Royal Griffon Ch.8

“You took it?”

Isabella’s tone was blunt, straddling the line between observation and accusation.

“Yes, thank you for summarizing what I just told you,” Nic said, voice dripping with nervous sarcasm.

“You took,” Isabella repeated, emphasising each word. “The heir to Harakin Aerie?”

“What was I supposed to do!?” Nic snapped. “Let them get kidnapped!?”

“They were kidnapped!” Isabella countered. “By you!”

“Not helping!”

Nic flinched as his voice began to echo down the passage. The sound faded quickly, returning to the hiss and creak of surrounding machinery.

“Okay, okay,” Isabella said. “Where are you right now?”

“Maintenance shaft, somewhere inside the superstructure,” Nic said.

It had been an extreme stroke of luck when Nic had found the entrance to these passages tucked away in the back of the nursery. He’d barely had time to grab the egg out of the incubator and flee, shutting the hatch behind him just as the main door opened. The goblin leader had not been pleased, screaming at his goons as if it were somehow their fault. The sounds of smashing had filled the room soon after, Nic taking the opportunity to slip away under cover from the noise. He’d crawled until he couldn’t hear them anymore, stopping only when he was sure no one had found the door to follow him.

“Are you safe?” Isabella pressed.

“For now, probably.” Nic said, glancing nervously up and down the passage. “It’s very confusing in here but I think I can make my way out.”

“No!” Isabella said, startling Nic with her insistence. “You need to stay hidden.”

“What, why!?” Nic hissed.

“Because Zulathon is on the warpath. If he sees you with that egg, there’s a good chance he’ll just kill you on the spot.”

Nic shuddered, remembering the griffon’s long claws and sharp beak. It was not hard to imagine such things being turned towards very violent ends with the right motivation.

“So, what do I do? I tried calling Master Orlin, but he won’t answer.”

“Yeah, he’s busy trying to calm Zulathon down,” Isabella said. “Just stay hidden for now, I’ll try to talk to-”

Her voice was suddenly cut off, vanishing in a burst of static that made Nic wince away from his tablet. He looked at the screen, finding a large “CONNECTION LOST” message blinking there. Worry blooming in his belly, he quickly redialed, the call immediately failing with the same burst of static. When three successive text messages failed to send, Nic realized that everything on his tablet that required an exterior connection wasn’t working.

“Hells, hells, and damnation,” Nic cursed,

He went to try another call, mostly out of desperation, when a loud clank sounded nearby. He snapped his head towards it, panic seeping in as a low whirring sound rose from the echo. A light appeared at the far end of the passage, cold blue and strobing across the walls in discrete lines. They grew in intensity as Nic watched, the sound doing the same until an object emerged from a vent recessed into the ceiling. A small triangular bot, its shape reminding Nic of a miniaturized version of the ship that had brought him to the Aerie. It hovered on a single anti-grav thruster, allowing it to maneuver freely in the cramped space. Or more importantly, to scan the same, Nic quickly realizing what the blue lights were.

He scooted back along the passage, clutching the egg close as he went. In his rush, he stupidly bashed his shoulder against the wall, producing a quiet but notable bang. The bot instantly twisted around to face the noise, scans intensifying as it focused on the new data. Nic swallowed a yelp, pressing himself into a gap between two pipes that was just about big enough to hold him and the egg. Some cover at least but not enough to matter, the pipes only partly obscuring his body. Unless those scanners were truly terrible quality, they would spot him immediately.

As the bot slowly hovered towards him, Nic pulled out his tablet as carefully as he could, trying not to make any sudden moves. Scrolling through files, always keeping one eye on the encroaching bot, he quickly located what he was looking for. He’d half forgotten it was on here, the simple cloaking spell he sometimes used when he’d wanted to move unnoticed around Greytower. He had no idea if it would work here, against radically different wards and sensors, but it was better than his other option of nothing.

The back of his neck tingled as the system flared to life, the only physical indication that the spell was active. He briefly worried the bot would be able to detect the burst spellcode of but could power do nothing about it as the machine finally reached him. Long, agonizing seconds ticked by, Nic holding stock still as the light raked over him. It held just long enough that Nic was convinced it had seen him, only for it to suddenly move on without fanfare, continuing to scan its way along the passage and out of sight.

Nic waited until the light had faded completely before letting out his breath in a gasp. Too close, way too close. Hopefully they didn’t have too many more of those to scour the vents for him.

Just as he had the thought, Nic heard the whirring sound again, this one coming from a completely different direction. Another bot hovered into view, this one moving slower than the first, crawling along at inches per minute, giving the entire passage the same scrutiny the first had given Nic’s hiding place. Not wishing to tempt fate a second time, Nic squeezed out from between the pipes and started moving deeper into the spire.

This was going to be harder than he thought.

*

“Nic? Nic?!”

No one answered Isabella as the connection went dead, vanishing in a hiss of static. She glanced at the display, the words “CONNECTION LOST” flashing in the corner. It seemed that Zulathon was serious about his lockdown if he was cutting off communications. This was going to be a problem.

Closing the useless program, Isabella looked around as she began to consider her options. There was very little she could do here in the room, given that she now knew exactly what had happened. Any details that remained would be picked up and logged by the swarm of bots scanning every inch of the room. They’d even opened the hatch Nic had presumably escaped through, several of the machines already flying inside to continue their search. Isabella grimaced at the thought of them hunting Nic through the tunnels, the machines far more suited to the narrow space than he was. At least they weren’t armed. She assumed anyway. Or perhaps hoped.

Pushing the useless thought away she turned to more immediate matters. She needed to talk to Zulathon and somehow convince him that Nic had abducted his child for good reasons. Surely the giant griffon spitting fire and vengeance would be open to dialogue. And perhaps Sharpe himself would come waltzing through the door and reclaim his title as Lord of Ronteele. Stranger things had happened.

Leaving the nursery, Isabella made her way back to the main hall. The crowd still milled freely, though the feel of the room had changed notably. Food was no longer being served, and every exit was now firmly covered by guards who gave polite but stern suggestions that everyone remain where they could be seen. Isabella herself was challenged by one such guard, the man accosting her with questions before Arthur materialized next to them.

“Is there a problem here?” he asked.

“No lord,” the guard said. “I was just-”

“Yeah, I don’t actually care,” Arthur interrupted. “She’s with me.”

The guard briefly seemed to consider protesting, glancing between Arthur and Isabella before stepping back.

“Thank you,” Isabella said, granting him the mercy of a neutral tone.

“Milady,” he nodded before returning to his post.

“Dedicated bunch, aren’t they?” Arthur said as they began moving together through the crowd.

“Anything new?” Isabella asked. Arthur shook his head.

“Father and I have been questioning people, but nothing to show for it. No one seems to know what’s going on.”

“Where’s Master Greytower?”

“No idea,” Arthur said, gesturing towards the throne. “Last I saw him he was still talking to the old bird.”

Isabella scanned the room in search of the Hierarch. He wasn’t in obvious view, not at the dais at least, but the large contingent of guards standing in front of a side door was a strong clue as to where he was. She moved towards them, trailing Arthur in her wake as he nattered on about his theories. Apparently, this was all one big prank, at least according to the Worthington heir. Isabella chose not to respond, letting Arthur enjoy the sound of his own voice as they approached the door.

“Halt!” a guard said as they neared. “No one beyond this point.”

“I am Isabella Hemlock, and I must speak with Master Greytower,” Isabella said. “It’s urgent.”

“No exceptions, by order of his Grace. Please return to-”

The man was interrupted as two griffons stormed up to them, Isabella immediately recognizing Lady Nathyl and Sir Kalthus. They bore no intention of being stopped, the guards rising to meet them, only to wither under the Judai matriarch’s piercing glare.

“Out of my way,” she said.

“His Grace has commanded-”

“Do not make me repeat myself.”

A tense standoff ensued; the guard caught between orders and the realities of squaring off against a creature triple their size. Kalthus stood close to his liege, lightly scratching his talons across the floor, looking like a coiled spring just waiting for an excuse. Isabella briefly wondered if an actual fight would break out when Zulathon’s voice broke the tension.

“Let her through,” he called.

The standoff dissolved, the guards easing back off their spears and slowly stepping aside to clear the way. Nathyl didn’t even acknowledge them as she strode through the door, though Kalthus made sure to glare at each of them in turn.

Neither party was paying overdue attention to Isabella, a fact she did nothing to change as she slipped in with the Judai. It was a skill she’d long cultivated, the ability to be present but not seen, aided by a few choice glamours woven into the lining of her dress. Nothing strong enough to set off the security measures of course, just a little cantrip to nudge attention elsewhere. Simple but effective, as evidenced by Arthur being turned away before he could make it so much as a step.

The room they entered was small by the standards of Harakin Aerie, which still of course meant it could hold several full-grown griffons without feeling cramped. That was instead caused by the excessive amount of equipment that had been set up inside. Stacks of electronics and magical devices, stretching from floor to ceiling in some places, cables trailing between everything like a nest of snakes. Many people manned the various stations, a series of beeps and clicks sounding as they went about their functions.

Most of them were doing their best not to be noticed by Zulathon where he stood in the center of the room. He’d somehow managed to become even more imposing, having donned a set of battle armor. Thick plates of steel and polymer hung from his flanks and chest, leaving his legs, wings, and head free to move. Though it was covered in his flock regalia, no one would call it decoration. He was ready to fight and intended to win.

“What is the meaning of this Harakin!?” Nathyl said, throwing all diplomacy to the wind.

“Meaning of what, Judai?” Zulathon said.

“Why are you holding us prisoner?!” Kalthus snapped. “No one is being allowed to leave, and your lackeys aren’t telling us why!”

Zulathon rounded on him, all previous signs of at least marginal respect wiped from his face.

“Mind your tongue boy, lest I wonder if this involves you and yours.”

“What are you insinuating Harakin?” Nathyl asked.

Isabella felt herself taking a step back, along with half of the room as the air between the two turned visceral. Before anything worse could come of it, Orlin’s voice interrupted, the elder techne emerging from seemingly nowhere.

“Only that we are in a fluid situation my lady,” he said, a calming hand extended towards both her and Zulathon. “For everyone’s safety, we request your patience while we address it.”

Nathyl shifted her glare to Orlin, though it weakened at the elder techne’s calm expression. She stared at him for a long moment, then turned back to Zulathon.

“Fine,” she said. “But I warn you, all patience has its limits. Mind you don’t test ours.”

“I will take that under advisement,” Zulathon said.

The tension threatened to return for an infinite second before Nathyl turned away and left the room. Kalthus lingered a moment longer, glaring at Zulathon before he did the same, Isabella releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“Keep an eye on those two,” Zulathon said.

A guard saluted and left the room, Orlin stepping forward to make himself noticed.

“Your grace, this will go easier if-” he began, only for Zulathon to ignore him completely, turning instead to one of the technicians.

“Situation?” he demanded.

“The bots have been deployed, your Grace,” the woman said. “We’ll start getting returns soon.”

Zulathon grumbled, then turned to address another retainer.

“Have the guards been deployed to the Queen’s chambers?”

“Yes, your grace,” the man said. “She is asking to speak if you have a moment?”

“Is she in danger!?” Zulathon boomed, his voice rising like a hurricane.

“N-no your grace!” the guard hurried to correct. “She merely wishes to speak.”

Zulathon calmed, though only just, grunting as his front talons returned to the floor.

“Very well, lead us.”

The man nodded, hurriedly leading the way through another door. He left Orlin behind, Isabella seeing her opening and stepping forward to get his attention. He turned to glance at her, looking just the slightest bit frazzled.

“Master Greytower, I need to-”

“It’s a simple question, answer it!” Zulathon’s voice boomed from the other room. Orlin sighed, sprinting towards the disturbance as fast as he could with his dignity intact.

“Give me a moment, Miss Hemlock.”

He was gone before she could protest, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the chaos. Another line of guards stepped up to block her following, these ones sharp and intent with nary an upset noble in sight to open the way for her. She backed away before they got it in their heads to wonder why she was there at all.

This was going to be harder than she thought.

*

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