Alliances

On the highest prominence in sight was a massive aerie. A Golden griffon was there, asleep, wings folded over its back. Its golden-brown feathered head, with wickedly curved beak, was tucked under the leading edge of its right wing. Laurel explained it had alighted not long after her chief’s departure, settled comfortably into its aerie, and slept undisturbed ever since.

A sleeping griffon was an unexpected windfall. Awake, it would be nearly impossible to approach, but asleep, they might have a chance. It must have fed heavily to be sleeping so soundly.

Porthios passed the rope and net forward to Kerian and Nalaryn. Porthios had explained his plan to Nalaryn during the journey to the aerie. By gestures, the chief relayed the plan to his clansfolk and to Kerian.

The idea was simple enough but would require not only the Kagonesti’s athleticism, but every ounce of their fabled stealth. Nine of the most agile, most silent, would work their way around to the far side of the aerie. Carrying the net and rope on their backs, they would scale the pinnacle and bring the net over the sleeping griffon. Once they anchored the net on the far side of the aerie, the net would be hauled tight by elves waiting in the canyon.

“That’s your plan?” Kerian gasped. “They’ll be killed!”

“Only if they’re clumsy.”

At a signal known only to themselves, the nine Wilder elves, with Nalaryn in the lead, left the shadows and started forward. Kerian’s hands, resting on the rock wall, tightened convulsively. Without realizing it, she took a step forward. Porthios had no trouble reading her thoughts.

“Go with them,” he said.

“I’m not light-footed enough.”

“You’re Kagonesti, aren’t you?”

Rather than snap back an acid retort, she simply eased out of the crevice. Nalaryn glanced at his leader. Porthios’s nod was enough for him. If the Great Lord wanted the Lioness to go, then go she must.

Nalaryn and three elves attached the leading edge of the large net to the peg buttons on their tunics and started up the rock face. Three more elves, plus Kerian, picked up the net’s trailing edge and followed. The last two elves flanked the group, making certain the net didn’t snag on anything.

It was an agonizing climb. Despite their legendary dexterity, with the need to search for hand- and footholds, and to move in utter silence, their progress was extremely slow. Porthios had made the net from hemp line, tied with big square knots-strong and tough but very heavy. Each time an elf advanced, he or she heaved the net upward with shoulders, brought up legs, then paused to breathe, mouth wide so as to make no sound.

One of the flanking elves suddenly hissed a warning and Kerian looked up. The leading elf on the far right, moving a bit faster than the rest, had outpaced his comrades. The net went taut and tugged on the elf on his left. Caught off-balance and dragged upward, the lagging elf was pulled off his feet.

“Anchor!” was all Kerian had time to hiss before the fellow lost his footing completely. He knocked his head against a rocky outcropping and ended up dangling from the bottom edge of the net, gripping it with one hand.

The rest of the group braced themselves, absorbing the shock of his weight. After a heart-stopping instant, the dangling elf found secure footing and released the net. He was injured and unable to continue, so he climbed back down to the canyon floor. Filled with shame, he crept into the shadows.

All this took place in mere moments, and in almost utter silence.

As soon as he’d released the net, Kerian began crawling up under it to take his place. Reaching the spot he’d vacated, she took hold of the edge and started up, taking up the slack. When the rope mesh was taut over the cliff face again, the elves resumed their climb.

It was only mid-afternoon, but with mountains all around, the climbers would lose the best light before long. At their backs, the sun was going down behind the high western peaks. The east-facing sides of the mountains were darkening, silhouetted against the brilliant sky.

Nalaryn reached the base of the aerie first. The view inside was blocked by feathers, branches, and small stones that filled the spaces between the slabs of stone. He signaled his companions, and the climb resumed. When all the leading elves were poised below the rim of the aerie, Nalaryn unhooked the net from his tunic and very slowly lifted his head above the topmost gray stone slab to peer inside.

The griffon’s eye, large as a pomegranate, was aimed squarely at him. The leathery red eyelid was slightly parted, revealing the pupil, black within the black iris, only inches from Nalaryn’s nose.

For the stolid Kagonesti who hadn’t hesitated to pledge his life to a mysterious masked leader or storm a city full of mercenaries, it finally was too much. Nalaryn threw himself backward, away from the griffon’s great eye.