and around a corner.
“Garron! You must open this door! Garron! My King!”
Melkis listened, waiting for a reply. He breathed heavily, his fury overwhelming him. He sucked the air in and raised his fist to beat the door again but was halted by a low response.
“Melkis?”
The weakness in the response broke the old master’s heart. His fury melted to sympathy. What was his young king going through? What could render him so weak?
“Yes. It’s me, my King,” Melkis choked on the words. They sat like a heavy lump in the back of his throat. “You must open the door.” His tone had softened.
The large chamber door creaked open, and the young king’s face appeared. His eyes were darkened. Heavy bags swelled underneath them. His hair was ragged, and his tunic disheveled.
What a pitiful looking king, Melkis thought to himself.
“Garron,” the old master reached out and grabbed the younger man on the shoulder. “We must get you spruced up. High Commander Kane and Pernden are waiting to meet with you in the council chamber.”
Garron’s faraway eyes returned with the recognition of the guardians’ names. “Yes ... Yes!”
He snapped away from Melkis and ran to a table near one of the windows in the king’s chamber. The old master followed him, and his heart fell at the disaster of the place. He hadn’t been in the room since he personally oversaw its preparation for Garron’s move into it after King Farrin’s death. Papers littered every surface, even the floor. Letters, historical texts, arcane parchments, and other various documents. Garron frantically grabbed papers and maps on his table.
“I have it right here. It’s right here, Melkis.”
The distraught king scooped up an armful of materials and shuffled quickly for the door. Melkis stopped him.
“Please, my king. Change your tunic. Throw some water on your face. Run wet hands through your hair. And please,” he placed the plate on top of the pile in Garron’s arms, then promptly took the load from the young king, nodding to indicate he should keep the plate. “Please, eat something. I will make sure these materials get to the council chamber. Refresh yourself quickly. We will wait for you.”
Garron examined himself. He was a mess. His body twitched with a laugh under his breath. He glanced back at Melkis with a sheepish expression. “I guess I am a mess.”
Melkis laughed. “Quite.”
He waited until he saw his king take a bite out of the bread and turn, set the plate on the bed, and look for a clean tunic. Melkis did not close the door behind him as he left. He wanted to make sure he could get back into the king’s chamber if need be. He hugged the mess of papers in his arms as he walked down the hallway toward the council chamber, confused, frustrated, and heartbroken.
“What is all this?” Pernden studied the letters and arcane documents Melkis had brought into the council chamber.
Melkis and High Commander Kane had set to work immediately, trying to fit all the pieces together, laying out parchment after parchment on the massive table, trying to make sense of the mess.
“Many of these speak about a powerful weapon. Magical ...” Kane stroked his trimmed grey beard, puzzling over how they were connected.
“Yes, but many of them make no ties to this weapon at all,” Melkis pointed out.
Kane grabbed another parchment. “If we can only find where all of them fit .... Perhaps that will give us more context. I believe the king is working on a plan for us to get some sort of magical weapon that could aid us in the war to come. But where he got such a notion ...”
Pernden watched eagerly as the two older men passed documents back and forth, laying them out and rearranging. Whenever he was with either of these men, he did his best to observe. Melkis had always been like a father to him, as he had been to many. Melkis had overseen his training, and it was the old master who first taught Pernden to believe in himself, to have courage, to overcome challenges, and to treat others with kindness and humility. Melkis was more than a teacher to him.
And then, of course, since Pernden had graduated from training into the regular Guard, he had looked up to High Commander Danner Kane. The man was straight as an arrow. He commanded with authority, and yet, he was approachable—though few knew that fact. All captains spent two active years under another before they become captain of their own squadron, and Pernden had spent two years in the 7th Squadron before Commander Kane tasked him to the Talon Squadron. The timing worked well, for the previous Talon lead, Dahn Barrow, was retiring. More so, Kane recognized Pernden’s exceptional ability to rally those around him—no small gift.
As Pernden became the captain of the Talon Squadron, the singular squadron under the direct supervision of the High Commander, Kane took special care to spend more time with the young captain. He mentored him regularly, including Pernden in meetings that didn’t require the young captain’s presence. He wanted him to learn everything, and Pernden hungrily absorbed all he could.
A sheet slid from the table and swooped past Pernden’s leg toward the door. As he stepped to retrieve it, a foot halted the rogue paper in the doorway. King Garron stood there, his foot pinning the paper, his hands carrying a load of other parchments. His face was clean, his hair slicked back, and he looked refreshed. He smiled to his cousin.
“Pernden,” he nodded at the paper with a helpless smile and shrug. “Perhaps you can grab this one?”
Pernden returned the smile, surprised at his cousin’s sunny welcome. “Of course.”
He grabbed the wayward sheet, and the two joined the older men, still working by the massive table.
Melkis looked wearily at the documents the king held in his arms. Garron shook his head in amusement, guessing they had been frustrated in their attempt to piece it all together. “Missing a few pieces to your puzzle, sirs?”
“I suppose you can help us put this all together?” Melkis asked.
“I can.”
Garron made efficient work of sorting out all the pieces. He placed specific ones into their rightful spots on the table and threw others, which had not been related in any way, to the floor. Kane breathed quiet chuckles at the discarded documents. That made more sense.
Once he seemed to have everything in order, Garron retreated from the table, marveling at it as if it were some masterpiece of the great painter Jiliana Torver. And then he explained.
“There is a magical item we must secure. An item of great power and importance. It will change all of Tarrine as we know it.”
The other three men drew closer to the table, intrigued by their king’s statement.
“We need to procure this item to ensure the future of Whitestone.”
Too curious to remain silent, Pernden interrupted, “And what is this item with the power to change the world?”
“It is called the Alkhoren Mirror. An old wizard relic that’s sat dormant for many years.”
“And what does this Alkhoren Mirror do?”
“That I do not have time to explain, for its intricacies are many. But,” Garron paused as he grabbed one of the arcane historical parchments and one of the letters and shifted to a large map. “I have learned the location of the mirror. If we hurry, we can acquire it to aid our war efforts.”
“If this mirror is as powerful as you suggest, others will know of its existence or even have it in their possession, and they may not lend it willingly,” Kane inserted, astutely recognizing it could be a dangerous task to retrieve such an artifact.
“The mirror is forgotten by most. But I have been made aware others do, in fact, know of its existence and will be trying to retrieve it for their own gain.”
“So, we get there first,” Pernden said eagerly.
“We must.” The weight of Garron’s words hung in the air while he searched the map. “Here.” He pointed.
“The Gant Sea Narrows?” Kane asked, tugging at his beard.
“Yes, an island there. It houses an ancient and decrepit wizard’s tower. The waters around it are too treacherous for ships, so sailors never go there. Flying in on griffin-back is the only way to reach the place.” He took a marker and set it on one of the rocky islands in the Gant Sea Narrows.
“And how have you come to know about this mirror and this wizard’s tower?” Melkis asked, a tone of fatherly concern.
Garron’s feet shifted, and his body tensed at the question. He stared intently at the map as his full weight leaned on the table.
A mage ... the whisper planted in his ear.
“A mage,” he started. “O-on my journey home. While I was away, after the battle, I met a mage. He was the one who healed me of my wounds before I was able to journey home.”
“And why would a mage give us this kind of information?”
Garron shook his head, his eyes never leaving the map of Tarrine. “Because he knows our fate. He knows the fate of all the world.”
Before Melkis could question the young man further, loud horns erupted, resonating throughout the city and into the castle. Pernden ran to the western facing window and strained to see what he could in the distance as the horns bellowed again. Commander Kane grabbed a looking glass from a small side table and handed it to the young captain. “What do you see?”
“A troop of wyvern riders in the distance. If we signal for the Guard to mount, the 3rd and 4th Squadrons could get to them quickly enough and take them down.”
“Which direction are they heading?”
“North ...” Pernden replied, puzzled.
“North?”
Just then, an aide ran in with the report.
“Sirs, Drelek riders to the west, some distance away, flying north.”
Commander Kane swiftly moved to the aide. “Signal for mounting. The Guard needs to catch up to this wyvern troop to figure out where they were and what they were doing. To so boldly fly within view of Whitestone ...” He followed his thought trail for only a second before continuing his orders. “Signal for the 3rd and 4th to ride west and meet them.”
Come now, king. Be the king. They don’t respect your words.
“Silence!” Garron yelled, halting Commander Kane’s instructions to the aide mid-sentence.
“My King, I highly sugg—”
“Silence!” he yelled again, whirling to face the Commander and the aide. He pointed an accusing finger at the aide. “You will not signal anything unless I command it! Leave us!”
The aide hesitated, torn between the tension of listening to his king and the instructions the High Commander had not finished.
“Leave us!” Garron hollered, and the aide quickly removed himself from the room.
Melkis and Kane looked to each other with concern. Their unspoken dialogue communicated the same thing—something about the king’s behavior was very wrong.
Garron leaned on the table with both hands again, breathing heavily. “We must get the Alkhoren Mirror. It is our foremost concern. We must secure the future of Whitestone.”
He slammed the table and briskly exited the room, leaving the other three stunned. Pernden looked to his mentors. Neither of them spoke; they merely strode to the table and its documents to glean any and all information they could about that magical mirror.
Pernden turned for one last glance at the Drelek riders as they were nearly out of view from his vantage. He set aside the spyglass and joined the other two at the enormous planning table. He did not understand but trusted his elders and followed their lead.