shredded by the polar gusts. Still alive, they fall to the ground and scramble into the earth as the snow falls and covers their hive once more.
“I hope their wings grow back,” Sari says, stepping back for the griffin to land. She gives the beast a tight hug around the feathery neck. “That was great, but you have to stop making me worry about you.”
“I would be worried if he did not make me worry,” Timoran announces, laying the traveler on the ground. “Let us wait a few minutes before returning to the horses. Though we are now two steeds short.”
When Sari releases the griffin, the beast walks over to Nyx and nudges her shoulder. The half-elf grins and bounces on her toes, excited to no longer be riding a horse. Without waiting, the caster hoists herself onto the beast’s back and rubs her new mount’s soft feathers. Nyx practically purrs in joy at the feel of warm fur instead of a cold saddle. She waves at Sari, who is staring at her friend with a combination of jealousy and amusement.
“I promise to be nice to Luke,” the caster swears. She yelps when the griffin rears back and shrieks in anger. “Calm down, Luke . . . girl. I’m never going to get used to that. Don’t worry, girl. The lumber wasps are gone and we’ll be on our way soon.”
“Call her Lucy,” Delvin suggests while he pats the aggravated beast on the head. “She seems to like that name.”
The griffin suddenly lurches forward and snaps at the unconscious stranger, her beak coming dangerously close to his throat. Timoran steps between them and pushes the beast back, its head trying to reach over his shoulder. The barbarian glances back at the man and notices a glint of metal in his clenched hand. He shoves the griffin away and growls to make her stop struggling, his primal rage bubbling enough for her to sense the danger. Timoran nods to Nyx, who gently strokes the beast’s head, before approaching the man.
“We might have a problem, my friends,” the barbarian announces, holding up a circular, iron badge. It is engraved with the symbol of a seven-headed serpent, each fanged head impaled by a spear. “This traveler is a monster hunter. He makes a living off killing wild beasts that cause trouble for locals or have a species bounty on their heads. They are not well liked by tamed beasts or forest trackers because these people consider all dangerous animals to be monsters, so they kill without remorse. My clan had a problem with them about eight years back when they sought to hunt the snow tigers.”
“So what do you suggest?” Delvin asks, getting a closer look at the badge.
Timoran lifts the man onto his shoulders and begins walking toward the horses. “We make sure Luke, in either of his forms, is not left alone with this man.”
*****
Balancing among the naked branches, General Vile watches the champions escape the lumber wasps. The halfling blends into the snow and wood around him, his magic cloak mimicking the wilderness. He stays back, afraid that the griffin will notice his scent even through the masking herbs that he has rubbed over his body. Several times over the last week, the barbarian has come close to noticing him, which has caused Vile to become paranoid. Every day, the old warrior has held further and further back from the champions. If it was not for the wintery landscape and a minor scrying enchantment on his eye-patch, he would have lost them or been drawn into a battle days ago.
“Wait,” he whispers, an alarming thought breaking his focus. “Where’s that drite? I haven’t seen him at all. That creature enjoys being invisible, so he must be around here somewhere.”
Putting a quartz lens to his remaining eye, Vile scans the area for Fizzle. He curses when he sees the tiny dragon zipping high above the forest, never going more than half a mile away from the champions. The drite has been invisible the entire time and acting as a hidden rearguard for his targets. The halfling growls in
“I hope their wings grow back,” Sari says, stepping back for the griffin to land. She gives the beast a tight hug around the feathery neck. “That was great, but you have to stop making me worry about you.”
“I would be worried if he did not make me worry,” Timoran announces, laying the traveler on the ground. “Let us wait a few minutes before returning to the horses. Though we are now two steeds short.”
When Sari releases the griffin, the beast walks over to Nyx and nudges her shoulder. The half-elf grins and bounces on her toes, excited to no longer be riding a horse. Without waiting, the caster hoists herself onto the beast’s back and rubs her new mount’s soft feathers. Nyx practically purrs in joy at the feel of warm fur instead of a cold saddle. She waves at Sari, who is staring at her friend with a combination of jealousy and amusement.
“I promise to be nice to Luke,” the caster swears. She yelps when the griffin rears back and shrieks in anger. “Calm down, Luke . . . girl. I’m never going to get used to that. Don’t worry, girl. The lumber wasps are gone and we’ll be on our way soon.”
“Call her Lucy,” Delvin suggests while he pats the aggravated beast on the head. “She seems to like that name.”
The griffin suddenly lurches forward and snaps at the unconscious stranger, her beak coming dangerously close to his throat. Timoran steps between them and pushes the beast back, its head trying to reach over his shoulder. The barbarian glances back at the man and notices a glint of metal in his clenched hand. He shoves the griffin away and growls to make her stop struggling, his primal rage bubbling enough for her to sense the danger. Timoran nods to Nyx, who gently strokes the beast’s head, before approaching the man.
“We might have a problem, my friends,” the barbarian announces, holding up a circular, iron badge. It is engraved with the symbol of a seven-headed serpent, each fanged head impaled by a spear. “This traveler is a monster hunter. He makes a living off killing wild beasts that cause trouble for locals or have a species bounty on their heads. They are not well liked by tamed beasts or forest trackers because these people consider all dangerous animals to be monsters, so they kill without remorse. My clan had a problem with them about eight years back when they sought to hunt the snow tigers.”
“So what do you suggest?” Delvin asks, getting a closer look at the badge.
Timoran lifts the man onto his shoulders and begins walking toward the horses. “We make sure Luke, in either of his forms, is not left alone with this man.”
*****
Balancing among the naked branches, General Vile watches the champions escape the lumber wasps. The halfling blends into the snow and wood around him, his magic cloak mimicking the wilderness. He stays back, afraid that the griffin will notice his scent even through the masking herbs that he has rubbed over his body. Several times over the last week, the barbarian has come close to noticing him, which has caused Vile to become paranoid. Every day, the old warrior has held further and further back from the champions. If it was not for the wintery landscape and a minor scrying enchantment on his eye-patch, he would have lost them or been drawn into a battle days ago.
“Wait,” he whispers, an alarming thought breaking his focus. “Where’s that drite? I haven’t seen him at all. That creature enjoys being invisible, so he must be around here somewhere.”
Putting a quartz lens to his remaining eye, Vile scans the area for Fizzle. He curses when he sees the tiny dragon zipping high above the forest, never going more than half a mile away from the champions. The drite has been invisible the entire time and acting as a hidden rearguard for his targets. The halfling growls in
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