Chapter 20 (Part 2): The Beast and the Banner
(Where Nobility Wears Thorned Gloves)
A Knight's Dilemma
The tavern's smoky air thickened as Sir Span, the garrison captain, halted mid-stride. His polished boots squeaked against the ale-stained floorboards. Moments ago, he'd been a storm of authority, commandeering merchants' guards with bureaucratic frost. Now, facing Bennett's retinue, his spine stiffened—not from pride, but dread.
Roland sigils. The silver wolf's-head emblems glared from the chestplates of Bennett's guards. Sir Span's throat tightened. He'd nearly blundered into a viper's nest.
"My lord," he rasped, bowing deeper than protocol demanded. "Forgive my… oversight."
Bennett swirled his mug of honeyed mead, amusement flickering beneath his courteous mask. "Oversight? You seemed quite vigilant with the merchants, Sir Span."
The knight's gauntleted fingers twitched. How does one explain desperation to a wolf-pup of the Roland line? "A… situation demands immediate action. But my resources—"
"—are stretched thinner than a beggar's cloak," Bennett finished, setting down his drink. "Hence the conscriptions. What situation?"
Sir Span hesitated. To confess weakness to a Roland heir was akin to baring his throat. Yet the alternative—
"A magical beast," he blurted. "Lurking in Halfpeak Mountain."
Robert, Bennett's hulking guard-captain, snorted. "Beasts? In these tame hills? Last predator here was a fox that stole my boot."
"Footprints the size of barrels," Sir Span insisted. "Claw marks on oak trunks. It slaughtered three sheepfold guards last night. Their bodies…" He swallowed. "…were melted."
Bennett's fingers stilled on the mug. Melted. A word that conjured acid breath, cursed flames—magic. His pulse quickened.
The Heir's Gambit
"How fascinating." Bennett rose, the Roland wolf embroidered on his cloak catching the firelight. "Robert, muster the men. We'll assist Sir Span's hunt."
Robert's beard bristled. "My lord, forty guards are barely—"
"—sufficient for a Roland," Bennett cut in, steel beneath the silk. "Or do you doubt our house's strength?"
The captain paled. "Never, my lord. But your safety—"
"—is best ensured beside blades sworn to my blood." Bennett turned to Sir Span. "Unless the garrison doubts a Roland's mettle?"
The knight's jaw worked soundlessly. Refuse, and insult the empire's second-most-powerful family. Accept, and risk the heir's death on his watch.
"With… with respect, my lord," Sir Span stammered, "magical beasts are unpredictable. If you were to—"
"—trip and skin my knee?" Bennett's laugh was a dagger wrapped in velvet. "Fear not, Sir Span. We'll bring our own safeguard."
He gestured to the hooded figure slouched in the corner. Sorskrall pushed back his cowl, the firelight glinting off his stolen silverleaf pin. Sir Span's breath hitched.
A mage. A true mage.
"Satisfied?" Bennett arched a brow. "Or shall I summon my father's gryphon riders to coddle us further?"
Whispers in the Wolf's Shadow
As the party prepared to depart, Robert cornered his lord near the stables. "This recklessness reeks of your childhood follies," he growled. "Chasing fireflies into swamps. Scaling the Bell Tower drunk."
Bennett tightened his saddle's girth. "Fireflies don't melt men, Robert. This beast… it's connected."
"To your mad alchemist's ramblings?"
"To magic." Bennett vaulted onto his stallion. "Sorskrall's powders mimic elemental forces. What if this creature radiates them? A living crucible. A key to—"
"—getting your fool head bitten off!" Robert seized the reins. "Listen to yourself! You're no longer a boy scribbling star charts! You're the Roland heir!"
Bennett's eyes hardened. "And if I stay 'the heir' forever? A ornament? A placeholder?" He yanked the reins free. "Sorskrall's work proves magic isn't some divine gift—it's code. And I'll crack it, even if I must pry the secrets from a monster's corpse."
Chapter 20 (Part 2): The Beast's Shadow
(Where Curiosity Courts Calamity)
Part 1: The Fool's Gambit
Bennett's smile was a blade wrapped in silk. "To the mountains," he declared, and the world bent.
Sir Span's jaw tightened. Across the firelit war table, Robert's glare could have melted iron. Fool boy. Spoiled lordling. Walking liability. Yet the knight-captain's objections died unspoken. One did not refuse a Roland—not even a whelp whose spine curved like a question mark under his borrowed breastplate.
"Thirty men," Span bargained, desperation staining his decorum. "No more. The terrain—"
"—is mine to assess." Bennett flicked a honeyed fig into his mouth. "Or shall I write Father that Rill's officers lack… vigor?"
The threat hung like a hangman's rope. Vigor. Code for loyalty. Code for careers ended in ditches.
Robert's gauntleted hand twitched—a swordsman's itch with no enemy to slash. Protect the child. Protect your pension. The duality choked him.
Part 2: Wolves in Steel
Dawn bled crimson over Halfmarch Valley. The hunting party coiled through pine-thick slopes like a segmented serpent:
Van: Span's veterans, scarred hands resting on pommels.
Heart: Bennett's entourage—Robert's bulk shielding the boy, Solskya's alchemical satchel clinking with bottled fire.
Rear: Mercenaries, their loyalty as reliable as rusted mail.
Bennett stumbled on a root. Robert caught him—an act as reflexive as breathing.
"You should ride," the knight growled.
"And miss the texture?" Bennett brushed pine needles from his sleeve. "A lord who fears blisters fears power, Sir Robert."
Ahead, Span hissed orders. Scouts fanned out, blades parting bracken.
Clink.
A mercenary froze, boot hovering over rusted chain links. "Captain! Tra—"
The forest exploded.
Part 3: Teeth of the Gale
Later, survivors would recall:
The Sound: Like glaciers calving, if ice could roar.
The Stench: Rancid meat and ozone—magic curdling blood.
The Shape: A blur of cobalt fur, six eyes glowing like damned stars.
Robert's sword met nothing but air. The beast—thing—flowed through steel, claws raking a mercenary's throat. Arterial spray painted ferns.
"Formation!" Span bellowed, shield raised. "Archers! Loose! Loose!"
Arrows shattered mid-air. The creature shimmered, its form flickering between wolf and wraith.
Solskya's scream pierced chaos: "It's feeding on ambient magic! My powders—!"
Too late. The alchemist's satchel ruptured, yellow dust swirling. The beast howled—a sound that liquefied courage—and plunged into the golden haze.
Muscle memory saved Robert. He tackled Bennett behind a granite outcrop as the world detonated.
When the firestorm cleared:
Twenty men: Charred silhouettes against scorched earth.
The Beast: Gone, but for a single cobalt claw embedded in Span's shield.
Bennett: Unscathed. Eyes alight. Hungry.
Chapter 20 (Part 2.5): The Scarred Horizon
(Where Trust Cuts Deeper Than Claws)
Part 1: The Knight's Mark
The forest canopy swallowed sunlight whole, casting jagged shadows over the hunting party. Sir Span hacked through a tangle of branches, his forced cheer grating against the mountain's brooding silence.
"Worry not, Lord Bennett!" The garrison captain's blade bit into sapwood. "Bigger the beast, slower the—"
"—easier the kill?" Bennett interrupted, plucking a blood-red leaf from Robert's shoulder. The knight had gone statue-still, his gaze fixed on some invisible horizon. "You disagree, Robert?"
The guard-captain's fingers rose to his throat. When he peeled back the collar, the scar glistened—a puckered ravine slicing from ear to collarbone.
"By the Twin Moons," Solskya breathed. The alchemist's vials clinked as he leaned closer. "Griffin talon?"
Robert's nod carried the weight of graves. "Southern Marshlands. Twenty years past."
Span's sword slipped, nicking his thumb. "You faced a flock? And lived?"
"Lived?" The knight's laugh was bitter as wormwood. "My brother's head rolled into quicksand. My squad's bones still decorate cypress roots. We survived by cowering in a rotten log while those demons screeched overhead."
Bennett's throat tightened. This wasn't the stoic protector who'd drilled him in swordplay—this was a man haunted by feathers.
Part 2: The Huntress's Gambit
Rowling's voice cut through the gloom. "Respectfully, sirs—this makes no sense."
Span rolled his eyes. "Lady Knight, perhaps if you'd focus less on theatrics and more on—"
"—on patterns?" She stepped into a shaft of light, her armor's runes glowing faintly. "Magical beasts cluster near mana-rich zones. Icepine Forests. Ember Canyons. Not," her boot scuffed dead leaves, "this rotting hillside."
Solskya's head snapped up. "You've studied bestiaries?"
"Lived them." Rowling's hand drifted to her left hip—a subconscious gesture Bennett recognized. The hidden dagger sheath. "Three winters tracking frostwolves in the Northern Wastes. Two summers purging ashspiders from—"
"Enough!" Span's gauntlet clanged against his breastplate. "We've no time for tavern tales! That thing killed three men last night. It'll kill more unless—"
"—unless we question why it's here," Bennett interjected. His fingers brushed the grimoire hidden beneath his cloak—the one detailing Moonfolk bloodlines. "Rowling's right. Beasts don't stray without cause."
The captain's jaw worked silently. Bennett read the calculation: Humoring a noble's pet warrior versus risking insubordination.
Part 3: Twilight Confessions
By dusk, the search had yielded only blisters and skepticism. As Span's men scaled pines for vantage points, Bennett cornered Rowling by a lightning-scarred oak.
"You're Moonfolk." It wasn't a question.
Her spine stiffened. "My lord, I never—"
"—claimed otherwise? No. But the texts don't lie." He pressed a sprig of nightbloom into her palm—a flower that withered at non-fey touch. It thrived. "Your ancestors walked through shadow. Why hide it?"
Rowling's mask cracked. "Would you proclaim elven blood in an imperial court? The Purge may have ended, but suspicion…" She crushed the blossom. "…lingers."
Bennett's smile held no mirth. "Then let's give them better things to suspect." He nodded toward Span's sneering lieutenant. "That oaf thinks you seduced your way into my service."
"And you?" Her voice quivered. "What do you believe I—"
"—are capable of?" He stepped closer, thirteen-year-old frame casting an absurdly long shadow. "I believe you've let fear chain your true self. No more."
From his satchel came a moonstone pendant—the very one she'd pawned to feed her mercenary band.
"How…?"
"A competent lord learns his vassals' debts." Bennett clasped it around her neck. "Now. Shall we teach these doubters what a real huntress looks like?"
Chapter 20 (Part 2): The Metamorphosis
(Where Fire Breathes Ice, and Shadows Take Wing)
The Phoenix Gambit
The forest fell silent. Even the wind held its breath.
Sir Span's arrow quivered in the scorched earth—a futile marker where the flame-rhino had vanished. Bennett's pulse thrummed louder than the soldiers' panicked whispers. This was wrong.
"Form ranks!" Robert's roar split the stillness, his blade gleaming like a silver fang. "Archers to the rear! Shields interlocked—now!"
Too late.
Blue fire erupted from the ashes. Not heat—cold, sharp enough to freeze sweat on skin. The inferno twisted, coalescing into crystalline fur and six glacial eyes.
"By the Twin Moons…" Sir Span staggered back as the frost-wolf materialized. "That's no ordinary—"
The beast moved.
Two soldiers fell before their shields hit dirt. Arterial spray froze mid-air, ruby droplets suspended in defiance of gravity.
Waltz of Blades and Frost
Robert's combat aura flared—a desperate silver corona. His greatsword carved arcs through the unnatural chill. "Aim for its joints! The tail!"
"Easier said!" snarled a mercenary, clutching his frostbitten arm.
Bennett watched, equal parts terrified and enthralled, as Sorskrall's fireballs collided with the creature. Each impact birthed paradoxes: flames that crystallized, smoke that sang. The alchemist's face mirrored his own confusion—this defied every bestiary.
"Master Bennett!" Lynette bodily shoved him behind a boulder as a windblade sheared through oak trunks. "Stay. Down."
He peered around the stone. The frost-wolf's crystalline pelt shimmered with stolen firelight, its movements a blur even Robert struggled to track. Yet when Sir Span's spear struck true—
Clang!
—the weapon shattered. The knight paled. "Its hide… It's adapting."
The Second Death
Robert's blade found the tail.
For half a heartbeat, triumph lit his face. Then the severed appendage dissolved into stardust. The wolf's corpse followed—not death, but transformation.
Bennett's shout tore from raw instinct: "It's not done!"
The forest answered.
Lion-roars cascaded from the peaks, multiplied a hundredfold. Soldiers clutched ears; veterans soiled themselves.
"Not lions," Robert whispered, sword trembling. "Worse. Far worse."
The first griffin struck like thunder. Talons eviscerated a fleeing archer. Wings the color of stormclouds blotted the sun.
Lynette tackled Bennett into a gully as death rained from above. Through the chaos, he glimpsed Sorskrall—not afraid, but laughing—as he hurled vials of smoking liquid at the flock.
Chapter 21: The Shattered Illusion
(Where Blood Reveals Truth)
Part 1: Wings of Despair
The sky wept feathers.
Robert's roar cut through the chaos: "Shield wall! Protect the master!" His blade trembled—not from fear, but fury. How? The question clawed at him. Griffons here? In the empire's heart?
Bennett crouched behind a boulder, Lina's grip bruising his arm. Above, shadows tore through sunlight. A griffon dove, talons glinting. Robert's arrow exploded mid-air, scattering sparks.
"Fall back!" Span's voice, ragged and distant. The knight-captain lay crumpled in the mud, his leg a ruin.
Lina yanked Bennett sideways as a griffon's beak cratered the earth where he'd stood. "Move!" she hissed. Blood flecked her cheek—not hers. Never hers.
Solskya's fireballs fizzled like damp fireworks. "Useless!" Bennett snarled, shaking the mage. "Burn them!"
"I—I can't!" Solskya whimpered. "They're too fast—"
A soldier screamed. A griffon rose, entrails dripping from its claws.
Robert's resolve hardened. He seized Lina's shoulder. "Take him. Run. Now."
Lina's eyes widened. "But you—"
"I am a knight of House Roland!" Robert bellowed. "You? Prove you're more than a mercenary whore with a title!"
The insult hung like a slap. Lina's jaw tightened. Then—
She drew her sword.
Part 2: Blood Pact
The world slowed.
Lina's blade kissed her palm. Crimson bloomed.
"What madness—?" Robert lunged, but too late.
Golden light erupted. The griffon diving at Bennett disintegrated mid-strike, its roar cut short.
"Moonborn blood…" Solskya whispered, awed and terrified.
Lina chanted, syllables sharp as shattered glass. The golden sphere expanded, driving the griffons back.
"Move within the light!" she ordered. Her hand wept rivers.
Robert stared. Her blood fuels the ward. How much can she lose?
Bennett watched, fascinated. "Fascinating… A Muenn's sacrifice."
"Master, we must—"
"Wait." Bennett stepped toward the light's edge. "Look."
Through the golden haze, the griffons… flickered.
Part 3: The Puppeteer's Game
"Enough theatrics." Bennett strode forward.
"NO!" Robert grabbed his cloak—too late.
Talons pierced Bennett's chest.
The world froze.
Robert's scream died as Bennett's body hit the dirt. Then—
Laughter.
Bennett sat up, the gaping wound glitching like broken stained glass. "Clever illusion. But you forgot one thing."
He licked his bloody fingers. "Real griffons? They stink of carrion. These?" He flicked crimson droplets. "Lavender. Really, Span?"
The "corpse" of Span shimmered. The knight-captain rose, leg whole, face twisted.
"You… knew?"
"A mage's puppet show." Bennett grinned. "But why frame griffons?"
Behind Span, the forest rippled. A hooded figure emerged, hands glowing runic blue.
"Ah." Bennett's smile turned glacial. "Hello, Uncle."