The very mention of magic soured Krag’s mood. His pale green face wrinkled under the fine white beard. The thicker white fur on his arms prickled straight up. Even the unruly white hair atop his head stiffened. “This gryphon…” He started suspiciously.

Javo reached up to strike his friend’s heavily muscled arm reassuringly. “I doubt it has any magical powers. In any case, does not your helmet protect you against evil spells?”

“So far it has,” Krag muttered. “I think.” A Bruk priest had given him the ceremonial helm when he first undertook his warrior pilgrimage.

They reached the stables and went inside. Their mounts, saddles, and armor were guarded by the stable boy, himself under the watchful eyes of two enormous war hounds.

Javo inventoried their belongings, then paid the boy. Turgar grunted to the hounds and fed them their reward — large morsels of raw meat.

“Think of all the gold which must be on that mountain,” Turgar told Krag.

Next to lusty women, gold was Krag’s greatest incentive for any daunting task.

“Why would gold still be up there,” Krag asked, donning his horned helm before lifting his saddle from a wooden stool, “if the gryphon is stealing it on someone else’s behalf?” The dome of the helm was reinforced with steel ribbing. A flaring noseguard extended down in front, protective skirting hung down in back. The horns were real and sharp, but small enough so as not to snag during movement.

“Unless the gryphon delivers every stolen coin or purse directly to its master,” Javo reasoned, dropping the saddle on his sleek, black charger, “there must grow a hoard of some size before it is collected.”

“What of the stolen babes?” Krag wondered, aloud.

“Perhaps ‘tis all just a theory, that the gryphon is some villain’s thrall,” Turgar said, turning from the two hounds to his three ponies, examining and stroking their tawny coats affectionately. “Perhaps this gryphon merely likes the shine of gold, and the taste of babes.”

Krag’s horse was a Chyrvadon, the largest, most powerful breed known to men. Not as swift as Turgar’s desert ponies or Javo’s charger, it could bear the weight of the gigantic Bruk Islanders like Krag. Originally bred for plowing, it had tremendous strength.

Krag saddled it and strapped on his armor — a scaled steel hauberk, plus iron greaves and loin guard.

Turgar’s armor protected more of the body, but aside from the fur-lined, spiked helmet, was not metal. Most of the leather was thick, stiff and lacquered except the boots, trousers and archer’s gauntlets.

Javo took the longest to dress, as his full battle harness, though forged from some mysterious lightweight steel and articulated superbly at the joints, was nonetheless cumbersome to assemble and align.

The small party rode out from the stable toward Mount Tirshal. Trailing the three riders were two desert ponies bearing supplies, and the two monstrous hounds.

Turgar pointed at the Cemarite flag flapping from a watchtower pole as they rode through the outskirts of the city. “Surprising that the old banner has not been replaced, yes?”

Javo nodded. “All that once made Cemar great has been corrupted; yet the symbols remain unchanged thus far.”

“They should replace the national symbol indeed,” Krag said, staring at the golden gryphon on the crimson banner “if the gryphon is now their bane. How was it that foul beast was honored so?”

“Legends say it was dispatched ages ago by the great Aod, to guard over Cemar’s tribe when they first settled in this valley,” Javo said.

“Why would a creature which has protected your people for so long suddenly turn to plundering them?” Turgar asked.

“It was not sudden,” Javo said. “Its villainy has grown gradually over the generations, starting out so subtly that few paid attention at first.”

“The question is a good one,” Krag said, “and remains unanswered.”

Javo sighed. “I know not why the guardian has taken to eating out the substance of those it was commanded to protect. But corruption is a disease from which no living creature is immune. Even knighthood doesn’t make one exempt. I’ve seen many earn their commission with the sincere, passionate intention of serving justice, righting wrongs and protecting the unfortunate, only to witness, years later, those noble ideals flipped unceremoniously upside-down and backwards.”