Pars Darlon returned to Fort Battleaxe six days after Drake. Colonel Vento, who was responsible for the ranger corps and liked to handle each of them personally to get a better feel for what was going on in the surrounding forest, ushered him into a briefing room to hear his report. Then he ordered him to prepare to leave again immediately with a group of ‘volunteers' on a spying mission. Pars was astounded. "A spying mission?" he asked incredulously. "You're kidding! Why don't you just get one of the priests to ask Samnos, like you usually do?"

     "Resalintas will explain everything," said Vento. "He'll be leading the expedition. He was the one who suggested you as guide."

     "Resalintas?" said Pars in even greater amazement. "Not Resalintas! Not old stoneface! Did you hear that, Boris? Resalintas himself is coming with us!" The grikon, sitting on his shoulder with its tail curled fondly around his neck, gave a chirp to express its own surprise. "So, when are we going?" asked the ranger.

     "Within the hour," said Vento. "They were just waiting for you. We were hoping to see you a week ago.”

     "Look, I was trailing a family of trolls back to its lair! That's not something you can hurry! You can't say ‘please mister troll, would you mind showing me where you live so that I can get back home on time.' Now that we know where their lair is, we can send a patrol out to destroy them, and the forest dwellers will be able to sleep a little easier at night. I'd say that was worth a little delay, wouldn't you?"

     Vento knew that it was useless to argue. "All right," he said. "You've got one hour to have a bath and pack some clean underwear. Then report to the griffin stables. Don't be late!"

     "No sir," said Pars as the Colonel marched smartly away. "Come on, Boris." As he hurried to the lifts at the centre of Battleaxe Tower, he thought back to the Colonel's curious reaction when he'd told him how he'd saved the young cleric and her companions from the humanoids chasing them. He had clearly recognised his description of them, and a pained expression had crossed his face, as if he wished he'd left well enough alone and let the shologs have them. They had been heading this way, and must have passed through the city, he thought. They must have caused some kind of mischief while they were here. He hoped they hadn't got themselves into some kind of trouble and been locked up in prison or something. After four days of leading a bunch of shologs a merry chase all through the Overgreen Forest, he'd come to feel a kind of responsibility towards them and hated to think of anything happening to them. He made up his mind to ask someone about them before he left.

     Reaching his rooms on the first floor of the tower, he found that his bathtub had already been filled for him with soapy, steaming hot water, probably by one of the maids, so he stripped off and jumped in, cursing the need to get out again so soon. He liked to have a good soak, lasting for well over an hour and sometimes for two, with a maid bringing more hot water at regular intervals. He rarely got the chance for a bath, spending most of his time tramping through the countryside, so when the chance came he liked to make the most of it.

     For a moment, he considered refusing to go on the mission. After all, setting out again only an hour after getting back was ridiculous, and there had to be some rule somewhere forbidding it. They could always get another guide. Vento would raise hell, but what could he do? Court martial him and have him dishonourably discharged? He'd just go back to living in the forest, as he had before he'd been recruited five years before. He spent most of his time there as it was. He had almost made up his mind to do just that when he remembered the Colonel saying that Resalintas himself had asked for him, Resalintas himself! The thought staggered him. "We can't let down the great Resalintas, can we Boris?" he asked, starting to scrub furiously. The grikon watched curiously from its perch on top of the wardrobe and then started preening itself.

     Half an hour later he got out of the tub, leaving a greasy black line around its rim, and toweled himself dry. Twenty minutes after that, he and Boris were up near the top of the tower, in the griffin stables, where the other members of the spy patrol were waiting for him. They were standing at the bottom of a shaft fifteen storeys deep and forty yards wide that opened out at the very top of the tower. The walls of the shaft contained the griffin stables, two hundred and forty of them, each one opening directly into the shaft, allowing the griffins to fly in and out at will. The only thing keeping them from just flying away was their friendship and loyalty towards their riders. Griffins could not be locked up, or they became fiercely aggressive and unmanageable. They weren't horses, and couldn't be treated like them. No matter how well trained they were, they remained prideful, free creatures. The relationship between a griffin and its rider was not that of an owner and his mount, but that of two people who had agreed to work together for a time. The griffin would stay only as long as it wanted to, and it was up to its rider to see that it wanted to.

     As Pars walked over to join the others, a layer of gravel crunching under his boots, he looked up to see several griffins standing in their stables, looking curiously down at him. They were about the same size as horses, but had the bodies of lions and the heads and wings of eagles. Their screeching cries came echoing down at him. Several flapped their wings, sending a cloud of fine downy feathers drifting down, and a few even left their stables to fly around inside the shaft for a few minutes before returning. As he looked, a flight of six griffins returned from a patrol of the surrounding countryside, entering the shaft and each flying straight into its own stable where its rider dismounted, unsaddled the griffin and gave it some food before leaving by a door at the back that led to his own quarters.

     Drake, standing next to Resalintas and Gallit, looked up to see the ranger emerge from a doorway and approach them across the central arena. Resalintas had told him that Pars Darlon was thirty two years old, but a life in the wilderness had left him looking fifteen years older, with a deep wisdom in his faded blue eyes that told of a depth of experience that would make him invaluable to them. He was wearing tough leather and coarse woolen clothing, worn and faded by the sun and rain, and had a winged lizard sitting on his shoulder. "Captain Resalintas!" he said reverently as he joined them. "It's a great honour to meet you at last. I've heard so much about you."

     "Welcome," replied Resalintas. "This is Corporal Drake, a priest of Samnos like myself, as you can see. This is Sergeant Gallit, and this is Corporal Rivan. The rest of the men will be joining us shortly. Gentlemen, this is Pars Darlon, one of the best rangers in the district."

     "And this is Boris," said Pars, stroking the grikon behind the back of its head. "My travelling companion and friend."

     "Of course," said Resalintas. "My apologies for forgetting to mention him."

     A door opened, and the six men Gallit had picked for the mission emerged onto the floor of the stables. They included Charlie ‘Chestwig' Cheston and Gordon Grey, nicknamed Gordon the Horse for reasons that Drake had been unable to discover. The rest were unknown to Drake, but he knew Gallit would only have chosen the best. "About bloody time," said the Sergeant. "If you'll excuse me, Sir, I'll go and see to them." Resalintas nodded, and Rivan and the Sergeant went off.

     "Are we really going to be flying on griffins?" asked Pars. "I thought only their riders could ride them."

     "They can carry two people, providing one of them is its rider," replied the old priest. "A special bond exists between a griffin and its rider, and the creature will allow no other person to ride it, except in this one special circumstance."

     "How far?" asked Pars. "I understand we'll be going right inside the Shadow. Will they be willing to enter?"

     "That depends on the rider's strength of mind and purpose. If he is resolute and strong, he may be able to persuade his mount to enter, but we're not going to gamble on it. They will carry us the five hundred miles to the edge of the Shadow, drop us off there, and we will continue on foot. They will wait for us there for one week to bring us back again. If we're longer than that, we'll have to walk the whole way back." He looked at the grikon, still sitting on the ranger's shoulder, and preening under one wing. "How about your little pet?" he asked. "How will he react to the Shadow?"

     "Boris is not a pet!" said Pars angrily. "He's my travelling companion. We've been together for a lot of years, and he's saved my life many times. We've been in the Shadow twice before. Not very far inside, I'll grant you, but further than any mere pet would have gone. He handled it as well as I did. You ought to worry more about this kid you're taking with you." Drake looked up at this, but said nothing.

     "I have no worries about young Drake here," said Resalintas, "and I'm sorry if my words offended you. I meant no offence to your travelling companion."

     Pars gave him a reserved nod and decided to change the subject. "There's something I wanted to make sure of before we go. A few days ago, I rescued a group of young people from a bunch of shologs. They were heading this way, and I'd like to make sure they got here okay, that they didn't run into any trouble while they were here. When I told the Colonel about them, he reacted strangely, as if they'd done something to annoy him. I feel sort of responsible for them after saving their lives, and I'd be a lot happier if I knew they were all right before I left."

     "I'm afraid I wouldn't know," replied the old priest. "You'd have to ask the gate keepers, but there's no time for that now. Even if there was, they probably wouldn't be able to help you. Lots of people pass through this city every day."

     "This group was pretty distinctive," said Pars. "They included a shae girl, a nome and a cleric of Caroli. I'm pretty sure that anyone who saw them would remember them." He suddenly noticed that both priests were staring at him in astonishment. "What's wrong? You have seen them, haven't you?"

     "No, but Colonel Vento told me of them," said Resalintas. "They're the reason we're going on this mission. The cleric brought a warning that the Shadowarmies were planning another invasion and, considering that she's a representative of the Gods, the warning has to be taken seriously."

     Pars stared back, his astonishment even greater than theirs. "You mean I brought this on myself? By the Gods! I rescue her from a fate worse than death and this is how she repays me!" Drake smiled in amusement, but stopped at the look on Resalintas’s face.

     "Why was a group of shologs pursuing them?" asked the older priest.

     "The cleric had desecrated a temple of Skorvos. The priest wanted her badly, as you can imagine, but was too busy to go after her himself, so he sent his tribe after her. He was after a priest of Samnos who'd injured him a few days before."

     "When was that exactly?" asked Drake.

     "Ooh now, that would have been about, er, about twenty eight days ago, I think. Why? Do you know that priest?"

     "Yes, I know him quite well," said Drake, smiling again. "It was me."

     "You!" cried Pars in amazement.

     "Small world, isn't it?" said Resalintas dryly.

     "What happened?" asked Pars. "Did he find you?"

     "No," replied Drake. "After we left Eastglade, which was where I wounded him, we never saw any trace of him. Pity. I'd have liked another go at him. I wonder what happened to him."

     "Anything could have happened," said Pars. "The forest is a dangerous place, even for a sholog priest. But isn't it incredible that we're all tied together like this. You, me, and those six young people. Unbelievable!"

     "It is evident that we are all involved in some great plan of the Gods," said Resalintas. "We have our part to play in it and they have theirs. We must see to it that we play our parts well."

     They heard a commotion above them and looked up to see eleven griffins with riders leaving their stables and gliding gently down towards them. "Looks as though it's time to go," said Pars.

     "About time," said Resalintas. "We should have been gone half an hour ago."

     The griffins landed beside them, and Gallit and his men came over to join them. "Sorry we're a bit late," said the lead rider, a bearded man in his mid thirties. "We had a bit of trouble with these new two seater saddles."

     "The delay will go down on your record," said Resalintas emotionlessly. Some quality of his voice made the rider go pale, and he swallowed nervously. The griffin, sensing his rider's discomfort, turned to find its source and cried a warning at the ageing priest, making Drake and Pars jump in fright, but Resalintas simply fixed eyes with the creature and stared. A battle of wills seemed to take place between them, and Pars felt the hairs down the back of his neck prickle as he sensed the energy passing between them. The griffin held the priest's gaze for several moments, but then broke its gaze away and seemed to whimper. The rider stared at Resalintas with fear and profound respect. "If you mount up behind me, sir, we'll leave right away," he said meekly.

     By the Gods, thought the ranger. To his knowledge, no-one had ever outstared a griffin before. He thought back over some of the impudent, rather disrespectful remarks he'd made over the past couple of minutes and cringed inwardly. Remind me never, ever, to give him reason to be angry at me, he warned himself.

     They climbed aboard their griffins, the creatures giving them suspicious glances as they did so, being unaccustomed to the weight of two men on their backs, but their riders whispered into their ears and gave them reassuring pats on their necks, calming them down. The lead rider then gave a signal and the griffins spread their wings wide, displaying their glorious tiger striped plumage. A shower of dust and gravel was sent flying as they beat their wings, creating a billowing downdraught as they strained to lift the extra weight, and the griffin carrying Resalintas, the largest and heaviest man, screamed aloud as it reached for the air, running forward to generate lift. It launched itself with a kick of its powerful legs and then it was airborne, flapping its wings madly as it strained to catch up with the others.