The Oathbound Wizard

CHAPTER 6 On Being a Dracogriff

Even walking, the dracogriff made good time—-those lion legs were long, and resilient. Matt wondered what it would be like when the beast decided to run, but he wasn't about to ask while they were on a mountainside.

He also wasn't about to ask without some kind of cushioning. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. "Uh, could we try for a rest break now?"

The dracogriff pulled to a stop, turning its head back to frown. "After only half an hour? We're never gonna get anywhere if you can't last any longer than that!"

"I'm just out of shape."

"Awright, awright," the dracogriff groused, and crouched so Matt could climb down.

The wizard dismounted, feeling the ache in every limb. He set his palms against his buttocks and leaned back. "Nnngah! Uh, hope you don't mind my saying it..."

"Of course not," the dracogriff answered with an ominous glare. "What?"

"Well, you have, shall we say, a very strong backbone."

The dracogriff stared at him while it figured out what Matt was talking about. Then its mouth lolled open, and it made the coughing, cawing sound again.

"Please." Matt squeezed his eyes shut. "Please don't laugh. You don't know what it feels like."

"And can't, either, I'll be bound. You mean my lumps are hitting you right where you live."

"I wouldn't put it that way..."

"Of course you wouldn't—that's why it takes me so long to figure out what you mean. So whatcha gonna do about it?"

Matt eyed him warily. "Would you object to a saddle?"

"Saddle?" The beast frowned. "You mean one of those things that horses wear?"

"Kinda like that, yeah."

"Yeah, I'd mind," the griff growled, "but I guess I can stand it. I want some kind of fastening I can undo myself, though, in case you decide to go take a hike."

"That shouldn't be too hard to arrange." Matt felt a surge of relief.

"I don't think they come in my size, though."

That gave Matt pause. He eyed the dracogriff's back, frowning. "Well—it'll need a bit of tailoring..."

"Where're you gonna find a tailor for saddle leather?"

"Right here." Matt grinned. "Verses to any size or length, that's me. If I can cut the words right, the saddle should come out just as we want it."

The dracogriff eyed him narrowly. "Ever conjure up a saddle before?"

"No," Matt confessed, "but it shouldn't be too tough."

"Sure," the dracogriff muttered.

"Oh, come on! Have a little faith. Now, let me see..." Matt looked up at the sky, frowning in concentration. "A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse" wouldn't do—he was after the accessories, not the appliance itself. Besides, he didn't want to spend it before he'd ever earned it. "Horse and hattock! Ho, and away!" was a little better—but who wanted to ride sitting on a hattock? Come to think of it, what was a hattock?

Finally, he settled for:

The air glimmered before them, building into a hazy something that clarified and solidified—into a huge coil of leather that broadened out into a contoured top at least four feet across.

They just stood there staring at it for a while. Then Matt turned away. "Confound and blast it! When will I remember to check the fine print!"

"Well, it's pretty...

"It ought to be, with all that precious metal—but it's, shall we say, a little too generous? I mean, I know I've gained weight these last three years, but not that much."

"What happened?"

"I called for a saddle for a dracogriff—so I got one big enough for you to ride in."

The dracogriff stared. Then its mouth lolled open again.

"Please!" Matt squeezed his eyes shut. "Not the laughter. Please, no. I can change it easily enough."

"Oh, yeah?" The draco chuckled. "This, I want to see!"

"All right," Matt said. "Here we go." He glared at the saddle, thinking furiously, then chanted

"Doesn't seem to be working too well," the dracogriff remarked with some relish.

"Well, what can you expect from homemade verse?" Matt snapped. "I mean, it's not as though I had a master's poem to butch—uh, adapt, this time. None of the great ones ever went into rhapsodic detail about his saddle."

The saddle's form began to blur.

"On the other hand," Matt said quickly, "it could just be a delayed reaction."

The saddle turned into a tan cloud, but the great pile of leather under it held its form and clarity. Then the saddle coalesced again, looking just as it had before, only of no more than standard size.

"Hey, that's pretty good!" the dracogriff said, startled.

But Matt stared at the diminished saddle, appalled.

Then he turned away. "Confound it! Remind me to do my research next time."

The dracogriff frowned. "I don't see anything wrong with it."

"It's an English saddle," Matt explained. "I ride Western—or try to."

"What's the difference?"

"The Western saddle is a lot more comfortable—especially if you're going a long distance. Besides, it has a handle to hold on to."

"Picky, picky!" The dracogriff snorted. "Awright—I suppose we gotta wait while you change this one around, right?"

"Oh, I can live with it," Matt grumped.

"Spare me!" The dracogriff rolled its eyes up. "All I need is a martyr for a rider! Go ahead, go ahead! It's not as though we're in a race or anything."

Somehow, those words sent an eerie prickle up Matt's spine—but he turned back to the saddle, determined to ignore the premonition. "All right, let's see, now...

The saddle's form fuzzed again, becoming almost as nebulous as smoke for a minute, then coalesced and firmed once more, into a saddle that would have done credit to the best Hollywood horse opera.

"Are we done yet?" the dracogriff said hopefully.

"Yeah." Matt grinned down at his new word work. "How do you like it?"

"It's beautiful! It's lovely! It's you! Can we go now?"

"Oh, all right, all right." Matt hefted the saddle and turned to his mount. "Care to try on your new wardrobe?"

"Not really," the griff grumped, "but I made you an offer, and I'm stuck with it."

Matt paused, the saddle in his arms. "No, you're not. I don't want to impose..."

"Awright, so you're welcome, you're wanted!" the griff bawled. "Can't a guy gripe a little now and then?"

"Oh! Oh, sure!" Matt reached up to settle the saddle between the beast's shoulder blades. "Just didn't realize that was your normal operating mode. Sorry." And he ducked down to buckle the cinch.

There wasn't a whole lot to spare.

A few minutes later, Matt was back in the saddle again, and the dracogriff was prowling on down the slope. For a while, Matt just enjoyed the scenery, letting his spirits lift with the cool mountain air, feeling cleansed and almost whole again.

He stiffened, alarmed by the thought. "Almost whole"? When had he started feeling shredded? And why?

He nibbled at the thought for a few minutes, then put it aside for his subconscious to work on while he went back to enjoying the view. It was very relaxing, having a companion who didn't insist on talking a lot. Grumpy as he might be, the dracogriff promised to be a good traveling companion.

On the other hand, how much of a conversationalist would he be if Matt were feeling talkative? Just to try it out, he said, "I don't see how flying could possibly be more enjoyable than this."

"You're in the mountains," the dracogriff growled. "Wait till you see what it's like on the plains."

"Oh, I've ridden there before, too, and I'll have to agree—down there, a hike isn't anywhere nearly as much fun as up here. There, I'd rather fly."

"I'd never rather fly," the dracogriff snapped. "Let's just get that straight up front, okay? I don't fly if I can help it."

Matt frowned down at him. "It's just as safe as walking."

"Oh, yeah, that's easy for you to say! You didn't try to fly into the dragons' territory!"

Matt scowled. "What were you doing there?"

"Do you know what it's like to grow up without any of your own kind around?" the dracogriff demanded. "It's mighty lonely, let me tell you! Especially since I knew crisped well the griffins wouldn't have anything to do with me—they felt sorry for Mama, but they weren't about to have anything to do with her as long as I was there. So of course I dreamed about the other side of me! Of course I dreamed about growing up to join the dragons! After all, the cussed things are so ugly, my looks shouldn't have made any difference, no matter how grotesque I am! So when I grew up and left home, where else would I go?"

"You're not grotesque," Matt said softly.

"Oh, sure!" But the dracogriff said it with a little less conviction.

"Besides, it's what's inside that counts."

"Oh, yeah? You didn't have one of their sentries catch you in the air! You didn't have him chasing you over half the sky with his flame turned up high and reaching out twenty feet for you! You didn't get singed and crisped and burned so bad you fell a hundred feet into a treetop!"

"My lord, you poor beast!" Matt whispered

"But he didn't let up then, oh, no! The blasting monster stooped like a hawk and dove toward me, screaming the foulest names you ever heard in a blast of fire—and he was enjoying it! So I ran on the ground, but he kept coming back and coming back, and the more I ran, the more angry he got and the more vicious he got, until I finally found a little cave just barely big enough to crawl into, where he couldn't follow—and even then he prowled outside for the whole rest of the day, blasting the doorway and roaring at me that I was a...'loathsome gargoyle,' he called me, whatever that was!"

"Couldn't you breathe fire back at him?"

"Not enough to matter," the dracogriff answered impatiently. "On a good day, I can light a fire. I just got all the bad things about being a dragon, see—all the good things, I got from my griffin mother! But maybe that's just the natures of the beasts."

"You ran into one of the worst of the dragons," Matt said softly. "There are good ones among 'em."

"Oh, yeah, sure, the way there are good sorcerers and good vultures! How the hell would you know, anyway?"

"Because I have one for a friend."

The dracogriff spun about with a roar.

Matt held on for dear life.

"Off!" the dracogriff bellowed. "Get off, this second! No friend of a dragon can be a friend of mine!"

He stilled just long enough for Matt to jump down—and to back away, fast. "Sure—it's your back. And after what that louse did to you..."

"Not me!" the dracogriff howled. "Mama! What would you think of the kind of creature who could do a thing like that to a poor helpless female?"

"I'd want to draw and quarter him," Matt said promptly, "but I wouldn't blame the whole barrel for what one rotten apple did."

"Easy enough to say," the dracogriff spat, a small blue flame issuing from his jaws. "Easy enough to say, when it wasn't you it happened to!"

"Mere were a few men who went after the woman I love," Matt said evenly. "I fought them off, and I would cheerfully have given them permanent jobs in the middle of a cornfield, as an alternative for the crows—but I don't blame all men for it. And my dragon friend is a good being—loyal, fair, and courageous. Stegoman never would have stood by and watched a bully burn you up that way!"

"I don't believe it—but if he was that good, how come he wasn't there to call off that monster?"

"Probably because he was off with me, helping save Merovence. I wish he had been there—he might not have welcomed you with open arms, but he sure would have kept that bully off!"

"I don't believe it," the dracogriff said again, but his mood was turning down from rage into surliness. "I can't complain about you, though."

"Look, if you don't want me along for the ride, I'll—"

"No, no, come on!" The dracogriff turned broadside and crouched. "Up and at 'em! Just don't let's talk about dragons again, okay?"

"Yeah...sure." Slowly, Matt climbed back into the saddle. He was silent as the dracogriff turned away and started back down the slope again, but soon he said, "Is that why you're having trouble getting home?"

The dracogriff gave a short nod. "Yeah. Mind you, it took me awhile to get going again—by the time that oversize worm roared off and left me, those burns were beginning to hurt—and I mean hurt! Not to mention the stink of burning feathers. Took me two months just to grow my skin back, and I couldn't catch much to eat the whole time—just the odd rabbit that came too near. So after I could walk again, it took another month just building up my strength—and all thanks to a brainless brute, a flaming idiot!"

"Then you began to walk home?"

"No way I was going to fly! And let me tell you, you don't know what distance is till you've tried to hike it! I came across Ibile in three days, flying—and I scarcely made a hundred miles in three days, running! Then I came to that blagstabbering thing with the fake smile and the red neck and the loud voice, and it chased me back twenty miles! I just barely got away from him, and that sorcerer popped up with his wineskin and funnel—and didn't we have a jolly dance before I figured I'd better run faster than he could spell!"

"And that's how it's been ever since?"

"Right. I gain thirty miles, and I run into some new kind of monster I've never seen before—what do they do in Ibile, hold contests to see who can breed up the worst new fright?"

Matt shrugged. "I dunno. Wouldn't surprise me, though, from what I've heard about this place. How've you managed to stay away from the sorcerer?"

"Well, I think he's not too good," the dracogriff confided, "for which, praise Heaven. But every time he comes up with a spell to hold me, I manage to find a hole in it. Like, the first time, he drew a pentacle with a one-foot gap in one of the lines, and crouched there in hiding waiting for me to step in, so he could jump out, finish drawing the line, and shout the last phrase of the spell."

"But you saw it coming and turned away?"

"Of course not! I wasn't expecting anything, remember? But I flew. Just in the nick of time, I felt this thrill of danger, and I flew up fifteen feet and over two yards—then I lit out for the tall timber. First time I'd flown since I met that motherless dragon. Nice to find out I could do it if I had to."

He lapsed into a brooding silence. Matt had to jolt him out of it. "And the second time?"

"Huh? Second time?" The dracogriff turned his head around, frowning. "What do you care?"

"That black-magic-worker is still following you, according to what you've told me—so I might have to match spells with him. What'd he do the second time?"

"Oh." The dracogriff turned its head frontward again. "Well, the second time he conjured up a fake lady griffin to give me the 'come-hither.' Dumb fool didn't know I would never do a thing like that to a lady, most especially not a griffin!"

Matt heard overtones of Oedipus, vowing to outwit the gods, and wondered how long "never" was. "So you just turned away from it?"

"Damn straight away, you bet your bodkin! Idiot sorcerer didn't know that I'd grown up with griffins avoiding me like a plague-carrier, either!"

Matt wondered if an "idiot sorcerer" might be anything like an "idiot savant." If so, he might have trouble ahead, regardless of the man's lack of judgment. "How'd you know it was him?"

"Oh, I checked. I went over a few hundred yards, snuck past, then snuck back in—and sure enough, there he was, hiding behind a boulder, waiting for his lure to do its job on me. But I gave him a royal hot seat, and he ran away yipping."

The guy definitely did not sound like much of a threat, but Matt planned to be loaded for bear anyway. "So he hasn't been able to catch you, just slow you down a lot?"

"Right—but he keeps getting better. The trap after that was a chunk of road that he'd created a bog under. I was just about to step on it when some churl of a rider shouted, "King's courier! Stand aside!" and slammed past me and right into the mud. Well, sir, you never saw a sorcerer hightail it out so fast—but the messenger shouted a spell to get himself out, then turned around and chased me back for ten miles, 'cause he thought I'd done it!"

"But you did see the sorcerer twice." Matt frowned. "How come you thought I was him? Do we look alike?"

"How should I know? I only saw him from the back! And you might have taken off your sorcerer's robe to fool me. All I know is, he's a sorcerer, and he's still after me."

Matt nodded. "And now he's chased you all the way back into the mountains. Want to tell me about the last try?"

"Maybe it was him, and maybe it wasn't," the dracogriff muttered. "But it was a huge snake, ten feet thick and, I swear, a hundred feet long if it was an inch, with breath that could shrivel the bark off a tree—I saw it do that; there's a whole woodlot, fifty miles in front of us, with naked trunks. And boy, could it move! When I tried to go around, it struck way ahead of me—and when I tried to circle around its tail, it whipped about and struck even farther than its back tip! So I pulled all my nerve together and tried to fly over, but it reared up and snapped at me—I just barely dodged aside in time! So I flew back a mile, then dropped and ran—but it kept coming, faster and faster. Wouldn't come up past the foothills, though."

"Trouble hauling all that mass upward?"

"No, trouble with the rocks I kept throwing down at it; sometimes it pays to be taloned. It went away when the sun set, and I figured I was safe—you know how snakes are about nighttime and cold. But I still got as high up as I could before I settled down for the night, and I made sure I slept where there was a lot of loose rock, so I'd hear it if it came."

"And where it would be really easy for the sorcerer to make a small boulder roll down and pin you."

"Awright! I can't think of everything!" the dracogriff bawled.

"No, and you do have to sleep some time," Matt said, "or you'll drop from sheer exhaustion."

"Yeah." The dracogriff sounded surprised. "Yeah, that's the way of it. You see a little more than your own side, don't you?"

"Well, thanks. I like to think so." Matt hoped he wasn't blushing. He went for a quick change of subject. "You know, I really appreciate the lift."

"I was going that way anyway," the dracogriff growled. "Hey, since it looks as though we're going to be together awhile, you might as well have a name for me. Call me Narlh."

"Narlh," Matt repeated, trying very hard to get the final aspiration correct, feeling honored, and knowing he was right. He suddenly realized he'd made a new friend, and had just added to his load of responsibilities—but it was worth it, worth it. "My name's Matthew; call me Matt."

"Matt," the dracogriff repeated, as though the name had a strange taste. "Boy, you people have funny names."

"They go back a way," Matt said, careful not to say anything about the dracogriff's name. "Hey, you know a good place to have breakfast?"

Narlh's pace was a lot quicker than Matt's; they went downhill rapidly and passed into a pine forest by midafternoon. The dark trees made Matt nervous, clustering so closely about the roadway—ideal conditions for an ambush, every foot of the way, and there was still the problem of that sorcerer Narlh claimed was chasing him. Not to mention the possibility of more powerful sorcerers, who might have been attracted by Matt's rock-moving spells; but they were a long way away from where the spells had been worked now. Still, the trail was pretty clear...

The gloom deepened toward dusk; the sun was going down, and so was Narlh's mood. He was starting to mutter to himself, and Matt wasn't all that enthusiastic about riding on a resentful monster. "Uh, it looks as though the trees are thinning out over there. How about pitching camp?"

"Fine!" Narlh angled toward the trees so rapidly that Matt lurched and clutched at the saddle. "Look," he said, "I don't mean to be a pain in the neck..."

"It was my idea, wasn't it?" Narlh snapped. He broke through a screen of branches, and Matt saw a clearing spread out about him, fifty feet across.

"Say, now! This is even better than I thought!" He hopped off Narlh's back, then stopped. "Maybe it's a little too convenient."

But Narlh wasn't listening. He was pacing away from Matt, following the curve of the trees, rolling his shoulders, spreading and folding his wings, and muttering to himself. Matt could only catch the occasional phrase, such as "Monkey on my back...confounded shrimp...muscles I didn't even know I had...being obligated to one o' those filthy humans..."

Matt decided he didn't want to know the rest. He shivered, pulling his cloak about him—they were still in the mountains, and the air was developing a real chill with the approach of night. He turned, scouting for fallen branches, and collected an armful. He dumped them in the center of the clearing, then hunted up a dozen large rocks, set them in a ring, and built a campfire in the middle. He glanced up at Narlh, thinking of asking for a light, but the beast was still pacing, and his grumbling had deepened. Matt shrugged, turning away, and fished in his belt pouch for flint and steel. Sure, he could have used a quick spell, but he was still leery of attracting attention, and he did kind of want to stay around for a while. He shaved a stick with his knife, laid it in a bed of dry grass, and struck the flint against the small file. Sparks jumped on the third try, setting the grass a smolder. Matt breathed on the tiny coal, coaxing it into life; it grew bigger and bigger, then set up a flame—which ignited the shavings, and a real fire danced up. Matt sat back on his heels, feeling a glow of accomplishment just as big as anything he'd had from working magic—and bumped into something behind his back. Warily, he looked up, and saw Narlh's dragon snout over his head. The beast was looking at the fire.

"Not bad," the dracogriff grudged. "So your magic makes fires, too, huh?"

"Yes, but this wasn't magic," Matt explained. "Just flint and steel."

The dracogriff looked down at him with a glint of respect in its eye. "For real, huh? Hey, I guess you are a fire-maker."

"Well, sure, but so are most people."

The dragon head turned back to the fire. "That's right. I'd forgotten that, about your kind. Maybe you can't breathe fire, but at least you can make the stuff." He looked down at Matt again. "And you can make bigger fires with magic, huh?"

"Sizeable," Matt said carefully. It was reassuring to see Narlh coming out of his dark mood.

"How about food?" The dracogriff turned away without giving Matt time to answer. "Miserable way to travel...nothing to eat, all the game's been killed off..."

Matt frowned. "That's right, there is a siege going on in the neighborhood, isn't there?"

"You betcha, boyo! And those greedy soldiers have hunted down everything larger than a mouse already. Gotta be something, though..." And he shouldered away through the brush, still muttering.

Matt sighed and pushed himself to his feet. Time for him to forage, too—though from what Narlh had said, he wasn't going to find much. He poked around among the trees, not wanting to go too far from the camp fire, and did come up with a few fallen nuts and a bush with a scanty supply of berries. He came back to the fire, hunger gnawing at his belly, picked up a stone, and cracked one of the nuts. He pulled the shell open—and saw a shriveled, mangled bit of meat. "Worms have been here before I have," he muttered. "Well, a real warrior wouldn't need to eat, would he?" He picked up the next nut, set it against the rock, and picked up the stone...

Something slammed down on the ground right next to him. Matt found himself staring at a haunch of venison, unskinned.

"I didn't need it all," Narlh's voice explained. "Figured you might be able to use some. I was full, anyway."

Matt looked up at the gruff, scaly snout above him, amazed. "I thought I was the magician, here! How did you find game where there was none?"

"It was good at hiding," Narlh snorted. "I'm better at finding. Eat."

Matt smiled, oddly touched. "Well, thank you, Narlh! But are you sure..."

"A dracogriff can't afford to be logy," Narlh snapped. " I heard your kind needs to scorch it before you eat it."

"Yes, it is nicer that way." Matt started skinning the haunch. "Thanks, Narlh—a lot."

A few minutes later, the venison was roasting on an improvised spit. As soon as the outside was brown, Matt started cutting off slivers. It tasted good, very good—it had been a long time since those breakfast apples.

When the edge was taken off his appetite, he remembered his manners and looked up at Narlh. "Want to try a slice?"

"Don't mind if I do," the dracogriff allowed. "Must be something to be said for it, the way you're wolfing it down."

Matt held out the chunk of meat, which took a fair amount of courage as the huge dragon's head reached down to take it from his fingers. Narlh chewed once, then turned to spit the meat out. "Yuck! Ugh! How can you stand the stuff!"

"Sorry," Matt said, feeling sheepish.

"I guess it smells better than it looks," Narlh growled.

"Must be." Matt kept on trimming until he was full. Then he kept the core of the haunch roasting until it was almost charred on the outside. Well done, it should keep for a day or two—and, though Narlh seemed to be able to find game where there was none, there was no guarantee. Waste not, want not.

While it roasted, Matt raked some charcoal from the fire, let it cool, then started drawing—long, straight lines. He still didn't trust the forest.

"It is certain, then?" The queen sat tight-lipped, fingers pressed deep into the plush covering the arms of her throne. "He has crossed into Ibile?"

"Not so much `crossed,' Majesty, as having appeared on the other side of the border." The messenger clenched his hat in his fists, worried about how the queen would react to her fiancé's defection. "The sentry on the topmost crag of Mount Damocles looked away, toward the other side of the range, then looked back—and saw him there. He says he will swear 'twas the Lord Wizard, an you wish him to, for he was in your army at Breden Plain, and stood near to his Lordship in the battle."

"He must have extraordinarily keen eyesight, to be sure of him at such a distance."

"Such clearness of sight he has, Majesty—'tis the cause of his being stationed at the mountain border." The messenger didn't mention the sentry's montagnard grandfather, who assured his descendent a warm welcome in the local villages, as well as keen eyesight.

He didn't have to; Alisande had chosen the mountain sentries herself, and for exactly those reasons. "There is no need to swear; I credit his report."

"He says also that he knew the Lord Wizard by his colors—his golden doublet and azure hose, and by the glinting symbols on his cape."

Symbols in a wizard's cloak, one might expect—though why Matthew had chosen to have a block-capital M embroidered in place of the usual stars and crescents mystified Alisande. Monograms she could understand, but Matthew did not strike her as swollen with his own self-importance in any other way.

It did, however, make him unmistakable. "I thank you, good courier." She sighed. "Now leave me, and take your refreshment in the kitchens."

The messenger stared in surprise, then bowed and backed away the proper distance before turning on his heel and nearly sprinting out of the throne room. He knew the propensity of royalty to take out their vexation with bad news on him who bore it, and was amazed and tenfold more loyal to the queen who showed such self-restraint as to thank him instead!

"He has done it," Alisande murmured to herself, wishing for the hundredth time for a chancellor with whom she could discuss such weighty matters—but that chancellor himself was now the subject of the discussion, and she would have to talk to herself in his absence. "You have done it, my love—you have stridden into the den of lions without care, and may shortly be without head." She shivered, feeling dread hollow her at the thought. "And what choice have I but to follow, and that with all my army, in some faint hope that I may bring you back alive." She shuddered and shook her head. "Ah, my Matthew! Wherefore could you not have thought before you swore?"

But she knew the answer—in fact, she was the answer. She rose to call up her heralds and set the war in train.