Welcome to Deep Cove

Jack’s stomach clenched tight and the muscles in his legs ached from gripping the saddle. He resisted the urge to check the straps supporting the saddle again. ‘Stop it. They’re secured.’ Despite the reassurances his practical brain supplied, he caught himself glancing at the other griffons and the men riding alongside him. One of the injured men looked over and waved. The man smiled at Jack, and Jack nodded. He could not muster a grin of his own. Glancing over his shoulder, he searched the grey skies for signs of pursuit. He saw no one.

“They’re there,” warned Rowgar from behind him, as if he had read his partner’s mind.

The heavy winds ruffled Jack’s hair and he concentrated on its cool breath, allowing his stomach to calm itself. Below them, the tree covered hills and gorges of southern Ponce were sprawled as far as the eye could see. Ancient rock deposits rose up through the evergreens, their stone faces barren and sparsely covered in spruce and pine.

“How far to Temang?” asked Jack again.

“Half a day’s ride yet,” returned Rowgar. “Look!” He pointed to a black line bisecting the hills in the distance. “The Pimoke River.”

Jack looked upon the dark river and felt relief at its familiarity. He had fished its waters many times in his youth. He knew the river bisected the nations of Ponce and Vellia. From this height, the Pimoke was little more than a snake in a field of green, but Jack knew the waters were extensive and fast moving. In some places it was two miles wide and its darkest depths had never been plumbed by any angler’s line.

They rode on in silence for many minutes. The view of the river grew larger with each beat of the griffon’s wings. Jack felt Rowgar take the reins from his hands and he awakened from his thoughts. The river flowed south-westerly below them, whitecaps marring the normally glassy surface of the wide waterway. Jack risked another glance over his shoulder and shuddered at the discovery of several dark specks in the distance.

“Don’t worry,” called Rowgar into his ear. “We’re going to even the odds.”

“How?” returned Jack, feeling sick to his stomach again.

“With steel,” laughed Rowgar. When Jack did not share in his mirth, Rowgar poked him in the ribs. “With steel,” he repeated, “and with that.” He pointed to the landscape below and Jack followed the trajectory of his friend’s finger.

“What is it?” asked Jack, looking at the ruins of a toppled building. He could see a stone chapel at the end of a wooden longhouse. The longhouse had collapsed in on itself, and two of the stone walls of the church were scattered across a grassy clearing.

“Old Vellian outpost,” answered Rowgar. “There was a bridge across the Pimoke here. The site was destroyed by dragons in the Ponce civil war. The knights abandoned it over eighty years ago.” Rowgar whistled shrilly and waved his arm to get the other’s attention. He pointed at the ruins below them, and Jack saw Jonas, first mate of the Red Tail, wave in acknowledgment.

Jack was wondering how to land the griffon when Rowgar tugged downward on the reins. The griffon’s left wing lowered, its right wing rising. The threesome entered into a descending glide that saw them sweep earthward in ever tightening circles. Jack looked up and was amazed to see the other griffons following suit.

They touched down and Jack realised he had braced himself for more of an impact. Rowgar jumped down beside him. They waited for the others to gather around. “Quickly, men,” shouted Rowgar, waving them in. Despite their wounds, the soldiers responded to the commander’s order. “I want the seven least able-bodied men back in the saddles,” commanded Rowgar. “Jack is going to lead you to Temang and the safety of our homeland.” The men did not verbally respond, but they were quick to act. Those most able helped their buddies back into the saddles. “The men who remain will keep the weapons,” continued Rowgar and Jack finally understood what was going on.

“I’m staying, Chief,” he said forcefully, cutting off the commander’s next order.

Rowgar looked at Jack and shook his head. “You will lead these men to safety,” he decreed. He turned back to his men, ignoring Jack. “Into the cavity of the building,” he ordered. “We have only minutes. We need to make it as defensible as possible. Barricade the opening and prepare to defend the site.”

Jack grabbed onto Rowgar’s shoulder and spun his friend to face him. Rowgar’s good eye flashed dangerously, and Jack swallowed, but continued nonetheless. “I said I wasn’t leaving you behind,” he argued. “We’ve been through too much together.”

Rowgar shook his head. “We’ve accomplished what we set out to do,” he said. “Now all that is left is to see these men home. You are not a soldier, Jack, though you have performed admirably in your duties. I want you to go home to your daughter now.”

“I cannot do that, Chief,” said Jack defiantly. “How could I look my daughter in the eye and tell her I left wounded men here to cover my retreat. I am in better condition than that man,” he pointed to one of Rowgar’s men gathering weapons and the bloody bandage wrapped around his forehead. “I may not be a soldier, Chief, but I am a fighter and I am staying.”

Rowgar exhaled. He called the wounded soldier over and took the weapons from him, telling him to mount the griffon behind Jack. The man did not argue, but nodded as he received his orders. Turning to Jack, he saluted and then mounted the griffon.

Jack swallowed, not allowing himself to reflect on the fact that the men staying would not be returning home, but were now only buying time for the others. Taking the weapons from Rowgar, he ran to the ruined building as the men on the griffons once more took to the skies. A light rain began to fall as the last of the riders rose into the grey heavens. In the not so far distance, Jack could see the Ponce riders closing on their location. Beside him, the others hurried to pile as much rubble as they could into the opening of the longhouse.

Rowgar strutted into the ruins and took a sword from Jack. He surveyed the men’s effort and nodded to himself. “We’ll make them pay for every inch,” he vowed. He motioned the three soldiers with crossbows to come forward. “I need you ready,” he told them. “We’re going to close up these gaps, but they will come at us with the griffons. They will try to take the building down on us or tear their way inside. If they get in with one of those creatures, we are finished.”

Jonas came up beside Jack and nodded. The first mate carried a sword in his hand and his look was defiant. He licked his dry lips and listened as Rowgar continued his instructions.

“If one of the griffons closes, I want two of you to fire bolts into its chest if possible. The third man is not to fire unless a breach is imminent. The rest of us will strike at the beast with our blades. I don’t want anyone putting themselves at unnecessary risk. Try to remain concealed. Use the debris for shelter and remember that one swipe of a paw will crush a man.”

Jack rubbed at the back of his neck and looked into the sky. The Poncemen were clearly visible now, and his fear was palpable. He counted eighteen griffons. He watched as their pursuers diverged into two groups. Twelve of the riders continued in their pursuit of the fleeing prisoners, while the remaining six began a slow descent to the grounds of the outpost. “That’s not so bad,” breathed Jack, “only six of them.” Beside him both Rowgar and Jonas remained silent.

Three of the griffons touched down eighty yards away and spread out. They made no move to come closer. The remaining riders flew over the ruined shell of the church and landed behind the outpost. They too kept their distance.

Rowgar turned to Jack, placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Watch them. If they advance, call out immediately.”

Jack nodded. “Yes, Chief,” he acknowledged.

Rowgar turned to the others. “Somebody keep an eye on those riders out back. The rest of you keep filling the gaps with rubble. It looks like we have a small respite before their reserves arrive.”

Jack closed his eyes and fought to calm himself. Of course, there would be more on the way. These six remained only to make sure they were pinned down.

* * * *

A piercing griffon screech deafened the men in the longhouse. An oversized paw swiped out, claws hooking into the flesh of a soldier’s leg. This time the scream was human and – to the men inside the ruined building –bloodcurdling. Jack dropped his sword and grabbed his comrade around the midriff, trying to pull the man back into the safety of the ruins. Beside him, Jonas swore loudly and stabbed out with his blade. The sword pierced the griffon’s shoulder, yet still the beast did not release its hold on the man.

“Damn it!” swore Rowgar, throwing his own sword to the side and grabbing onto the wounded man with Jack. “Crossbows here, now!” he shouted. Jack was sure that all three of them would be pulled from the opening – either that or the man’s leg would be ripped clean off. Jonas stabbed out again and the Griffon screeched in pain. One of the men guarding the rear of the longhouse scrabbled across the debris. He fired his crossbow from twenty yards out, the bolt sinking deep within the griffon’s flesh. The creature released its hold and scrabbled to safety across the roof of the longhouse.

“They’re pulling back!” someone shouted from the rear of the enclosure. Jack hauled the wounded man into the darker depths of their shelter and laid him on a clean section of floorboards. Two other men were stretched out here, neither of them moving. The soldier whimpered and grimaced as Jack tore a strip from his shredded prison uniform. He tied the leg as best he could, and then retrieved his sword.

“Report,” growled Rowgar, and Jack listened as one of the men from the rear of the longhouse called out.

“They almost got through, Chief. They’re concentrating on tearing a hole in the wall now. I don’t think we’ll hold them next time.”

“We’ll hold them,” said Rowgar sternly. Jack couldn’t see Rowgar’s face in the dark and he listened carefully, detecting no hint of deceit in his friend’s tone.

Jack scratched at his thick beard and peered through an opening in the concentrated rubble at the front of the quarters. The light was fading fast now, but he could still see many griffons and a dozen men gathered not sixty yards away.

Jack and the others had spent the first hour collecting stone and rubble from the depths of the longhouse and piling it defensively at the opening of the ruins. Not long after, a second squad of Ponce riders fell from the sky. Jack had stopped counting at thirty. The first attack had come less than ten minutes after that. ‘I should have freed the beasts from their pens while I had the chance.’

“We’re almost out of shafts,” whispered the man who had come at Rowgar’s last call. “If we do hold them next time, I fear that will be it.”

Heavy raindrops fell from the sky, their pitter-patter loud on the roof above them. It was something he had not heard for over two years. Jack blocked out the conversation of the men and listened to the rain. He had always liked the sound of a storm on the roof. It helped him sleep. ‘You’ll sleep soon enough.’ He couldn’t stop the thought from coming to him.

He stood and contemplated going to the back of the house where the men were once again piling stone. He crossed the narrow chamber instead, drawn to a black hole in the wall. One of the rafter timbers had fallen amongst a pile of stone from the adjacent church. Working the shattered stone loose, he piled it to the side. His curiosity peaked, he wriggled headfirst into the black opening.

He could see nothing in the darkness, yet forced himself through anyway. Once inside, his eyes adjusted to the gloom. The dim outline of a stained glass window was detectable high above him. To his right a massive pile of debris obliterated any means of conventional entry into the house of worship. Several dusty pews remained intact, looking more like coffins in the dark. He heard the wind whistle over the chapel and felt the slightest breeze on his face.

Jack blinked in the movement of air, inhaling the cool draft. Threading his way through the pews, he crossed the chapel. The hint of moist air grew stronger as he approached a darkened archway. Looking into the hollow, he could see musty steps descending into the earth. Without thinking, he entered through the arch.

The stairwell led him less than twenty feet into the bowels of the hill. When he reached the bottom he surveyed the undercroft with wonder. A concrete mausoleum, thirty feet in diameter, was visible in the pale light. At the end of the chamber, two stone doors were smashed inwards, opening the sacred hold to the night air. Outside, the heavy rain fell with a steady rumble that filled the night.

Jack crossed the room unhurriedly. He took in the tombs of the knighthood, committing a silent prayer to the vaulted ceiling so as not to disturb their rest. In the center of the cavern he stopped and stared at the intricate display of stonework set in the floor. The knight’s long forgotten armorial seal was caked in moss and sand, blown in from the open gates.

Continuing to the destroyed entrance, Jack felt his heart hammering in his chest. Warily, he peeked into the night. Ahead of him, a circular stone slab hovered above the waters of the Pimoke. Jack crossed the walkway, the rain soaking into him. He did not feel the sting of the droplets or the chill of the wind. White waves crashed against the stone of the quay and Jack discovered a series of steps leading into the water. He glanced back along his path, but could see nothing of the ruins above or the enemy surrounding them. The tall banks of the Pimoke hid all from sight.

He ran back into the undercroft, making his way to the upper level. Passing through the archway, he stopped and stared at the bench seat before him. Hastily he went to it and lifted it from its stone perch. It remained a solid piece of wood, six feet in length, a foot in width, and two inches thick. Leaning it against the base of the pew, he ran to the opening into the longhouse.

He stuck his head and upper body through the broken tunnel and heard Rowgar issuing orders. “Chief,” he called quietly and repeated a little louder when the other man did not respond. Rowgar heard him the second time and climbed over to him.

“Where have you been?” hissed Rowgar. “I thought the worst when we realised you were gone.”

“How is that man’s leg?” asked Jack, ignoring Rowgar’s question.

“Bad,” admitted Rowgar.

“Help him over here and bring the others,” said Jack excitedly.

“They’ll be coming soon,” argued Rowgar. “We can’t leave our posts.”

“I found a way out!”

Rowgar was silent for a moment. “We have defences here Jack,” he said at last. “If they catch us in the open, they’ll tear us to pieces.”

“We can’t hold here,” said Jack. “You know it’s true. Besides, they won’t catch us in this storm!” Rowgar scratched at his dirty scalp. Jack could barely make him out in the dark, but smiled when Rowgar called for the others to gather.

The four able bodied men helped their wounded comrade through the narrow gap into the church. Once they were on his side, Jack went to the seat he had prised from the bench. “Everyone will need one of these,” he whispered. He passed the plank to one of the men and went to remove another. Rowgar was silent as Jack supplied each of them with a bench seat. Leading the men through the archway, he could tell the others were impressed with his find.

“The Pimoke!” hissed Rowgar, understanding hitting him as he stared out at the white capped river.

“You mean for us to swim for it?” asked one of the men. “We might be better off defending down here instead.”

“No,” said Jack adamantly. “Even if we survive the night, it will only be a matter of time before they discover these gates. If they get in here, we don’t stand a chance. We must go tonight, in the storm. The river will carry us home!”

The others nodded their agreement, their sense of hope once more awakened. Jack smiled to himself in the darkness and felt Rowgar’s arm come down on his shoulder. “You did good, Jack,” said his friend.