Melisonde awoke before the sun was up, the same time she always did. Still half-asleep, she reached across the bed, expecting to feel fur and feather. Instead she felt the smooth skin of her husband’s back.
“You awake?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
The little bit of lamp light from the street outside peeked through the bedroom curtain. Her husband was a silhouette against it.
He rolled over to face her in bed. And then he smiled, and Melisonde couldn’t help but smile back at him.
“It feels so strange,” he said. “With you actually sleeping in your own bed for once.”
“One of my beds, anyway.” Melisonde chuckled a bit as she traced her finger across her husband’s chest, but cut it off when she saw he wasn’t laughing with her.
“Well, I hope we can do this again sometime. It was nice sharing a bed with my wife again.”
“Yeah,” she said. “It was nice.”
She turned out of bed and reached down to the floor to grab her pants and start pulling them on. Geoffrey just watched his wife’s muscular physique as she got dressed—a body he wasn’t seeing enough of these days. Melisonde pulled on her shirt.
“Where are my boots?” she asked aloud to no one in particular. She reached under the bed with a foot and felt around, and retrieved one boot by grabbing it with her toe, and then the other in the same way. She sat down again on the bed to put them on.
“Do you really have to go so early?” Geoffrey asked. “The sun’s not up yet. Not all the way.”
“Pellias and I have early morning training today. I told you that last night.”
“Yeah, but—”
Melisonde cut him off with a kiss on the forehead.
Geoffrey was a good man. An honest man. A hard working man whose job working for the city’s engineering and infrastructure brought in almost double the meager pay Melisonde received as a member of the city guard. He worked underground most days, maintaining the aether generators that gave Fafenheir power. It was good work, and secure at that. With their combined salaries, they were able to afford this fifth floor apartment on the south side of the city overlooking a lake. When they’d picked the apartment, they had both imagined sitting on the balcony together during the warmer months of the year, watching people boating on the water and the sun move across the cloudless skies.
That dream hadn’t come true. After her promotion, Melisonde’s career took too much of her time. She and her partner Pellias were always being given two new cases just as they were finishing one, and there were many nights Melisonde chose to sleep at work instead of coming home.
Melisonde stood and looked over her uniform to make sure everything was straightened out. She tucked her black shirt into blue pants, and tucked the pant legs into the blue-black boots. Her uniform was light compared to the rest of the city guard. Riders didn’t need to carry any extra weight. Melisonde’s black hair was cropped short and needed no extra attention.
She looked back at her husband still in bed, covering his nakedness with a bearskin blanket. Even in the dim light, Melisonde could tell his expression wasn’t a happy one. And the worst part
“Hey, it’s not like I’m leaving forever,” she said.
“It feels like that sometimes. You’ll be coming home tonight, right? Two nights in a row, that would be great.”
“I’ll try. Captain’s been riding our asses lately. Inspector is coming up from Somnia later this week, and Captain wants everything perfect. And we have some new recruits this season, too. Somebody has to teach them how to fly.”
“You’re busy. I understand. Just… don’t work too hard, okay?”
“Melisonde stopped mid-stride on her way out the door. “I’ll be back home tonight. I promise. And I mean it this time.”
“Be careful out there. I love you.”
“I love you too,” she said back, even though the words almost caught in her throat on the way out. She hoped she wasn’t getting a sore throat.
Melisonde left, closing the door softly behind her. She walked down the long dark stairwell of the apartment building and out onto the street. As soon as she stepped outside, she stuck her finger in her mouth to wet it and held it up to check the wind. There was a slight breeze coming from the south. Warmer air than yesterday—good flying weather.
Today would be a good day.
Melisonde stretched her legs and ran in place a moment to warm up, and then took off running in the opposite direction from her destination. This was a lap she made every morning, making a loop around the lake before swinging back toward the city guard headquarters nearer the center of the city. Fafenheir had its charms, but Melisonde felt that the air in the denser sections of the city could be more than a bit stifling from the steam and chemical odors. A good run outside the city center was enough to get her blood pumping and lungs clear.
Melisonde ran, a cloud of her own frozen breath trailing behind her. At this time of year and this time of day, the lake was quiet, maybe unnervingly so. A thin but slid layer of ice still covered it, and on occasion it would crack loudly in protest at the slow approach of spring, only to fall silent again. Melisonde didn’t mind the silence. Silence helped her to clear her mind and put her thoughts in order.
Melisonde’s run took about half an hour, and the sun was fully visible as a shy yellow flame on the horizon by the time she made it to the station.
The Fafenheir city guard headquarters was in the government district, across the street from the city’s grand library and right beside the governor’s palace. It was taller than either of them. Each level of the structure was slightly wider than the floor below it.
Two guards stood watch at the front door. They were bundled up in heavy coats. They nodded to Melisonde as she approached. Melisonde nodded back.
“A bit cold to be wearing just that?” asked one of them, referring to Melisonde’s outfit.
“I’ve gotten used to the cold, I guess,” she said. “I’m not late, am I?”
“Late? Nah, ma’am. You over an hour early. The commander hasn’t even arrived yet. You should have taken the chance to sleep in a bit longer.”
Melisonde shrugged and went inside.
Sure enough, there was almost no one around. The entry hall was silent except for the squeaking wheels of the janitor’s cart, being pulled along by an old man with a bushy mustache. Melisonde had never bothered to learn his name.
The door to the stairwell was black wood, and solid strong. She put her hand on the door, and the tattoos along her forearm—invisible most of the time—began to glow a soft blue, almost white. The tingling sensation faded as the door unlocked.
The stairwell itself was well let, but very steep, and so it wasn’t uncommon for new recruits to have a tumble or two during their first year on duty. If they were lucky, they wouldn’t be injured. Melisonde took the stairs two and three steps at a time. She was slightly winded from her morning run, but need drove her to move faster, her pace not slowing as she ascended twelve floors to the top of the building. She was so close now. She opened another door using a spell similar to the first.
The Fafenheir griffon riders were the most elite of the city’s guard, with a selection process no less strenuous than that of the templars of Somnia. Out of every one hundred candidates to apply and pass the initial physical and written tests, only twenty-five would go on to graduate.
A rider was bonded to his griffon. One rider, one griffon. And it was a simple fact of math that the city of Fafenheir owned fewer griffons than there were riders to bond with them. The magic used to bind them together was strong, but it wouldn’t work without the griffon’s consent.
Candidates who had passed the initial trials were lined up on the roof of the aviary, and the captain would loose all the young unbonded griffons. One by one, the griffons would go down the line, and gaze into the eyes of each of each candidate. Sometimes the griffons would go down the line twice, three times or more. Until at last they would choose their rider by sitting before them and bowing low with their beaks to the ground.
The memory of that day had been burned into Melisonde’s mind forever. It was a summer afternoon, and they had just completed the week of physical testing. She had been so tired she could have fallen asleep standing up, but when she saw those young griffons step out onto the runway…
That was the first time she’d ever seen Pellias. He was so young and small back then. Strong, so strong-looking, with a black, curved beak that shined like polished armor. The fur on his lion-like hind legs was a solid black like his beak, and the feathers on his chest and wings were a light grey. His front limbs ended in eagle talons, and Melisonde still remembered the click click click they made when Pellias took those high, proud steps down the line. His grey black-speckled wings were held close to his sides.
When he walked by Melisonde, he froze mid-step, and his blue eyes locked on hers. Maybe some magic was involved, but Melisonde remembered that moment as time seemed to stop until the griffon looked away from her and continued walking.
Melisonde at that moment felt as though she could could have died, as though every drop of blood had run out of her. She wondered what it was the griffon had seen in her, or hadn’t seen. After only a few steps, before he’d even reached the next candidate to examine, Pellias had stopped.
“She’s the one. I choose her,” he’d said. The first thing Melisonde had ever heard him say. He went back to her, and laid his head down low, and spread his wings wide in a show of acceptance.
Melisonde couldn’t believe it. Just like that? Back then, she’d been too afraid to speak up and ask the griffon what logic he had used to make his judgment. To this day, she still hadn’t asked.
After that, she and Pellias began their training. Always together. Never apart. For one solid they flew as one, lived as one, slept as one. As Pellias grew, he learned how to handle a rider Melisonde had lost weight in order to be less of a burden on Pellias’ back, at times starving herself nearly sick. They developed their own language between them, fractured images and concepts shared between their mental link that only they could piece together and understand. With a wordless thought, Melisonde could signal to Pellias to buck her off his back, catching her with his front talons and dropping her off on the ground without losing speed. Melisonde had always been a good shot with a pistol, but with Pellias she could fire one handed while saddled, timing her shots to pass though the arc of his wings on the downbeat.
Melisonde and Pellias had, in many ways, each become two halves of a single person. Any time they were apart, there was a piece of them missing. And no matter how far they were from each other, they could still hear the other’s thoughts as a whisper.
Melisonde pushed open the heavy doors of the aviary. This was a place only for griffons and their riders. Like most riders, Melisonde spent most of her nights here, sometimes drilling into the late hours, but mostly just enjoying each other’s company. Melisonde had spent so many nights here that now her real home, the apartment she and her husband shared, felt like an alien and unwelcome place.
She walked down the quiet halls of the aviary, counting down the doors to the right one. She didn’t need to count—she knew them by heart—but she counted anyway. Melisonde was confident that Pellias would be there, Legally, he was property of the city, and the enchantments woven into his body normally did not allow him to leave without being accompanied either by Melisonde or a superior officer. Sometimes he and Melisonde would go out on the town together, or he would be given leave to fly alone, but Pellias was a homebody at heart.
Melisonde opened door B-14. Pellias was waiting for her, lounging lazily across the large half-circle couch set against the back wall. His wings were spread wide, and one of his hind legs was kicked up in the air. The back wall itself was made of thick glass, reinforced to be nearly unbreakable. The glass was one way as well—from inside the room, one was treated to the best view of the city imaginable. From outside, the window appeared to be a sheet of polished silver.
“It took you long enough,” said Pellias. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
“Yeah, you wish,” said Melisonde sarcastically. “What would you do without me?”
“Rather not think about it.” Pellias rolled off the couch, and hit the floor on all fours before stretching out much like a housecat planning some mischief. There was a sudden cracking noise from Pellias’ wing, and he groaned as it settled back into place.
Pellias was still young, and so was Melisonde, but five years serving on the guard had taken its toll on their bodies. Pellias had a scar above his beak from the riots three years ago, where a gnoll had latched onto his face intent on biting out his eye before Melisonde had put an arrow through the gnoll’s. Both Melisonde and Pellias had joints that complained from time to time, especially when it was cold. For Pellias it was the right wing, and Melisonde her right knee after taking a fall while chasing a suspect during a blizzard. But despite this, the griffon stood tall and proud, and puffed out his feathered chest as if he would never accept the fact that he wasn’t invincible.
“Staff meeting is in two hours,” said Melisonde. “Commander is gonna want us to break in the new recruits. They’re fresh from training.”
“Babies…” muttered Pellias.
“Now, now. Be gentle with them. We may need to count on them someday. So try not to kill any of them.”
“I’ll do my best, but alas I can make no promises. The recruits get softer every year. They don’t make them like us anymore.”
“They sure don’t. Now, what do you say we get some flying time in before they arrive?”
Melisonde opened the large chest in the corner of the room and set the contents out across the floor. It was their flight gear: a single piece of blue fabric for Pellias that would be held on by buckles and would cover his entire body to keep some of the chill off, as well as a flight helmet with lenses that wouldn’t fog in any weather. Last there was the saddle. Griffon backs weren’t well-shaped to accommodate a human rider, so the saddle was necessary to avoid being knocked off by the movement of the wings and back muscles.
Pellias stood in the middle of the room as Melisonde put all of this on him, checking and double checking and triple checking each piece before deciding it was secure enough.
When it was secured to her satisfaction, she put on her own gear, an extra layer to ward off the frigid winds during flight. The last piece was the helmet and visor, with a front made of a durable glass that showed Melisonde’s entire face, but could withstand the impact of a face-first fall from a third story roof without shattering, even if the wearer could not.
Melisonde strapped her pistol to her right thigh, before holding up her left hand and performed an aether draw. The invisible ink tattoo on her forearm burned and glowed white. It stung a little, but Melisonde had gotten used to the mild pain. The glass wall of the room reacted to the magic in the tattoo, and the aether motor whirred as the door was lifted open.
Melisonde stood at the edge and leaned over to look at the street nine stories below. A long time ago, this would have made her dizzy with vertigo, but that was a long time ago. Not even when the wind rushed in and she had to adjust her footing did Melisonde show even the slightest hint of uncertainty.
“Good flying weather,” Pellias remarked. He walked over to the edge and lowered a wing to give Melisonde easier access to the saddle, and she climbed up onto his back.
Melisonde took hold of the horn at the front of the saddle. Pellias didn’t have to ask if she was ready, he knew. Both of them took a deep breath as Pellias jumped out the window, wings held in tight. He fell like a mortar shell straight toward the ground. Melisonde could feel every muscle in Pellias’ body tense as his wings unfurled, catching the wind. They arced upward with only a few feet to spare, clipping close enough to the ground to kick last night’s snowfall on the sidewalk into a swirling cloud.
And they were off, going higher with every flap of Pellias’ wings. Melisonde let go of him and held her arms out to feel the wind herself.
Pellias banked sharply to the left, taking them down a narrow alley. Not wide enough to flap his wings, Pellias half-glided, half-ran along the side of the a building, claws scraping against the brick before he burst out from the other side to an open street.
People below looked up to see them. Melisonde knew that Pellias liked putting on a show. He dipped low again, hovering a few feet off the ground kicking up clouds of fresh powder snow. A sudden heavy beat of his wings blew the hats off a group of children who were standing too close.
Pellias and Melisonde flew higher, and higher, until they were higher than any of the buildings in Fafenheir. And then Pellias kept going. Up high where the wind blew harder and the air was too cold to stay for long, Pellias stopped climbing, and spread out his wings to glide.
This was a view that almost no one ever got to see. It was a view reserved for dragons and their kin, sphinxes, griffons and their riders, and few others. They were high enough now that the people below were invisible to Melisonde, though she could still see them if she used the binding magic to look through Pellias’ eyes. From here they could see for miles to the horizon in every direction, beyond the city of Fafenheir, and beyond the miles of farmland that on foot felt so endless, from up here it all seemed so small, and so limited. Melisonde had spent most of her life in Fafenheir, and had taken an oath to protect, but from so high up, the city looked almost fragile. It was a mess of stone and iron buildings, surrounded by dense forest to the south, and by jagged frozen mountains to the north. From the southern edge of the city, a railroad line emerged and ran along, ending at the horizon. Even a fast rail would take days to reach the city of Somnia, and that was in good weather. During the dead of winter, Fafenheir was cut off from almost all travel.
Melisonde leaned forward and lay across Pellias’ back, wrapping her arms around his neck. She rested her head on his shoulder. The griffon turned his head and tapped his beak affectionately on Melisonde’s helmet.
No other riders ever flew this high. Up here was the one place that Melisonde and Pellias could be truly alone.
The weavings of their minds swirled together in their meditative state. Melisonde’s memories mixed with those of Pellias, and his with hers. They’d done this hundreds of times before, and every time was just as overwhelming. Their hearts raced during the melding. Pieces of one flowed into the other, bit by bit, back and forth. Melisonde gripped Pellias’ feathered chest tight and closed her eyes. The air was freezing but she couldn’t feel it. She felt warm, heavy, as though falling into a deep sleep even as her chest beat harder and her breath came faster. She felt the muscles in Pellias’ wings just as though they were hers, felt the air flowing through his feathers.
This was euphoria. There was nothing in the world Melisonde would trade for this. The guilt Melisonde felt leaving her husband alone night after night, that was gone now. Melisonde had never bothered to try and explain it to Geoffrey. How could he understand something like this: having his mind melded to someone else’s? To be less than whole when forced apart and so much more than whole when together again? How could she explain this to him? It would be like trying to explain color to someone blind since birth. To describe music to the deaf.
Their bond was interrupted by an upward rush of foul air, followed by the sound of an explosion far below. Melisonde startled and Pellias reared up in surprise. Melisonde’s head still hadn’t cleared enough to catch herself from loosing her grip on the saddle, and she fell.
Pellias tucked in his wings and show downward like a bullet to catch her. Melisonde spread her limbs and allowed the webbing on her flight suit to slow her descent, just as she’d practiced hundreds of times. Pellias grabbed hold of her by the legs, and Melisonde grabbed the straps on Pellias’ flight gear to climb back into the saddle.
Now safely gliding again, the two of them reoriented their thoughts.
“What was that?” Melisonde said.
“I don’t know. But something about it made me feel sick.”
“Yeah, I know. Bad magic. You smelled it too, didn’t you?”
Pellias grunted. “Umbral.” He scanned the city with his eagle’s eyes, and saw something: a thick plume of dark purple smoke coming from an intersection. The market. There were bodies lying around on the street. Some were moving. Some were not.
“We need to get down there now.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” said Pellias. He brought them down at a steep angle. Melisonde was forced to hold the saddle tight with her left hand to stay upright, but she kept her right hand on her pistol, ready to draw it if she needed to.
{They land and find bodies of both living and dead. The bodies show signs of being completely devastated by some high-tier umbral magic. Set up cliffhanger with Samandra dealing with one or more of the fresh undead}