Royal Griffon Ch.2

“Do you need help with that?”

Nic looked up from his tie to find Master Orlin watching him intently from where he stood on the tower lawns. He had his usual expression, neutral with just the slightest edge of mild annoyance. What was not usual was the outfit he was wearing. While the man would never be caught dead dressing down, his normal wardrobe paled in comparison to what he wore now. Robes of the finest silk, spare but elegant, coloured purple at the collar and gradually fading into a dusty blue about the hem.

More notable than even that was the pauldron he wore on his right shoulder. It was gold in colour, possibly also in material, multiple plates interlocking to give Orlin full range of movement despite it covering his entire upper arm. This was only partly counteracted by the shield mounted to it, large enough to cover the entire shoulder and breast. Greytower’s sigil was emblazoned on its face in silver, a tower on a field of circuitry. While that part was quite familiar to Nic, the stylized tree that sat behind it was not. Large enough that Greytower’s entire sigil fit within the trunk, covered by a canopy of twisted branches above and roots below.

The accessory didn’t fit Orlin at all. It clashed horribly with his style, reminding Nic more of the Worthingtons than the spartan Greytower. Orlin seemed to agree, having spent the entire morning fidgeting with the straps, as if he weren’t used to wearing it.

Somehow Nic was the more naturally dressed of the two. He still hated the formal suit Orlin had forced him into, but it was at least somewhat familiar to Nic. So long as he stood straight and still, he could just about make the itchy, restrictive material feel reasonable against his frame. Except for the tie. He still hated the tie with a fiery passion.

“No, I got it,” Nic said, finally wrangling the overgrown noose into place. He pulled it snug against his neck, pleased when it finally sat properly inside his collar. He looked up, finding Orlin fixing him with a raised eyebrow, eventually nodding as he turned his attention back to one of his screens.

Nic took that as a win and returned to looking around the yard. It was about all he could do, not wanting to risk disturbing his suit again and having only his tablet to keep himself entertained. It was the only tech he had on him, Orlin expressly forbidding Nic to bring his rig, not even his partial one. Their host was apparently quite touchy about people bringing unapproved things into his home, tech or otherwise.

It made sense from what he’d managed to gather about said host in the weeks since the feather had appeared. Hierarch Zulathon was unquestionably the most powerful griffon living in Ronteele. He alone commanded the loyalty of every other member of his kind in the city and quite a few non-griffons as well. Popular opinion was that he was less a citizen of Ronteele and more an ally, commanding effectively his own nation within the walls. A point of tension for some but he had never made any overture that he wanted anything but peace and cooperation.

Though in stark contrast, very little was known of him beyond that, at least not publicly. Despite Harakin Aerie holding a permanent position on the Council, the Hierarch himself took little interest in the daily affairs of the city. He appeared when needed, though what constituted need seemed to be more at his discretion than anyone else’s. Otherwise, he seemed quite content to remain in the sky, letting his proxies and executors handle interactions with the ground.

Even Isabella had been largely clueless when he asked her about it. Her knowledge extended just a little bit further than Nic’s own did, her family apparently having some dealings with the flock. Enough that they had been invited as well, which Nic was quite pleased about. At least he’d know someone at this party.

“You remember the bow I taught you?”

Nic looked at Orlin, surprised to find him looking back with a deeply serious expression. This was no idle question.

“I think so,” Nic said.

“Show me,” Orlin demanded.

Nic hesitated, then turned to face his master, keeping his back straight, arms clasped at his sides and eyes angled down so their gazes didn’t meet. Orlin had been very insistent on that last part, managing eye contact apparently being a huge part of this process. Raising one hand to cover his heart, Nic bowed at the waist, raising his chin to keep his face level but still not looking Orlin in the eyes. He held the pose, his lower back screaming at the awkward angle, trying not to count the seconds until Orlin spoke.

“Acceptable,” he said. “Mind how low you go. You’re not a retainer.”

Nic stood, his back thanking him for the relief, though the movement once again dislodged his tie.

“Oh, come on,” Nic said, hand flying up to catch it before it could completely unwind.

“Here, let me,” Orlin said.

Nic didn’t protest as the elder techne reached out and began working at the strip of fabric. Nic took some pride in noting that the elder techne didn’t have to redo the whole thing, just make some adjustments. He was getting the hang of this whole formal wear thing it seemed, though for the life of him, Nic could not tell what Orlin had done differently.

Before he could ask for any specifics, a low whooshing sound began from somewhere nearby. At first Nic assumed it was Zephyr and braced himself for a blast of wind. When no such blast came, Nic looked around in confusion, eventually spotting something hanging in the sky above them. Stark white and gleaming in the sunlight, it was impossible to miss as it began to descend directly towards them.

As it drew closer, Nic was able to pick out details, starting with the fact that it was made completely of marble. A single enormous block carved to resemble a bird of prey, so lifelike that Nic could pick out individual feathers running along its body. Its beaked head jutted out the front, flowing back into mighty wings that flared out to either side.

A carriage hung beneath, framed on either side by carved renditions of its talons. Unrealistic, but a necessary accommodation to allow for the cargo compartment. The engines by contrast had been woven in seamlessly, the space under the wings and tail glowing with what Nic guessed were anti-gravity generators. It was the only thing that made sense considering how gracefully, not to mention quietly, the craft was as it landed on the lawn.

They stood well back as it settled to a stop, Nic fascinated by the design. Orlin shared no such distractions, approaching the craft the second it was safe to do so. Nic followed, drinking in the details as they drew closer, noting that the feathers were in fact so realistic that the individual bristles had been carved. Some of the individual strands were even painted different shades of white and grey to give the feathers some texture. Nic marveled at the sight, imagining the hours that would have gone into doing that, even with magical assistance.

Orlin was unmoved, approaching the door built into the side. From within his robes he produced the feather, salvaged at some point from Zephyr’s clutches. He pressed it into a hollow, perfectly shaped to accept the object with a sharp click. The door popped out in response, sliding aside to reveal the interior.

Plush was the word that came to Nic’s mind when he saw it, followed closely by opulent. Couches lined every wall with cushions that looked like they could swallow a person whole. A table sat in the center of the room, holding a selection of drinks and snacks. Nic counted at least three holographic projectors, displaying images of what they would be seeing out of windows if any existed. This would be considered a nice room on the ground, never mind inside a flying brick of marble.

Immune to the lavishness, Orlin strode inside and settled himself into a seat at random. Nic followed, selecting a spot where he’d have the best view of the forward display. The moment he sat, the door slid shut behind them and a low drone rumbled through the cabin.

“Brace yourself,” Orlin said.

Nic’s questions were lost as the entire room lurched upwards. He tumbled over, unable to catch himself in time as the craft rapidly ascended, leaving Nic in a heap on the floor. Suddenly the cushioned surfaces made complete sense.

The flight leveled out quickly, the cabin feeling as if it were still on the ground, completely still and silent after the initial jolt. Nic climbed back into his seat, looking at the display to find that they were still climbing. Greytower was already shrinking behind them, a tiny patch of land vanishing amongst its surroundings.

More and more of Ronteele became visible the higher they got. A patchwork of cleared and developed land, fields of crops and the supporting settlements, slowly transforming into the larger townships to the east. In the distance, Nic could just see the downtown core, its sprawling presence and towering mega-scrapers rendering it impossible to miss, especially from so far up. Distantly, Nic thought he could almost see the boundary wall, but it was quickly obscured as their craft entered the cloud layer.

Disappointed, Nic settled back down and glanced at Orlin. To his great surprise, his master wasn’t on his screens for once and was instead staring off into the middle distance. His foot bounced against the floor, making his knee hop like an erratic pulse. If Nic didn’t know better, he’d have said the elder techne looked agitated.

“So,” Nic said, tentatively. “How do you know the Hierarch exactly?”

Orlin’s eyes snapped to Nic, making him jump with the suddenness of the action. Something was up, Orlin never lost control of himself like that, not even in small ways.

“What makes you think I know him personally?” Orlin said.

“It’s just,” Nic said, struggling. “I read a bit about him, and he doesn’t seem that interested in, well, anyone other than his own people.”

Orlin scoffed, the last thing Nic would have expected from his teacher, though he sensed it wasn’t an amused gesture.

“He makes exceptions from time to time,” Orlin said.

“Is that what that crest means?” Nic asked.

Orlin glanced down at the shield mounted on his chest, sneering at it with a look of annoyance, masking something else underneath that Nic couldn’t pick out.

“I suppose,” Orlin said. “Zulathon is a stickler for presentation.”

Nic had more questions, but they died in his mouth as their craft finally cleared the cloud layer and their destination came into view. A colossal spire hung in the air, dwarfing Greytower in much the same way that a fully grown man dwarfed an ant. It soared over them, literally and metaphorically, layers of architecture stacked atop one another in an opulent display of marble and precious metals. Smaller towers orbited about the main, held together by enormous cables, creating a complicated network. Some mimicked the central spire in form, if not scale, Nic guessing they were dwellings of some kind, though just as many were little more than wide circular landing pads.

The latter were presently in constant use as things arrived and departed all around them. Craft much like their own, joined by a few of more unique design, along with a plethora of winged creatures. Griffons mostly, their large feathery wings fully extended and nearly glowing in the unblemished sunlight. They ranged wildly in size, some no larger than newborn foals while others were the size of the large cats they partly resembled. A few were even larger, dwarfing their kin with wingspans a dozen meters across from tip to tip.

Other flying creatures were mingled among them. Nic saw the scaled hides of wyverns, alongside creatures with leathery wings and furred bodies that he didn’t recognize. He even saw the familiar forms of pegasi, the winged equines trotting to a halt as they landed on the various structures. All were resplendent in one way or another, trailing colourful banners or shining with decorations of precious metals and gemstones. Showing off even before they’d reached the party.

None dared approach the central spire, at least not beyond a certain height. That was where the orbiting structures stopped as well, leaving the spire clear and unobstructed. It was by no coincidence, Nic sensed, that the most lavish decorations sat there, shaming the display that scurried below. Statues and murals by the dozen, carved of marble and glittering silver, arranged in a grand display all the way up the length of the tower.

The very top was flat, a continuous balcony surrounding a short wall, within which sat, of all things, a tree. Ancient and gnarled, its branches twisting skywards to form many large hollows that a griffon could easily sit in and enjoy the shade of the silver leaves. Nic instantly recognized it as the inspiration for the tree inscribed on Master Orlin’s shield, the shape being unmistakable even in miniature.

“I see what you mean,” Nic managed to eke out through his awe.

Orlin said nothing, the cabin instead filled with a burst of birdsong through the speakers. A cool voice followed soon after, asking them to take their seats as the craft came in for landing.

“You’ll see even more soon enough,” Orlin said.     

Of that, Nic had no doubt.

*

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