“Penryn?” Grimult whispered, near the threshold but not yet crossing. Not without her.
Her heart was racing, and she wondered if her doubts were based solely on fear.
Or on something else.
Grimult had thought her mystical when first they had met. He believed the lore, even if he had set it aside quickly enough the longer they had known one another.
But perhaps, if only in this, there was a premonition in her very bones that nothing good would come of their staying.
“We need to go,” she urged, and Grimult moved quickly as he returned to her.
Rustling from the hall, and there was no time. They would send others out, and if she was right then they would be dead. And if she was wrong, there would be confusion, yes, but that was all.
And she did not care to await either outcome.
He grasped her by the arm, his wings splayed, taking up more of the corridor. His sword emerged once more, his expression firm as he escorted her back from where they had come.
Others were about, and already she could hear the demands to halt, to return to the chamber, but Grimult kept them moving, and none yet dare punctuate their orders with the use of weaponry.
The door that opened to the courtyard was guarded and locked, not an unusual state as she could well remember them moving aside to allow her a few precious moments in the open air when she had proved herself very good in both her lessons and in overall comportment.
“Open it,” Grimult instructed, pushing her gently behind him and shielding her with a wing as he looked to his opposition with narrowed eyes. There were footsteps in the corridor behind, racing and giving commands of their own. The narrowness of the passage meant that there was no great threat, the stream of sages, some equipped in battle, others softened with age and years of dedication to their books rather than activity leaving them soft.
“I swear to you, if you do not do as I say, I will cut you down where you stand and open the door myself,” Grimult ordered, his voice hard and nearly unrecognisable. The sword in his hand was an ancient one, and there was no denying that he had been the one chosen for their Lightkeep, for his cunning, his bravery, and his skill. “The choice is yours.”
She had never thought to see him face down one of their own kind, the guard by the door hardly older than Grimult himself. He eyed those coming up behind, his eyes darting quickly to the threat current and most certainly believable.
And he unlocked the door.
And stepped aside.
The courtyard itself was at an impasse, some weapons specially crafted for the purpose of security, others for honest work and skilled labour, both extended as each was regarded with suspicion.
“We go!” Penryn shouted, feeling Grimult whisk her up before she had even managed the first syllable.
There was a flurry of movement about her as more than just the Mihr took flight, some attempting to grab hold, to keep them grounded, but quick slashes and hard blows from strong arms quickly saw them free again.
Her eyes tried furiously to look about her, to ensure that all the faces she knew were airborne and free from the clutches of the sages. Some continued to grapple, but as the confines of the walls fell away and open air greeted them, it was clear that with determination, they would be free of them.
At least for a time.
Their jurisdiction ended at the gates, and Penryn did not know if they had been given hasty orders to pursue even further beyond, but she cared little. There needed to be people, needed to be witnesses, so that all might hear and know.
Even now, she could be wrong. They might have been ushering them back to offer all the help she required.
But even now, she did not believe it.
A far more likely course, they would have killed her and Grimult and then gone to the people themselves, weaving a tale of mysticism and star-reading that spoke of a great danger approaching from beyond.
They would paint themselves the heroes, hiding the bodies of any who could claim otherwise.
She did not know how she could be so certain.
Yet she was.
“What changed?” Grimult asked, his voice hoarse in his ear as he flew with as much speed as he could muster. They had chosen to scatter rather than keep to any great formation, and suddenly he dove down beneath the tree line, the boughs offering cover that the untrained eye would not be able to pierce without great effort.
“A feeling,” Penryn admitted, feeling sheepish even as there was confidence there as well that she was right to have acted upon it.
She did not expect for them to land, the tree he positioned them in so thick that even if she held her hands out to the widest point, the trunk would be greater still. He placed her with her back to it, high above the ground still, and nestled close, the brown tones of his wings providing camouflage as he sheltered them both from immediate view. They had not planned for this, and her heart still beat rapidly with worry for how she might join with her party once more. If harm came to any of them...
Dread and guilt left her with a sickly feeling in her stomach, and she peered out as best she could from behind the cocoon of her husband, trying to catch sight of any of them.
“They are men grown,” Grimult reminded her. “With lives that made each of them strong.” A finger traced over her cheek. “But I understand your worry all the same.”
She bit her lip in lieu of giving an answer.
They sat in silence for a time, anticipation keeping her muscles coiled for the necessity for flight, for action, the stillness unnerving. The tree limb was hard beneath her, numbness spreading through her
