GRYPHONIS REX, The 1st Gryphon

GRYPHONIS REX

{Installment 1 of 4}

"I never met a wizard I didn't like."

---Anonymous

PRELUDE


         "You know, you truly do not grasp how beneath me this all is."

         "Beneath you...?"

         "Utterly."

         "I believe I do know, considering you never fail to mention it each and every time you are here.  Now then, where did I put that 1st Edition scroll of Ehlyjan's Anthropomorphic Incantations...?"

         "Fourth shelf to your right---your OTHER right--- second row from the top.  And if you're implying I complain too much, consider my feelings on this."

         Kelzen looked back over his shoulder a moment then returned to searching the shelves.

         "It is bad enough I must live with the fact I was not born but am instead a creation conjured by you.  Now, in addition, you have me assisting in your seemingly blind attempts at duplicating the same process that you might craft even more like me."

         "Could it be that someone is worried about no longer being so... unique?"

         "No, Kelzen, that isn't it at all.  Even if through some incredible, thaumaturgical happenstance you actually do manage to recreate the formula which spawned me, nothing can alter the fact that I am the first ever of my kind.  I will forever remain Gryphos Rex, the FIRST Gryphon."

         "Yes, yes, yes.  You know, son, I was there.  Fed you, burped you through your first puff of smoke..."  Kelzen said absently, rooting through his many scrolls.  "But in case someone in the kingdom doesn't know it, go ahead and tell us again about you being king of the beasts."  The abrupt silence tensely filling the room  let the old man know that something had just gone wrong. 

         Before he could raise the question, Gryphos was answering.

         "Caution, Kelzen.  A father you may be to me but I will not be lowered that way; I am no common beast or mindless creature of the forests."

         In the resonance of his voice, Kelzen heard the threat of that terrible roar Gryphos was capable of.  Like being at the edge of a storm, watching, knowing what it can do---what it will do--- if the winds turned wrong.  This was no small thing, his son was very serious.

         "You created me, you know that if I chose I could level this entire tower and scorch the lands it sits upon to ash.  While I am a being of reason not bound by my temper, I do nonetheless HAVE a temper.  Never again--- NEVER again--- presume on our connection by speaking of me thus." 

         The words hung in the air, dark and foreboding as a winter sea.  Apparently, he mused, it was to be one of THOSE days...  Kelzen took a slow breath, exhaling quietly as he reflected--- again--- on his son's sensitivity in this matter.  He could feel him staring, awaiting an "appropriate" response. 

         "Gryphos--- ah, THERE it is--- the day you...  Wait, no, this isn't it, this is Bendral's Faeries & Goblins!  Gods, I should make a Familiar just to keep up with indexing my library..."

         "Index and dust it," Gryphos muttered.

         "Hah-Shnzzck!"

         "Bless you."

         "Yes, yes...thank you.  As I was saying, the day you dream of taking such a turn against me you had best wake yourself to apologize.  I do NOT think so low of you as you may think, do me the kindness of returning that respect and not mistaking me for some paltry carnival magician."

         Kelzen spun away from the steep, densely packed shelves and ran a hand back across his cleanly shaven head.  Gryphos watched, remembering as he did that the intricately tattooed symbols adorning his father's scalp in lieu of hair was actually a spell, a protective ward that prevented invasion of his mind or a warping of his perceptions.  If his father had ever had hair, Gryphos had never seen it and thought perhaps his own mane was so thick and luxuriant to make up for a personal insecurity over the matter.  He blinked then, amazed at the easy distraction and refocused on his father's words.

         Suspended mid-air, Kelzen looked down at his crowning achievement, at his magnificent Gryphon.  In spite of the awe Gryphos generally inspired, here and now Kelzen only found himself facing a son that was asserting himself, demanding---as all sons eventually do---to be taken seriously. "Volatu, finitum," he said off-handedly, a command which ended the spell of levitation he had been using.  With the ease of a leaf falling in Autumn the sorcerer alighted, slippered feet once again firm upon the polished stone floor.  "Really, son, in point of fact all this idle wing-flapping and tooth-gnashing between us is the true indignity."

         "I will show you idle..."

         "Gryphos, please, you are diluting my train of thought.  Must we always fence like this, bickering back and forth like two old crones?  To my mind you should be nothing if not proud.  Lord Vykos was so impressed by you, by your abilities, that he commissioned the creation of an entire legion of Gryphons to act as guardians of his kingdom."

         "I am no man's slave, Kelzen, so why would I wish lives of servitude for those that may come after me?"

         "Who said anything about slavery?  You know, you're nothing if not a master of high drama!  Look at you; a body greater than any lion of the wild, wings powerful enough to divert a river with their beating, eyes that can see beyond the horizon even in the darkest night and---borrowing a page from Draco's Book Of Dragons---you can exhale flames more intense than those lighting the very sun itself!"  Kelzen circled Gryphos, shaking his bald head in frustration.  "You are glorious, intimidating even in your near-perfection.  Still, even now, nothing but doubts and recriminations do I hear."

         "I... I do not regret what I am or THAT I am, Kelzen," Gryphos said, rising from his large couch.  "But you must understand, this world and its many wonders is still shaped by the will and efforts of MAN, and while I may think as a man, speak as men do, I cannot exist as one of you.  I am... outside the scheme of things; the offspring of magicks and mysticism, not the womb of a mother."  Gryphos stopped before one of the many tall windows and stood in silence as he stared out.  Kelzen folded his arms and waited patiently.  "As glorious as you may see me," Gryphos continued, "to others I am a thing, a curiosity to be put on display or held pampered in a cage."

         Kelzen paused, hearing something in Gryphos' otherwise majestic voice that either had never been there before or he had simply---wrongly---dismissed.  Face softening, he ran a hand along his son's golden-furred back and felt the corded sinew rippling beneath.  Gryphos remained still, quiet now, his dark eyes with their far-reaching gaze fixed on some distant, unknown point.  Standing alongside the wonder he had brought forth, Kelzen found himself concerned only with what was troubling his son.

         "In all my many years," Kelzen began, " I have seen many things, done many things, and, when fortunate, learned many things.  Sometimes, my son, in spite of this I feel I am quite the fool."  He moved forward, looking out the arched window in the direction Gryphos was.  The sun had dipped low and was bleeding  into the horizon, tingeing all the sky orange with the last of its waning rays.  "We tease and bicker so much I often time lose sight of your newness to the world, your newness and the burden of your singularity..."

         "You will make others," Gryphos said, his voice low as the retreating sun.  "I will not be so... singular." 

         "Perhaps, perhaps not, but others, as you said, will not be YOU.  Others will not be... my son." 

         The gryphon turned from the window, his eyes meeting Kelzen's.  In the silence that followed an understanding, a reassurance passed between them.  Gryphos nodded and looked back out the window, his mood lifting.  Then shifting he squinted and Kelzen knew immediately that this time he was truly looking at something. 

         "What is it, what do you see?"

         Gryphos' voice was like a mounting storm.  "POACHERS," he spat, tensing.  "They're attacking Maeryn's herd of unicorns!  This cannot stand, there are near a dozen colts and foals in that herd.  Father, I must go now."

         "But Maeryn's herd was last in Nyldraan Forest, more than three hundred leagues from here.  Surely even you cannot make it to them in time---"

         "Yes, father, I can.  I WILL make it there and when I do those poachers will SUFFER.  Maeryn's creation of the unicorns was a gift, their existence a blessing to ALL Life.  I will not let them suffer defenseless." 

         Moving away, Kelzen barely got aside before Gryphos sprang through the window, unfurling his massive wings and arcing steeply into the dimming sky.  Part shriek, part roar, Gryphos gave ominous voice to his rage as his golden wings carried him swiftly away.  And behind, watching him disappear into the distance, Kelzen felt the warmth only paternal pride could bring.  His son was a protector by nature, selfless and unwavering.  When Gryphos reached the forest--- and Kelzen knew that he would--- the poachers, whoever they were, would soon regret their choice of targets...

******

         
         Unicorns, it was haunting watching them.  The way they moved, so fluid, so swift, with an ethereal grace that inspired tears at the pure beauty of it.  In varying shades of white, there were still unique splashes of color running amongst the others.  Mauve, lavender, dapple grey, even a yearling that was the golden color of sun-kissed honey.  While an enchantress, Maeryn was no less an artist and that creative passion had been made fully manifest in the creation of her herd. Silky manes caught in the wind, their proud horns jutting forward and shimmering like some composite of diamond and pearl and eyes, it was said, that could see straight into the very souls of men.  Utterly beautiful, utterly peaceful and still, still they were threatened.

         Moving as one, charging between the towering, ancient trees of Nyldraan Forest like a river of quicksilver, the unicorns fled for their lives without understanding why they had become victims.  At the front was Zyphrem, the great stallion, guiding the herd with an uncanny sureness of hoof, the others following his lead closely.  Thus far the big stallion had managed to keep well ahead of their pursuers but he knew even with his best effort their fortunes could change for the worse at any moment.  As he reached out, touching the minds of his kin and taking stock of the herd's condition he sensed that the younglings were beginning to tire.  When they did, when any one of them faltered, this race--- at least for him--- would be ended.  Whenever it happened he would break from the lead, leaving his place to Japhyrm, his eldest son.  Japhyrm would know what to do and it would be understood by the others since it was not Zyphrem's way to leave another behind.  He would charge to the rear and stand his ground against the closing hunters, sacrificing himself to give  whomever it would be time to rejoin the herd. 

         Hunters!  Sinister, two-legged wretches the lot of them.  As if the humans didn't spend enough effort killing one another, now they had turned on his kind.  Damn them, damn them, DAMN them!  Zyphrem's rage was a cauldron in his mind, seething at the injustice of their predicament.  That rage was a frustration, and his herd needed him focused so he calmed his mind and thought of Maeryn.  She was their mistress, their creator, but unlike the sweaty, cursed things pursuing them she was also a Faerie.  She resembled humans because her father had been one but she shared her mother's magikal blood and noble heritage.  Would that all humans were as honorable and trustworthy as Maeryn's father but wishing, Zyphrem knew, would not make it so.

         Snorting, he drew once again upon his outrage at the surprise attack and this time used the anger as fuel to spur him faster.  Pace quickening with each stride he felt proud as the others matched his increase.  Damn the hunters!  Maeryn had sworn this place was safe and--- before today--- it had always been so. 

         A wild place full of mystery, Nyldraan Forest had always evoked a measure of fear for the humans.  Their superstitions about it ordinarily kept them out, out and far away but the ones chasing now seemed ignorant to this.  Springing from the shadows, the hunters had ambushed the herd at the river, barbed arrows had flown from what looked like everywhere, striking all about them and giving no clear sign where the archers might be massed. 

         Intuitively Zyphrem seized the moment and reared, summoning his startled brethren to him as he pointed his horn Northwest and galloped off, determined to save them from this threat.  He would never admit how blindly the choice of direction had been made but he thanked the god Equyss for the rightness of it.  There had been no hunters along the route he picked and that, at least, was something.  What remained to be seen was where would they go now?  Staying ahead would only suffice so long, they needed refuge and soon or all their running would have been for naught.

         But where...?

         "They are getting closer!  I can almost smell them!"  The excited voice of Draara, his youngest, exploded excitedly in his mind.  Zyphrem refocused and thought back soothingly: "Shhhh, the wind is in our faces, my daughter, you cannot possibly smell them behind us.  Turn your mind instead to the course and RUN."

         He had to say no more, he could sense the earnest redoubling of her efforts.  She was, he'd known since her first steps, a fighter.  It hadn't been fear that had made her merge minds with her father, instead she had only sought to warn him.  Reassured now, she did as she was told while he turned back to finding sanctuary for his herd.  Gods, if only Maeryn were here...




                                           
APPENDIX Of TERMS & CHARACTERS

***Gryphos: Gryphos Rex, the first Gryphon created by the highly accomplished sorcerer Kelzen. 
              Gryphos has an array of preternatural abilities imbued by the spells Kelzen used to create him.  He has wings,
              stands six feet tall at the shoulder, can exhale blasts of flame and is incredibly strong and resistant to
              injury.  Thus far he remains the only one of his kind but others intend to change that...
***Shatyrakk ("Shatter-rack"), Vrynyx ("Vren-ecks"), and Amjymian ("Ahm-jimmy-en"): the Dragon Trinity.     
            They are ancient, reclusive, and incredibly powerful, remarkable especially since they are the only free members     
            of  their endangered and otherwise subjugated species.
                                         

{ To Be Continued! }