10.6

Jonathan the Third of House Rochford, Lord Baron of Rochford, was flying for far more than just his life.

All told, they had thirteen Gryphon Riders in the combined force of Viznove and Zekhedge. By Jonathan’s count, the Gryphon Knights and Lords arrayed against them numbered at twenty two.

He had himself only twenty-five arrows.

And despite how skilled a shot he was, getting close enough to hit a Gryphon by arrow was a blink away from them closing in range of beak and claws.

He and Zephyrvam tumbled over to the left. He trusted his steed and brother in the wing. Hugging in close and smothering his face and head into the plumage of the Gryphon’s back.

Getting as close to the middle of Zephyrvam’s own chest during the turn was the safest he could be.

Gryphon Rider Whelps made that mistake often. Sprains or even death had claimed far too many aspiring riders who’d tried to keep their heads back and out so they could watch maneuvers they should trust their steed to make.

Those that found a means to avoid those pitfalls in training later could lose their heads when Gryphons close for a melee and protruding body parts made easy targets for beak or claw.

You leaned out and back for precisely two reasons riding in battle.

If you are surveying the land and sky for your next move.

And if you are lining up a shot with your bow.

After that keep your head and body close and cling to your Gryphon, listen to their throat and feel their body move under you.

Trust that you trained well together and that your steed is wise and clever.

For their eyes are sharper than yours, their wings faster, their claws and beak stronger than any blade.

Zephyrvam was just as much a warrior and a lord as his rider and the two had grown up together for a long seventeen years.

And it was on that trust which the Lord of Rochford hoped they would fly for as long as Fiebron and Smokespear had together.

There was a worried clucking in the throat of his steed. And a shift and tilt of concern to the wing, tension in the muscles.

Too subtle to be seen or heard on the wing by an enemy.

But enough warning for Jonathan.

He shifted his weight in time to the turn. He was ready and braced for the spin.

He was already gripping an arrow in his left hand.

His bow was sliding free as he extended his right arm to catch it.

The leather thongs that secured the bow were already given slack enough to slip free as Zephyrvam tumbled around a diving enemy.

He saw a flash of russet feathers, leather armor, claws and beak.

He was drawing the bow and lining up the shot in the brief lull as his steed shifted to catch wind and climb against the force of their enemy’s wake.

An arrow flew, chasing the diving Gryphon.

A scream as the arrow failed to deflect.

The wake of a Gryphon was all but absent when it came to arrows where Zephyrvam had chosen to catch air and stall.

The enemy rider twisted in concern to spot the arrow and where it had found its mark in their steed’s back.

Looked to be just high off the hip.

Missed the vital spine.

It could be lethal if they tried to force flight or climb with the barbed head caught in the flank.

If the rider glided to flee for safety and tended the wound, the steed might live.

Jonathan did not have time to confirm whether the enemy was wise or foolish. Zephyrvam was shifting, he had a tell-tale warble in his throat that carried into the Lord of Rochford’s chest.

He tugged the catch of his bow’s anchorline and pulled it close to his back as he sank his face and arms close into his Gryphon’s plumage again.

Darkness and warm feathers surrounded him as another shriek of an enemy Rider making a dive for them sounded.

Then another flex and warning chirp to keep him secure as Zephyrvam had to make his own dive and another tumble to the right.

A matching but distinct shriek had echoed the first.

Two on one for him, then.

He leaned back in another lull to catch a scan of the sky before diving back against Zephyrvam.

Giving the squeeze and stroke with his thighs and arms to signal they should rise.

A perfunctory and agitated chirp was his reply.

Zephyrvam knew what to do in these odds.

But so did the enemy, the two of them harassed and harried Jonathan and his Gryphon. Preventing him from having enough clear space to climb.

Keeping him hugged close to the feathers or risk his head and neck during a maneuver.

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Working and worrying at his biggest weakness.

Zephyrvam could not climb as fast for the burden of his rider’s weight.

It was a problem for the taller riders of Viznove.

And Jonathan was the tallest man to ride a Gryphon in any memory.

He could feel in his stomach the dips and falls of lost altitude.

Zephyrvam warbled and shifted in warning against him as they kept needing to twist, tumble and shift.

Jonathan could hear the agitation and anger in his steed.

The violence he wanted to enact, but none of their harassers were committing enough to risk his claws or Jonathan’s Arrows. But between the two of them they did not have too. They were pushing him down from the sky.

Eventually there would be nowhere left to fly for Zephyrvam.

A sudden buoy of wind roared around them.

Zephyrvam barked in confusion and given that Jonathan had to risk a glance around.

He leaned as slightly back as he could, even as he felt his insides dropping away under lift.

They were rising to a dizzying degree, red and golden leaves flowing past Zephyrvam’s black wings to either side.

Lifting him enough to break out of the dives and spearing strikes of his opponents.

Two Gryphons were now below him and trying to pull back and climb away from him, but the winds were harsh and against them. The fluttering glints of red and orange leaves rushed into their feathers in torrents.

Wings and the fury of their wakes fighting against the strange wind.

With cleared air and a moment’s respite, Jonathan could get the lay of the battle, sky and land.

Fiebron and the rest of the fliers were occupied. Their counterparts realized the numerical advantage and kept the general and his rider’s hands tied from doing anything but defending against dives and strikes.

Oftentimes any given one of their gryphons were in the same position as Jonathan just was.

Two to one, sometimes opportunistic thirds adding on the pressure.

They had lost two riders by his reckoning already judging the absences.

Where was Jewel?

They needed her up here.

The Army of the realm was well and truly committed, she should have taken flight and begun her Wyrm doom.

The chill wind bizarrely rising up around him and Zephyrvam continued to buoy them into the sky.

He surveyed the chaos of the lines.

Sorcery danced and struck up and down it.

Earth tumbled and moved. Walls of stone and incongruous whole buildings seemed to writhe and grapple one another on one front.

Searing and bizarre flames sparked and blew against each other.

Arrows were turned mid air or burst into flame before finding their mark on either side.

And below it all men clashed in the melee. Captains prominent in their saddles or holding banners high on foot if they had been unseated from their horse kept order on both sides.

No gryphons free on either side to strike against them to break and scatter men under their command.

And there in the center was the unmistakable sinuous line of Jewel.

Marching with the men?

Grounded?

Was she injured?

No.

She was moving fine and even acting well to shield the levy and footmen from arrows.

Then why was she still on the ground?

He saw a messy wide splash of white wyrmflame crash into a sorcerous earth-work rising to meet her.

Burning it messily, sloppier than he knew she could.

None of her training or precision on display.

Like a common Wild Wyrm might.

Jonathan felt his blood go cold despite his armor and the warmth of his Gryphon.

They had told her it was important she not let loose early.

Did any of them tell her she could act after the fight began in earnest?

No she was young and inexperienced, Fiebron had argued they ensure the trap was sprung at the best time.

Has no one given the order?

He could not remember.

The other Gryphons had been upon them as soon as the fortifications suddenly fell and battle was joined.

Fiebron had been in a melee with three fliers for almost the entire battle so far.

The First General made an excellent showing of acrobatics and cunning with Smokespear and kept whichever Gryphon engaged him from harassing others or going for their captains.

But he had been the same as Jonathan, unable to give the command.

Jewel was still holding back!

Someone had to tell her to stop that.

With a glance over the field in another searching glare he finally spotted the smudge of what looked like Kliatbatrn’s colors. Nearly a mile from where his daughter was still hobbling herself as she had been told too.

She had promised she would hold back until she received the signal or direct order.

She needed to stop holding back.

The Realm’s army was committed.

But no one had told her it was time.

Jonathan guided Zephyrvam with his legs and muttered close into the plumage as he huddled into the neck of his steed.

“Dive hard! And tell her it is time.”

He also slapped the signal against the black Gryphon’s neck. Pressing for the long calls, tapping for the light.

But before he had even begun, Zephyrvam already was giving the piercing booming call.

The buzzing-booming Gryphon howl that you could feel in your chest as it rattled your bones from miles away.

Finally signaling that Jewel could stop pretending.

She was a dutiful daughter.

She had obeyed and done as she was told.

Jonathan and all of them had failed her.