“The chains are heavy today.”
Charcoal glanced at the elderly griffon to his right. The two of them were linked together with glowing, enchanted chains. The older griffon scratched at his puffy beard of feathers as he regarded their dour surroundings. “Looks like we’re next.”
The door opened, sending light pouring into the dark room. The silhouette of a centaur soldier filled the doorway. “Bring the next two prisoners, it’s time.”
With a grunt of affirmation, another centaur grasped the griffons’ chains and led them outside. The sun seared Charcoal’s eyes as they adjusted to the light.
The first object to come into focus was a towering pyramid of sandstone and limestone. Four meticulously planned angles pointed straight towards the sunrise. It was the pinnacle of griffon achievement, the crown of the eastern continent.
Gobs of black smoke poured out of a hole in its side. The entire structure shuddered periodically as slabs of stone were lowered onto hauling carts. These were pulled away by teams of centaurs who carted them off to parts unknown.
“I was there when they laid the capstone,” the bearded griffon mumbled. “I never thought I’d live to see it torn to rubble.”
The soldiers led them down the road, past several griffon-form sphinxes. Most had long, deep scars running down their stone bodies, and one or two were missing heads. Other griffons were slowly plodding down the road, chained by their mighty centaur lords.
They were brought to an open courtyard, which sported a stage and a seating area. Dozens of nervous griffons knelt before the stage in various stages of disarray: ragged and dirty, burdened and haggard, or bruised and bloody. The stage held several centaur soldiers in full armor; the commander strode forth and beckoned the two chained griffons forward.
Charcoal hesitated, but was pushed on by the guard behind him. The centaur commander nodded to his soldier. “Bring me the bearded one.”
As he was unchained, the old griffon smiled. “Don’t let them see you sad, m’boy. They like it too much, the sadistic no-accounts.”
“Get over here!” The griffon was dragged over to the ‘taur in charge. Though the old one tried to keep his eyes downcast, the commander grasped his beard and lifted him bodily to eye-level. “Look at me. Look at me!”
When the griffon relented, the commander grinned. “Now, do you admit your crimes against your new king? Do you concede that he is the rightful ruler, and that his word is law? Do you deny your affiliation with that wretch who called herself empress?”
Silence descended upon the courtyard as the audience waited for his response. A faint chuckle drifted from the griffon, and he looked up at the commander piteously. “You know the answer to all of those questions, Commander Tirek.”
Tirek nodded. “And you know the punishment for your crimes!”
The griffon was thrown down to the wooden floor, and his head was placed atop a hardwood block. Commander Tirek raised an iron axe above his head. “Thus to all enemies of his majesty!”
The axe fell with a thunk, severing the last days of the old griffon’s life.
Charcoal leapt up in an attempt to spread his wings and fly to the elder’s rescue, but the chains were too strong and his action came too late. He was dragged down to earth by two soldiers and brought before the commander. The lead centaur cracked his neck as he regarded the prone griffon. “And what’s your answer to those questions?”
When the prisoner continued to struggle, Tirek shrugged. “I suppose that will have to do. Set him up on the block.”
With his neck on the block, Charcoal’s heart began racing. He couldn’t move, couldn’t see what was going on behind him, couldn’t even breathe. Sound of a minor scuffle rose behind him as Commander Tirek argued with another centaur, and he turned to get a look.
The object of the commander’s tirade was a younger centaur, barely old enough to grow a beard. Tirek towered over him, shouting commands in his subordinate’s face. “Now’s the time to prove you’re tough enough! I want you to take this axe”—He shoved his bloody weapon into the younger soldier’s hands—“And execute the prisoner!”
The centaur glanced at the bound griffon. “But sir-”
“Listen to me! This might be your last chance to prove yourself, so don’t screw up!”
Charcoal’s head was brought down on the block, and his entire body was restrained completely. Centaurs to either side held his chains tight, grinning at the fate that was about to befall him. The axe scrapped along the ground, drawing ever closer.
He struggled again in desperation, fruitless though it was. He saw a glint of sunlight as it reflected off of the raised instrument of destruction, and felt the end drawing near.
His gaze met the young centaur’s yellow eyes. The soldier was breathing heavily, strong hands grasping the handle with a death-like grip. The would-be executioner opened and closed his mouth as though he was whispering a silent prayer.
Finally, the centaur spoke one quiet, powerful word. “Run.”
A mighty clang reverberated across the yard, the sound of iron on steel. The power behind the centaur’s swing broke the chains holding Charcoal down. With his restraints severed, the weight on his body disappeared in an instant and the prisoner took to the sky.
Charcoal looked back to see a young centaur get tackled by the remaining guards. He swung the axe wildly, butting a few soldiers aside. His efforts were rewarded by a long spear plowing through his chest. He gasped as he fell, dropping the axe to clutch at the weapon stealing his life away.
Tirek stood over the younger’s body, eyes blazing with unadulterated hatred. “Find that griffon! I want him dead! Dead!”
Charcoal flew as he had never flown before, and as few griffons ever would again. His pulse pounded in his feathery ears as his wings beat furiously. He zeroed in on a small town near the Great River, full of mud-brick houses and thatched rooftops. He hit the ground running, galloping towards one house in particular.
He was about to enter the house when a patrol of centaurs appeared in the crossroads. The griffon ducked into an alleyway to allow them the pass. The soldiers wore gilded armor, a far cry from the basic iron and chain mail that most of the centaurs sported. Two of them carried a liter on their backs, a plush fur drape concealing the occupant.
The troop halted at the command of a deep voice. “Whoa.”
The centaurs carrying the liter knelt down and the curtain parted. A grey unicorn strode forth, his hooves shod with iron and his head crowned with silver. His green eyes seemed to glow as he surveyed the town. “This is the final stop on the tour?”
“Yes, my king,” one gilded knight answered.
Though the sun was still beating down, the unicorn drew a fur cloak tight around his barrel. “Where are the griffons? Where are my new subjects?”
“Uh, inside the houses, I think.”
Charcoal dug his talons into the sand as he held his breath. He was mere feet from The Unicorn King. He was unable to escape notice, as the unicorn twisted his head around, bringing his full attention to the escaped prisoner. “You there, what is the name of this town?”
With a gasp, Charcoal bowed low. His talons made long furrows in the dirt as he stretched his front legs towards the king in a desperate display of reverence. His mouth dried up as his throat constricted, and he was unable to give any sort of answer.
“Well?” the unicorn said. “I will not be kept waiting.”
The tramping of hooves arose from the distance. Charcoal opened one eye to see a dust cloud approaching. At the head of the cloud was the centaur commander, Tirek. “My lord!” the officer shouted to The Unicorn King. “There is an escaped prisoner!”
With the unicorn’s attention on the nearing hoard, Charcoal took the opportunity to sprint to his house. Once inside, he slammed and barred the door with a wooden plank. The sounds of armor clanking and weapons rattling sent shivers running down his spine.
“Break the door down!” he heard Tirek shout. “Beat him if you need to, but his life belongs to me!”
Charcoal rifled through boxes, cubbies, and cupboards, but was unable to find what he was searching for. The door shuddered as the centaurs rammed into it, but it stood strong against the onslaught.
“Enough!” the booming voice of The Unicorn King interrupted the attack. “Just burn it down.”
Charcoal’s heart skipped a beat as he looked up at the thatched roof of his house. He heard the centaurs lighting torches in preparation to cook him inside a ready-made clay oven. He searched under the bed and on top of the wardrobe; he was running out of places to look.
A tiny cough drew his attention to a small basket, tucked out of sight behind a hefty chest. A small bundle lay wrapped in a blue blanket, settled neatly in the middle of the basket. Charcoal picked up the bundle in one talon, and set about finding an exit to his house.
With a deafening crackle, a portion of the roof caved in. The burning straw landed on the dresser, catching the furniture on fire almost instantly. More of the roof tumbled down, showering the griffon with sparks. He raised his wings to protect the bundle, praying that his feathers wouldn’t be too damaged to fly.
The door was torn off of its hinges as Tirek forced his way inside. His battle axe knocked the barrier aside like plywood. His muscles bulged as he strode into the fire, heedless of the burns that began appearing on his bare arms. He towered over Charcoal, axe raised in one hand in preparation to exact the griffon’s penalty.
Charcoal shut his eyes tight, waiting for the cold iron to part his warm flesh. Instead of a biting cut, the centaur gave him a piercing question. “Why!?”
The griffon raised his head abruptly, his mouth agape. He tilted his head and squinted at Tirek, waiting for him to elaborate.
“Give me one good reason,” Commander Tirek fumed, “Why my son should give his life for yours!”
Charcoal’s beak clacked shut as his pupils dilated. Tirek’s expression changed slightly. Pain lurked behind his fire-spewing eyes; harsh, heart-stopping pain. The axe was still poised for death bringing, waiting for either a yay or neigh from Tirek. Slowly, precisely, Charcoal drew back the blanket covering the bundle. A small ball of downy fuzz lay within, grasping at the air and crying softly.
The bundle contained a young baby chick, barely a season old.
Tirek’s eyes drifted from the baby, to the father, and back again. He nodded. With a mighty swing, he brought the axe down in an arc, smashing a burning clump of thatch out of the roof and to the floor. The hole that remained was just big enough for the griffon to fly through.
The commander turned his piercing gaze back to Charcoal. “By all the terrors of Tartarus, make it count!”
Charcoal launched himself and his child through the roof, sending a shower of sparks flying onto the collected centaur soldiers. He soared as high as he could, far out of the range of thrown spears or lances. The sun set before him as he raced to the coast.
A barge sat low in the water, with a small circle of griffons waiting to board. He skidded to a stop before them, causing many to gasp with shock.
“Charcoal!” one matronly griffoness exclaimed. “We thought you had been executed!”
“We saw your house go up in flames,” another added. “Is your kid...?”
Charcoal picked himself up wearily, his legs shaking from effort. He held the bundle out to the others, revealing his son lying contentedly against its father’s chest. A collective “daw” arose as the chick yawned and opened its eyes.
A brawny griffon took Charcoal by the shoulder and led him towards the boat. “Come on, kid. Let’s be on our way. I hear that Equestria’s lovely this time of year.”
The griffons piled into the barge, and they set sail for greener pastures. Charcoal sat back against a barrel, finally finding a moment to relax. The griffoness gently took the chick from his talons, removing the blanket to get a full look at it. “Oh, he reminds me so much of his mother, Glory rest her soul, don’t you think?”
Charcoal nodded as his mused at his son’s body; from the bright-golden feathers on his eagle-esque head and forelegs, to the blue-coated pony-like hindquarters.
“I swear, Charcoal, I never thought I’d see a hippogriff in my lifetime.” She smiled as the baby cooed. “I think he’ll fit right in with the rest of Equestria.”
She would have continued on, like any grandmother worth her salt, but Charcoal had fallen fast asleep. She placed the young hybrid on his father’s chest, and allowed the two of them to rest.
“Mark my words, lil’ Moshe, there’ll be big changes in store.”
Author's Note
This was written as both a one-shot entry into the World-Building Alliance's May Writing Prompt, "a species is on the edge of disaster, what happens next?"; and a minor tie-in to my ongoing story, Sonata de Equestria.
I hope that you found something enjoyable about the story. If so, leave a comment.
If you did not like the story, I would like to hear your thoughts on that, too.
As an aside, I like to use these short stories as an opportunity to use a new writing style. Charcoal would be my attempt at a silent protagonist. What do you think of that?
