1.44

The Young Griffon

“Observe,” I whispered, as I hunted the Huntsman, ”the coward in his natural state.”

Lefteris’ nameless boys crept after me, bolts of forest green cloth wrapped around their heads to hide their distinctive red hair. There was no hiding their eyes, though, wide and intense as they tracked the Heroic Huntsman himself. Their focus was commendable, though their tracking skills left much to be desired.

I smiled as I saw a muscle in the massive hunter’s neck twitch.

“The coward is aware that his way of life is at risk, but he lacks the killer instinct to do anything about it. Instead, he fills his time with menial pursuits, such as hunting lesser existences and devouring them, despite the fact that he can go indefinitely without sustenance.” I continued to narrate for the benefit of my young charges, maintaining a harsh voice that Kyno could undoubtedly hear.

We were out in the wilderness once again, this time north of the sanctuary city of Olympia. Game was plentiful out here, provided one was powerful enough to deal with any virtuous beasts encountered, or fortunate enough to avoid them. At the moment, the Heroic Huntsman was tracking a stag.

“How do you know he’s a coward?” The smaller, more precocious of the two children asked in his own whisper.

“I’ve been observing this particular sea creature for weeks now,” I said, shifting undergrowth silently aside with formless hands of pankration intent. The boys did their best to follow me in step, but the crunch of dead leaves betrayed them. “Notice his stature, larger than any of his peers. Notice his pneuma, firmly within the realm of legends. This is a man capable of changing the world.”

The larger of the two boys edged slightly in front of his brother, placing himself between the younger and our prey when I described the full threat. I smiled faintly and patted his head.

“And so we must ask ourselves,” I continued, “is he happy and content with his life as it stands, or is he too fearful of reprisal to make it so?”

“Maybe he is happy,” the younger of the two proposed. “How do you know he isn’t?”

”A fair question,,” I acknowledged. I started to rise. “Let’s ask him.”

“No!” The older of the two hissed, jumping onto my back and wrenching with everything he had to pull me back down. “You can’t!”

“And why not?” I asked. He did about as much to stop me as a feather down pillow, but I humored him and froze halfway to my feet.

“He’ll tell Theri we were with you,” the younger said urgently, gripping my right arm with both hands and pulling with all his strength. “He can’t know we left the house!”

I considered that. Across the glade, far enough that two boys of such juvenile cultivation would not be able to make out the fine details of a man’s face, I looked and saw Kyno staring back at me from the corner of his eye. And I nodded gravely, sinking back down into a crouch.

“I understand,” I said. “We’ll continue as before.” The young vagabonds slumped to the ground in relief. In the distance, I saw Kyno close his eyes in quiet despair before returning to his hunt.

“If we can’t get the truth from the man himself, how else might we discern it? What are the signs to look for? Rather, what makes a man happy?”

“Power,” the precocious one said immediately. How cute.

“Naturally.”

“Wealth,” put forward the elder. I nodded.

The younger tapped his chin, mismatched eyes narrowing thoughtfully as we progressed through the wilderness. Kyno had found his mark, a great stag with five points on each antler. I watched intently how he moved, the approach he took and why. I noted which way the breeze was blowing, the shadows that he kept to.

This was no beast of virtue that the great hero was hunting. This was only a stag, and so Kyno was going through the motions as much as anything else. He could have done this in moments if he felt a need to flex his pneuma. But that would have defeated the purpose. After all, this was nothing but a way to kill time.

“Women,” the younger brother proposed, and Kyno winced ever so slightly.

Ho?

“Your age can still be counted on two hands,” I said disdainfully, though my gaze didn’t waver from the Heroic Huntsman. How interesting. “What would you do with a woman?”

“I’d make her my concubine,” the younger brother insisted, puffing up in my peripheral vision. “A king needs concubines.”

The older brother lurched towards the younger in alarm, grabbing him around the neck and covering his mouth. Gently, I separated the two of them with pankration hands, tilting the younger boy’s head up when he tried to stare at the ground in abashment.

“And what would you have the concubine do for you, little king?”

The little king hesitated, looking to his brother, but I had a rather firm grip on them both. Finally, he gathered up his courage and answered boldly.

“I would have her pour my drinks and feed me grapes,” he firmly declared.

I very carefully did not laugh. We were hunting, after all.

“What shall I call you, little king?” I asked him. Lefteris hadn’t offered the information the night I came down the mountain, and I hadn’t cared enough to ask. But now I was curious.

The boy answered with a mechanical precision that spoke only to a lie.

“Leo.”

“Impossible,” I said at once.

“What do you mean?” The boy demanded, voice rising precipitously as he began to panic. “That’s my name!” Beside him, suspended in mid air by my pankration hands, his older brother began to thrash and fight.

“It is!” the elder insisted. “I swear it is!”

“My virtuous heart won’t tolerate lies,” I warned them both. “But beyond that, you’ve missed my point. It’s impossible for me to call you that, because that’s my name.”

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author’s work.

They both froze, staring at me in bewilderment.

“I thought your name was Griffon,” the elder brother said.

“It is,” I confirmed.