Sins of the Father - Chapter Thirty (Patreon)

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Chapter Thirty

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The morning sun warmed the cool autumn air. Oceans of color stretched out below the soaring gryphon where fall’s vibrant blanket spread across the thickly forested hills. Sprawling patches of red-orange oak leaves abutted swathes of golden aspens, and fiery maples. Haphazard stands of pines and firs dotted the brighter forests with greens and muted tones verging on blue. A wide river snaked through the woods. Its deep blue pools were occasionally interspersed with rapids rushing over boulders long-since cast down from the nearby hillsides.

Beyond the edge of the woods, a vast stretch of abandoned farmland surrounded the lone bridge spanning the water. Fences of stacked gray stones divided up overgrown pastures, now yielding only fields of sunflowers and weeds where once they grew vital crops. Homes and farm buildings remained as crumbling ruins, where birds nested in caved in roofs, and wild animals slept in the remnants shelters build for their domesticated kin.

A ghost town surrounded the bridge that crossed the river. In times past, the stone-built span was the only way across the river for countless miles in any direction. It sturdy and reliable, but only large enough for a single carriage or wagon at a time. Merchants soon took to vending goods to those waiting to cross. Before long, they’d built permanent store fronts on either side of the bridge. Soon, a grand inn followed, constructed of expensive granite quarried from a great distance away.

Over time, the little town became an important rest and resupply point for anyone making the long journey from Illandra’s vast heartland, to the edge of its southern provinces. Traders, trappers, soldiers, and travelers of all types passed through it. Farmers cast their lots here, ensuring both the local merchants and their customers would always have food available. The inn’s many rooms were booked nightly, its tavern filled with music and raucous laughter as the little town became quite the success story.

Or so the gryphon liked to imagine. Eventually, Illandra carved a new path through forest and hillside alike. They laid down a great, cobblestone road from the capital to the far southern reaches, just to prove they could. No expense was spared on the extravagant and vast, arched stone bridges spanning rivers and canyons. The new route shaved weeks off the journey, and the old town’s single lane span was soon abandoned. Eventually, so too was the town that sprung up around it.

But that was exactly why Krek was here. Rumors and hearsay said that during the town’s twilight years, it became a hub for thieves, treasure hunters, and all other manner of scoundrels. Supposedly, several groups in particular had once hidden their ill-gotten gains somewhere in the decaying town before eventually being killed or captured by the Illandran guards on their trails. The gryphon had come here in search of lost treasures and valuable trinkets alike. Not for himself, but because he hoped to find something beautiful, to take back to his dear Valar.

Valar. The dragon who saved him from himself. Krek had never known a soul so strong, nor a heart so beautiful. For years now they had known the deepest friendship. Hell, Krek thought, it was deeper than that lately, wasn’t it? Deep enough that Krek desired to sought to find some meaningful gift, a treasure worthy of the dragon’s beautiful heart. And so he’d been searching for something precious enough to suit. Thus far, he’d found of value, but each new lead brought with it hope renewed.

While Krek knew well enough that plenty of others had scoured these lands for any supposed treasures stashed upon them, he also knew none of them had searched with the sharp senses of a gryphon. And while Krek might not associate himself with thieves and brigands anymore, he remembered well their habits, and the secret signs they left for one another. If anyone could find those treasures, it was a brilliant gryphon like-

“Help!”

A single, distant plea brushed the gryphon’s ears. Instinctively, they swiveled towards the sound. The word sounded somehow screamed and soft, at the same time. Distance and altitude had robbed the frightened voice of its urgency, of its volume. If not for the sharpness of his own senses, Krek doubted he would have even heard it. The gryphon beat his wings, ascending higher. He scanned the grounds below, trying to find the source of the distress.

The voice came again, just as quiet, just as distant, and just as terrified. “Help! Please, anyone! Help!”

This time the words lingered in the air long enough for Krek to discern a little more about them. The voice was female, and human, he thought. What human in their right mind would be out here screaming for help in the middle of nowhere, he did not know. More curious than concerned, the gryphon rise higher still. Whoever they were, it was unlikely they were calling to him. As high as he flew, and as far away as the voice sounded, Krek doubted they’d even noticed him in the distant sky.

Nonetheless, Krek followed his ears towards the sound. Again, the woman shouted, and again Krek adjusted his flight path towards her. With every desperate plea, the gryphon honed in on the one crying out. Finally, Krek spotted movement in the distance. A woman clambered over an old stone fence, beyond the edge of the ghost town. She looked around, her body heaving breath. Then she plunged into a field of sunflowers and weeds as tall as she was. Beyond the overgrown pasture stood a relatively intact farmhouse. The yellow blooms parted all around the woman as she ran towards the house, frantically calling out. From the ground and glimpsed through the towering weeds, it might have looked lived in. But from above, the holes in the roof were all too evident. If the woman thought she’d find help there, she was sadly mistaken.

But why, Krek wondered, did she need help? Why run through the wild and overrun fields, when she could have taken the road? Despite the town’s abandonment, enough travelers local to the region still used it to keep it passable. Surely, the gryphon thought, it would have made for an easier journey than plunging through a forest of rough-leaved flowers and bramble. The overgrowth was so thick that even from above, the gryphon could hardly see her, save for the wake she left through the myriad yellow blossoms. Even those she passed through often sprang back up behind her, erasing much of her trail. And yet, the woman had chosen that path on purpose, climbed over the fence to vanish into veritable forest of weeds.

Vanish.

That was it. It clicked in the gryphon’s head that she was not just looking for help, but fleeing from something. The sunflowers were not obstacle, they were a hiding place. Krek circled her high, casting his gaze further ahead, where the woman had come from. Well down the weathered road, a trio of men jogged after her. Each of them wore battered, piecemeal armor, a mixture of chain mesh, studded leathers, and bits of plate. Two of the men had swords drawn, while a third held a crossbow with a bolt set and ready. Krek’s feathers bristled. Though it had been ages since he’d associated with their ilk, he recognized brigands when he saw them. Whoever they were, there was absolutely nothing good that would result if they captured their quarry.

The gryphon shuddered, his feathers bristling. He wondered how long the poor traveler had been fleeing her attackers. The sight of a distant town must have spurred her on, given her the adrenaline she needed to stay ahead of them a little longer. But her luck was running out. Even the sunflowers would not hide her forever, and she would find no one left in town to save her. No one had dwelled here for years. Sooner or later, they would catch her, and then…

Krek’s belly sank towards his hind paws. If the woman was lucky, they’d end her quickly. The other alternatives were far more horrifying. It was a great shame, the gryphon thought, that the woman had made it this far only to have her hopes dashed at the last moment. She faced a terrible end, all alone. There were no guards left to protect her, no farmers to shelter her, no one to hear her desperate cries for help.

Except him.

Except the gryphon, who longed for purpose.

Who questioned to this day, why that dragon showed him mercy. Why that dragon saved him from the darkness in which he drowned. Who meaning in the meaningless, a reason for his survival beyond stubbornness and spite.

Now, for the first time in all his life, Krek saw genuine purpose. He did not believe in gods, or fate, and yet Krek knew. He was here, in this moment, to save that woman’s life.

And save it he would.

Krek folded his wings, and dove. The gryphon hurtled out of the sky, a meteorite cast to earth by the broken stars themselves. He streaked towards the ground, nearly silent. Krek fixed his eyes on the three bandits. As they neared the wall over which the woman had climbed, the leader pointed to it. One of the men climbed up on the wall, peering across the overgrown meadow. He shaded his eyes, gazing around until at last he spotted movement near the farmhouse. Then the three men called back and forth to each other, planning to flush her out.

They were so focused on their prey, they never even looked up until it was too late.

Only when Krek’s shadow flashed past them did the man standing on the wall turn his eyes skyward. By then, Krek was nearly on him. The gryphon threw his wings wide at the last moment, arresting his dive. He pulled up sharply, flight muscles and tendons straining. Just as he started to ascend again, Kick lashed out with his back legs, transferring his momentum into a murderous blow. The gryphon’s hind paw smashed into the man’s chest, shattering sternum and ribs alike. The impact tore the man off his feet and send him arcing through the air in a broken mass of flailing limbs. He crashed into another stone fence, his body broken and twisted across it at unnatural angles. Krek alighted on the road just behind him, then pivoted, and bound straight for other two brigands.

“Fuck!” Another of the bandits scrambled back, eyes wide and face white with terror. “She’s got a fucking gryph-”

The rest of his words twisted into a wet gurgle when Krek’s unsheathed claws tore through his face, ripping away his jaw. The blow left him tumbling across the weed-strewn road, blood splattering broken cobblestones. Krek followed after him, grasping the rest of the man’s head in his forepaw. He wrenched it upwards, then smashed it down against the ground, crushing his skull.

Krek shook gore from his paw as he wheeled around towards the leader of the trio. The man’s face was set into taut lines, his sword raised. There was tension on his face, but no panic. He moved slowly sideways, his sword raised with a confidence that spoke of experience. This man had faced many battles, and come away the victory every time. No doubt he was already mentally preparing himself to feint and dodge, to parry the gryphon’s claws and beak, to strike for a killing blow when the bird left his throat open. This man wanted Krek to engage him directly.

Instead, Krek picked up the corpse of his companion, and hurled it at him. Whatever he’d prepared for, whatever he’d faced in his past, it was not a man’s entire body tumbling through the air at him. He gasped, and tried to leapt out of the way a moment too late. The body clipped him, and sent him stumbling backwards. Even before the body hit the ground, Krek was charging after it. He lowered his head, and smashed it into the stumbling man’s midsection. The impact lifted him into the air with a sickening crunch, throwing him backwards. He hit the ground and toppled head over heels. The sword flew from his grasp and skidded across the ground.

The man came to a stop in a crumpled heap. He rolled to his back, then struggled to rise. Blood ran from his mouth. He only made it up onto an elbow. The bandit lifted his other hand, holding it out as if to ward off the gryphon as Krek approached. “W-wait! Whatever she’s paying-”

Krek seized the man by the throat, and squeezed until everything inside his neck popped and snapped. Then the gryphon tossed him aside, his body flopping over. Krek spun in a quick circle to survey the area, and ensure all three of the woman’s pursuers were dead. None of their ruined corpses moved, aside from an occasional twitch. The gryphon turned another circle, slower this time, inspecting his surroundings closely. When he saw no sign of additional hunters, he allowed himself a slow, deep breath. Only then did he realize he was trembling.

  The gryphon’s heart against hammered his sternum. All four limbs were shaking beneath him. His mouth was dry, his throat drier. He worked his tongue inside his beak, then took a few more slow, steadying breaths. It was far from the first time Krek had seen battle, and taken lives. But it had been quite some time since his last serious skirmish. Nor could the gryphon recall ever transitioning so quickly from peaceful flight to violent bloodshed.

Once he’d collected himself, he padded towards the stone wall around the sunflower field. Krek remained cautious. As frightened as the woman was, and as brutally as he’d dispatched her attackers, he doubted she would see him as a friend. If she was armed, she might instinctively try and defend herself against the gryphon without realizing he was her rescuer.  Krek set his bloodied front paws on the rock-slab fence, lifting his head over the top of the sunflowers.

“You’re safe!” The gryphon called out in as gentle a voice as he could manage. “I’ve slain your pursuers. I shall not look for you, nor shall I expect you to come to me. I imagine you are quit frightened, and I do not wish to cause you further distress. I only wanted you to know you’re safe, now. I’ve killed all three of them.”

Krek stepped down from the wall, then backed away. He expected no reply, and wished to give the woman a chance to sneak away, or go into hiding, as she so chose. Krek wiped some of the blood from his paws onto the road, grinding his beak in distant. He’d need a bath in the river, before he returned home. Then again, he thought, before he cleaned himself, perhaps he should check the three brigands for valuables.

The gryphon glanced at his slain foes. Up close, and without the frantic rush of battle, they had the look of hired thugs. Their armor, though piecemeal, was in relatively decent shape. Their swords looked well maintained. He clicked his beak in thought. Before he’d killed them, they’d mentioned the woman twice. They almost seemed to assume that Krek was working for their quarry. Perhaps, then, this was not a simple bandit ambush, but a targeted attack on a wealthy merchant, or some other well to do traveler. In that case, anything valuable they might have carried, they’d probably looted from the woman. He shook himself, deciding to let her keep whatever she might claim from them, instead.

Movement through the sunflowers drew the gryphon’s attention. Krek settled onto his haunches, and sheathed all his claws, doing his best to look non-threatening. A moment later, and a woman’s face appeared above the wall. Reddish hair framed her face, her skin drawn taut and pale from fear, and exhaustion. Something about her features and her eyes spoke of Aran’alian heritage, despite her fiery hair. For a long moment, she stared at the gryphon, her eyes wide. A strange mix of horror and hope shone in them. Slowly, she turned her head to look up the road, across the bodies.

“You’re safe, now.” Krek kept his voice soft. “They’re all dead.”

The woman worked her mouth, but no sound came out. Finally, she managed a trembling murmur. “There’s only three…” 

A tingle of dread prickled at the base of the gryphon’s crown feathers. “Only three?”

Her face snapped back to gryphon. “There were more!”

“I only saw three…” Krek lifted his head, looking up the road. The tingle turned to a deluge of ice, trickling all the way down his spine. “How many more?”

“I-I don’t know!” Her voice sharpened, buoyed by a panicked sort of strength. “A dozen or more, at least! My husband, he…” She grasped, then clapped a hand across her mouth. Blood smeared across her face. For the first time, Krek realized her hands were bloodied, too. Somehow, the gryphon knew it wasn’t her blood. “Oh, Gods, Ihra!” She started to clamber over the fence. “He…he told me to run, but…I have to help him!”

Krek pushed to his feet. “Where is he? Where did you last see him?”

The woman thrust a finger up the road, towards the north. Tears ran down her cheeks, her voice broke “He fought them, told me to run! He…” She wiped her eyes, struggling for words. “He’s a great fighter, and Dalvar is with him! I know they could hold them off, but…”

But not forever. Krek knew she couldn’t say the last part aloud. He also knew she’d been running a long time.

“I’ll find him!” Krek leapt into the sky, beating his wings. “I’ll bring him back to you!”

Krek ascended in a heartbeat, racing towards the north. He swept his gaze across the ground, attuned for any signs of struggle, of combat. Soon, he spotted another man’s body, laying in a pool of blood at the side of the faded road. Familiar, piecemeal armor told him it was another bandit, not the woman’s husband. Perhaps she herself had killed that one, he thought. If she’d slain the first man to lay hands on her, if would have given the others reason to follow her at a more cautious distance.

The gryphon flew on, looking further down the road. Soon enough, he saw another mercenary corpse. This one lay face down, with a crossbow bolt protruding from its back. The smeared blood trail told Krek the man spent his last few moments alive crawling across the ground. Hopefully, the bird thought, lamenting his decision to attack this woman and her husband.  

Finally, far down the road, the gryphon saw the rest of the bandits. They swarmed around a once-cheery blue and green carriage, stuck in a muddy rut alongside the road. The horses that once pulled it were long gone. Several arrows and bolts littered its painted sides and elegant white and gold shutters. Bodies lay scattered around the wagon, with a few more men writhing in their final moments. Most of the dead bore the same patchwork armor as the rest of the bandits.

At least one wore a far more officially looking tabard of blue and gray. Several freshly-slain foes also lay around him. An empty crossbow lay near his hand, where he’d fallen. Krek guessed that was Dalvar, the woman’s other bodyguard. Even mortally wounded, he’d still managed to shoot down one of the attackers who broke away before succumbing to his wounds. Krek grit his beak, wondering if he could have saved that man, had he sooner realized the first three he killed were not alone.

The remaining brigands were still engaged in a lingering skirmish with another bodyguard dressed in blue and gray over fine chainmail. Blood soaked the man’s uniform. It splattered his face, ran down his limbs, dripped from his fingers. Most of it was his enemies. Most, but not all. He whirled amidst his attacks, his sword a blur of flashing steel and spilling blood. It was clear the two bodyguards had done everything in their power to continually engage their attackers, and prevent them from chasing after the woman. Though a few had broken free, at least one had paid for it with a bolt in his back.

Krek realized immediately that the last man standing was Ihra, the man he’d come to save. Whoever he was, he was exceptionally well trained, even for a bodyguard. Though wounded, he deflected blows left and right, parried and counter-attacked, even as his strength threatened to fail him. Ihra ran one man through, earning a scream, but it was all he could do after that to avoid being pierced through the belly himself. He scarcely knocked the bandit’s sword aside in time, staggering away, only to deflect another blow, from another direction.

Krek knew, in his heart, that it was already too late.

But that didn’t mean he would not do everything he could to save this man.

The gryphon swooped towards the ground. Where before he had dropped out of the sky in silence, this time the gryphon announced his presence with a loud, keening cry. For if these were to be this brave man’s final moments, Krek wished Ihra to know he was not alone. The gryphon’s call echoed across the weedy pastures and the old, broken road, ringing out above the clang of clashing steel.

Better still, the sound startled some of the combatants. Krek had hoped for just as much. One of them stumbled back and turned to search the skies. Before he could call out a warning to his friends, the bodyguard seized on the opening, and lashed his sword across the back of the bandit’s leg, opening him to the bone. He screamed and toppled to the ground, grabbing at his rent limb. Blood gushed across his fingers. The others broke ranks, some of them turning to face the gryphon, others regrouping for a final assault on the bodyguard.

“Gryphon!” Another of them pointed at Krek as he alighted upon the ground. “They have a gryphon!”

“Yes!” Krek charged onto the muddy field, roaring back at them. “They fucking do!”

Confusion watched across the bodyguard’s face. However wealthy his wife was, clearly her husband knew that they did not, in fact, have a gryphon. But where sudden uncertainty left the outlaws in disarray, Ihra used it to his advantage. He pressed his own assault, driving several men back with a flurry of blows. Though his strength was clearly ebbing moment by moment, Ihra was clearly a man who refused to die without fighting to the very last drop of blood.

Krek knew that desire all too well.

A trio bandits clustered together, facing down the gryphon. Beyond them, a fourth man was frantically cranking back the string on a crossbow, preparing to load a heavy bolt. They all called instructions to one another, thinking they had time to flank him, to surround him. They thought to occupy him until the man with the crossbow was ready to take a shot at the gryphon’s heart, as if they were but hunting boar. But Krek was no bore, and he was upon them faster than they could even finish moving into position. The gryphon barreled into the first three men at full speed, knocking them in all directions in the pins in some children’s game. Each tumbled across the earth in another direction, limbs bent and twisted, bones snapping.

Even as agonized cries rang out behind him, Krek kept running for the man with the crossbow. Just as the bowstring was set, Krek reached him. The gryphon leapt into the air, without even slowing down. He flicked a wing and spun himself around, kicking his hind legs out backwards. His right paw struck the man in the torso, caving in bone and organ alike. There wasn’t even a cry of pain as he was lofted skyward, only a wet, bloodied cough.

As the gryphon alighted, his maneuver left him once more facing the trio of men he’d toppled over. Broken, but not yet dying, they struggled to return to their feet on shattered legs, grasped for swords with managed hands. Krek bound right back through them, intent on finishing what he started. The nearest robber had made it up to his knees, bracing himself against his sword. But before he could lift it from the earth, Krek’s claws were already in his neck. They caught bone, and Krek the man’s head clean from his body.

He pivoted towards another who struggled to limp away on one good leg. Krek leapt after him, landing on the man’s back. He drove him down into the ground, crushing bone. The bandit’s agonized cry quickly turned to little more than a soft gurgle. Movement and steel flashed at the edge of the gryphon’s vision. The third man swung his sword in a wild arc, aiming for Krek’s head. Krek pulled back just in time for the blade to whistle past his beak.

The wounded swordsman took another swing, and again Krek moved just out of range. The gryphon quickly sized up his foe. The man’s left arm was a misshapen mess, and he favored his right leg. But his sword arm had escaped unscathed. Spurred by fear and adrenaline, bandit unleashed a flurry of blows from all directions. Each swing brought his sword perilously close to Krek’s head. Krek backpedaled, feigning fear and allowing the man to think he had an advantage to press. All the while, the gryphon watched each swing carefully, until the moment was right.

When next the man brought his sword down in an overhead arc, Krek was ready. He lashed out with a forepaw, smacking his palm pad into the flat of the blade. The impact sent stinging pain all the way up Krek’s front leg, and wrenched the weapon from the man’s grip. Before the swordsman even had time to register what had happened, Krek struck again. He cut the man’s legs out from under him with a single, powerful blow, rending flesh and tearing tendons. He toppled backwards, and Krek was upon him in a blink. The gryphon dropped his head, and tore the man’s throat out with his beak. Blood splashed across Krek’s face, and he spat flesh upon the ground.

Krek swiftly surveyed the area, ensuring that no one else had gotten behind him, or aimed a bolt in his direction. The only people still alive were the last of the brigands still engaged with Irha. While Krek had been engaged, Ihra had managed to take a man’s hand off. He stumbled away from the fray, screaming and clutching his bloodied stump. Rather than intercept him, Krek trotted towards the remaining skirmishers. Their backs were turned to him, save Ihra, struggling more than ever to fend the last of them off. If he saw the gryphon coming, he gave no sign.

The gryphon snatched the nearest man by his shoulder, claws sinking into bone. He screamed as Krek yanked him backwards. The gryphon whirled around and rose to his hind legs, lifting the man into the air. Krek hurled him after the retreating bandit. He hit the ground with a crunching sound, rolling through the other man’s legs and toppling him. At the same time, the gryphon threw his wings out, buffeting several of the remaining fighters. They cried out and stumbled away.

Ihra seized the advantage, going low with his sword to take off a brigand’s foot. His attacker cried out, falling backwards as blood spilled across the muddy earth. Krek wheeled about to another off-balance combatant as he withdrew his wings. The gryphon raked his claws across the human’s back, tearing through piecemeal armor and flesh alike. Just as quickly, Krek struck him again, this time spilling entrails across the ground. The gryphon batted him aside like a toy, reassessing his remaining targets.  

Disarray spread through the ranks of the last attackers. Two of them re-engaged Ihra, while several more finally broke and ran. The persistence of a few of them told Krek he was probably right about them being mercenaries, of a sort. Someone had likely paid them to kill or abduct the wealthy traveler. A few amongst their ranks had the discipline to try and complete their blood-soaked contract, while others only wished to save their own skin. But Krek had no intention of letting any of them finish their job, or save themselves.

Krek went after those Ihra was fighting, first. One of the sellswords thrust his blade towards the exhausted bodyguard’s back. Ihra twisted around just in time to try and deflect the blow, but his strength had nearly failed him. He was only partly successfully, and the blade punched through his battered chain mail, opening a fresh gash all along his side. Yet before the other combatant could follow up for a killing blow, Krek was upon him.

The gryphon snatched the mercenary’s arm in a forepaw, squeezing till bones crunched. He wrenched the man off the ground by his arm alone, then flung him sideways, shattering his limb and tearing everything that attached to the rest of him. The other mercenary frantically reoriented himself towards the gryphon, raising his blade in both hands. Krek never even let him swing it. He lashed out, his forelimb a black-furred blur. The gryphon’s claws tore through flesh and bone alike, tearing the fingers off of one hand, and the entire hand from the other arm. Blood splattered Krek as the man staggered back, shrieking. His sword clattered to the ground. The gryphon followed up, sinking his beak into the man’s face. Krek bit down until he cracked through the man’s skull like an egg. He spat him back out, leaving his body twitching upon the ground.

With everyone around him dead or grievously wounded, Ihra stumbled towards the gryphon. He made it only a few paces before he sagged to his knees, thrusting his bloodied sword into the earth. He leaned against it, panting heavily. The man lifted a shaking finger, pointing towards the retreating mercenaries. Blood dripped from it.

“Don’t…” His voice was weak, and raspy. “Don’t let them…reach her…”

“I won’t.” Krek turned away, and leapt into the air, beating his wings. The gusts left Ihra’s bloodied tabard whipping around his body.

It took only seconds for the gryphon to catch up the retreating men. They’d all run in different directions, hoping to evade their feathered pursuer. It didn’t matter. None of them were going to leave this place alive. Krek chose the fastest man first. He’d outpaced his comrades, running in a dead sprint for the tree line. Krek could have easily followed him into the forest, if he had to, but he had other plans.

Swooping in behind his prey, Krek snatched the man up by his arms, one in each foreleg. Krek beat his wings hard, ascending sharply. The sudden upwards acceleration wrenched the mercenary’s shoulders out of their sockets, leaving him screaming and writhing in Krek’s grasp. Krek kept pumping his wings, rising higher and higher. The man pleaded for his life, promised first to double the gryphon’s pay, then to triple. Krek didn’t care. When he’d ascended far enough, Krek threw the bastard as high into the air as he could, then let him scream all the way back down. His terrified howl ended with a gut-churning crunch.

  Two men still ran. They went in opposite directions, each surely hoping the other would distract the gryphon long enough for them to make their own escape. Krek wheeled about, diving towards the earth. Then he pulled up and swept just across the ground, racing towards his quarry. Krek kicked out with a hind leg as he reached the man, claws ripping through armor and flesh. Between the gryphon’s strength and the momentum of his fleet, the blow nearly tore the man in half. Krek spun back around, his eyes on the last survivor.

A few quick wingbeats, and Krek was nearly on him. The man glanced over his shoulder, terror contorting his face. With his eyes off his destination, he tripped over a rock, and tumbled head over heels for several paces. Krek dropped the ground, folding his wings, stalking towards him like a cat toying with a mouse. The man ended up on his back, struggling even to sit up as the gryphon approached him.

“P-please!” The man held up a hand in desperate plea for mercy. “We were only doing what we were hired to! It wasn’t supposed to go like this!”

“I don’t care.” Krek snatched the man’s head in a forepaw.

“Wait!” The man grasped at Krek’s front leg. “I have a family!”

Krek glanced back at Ihra, hunched over and braced against his sword. “So does he.”

The gryphon crushed the man’s skull in his paw, then let his body drop to the ground. Krek wiped his paw off on the mercenary’s armor, then returned to his wings, speeding back towards the carriage. One of the wounded men was crawling away. Krek struck him in the mid-section hard enough to break his spine. He circled the area, and soon spotted the attacker who’d lost his hand. He’d limped all the way to the old road, but Krek made sure he went no further. The gryphon caught him, pulled him into the air, and then dropped him on another survivor still writhing in the mud. The impact proved enough to end them both.

As soon as he was sure no one else would survive, the gryphon returned to Ihra. He alighted nearby, trotting towards him. The man had scarcely moved, save to lean further and further over, barely even kept up by his sword now. With the battle over, it was clear that blood still ran freely between rent links of chainmail. It ran down one of his arms, dripping from his fingers. It stained his tabard, and his breeches. The man had taken grievous injuries even before Krek intervened, and still he continued to fight. But his face was drawn now, the color drained from it. He had no more blood left to lose.

Krek was too late.

“Kathlyn…” Ihra forced his eyes up, focusing on the gryphon. “My wife…”

“She’s safe…” Krek’s voice trembled. How he wished he’d gotten here soon. “Everyone’s dead.” Gently as he could, he set a shaking forepaw on the man’s shoulder. “You and your friend saved her.”

Ihra looked around, gazing across all the corpses and mangled mercenaries The last lingering cries of a few dying men were the only sounds in the air. “I think you did all the work.”

Krek managed a single squawk of bittersweet laughter. Something told him he would have liked this man immensely. “No, Ihra. You saved her. I only cleaned up the mess.”

The man wheezed, his eyes returning to the gryphon. “Th-thank you. I…I don’t know why, or…who sent you to help her, but…thank you.”  

The gryphon swallowed, his throat tightening. “No one sent me. I was just…” He trailed off, glancing at the sky. “Here. As if I was meant to save her.”

Ihra’s grip tightened around his sword hilt as he struggled just to sit upon his knees. “Then you don’t even know who she is, do you?”

Krek shook his head. “Who?”

Somehow, Ihra managed a laugh. “It’s not for me to say. But…” He lifted a bloodied hand from his sword, reaching out to brush his fingers through the gryphon’s feathers. “Please, keep her safe, if you can. Promise me.”

“I will.” Krek swallowed. He knew, in his heart, exactly what Valar would do. “I promise.”

“Th-thank you…” Ihra’s hand dropped from the gryphon’s feathers. He leaned his forehead against the pommel of his sword, his voice drifting. “Tell her I love her…”

“Let…” The gryphon swallowed, struggling to form words. “Let me take you to her. I promised her I would.”

Ihra took a few slow, shallow breaths. He lifted his head enough to meet the gryphon’s gaze, then managed only a single, weak nod. Krek eased onto his haunches, and carefully picked Ihra up, one foreleg beneath his legs, and the under the man’s back. Ihra’s fingers slipped away from his sword hilt. Krek cradled the man against his chest. Even with his chainmail, he felt strangely weightless, as if his very existence had poured from him along with his blood.

“Just hold on,” Krek said, his voice an urgent whisper. “She’s waiting for you.”

The gryphon leapt into the air, beating his vast, silver-edged wings. Krek ascended only a short distant before propelling himself forward. Every fiber of his being was focused on getting this man to his wife, while he still drew breath. He pumped his wings in swift, powerful motions, hurtling across the ground. Ihra shifted slightly, just enough to grasp at one of Krek’s forepaws, and squeeze his finger in silent thanks.

“Don’t move.” The gryphon blinked back tears, wishing anew he could have just gotten there sooner. “Save your strength. Your wife is just ahead! Just hold on, Ihra!”

Krek had never flown so fast in all his life. In those frantic moments, all he wanted was for this man to live, to see his wife again. As Krek himself had once clung to life, so too he hoped would Ihra. He beat his wings till his back burned, till his flight muscles screamed for mercy, till momentary exhaustion threatened to tear him from the sky. His heart pounded a frantic pace, his lungs ached for more air, and still Krek pushed himself to fly faster.

Soon, the abandoned farmhouse and the sunflower fields came into view. He same the woman in the street, pacing, a bloody blade in her hand. She must have taken it from one of the bodies, in case she needed to defend herself again. As soon as she saw Krek, she broke and ran down the street towards him. Krek flared his wings, bleeding off as much speed as he could. The sudden deceleration stretched wing tendons and sinews to their painful limit, but Krek ignored their silent cries. He touched down on his hind paws, skipping a few uneven paces before he finally came to a stop. The gryphon staggered forward, then eased Ihra to the ground.

The woman sprinted towards, crying out her husband’s name. “Ihra! Ihra!”

Krek propped Ihra up with his foreleg, not wanting to lay him down on bare stone. The last of the color had drained from his face, from pale to ghostly pallid. His breath came, short and shallow. But he turned his head, and fixed his eyes upon his wife. At least, Krek thought, he would not die alone. The woman dropped to her knees just as she reached them, seizing Ihra in her arms, tears streaming down her face.

The gryphon eased his forelegs back, letting the woman hold her dying husband. “I-I’m sorry.” The gryphon’s voice broke. Tears wet his fur. How he had wanted to save this man, for her. How he had wanted to do something good, for once. To help these people. And he had failed. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry…”

The woman Ihra had called Kathlyn clutched her husband to her chest, already sobbing. “Ihra! No, Ihra! H-hold on! We’ll find you help! We’ll find someone! Just hold on! Oh, gods, Ihra, what have I done?”  

Ihra, ever so slowly, lifted his hand. His fingers did not tremble, as though he put the very last of his strength into this single gesture. He cupped Kathlyn’s cheek in his hand, turning his head to stare into her eyes. He worked his mouth, wordless, but struggling to speak. But there was no breath left in his lungs, and no strength with each to draw it. Instead, staring into his wife’s eyes, Ihra mouthed two simple words.

Love you.

Then his hand slipped down her cheek, and fell to the road. Bloody lines marked her face. His body stilled, and the light left his eyes, even as they remained fixed upon Kathlyn’s face.

“Ihra, no…” Kathlyn’s voice was soft, but swiftly grew into a maelstrom of anguish. “No! No! Ihra, I love you! I love you so much!” She hugged her husband to her body, breaking down into ravaging sobs. She rocked back and forth, clutching her beloved, her voice broken and twisted by unimaginable pain. “No! No, Ihra, gods, no!”

“I’m sorry…” Krek reached out to touch her, but hesitated. What consolation was he? He had failed her. He had failed to save her husband. He hung his head, whimpering. Tears dripped down his beak. “I’m so very sorry! I wasn’t fast enough…I’m so sorry…”

Kathlyn didn’t even look up. Krek doubted she could even hear him over the sorrow raging in her heart. He lifted his head, and looked around. The abandoned town was silently. Only ghosts, and the dead surrounded them. At least she was safe, Krek thought.

Safe…

The gryphon turned his eyes down to Ihra. The man was gone now, but the promise Krek made him remained. He would keep her safe. Krek looked up at the sky, wishing could he see the broken stars beyond the blue. He wanted to curse them, to damn them and their lack of fate, their absence. Damn the stars, and damn this world’s bleak and bitter emptiness.

Krek would make his own damn purpose, just as Valar had.

Krek swore then and there, to make this his purpose, his reason for surviving. To keep his promise, and keep this woman safe, always.

But there was nothing more he could do for her, for now. So the gryphon eased down onto his belly, to wait at her side while she poured forth her endless grief. He stretched his wing out above her, to see if she would pull away. She did not, and so Krek draped his wing across her, to shelter her from the world as she cried into her husband’s hair.

Krek laid his head down upon his forepaws, and quietly cried with her.