Free Chaos Storm (The Flight of the Griffin Book 2) by C.M. Gray

amongst the clouds in obvious delight. Her passengers, however, weren't faring quite so well. Sunny it may be, but warm it most certainly wasn't. Pardigan crouched down, his icy fingers gripping
The Griffin's
pelt searching for warmth, his legs locked around her great body. Ahead of him crouched Mahra and in front of her, astride the wings hugging
The Griffin's
neck to stay warm sat Quint, taking the full force of the icy air as he attempted to guide the great beast.
    Each passenger lost track of time, lost in a world of cold and white. Then, after what seemed an eternity,
The Griffin
dipped back down into the clouds. Pardigan was only vaguely aware of the light dimming, the sudden increase in speed and the wetness of the clouds streaming back down his face when they burst from the clouds into a bleak but thankfully now rainless day. Swooping down, they skimmed the top of a small forest, then over a series of muddy fields. A town came into view in the distance, and
The Griffin
flared her wings, finally coming to rest close to a large oak tree, startling several crows into load raucous flight.
    Too stiff and cold to move much, the riders fell to the ground like so much wet laundry and lay there unmoving.
The Griffin
turned her head to regard them, her breathing, heavy from the exertion of the flight, pluming as a fine cloud into the cold air.
    'Th-th-hanks,
Griffin
,' mumbled Pardigan. He forced his limbs to move and stood up, shivering. His hands were numb, and he was soaked to the skin, as were his two companions. He nudged them both with his boot and then when they started to move, helped them stand.
The Griffin
gave a soft quizzical
'kaawww,'
then dipped her head and started to investigate the berries on a small bush to its side.
    They spent some time first walking up and down and then jumping about, trying to bring some feeling back. The flight had taken less than a turn of the glass, but on horseback, the journey would have been several days. Still shivering, they said their goodbyes to
The Griffin,
and then stomped off towards Barnham Bolt, in search of an Inn, a chance to change into dry clothes, some hot food and a fire to dry out their things.
    After walking a short distance through dripping pine trees, they crested a rocky rise and got their first real look at Barnham Bolt. They were on an outcrop; high up on a hill looking down into a valley so could see the lay out of the town built within its protective wooden stockade. It appeared quite large and rather shabby. Built around two streets, one running north to south, and the other east to west, it was a sorry looking place. The stockade wall appeared to have been subjected to several recent attacks, large patches were damaged, and a section was blackened and burnt. A team of workers were replacing huge wooden sections using a team of oxen.
    'And why are we here… remind me again?' asked Pardigan, peering uncertainly at the ragged remnants of the town's defence.
    'To introduce ourselves to the King's agent so we can pass back information, but I know what you mean,' said Quint peering around. 'It doesn't look like a very inviting place does it. I keep thinking we could be fishing at Minster Island, relaxing in the sun. But if you need a reason, I feel good just blaming you, Pardigan. You just had to take the rose, didn't you? And because of it, we're now here.' Pardigan didn't answer, he simply slogged on downhill, slipping occasionally on the mud, towards the gateway, his head held low.
    As they approached they could see four guards with crossbows peering over the stockade near the gates. Two others waited below, shuffling their feet trying to keep warm.
    'Come forward and state your business,' called one as soon as they were close enough to hear him. He beckoned at the soggy trio to come forward.
    'Well our business firstly, is to dry out and get warm,' said Pardigan, his teeth chattering. 'If I were to be any wetter, I'd be a fish. Is there an Inn here?' The guard