Gryphons or Gryps, that’s their original name. Kings of the avian kingdom, lovers of gold, related to the Simurgh and the Lamassu, half eagle and half lion, bringers of storms. Their feathers have great healing properties. They collect precious metals and knowledge.
All of them imaginary. Found only in the pages of old books. Only I’m held in the hard claws of one and rising higher in the air with every beat of those majestic wings.
“Glad you’re not considering throwing me at the griffin’s head as you did with the goblins,” Olm says in my head.
“Don’t give me ideas,” I wheeze.
“Please, don’t throw me, kind mistress, please?—”
Holy shit.“Shush, I’m thinking.”
“Well, think faster! We’re high up in the sky and if we fall?—”
“The griffin is taking us to a perch,” I say, still struggling to breathe. “Its nest, by my guess.”
“And then what?”
“Then we figure out a way down.”
“Wouldn’t it be smarter to force it down now?” Olm asks.
“Got any brilliant ideas? Do share.”
“No need to be nasty,” he huffs.
But I don’t have wings or magic that can keep me airborne if the griffin drops me, so I focus on the hard horn of its talon around me and force air back into my chest. Passing out now would be the mother of all bad ideas.
The griffin now swerves to the right and makes straight for the hole-riddled wall. My eyes fly wide open, and a small scream makes it past my lips. It looks as if we’re going to crash into the solid rock, but the creature dives into one of the openings with amazing precision, dragging me along the smooth floor.
The claws release me and I roll, stopping a hair’s breadth from the edge. Stunned, I lie there on my stomach, the book digging into my breasts, and gaze at the endless drop below, the drop I’d done my best to avoid noticing until now.
Oh Gods…I’m going to die.
A beam of light springs from the meadows below. Blinded, I turn around and come face to face with the griffin.
Petrified, I stare at the wicked, curved beak. The creature seems to be watching me, wings gathered against its heavy body, my gaze snagging around the middle where it transitions from eagle to lion, downy feathers giving way to golden fur.
The griffin takes a step, claws and paws crunching on top of hay, feathers and bits of fur.
I was right. It’s a nest, much like Roane’s nest, and I want to laugh at the similarities but I can’t even move, terror turning my blood to solid ice. I’m caught between the monster and a sheer drop to my death.
The griffin clacks its long beak, then mercifully turns away from me, pecking at something inside the nest.
Eggs. I now see the eggs inside, each as big as my head, covered in a scaly pattern.
That means the griffin is a female. Probably. Sometimes male birds or dragons keep the nest warm while their female hunts. This one is a parent, at any rate.
“This changes… everything,” I whisper. “The story of the golden eggs.”
Olm whines. “Come again?”
“The heroine is sent to steal one of the mythical bird’s eggs and once she does, she asks for a favor in return.”
“Why would it grant you any favor? It has no need of you. Have you seen the size of this creature?”
“Have you ever had a mother?” I counter. “Mothers will do anything to save their children, even if they’re still inside an egg.” I swallow hard. “If I managed to steal one, I could cut a deal. Make the creature my steed. Fly back down.”
“That’s an ambitious plan,” Olm says. “A terrible plan.”
