CHAPTER TWO

 

“Midnight Encounters”

 

 

 

 

Corpalot motioned the werewolf over to him. Though she showed great resentment, she complied. They spent several moments in whispered conversation.

 

Sondrew pulled an oversized hand-carved comb from his battered knapsack and began to scrape the sap from Ballad's wings. Between sobs, he hummed softly to his friend to comfort him.

 

“Don’t…Don’t go all sappy on me, Sondrew.” rasped Ballad, with something between a chuckle and a cough.“I’ll be alright. I’m young and resilient, and it’s not particularly strong glomwood sap. Nice try, wolfie.”

 

“Your feathers needed combing anyway,” Sondrew said as he strained to pull the comb down Ballad's wing. Ballad winced as the comb stuck and his feathers were yanked.

 

“I think we're gonna need some water to get this out,” Ballad said. “Let's go down to the stream.”

 

“But you promised no hunters!” the werewolf suddenly shouted at Corpalot. He continued to whisper.  The werewolf didn’t raise her voice again.  Apparently satisfied, Corpalot sat down by the fire and drained the rest of the cider Sondrew had prepared directly from the flagon into his mouth.

 

Sequiel vaguely absorbed the events that were happening in the clearing even as he frantically searched the edge of the woods for his crystal. He imagined it shattered into millions of tiny, useless shards. He imagined what it would be like to look at darkened woods like these and never know what magicals might be nearby. He didn’t know what would happen if the crystal had struck the ground with force. Ever since his father had handed it to him, he had always been very, very careful not to drop it.

 

And at last, there it was, lying in a clump of weeds – completely unscathed. Sequiel sighed in relief with all the force of a dragon breathing fire. As his hand closed around the crystal, it tingled, letting him know that the werewolf was nearby. He looked up sharply and saw her approaching - but she clearly meant no harm.

 

“Hunter...” the werewolf began.

 

“Now that we’ve tried to kill each other, you can call me Sequiel,” he said wryly. “And you are?”

 

Stone silence – except for the gryphon’s terrible cry still ringing in his ears, something he hadn’t been aware of while he was focused on his lost crystal.

 

“Or don't werewolves have names?” he added.

 

"I have a name," the werewolf said sharply. "It's for my pack to know. You can just call me 'The Werewolf' like Corpalot does."

 

"I've never known just any old 'The Werewolf' to be skilled at swordplay – and archery."

 

Her eyes looked as if they were staring at a silver arrow pointed straight at her heart. The way she had used the branch in their battle might have been called swordplay, but she carried no sword, nor bow, nor arrows – no weapons at all. Few of her kind did.

 

"How the devil did you..."

 

"I get around the woods of this kingdom more than the average human. I've seen you practicing several times."

 

"Swordplay and archery, eh?" said Corpalot, overhearing. "Well, well. We'll add that to The Werewolf's list of uses. That'll save me hiring a swordsman and an archer!”

 

“I must admit,” Sequiel continued, now addressing The Werewolf as though she were a colleague, “I was also impressed that you not only identified glomwood sap and knew its use, but also recalled which of my many pouches it was in from that one cursory sniff you gave them.”

 

The werewolf stared at the ground a bit sorrowfully at the reminder of the glomwood sap incident. 

 

“I meant that to be a compliment.” Sequiel said, but she was already striding back towards the clearing.

 

“Just a moment,” Sequiel called, “What did you come over here to tell me?”

 

“I thought I should say something to you,” she said, without stopping or turning around, “And now I have.”

 

She was headed towards the river, where Ballad and Sondrew had gone. Sequiel followed her at a safe distance, curious about her intentions.

 

At the river, Sondrew pulled the last glob of glomwood sap off Ballad’s wing. Ballad splashed playfully, preening his feathers. Sondrew beamed with relief at his friend’s resilience.

 

“Ya know somethin’, Sondrew,” Ballad said in a raspy voice, still affected by the attack,  “Lookin’ into the river just now, when I was still covered with that sap - I was thinkin’…blue might be my color – for my costume, I mean.”

 

“Blue,” said Sondrew, nodding thoughtfully as he worked to pull tangles from Ballad’s feathers and fur.

 

Ballad turned casually to the woods on the shore and announced in a matter-of-fact tone.

 

“If you’re gonna throw any more, throw it now.  Don’t wait until I’m all clean and dry,”

 

The Werewolf emerged from between the trees and sidled over to Ballad.

 

“Gryphon…I should not have used…Hunter Sequiel’s tricks on you earlier. I should have fought you like a real werewolf.”

 

“Ah, yes, if you attack me again, please use fangs and claws.” His tone shifted. “I must say, though, there’s nothing could get me more riled up than losin’ me voice when I finally got an audience that appreciates me work. So I’d stay outta my way ‘til you hear me singin’ again, right?”

 

The Werewolf nodded solemnly in agreement. 

 

Ballad resumed splashing, ignoring her in a cat-like manner. Sondrew sat down on the bank of the creek and began to skip stones in a musical rhythm.

 

As werewolf made her way back to the camp, she noticed Sequiel in his hiding place and paused to glare at him incredulously.

 

An odd feeling crept into Sequiel – doubt about whether or not he should agree to sign on to this quest. Ordinarily, he would join any quest that sparked his interest, which this one certainly did, however…

 

First, there was Corpalot. Most of Sequiel’s clients would gladly hand command over to him once they were in the wilderness – that is, if they even came along on the quest at all. Corpalot was different. He wanted to seem in control even if he had no idea what he was doing, as Sequiel guessed was the case with this quest.

 

Far more troubling was The Werewolf – fascinating, of course, but within moments of meeting her, she attacked the only two things he couldn’t bare to lose – his freedom and his crystal. She had also managed to harm Ballad’s beloved voice.

 

On the other hand, he wanted to spend more time with Ballad and Sondrew – that is, if they didn’t hate him for what happened with the glomwood sap he had unintentionally supplied.

 

Well, it was their fault that the werewolf had gotten ahold of him - they didn't do it on purpose, of course, just distracted him by being so irresistibly friendly.

 

In his adventures, he had been chased, yes. Injured, yes. Come within inches of death, yes. What was adventure without a little mortal peril? But captured, never. Nor, he swore to himself, would he ever be again.

 

*****************************

 

“Did I ever tell you, Sondrew,” said Ballad, as the pair returned to the camp, “what a strange mix of emotions water brings to a gryphon? Me eagle half loves it, but me lion half hates it!”

 

By this time, Sequiel and The Werewolf were sitting on opposite sides of the fire, purposely not looking at one another for fear of spoiling their shaky truce.

 

Corpalot stood nearby, looking disdainfully at all of them, as though he had just taken a closer look at a beautiful mermaid and discovered she was actually just a sea cow. His expression was particularly severe when he strode over to Sondrew and Ballad, who had just sat down beside the fire.

 

Ballad had managed to remain calm while speaking of Corpalot, but actually seeing him up close was different. The gryphon glowered at Corpalot as though the man were made of glomwood sap. He had not looked at The Werewolf half so fiercely.

 

Corpalot didn't flinch.

 

“Tell me, Mr. Hayne,” he said, with an icy sort of graciousness, “has any permanent damage been done to the gryphon?”

 

Ballad just kept glaring down at Corpalot, smoldering in silence, so Sondrew answered.

“He doesn’t think he’s hurt badly, but I’m concerned. He’s only been hit with glomwood sap once before – as you know – but this time his voice still hasn’t - ”

 

“Let me ask another way,” Corpalot interjected impatiently.

 

He reached into a high quality sailor’s bag at his feet, and pulled out an ornate metallic lantern in the shape of a dragon’s head. He held it up for all to see. The orbs of its eyes were filled with a strange bubbling liquid that kept changing colors. Two long horns sprouted out of the lantern on either side of the handle Corpalot held it by. A cube of glass was held between the top and bottom jaws. A fireball was suspended within it, its orange light tinged strangely with a faint aura of green.

“Is that…” began Sequiel.

“Aye,” answered Corpalot proudly. “Dragon fire….” He turned one of the horns and the fireball grew larger and brighter. He grinned fiercely.

 

“But how did you -”

 

Before Sequiel could finish his question, Corpalot turned another knob on the back of the lantern, and a spurt of flame shot towards the gryphon from the dragon head’s nostrils.

Sondrew looked utterly appalled at Corpalot’s actions, but said nothing, confident in his friend’s ability to fend off the fire.

Ballad flapped once and buffeted the fire back into the lantern, but it instantly surged back towards him. He flapped again, and his wind blew over the flame, swooped down, wound its way into the lantern’s nostril-holes. The flame winked out of existence – for a moment, but then it flickered into being once more. One last flap from Ballad’s wings finished it off.

 

Sequiel was relieved that the gryphon hadn’t been burned, but he took the extroverted creature’s continued silence and solemnity as a bad sign. Surely Ballad would have made some expression of triumph if something weren’t wrong. His stifling stillness filled the clearing just as his joy had while singing “Awk Roarawk Rawk Riik Riik”.

 

“Well, I’m pleased to see it’s not as weak against dragonfire as it is against sap,” Corpalot chortled derisively, gesturing towards Ballad. “Still, whatever you did to tame the creature, boy, you’d better undo some of it, or we’ll all wind up roasted by the time it snuffs a real dragon’s heartfire.”

 

“I’ll try to ease up on him, sir,” said Sondrew, with a subtle wink at Ballad. Ballad winked back, but it was just a quick, almost mechanical snap of his eyelid. His expression remained severe.

 

“But only if you tell me how you plan to make good on your end of the bargain,” Sondrew added.

 

“Of all the people to ask that question!” Corpalot guffawed loudly. “You’re one of the lucky few who’s had a glimpse of the future.” He picked up another lantern and held it out, as though he were literally lighting the way to the future. “I’m going to change this isolationist backwater of a kingdom a great deal in the coming years. Will the people accept a singing gryphon? Why, my boy, it will seem downright commonplace compared to what I have to offer them! That’s how I plan to make good on my word!”

 

"Corpalot," said Sequiel. "If this is just another dragon quest, I don't quite see..."

 

"...why we need a gryphon and a werewolf, and not just glorious you, Master Sequiel? Well, ya see, we're not just gonna grab gold and go like I did with you the last time. We're gonna have to get deep into dragon territory, an' we're gonna have to stick around a while. We’re not questing for dragon’s gold! We’re questing for the very fire of the dragons!”

 

"And how do you plan to plunder that?” said Sequiel.

 

The word "plunder" obviously struck a chord.

 

"It won’t be plunderin’” blustered Corpalot. He gestured around at the campsite and at Sequiel, Sondrew, Ballad and The Werewolf. "None of this is really for me. It's for Princess Prenzibeth."

 

"Prenzibeth!?"

 

"You're related to the Princess, en’t you, Master Sequiel?" Corpalot asked.

 

"Master Sequiel is related to no-one," said Sequiel. "He sprang to life out thin air one Friday the Thirteenth, under the eerie glowing ring of an eclipsed moon. Or so the legends say."

 

"Well, other legends say you're her second cousin, Sequiel of Escalon – the one who fled into hiding after he murdered his father.”

 

“Sequiel is a common name,” said Sequiel calmly, “assuming that is my real name.”

 

“We'll see if she says the same. Ya know, it en’t polite to disagree with a Princess, even if you're a Master Guide."

 

"Prenzibeth is coming here!?"

 

"The Princess is comin' with us," said Corpalot. "She's demanding to negotiate the trade agreement in person."

”Trade agreement?!” said Sequiel, already deeply disappointed in hearing those two deathly dull words linked to the quest – not to mention dismayed at all the exclamations of surprise he seemed to be making. “Trade agreement with whom?”

 

“Why, with the dragons, of course!”

 

"With dragons?!" squawked Ballad, abandoning his silence out of pure shock. (Sequiel was relieved he didn’t have to make this exclaimation.)

 

"Think it impossible?" Corpalot asked the gryphon sharply.

 

"I'm a gryphon who wants to be a minstrel. I don't think nothin's impossible. But any sort of agreement with dragons is about as damn close to it as you can come!"

 

"I too must question what makes you think this will work," said Sequiel. "Have you actually managed to discuss this with any dragon, much less their king?"

 

“I managed a trade agreement with pirates,” said Corpalot. “Scum o’ the seas that they be, but I made it work. Convinced ‘em all it was easier to trade with me than plunder me ship and pay the price in blood. Dragons won’t be no different. Have a little faith! The ol' Captain's got it all planned out."

Corpalot calling himself “The ol’ captain” amused Sequiel, for Corpalot was not much older than him. But then he looked over at Ballad, who had returned to his stony expression. He stood and looked Corpalot directly in the eye.

 

“I'll wait until Prenzibeth arrives before I decide whether or not to lead this quest,” Sequiel said.

 

“Very well, Master Sequiel – but consider this – this kind of quest has never been attempted before. Whatever quest guide does lead it will surely be considered the greatest quest guide in all Quintessentia.”

He held out the dragonfire lantern for Sequiel to take.

“A gift,” the merchant said. “No strings –  yours to keep. From one legendary adventurer to another.”

Corpalot’s giving gesture couldn’t have meant less to Sequiel – such an obvious ploy. But the lantern itself boded of more unusual things like it. He knew he wouldn’t be able to resist, and, gallingly, he knew that Corpalot knew it too.

 

“Thank you,” said Sequiel, snatching the lantern from Corpalot’s hand and examining it closely. He held it close to his face – which admitted an expression of childlike glee - and played with the horn/knob for a few moments, making the fireball grow larger and smaller.

“I’m afraid you don’t have all night to play with that,” said Corpalot to Sequiel. “There’s a tent for each of you, I suggest you get some rest. The princess will be here at the crack of dawn and I expect everyone to be presentable when she arrives – whether yer comin’ along or not.”

 

************************************

 

 

As Sequiel lay in his tent, one name kept repeating in his head: “Prenzibeth.”

 

She must have thought he was dead all these years. Strange to think that they had been betrothed when they were children – a situation both brought about and aborted for political reasons.

 

Sequiel’s brother, Lord Quesiel, was the only royal – the only person at all, come to that – who knew Sequiel’s true identity. Quesiel, who loved the pleasures of the court, didn’t remotely understand why Sequiel was so eager to give them up, but he didn’t much care what one did as long as one had a good time. Prenzibeth, on the other hand, was known to take a vested interest in other people’s lives. She might take it upon herself to bring about his return to royal society. He had no way of knowing that. He had know way of knowing what she would do when she saw him. People were a puzzlement to him. So were magical creatures  – he just seemed to have more fun trying to solve them.

 

Furthermore, it was well known that she was a devout Brigadionist, and as Brivald had said, the Brigadionist Elders thought that looking for magicals was looking for needless trouble.

 

And what about “Going deep into dragon territory” and “sticking around a while.” How deep? Stick around how long? There always had to be an escape route to the next adventure.

 

 

************************************

 

 

Sequiel awoke with a start. What was that noise?

 

The castle bells were ringing in alarm. Castle Escalon was under attack. He was running  up a tall, tall spiral staircase, leading to the top of the castle’s tallest tower. His father was gripping his hand tightly and pulling him forward. He could barely keep up.

 

“You’ve got to learn to face reality,” his father said.

 

Reality was at the top of this staircase – and, from his father’s ominous tone, it was going to be terrifying.

 

They seemed to go on and on, around and up forever, but Sequiel knew that sooner or later they would reach the top. Then suddenly, it wasn’t a staircase he was climbing – it was a mountainside. Corpalot was behind him, signaling “onward” with his arm, mouthing the words, “what are you waiting for?”

And what was he waiting for? Now he couldn’t wait to reach the top - where the Dracophoenix’s cave was! This time, he wouldn’t let it get away. This time, he would unravel its secrets.. He climbed and climbed, but never seemed to get any closer. Then at last, he pulled himself up on the ledge, stepped into the darkness of the cave, raced through the curving path that led through mounds of dragon treasure, until he was certain that around the next bend would be the sleeping dracophoenix, just as it had been the first time. But instead, he found himself sleeping on the floor. He looked up – for he was now lying on the floor – and saw that it was no longer himself watching himself, but someone or something else…

 

Sequiel awoke with a start, to a crushing sense of dizziness and a brilliant blue light vauguely in the form large horse-like animal in his tent - with a long, twisted horn. A unicorn! Inside a tent! The creature disappeared in another disorienting flash of light.  But

 

He knew he was good at attracting unicorns – but he’d never done it in his sleep! Had it all been part of his dream? Or was he starting to lose his sanity, like his mother?

 

Sequiel joked to himself, “perhaps he’s the Master Sequiel of unicorns, a unicorn who looks for questers.”

 

Many questers thought about the word “destiny” constantly – for Sequiel, this was the first time it really occurred to him that he might actually have one. His father used to say it was his destiny to be king – that had probably had chased the word from his mind. Perhaps it was his destiny to find the Dracophoenix. But for what purpose?

 

It occurred to him his entire legacy as a quester had just been a unicorn hunt here and a dragon slaying there. This quest, sensed, was it. The Big One. The question was, was he ready? For the first time in years, he felt terribly young.

 

At any rate, he knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep, so he decided to go for a stroll.

 

 

*************************

 

 

Ballad growled into the darkness.

 

“Ballad, it’s me!”

 

“Sondrew?”

 

“Yes. I woke up and saw you were gone. Where are you going? What’s got you so distressed?”

 

They were in the woods, a few paces away from the camp. The gryphon’s mane was even more frizzed than usual from his high level of frustration.

 

“What do you think it is?” he replied. “Corp-a-lot!”

His voice had the intensity of hysterical shouting – it was only the weakened state of his voice that kept him from waking the others back at the campsite.

 

“We flew right to him! We could have just flown away! We could have flown anywhere! Anywhere! But we flew right to where he told us to come! Right where we knew he’d be! Just ‘cause he’s danglin’ what we want, we beg for it mouth open like a starvin’ gryphlet!” He opened his beak unbelievably wide and looked up, to illustrate it. “He must be a sorcerer! Must have had us under a spell! No other explanation! Meetin' with that hiss-hiss-son-of-a-grrowlrrawk! Seein’ him right there, standin’ right there in front o’ me, where I coulda just reached out and –“ he slashed the air with his forepaw and foretalon and made a raspy attempt at a battle cry. “Get on, Sondrew! Let’s fly away, right now!” He bent down to let Sondrew climb onto his back, but almost immediately sprang back up again. “No! I know what I’m gonna do! I'm going down to that fac-tor-ree of his, blow it apart –“ he flapped his wings, setting the leaves on the trees tingling and a shower of pine needles plummeting down – “and set all the magicals free!"

 

“Ballad, you were attacked today…are you’re sure you’re up to -”

 

“Told you, I’m fine! Except me voice of course, dammit! And Corpalot, of course!”

 

"That factory is on the outskirts of Quester's Corners – a town full of questers. A lot of the creaturesu might be slain!”

 

"Better slain than captive. Anyhow, least they'll have a fightin’ chance."

 

Now Ballad’s wings were twitching continuously with agitation.

 

"Corpalot’s factory must have defenses - magical defenses. Something must be keeping all the questers from discovering the factory. I wonder if even the royals know it exists. Ballad – what if we talk to the Princess when she arrives, and expose Corpalot’s prison for what it is?”

 

“And what if she’s in cahoots with him? What if she won’t do nothin’ about it?”

 

“Then I guess we figure out what the defenses are, face them, and blow it down. But…in a way…you’ve got to admit, setting up that factory is quite an accomplishment. No, wait, wait Ballad! I mean, who would have ever thought it possible? Maybe he actually can make it so the people of Quintessentia aren’t afraid of you.”

 

“Maybe you don’t think it’s so bad,” said Ballad in an even lower rasp, “what he done to us.”

 

“What?! All I mean is, this might be the only way we could ever -“

 

“You’re used to being bossed around, you’re used to bein’ a peasant. When you're a full-grown male gryphon, you're pretty much either a king or a wanderer. 'Course, I'm a bit odd - I fancy myself a bit of both, but -"

”If you think I’m actually good at being a peasant,” said Sondrew, emotion rising in his voice, “maybe you should talk to my father - he’ll have a different opinion, I assure you. You think this is fun for me? You think I enjoy Corpalot’s company? I’m only doing it for you!”

”I’m just sayin’ that…”

”Peasant. You’re not even part of our society! Don’t start taking out all your pent-up - ”

 

Sondrew slashed the air wildly and issued forth an exaggeratedly wheezy battle cry.

 

“- on me.”

Sequiel could tell this sort of a disagreement was rare between them. Their expressions reminded the quester of clients who had never seen a magical creature before, when they first caught sight of a lick of flame emerging from the mouth of a dragon’s den. Sequiel didn’t want to see it escalate any further. He stepped forward.

 

“I’ve been…eavesdropping,” he admitted.

They looked more surprised than angry with him, so he continued.

 

“I’ve met Prenzibeth. What Corpalot said about me is true. Not the part about me killing my father,” he added hastily, “but the rest. I am the Princess’ second cousin, Sequiel of Escalon. She’s not like the other royals. If anyone would be sympathetic to your cause, it would be her. I’ll speak to her personally.”

 

*I haven't seen you since we were ten years old,* Sequiel imagined himself saying to Prenzibeth. *You had better not have changed too much.*

”Alriiiiiight,” grumbled Ballad. “Sondrew, you really need to do what you told Corpalot you would.”

”What?” exclaimed both Sondrew and Sequiel.

 

“Ease up on me, with your bizarre gryphon control powers.” He waved his forepaw and foretalon in a mystical manner and made an “ooooooh” sound. “I’m tired of agreeing with you..”

 

He winked – a big, theatrical wink this time – and then his ears pricked up.

 

“I hear wings flapping, coming this way.”

 “Friends of yours?” asked Sequiel hopefully.

 “No, much smaller. A raven, I’d say. But no ordinary raven” Cat’s curiousity played across his face, “a werewolf’s familiar.”

 

The trio saw Arix step into a patch of moonlight a small distance away.

 “Kane!” she exclaimed, looking upwards.

She held out her arm – a little reluctantly – and the raven flapped into view and landed on it. She continued speaking to Kane in Lycanthropian, of which Sequiel understood well enough to know basically what she was saying.

 

“You shouldn’t have come!” she said, looking at the bird with tender concern. “You should have stayed with Beta Hwara. You are hers, not mine. They might kill you if they smell my scent on you. Now away with you!”

 

The Werewolf flailed her arm wildly, trying to dislodge the bird.

 

“Away! Away!”

 

The raven flapped his wings wildly and cawed with agitation, but clutched tightly to The Werewolf’s arm. She was strong enough to dislodge the raven if she had really wanted to – Sequiel knew that from his fight with her.

”Oh, Kane,” she whimper-sighed at last to the sleek bird on her arm, as she began to stroke his feathers. “I’m happy to see you, too.”