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Brutish red orbs narrowed.  Tell me more, old one. . . .
Rhonin had his transport to Khaz Modan. The thought should have pleased him much, but the cost that
transport demanded seemed far too high to the wizard. Bad enough that he had to deal with the dwarves,
who clearly disliked him as much as he did them, but Vereesa's claim that she needed to come along,
too granted, a necessary subterfuge in order to actually gain Falstad's permission had turned his plans
upside down. It had been paramount that he journey to Grim Batol alone no useless comrades, no risk
of a second catastrophe.
No more deaths.
And, as if to make matters worse, he had just discovered that Lord Duncan Senturus had somehow
convinced the unconvincible Falstad to take the paladin along as well.
 This is insanity! Rhonin repeated, not for the first time.  There's no need for anyone else!
 Yet, even now, even as the gryphon-riders prepared to fly them to the other side of the sea, no one
listened. No one cared to hear his words. He even suspected that, if he protested much more, Rhonin
might actually find himself the only onenotgoing, as nonsensical as that seemed. The way Falstad had
been looking at him of late . . .
Duncan had met with his men, giving Roland command and passing on his orders. The bearded knight
turned over to his younger second what seemed a medallion or something similar. Rhonin almost thought
nothing of it the Knights of the Silver Hand seeming to have a thousand different rites for every minor
occasion but Vereesa, who had come up to his side, chose then to whisper,  Duncan has handed
Roland the seal of his command. If something happens to the elder paladin, Roland will permanently
ascend to his place in the rolls. The Knights of the Silver Hand take no chances.
He turned to ask her a question, but she had already stepped away again. Her mood had been much
more formal since his whispered threat to her. Rhonin did not want to be forced to do something to make
the ranger return, but he also did not want anything to befall her because of his mission. He even did not
want anything dire to happen to Duncan Senturus, although likely the paladin had far more chance of
surviving in the interior of Khaz Modan than Rhonin himself.
 'Tis time for flight! Falstad shouted.  The sun's already up and even old ones have risen and begun
their day's chores! Are we all ready at last?
 I am prepared, Duncan replied with practiced solemnity.
 So am I, the anxious spellcaster quickly answered after, not wanting anyone to think that he might be
the reason for any delay. Had he had his way, he and one of the riders would have departed the night
before, but Falstad had insisted that the animals needed their full night's rest after the activities of the day .
. . and what Falstad said was law among the dwarves.
 Then let us mount! The jovial elf smiled at Vereesa, then extended his hand.  My elven lady?
Smiling, she joined him by his gryphon. Rhonin fought to maintain an expression of indifference. He
would have rather she had ridden with any of the dwarves other than Falstad, but to comment so would
only make him look like an absolute fool. Besides, what did it matter to him with whom the ranger rode?
 Hurry up, wizard! grumbled Molok.  I'd just as soon get this journey over with!
Clad more lightly, Duncan mounted behind one of the remaining riders. As a fellow warrior, the dwarves
respected, if not liked the paladin. They knew the prowess of the holy order in battle, which had
apparently been why it had been easier for Lord Senturus to convince them of the necessity of bringing
him along.
 Hold tight! Molok commanded Rhonin.  Or you may end up as fish bait along the way!
With that, the dwarf urged the gryphon forward . . . and into the air. The wizard held on as best he
could, the unnatural sensation of feeling his heart jump into his throat giving him no assurance as to the
safety of the journey. Rhonin had never ridden a gryphon, and as the vast wings of the animal beat up and
down, up and down, he decided quickly that, should he survive, he would never do so again. With each
heavy flap of the part avian, part leonine creature's wings, the wizard's stomach went up and down with
it. Had there beenanyother way, Rhonin would have eagerly chosen it.
 He had to admit, though, that the creatures flew with incredible swiftness. In minutes, the group had
flown out of sight of not only Hasic, but the entire coast. Surely even dragons could not match their
speed, although the race would have been close. Rhonin recalled how three of the smaller beasts had
darted around the head of the red leviathan. A dangerous feat, even for the gryphons, and likely capable
by few other animals alive.
Below, the sea shifted violently, waves rising threateningly high, then sinking so very, very low. The wind [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]