During the age of fear the city of Kath was nothing more than a small village, really more of a settlement, a few wooden building huddled together on the coast road. A few hardy souls eked out a living by farming vegetables and raising small flocks. They earned extra coins by selling what little was left to infrequent travelers. At the edge of the forest there was a quiet inn frequented by adventurers on their way to the mountains looking for wealth and glory. One afternoon a lone wizard came to the inn. The trials of a long journey hung heavy on the wizard's face. He wasn't old, but a scowl made him appear older than his years. Nothing about the man set him apart from the inn's usual patrons, with the exception of the mount upon which he arrived. Passing laborers and townspeople shrank back from the huge feathered beast as it landed near the inn. Eagle eyes peered at the crowd sending many onlookers away in a rush. They had heard stories of the ferocity of beasts such as this. Its front talons were said to be able to kill a horse in one strike and the lion-like hind quarters looked no less deadly. Everyone was sure to give the beast a wide berth, scurrying by, afraid to come to close to the razor sharp beak. Horses whinnied nervously as the wizard tethered his mount to a post near the door and walked inside
It was late in the afternoon and the setting sun cast. long shadows, chasing the peasants home. The chilly night could be dangerous this close to the forest. The inn's common room was filled with revelers celebrating the completion of the harvest. None, save the barkeep, even noticed the wizard as he entered. He shook the dust from the folds of his cloak and hung it on the wall. Beneath his cloak the spellcaster wore a tooled leather tunic over a soft cotton shirt. His trousers were tucked into high riding boots that gleamed in the light shining fitfully from the lamps hung from the ceiling's rough hewn beams. The barkeep hustled over to a serving wench, commanding her to wait on their new patron. He knew a man of means when he saw one. Slipping through the milling crowd, the wench made her way toward the wizard. He was handsome and the lack of a weapon on his hip marked him as a man with subtler talents. Such men often made fine husbands. The wench scurried up to the wizard and politely greeted him.
"Good evening my lord. What is your pleasure tonight." She shot him a knowing glance.
"I'll let you know later, for now I would very much like a nice, stout ale. It seems the dust from the road has almost choked the life from me." The wench smiled and turned to retrieve his drink. He walked further into the room, searching for an empty seat. The warm, friendly atmosphere of the room seemed to erase the wizards worried look. He approached a low table occupied by a simple looking farmer and his rheumy wife.
"May I sit here?" The farmer was shocked but was managed to nod in agreement. The wizard sat, scanning the crowd of people with a friendly gaze. That changed suddenly. He sucked in a breath as he recognized a burly warrior sitting at a nearby table. Apparently the man also knew the wizard. He stood quickly and confronted the spellcaster.
"Blasted wizard, how dare you come here." The wizard stared in disbelief at the warrior.
"Donal, I thought you were dead. Where are the others, are they here with you?"
"No Uther, they're all dead. I'm the only one who made it out of that bloody cave, no thanks to you." The warrior made a move toward the wizard but thought better of it.
"There was nothing I could do," Uther stammered, "if I had tried a spell the demon would have caught us for sure."
"That sure didn't stop you from using that ring of yours to disappear," Donal hissed with hatred in his voice. "After you disappeared the bugger scented us and attacked. It killed the others before I could finish it off. If you had stayed maybe Charles and Hadad would still be alive. We really could have used your spells, but you left us there." The wizard jumped to his feet and backed away, unable to answer the accusation of cowardice. The common folk filling the inn hurriedly cleared a space around the two adventurers, afraid to come between the angry men. Uther reached toward his beltpouch. One on one he was no match for the trained warrior. Magic was his only chance. Like an animal, Donal fell upon the wizard. "Oh no you don't. Your magic saved you once, but not this time." He seized the spellcaster by the throat with one hand while pummeling him with the other. Uther fumbled for his pouch, hoping to stop the fighter with a quick spell. He was able to open the pouch and remove a pinch of powder. Uther threw the powder at Donal and mouthed a spell, but the words would not come. Donal's grip was too tight. Realizing he had the advantage, the warrior only smiled and squeezed harder.
No one dared stop the raging man. If his bulk was not enough of a deterrent, the huge sword strapped to his back was. The crowd stood by and watched him beat and choke the wizard. Finally, Donal released the limp body, letting it slump to the floor. He reached down and tore the ring from Uther's lifeless hand. With one last look, he gathered his things and left. No one moved until he was gone. They did not want to risk ending up like the wizard. Finally, the tension eased. One by one the peasants left in silence.
With the wizard dead, the townspeople did not know what to do with his mount. For a week the innkeeper threw bits of food to the griffin. He prayed that it did not realize that its master was dead. These creatures were revered for their loyalty and had the reputation of fiercely defending their masters to the death. The story of the wizard's demise soon swept across the surrounding countryside, becoming a favorite of the local people. People came from all over to see the fearsome beast hitched to a post waiting for its dead master to return. Finally, the griffin snapped the snapped the tether and flew away into the night, leaving behind nothing but a legend.
After many years people could not even remember if there was any truth to the story, but that wasn't important. For one night, at least, the common lives of the poor farmers had been touched by the extraordinary world of glorious adventure and fabulous treasures. The area was thereafter known as Griffin's Post. Eventually the village grew into a town and then into a city, but the inn still stood.
By Douglas Warren
