Daphne and Runar had only just followed Eydis into the Hall of Parables when they were hit by a very different sort of fireball. They got a vague impression of a vast stone chamber, streaming with light from several massive windows, then —

“RUNAR!”

A large creature shot over from a distant corner as if launched by a catapult. It barreled into Runar, sending them both tumbling in a whirl of feathers and fur.

”Runar Runar Runar!” the creature bellowed happily. As the pair rolled to a stop, Daphne was able to see that it was another griffin, half again as big as Runar. Its feathers and fur were a deeper gold than her friend’s, so deep that she would almost call it orange, but shot through with white and pale yellow. The effect was strikingly fire-esque, like a griffin made out of flame.

“Bja…” Runar tried to speak.

“Thou art home!” shouted the flame-griffin, whose voice apparently had only one volume setting. He cuffed Runar soundly about the head with one great wing, sending the other griffin sprawling. “Why wast thou so long away? Eydis appeared to be cross, but I think she was actually worried. Eydis is always worried.”

“I have cause, young one,” Eydis said.

“But I was not worried,” the flame-griffin continued, as though he had not heard her. He hauled Runar roughly up, wrapping him in a massive wing-hug. “I knew thou art strong, and brave, and full of lore. I knew thou wouldst return. I —”

The flame-griffin suddenly saw Daphne, still standing awkwardly on the threshold. He froze. His dark golden eyes grew as wide and bulging as a Pincher’s.

“Hello,” Daphne said.

“Mmmfff!” Runar struggled out from within the feathery embrace. Stumbling back towards Daphne, he tried to brush himself off, speaking with forced dignity.

“Bjarni, this is Daphne, a Wordsmith. Daphne, this is Bjarni, my brother,” Runar said.

Now it was Daphne’s turn for some wide-eyed staring.

“Your… brother?”

Runar closed his eyes. “My younger brother.”

Bjarni, meanwhile, had recovered his voice.

“A Wordsmith! A human Wordsmith!” He bounded over to Daphne, his rapidly swishing tail making him appear more like a large, happy dog than a noble creature. “By all the Legends, what a glorious day!”

“Bjarni,” Runar warned.

The galumphing youngster skidded to a halt right before crashing into Daphne. He stood in front of her, beaming into her face and visibly vibrating with excitement.

“Where didst thou come from? Hast thou any word-chains? Can I see them?” Bjarni asked in quick succession.

“Um… not on me, no,” Daphne replied.

Bjarni’s face fell, then immediately lifted again in a radiant smile.

“But thou canst make word-chains! Then I can wield them. I must practice so I may defend our kin.” The griffin puffed out his chest plumage, making himself even bigger. “I am a Reader.”

“No, thou art not,” Eydis said sharply.

Bjarni waved a dismissive wing. “Euloban says I am. It has been in my status book since I was born. Shall I fetch it from my berth and show it to thee? Again?”

Eydis bristled. “Our kin are Lorists. Only Lorists can preserve the ancient ways.”

“Euloban hath called me a Reader. Art thou saying Euloban made a mistake, Eydis?” Bjarni demanded.

“Euloban gave thee thy class before these times of trouble,” Eydis began. “But —”

“And the gifts of Euloban are irrevocable.” Bjarni stretched his wings wide in victory. “So I am a Reader! Euloban wants me to preserve the ancient ways by defeating the Wordmaster. I shall bring his fortress down upon his pointy head.”

Eydis opened her mouth, sighed, and closed it again. Daphne got the feeling this was an old, recurring argument and the elder griffin clearly did not have the steam for it at the moment.

Instead, Eydis turned to Daphne.

“Thou art welcome here. Later, Runar will show thee to the Nest Cove and find an empty berth for thee… the Legends know we have plenty to spare.” She gave another sigh. “I shall gather the council here with all speed. Thy wait will not be long.” With a quick flap of her wings, Eydis took to the air, soaring away through one of the many windows.

“The council?” Bjarni thumped his tail against the stone floor. “At last, things are happening! Things, Runar!”

“Indeed, Bjarni,” his brother replied sternly. “But calm thyself. Thou knowst thou will not be involved in these… things, whatever they may be.”

“But I am a Reader!” Bjarni protested. “Lorists can’t do things. Our kin will need me!”

“Thou art still only Level 1.”

“Only because there have been no ‘things’ happening,” Bjarni grumbled. “And no word-chains to practice with.” He turned to Daphne, speaking confidentially. “It is impossible for a Reader to level without word-chains. Impossible for anyone to level here, forsooth, what with Eydis and the elders keeping us all under their iron talons. That is why I am still only a Level 1. Once I get the chance, I promise that I’ll gain levels.”

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Runar sighed, sounding so like Eydis that Daphne had to stifle a laugh. “Thou art still a Level 1 because thou art still a child.”

“I am but one year younger than thee!”

“One year has heavy weight, especially for our race. By human measurement, thou art barely older than a fledgling.”

“Human!” Like a ping-pong ball, Bjarni bounced away from his brother and back to the shiny new reality of Daphne’s presence. “Thou art a human! Art there more of thee? How hast thou survived? Eydis says the world outside is too dangerous for any to survive.”

“Have you never been outside?” Daphne asked curiously.

Bjarni scowled. “Eydis forbids it. She behaves like I hatched only yesterday.”

“No one is allowed to venture outside,” Runar said heavily. “Not anymore.” He bent his head close to Daphne’s, lowering his voice. “The council closed the borders one year ago, after… the battle. The failed attack on the Wordmaster’s fortress. Before that, Bjarni was truly a fledgling, too young to leave the Nest Cove. He knows nothing of the world beyond our halls.”

“Yet the scouts go into the tunnels, and return,” Bjarni grumbled. “And they are but Lorists, not meant to fight. How bad can it be?”

“It’s pretty bad,” Daphne admitted. “The waters are all dried up on the surface. The Silent Plains are basically a wasteland.” Struck by a sudden memory, she turned to Runar. “But the Wander Wood is still green, somehow. I guess the under-waters are still flowing there?”

Runar’s golden eyes glowed. “It is possible. They would have to be present in great force to keep the trees alive.”

“Maybe the Under Library is helping,” Daphne said eagerly. “All that story, collected in one place? It could help nourish the soil. Which means —”

“The Winds have not destroyed the Library,” Runar finished. He was beginning to vibrate nearly as violently as his younger brother. “Not fully. There might still be time to —”

“To take back the Library!” Bjarni drummed his talons on the floor with glee. “To rid the sacred space of the Wordmaster’s foul stench! To unleash the cleansing tide of —”

Suddenly, he stopped, becoming as motionless as a griffin statue.

“Bjarni?” Daphne tapped him gently on the shoulder. “You okay?”

For a moment, she wondered if the young one had managed to level up out of sheer enthusiasm. But when he stirred a few seconds later and turned to his brother, his enthusiasm had turned into seriousness.

“Runar, dost thou think it is true? The legend of the Cleansing Flame?”

“Cleansing Flame?” Daphne echoed. “What’s that?”

“An ancient tale,” Runar said slowly. “Believed to have been sung around hearths since voices were first heard in Euloban. It tells of darkness, and a great blight covering the land. Then —”

“A light emerges,” Bjarni broke in, beginning to wriggle again with mounting excitement. “A word like a spark, spoken from the darkness beyond the darkness of the plague. Then the word kindles other words, then more and more until ’tis a river of fire. And the fire —”

“Sweeps through Euloban, driving out the blight and bringing restoration,” Runar finished. “An old legend, preserved only in the oldest books in the Under Library. But ’tis only a legend.”

Daphne’s status book felt warm in her pocket. “A legend?”

“Only a legend,” Runar repeated.

She caught his gaze and held it. “Like Lore-light?”

Runar stared at her, his face carefully blank. But their emotional link was going nuts, flooded with so many feelings it was impossible to sort them. Wonder, terror, weariness, disbelief… and, running under and through it all, a wild, defiant, impossible hope.

“Lore-light?” Bjarni looked back and forth between them, eyes growing wide. “What —”

He was cut off by a cry that rang through the hall, echoing off the stone and stirring something deep in Daphne’s blood. It was a perfect blend between an eagle’s hunting screech and a lion’s roar: the call of a griffin.

Eydis swept in through a window. Soaring once around the ceiling, she settled on a large dais at the center of the room, several feet away from the tunnel arch where Daphne still stood with Runar and Bjarni.

Calling it a ‘dais’ was probably wrong, but it was the closest word Daphne could find in her vocabulary. The thing was at least twenty feet tall and double that in diameter. It looked like it had been carved out of a single massive block of smooth gray stone. The curved sides, like the walls and ceiling of the whole room, were covered with the same intricate designs that had taken Daphne’s breath away in the tunnels. It was a perfect place for griffin council meetings. High enough to feel suitable for winged creatures, and large enough for many large griffins to sit comfortably.

Now that she had a chance to look around the rectangular room, Daphne saw it was designed to house more than just council members. Hundreds of griffins could enter and exit at once through the multitude of huge windows, arranged in three rows along all four walls. The lowest row was fairly close to the floor, but still high enough that Daphne would need a boost to reach it.

Clearly, the Hall of Parables had been built without humans in mind. The hall had no doors that Daphne could see. There was also no furniture. Between each window was a ledge, big enough to hold three adult griffins. The whole tribe could gather here at once, perching on the ledges and witnessing whatever was taking place on the dais. Council meetings, scout reports, storytelling… especially storytelling.

Daphne closed her eyes. Here, at last, was a part of Euloban that was all exactly as she had imagined it. She hoped she would be with the griffins long enough to witness the performance of a parable. It would almost make up for the misery of the Pincher battle she’d gone through to get here.

Almost.

She opened her eyes just in time to see two other griffins enter by the same window Eydis had used. They followed a similar gliding path before taking their places on the dais. Both were clearly ancient, their movements regally graceful, but slow. One might once have been black, but its feathers were now a silvery gray, fading into fur the color of burnt ashes. The other was completely white. Its plumage shone in the golden light of evening pouring through the windows on the left hand wall.

“Come, Wordsmith.” Eydis beckoned down from the dais with one sweep of her wing. “And thou also, Runar. Bjarni shall return to the Nest Cove.”

Bjarni puffed up his chest plumage, his orange-red feathers seeming to grow even redder in frustration. “But —”

Eydis gave a sharp cry, and the younger griffin fell silent.

“No arguments, young one,” she said. She spoke at a normal volume, but her voice echoed off the stone walls. The Hall of Parables had amazing acoustics. “Your brother shall come to thee later. The Wordsmith also, if she so chooses.”

Bjarni’s head drooped. Daphne’s heart went out to him and she put a tentative hand on his reddish shoulder.

“I’ll see you later,” she promised. “Maybe you can show me your status book?”

Bjarni’s whole face brightened.

“I shall get thee a berth ready!” he crowed. “Close to mine and Runar’s. And thou canst make some word-chains!”

“Maybe,” Daphne said. “We’ll have to —”

But Bjarni was already taking off, shooting through the nearest window like a fiery comet.

In the silence that followed, Daphne felt the emptiness of the vast room descending on her, like the Hall of Parables was holding its breath. She reached towards Runar and found him kneeling beside her. No, not kneeling — crouching, low enough for her to climb on. A single word flared in the back of her mind.

“Come.”

The next moment, they were soaring upwards. Runar took one wide loop of the room before landing on the dais beside Eydis, forming a small circle with her and the other two griffins.

Daphne leapt down with surprising grace for a novice. She could feel Runar laughing at her excitement along their emotional link, but she didn’t care.

I did it! Her inner child was crowing and dancing with delight. I rode a griffin!

“It is time,” said the silvery-gray griffin. At his voice, deep and gravelly as stone, Daphne’s insides went very still.

“All are gathered.” Eydis gave a small bow, then fixed Daphne with her keen gaze. “Let the Lore Council begin.”