Garvawk Warriors
one of the heavy barrels and twisted, stretching out some of the aches he still felt. He was careful not to go too far, as he didn’t want to reinjure his ribs. The stretch felt good and helped him breathe easier.
The wagon ride had been quite pleasant. The cozy nest that Tobin, the halfling wagoner, had created for them was more than comfortable enough for the weary travelers. Orin had only awoken from his long rest a few minutes previously. Little Ezel snored next to him, cuddled up in a fur. Ellaria had fallen asleep at some point along the way, as well.
Occasionally, the wagon bumped hard on a rock and startled the nappers, but those rocks were few and far between. The road from Crossdin to Galium was well traveled and maintained by the two cities. They had wisely removed most of the dangerous rocks over the centuries people had been traveling the road.
Overall, they’d had a relatively smooth trip, or as Tobin had put it, “a wonderful journey experience.” Amidst the rocking of the wagon, the cozy comforts of the nest, the smell of fresh air mixed with the sweet pipe weed Tobin puffed, and the wagoner’s unending storytelling—for he had a soothing and kindly voice—they all experienced perfect conditions for rest.
Everyone, that is, except Coal.
The sun was setting low in the west behind them as they rolled into the outer hills of Galium. Tobin had apparently had a pleasant time with Coal in the front of the wagon and offered to bring the group to his own home to stay the night. He even offered some of his wife’s famous cooking, or at least he claimed it to be famous.
“It’s the best cooking you’ll have had your whole trip. I promise you that. And then you could meet Button!” He added, realizing the fortunate bonus.
“No. No,” Coal said as gently as he could muster. “We couldn’t impose on your family. They must be missing you terribly.”
“It would be no imposition! No, none at all,” Tobin assured him. “Anyways, you can’t go on to Whitestone this late. It’s a long road, and you’ll need the markets to be opened so you can prepare provisions for the trip.”
“Too true,” Orin added from the back.
Coal whirled in his seat, looking at Orin as though he were crazy. “No. Tobin has been all too kind to us. We couldn’t take more of his kindness. We can stay at the nearest inn.”
“Nonsense. Nonsense! You stay with me and mine, and you save your coin for your supplies. As you said, your mission is of great importance. It is the least my family can do.”
“He does have wonderful hospitality,” Orin chimed.
Coal glared at the man, who buttoned his lips tight together, hiding a wry smile as he sunk behind a crate and out of view.
“It’s settled then!” Tobin brimmed. “Oh boy, I can’t wait for you to meet Button. She is the pride of her daddy’s eye, of course. And maybe Lenor is making lamb stew. Oooh, we’d be in for a treat. A real treat, I’ll tell you! I’d wager it’s the best lamb stew in all Tarrine. Certainly, in Galium. It’s savory, but also ...”
Coal stole another glance toward the back but only glimpsed Orin’s amused eyes peeking over the crate he hid behind. The dwarf said nothing, but Orin could read the question on his face: Why would you do this to me?
Tobin had been right. Lenor was making lamb stew, and it most certainly was a treat. Whether Coal wanted to admit it or not, he had thoroughly enjoyed roughhousing with tiny Button before she was off to bed for tuck-ins, a task Tobin gladly took upon himself.
Lenor was a handsome dwarf woman with long brunette hair braided like a net with stone beads accenting where the hairs crossed. She was also a wonderful hostess, kind and humble, quick to serve her guests. Her hospitality matched that of her generous husband’s.
While Tobin was doing story time with Button, Lenor led the group into the sitting room, a cozy spot toward the front of their house, which was half-built into the side of the hill. There were several other houses carved slightly into the same hill, protecting them from weather and, of course, helping keep the homes warm during the winter.
The sitting room was cozy enough, though Orin and Ellaria had to duck under a beam to enter and found it more comfortable to sit on the floor near the fireplace than to squeeze awkwardly into one of the small chairs. Coal and Ezel gladly found two wingbacks with subtle floral patterns that suited them just fine.
Lenor brought in some tea and served it from a small side table, making sure to serve everyone before making a cup of her own and plopping into a seat next to Ezel.
The little grey gnome bobbed his head and signed to her pleasantly. She looked at him curiously but didn’t lose her jovial smile.
“He says, ‘Thank you for your kindness,’” Coal said after a hot sip of his tea.
“Oh. Well, yer very welcome now, aren’t ye,” Lenor replied to Ezel. “Er, he can hear me, then, yeah?”
Ezel nodded the answer and disappeared behind his teacup. Somehow, he had gotten the biggest one.
“We are grateful,” Ellaria said. “We have had a long journey and have longer still.”
“Aye,” Lenor said. “On yer way to Whitestone, is it? Some terrible mission, Tobin said to me. But he’s been known to get a little excited with a story or two,” she giggled into her cup.
“He certainly likes telling stories,” Coal half-grumbled.
His statement made Lenor laugh harder. “There is no shortage of words from my husband,” she agreed. “But his words are more sweet than bitter, and his heart is sweeter than honey.”
“I can see that,” Ellaria agreed with the dwarf. “He was quite adamant about us staying with you. Surely, you would let us pay you something for the hospitality. We would have spent the coin at an inn, if not for your generosity.”
Lenor raised a hand while she finished her sip. “No, no. That wouldn’t do at all.”
Orin shook his head as the steam from his tea swirled in front of his face. He smelled the scent of chamomile and something else but only barely over the fragrant wood in the low crackling fire. “I have been so very surprised by the kindness of the people of Tarrine.”
“Why’s that?” Tobin asked, having just entered the sitting room. He poured himself a cup of tea, brushed the hair away from Lenor’s face so he could give her a kiss, and settled into the last seat, next to Coal. “I thought you were a guardian of Whitestone.”
“I am,” Orin confirmed. “But much of my life has been spent in or around Whitestone or along the front range of the Drelek Mountains. I’ve had very little time with others in Tarrine.”
“You need to get out more, my boy!” Tobin corrected him, without scolding.
“I see that, now.”
“It hasn’t all been roses,” Ellaria pointed out, remembering their encounter with King Hugen in Tamaria. Or their encounter with the faery king.
“That’s true,” Orin agreed. “I was thinking about something my commander had been saying a while back. He wondered why we would send our people to fight the forces of Drelek. Why wouldn’t the rest of Tarrine rally and send fighters from their cities? He wondered why it was only Whitestone sacrificing for everyone else.”
“It is a noble thing the Griffin Guard does,” Lenor answered. “But ye can’t believe ye do it all alone, can ye? There’s the stone garvawks here in Galium, of course.”
“Garvawks?” Ellaria asked.
“Vicious creatures,” Coal explained. “Beautiful, but terrible. Beautiful at first ... When they are statues, that is. Like a beautiful winged panther, they are.”
“Like a gargoyle—” Tobin began.
“No,” Coal corrected. “Gargoyles are ugly creatures. Always stone, even when they attack. Garvawks are more like cats. Impossibly clever. Darker than the deepest shadows of far-flung caverns. They hunt their prey, creeping among the stalactites. You don’t even know they’re upon you until they swoop down on you with their bat-like wings. They haunt the mines and caverns surrounding Kalimandir, as well.”
Ezel shuddered, trying to keep his large teacup steady in his little hands.
“How does Galium husband them if they’re so dangerous?” Ellaria asked, intrigued.
“Ha!” Coal laughed. “No one could grow such beasts. It’s an ancient spell, you see.”
“For some reason, the garvawks have a connection to the magic that thrives in the stone, just like our people do,” Lenor added. “For some reason, which we do not understand, only dwarfs have been able to tame the beasts.”
“Tame!” Coal blurted. “Far from tame, the monsters. First, you have to catch them, and only a mage can turn them to stone with the ancient spell. Then you have to carve the proper rune into its shoulder.”
“Wouldn’t that be painful?” Ellaria asked.
“They don’t seem to feel the cuts they take while stone,” Lenor said. “Though it is strange how they are always scarred over when they are awoken.”
“Awoken?”
“Aye,” Coal said. “Once a garvawk is caught ... turned to stone, I mean, the mark is etched. Then, a dwarven warrior is assigned to that garvawk. They are given the proper command to awaken the beast, and for some reason I don’t understand, the beast listens to the warrior.”
“I think, perhaps, it is because the warrior wakes the beast from its stone prison. Though I’m not sure they think it to be a prison. They are cats, after all. Surely, they don’t mind the nap,” Lenor finished cheerily.
“And these garvawk warriors are the ones that fight the Drelek wyvern squadrons here in Galium?” Ellaria concluded.
“That’s it. And there are griffins trained to defend us, as well,” Tobin added.
“And if ye don’t forget the Riders of Loralith, certainly ye must know ye aren’t alone in this fight, Orin?” Lenor asked.
“Oh, I don’t think that, now. And I don’t think I ever really believed that,” Orin assured her. “Though I worry for my commander. He already struggled with our sacrifices and losses. By now, he must know his son, Anlon, was lost. I can’t imagine how Commander Jolan has taken the news. I fear that bitterness could consume him.”
“Then it shall be yer duty to tell him yer story,” Lenor encouraged him.
“Maybe he needs to get out more, too,” Tobin added, stealing a tea biscuit from the cookie jar on the side table. The halfling’s hunger seemed insatiable. He sank back into his chair, realizing his comment had gotten him caught in the act. He smiled sheepishly at his dwarven wife, who feigned disapproval.
“I think that might be an important thing for the whole Griffin Guard,” Orin said. “We should take rotations among the cities. Perhaps it will help us remember what we are fighting for. Or rather for whom.”
“Seems wise to me, young guardian,” Lenor said, pouring more tea into Orin’s cup.
“Right now, it’s most important for the Guard to know what we fight against,” Orin said thoughtfully.
“Ah, the bad news, right?” Tobin asked, lighting his pipe and puffing small clouds of smoke.
“Yes. What is this bad news?” Lenor asked over her shoulder, refilling Ezel’s cup before sitting again.
“A dragon,” Coal said, and the whole room went silent.
Tobin laughed nervously at the silence. “A dragon? There hasn’t been a dragon in Tarrine for generations. You can’t mean a real-life dragon,” he said incredulously.
“Aye, that’s what I mean.”
“Here? In Tarrine? Where? How far away was it?” Tobin’s pipe drooped, limp in his teeth. For the first time, the group saw an emotion other than joy on the face of the plump halfling.
“We came across the monster at Palori Ruins. It was under the charge of Drelek orcs,” Ellaria explained.
“Palori Ruins?”
“Calm, my dear husband,” Lenor said.
“That’s why we must get to Whitestone as quickly as possible. We have to warn the Guard,” Orin explained.
“I think maybe ye don’t.”
The whole room went silent again, and everyone stared at the dwarven woman who took another sip of her tea.
“What do you mean?” Coal asked.
“Well, I think ye’ll be needing to talk to one of those garvawk warriors in the morn,” Lenor spoke with a calm consistency, and her voice comforted them even with the lack of explanation. Then she added, “My brother.”
Lotmeag Kandersaw was a barrel of a dwarf. His armor was heavy and of obvious dwarven design. His helmet had a singular horn on the top with long, dyed red hairs attached to the point. When Tobin arrived at the castle with the ragtag group, Lotmeag grimaced as he watched them ascend the stairs. He stood at the top of the steps leading to the castle’s main entrance, and his long brunette beard wagged in the wind.
“What is it ye have here, Tobin?” Lotmeag asked. He nodded to the dispersing garvawk warriors to let them know he would be right behind them as they went inside the castle.
Galium’s castle was impressive. Much like the houses built halfway into the hills surrounding the city, the castle jutted in precise angles at the front and melded into the mountain seamlessly. The renown of dwarven stonecraft was on full display in the majestic architecture.
“Travelers with important news, Lotmeag,” Tobin replied.
The sturdy dwarf released a prolonged sigh. It wasn’t as though he disliked halflings. In fact, there were many whose company he enjoyed. Many worked in the castle, and he knew more around the city. His problem was his sister had chosen Tobin as her husband. The plump halfling had a jovial way about him, but Lotmeag’s duties were serious. He wished Tobin would be more serious once in a while. The dwarf doubted the halfling would be able to defend his sister if something were to happen.
At the end of the day, it was Lenor’s love for Tobin that encouraged Lotmeag to be cordial. That, and of course, his favorite niece, Button.
Lotmeag scanned the strange company. A man and a woman, a deep gnome, and a dwarf. “What is all this about?” he shook his head wearily.
“Well, you see, I picked these fine folk up in Crossdin as I had space in the wagon. And you know I like to help travelers. Enjoy the company, I do. And well, Coal here was such a joy to converse with on the trip ...”
Coal looked awkwardly at Lotmeag. He had hardly gotten a word in edgewise during their trip. More importantly, he could sense the tension between the garvawk warrior and the halfling and didn’t want the dwarf to extend the same frustration onto him by association.
“And anyways, Lenor was making lamb stew. Which you know is a treat. Truly, a treat! But as we were having tea last night, your sister said they should speak with you about the news they bear. And of course, I thought—”
“And what news do ye bear?” Lotmeag finally interrupted the halfling and asked the group, tilting his head in curiosity.
“News of a powerful enemy,” Coal started.
“A powerful enemy? And who bears this news?”
Orin watched as Coal unraveled the linen wrappings from his calloused dwarven hand for the first time since they’d met. Coal rubbed at the palm of his sweaty left hand with the thumb of his right. He raised his left hand before him to bear a tattooed dwarven crest on his palm. “Corahl, Prince of Kalimandir, a son of clan Carraignyk.”
“Clan Carraignyk?” Lotmeag muttered, taking a step back in surprise. Tobin gasped. The only one not surprised was Ezel. Though Orin and Ellaria knew very little of dwarven history, the surprise on the others’ faces was enough to give them pause. The little gnome stood next to Coal with his arms crossed, as if the dwarf had not just revealed a great secret.
“Carraignyk?” Tobin sputtered. “I would have asked Lenor to make a feast!”
When the initial shock had worn off, Lotmeag’s mind immediately shifted. “Come with me.”
He led them straight through the main entrance into the castle. They hurried after the garvawk warrior, who walked with great determination. They turned a corner and flew past the kitchen filled with halflings and dwarves, preparing what must have been brunch. Tobin’s nose nearly carried him away at the aroma of fresh bread, but Ellaria shooed him along.
They turned another corner onto a hallway that moved them into a long, high corridor with high ceilings. Orin guessed they were under the mountain. A set of stairs before them at the end of the corridor rose and split to a second level on either side. As Orin followed, he noted the stone garvawks perched in uniform fashion at the edges of the floor above them. They climbed the stairs to a door at the top that Lotmeag pulled open and entered.
Before Orin followed, he stole a look at the nearest garvawk. It did seem a terrible creature. But it also had a sleek elegance to its frame. He had seen mountain lions before, but even in their stone form, the garvawks looked to have more muscle packed onto their limbs. Their wings gave them a shadowy ominous feel. Behind the garvawk was a smaller door. Orin noticed a door behind each of the garvawks lining the outside of the corridor.
Tobin grabbed at Orin’s tunic and ushered him into the room.
“What is this, Lotmeag?” asked a gruff-looking dwarf with a hideous scar over his milky left eye.
“A prince of Kalimandir from clan Carraignyk,” he answered hurriedly.
Whispers broke out among the warriors gathered in the room.
“Clan Carraignyk?” The gruff dwarf repeated. “Why bring a prince of Kalimandir to the hall of garvawk warriors? Why not take him to the king?”
“He bears news of a powerful enemy.”
“Ah, does he?” The dwarf looked Coal over with his one good eye. “Does he also have a voice of his own? Or did Kalimandir send us a lame prince?”
A ripple of laughter sounded around the room from the gathered warriors.
“Aye, he does have a voice,” Coal growled. He moved past the other dwarves in the room until he stood before the gruff dwarf leader. “And he doesn’t like the tone of yours.”
Orin instinctively placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. He did not know much of dwarven politics, and Coal’s recent revelation as a prince of Kalimandir had been news to him. He was not sure if his title was a benefit or a hindrance to their mission.
“And what ye going to do about it, laddy?” The gruff dwarf’s grey beard waggled as he leaned into Coal’s face.
“I intend to change your mind.”
“Oh, is that so?”
For a long moment, they stared at each other, neither revealing anything that would give the other an upper hand. Orin and Ellaria watched in worry.
Suddenly, Coal grabbed the gruff dwarf by the shoulders and slammed his forehead against the older dwarf’s forehead.
A raucous cheer erupted from the other dwarfs in the room. One of the dwarves started filling flagons from a nearby barrel of mead, as hearty laughter broke out. Tobin was more than happy to aid in the filling of mugs, especially at the one to three ratio he poured for himself.
The gruff leader was boasting to a nearby dwarf with his arm slung over Coal’s shoulder like they were the best of friends.
Orin and Ellaria looked to Ezel for an explanation, but the grey gnome just replied with a grin and a shrug and signed, “Dwarves.”
As they enjoyed general merriment and fellowship, Coal explained what the group had endured since departing from Tamaria. Ezel used his magic to float mugs and other items into the air to reenact some of the scenes, to the great amusement of the garvawk warriors. And of course, Coal came back to their encounter with the dragon, the primary news they bore. He explained how they needed to get to Whitestone so Orin could rally the Griffin Guard to fight against the Drelek dragon.
When Coal had finished, the gruff dwarf leader, whom they came to learn was Bendur Clagstack, the commander of the garvawk warriors, stood from his stool and stepped away. He looked as though in deep thought. When he turned back toward the group sitting around the table, he said, “We have much to catch ye up on, Son of Clan Carraignyk.”