Royal Griffon Ch.3

Their craft made a beeline straight for one of the upper docks, encountering no challenge as they came in for a landing. It settled like a feather, barely even a bump rocking the cabin as the door slid open automatically. Instantly, the back of Nic’s neck began to tingle as multiple wards passed over him, some so strong they were like a physical presence. Serious magical security, especially considering this was just the landing pad.

If Orlin noticed, and there was no way he didn’t, he said nothing as he rose from his seat and strode out the open door. Nic followed, surprised to find the air outside warmer than it had been back on the ground. It teemed with activity, craft and creatures continuing to swoop around in every direction with their comings and goings. Some even came close enough that their passage should have buffeted the pad with strong crosswinds, but nothing more than a gentle breeze ever touched them.

“Sir Orlin,” called a voice. “A pleasure to see you again.”

Nic looked ahead of them to see a small cluster of people approaching them from the far side of the walkway. Two were obviously guards, both wearing purple and green uniforms with bronzed armor overtop. Of note were the shields they each wore over their left shoulders, a perfect match for Orlin’s, save they were inscribed with only the tree and nothing else.

The two cut a strong impression, granted an extra edge by the polearms they carried. Some effort had gone into their decoration, glimmering bronze running up the length of each haft, spearpoint and axe edge gleaming in the sun. Pretty weapons, but weapons nonetheless.

Arms and wielders were just the set dressing though, an escort for the goblin who led them. He was downright diminutive by comparison, barely clearing the knees of the shorter guard, though that did absolutely nothing to diminish his presence. His uniform followed the same style as the guards but rather than armor, he wore a doublet with a deep red gown overtop. Most notable were his large ears, studded with a dazzling array of jewelry. Gold, silver, bronze, gemstones of every shade and cut, all so numerous that the ears were physically drooping under the weight. This man had much to show off and was not shy about doing so in the slightest.

“Seneschal,” Orlin said with a nod. The goblin returned the gesture as the two groups reached one another.

“Was the trip to your satisfaction?”

“It was.”

Nic looked between the two men, the air suddenly feeling thick around them. This was not a conversation, more like code being input through a program. Not resentful, Nic knew what Orlin was like when he was annoyed, but more like words that had been surgically stripped of emotion, leaving just their shape behind.

“I am glad,” the Seneschal continued, gesturing at Nic. “And this is your guest?”

“My apprentice, Nicholas,” Orlin said.

“Uh, hi,” Nic said with an awkward wave.

The Seneschal said nothing, his scrutinizing gaze lingering just a moment before looking to a conjured screen.

“Very good. If you’ll follow me, his Grace will see you promptly.”

The goblin spun on his heel, the guards parting to let him pass. They did the same for Orlin and Nic as they followed, falling into pace behind them as they all moved inside. As the path narrowed, Nic made the mistake of glancing over the edge, a spike of nausea shooting up his throat as he saw nothing but a thick bank of clouds below them. Heights didn’t usually bother him, but he struggled to imagine anyone who wouldn’t be freaked out. They were very, very high up.

“Please avoid the edge of the walkway young master,” the Seneschal said without looking. “For your own safety.”

“Sorry,” Nic said, scurrying back. “Was just curious.”

“Of course,” the goblin continued, his dismissal pairing perfectly with Orlin’s withering glare. “However, I must remind you that the conditions of this altitude are unsuitable for most constitutions.”

As if to emphasise the point, a person chose that moment to fly past, employing a jetpack and dressed in a bulbous environment suit.

“As such,” the goblin continued. “We ask that you refrain from wandering in the Aerie as some areas are not contained within the atmospheric bubble.”

He paused as they reached the entry into the structure and pointed at the wall. A sign was painted there, a green square with a symbol Nic didn’t know.

“Any area safe for you to traverse unprotected will be marked with this symbol,” the Seneschal explained. “If there is any confusion, do not hesitate to ask the staff for assistance.”

“Of course,” Orlin said, his words still devoid of enthusiasm.

They moved inside, the door automatically sliding open to admit the group. They emerged into a narrow hallway carved directly into the stone of the building, illuminated with glowing crystals held in sconces at regular intervals. The space between was adorned with an abstract mosaic that flowed along the walls like a frozen gust of wind. The design was both decorative and practical at the same time, all the lines converging towards an opening at the far end of the hall.

The mosaic ended there, splaying out onto the walls of an even larger hall. Several other entryways dotted the chamber, each one bearing a stylized rendering of basic elements. Fire, ice, vegetation, lighting, all pointing down the smaller passages and into this singular, central chamber.

People milled about within, arranged into clusters as they chattered away. Noise filled the space entirely, both voices and the same birdsong that the invitation had been written in. Glancing around, Nic was pretty sure he recognized a bunch of them, though he could not remember any names. Many of them turned to look as they entered, an excited murmur running through the crowd at their appearance. Nic looked away as they openly stared, Orlin doing the same as they passed the crowds without comment.

At the head of the chamber, a grand archway stood vigil, decorated with the visage of a griffon. It cut an impressive figure, its wings forming the sweep of the arch and its beaked head looking down at them as they passed through. It dwarfed everything and everyone, in both size and presence.

A fitting introduction to the chamber beyond.

Nothing less than grand hall seemed an appropriate moniker for the space. It reached far into the spire, opening in both directions to form a chamber that could easily contain hundreds of people, thousands if they weren’t bothered with personal space. That was in addition to the area above, the grand vaulted ceiling dotted with perches and floating platforms where flying creatures could easily land as they so wished.

Both places were heavily populated with people of all stripes, though the majority were griffons. They were even more impressive up close, imposing physiques towering over all but the largest of groundlings. Some wore accessories, lengths of cloth, jewelry or metal plates but most simply wore their natural fur and feathers pruned to perfection.

They varied wildly, Nic seeing colours both natural and artificial, tawny browns and rich reds standing side by side with neon greens and shimmering blues. Patterns were just as varied; many having worked to enhance or alter themselves towards a desired look. This was most obvious on those above, where they could stretch out their wings and reveal complex patterns that flowed across entire wingspans. Fashion, it seemed, was universal no matter where you went.

The Seneschal did not even slow as he entered the room, the crowd wordlessly parting in his wake as they moved towards the far end of the hall. Nic continued to scan the crowd as they moved, a smile tugging at his lips as he at last spotted a familiar face.

Isabella Hemlock was never one to blend in with a crowd and today was no exception. Her sparkling blue dress was like a beacon in the sea of people, perhaps literally if that glow was real and not a trick of the light. She was speaking with a griffon, but their conversation had lulled and both participants had begun to look elsewhere.

Nic wasn’t surprised when her eye caught his, she’d probably known he was there from the moment he’d entered the room. He gave her a smile and the smallest wave he could manage, knowing that people were probably watching and not wanting to become the talk of the hour again. Isabella had no such compunction, summoning all her grace and dignity to stick her tongue out at him like a child. Nic could only chuckle, resisting the urge to return the gesture.

A wise decision on his part as they had finally reached the head of the room. A raised dais sat there, a handful of steps leading up to a cushioned perch, though that description massively undersold it. Twice the size of any of the others and backed with a slab of ancient wood, polished smooth and gleaming to reveal the gnarled grain hidden inside. The whole thing loomed over the room, ancient and powerful, well past the need to prove itself to the rest of the world. It matched perfectly the creature that sat upon it.

Hierarch Zulathon, for there could be no doubt that was who Nic beheld, was the largest griffon Nic had yet seen. He dwarfed the rest of his kin, taller even while sitting comfortably and with a bulk to match. His wings, partly unfurled, could have covered their entire group twice over with room to spare.

Between his size and position, he was constantly looking down at the people around him past the sharp curve of his beak. His feathers were a brilliant white with golden highlights, his fur solid dusky red. Over his chest he wore an armored plate, bearing the visage of a familiar tree cast in polished iron. It sat upon him with natural grace, the monarch surveying his kingdom with all the cool patience of a predator at rest.

“Your Grace,” the Seneschal said. “I present, Sir Orlin Greytower.”

The goblin stepped aside, leaving them with the complete attention of the royal. His gaze was sharp, eyes bright and deep as they took in the two techne. Nic instinctively swallowed under the scrutiny, feeling very much like a mouse falling under a hunter’s shadow. Lucky for him, it seemed he was not to be prey today, as instead, Zulathon spoke.

“It gladdens us to see you again, Sir Greytower,” he said, voice as rich and deep as black molasses.

“As does it I,” Orlin said, dropping into a bow.

He held a moment before glancing over at Nic, tapping him hard on the side. Nic almost yelped but then remembered what his teacher had said, dropping into a bow of his own. One that he knew was wrong from the start but didn’t want to risk trying to correct. He could still feel Zulathon’s powerful eyes on him, even as he said nothing, waving a talon for them to rise.

“Is her grace not joining us Hierarch?” Orlin asked.

“She is retired for the day,” Zulathon said. “A precaution for her health.”

“My best wishes for her swift recovery,” Orlin said.

“Our thanks.” He looked over at the Seneschal, Nic noting the goblin was holding his hand in a very deliberate fashion. “If you would join us Sir Orlin, we would appreciate your company.”

Orlin nodded, advancing towards the side of the throne where a chair had appeared from nowhere. Nic was left alone, feeling the full brunt of the royal’s attention. It had grown no less terrifying since the last time it had happened.

“Please enjoy our hospitality, young one,” Zulathon said.

“T-thank you, your grace,” Nic said.

He paused just a moment longer, the awkwardness palpable until he realized that had been a dismissal. Badly bowing a second time, Nic all but scurried out of the way, clearing the stage for a trio of feathered humanoids to approach the throne. Nic was swallowed by the crowd, quickly finding himself once again alone and adrift in that most terrible of places: a party.

Sharpe save him.

*

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