Dragon Age: Last Flight by Liane Merciel Read Free Book Online

Taiya, and a sullen, heavily tattooed tribesman from the Anderfels whose name Isseya did not know. All were carrying their saddlebags; they wouldn’t be spending another night in the palace. “You’re taking a partner who will share your life for many years. You will eat together, fight together, stand long and lonely guard together. Your lives, and your companions’ lives, will depend on the trust you share with your griffon. Abuse it, and you’ll have the worst enemy you could ever know.”
    “Sounds like a wife,” Garahel said wryly, trudging up after the dwarf.
    Turab nodded sagely. “That’s a fair way of putting it. If your wife outweighed you six times over, ate a live goat at each meal, and could snap every bone in your body under one foot.”
    “I did once seduce a Qunari,” the elf murmured.
    That earned a snort of amusement from the Warden-Commander. Upon reaching the top of the wall, the red-bearded dwarf stood aside to let the others pass him onto the wall. Isseya was flushed and sweaty, and both of the sisters were mopping perspiration from their shiny heads after that long hot climb, but Turab wasn’t even breathing hard.
    “Some of these griffons have just finished their training; others lost their original riders to the Blight and need new ones,” the dwarf said as the young Wardens emerged onto the wall. “Fenadahl and the others rode them out here as the last step in the evaluation. We believe they’ll make good matches for the lot of you. While we have recommendations for specific pairs, in the end the final choice is between you and your griffon. So go on, get to know one another.”
    Isseya shaded her eyes against the sun and looked over the preening griffons. She picked her way across the wall to approach them, feeling strangely shy. Up close, the beasts were always bigger than she’d thought, and more beautiful.
    One of them, a muscular black female, raised her head as the elf approached. The griffon’s eyes were a lighter shade of amber than most; against the rich darkness of her feathers, they shone like yellow diamonds. Her beak had a faint tortoiseshell pattern, rough and chipped along its edges. She was the most breathtaking thing Isseya had ever seen.
    She was scarred, too. A long, wavery stripe of bald gray skin ran along the side of the griffon’s neck where something had ripped flesh and feathers away. The injury was completely healed, but Isseya could tell it was recent and had been healed by magic, because the nearby feathers were still cut short. Had the wound healed of its own accord, those feathers would have grown back fully.
    “What’s your name?” the elf murmured, looking down to the front of the griffon’s harness. The great beasts did not wear collars, but their names were inscribed on the chest plates of their battle harnesses. This one said …
    “Revas,” she read aloud. It was an Elvish word: “freedom.”
    The griffon’s tufted ears flickered upward in recognition at the sound of her name. She opened her beak and let out a hiss, then abruptly rested her enormous head on Isseya’s shoulder. Leonine musk filled the elf’s nostrils, along with an undercurrent of blood and bone marrow that lingered around the griffon’s chin.
    The weight buckled Isseya’s knees, but she didn’t mind one bit. “I suppose I’m claimed,” she said to Warden-Commander Turab as he passed by.
    The dwarf paused, a thoughtful look flickering across his bearded face. “I suppose you are,” he agreed. “Revas lost her rider just a few weeks back. His name was Dalsiral. He was a Dalish elf. Did you know him?”
    Isseya shook her head. She felt a prickle of irritation that Turab would even ask—were all elves supposed to know one another, just because they were elves?—but it didn’t last. His question was meant honestly, and anyway, it was impossible to hold on to anger in the face of the awe and happiness that suffused her at having her own griffon.
    “He was a good