Sins of the Father: Chapter Twenty Five (Patreon)

*****

Chapter Twenty-Five

Years earlier…

*****

Valaranyx soared just above the treetops, somewhere near the Forest of Ghosts. For hours he had flown, deep into the night. The ever-present aching in his scarred wing joint had grown into a perpetual throb, a stabbing pain that struck him with every beat of his wings. And still, the dragon pressed on. All his life he had known pain. Pain when he walked, pain when he flew. And pain of a different sort, whenever he thought about his father. What did it matter if he pressed his limits, if he made the pain worse? What was more pain but another obstacle to overcome, another trial to endure? Valar had made a promise, and he intended to keep it.

Clouds veiled the silvery moonlight in thin, gauzy layers. Curtains of spectral fog drifted across the thick woods below, obscuring its occasionally hills and rises. The scent of distant rain tinted the winds that buffeted him. The dragon watched the sky, judging the clouds. Their movement told him the rains would remain further south. It was just as well, Valar thought. Flying home through a cold deluge would only make the journey all the more miserable.

The dragon sniffed the air. Though the scent was pleasant, it lacked the distinct sweetness of the rains back home. Valar still wasn’t used to the strange, wholly translucent rains here. Back home, in Aran’alia, the rain only ever fell silver. While it was a unique phenomenon, it was the only rain the dragon had ever known. He’d grown up dancing in silver waves, splishing and splashing in mercury puddles. Valar had never even seen so-called normal rain until his homeland burned and fell, and his family was forced to flee.

Now, even that was several seasons ago. Or had it been years, already? Valar flattened back his frills, uncertain. How many winters now had it been since they’d taken temporary refuge in the conquered lands of their enemies? At least two, he thought, even if the weather here sometimes made it challenging to tell winter from fall, or spring from winter. It was often warmer than Aran’alia even in the colder seasons, with chilly rains more common than snowfall. 

Valar missed the heavier snows of winter, and the more clearly defined seasons. Yet he had to admit, the Forest of Ghosts made for an excellent hiding place. After all, who would think to look for the dragons who long defended Aran’alia in the lands of their conquerors? Truth be told, The Forest of Ghosts was Illandran land in name only. The old kings of Illandra may well have simply circled it on a map, and declared it theirs. The Forest remained as it always had, a rugged, dangerous wilderness that encroached upon a number of various, newly conquered Illandran provinces.

Illandra’s presence was limited to a few border outposts, a handful of banners and flags atop town halls, and a slowly increasing supply of trade with some of the larger towns on the forest’s outer edges. Deeper into the Forest, there was no sign of Illandra at all. They stationed no soldiers there, manned no fortresses, sent no diplomats nor deputies to enforce their claims on the scattered villages built by the hardy, wilderness folk who always called the Forest home. Perhaps, Valar thought, if his family and their allies had not ensured so many invading soldiers were now fertilizing Aran’alian soil, Illandra might yet have men remaining with which to occupy the woods.

Then again, perhaps not. The Forest of Ghosts was a vast ocean of rugged wilderness. From above, it appeared as little more than an endless canopy that rose and fell like green waves. Beneath the treetops was nigh impenetrable labyrinth of ancient growth. There were trees there that were old even when dragons were young. In one direction, the rolling, tree-smothered hills grew steeper, and rockier. In another, wetland bogs and quagmires lurked beneath the overgrowth. There were some parts of the Forest of Ghosts so thick and wild, Valar doubted anyone they were ever glimpsed by anyone save the spirits that gave the place its name.

Even the deepest forest was not uninhabited, however. Small towns dotted parts of it, linked by two-track trails and occasional dirt roads. The native populace was mostly, but not entirely, human. There were also a few scattered urd’thin villages built within the treetops. At least one tribe of va’chaak called the swampier areas home. Valar and his family weren’t even the only dragons who dwelt there, some more secretively than others. And tonight, it was a gryphon Valar sought.

Valar was tracking the creature on behalf of the Forest Wards, a loose-knit association of local law enforcers. Though the Forest Ward treated the dragons antagonistically at first, Valar’s family had since forged an alliance with their number. As it turned out, the Forest Ward held Illandra in nearly as much contempt as Valar himself did. And it was Valar who had first made contact with one of their members, however unintentionally. A woman named Melira tracked Valar down, erroneously confusing him with a far more troublesome dragon upon which there was a bounty. Valar and his mother had later offered to deal with the troublemaker themselves, in return for the Ward’s assistance in keeping their existence hidden from Illandra’s agents. The deal worked splendidly. Not only had they likely saved the other dragon’s life, but they’d forged lasting ties with the locals in the process.  

Since then, Valar had taken it upon himself to assist the Forest Ward and the people they protected in any way he could. He helped them scatter beasts and bandits alike. He hauled lumber and other materials around villages. He escorted merchant caravans through dangerous terrain. Valar even made deliveries of vital goods to far-flung hamlets and isolated inns when weather or ruffians made traditional travel too dangerous. Whatever was asked of him, Valar was happy to do, if only to show the locals that no matter what they heard, what they believed, dragons could be their friends. As his parents before him had done in Sigil Stones, so to would Valar do wherever the winds would carry him. And so, Valar made them a promise. As long as he dwelled within the Forest, he would do everything he could to keep its people safe.

Lately, Valar assisted them in far more serious matters. Due to its isolated nature, it was not uncommon for the Forest of Ghosts to attract all manner of outlaws and ruffians, from common thieves to more serious criminals on the run from justice. Over the last few months, the brigands had grown far more organized, and staged coordinated raids on trade routes, and smaller villages. If that wasn’t bad enough, somehow they’d even managed to recruit a gryphon to their cause. Together, they’d destroyed property, stolen goods and valuables, and left quite a few people nursing serious injuries.

Earlier that evening, The Forest Ward launched a surprise attack on the brigands’ encampment. With Valar’s help, it had been a complete success. The brigands were routed, with a few escaping and many more captured to face justice for their crimes. The gryphon, however, had escaped to the skies. The ebony bird was lightning quick on the wing, and though Valar gave chase, he was soon out of sight.

Valar regrouped with the Ward, and listened in as they questioned their captives. The dismissive way they spoke of the gryphon rankled Valar. It was as if they viewed him as little more than a guard dog to keep them safe, a tool to be wielded without genuine regard for its well-being. A beast. Though the gryphon had proven himself a common raider, Valar still believed he deserved better treatment from his own supposed allies.

The captured bandits eventually let it slip that the gryphon’s likely destination was a long-abandoned watchtower outpost, atop a steep, rugged hill. It would likely take the Ward at least a whole day to reach the place, and hours more to safely circumvent the long-crumbled bridge that spanned the nearby ravine. It mattered little to Valar. After the insulting way the criminals spoke of the gryphon, it seemed only fitting that a fellow ‘beast’ be the one to bring the creature to justice. He promised to capture the gryphon one way or another, and set off in pursuit.

His destination was finally in sight. The blocky stone crown of an elevated tower protruded just above the trees. In the clouded moonlight, it looked like little more than a pale gray wart upon the canopy. As Valar drew nearer, the flat stone surface of the tower’s roof stood out all the more. Rent boughs and shattered limbs encircled it, like broken claws scrabbling at the stone. Valar suspected the gryphon had cleared away a section of the treetops in order to give himself more space to land. It was a good thing, too. Otherwise, Valar wasn’t certain he would have ever spotted the place in the middle of the night. He sure as hell couldn’t spot the ravine that supposedly cleaved the forest floor in two, let alone the broken bridge that once spanned it.

No matter, Valar thought. Surely he did not need the Ward’s assistance for a single gryphon. Let alone the scrawny little, black-feathered thing that fled from him earlier in the night. With any luck, he could simply intimidate the bird into surrendering, and turning himself in. Otherwise, he might have to knock some sense into the smaller creature, and drag him back to town by the scruff of his feathery neck. Whatever happened, Valar hoped to avoid any serious violence.

Truth be told, Valar was still a young dragon. He had never taken a life. Hell, skirmishing against raiders lately had been his first real experiences with any kind of battle. All the painful scars that marked him came from his hatchling days. Since the day he’d nearly died, his mother had ceaselessly sheltered him and his siblings from the war that slowly consumed their homelands. Even in Aran’alia’s final days, she refused to allow Valar to fight by her side against Illandra.

It was only begrudgingly that Kylaryn allowed Valar to assist the Ward in the first place, let alone against the bandits. Even then, he was only to serve as their backup, not their primary force. Valar had enjoyed wading into combat alongside The Ward to toss a few armored brigands around, and set fire to their fortifications. He was careful to use only as much force as strictly necessary. While he imagined he’d broken a few bones, he had not killed anyone. Now that he was closing in the gryphon, he hoped to keep it that way.

Valar hadn’t actually told his mother he’d be pursuing the bird on his own, let alone asked for her blessing. After all, Valar thought, why bother to ask permission for something he knew he’d never get? Still, the gryphon ought to be glad Valar was bending the rules to chase him down. If the Ward had decided the gryphon was a sizable enough threat, they might have asked for Kylaryn’s help. Valar feared his mother would have been far less hesitant to choose violence than he was.

The dragon stretched his wings, gliding towards the tower. Holding his wings outstretched and taut sent pain stabbing through his wing joint, and into his back. Valar grit his teeth, hissing. The increased intensity of the pain made it harder to ignore than usual. Valar focused himself on his task. Pain, he told himself, was merely a fleeting obstacle to overcome. Once the gryphon was no longer a threat, then he could rest. Then the pain would fade. Until then, he would fight through it as he always did.

Valar banked around the tower, spiraling down towards it. With the way the canopy enclosed it, Valar saw nowhere to land but the structure’s exposed rooftop. It was round, flat, and hopefully still sturdy enough to support a dragon. As he neared it, Valar flared his blue-marked wings, bleeding off speed. Valar extended his hind legs as he came in for a landing, bracing himself for what was to come. As he touched down on his back paws, the jarring impact sent a fresh bolt of white-hot agony piercing through his thigh. He grunted, tail lashing, and dropped to all fours. Soon, at least, the sharpness of the pain faded to a duller throb. He shook himself, folding his wings, then took a few cautious steps, testing the tower’s stability.

Once Valar was certain the roof wasn’t going to cave in beneath him, he studied his surroundings. The clouded moonlight painted everything in the same gray shades. Patches of thick moss slathered the weathered limestone battlements ringing the rooftop, where overhanging boughs once shaded them. Valar saw no sign of an entryway other than a moldering wooden trapdoor far too small to fit a gryphon, let alone a dragon.

For a moment, he wondered if he’d been misled. Had the captives lied, to ensure the gryphon’s escape? He’d thought them more interested in saving their own skins, but perhaps that was part of their ploy. The dragon lowered his head, sniffing around the lichen-crusted roof. An unfamiliar creature’s scent still lingered, painting a picture of a youthful male gryphon in his mind. No, the bandits spoke true. Valar’s quarry was here somewhere, but where?

Valar slowly turned in a circle, looking for anything out of the ordinary. At first, nothing caught his eye. But when the breeze swirled around the tower, something dark fluttered at the edge of his vision. Valar pivoted towards it, expecting to see a blackbird perched upon a nearby branch. Instead, he saw only a single large, ebony feather, caught upon a bramble vine snaking through the canopy alongside the tower. Valar approached it, then examined the plume. Its scent was still fresh, the gryphon had only just lost it. He ducked his head under the treetops to peer over the tower’s edge. Broken branches, shorn vines, and pruned limbs created an opening that led all the way down to the former outpost’s overgrown courtyard. A few more discarded feathers marked the way down.

Sneaky bird, Valar thought. He wasn’t sure if the gryphon simply jumped all the way down or if he’d scaled the walls or tree trunks. The dragon sized up the opening. It was a little too small for him to comfortably fit through, and he doubted he could climb down the trees. He’d have to jump. Valar hissed his irritation. That landing was going to hurt. At this rate, he was almost hoping the damn gryphon was spoiling for a fight. Knocking the bird around might be surprisingly satisfying after all the discomfort he’d caused.

The dragon took a deep breath, bracing himself. He pulled his wings in tight, then hopped over the battlements, plunging through the treetops. Jagged wood and curved thorns clawed at his scales, scratched his wing membranes, opening little lines of fire. The earth below shot up to meet him, and Valar threw his wings open the instant he had room. They caught the air just enough to blunt his downwards momentum right before landing. All four paws hit the ground together, jarring his bones. Fresh pain speared through his scarred hind leg, forcing a pained cry from his jaws. He stumbled forward, but quickly caught his balance.

Valar spun on his paws, swiftly surveying the area around him, in case the gryphon lay in wait. If his target didn’t know the dragon was here before, he probably did now. With the clouded moonlight blocked by the trees, the night was darker still. Yet dragons saw well enough in the dark, even if everything seemed but dim shades of gray. Valar stood in the remains of an old, walled courtyard. Bits of broken flagstone protruded from the mossy earth amidst stands of verdant ferns and coils of winding bramble. Many of the limestone walls that once enclosed the place were long crumbled, while those that remained were slathered in ivy. A rusted portcullis blocked off the remnants of a gate. The roof of a rectangular barracks building had collapsed inwards, with one of its walls caved in atop it. Birds now nested in its ruin, angrily chirping at the dragon who dared intrude upon their domain. Only the tower and the miniature keep connected to it remained mostly intact, shielded from the worst of the elements by the walls and trees.

There was no immediate sign of the gryphon, but there were also few places left for such a creature to hide. According to the interrogated brigands, the gryphon actually lived here, when he was not with his allies. The tower and its old keep were the only places left large enough for even a young gryphon to call home. The tower itself had no visible entrance, only a short stone hall connecting it to the square-shaped keep. Arrow slits marked the tower in a spiraling ascent, likely mirroring the stairs within. More small openings ran along the length of the adjoining hall, and all around the keep’s fortified exterior. Small as the watchtower outpost was, whoever built it did so with defensibility in mind. Yet time had worn down its defenses as surely as any sustained attack. Whatever sturdy gateway once protected the keep’s entry was long gone, replaced only with thick curtains of deer hides stitched together. Valar imagined the gryphon had put those up to help keep out the rain.

Valar padded towards the entrance slowly, his spined tail lashing. He knew all too well it was entirely possible for this to be some elaborate trap. The moment he set foot into the gryphon’s lair, he might find himself struck with poisoned darts. Valar chuckled at the thought. He rather doubted a gryphon would go to the trouble of setting up something so complicated, even if he was capable of it. If anything, it was more likely he was walking into an ambush. Instead of one gryphon, he might find a whole family of them, ready to avenge their brethren’s defeat, and free their captive friends.

With that thought in mind, Valar took a moment to check that the pouches strapped around his tail remained intact after his trip through the treetops. The Ward insisted he carry first aid supplies, should he find himself wounded by his quarry. They’d hurriedly stuffed several travel bags with bandages, salves and the like, then buckled them around the dragon’s tail. Valar was pleased to find them still in place, and still holding onto their contents. He turned his attention back to the former gateway and its makeshift door.

Quietly as he could, Valar eased the curtains aside just far enough to peer inside. A short, narrow entry corridor led inside, where a second portcullis once barred entry. It lingered as rusted spikes jutting from the ceiling, long since jammed in place in the open position. Beyond it a larger room where the outpost’s men held meetings or took their meals. Whatever furnishings it once held were long gone. In their place was a haphazard assortment of random items, likely all stolen. Bags and pouches of coin were strewn about everywhere. A trio of wine casks sat in a corner. Several gold-embossed idols looted from a village church sat on display beneath a decorative, engraved silver lamp. Crates of preserved foodstuffs marked with a merchant’s seal were stacked up against one wall. Another box with a different merchant’s claim lay broken in a far corner, with silken garments spilling out from it. Luxurious, exotic furs were piled at the back of the room, serving as bed for the thieving bird Valar sought.

The black gryphon himself sat upon his bedding, his wings half unfurled. He stared at Valar, unblinking, his beak set. He looked as if he’d been waiting there all night for the dragon to finally arrive. Valar crossed the room one cautious step at a time. He watched the gryphon closely, yet remained wary for any possible trap or ambush. Instead, the bird simply watched him in silent, his sharp emerald eyes tracking the dragon’s every moment.

“Well…” Valar came to a stop near the gryphon’s bed. He glanced around at the many purloined items. “This explains why the Ward didn’t find many of their people’s possessions in their camp. Looks as if they’ve been stashing them all with you. I think you’ve more treasure in your home, than we do.” Valar chuckled, flicking his tail. The gryphon did not share his laughter, nor show any other reaction. Valar swallowed, turning his attention back to the bird. “You know, after I heard them talking, I thought they’d just been using you. But, seeing all this?” He waved his paw at a few bags of coin. “Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps you’ve been using them. Was that the plan? Get their help to steal things, offer to stash them here, then let them take the fall?”

Again, the gryphon only stared at him in silence.

Valar shrugged his wings. “Perhaps not.” He tilted his head. “Do you have a name, bird?”

The gryphon’s posture shifted, ever so slightly. He leaned forward, coiling his weight against his hind legs. “Go fuck yourself.”

Valar snorted. “That’s an odd name.” Valar flicked his tail. “I suppose you know why I’m here.”

“Because…” The gryphon slowly pushed himself up to all fours, looking like a snake preparing to strike. Tension built in the taut beneath his ebony fur. His black wings trembled, ever so slightly. The silver feathers edging them wavered. “You can’t leave well enough alone.”

“Careful, bird.” Valar let an edge creep into his voice. He drew himself up tall, his head held high. He spread his wings, and lifted his spiny frills. At his full height, he dwarfed the bird. The gryphon was still young, lean and wiry by the standards of his people. “I’m twice your size.”

The gryphon tilted his head, his green eyes shining even in the darkness. Something in his eyes put Valar ill-at-ease. It was like an eagle, inspecting its prey. The gryphon stared at him not with fear, but fury, and a dangerous sort of confidence. Despite his size, the gryphon did not think he would lose, if they fought. Or perhaps more concerningly, the gryphon simply didn’t care if he lost.

“Now, listen, bird.” Valar held a paw up, still hoping to resolve things without violence. “I’m here because-”

“Call me bird again, lizard.” The gryphon took a step closer, hissing through his sharp beak. His claw tips peeked free. “And I’ll take your tongue for a trophy.”

Anger sparked in Valar’s heart, even as something cold and worrisome settled into his belly. He wasn’t sure if the gryphon was trying to intimidate him, or goad him into attacking, but neither boded well. For the first time, he found himself wondering if he should have asked for assistance, after all. Valar remained confident he could beat the little gryphon in battle, if it came to it, but he was increasingly concerned about the cost in blood it might entail.

“Alright, gryphon,” Valar said, fighting to keep his voice even. “I’ll be respectful if you will.” As he spoke, the gryphon’s eyes bored into him, as if to piece him deeply enough to measure his very soul. Something about the look in the gryphon’s eyes was eerily familiar. “As I was trying to say, I’m here because-”

“Because you think you’re a hero!” The gryphon spat his words with a venom so potent Valar could scarcely fathom such angry hatred. “Just like my father!”

Father.

Valar sucked in a breath. That was it. That was what he saw in the gryphon’s eyes.

Himself.

“Everyone thinks my father’s a hero, but I know his black heart!” The gryphon thumped a forepaw against his chest. “I know what he’s done to my mother, how he’s left her broken soul in shambles. He meant the world to her, and he cast her aside like filthy refuse, off to play the hero somewhere else.”

In that moment, Valar knew they were the same. He saw himself reflected in the gryphon’s roiling eyes. All the pain, all the bitterness, all the lifelong anger. A father who vanished. Who left his mother grieving his absence as she raised a child on her own. Valar knew that anguish all too well. The realization stuck him like a physical blow. Valar stumbled back, his breath coming in short pants. The gryphon advanced upon him, pressing his sudden advantage.

“You’re just like him, aren’t you!” The gryphon snarled, striding forward swiftly enough to force Valar to backpedal just to keep distance between them. The fires in the bird’s voice grew hotter with every scalding word. “You think you’re some hero, but all you do is ruin lives! Everything my friends tried to build for themselves, you took from them tonight! And you took them from me!”

“They were brigands!” Valar hissed, dismayed to find himself kept off balance by the furious little gryphon. “They were stealing from people, breaking their laws-”

“There are no laws!” The gryphon snapped his beak, advancing again. “Survival, that’s the only real law. Live, or die! At best, you help your friends do the same.”

Valar snarled, fighting the urge to shove the scrawny gryphon away. He’d probably lose a finger if he tried. “They were using you, gryphon! They talked about you as though you were their pet!”

“At least I mattered to them!” The gryphon fluffed himself up, black feathers standing on end. “I’ve never mattered to anyone else, before, save my poor mother. I sure as hell didn’t mean anything to my gods-damned father, or he’d still be with her!” Something dark, and dangerous crept into the gryphon’s voice. “And I don’t mean anything to you, either.” He stopped advancing, but that only made the trembling tautness in his wiry body all the more unnerving. “You’re just here for glory. You just want to play the hero! You don’t care what happens to me, after this. You’re just like my father.” 

“No.” Valar shook his head. “I’m not.” Some of the strength drained from him in a long, sorrowful sigh. Valar suddenly wondered if it was even worth it to drag this embittered young gryphon back to an unknown fate. “If anything, I’m far too much like you. Perhaps we can-”

“I’m nothing like you!” The gryphon’s words erupted in a furious screech. “Nothing!” His claws all came out. “You don’t know the first thing about me!” He slunk forward again, this time advancing with the threatening grace of a predator about to pounce. Years of pent up bitterness and rage now threatened to boil over into a whirlwind of misspent violence. His voice was little more than a twisted snarl. “We don’t share one gods-damned thing, lizard!”

“Yes, we do.” Valar backed away, but slower this time, and only in his increasingly dim hopes of averting bloodshed. “I know your pain all too well, gryphon. Better than you realize. Please don’t make me hurt you. I don’t want-” Something crunched beneath his hind paw.

The gryphon gasped, horror etched across his face. “That…” His beak hung open, his ears drooped in sudden sorrow. “That was from my mother…”

Valar glanced back to see what he’d stepped on. A wooden figurine lay in broken pieces upon the floor. Bits of black cloth made for makeshift feathers, a split acorn for a beak. It was a gryphon toy, crudely but lovingly assembled by another gryphon. Images of his own youthful toys flashed through his mind. He saw himself hugging Rorie and Squigg in the days after his grievous injuries. When the pain was at its worst, he’d whisper of it to them, and they’d help him bear it. When his father was gone, and a deep and abiding loneliness settled in, he spoke to them of his grief, to spare his mother the pain. To this day, those toys held deep meaning. This gryphon too, must have kept the figurine as a keepsake, some cherished memento held ever close to his heart.

And Valar had just ruined it.

“I’m sorry…” Valar swallowed, flattening his ears. Guilt weighed upon his heart, pressing it towards his belly. “I didn’t-”

“I’ll kill you.” The gryphon’s voice was deathly quiet. His whole body shook. When he looked up from the shattered toy, to Valar’s face, his eyes had changed. Everything familiar in them was gone, replaced by a hatred, and a desperation Valar could scarcely fathom. Something inside the gryphon had broken with that toy, perhaps irrevocably. “I’ll kill you!”

Valar’s blood went cold. The gryphon wasn’t bluffing. In his mind, one of them was about to die. Valar wasn’t even sure the gryphon cared which one of them it was. Either his rage would be assuaged, or his short lifetime of pain and anger would be over. Valar quickly backed away again, trying to build distance between them in the hopes he could still diffuse things.

“Wait! Gryphon, let me-”

It was too late. The gryphon leapt at Valar, hurtling the space between them in a single bound. He flicked his wings at the end of his jump, propelling himself upwards at Valar’s head. The gryphon’s assault came far faster than Valar anticipated, beak snapping for his throat, claws gashing through his scales. It was all Valar could do just to get his paws on the smaller creature. He wrenched him away from his neck, and hurled him across the room. Even as the gryphon toppled through the air, he flicked his wings again, righting himself in time to alight upon his paws, graceful as a cat.

Blood ran down Valar’s scales. Pain burned in his neck. For a split second, he assumed it was the gryphon’s blood. Surely, Valar thought, he must have accidentally sunk his claws into the gryphon’s hide. But as red rivulets ran down across his chest, as the pain intensified across his throat, the horrifying truth finally hit him. That was his blood. This gryphon meant to kill him. The reason he was here, the circumstances of the gryphon’s life, none of those things mattered now. All that mattered was survival.

If Valar did not fight back, he was going to die.

The gryphon was on him again in an instant. He leapt anew for Valar’s throat, but this time Valar was ready. He met the bird’s attack with his own, slamming his forepaw across the side of the gryphon’s head. The impact tore a pained cry from the gryphon, and knocked him sideways through the air. The black-feathered bird hit the ground and tumbled, bumping up against the nearest wall. He coughed. Blood spattered his beak, and the stone floor beneath him.

“Stay down, bird!” Valar snarled at the gryphon, anger rising within him. How dare this upstart, bitter little ball of black feathers try and kill him. “You know, until you attacked me, I was starting to think about letting you go!”

“How very…” The gryphon coughed again, blood dribbling from his beak. “Merciful of you.” He pushed up, shaking himself. “You must think yourself so heroic.”

“I said stay down!” Valar glanced from the blood dripping from the gryphon’s mouth to his own forepaws. He hadn’t even used his claws, and already he’d wounded the fool gryphon. At least that made them even, he supposed. “Don’t make me unsheathe my claws, gryphon!”

Anger and hatred roiled in the gryphon’s eyes as he glared at the dragon. There was so much rage and pain boiling inside the bird, Valar wasn’t even sure how much of it was meant for him. How much of his loathing was directed at the intruder, and how much his father? Hell, Valar thought, how much of it was directed at the gryphon himself? Was it possible he wanted things to end this way? Maybe he feared a life spent in some human’s prison more than he feared death. Or perhaps, he’d simply sunk so far he was simply ready for his life-

The gryphon sprang before Valar finished his thought. The dragon backpedaled, striking again at his attacker’s head. This time, however, the gryphon’s maneuver proved a feint. He landed just short of Valar and dropped to his belly, allowing Valar’s paw to whip through the air above him. The misspent momentum shifted Valar’s balance against his scarred leg, and he stumbled, crying out when pain lanced him.

Just as quickly, the gryphon was back on his feet. He bolted forward and bound into the air, lashing out with his foreleg. The gryphon’s claws whistled through the air, and struck Valar full-force across the muzzle. The blow jerked Valar’s head sideways, and claws cut anguished lines all down the dragon’s face. Blood splattered the gryphon. Valar staggered back, only for the gryphon to leap and strike him again with the other forepaw, wrenching his head back the opposite direction. Valar’s ears rang from the blows, and his wobbling limbs threatened to give out. The taste of blood filled his maw, its scent his muzzle.

Pain and blood seized Valar’s mind in ways he’d never known. Age-old dragon instincts sprang to life, spurred on by the need to fight, to defend himself, to bring claws, fang, and flame to bear. To kill, if he must. His fire glands tingled, ached even, begging to be used. He stopped backing away, bracing himself against his hind legs, old wounds be damned. Then Valar surged forward, seizing the initiative and forcing the gryphon back, instead.

Valar rained a flurry of strikes down upon the smaller creature, battering him with his forepaws. He struggled to keep his claws sheathed, battling not just the gryphon but the ancient instinct to slay any who sought to claim his own life. Though Valar now realized he might have to kill this gryphon, he still hoped to avoid doing so if it all possible. His paws struck the gryphon like hammers, knocking him back and forth. The gryphon staggered one way, then the other, off-balance and backpedaling. One blow splattered blood from the bird’s cracked beak, another from a torn ear. When the gryphon tried to duck away, Valar seized the smaller creature and hoisted him off the ground. Valar reared onto his hind legs and pivoted, hurling the gryphon across the hall. The black-feathered ball of spite hit the stone floor hard this time with an agonized cry, tumbling haphazardly.

“Now stay the hell down this time, gryphon!” Valar advanced towards him, snarling. “Enough is enough!”

“Fuck you!” The gryphon staggered to his feet, shaking himself. “I’ve had worse beatings from the breeze. I’m just getting started with you!”

Valar stopped, giving a low, threatening rumble, his spines on full display. “Please, bird, I don’t want to have to kill you!”

“Liar!” The gryphon bristled, his feathers all sticking out at odd angles. The long, silver crown feathers across the back of his neck rose up, ringing his head in angry spectacle. “You came here for blood, lizard!” The gryphon circled him, his wings unfurled. “Even if you don’t want to admit it. You may think you’re so heroic, but heroes kill, dragon. You followed me to my home, and then you cornered me inside it. You knew exactly where this path leads. You die, and I go free, or I die, and you go home a hero.” The gryphon snapped his beak, cold sarcasm twisting his voice. “Just like your Mother. Won’t she be proud of her little killer?”

Valar sucked in a breath, his ears flat. Did this gryphon actually know who he was? Who his mother was? He supposed it was unlikely there were any female dragons with deep blue scales who were somehow more famous than his mother. She was, after all, a literal war hero to countless thousands of Aran’alians and their allies. And to countless thousands more Illandrans, she was the leader of the dragons who held their army at bay for decades.

That single moment of distraction was all it took for the gryphon to launch a new attack. He bound forward, somehow still spry and agile despite the abuse his body had already taken. Valar moved to meet him, lashing out anew. Though Valar was prepared for the gryphon to pull another feint, instead the smaller bird simply danced back out of range. Valar followed him, cautious, only for the gryphon to dart forward and snap at his paws as if seeking to bite off his toes. Valar yanked his paw away, and the gryphon pranced out of his reach. Just as quickly, the smaller creature shot towards him, zigzagging several times before finally rushing towards Valar’s hind legs. This time Valar wasn’t quite fast enough, and the gryphon’s beak sank deeply into his good back leg, just above his ankle.

Valar cried out and jerked his leg away, then tried to kick the gryphon in the head. Yet once more, his foe was already too far away. Valar limped a step, then pivoted away on three paws. Rivulets of blood ran down his hind limb, leaving a trail of crimson across the worn stone floor. Shifting his weight to his scarred leg proved troublesome, a searing coal burning in the meat of his thigh. Before he could set his balance, the gryphon approached him, now with a strange off-time gait, three steps left, the one to the right, then two more to the left. Just as quickly, he reversed back the other way, circling around to the dragon’s other side. Valar struggled to keep up, both back legs screaming their own protests.

For several moments, the gryphon danced around Valar, surging forward, falling back, prancing one way, then the other. It was all Valar could do to keep the gryphon in front of him. The young dragon had the disconcerting realization that the gryphon was testing him, now. His reactions, his balance, his ability to continue fighting with wounded limbs. Each new movement, every shift in direction, and every feint forced Valar to react one way or another.

Finally, Valar stumbled, and the gryphon seized the advantage. He sprinted forward as Valar tried to regain his footing, and shot beneath Valar’s front limb. The gryphon’s claws knifed through the inside of Valar’s front leg, igniting fresh pain. Valar cried out and tried to spin away from him, only for the gryphon to prove faster. He whirled right back around, and sunk his beak into Valar’s other front leg, just above his paw. Valar staggered sideways, struggling just to stay on his feet. He turned sharply, whipping his tail at his attacker. His spines whistled through the air, driving the gryphon back, if only for a moment.

But the gryphon did not relent. Again and again he darted in, seizing any opportunity, striking at any opening. Valar did what he could to retaliate, but more often than not, the creature was simply too fast. Even when he did manage to strike the bird, the gryphon had a way of twisting his body just before impact, taking only a glancing blow. And for every solid strike Valar did land, his smaller foe sank claws and beak into the dragon at least three more times. Valar’s heart crashed against his chest, breath came in heaving pants. For the first time, fear’s cold hands gripped his bowels. Only then, when sudden, frigid panic threatened to overwhelm him, did Valar truly realize the obvious.

He was losing this fight.

For all his advantages in size and strength, this furious little creature was getting the better of him. It harder mattered how much bigger he was, if he couldn’t land a truly decisive blow. Sooner or later, Valar’s increasingly bloodied limbs were going to give out, and then he’d truly be in trouble. The gryphon did not seem keen to offer Valar the same mercy the dragon wished to show his enemy.

No, Valar thought with a snarl. He’d survived damn near the un-survivable as a hatchling, he was not about to die here. His father hadn’t saved his life just for him to die to some angry, upstart thief with feathers. His mother hadn’t protected him just for his own merciful nature to get him killed. His family had not fled their homeland just for him to breathe his last in some rotting fortress, trying to apprehend a bandit. Valar refused. The gryphon seemed to think it was his life, or the dragon’s. Valar hated that idea, but if that was his only remaining option, then so be it.

At long last, Valar unsheathed his claws.

Again, the gryphon darted in and fell back, weaving left and right. Again, he drew fresh blood. Valar grit his teeth against the pain, steeling himself. He watched the gryphon’s movements closely, waiting for the right moment to counterattack. When next he landed a blow, he was damn sure going to make it count. At last, the moment for retaliation arrived. The gryphon surged forward, only to drop back and wheel around the dragon. But this time, Valar saw his eyes shift just in time. He was baiting the dragon, waiting for him to pivot.

So, Valar pivoted. The gryphon danced back the other way, and Valar finally made him pay. He spun back in the other direction, lashing out with a forepaw. His claws streaked through the air and caught the gryphon on the shoulder, opening long, bloodied lines even as the impact knocked the gryphon from his feet. The gryphon screeched, a scarlet smear left in his wake as he toppled across the floor, rolling up against a wall. He rose swiftly, only to cry out again when put weight upon his injured foreleg.

This time Valar offered no further chance to surrender. Instead, he took a sharp breath, and gave into the aching desires of his fire glands, blasting roiling red-orange flame at the gryphon. Valar had never used his flame in battle before, and there was a terrifying sort of exhilaration to it. It brought with it a racing pulse of adrenaline, a dizzying excitement and strange satisfaction, as if all he ever wanted as a dragon, was to burn his enemies.

The gryphon squawked and dropped to his belly, flattening himself out. Valar’s fire missed him, but only just. It danced across the wall behind him, spilling across the tufted tip of his tail. Feathers were singed and fur smoldered. Terror shone in fiery reflection within his emerald eyes just before he threw his paws over his head, as if they could somehow protect him from the incinerating fury of dragon-fire. The bird’s sudden, instinctual fear only drove Valar onwards. When his breath gave out, he snapped his jaws shut, but bound forward to press his newfound advantage.

Though the gryphon was quick to return to his feet, Valar was on him just as swiftly. Valar seized the bird in his forepaws, and once again reared up onto his back legs to hoist the gryphon off the ground. This time, Valar held him fast. The gryphon scrabbled at him, kicking at his chest with his hind paws. His claws scratched at the thicker scales there, cutting where they found purchase. Valar roared, the sound cascading around the chamber like a caged beast seeking escape. He hoisted the gryphon higher still, then smashed him up against the stone wall, rattling the breath from his lungs. The gryphon struggled, and Valar bashed him against the wall again, and then once more. Something cracked inside the bird, and he shrieked. Valar threw him up against the stone one more time, and the gryphon’s head snapped back sharply against it.

Awash in furious instinctual rage he scarcely understood, Valar did not realize the fight was over. He wrenched the gryphon away from the wall, pivoting around on his back paws. He staggered forward, and then slammed the gryphon down onto the stone floor as hard as he could. Valar’s weight came bearing down on the bird’s chest. His claws were still out. With Valar’s weight behind them, his claws punched through the bird’s chest, opening him all the way to his sternum.

Then they punched through that, too.

Blood gushed over Valar’s paws, more of it than he’d ever seen at once. The scent of it filled the air, coppery and stifling. The gryphon gagged, a sound so wretched it was as if he was choking on agony itself. Valar jerked his paws away, and more blood welled up, pouring down the gryphon’s body. Through the open wound, something pulsed. Blood rushed out in time with the oddly rhythmic motion. It took Valar a second to comprehend just what he was seeing. And then it hit him like an iron hammer.

He’d cleaved the gryphon to his very heart.

The realization shattered Valar. He gasped, horror twisting up his belly. All his angry, defensive instincts left him in an instant, washed away in a tide of cold guilt. He lifted a trembling forepaw, staring at it in horror. Blood coated it, smothering his blue markings in scarlet. The gryphon gagged again beneath him, gasping for breath. The bird lifted his head, watching his own lifeblood streaming from his chest with every beat of his half-visible heart. The gryphon mewled, a sound so filled with sorrow and fear it broke what was left of Valar’s guilty heart.

The gryphon’s head lolled back, and he began to cry. “Mother…” He struggled for breath. “I’m sorry.” He reached towards his chest, only to drop his paw back down. “I hope you won’t miss me. I hope…” The gryphon coughed, blood running everywhere. “You think I’m happy, somewhere…

“No…” Valar reached towards him with a trembling paw, but what was he to do?

He had killed this creature. All he wanted to do was help his friends. He hadn’t come here to kill the foolish bird. He hadn’t even wanted to hurt him. Just…bring him back to town, make him work off his debt, maybe. Instead, he’d doomed the bitter little bastard. While it was true the gryphon attacked him, it was also true Valar had cornered him in his home. Valar who lost control. Valar who slew a half-grown young gryphon before his life had truly even begun.

Maybe, he thought, that was what the bird wanted, all along. So filled with anger and bitterness that all he had left to long for, was the terrible respite offered in death. In another life, that could have been Valar. The absent father, the directionless spite, a life of resentment turned to rage, and roiling emptiness.  

“No…” Valar’s breath came in ragged pants. He didn’t want this gryphon to die. Without knowing what else to do, he reached out, and cradled the gryphon’s cheek. “I’m sorry… I didn’t want this…”

The gryphon gazed up at him, terror and sadness in his eyes. “You came here for this. Do you feel…” He gagged again. Blood ran from his beak. “Heroic?”

Valar recoiled, stepping back. “That’s not…” He swallowed, tears welling up. His throat tightened. “I…I’m so sorry…” Gods, he wished there was something else he could say, something he could do.

The gryphon managed to shake his head. “Don’t be sorry you lived. It’s…” He took a shaking breath. “Better this way. You’re probably…a better person than me, anyway. Just…” The gryphon lifted a trembling forepaw towards the dragon. “Please, don’t leave yet…” A whimper crept into the bird’s voice. For the first time, something beyond hatred flickered in the bird’s tearful eyes, some strangely hopeful sort of vulnerability. “Don’t let me die alone. I…I just don’t want to die alone.”

Valar took the gryphon’s paw, squeezing it tightly. “I won’t.” He quickly shook his head, fighting through his own tears. He dropped onto his haunches alongside the gryphon. “I won’t leave you, gryphon. I won’t let you…” He curled his tail around his paws, struggling to speak. Valar’s eyes drifted to the pouches buckled around his tail. “Die.”

The dragon stared at the first aid supplies. They weren’t meant for something like this. There was no way he could help the bird now, not with all the blood he was losing. At best, he could staunch the flow a little while. But what good would that do besides prolonging the gryphon’s suffering? Unless…Valar glanced at the exit. Unless he took the gryphon to someone who could save his life.

Once, long ago, his father did the very same for him.

But his father was fully grown, then, and Valar was only a hatchling. There was no way an adolescent dragon with a damaged wing could possibly carry a gryphon that far. It was impossible. But then again, so was Valar’s every breath. So was every beat of his wings in flight. Amaleen, the woman who saved him, once confided to his mother that he should have died that night. That he would likely never fly. Mother only told him that, many years later, when first she watched him fly all on his own. She told him that he had done the impossible.

In that moment, Valar decided he would do the impossible once more.

He would save the gryphon’s life.

Valar released the gryphon’s paw, tearing open one of his tail pouch. He ripped the bag, but paid it no heed. It mattered not. All that mattered now was finding a way to save the bird. He pulled out rolls of gauzy bandages, and rested them nearby, beyond the pooling blood. Then he tore into the other one, spilling little stoneware vessels filled with salves. He searched several of them till he found what he was looking for.

“What…” The gryphon tried to lift his head, but it already seemed to take far more effort than before. “Are you…”

“Quiet, now.” Valar used a single claw to pull the stopper free. Then he poured salve onto a swatch of bandage, quickly spreading the astringent smelling substance across them. “This is going to hurt, but I don’t know how else to slow your bleeding.” Before he could think better of it, he pressed the bandage to the gryphon’s wound, salve side down. The gryphon screamed, and blood soaked the bandage through almost immediately. “Hold this tight!” Valar grasped the gryphon’s paw, and pressed it to the bandage. “Tight, I said!”

The gryphon clutched the bandage to himself, confusion etched across his pained features. “Why…?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions, bird.” Valar swiftly smeared more salve on another bandage, and another. “In fact, don’t talk at all. Save your strength.”

He knew the dressings alone were not enough, but he hoped if he could get enough salve into the wound without it being washed out immediately, it might begin to staunch the bleeding just enough. It was made from potent herbal coagulants, and used by the Ward to treat wounds sustained in battle and other injuries. Yet Valar also knew all too well that they’d more than herbal salves to save the gryphon’s life. For now, though, this was the best he could do.

Valar swapped out the salved bandages several times. By the time he pressed the third one to the gryphon’s wound, blood seemed to soak through it just a little more slowly. He emptied the salve jaw onto one more bandage, smearing the sticky material all across it. When the previous bandage was too soaked to be of use, Valar exchanged them again. He pressed it hard against the gryphon’s chest, praying to any deity who might exist that it would work.

“Hold this as tight as you can.” Valar rose up to all fours, walking around to the gryphon’s head. “And try to hold it the whole way there.”

The gryphon pressed shaking paws against the bandage, holding it to his blood-drenched chest. “What?”

“I told you not to talk.” Valar nudged the gryphon’s ear with his muzzle. “Lift your head high as you can.”

The gryphon slowly did so. As soon as it was up, Valar tilted his own head, and bite down against the back of the gryphon’s neck. Then he backed towards the entrance, dragging the bird across the ground. Bloody smears marked his passage. The gryphon squawked, though whether in pain or merely indignant protest, Valar couldn’t tell. He simply knew he needed both front legs to carry the gryphon. And after their brawl, there was no way he could carry the bird far enough on his hind legs alone.

Valar dragged the gryphon all the way back out into the overgrown courtyard. Once outside, he released the gryphon, then studied the forest canopy sprawling above them. He sure as hell couldn’t get back out the same way he got in while carrying a gryphon. The dragon rumbled a low growl. There was no getting around it. He was just going to have to punch through the treetops the hard way.

“Alright, bird.” Valar turned towards the gryphon. “I’m going to do everything I can to save you. And…” He hunkered down, easing his forelegs beneath the gryphon’s body. “I know it’s probably tempting to let go, just to spite me. But please, try to hold on. Whatever you’ve been through, whatever pain you hold in your heart? There’s so much more to life than bitterness, and regret. So, please…” Valar grunted in pained effort, rising onto his hind legs. For the last time, he hoisted the gryphon up off the ground. This time though, he cradled the bloodied bird against his body, sheltering him. Now, the gryphon felt all too small and fragile in his grasp. “Hold on as long as you can. Let me save you, and I promise you, your life will be better, after this.”

Valar took a deep breath, and then leapt into the air. Something taut popped in his scarred leg. He beat his wings sharply, struggling against the added weight. Something stretched too far in his hobbled wing. So long as it continued to hold him aloft, Valar did not care. He pumped his wings a few more times, then braced himself just before he crashed upwards through the canopy. Boughs broke and snapped all across him, scratching at his wings. A moment later, and he was through them. The clouds were gone, now, leaving only an empty, moonlight sky above, and an ocean of forest below.

Pain filled the young dragon as he flew on. He hurt everywhere. But the pain did not matter. The injuries did not matter. Nothing mattered now but saving this gryphon’s life. Pain was but an obstacle the young dragon overcame every day of his life. He had lived with it since almost before memory. More pain just made for a slightly larger hill to climb, tonight. Valar beat his wings harder, faster, pushing himself to accelerate. He’d fly himself until his gods-damned crippled wings gave out forever, if that was what it took to save this gryphon’s life.

The gryphon clung to Valar, trembling. Blood dribbled through the air beneath them. He tried to speak, his voice a croaking whisper nearly stolen by the winds. “Where…?”

“To the one person who can help me save you.” Valar tightened his grip, sheltering the gryphon as he flew faster still. “My mother.”