When one becomes infested by the bug-like zerg, one automatically receives heightened senses; Sparhawk was one of those individuals. And as such, his magical abilities were augmented; but Sparhawk was a practical thinker, preferring to look at the world thorough eyes locked into a state of reality. However, since the great storms had raged through the valleys, and the sudden uprising of Evil, he began to realize that he, too, felt the rising of energies.

As he stood in front of the messenger, he could feel the winds of change blowing once again. Dammit, he thought as he muttered the Phoenix curse, why can't trouble leave us alone for once? And why can I feel it? He looked up at Crystal, holding the horse, to Raena Stormcaller, her Soul Sister; behind him, he knew was Crystal's sister and the other mages. Why me and not them?

He heard the messenger demand Crystal to let go of his beast and watched them gallop away. He turned to Tserisa as the Guilders swarmed about them, asking her to read the letter. As she did, his blood began to boil.

Guilders began to shout all around him, wanting to know what action would be taken. He joined in the shout against tyranny, throat bobbing with a full weregryph roar. When the clamor died down, Tser sent the Shekeiras down to the major highway, where the path split: one towards the countryside, the other to the Guild.

"Do you think they'll be able to hold them off -- by themselves?" Ratha Flamewing asked.

"If they can, then all their claims about their people are true," Spar answered her.

Instead of waiting for the Phoenixes, they returned to the Guild, assembling in the common room. Tser, Spar, Stormy Pillowgryph and Raena left the cacophony for the sanctity of Tser's office; there they could plan in relative peace. Raena brought with her plans from the Waves that Crystal held in her room. And since the Waves, Tser kept a profile on every Guilder, filed away in a massive cabinet. Each drawer of the cabinet pertained to a different species; within each drawer, the Guilders were listed alphabetically, and then by calling/profession or abilities. The whole arrangement made it easier to keep track of the members.

Kalaki Moroko Shekeira's profile lay atop the cabinet, awaiting filing. Stormy plucked it off and sat down with it open before her. From the desk next to the cabinet, Tser took parchment and pens, as well as lifting a ledger from the nearby bookshelf. The ledger was a record of the Guild, containing the original charter from the founder, Lady Zadeen. It also contained the names of every creature to join the Guild, the date when they applied, and various notations. These notations were no more than bookkeeping on Tser's part: there were squiggles that meant if they were active, had left the Guild (questions were not asked of those who wanted to take leave), whether they were abroad on work for the Guild or personal, or, most serious, deceased.

The dragoness passed out parchment and pens among them, sitting down herself, the ledger before her. Cracking the book open and passing over the introduction and charter, Tser came to the oldest section: the first members, of which her name appeared.

"We're going through this whole book," she announced. "Write down who you approve of, and we'll check their files. Then we'll have to find a way of dividing the lot."

Nods went around the table.

"But first, a moment of silence, to honor those who contributed to what we are now fighting for -- Delphinius and Jessye."

By the time Crystal and Kalaki had returned, they'd managed to come up with 30 members and five others to serve as messengers between them. Stormy and Raena hung the results up where no one would miss them. The Guilders approached the decision immediately, crowding to see who would defend the Guild. Those who were not picked grumbled and moaned for the most part, but were cheered up when they were reminded that the Guild had to be defended.

Like most of the Guilders, Sparhawk left the common room when the excitement died down, to gather himself and prepare his Wing. He had to smile at that: an otter, four gryphons -- all female --, a dragoness, and Morkarleth -- whatever he was. All good fighters, three ex-Wave members to boot. Tyreenya, Raekkenyia and Autumn, they knew what was expected of them, all eager to go out and get rid of the Evil. Autumn more so, since she had been part of the fated First Wave, held captive for five days in a mountain lair.

Calypte, Second Wing's messenger, came into Sparhawk's office where they were meeting. She just got back from Mage's Hall and the armory, and was toting a small wagon with her tail. They tiny thing was loaded down with six plain Phoenix war collars -- Autumn had her own, a full collar given by the Phoenix Lord as part of surviving capture --, a bracelet version for Morkarleth, a Tsurieth, broach telesons courtesy of Kalaki's connections with the Elven Nations, war harnesses, and other paraphernalia they'd requested. Calypte was already wearing her uniform, which consisted of a warcollar attached to a messenger harness dyed blue. Miscellaneous pouches hung from clasps on the front and side.

"Close the door, Caly," Spar told her from his chair by the window. "I don't want the others getting ideas."

Tyr chuckled. "What ideas, Spar?" she asked as Calypte closed the office door.

"Impressionable newbies playing 'let's get the leaders' attention by pulling heroics'."

Tyr's eyes went wide and her long ears went back marginally. Spar could spout riddles at times, but when it came down to it, he could be deadly serious. She should have known better.

Spar waved an appendage at her, signaling that it was all right.

RiverDance bounded up to Calypte while Spar was going over his personal list. While a great deal larger than any normal otter, she was still dwarfed by everyone save the eagle-sized Guilders.

"Caly have Otter's stone?" she asked in the fast-paced speech of her kind. "Otter wouldn't want to leave on trip without sacred family stone."

Calypte smiled and reached into a pouch, pulling forth the faceted gemstone ringed with polished riverstones: this was Riverheart, a rare magical item among RiverDance's kind. Bobbing her seal brown head, RiverDance looped the chain and slipped the stone over her neck, tucking it against her tiny warcollar.

"Ah," she said with content, "Otter much happier now." Her small mouth lifted and her cheeks bunched comically.

This time, they all chuckled, Raekkenyia and Sparhawk's voices competing for loudness. RiverDance spread her paws, innocence all over her furry features. "What say Otter? Otter make joke? Well, that's good!"

Ratha nudged her pal 'Kenyia and pointed to where Morkarleth was standing, isolated from the rest of them even in Spar's office. The mysterious Guilder was holding the warbracelet in two of his three large, clawlike fingers; distaste was clearly emanating from him.

Tathramakan also noticed and was more vocal about it. "Something wrong, Morkarleth?"

All heads swung to the shrouded male. The hood looked at them, then down at the bracelet. "No," he said gruffly, stuffing the device over his large joint.

Ratha and Raekkenyia were tittering away in their corner. Sparhawk glanced at them sharply and they stopped. "This is no time for games, ladies. We had our laughs, but it's time to get serious."

They nodded; Autumn came up then and slapped a super-sized version of a topography map on the rolling blackboard Tath had brought in. A map of the Guild was also put up next to it. The six-taloned magess pointed with two fingers to the uppermost turret of the building. "We'll be taking off from the North Ramp, guys. I already know that Tser will be leaving from the Main." She pasted a blue triangle to the top turret and a red one to the main ramp. Calypte passed two other pieces to Autumn: green and white.

"Kaal will be leaving from the East Courtyard ramp, Crystal from the one over the gardens," she told the gryphoness. "Kaal is green, Crys is white."

Autumn nodded and placed the markers on the appropriate ramps.

"Anything else?" Spar wanted to know.

Their messenger bobbed her silver-beaked head. "Kaal and Crys will fly together until they reach their break-point -- here." She pointed to an area several miles into the desert. It wasn't far west from where Tser said they'd try and camp. A part of the forest jutted out enough into that region. Two oasi were in close proximity, both to themselves and the outer boundaries of the Masked City.

The city itself lay on the other side of that small desert, on a plains region. They were backed up to the south by the offspring of a massive earthquake some 300 years ago -- a multitude of hilly land covered in giant boulders. An excellent retreat and easy to defend, given the natural features of the landscape.

"Orca and Shongshar say their plan is to fly separately until they reach the river here." Again, Calypte pointed. "They plan to lay siege to the towers set up across the river. Oh, and your instructions from Tser are here." She passed a note to the weregryph, who scanned it. Nodding as he did so, Spar smiled mentally; Tser had given him the exact plan they'd come up with before everyone had split into Wings.

Both at once, Tyr and Autumn's ears went up, followed closely by Ratha and Tath's. It was the all-mage call Crystal was sending up when it was time to leave.

Spar rose to his feet. "I want a quick check of all supplies, RiverDance, Morkarleth. Everyone else, grab your gear and let's get going. Autumn -- grab those maps and give 'em to 'Kenyia!"

Organized dashes followed the zerg-infested weregryph's orders. RiverDance and Morkarleth took up the supply list and sped through each and every check, leaving nothing out. As everyone filed out the door, the heaved the bags between them, to attach to Raekkenyia's harness when they reached the turret ramp.

Leaving the weregryph's office, they made a left turn and headed down the hall to the back of the Guild. At the T-section, they took the right, then rounded the kitchens to the stairwell. Cresting the steps, they walked through the small hallway through the tunnel entrance. Light burst upon them as they entered upon the highest point in the Guild. A weather vain squeaked as a small breeze blew around the peak. From this height, even the great bulk of Dracana looked insignificant.

A persistent beep finally caught Sparhawk's attention; he pulled a blue-banded Tsurieth from its pouch. Tser's head appeared above the globe when he pushed the button. Two smaller heads materialized on either side -- Crystal and Kaal'tarn.

"Wing Leaders check in," the velvetdragon said.

"Sparhawk here."

"Kaal'tarn here."

"Crystal Shekeira here."

The black head nodded. "You all have your instructions. Get to your base camps as quickly as you can. All communication will open tomorrow morning. I'll call you and check in. We'll go from there."

"Aye," they chorused.

"Good luck, Wings," Tser said and cut the connection. One after the other, Crystal and Kaal cut theirs; Sparhawk turned his off and stuffed it back into its pouch.

"Alright, Wing. Let's get a move on, shall we?"

A siren split the quiet over the Southwest section of the Masked City. The peaceful park was turned into a chaotic mess as people scrambled for cover. The hum of anti-grav and flux-drives could be heard over the din as the creature cruised into view. It rounded over the park, its black belly glinting in the sunlight.

"Guidance check."

<-Target approaching. Veering 8`032.->

Arkhon increased his vision by two, blinking to change magnification. The giant 50-ft metallic dragon-mecha slowed the flux-drives and turned to face his target: a large corporation building. Am'salinth had told him that these people were manufacturing soldar-12, an illegal material long banned by the mecha's creators. Programmed for obedience to ranking officials, Arkhon had thought nothing of it when Am'salinth had sent him to destroy the base after hearing about soldar-12.

<-100 and closing,-> clicked his guidance.

It also never occurred to the mecha to question why the inhabitants of this planet were so backwater -- not possessing laser-guided systems, energy pistols, quasar pulsars or any of his attire. The Fleet had used the free-will program sparingly since the X-project. Series-12 had some self-decision, but not like Series-7.

The building's guards were standing all around, crossbows trained on Arkhon's wings and underbelly. They'd had experience with dragons before -- rogue dragons -- and knew where to fire. Their lupine faces were bared to the open, for the dwellers of the City of Masks only covered them when there were outsiders in the vicinity, or when traveling abroad. The black mecha hovered in place, out of range.

"Against Fleet legislation, you are in possession of substance soldar-12. Penalty: death."

"FIRE!"

Crossbows twanged and the bolts flew up, some actually pinging against Arkhon's metal exterior.

A single pulse from Arkhon's pressurized energy pistol hit the middle of the building, tearing through all five floors before exploding. The dragon-mecha rotated and turned his drives up to full, speeding back to Am'salinth's base. He neither saw nor cared for the screaming, dying guards and workers inside the furniture factory. Another explosion, and the building caved.

Darkhounds.

It was the true name for the people of the Masked City. Did the name sound familiar? Well, it was supposed to; created from the warriors of the City, Doomhounds were an evolved species of the flightless Darkhounds. Near-mindless and battle-savvy, they were the ultimate warrior in the eye of Lord Am'salinth Ducheikshedar, Leader of the Opposition.

The lord sat in his banquet hall, stroking the head of his favorite dragonhound. He'd come upon the City more than a hundred years ago, searching for a place to call his base. Hailing from the Far South, Am'salinth was adept in Dark Arts, dabbling in human and animal morphing. In his wake, he'd left countless misshapen and disfigured creatures, all in the pursuit of trying to perfect the technique for himself. He was sick and tired of seeing the elves, faeries and four-legged abominations practicing shapeshifting, when the normal human could not. By word of mouth, he'd come upon the Gryphon Guild, an old organization set to the West; by reputation, he'd learned of their cornucopia of talents, of their mages, warriors and spellcasters.

The City of Masks did not trade with the Guild, but merchants who did also came to the City. They spoke of gryphons, dragons, mixed-breeds, and lately, Phoenixes.

The immortal race.

Legend had it if one drank the ivory blood of a Phoenix, they would gain the powers of the bird. If Am'salinth could capture one, he would have the key to their world, and the entire population. And with the powers of the Phoenix at his beck and call, he would finally be able to unlock the secret of human shapechanging.

The Opposition Lord picked up his scrying mirror from the table, then put it back down again. He'd not heard from his offspring in months -- An'masazi in a year, Ayatala in six. An'masazi and his sister had set out to search for artifacts for their father, the elder with a contingent of Doomhounds and his father's powers at his call; Ayatala took off when he did not return after a month, lairing in the Cetne Mountains and performing experiments to increase Doomhound endurance. Word had it that they had both been killed by the Gryphon Guild.

Am'salinth remembered the runner who had brought the news of An'masazi's fall -- his skin now provided the lord a comfy cushion. The second runner fared better -- he only received a stay in the dungeons. He was mad, now, anyway. The lord got up and crossed the room to the battle map on the far wall; the dragonhound followed.

The Gryphon Guild.

So insignificant a place, really. Full of insane creatures too full of themselves to pose a threat. Am'salinth couldn't enact on the deaths of his scions until his faction gained complete and total control of Parliament. Dark Mage though he was, the Government was still more powerful with its gaggle of white mages.

That was, until Arkhon had arrived. In a short span of time, Am'salinth had conquered the city, using Arkhon's deflective hide to take over Parliament and all Government buildings. In that campaign, he'd found out that the mages he'd been fearing for so long were nothing more than a ruse. Darkhounds did not breed the mage talent easily, and they were so xenophobic, they refused to import mages.

Of course, there was the random Government buildings still holding true -- no surprise there. Every civilized populace had their rebels when facing a take-over. That was the beauty of longevity: one had the opportunity to observe at will and then act upon such findings at a later date. However, it was the Phoenix longevity Am'salinth was after. To be unable to die, to be able to withstand killing blows -- unstoppable, infallible, invincible!

Ah, it was every good Dark mage's dream.

A tan and black Darkhound wearing Am'salinth's livery came in through a side chamber. He bowed low, his form reflected in his master's silver mask. (Unlike Masked City dwellers, Am'salinth wore his mask constantly.)

"Master, the Dragon Arkhon has returned. He wants to know the state of his 'spaceship', Lord."

The giant metal bean that had been dredged from the farmer's field rested within Am'salinth's treasury, kept under lock and key by armed Doomhounds.

"Bid him enter, Shestoh."

The tan and black bowed again and walked back the way he'd come. Minutes later, faint clicking and whirring could be heard as Shestoh led Arkhon in. The servant bowed once more and beat a retreat.

"Mission completed," Arkhon said distinctly, his mechanical voice slightly annoyed. "My ship?" His faceted eyes blinked on and off a few times before glowing constant red.

Am'salinth leaned against the battle map. "Was all destroyed?" The black mecha said nothing. Good. "Your 'ship' is still being repaired. I have another mission for you, Arkhon."

There was a hiss, and a jet of steam shot from one opening along the dragon's side. "Must recharge pulses," he said simply and walked over to "his" corner.

Am'salinth sighed. Just then, Faern, the leader of the caravan he sent to the Guild burst in. Arkhon was unfazed.

"Lord! We rushed here as soon as we could --"

The masked leader interrupted him curtly. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be at the Guild still?"

"Master, two Phoenixes were blocking our path. Neither would move, Lord -- that guild is going to war!"

"PHOENIXES!?"

"Yes, Lord. Two females. They called themselves the Ambassadors Shekeira!"

Am'salinth cursed mentally. So the rumors were true. Phoenixes had made their home at the Guild. While he wanted their immortality, he also was hesitant at facing them -- they were reputed to be the elite warrior race as well as possessing mage talent far greater than any other being.

Am'salinth waved a casual, dismissive hand. Faern was right in coming back; he was no fool. "Arm the towers, Faern. If those immortals have anything to do with the Guild declaring war with us . . ." He left the sentence unfinished. Faern nodded and bowed his way out of Am'salinth's presence.

Actually, the mage had no idea of what Phoenixes were capable of. All he was going on were legends and talk.

"So they are warring on us, eh, Arkhon?" The mecha did not respond. "Well, my friend, cancel that last job. It's time your full potential was brought to the fore."

Morkarleth was uncomfortable. He had been stuffed in between Raekkenyia's neck and several sacks. Every time he tried to get some released from the pressure on his kidneys, the furred dragoness' mane got blown up his nostrils.

"Do I complain about your weight, dear?" she'd said when he'd voiced his opinion one too many times. "No? Then shut up and bear it!"

So he shut up -- but he didn't have to like it.

Sparhawk's Wing had been flying for close to four hours now, for their point was the farthest away from the Guild and the closest to the City of Masks.

"No where near a forest?" Autumn had remarked. When told no, the happy-go-lucky gryphoness deflated a little. Being the avatar of a forest spirit meant she had greater powers with the woods; a slight disadvantage.

The silver gryphoness felt hunger creeping up on her and she said so to Sparhawk.

"Otter fish? Otter good at fishing!"

Spar smiled slightly and asked for a local map from Raekkenyia. The furred dragoness complied, jabbing Morkarleth in the jaw as her neck came up; he was bent over again. The weregryph eyed the map and did some quick calculations. They should be coming up on a small city soon.

"Ratha, Tath, I want you two to cruise on down and buy us some meat." The weregryph tossed the fire-winged gryphoness a small coin pouch. "This should cover it. Buy anything you want with the rest -- food mind you. No souvenirs."

Ratha and Tath nodded, the former juggling the purse enthusiastically.

"But Spar," RiverDance said atop Tyr, "we have supplies. Why buy more?"

"We have the time and the resources," he replied. "If worse comes to worse, we'll need those supplies. It's best to save what we have for later, gods forbid we hit a standstill."

The seal brown otter nodded. "Ah! Otter understand. Sparhawk great thinker!" Under her, Tyr was suddenly overtaken with a bout of coughing that shook her to the eartips. Sparhawk shot her the Evil Eye and coughed into his secondary appendage. The tigergryphoness giggled and smoothed her errant ears.

Ratha and Tath glanced at each other, smiling. Together, they turned on their pinions, slipping to the side, away from the Wing. Black against brown they flew, Tath a bit above and to the left of Ratha. Like falcons, they lay their wings along their sides, approaching the beginnings of a gentle stoop. With a flip and a twist, they shot through the air, coming across the path that led to the city.

Flaring their wings, they approached the city gates at a sedate amble. Reaching the guardpost, they flashed the sentry their Guild badges and informed him that they were on business. As always, Guild reputation preceded them, and they were admitted without question. And as always, they received varied amounts of comments, looks and reactions. It wasn't often that two gryphons strolled the city streets.

They were given directions to the nearest butchery and purchased three plump turkeys, two pigs and a juicy cow haunch. That was, after they reassured the owner's wife they weren't going to raid the refrigerator.

"We're respectable citizens, madam," Tathramakan told her as Ratha handed over the appropriate amount of coin, which the lady took in a basket with a long handle. "I don't know what happened the last time gryphons patronized your shop, but --"

The butcher's wife held up her hand as she counted. "I believe you," she said in a faint voice. "Now, please take your purchases and leave."

Shrugging, Ratha flipped her a tip and they left with their food. They were more warmly met at the bakery they stopped in, coming away with more than their coin would have paid for. It seemed the owner and her family had been saved by a Guild member some decades ago from a rabid bear. She was more than willing to aid them in their campaign. After bouncing the youngest on their backs and allowing the family puppy to play tug-of-war with their tails, Ratha and Tath left, with promises of inviting them over after the skirmish was done.

They left the city and shot into the sky, parcels dangling from their harnesses and talons.

True to RiverDance's word, there was fish grilling over the campfire that night, along side the turkey, pork and cow. While the majority of Guilders were raised on raw meat, they also cooked it if given the chance -- for cooked meat held more seasonings and flavor. Although blood did have its own special taste, Guilders held themselves a bit more civilized than their cousins.

They told tales around the fire and played charades long into the night. Finally, Spar called time for sleep, and the campfire was reduced to a few glowing embers.

Quietly, almost inaudibly, Tathramakan began to sing to herself. Soon, however, RiverDance joined her, then Tyreenya:

© 2001 Crystal Shekeira. All Guilders are copyright 2001 themselves; all other characters, places and related objects are copyright Crystal Phoenix; Kalaki Moroko and all related objects are copyright TH. The Gryphon's Guild is trademarked to Tserisa Supalla; do not alter, copy or distribute in any way.

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