Gryphon made out an endless expanse of blue, a sight he’d grown used to while sitting atop the sheer cliff that marked the edge of Ram’s Gate.
He used to study the waves, pondering his goal to restore his family’s honor, imagining what it would feel like to command his own mess. Now he snorted at his own foolishness. What was pride without honor, and what was honor without a clear conscience? As much as he loved his people, he could not serve them now or ever again. His chest tightened at the thought. I’m so sorry, Mother.
The foliage opened as they crossed the final bridge leading to a platform large enough to accommodate the entire flock of Raven warriors as well as Gryphon and Gabe. Gryphon glanced over the edge of the platform. The ocean crashed into the rocky ravine hundreds of yards below, the sound ricocheted off the rocks like dozens of voices fighting to be heard.
Not fifty yards beyond the cliff was a forested island that sat like a gigantic pillar that stood apart from the mainland, surrounded completely by cliffs and, eventually, sea. The towering walls of the island were sheer and plateaued even higher than the canopy platform upon which they stood. Were Gryphon standing on the ground, he’d have to crane his neck to see it.
How could anyone reach such a place?
Craw, with his feathered necklace catching the breeze and whipping about his painted face, cupped both hands to his mouth and crowed at the large island. The high screeching sounded anything but human.
“What is he … ?”
Gabe silenced Gryphon with a look and stepped next to Craw. Like the Raven, he cupped his hands to his mouth and arched his back a little as if to throw the howl that poured from his lips.
Craw walked over to Gryphon, resting his hand on the Ram’s shoulder. “The horn has never blown from this platform. If we want any chance of delivering your message, it’s best to keep it that way.”
Now that his people knew the location of the Raven Nest, in only a matter of days, Ram horns carried around the necks of every mess leader Barnabas sent would blare from this platform. A thrilling voice of strength to the ears of Ram warriors, but terrifying to everyone else.
The Raven parted from the trunk of the tree to form a V formation. Gryphon nudged Gabe’s shoulder, a question burning on his tongue. But he didn’t have to wait for long. An arrow whistled through the air and lodged with a quiet thud into the trunk of the tree, not far from Gryphon’s head.
Gryphon instinctively reached for his shield, but the Raven had taken that and every other weapon from him the day they surrounded him in the meadow. A few of the Raven shared smiles.
“With the wind, it might have hit any one of you,” Gryphon grumbled. He knew the Raven were legendary bowman, but even they couldn’t predict a gust of wind. Another whistle cut the air and this time Gryphon dropped to the ground, covering his head with both arms. The arrow thupped into the tree, inches from the first.
Gryphon cursed and climbed to his feet. Even if it meant taking an arrow through the neck, he would not move an inch at the next whistling sound. For the sake of his pride, if not his rear end.
But the V formation broke, and two men rushed to the arrows, pulling them with some effort from the tree. A thin, shimmering string dangled from each arrow’s shaft, so slight Gryphon might not have noticed it if it didn’t catch the faint light of the overcast sky.
Gabe broke his long silence with arms crossed over his chest, his cape dancing in the breeze. “Lion’s Silk.” He nodded toward the men, who’d formed two lines, and, with gloved hands, heaved on the thread-like material. “As light as a spider’s web but strong as the mountain lions that roam the region.”
“What is it made from?” Gryphon collected the arrow with silk from the ground as the Raven still pulled against an invisible weight. The string was cold to the touch and seemed to be made of
He used to study the waves, pondering his goal to restore his family’s honor, imagining what it would feel like to command his own mess. Now he snorted at his own foolishness. What was pride without honor, and what was honor without a clear conscience? As much as he loved his people, he could not serve them now or ever again. His chest tightened at the thought. I’m so sorry, Mother.
The foliage opened as they crossed the final bridge leading to a platform large enough to accommodate the entire flock of Raven warriors as well as Gryphon and Gabe. Gryphon glanced over the edge of the platform. The ocean crashed into the rocky ravine hundreds of yards below, the sound ricocheted off the rocks like dozens of voices fighting to be heard.
Not fifty yards beyond the cliff was a forested island that sat like a gigantic pillar that stood apart from the mainland, surrounded completely by cliffs and, eventually, sea. The towering walls of the island were sheer and plateaued even higher than the canopy platform upon which they stood. Were Gryphon standing on the ground, he’d have to crane his neck to see it.
How could anyone reach such a place?
Craw, with his feathered necklace catching the breeze and whipping about his painted face, cupped both hands to his mouth and crowed at the large island. The high screeching sounded anything but human.
“What is he … ?”
Gabe silenced Gryphon with a look and stepped next to Craw. Like the Raven, he cupped his hands to his mouth and arched his back a little as if to throw the howl that poured from his lips.
Craw walked over to Gryphon, resting his hand on the Ram’s shoulder. “The horn has never blown from this platform. If we want any chance of delivering your message, it’s best to keep it that way.”
Now that his people knew the location of the Raven Nest, in only a matter of days, Ram horns carried around the necks of every mess leader Barnabas sent would blare from this platform. A thrilling voice of strength to the ears of Ram warriors, but terrifying to everyone else.
The Raven parted from the trunk of the tree to form a V formation. Gryphon nudged Gabe’s shoulder, a question burning on his tongue. But he didn’t have to wait for long. An arrow whistled through the air and lodged with a quiet thud into the trunk of the tree, not far from Gryphon’s head.
Gryphon instinctively reached for his shield, but the Raven had taken that and every other weapon from him the day they surrounded him in the meadow. A few of the Raven shared smiles.
“With the wind, it might have hit any one of you,” Gryphon grumbled. He knew the Raven were legendary bowman, but even they couldn’t predict a gust of wind. Another whistle cut the air and this time Gryphon dropped to the ground, covering his head with both arms. The arrow thupped into the tree, inches from the first.
Gryphon cursed and climbed to his feet. Even if it meant taking an arrow through the neck, he would not move an inch at the next whistling sound. For the sake of his pride, if not his rear end.
But the V formation broke, and two men rushed to the arrows, pulling them with some effort from the tree. A thin, shimmering string dangled from each arrow’s shaft, so slight Gryphon might not have noticed it if it didn’t catch the faint light of the overcast sky.
Gabe broke his long silence with arms crossed over his chest, his cape dancing in the breeze. “Lion’s Silk.” He nodded toward the men, who’d formed two lines, and, with gloved hands, heaved on the thread-like material. “As light as a spider’s web but strong as the mountain lions that roam the region.”
“What is it made from?” Gryphon collected the arrow with silk from the ground as the Raven still pulled against an invisible weight. The string was cold to the touch and seemed to be made of
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