And so, after a little persuasion in the form of a sharp arrow held inches from his face, the griffin dealer was only too happy to provide an incredibly fast beast to Timothy.
“We’ll update the rest of the Rangers and the council as to what’s going on. Anything we should let them know in particular?” Brutus asked as Timothy mounted the beast.
“Yes,” the mage said, “Tell them to prepare for war.” Then he took off into the sky, flying towards the Phoenix Isle as the storm vented its fury around him.
Aidan was lying against the soaked griffin’s back, his consciousness fading fast. The lifeline that secured him and Aaliyah had nearly killed both of them, but at least she was still alive. They had been flying with the storm all day, and both the boy and the beast were barely awake. The only thing that kept Aidan going was the thought of Aaliyah, dying, and his mother, and his master, who still needed him.
Lightning flashed, near them followed almost instantly by the deafening roar of thunder. Aidan was surprised to feel a decent amount of magic come from the bolt, enough to give him the strength to sit up. What he saw gave him the first bit of hope he had possessed that day. There was a group of lanterns directly below him. He immediately pulled the Griffin into a downward spiral. As they neared the ground, Aidan realized that they were moving far too fast.
They hit the turf hard, dirt spraying into the air. The griffin flipped once, dumping Aidan and Aaliyah on the ground, and then rolled into stillness.
Aidan heard a yell and saw long legs running towards him. As lighting flashed one more time he saw a tall figure, arms crossed, standing over him.
Then his world descended into darkness.
17
Timothy’s Griffin landed by the seashore, where the storm had left wood and rocks strewn amongst the sand. They had already flown above the isle, but it was completely devoid of any sign of Aidan. Timothy dismounted and led the beast into the forest. They had barely broken the tree line when the griffin gave an anguished cry and jerked the line away from Timothy’s hand, dashing away.
Swearing under his breath, the young mage trudged through the woods, his robes becoming tangled and ensnared on thorns and branches. As he followed the beast, who left a very noticeable trail, he began to smell something rotting.
He came into a clearing, where the rotting smell was so strong it made his eyes water. It had once been Aidan’s campsite, Timothy knew. There was one hammock hanging on a tree, now full of water, and another that had been pulled down by the storm. Most of the contents of Aidan’s and Aaliyah’s packs were strewn on the ground, including all of their food supplies. And tethered to a tree lay a dead griffin, the source of the horrible smell.
Timothy’s griffin was desperately trying to cut the rope that held its brethren to the tree, as if that could somehow save the dead beast.
The boy turned around, despair beginning to fill his chest. Then, he saw a broken branch, and another. Timothy was no expert tracker, but he was still able to make out a path where someone had charged through the woods.
After following it for just a little, he found the remains of a man that had been scavenged by some type of animal. He kept walking before his stomach forced him to vomit.
It wasn’t long before the broken twigs and branches led the mage to a clearing, in the center of which lay the remains of the other amogh. There was nothing left but some beat down grass, evidence of a griffin’s hurried departure.
Timothy sat down on the ground, defeated. He had no idea where Aidan was, or even if his friend was still alive.
“What am I supposed to do?” Timothy said.
“You can start by turning around,” said a voice from behind the boy.
Timothy whipped around, staff in hand. Before him stood an old man, wearing a warlock’s robe, with a dragon etched into his forehead.
“Bartemus! I mean, Master!” Timothy sputtered, jumping to his feet.
“Greetings, Timothy. I understand you had an encounter with a goblin?”
Timothy flinched. “Yes sir, I did.”
“Then I’m assuming you don’t know where my apprentice is now?”
“No sir,” Timothy said, hanging his head.
“Very well. How fast can your beast fly?” Bartemus said.
“What beast?” Timothy asked.
“Your griffin, lad. Try to keep up. Can you make it to Fort Phoenix in two days?”
Timothy hesitantly nodded. “I believe so. Why?”
“I need you to deliver this message to your master,” the warlock said, handing the mage an envelope, sealed with a rune far too complex to be created by anything but magic.
“Why don’t you just use a communication crystal?” Timothy asked.