Chapter 2

Erin's fingers barely found purchase on Brightcrest's thick leather collar as the gryphon's powerful wings beat against the wind. The sudden rush of air threatened to rip her away, her feet dangling as the deck of the ship fell away beneath her.

She scrambled, heart hammering and arms straining as she fought to swing a leg up and over the gryphon's back. Brightcrest jerked mid-air, twisting to evade a lunging Shrike, and Erin nearly lost her grip.

She gritted her teeth and hung on for dear life.

With a desperate heave, she hooked a knee over the gryphon's back and threw herself forward, landing hard against the creature's feathered shoulders. Her fingers fumbled for the harness straps-this was why they checked them, she thought wildly-but the battle left no time for casual adjustments. She clung to the gryphon's thick mane as Brightcrest banked sharply.

Below, the deck was in chaos as the crew fought, swords cutting the air, their cries lost beneath the piercing shrieks of the attacking creatures. The wizards sent jolts of energy into the air, crashing through the swarming shrikes. Many of the creatures fell, wings folded as their lifeless bodies tumbled into the endless void, but more came, swarming like a living storm.

Brightcrest's powerful hind legs kicked at the air as the gryphon angled upward, talons lashing out. A Shrike that had been diving for a crewman shrieked as the gryphon's claws tore through its leathery wings, sending it spiralling away.

Erin finally found a strap and looped it around her wrist, anchoring herself. She had no saddle, and no real control as she shivered, exposed fully to the cold winds as the gryphon left the safety of the ship and was suddenly out over the void.

The gryphon wheeled, scanning the battlefield and Erin followed its gaze. Below, Geoffrey fought in the thick of the battle, his blade flashing as he cut down beast after beast. Smoke bloomed as a pistol was fired, the sound splitting the night, but the Shrikes kept coming.

She had to help.

"Brightcrest, down!" she shouted, fighting to be heard above the roar of the wind and not knowing if the young gryphon would listen, or if it even understood her.

The gryphon gave a sharp cry and tucked its wings, plunging toward the deck.

Shrikes scattered at the movement, like minnows before a shark. Brightcrest's talons cut through a slower one, leaving a bloodied trail in his wake.

The Shrike, sensing the danger from the gryphon, turned their attention on him. One darted toward them, claws outstretched, its fanged mouth gaping wide.

Erin acted without thinking. She ripped the harness strap free of her wrist and shifted her weight, leaning into the gryphon's movements. "Right!" She cried. "Go right!"

Brightcrest banked sharply, just as the Shrike snapped at the space where they had been. Erin reached for the only weapon she had-the small knife strapped to her belt. It was made for cutting leather, not fighting creatures of the void, but it was better than nothing.

As the gryphon arched its wings, Erin slashed at the Shrike as they passed, the blade cutting across its flattened snout. The creature screeched and veered off, but another took its place.

Fear gripped her. There was no escaping the Shrike, they were everywhere.

Erin tightened her grip on Brightcrest's mane, forcing her breathing to slow. If she was going to survive, she would need to do more than just cling on. She would need to fight.

As the battle raged below and more of the Shrikes wheeled in the air, aiming themselves at her and the gryphon, she braced herself, and dug her heels into the gryphon's side.

Brightcrest's wings thundered as he soared through the air, straight at the approaching Shrike, Erin clinging to his thick mane as they wove through the chaos. His talons and claws red with blood as she kicked and slashed at any Shrike that came too close.

Crewmen fought in desperate clusters, muskets flashed, and swords carved through leathery bodies. The wizards had retreated to the stern deck, their wands flaring with bursts of magic that sent arcs of fire and crackling lightning through the night.

But there were too many Shrikes.

Erin barely had time to think before another lunged at them. Brightcrest twisted mid-air, his talons slashing. The Shrike shrieked as Brightcrest's claws raked through its side, sending it spiralling away, but another was already diving in.

Clinging to his back, Erin's heart pounded. She had no weapon beyond her belt knife, and that was no match for the swarm. She had to put her trust in the gryphon.

She shifted her weight, pressing her legs tighter against the gryphon's sides. "Left!" she called, praying he would listen.

Brightcrest veered left, just as a Shrike lunged past, missing them by inches.

Erin's breath caught. It worked.

"Down!"

Brightcrest dove, tucking is wings in tight. Erin pressed into his back, the wind causing tears to stream from her eyes as she screamed, not with fear, but with sheer joy! She wasn't just a passenger, she was riding.

For a heartbeat, she felt it. A connection between them, a silent understanding, like two dancers moving in sync. She wasn't fighting against his movements-she was flowing with them.

Another Shrike dove for them. Erin saw it coming at the last second, almost too late, as she shouted, "Roll!"

Brightcrest twisted, spiralling through the air as the creature passed too wide, unable to adjust.

Erin's scream turned to laughter, leaving her breathless.

But below, the ship was struggling. The crew pushed back towards the doors leading belowdecks. The wizards' spells were coming slower, their wands dull in their hands, the magic depleted. Their magic not enough to turn the tide.

The woman in the blue velvet robe stood on the stern deck, her wand raised. The apprentice beside her clutched his own wand, his face pale but his stance firm. Blood ran down his cheeks and stained his robe and it was clear he had fought hard.

Together, they raised their wands, their voices weaving together as they cast out their words of power.

The air crackled.

A low him filled the sky, rising into a ringing chime. The last of the runes along their wands flared, the bright gold winking out.

Brightcrest tensed beneath her, and Erin felt the shift in the air, the power building around the wizards. The Shrike felt it too, sensitive as they were to air currents they relied upon, and their relentless attack faltered.

Then the spell erupted.

A blinding wave of golden light surged outwards, expanding from the wizards in a brilliant pulse. It washed over the ship like a storm, crashing into the Shrikes mid-air.

The creatures screamed.

Their bodies burned as the magic ripped through them, searing their bodies and tearing their wings apart. Dozens fell instantly, bodies turning to ash before they even hit the deck, as more fled trailing smoke and flame out into the void before they too died and fell into the endless below.

The sky, once thick with the monsters, began to clear. The few surviving Shrikes fleeing back into the darkness, disappearing into the void as quickly as they had come.

Just like that, the battle was over. But, not without cost.

The main mast was ablaze, the canvas sail burning brightly, a beacon lighting the night around the ship in a flickering orange halo.

"Fire!"

Weary sailors, bloodied and mentally worn, cast aside their weapons and ran to douse the flames. On the stern deck, the apprentice wizard knelt beside the woman in blue velvet robes who lay unmoving.

Erin exhaled, body trembling with adrenaline. Her grip on Brightcrest loosened slightly, her fingers sore from holding on so tightly. She scanned the deck below, littered as it was with the bodies of both Shrikes and fallen crewmen as she sought a place to land.

Geoffrey stared up at her, scowling, and she swallowed back her fear.

He would be angry, and rightly so.

His arm stabbed out, pointing to a space on the deck and she shifted her weight, Brightcrest following her direction without the need for words. He landed with a thump that jarred her and trotted to a slow stop.

"Good boy," she whispered, running her hands through his mane.

Brightcrest huffed, feathers ruffling, and Erin smiled.

Her smile faded as Geoffrey stormed over to them, and she wilted, knowing the punishment would be severe.

But she didn't care.

She had flown!

That was something she had never dreamt she would be able to do, and she would hold to that memory no matter the punishment she had to endure.

"Madness, girl!" Geoffrey bellowed, his voice rising above the cries of the wounded. "What were you thinking?"

Erin could only shrug. She hadn't been thinking, she'd just reacted.

Brightcrest was young, and valuable. Too young and unbonded too, which meant he could have flown away, or hurt himself in the fight with the Shrike. She couldn't allow that to happen. Geoffrey would have been punished far worse than she if he had lost the gryphon.

"Sorry, sir."

Geoffrey raised his arm, hand curling into a fist still red with the blood of the Shrike he had dispatched. Erin flinched, waiting for the blow, but Brightcrest moved first, a hiss escaping his beak as he swung around protectively.

Erin gasped, and Geoffrey fell back, mouth hanging open and eyes wide as the great beast looked down at him with amber eyes that glowed fiercely in the light of the fire.

"God's above and below," Geoffrey whispered. "You've bonded with it!"

****

On the stern deck, Mathias knelt beside Margery's body, her lifeless eyes staring up at the dark night sky and the stars she had so loved watching. His hand trembled as he ran it down his face, exhaustion clouding his vision with a darkness that threatened to draw him down.

It had been too much, that last spell, taking every bit of mana infused into their wands and needing more besides. She had known that and cast the spell, anyway, using her own body as the conduit knowing what it would do to her and doing it anyway.

"Sleep well, mistress," he whispered. "May those that remain guide you back home."

Gently, he reached out and touched his fingertips to her eyelids, closing her eyes and giving her the semblance of peaceful sleep.

"Wizard!"

Mathias looked up, frowning at the interruption as a sailor climbed the wooden stairs to the stern deck.

"Leave me!"

"The fire!" the sailor turned and pointed to the blazing mast and the other crewman swarming around it dousing the flames as they tried to spread. "We need your help, or we are lost!"

With a grimace, Mathias shook his head and held out a hand. "Help me up."

The crewman rushed to obey and helped haul the apprentice to his feet. He slung an arm like corded steel around the wizard's waist, holding him upright as Mathias reached into his pocket and pulled out a small glass vial, half-full of a golden liquid that shone through the glass.

Pulling the cork stopper, Mathias inserted the end of his wand into the bottle, touching it to the golden liquid and closing his eyes. Drawing a deep breath, he calmed his mind and entered that practiced state of peaceful meditation that allowed him to focus on the power contained in that glass bottle.

Holding his breath, he drew on it, pulling that power into the wand he held. As the astonished sailor watched, the dark runes that ran along the wand's length, began to glow, one after another, the light moving slowly along the wand's length as the golden liquid in the bottle vanished as though it was being absorbed into the wood.

Only when the wand was fully charged, did Mathias release his hold on the power contained in the bottle and he sagged in the sailor's arms, exhausted beyond words. He gestured with the wand and the sailor caught his meaning, reaching down for the cork stopper and passing it back to the apprentice who sealed the last remnants of golden liquid in the bottle once more.

Mathias stared up at the burning mast and sucked in a breath. The fire was blazing hotter than a forge, and even on the stern deck he could feel it hot against his skin. Grimacing, he raised the wand, running through the spells he knew in his mind.

"Be ready," he muttered, and the sailor gawped at him.

"For what?"

"To catch me," Mathias said as he spoke the words of a spell, the power rushing through him and taking consciousness with it.