It took several days for Garkhen to recover enough to travel—several long, nervous, lean days, while Almonihah watched anxiously for signs of more Javni’Tolkhrah, and Zakhin’Dakh had to fly ever-further afield to find hunting grounds. Yet no more attacks came—not even some nervous warriors following the griffon back to the trees. The Amulet was quiet.
It all made Almonihah anxious.
“No way that thing’s really being quiet,” he grumbled to Garkhen.
The Warder didn’t have to ask what his friend was speaking about. “Perhaps it must recharge its power?”
Almonihah snorted. “No way we’re that lucky.”
“And yet there is nothing we can do if it is somehow subtly preparing for another attack upon us, my friend, and so we had best plan our next move.”
“Mage’s Guild. Ferd,” Almonihah growled. “More mages. ‘Cause that worked so well.”
“There was a single traitor,” Garkhen began.
“That they found,” Almonihah growled back. He stood again, making an angry gesture with one clawed hand. “But we have no other options. So we’ll just have t’ try again.” He snorted.
“I’m going,” the half-bronze dragon grumbled. “Just quit trying t’ convince me to like ‘t.”
Garkhen sighed, but said nothing more. The argument had grown tired long ago. Instead, he stood up, and opened his mouth to speak.
“It’s a good thing that griffon’s around, or I would never have found you, Garkhen!”
The half-blue dragon jumped, recognizing the voice instantly. “Tirel?” He said, turning.
Almonihah had drawn his blades, and was looking at the unassuming-looking man who had just walked to the edge of their encampment. “Friend ‘f yours?”
Garkhen nodded, smiling. “Yes, a good friend. We fought together briefly in the war, and sometime afterward.”
“And then you went and got new friends,” Tirel teased, grinning as he walked forward. “At least you look glad to see me.”
Garkhen’s smile picked up an edge of a grin in return. “Always, my friend. But I should introduce you. Almonihah, Zakhin’Dakh, this is Tirel, a Wyre warrior of Naishia. Tirel, this is Almonihah the Ranger and his friend, Zakhin’Dakh.”
Almonihah relaxed a bit at the mention of Naishia, noting also the simple leather loop around his neck, much like the one around Almonihah’s own neck that held the rampant unicorn symbol of Naishia. “Wyre, huh? Heard ‘f you, but never met one.”
“Well until Garkhen here, I’d never met a half-dragon either. I guess we’re both rare breeds,” Tirel replied, turning his grin on Almonihah.
The half-dragon grunted, sheathing his swords. “So you’ve been looking for him?” He said, nodding at Garkhen.
“For all of you,” Tirel said, his voice suddenly serious. “As soon as Whitepaw heard of what happened to the Rangers, she sent us out searching for you. I stopped by Elifort and… well, that’s a nasty hole in the wall.”
“Whitepaw?” Almonihah asked.
“The leader of our little Pack, and a Druid,” The Wyre replied. “A powerful one, at that. She heard what Llitthos was able to determine, and… you really shouldn’t be carrying that around uncovered.”
Almonihah snorted. “Wouldn’t ‘f I had a choice.”
“Well, she may be able to do something about that. What’s more… well, she might be able to figure out a way to destroy it.”
Hey, look! It’s a familiar charcter!