Being unconscious was actually rather nice.

Of course, it was also like a really deep sleep. You didn’t know you were enjoying it until it was over. Even then, the enjoyment was mostly the result of contrast. Oblivion’s main appeal was that it usually sucked less than the alternative.

But it was still nice. So nice, in fact, that when the sound of griffin voices arguing began to drag Daphne out of unconsciousness, her primary feeling was ‘pissed’.

“Runar, humans cannot be trusted,” said a female griffin voice. “I should think thou knew that better than most.”

“Not all humans are alike, Eydis,” Runar replied. “Did not some stand with us until the very end? Are not the Wordmaster’s dungeons full of humans and griffins alike?”

The female voice snorted. “This human, then. I like not her scent.”

“Thy nose has ever been quick to detect evil, even when there is none.” Runar sounded impatient. “Thou once told me that I smelled of deceit.”

“And then thou deceived me by sneaking off to the outer defenses, rather than attending thy lessons, as instructed.”

“I alerted the guards to the approach of a Rabid Daydream, did I not? And helped them defeat it.”

“Thou might have been killed.”

“But I was not!” Daphne had never heard Runar sound so bothered. If his volume wasn’t pulling her painfully out of oblivion’s warm embrace, she would have smiled. “No one was killed, thanks in great part to my presence. If I had not spotted the creature, and warned Vyth, and joined the fight —”

“All would still have been well. Vyth could have vanquished the beast single-handedly. He is a far more experienced warrior than thee.”

“And shall always be, if I am not allowed to learn.” The sound of talons scraping across stone broke further through Daphne’s haze. Runar must have stamped his foot in frustration. “That was only my second leveling. When my father was my age —”

“He was already hurtling towards his doom.” The female voice, though strained, was somehow staying calm and even. “Thy father leapt too early into all things. Love, danger, trust… I would not have you forge the same fate, Lore-ling.”

“I am not a —”

“Ow,” said Daphne.

She didn’t mean to interrupt, especially when the argument was really getting juicy. But she couldn’t help it. Her head was throbbing. Sweet, beautiful unconsciousness had been shielding her against this pain, but as oblivion slipped away, so did its protection.

There was something else too. This whole scene was feeling way too familiar. Crouching in the darkness, listening to a dispute between two griffin voices, it felt like she was slipping back into the nightmare from the Dalamelle of Clarity. Runar even sounded like his father and this female voice was so close to the griffin who had tried to warn Hyddrun against Amelia’s treachery…

No. Even if it had only been a dream, revisiting that horrible scene was more painful than any splitting headache.

Daphne opened her eyes. She was lying on the stone floor of the tunnel, exactly where she’d fallen. The light from her bottle pendant cast a faint blue glow over Runar’s feet, inches away. He was still at her side, standing there, ready to defend his bond-friend against any further bludgeoning.

It wasn’t quite as comforting as a good dose of oblivion, but it at least made waking up bearable.

She sat up, forcing herself back into the grim reality of full consciousness.

“Ow,” she said again.

“Wordsmith! Daphne!” Runar’s relief was definitely worth the loss of oblivion, and the hug he gave her was better than any warm compress for her aching head. “Art thou all right?”

“Sure,” Daphne managed. She buried her face in the golden feathers, breathing in the wild sweetness. The soothing scent was like a tonic.

“Of course she is all right,” scoffed the female griffin voice. “I barely tapped her.”

Daphne released Runar and sat back. She raised a shaky hand to the back of her head, gingerly exploring the rather large lump she found there.

“What did you tap me with?” she asked.

“This.”

Only then did Daphne get a good look at her attacker. The female griffin was bigger than Runar, and much older. The age difference would have been obvious even without the streaks of gray in the female’s dark brown plumage. It was something about how the griffin carried herself, like she was weighed down by years of painful experience. The eyes were also a dead giveaway. They were dark amber and incredibly narrow, as if they had spent so long squinting suspiciously at the world that they’d gotten stuck that way.

At the moment, those eyes were squinting suspiciously at Daphne, while their owner held up a rough wooden club the size of a rolling pin.

Daphne regarded the weapon balefully. “You hit me with a stick.”

“Nay, human. I tapped thee with a basher.”

“You bashed me with a big stick. In the head. Twice.”

The amber eyes somehow got even more narrow. “Shall I make it thrice?”

“Daphne, this is Eydis,” Runar said hastily, stepping between them. “Eydis is an elder of the tribe, known and respected for her shrewd wisdom.”

Daphne did a quick memory search. She had no recollection of writing a suspicious griffin character named Eydis. Once again, her world had gotten away from her.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Or maybe she had just never explored it thoroughly enough.

“Hi,” Daphne said. Eydis scowled.

“Eydis, this is Daphne.” Runar’s forced cheer reminded Daphne of a few particularly awkward family reunions she’d endured. A sudden vision of Runar at a cookout, surrounded by Daphne’s cousins, made her stifle a laugh as he went on. “Daphne is a mighty Wordsmith, capable of fashioning word-chains even out of the dust.”

“Impossible,” Eydis said.

“I have witnessed it,” Runar insisted. “She summoned a complete Word of Truth on the Silent Plains. The chains took down a Rabid Daydream.”

“I do not doubt it.” Eydis’s voice was as tight and narrow as her eyes. “The human is powerful. That is not the impossibility. But she is not a Wordsmith.”

“I beg your pardon?” Daphne stammered.

Eydis’s gaze was cold. “There are no Wordsmiths left. They are all Wordmages now.”

“Look.” Daphne struggled to her feet. Leaning heavily on Runar, she pulled out her status book from her pocket and opened it. “See? Euloban says I’m a Wordsmith. Level 5.”

Eydis barely glanced at the book. “That proves nothing. Euloban grants powers irrevocably. It would not rescind those grants simply because thou ceased to deserve them.”

“She has a Phrase-Gift!” Runar pointed with his wing at the record on page four. “We saw a Phrase, Eydis. In the Dalamelle of Clarity. It appeared to us, and granted us its life gift. We are joined.”

“The Dalamelle of Clarity?” Surprise made Eydis’s narrowed gaze slightly less squinty, but Runar pressed on.

“We are joined,” he repeated. “I can read her feelings, and I trust her. Is that not enough for thee?”

Eydis looked at Runar. Her eyes were so full of pain that Daphne took a step back.

“Thy father was joined with a Wordsmith, Lore-ling,” the older griffin said heavily. “No bond could be closer, no trust more complete. He paid for that trust with his life, and with thy mother’s, and with the hope of all our kin.”

A vivid moment from the nightmare hit Daphne like a punch to the gut. She gasped.

“You were with Hyddrun at the ambush!”

Eydis glanced at her sharply. “I beg thy pardon?”

“That night, at the Wordmaster’s fortress.” The words were pouring out of Daphne’s mouth, like poison from a wound. “In the garden. You were there, and you tried to warn Hyddrun about Amelia, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“How dost thou know this?” Eydis took a step back, as if the very air around Daphne were contaminated. “Art thou in league with the thrice-cursed Amelia?”

“Daphne?” Runar asked. Daphne could feel Runar’s eyes on her, but she couldn’t meet his gaze. She kept her focus on Eydis, trusting her bond with the younger griffin to convey the truth of her emotions.

“I am not in league with Amelia,” Daphne said. “I… I used to know her. A long time ago. We were friends.” She closed her eyes against an unexpected wave of grief. “I don’t understand what happened to her. I can’t imagine how she could do what she did. But I want to help.” She opened her eyes, staring at Eydis through a wall of unshed tears. “I know I can’t undo the damage, but I can repair it. I want to see the Wordmaster overthrown. I want to rid Euloban of his plague. Please… please let me try.”

The older griffin looked at Daphne for a long moment, her amber eyes unreadable. When she spoke, it was in dry, flat tone, too weary even for anger.

“Thy words are fair. Perhaps they are true. But fair speech was ever the lure of the Wordmaster.” Eydis shook her head. “The risk is too great, and my kin too vulnerable. I cannot allow a human into our midst again.”

“Then what dost thou propose?” Runar demanded.

“We shall take the human Wordsmith back to the Silent Plains by the nearest prose-shaft, and reseal the tunnel with new words. Then thou and I shall return home.”

“And leave Daphne there?” Runar’s voice was shrill with disbelief. “Alone, out in the open?”

“The Wordmaster will not harm his own.”

“She is not a servant of the Wordmaster!”

Eydis’s face was impassive. “Then, if she is as resourceful as you say, she can fend for herself.”

“Wait!” Daphne’s anxiety spiral was in full whirlpool mode, fueled by a torrent of anguish roaring through the door she’d left open in her heart. “The Wordmaster has Mark!”

Eydis cocked her head. “What is a ‘Mark’?”

“A Reader,” Runar explained. “He was with Daphne when I found them. It was he who wielded the word-chains of Daphne’s forging. Together, we vanquished a Windling in the Dalamelle of Triunity.”

“A Windling?” Shock made Eydis’s squinty voice even higher. “In our most sacred dalamelle? How —”

“The Winds are abroad,” Runar said. “But the dalamelle was saved, thanks to Mark and Daphne.”

“Thank the Phrases,” Eydis muttered. “What befell this Mark? If he is so mighty, how was he taken?”

“It was for my sake.” Runar’s head drooped. “When inspecting the prose-shaft, I was attacked by a Wordmage.”

Eydis threw her wings wide. “By all the Legends, Runar! Is there no end to thy tale of disaster?”

“He had me bound before I could think,” Runar pressed on doggedly. “And then the weapon scattered my thought. Mark and Daphne came to my aid. Daphne helped me back to safety while Mark led the enemy away. The Wordmage summoned a Devouring Wind, but Mark was steadfast. He ensured the secrecy of the prose-shaft, and my safety, and Daphne’s. But the Reader was taken.”

“Mark’s amazing!” Daphne burst out. “He’s the best human being you’ll ever meet. I don’t care what you do with me, or think about me, but please — you have to help Mark.”

“The Reader is a human?”

Daphne’s stomach sank. “Yes.”

“Humans cannot be trusted.” Eydis’s voice was harder than the stone beneath Daphne’s feet. “Whenever we encounter them, the result is destruction. I am sorry, Runar, but the survival of our kin comes first. Thy father would understand, if he were here.”

“If he were here,” Runar said hotly, “my father would say thou art a cowardly, small, pebble-hearted —”

Whatever the next insult in Runar’s tirade was, it died in his mouth. He and Eydis stood stock-still, staring back down the tunnel.

A moment later, Daphne’s lower Wisdom score caught up with the situation, and she heard it: a horrible clicking noise, like the sound of several pointing legs moving quickly over stone.

Or mandibles clacking together.

Or both.

Daphne peered into the darkness, back the way she had come with Runar. “What the hell is that?”

“Pinchers,” Eydis said grimly. “Three, by the sound of it. One for each of us.”

The Prism was buzzing in Daphne’s pocket, sending off waves of intense chill that it was hard to think straight. She gritted her teeth together. “What the hell is a Pincher?”

“I believe humans call it a bug,” Runar said. His golden eyes were wide, though whether from fear or excitement, Daphne wasn’t sure. “But a bug of immense size and strength. They thrive in dark places, and have dwelt long in the tunnels beneath Euloban.”

Giant bugs. Of course.

Because this day needed to get worse, Daphne thought. She took a deep breath, forcing down a small wave of nausea.

“Okay,” she said aloud, trying to sound like a brave Wordsmith. “Runar, you were working closely with Mark. If I can manage some word-chains, could you act as Reader?”

“Nay, human.” Eydis stepped forward, brandishing her basher. “Thy Wordmage tricks have no place here. Even if thou could fashion a Word of Truth, these creatures are too base for such high combat. The chains would fall from them without effect.”

“Then how do we fight them?” Daphne asked desperately.

“With force.” Runar was definitely excited. From his own satchel, he produced a smaller version of Eydis’s club and held it in one talon. “Not every creature in Euloban has a place in the scheme of linguistic communion, Daphne. Some beasts are more ancient. Pinchers have dwelt in the under-dark for centuries, long before the first joining of the classes in triunity. No one knows whence they came, or how they arrived in Euloban.”

“If thou ask me,” Eydis muttered, “they are the fruit of a diseased mind. The stuff of nightmares.”

Nightmares…

Daphne tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry.

No, she thought. No, no, no, no… NO.

Saying it did nothing to stop the rising tide of certainty.

She should have known, really. Euloban was a fruit of her mind. The past day and a half had given her ample evidence that her mind was, in fact, diseased. If Pinchers were the stuff of nightmares, they were the stuff of her nightmares.

One particular nightmare, actually.

“Got an extra basher I could borrow?” Daphne asked, her voice cracking.

“Thou art a smith,” Eydis said coldly. “Forge thy weapon.”

That was all the help Daphne got before three massive praying mantises, each the size of a Great Dane, emerged from the darkness, pincers snapping as they advanced on their prey.