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

Warden,” Turab said. He was silent for a moment, then seemed to shake off whatever memory was holding him. “Revas took that wound from an ogre. It grabbed her after a dive, pulled her down. Nearly killed her. Dalsiral gave his life to save his steed. She’s been difficult since. In mourning, the roostmaster says. And angry, too. If you can bring her back, it would be a great service to the order. Revas is one of our best.”
    He continued his walk down the wall, his plate mail ablaze in the sunlight. Isseya turned back to the griffon, who had lifted her head to watch Turab while he spoke.
    “Is that true?” she whispered. “Are you grieving?”
    Revas snorted again and turned her head to watch the others. But she took a step closer as she did, enfolding Isseya in the warm animalic smell of her feathers.
    Garahel was scratching the neck of an odd-looking male griffon about forty feet away. The animal had the rangy look of a juvenile that hadn’t quite grown into its adult frame, and his color was very unusual. Large patches of white splashed across the fur on his belly and forequarters, while the rest of him was a brindled brownish-gray.
    Most griffons were variations of gray. Solid whites and blacks existed but were uncommon, and parti-colored ones were even more rare. While fighting griffons were bred for speed, intelligence, and athleticism, rather than color, gray was the dominant type. The others were recessive, and seldom showed among the Wardens’ ranks.
    Not that color was the only oddity about Garahel’s new friend. One of the griffon’s ears flopped forward instead of standing up in a swept-back point like it should have. There was a sharp kink in his tail, which bushed out in a great furry puff more like a fox’s tail than the long sleek lion’s tail that most griffons had.
    In all, the young male was a very peculiar-looking griffon. And he was actually purring as Garahel scratched his neck. The griffon butted the top of his head against the elf’s chest, nearly bowling her brother over.
    “That’s an odd bird,” Isseya called.
    “Of course he is,” Garahel replied, wheezing for breath. He seemed delighted at having been knocked backward, though, and immediately resumed scratching the griffon’s neck even more vigorously. “He’s mine . The unlikeliest of heroes, that’s us.”
    “Does he have a name?”
    “Thunder, according to the chest plate. But I don’t think that fits, do you?” Garahel asked the griffon.
    The big animal flattened his ears and hissed, sticking his tongue out. The elf nodded sagely at this response. “That’s what I thought. So we’ll need something else. Oddbird, maybe. Scruffy? No, too predictable. Scragglebeak? Hmm, no, sounds like a geriatric pirate in need of a shave. Ah! I know. Crookytail!”
    “Crookytail,” Isseya repeated. “You want to name your war griffon Crookytail. ”
    “He likes it better. Don’t you?” Garahel cooed, scratching under the griffon’s chin.
    Isseya bit her tongue. There were bigger concerns in the world than her brother giving an undignified name to his griffon. And really, if there was a single griffon in Thedas who was going to have a ludicrous name, it might as well be that one. Nobody could possibly take the poor beast seriously anyway.
    Within a few minutes, the rest of the Wardens had chosen, or been chosen by, their griffons. They’d loaded their bags, saddled their new mounts, and adjusted the reins to fit their grasps. To Isseya’s surprise, it didn’t seem that anyone was left over, or had been stuck with a beast that they found less than ideal. Garahel had chosen the only odd one in the lot, and the others all seemed as taken with their new companions as she was.
    “Under normal circumstances, we’d have you train together,” Warden-Commander Turab said when they’d all been paired. “Easy rides around Weisshaupt, some flyby target practice, drills with dives and landings. Nice gradual training. Months of