Chapter Two: The Griffin and the Warrior! (The protagonist still has not appeared)

“Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!” The bell tolled urgently, signifying a formidable enemy at the gates.

“Guards! Guards!” In that moment, King Uther cast aside all traces of earlier weakness; his bearing turned to iron as he called loudly for the royal guard.

A squad of knights clad in crimson surcoats burst in at once, each weapon in hand—a clear sign of crisis. After all, no one would dare draw steel in the king’s dining hall unless the situation was dire.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“What is happening outside?” King Uther asked with composure. As sovereign, he would never let his countenance betray any hint of fear or indecision before his subjects.

Several knights exchanged uneasy glances, uncertain how to explain. Uther’s displeasure grew at their hesitation. His father had once told him: Never allow your subjects to flounder in confusion. When they seek answers from you, respond at once—even if you must invent the answer. Uther had taken this to heart, holding both himself and his retainers to that standard, though he never spoke of the last part aloud. If his men could not answer promptly, of what use were they?

“Leon! You speak!” Uther had no time to reprimand the lot, so he called upon Sir Leon, his most trusted knight, to reply.

“Yes, Sire.” Sir Leon was a typical Celt, with red hair and beard, both slightly curled, as severe and rigid as the king he served. Yet even this unflinching knight fumbled for words, for he knew well the gravity of deceiving the king. He doubted the messenger had lied, but the report seemed almost too fantastical to be true.

“It’s a griffin, Sire. The soldiers saw a griffin flying toward Camelot,” Leon answered honestly, as any true knight must.

At the mention of the griffin, Uther’s head throbbed. Of late, the beast had wrought havoc in the surrounding villages—over fifty souls devoured, countless property and livestock lost. Uther had not been idle; he had sent soldiers to hunt it, but their weapons glanced harmlessly off its iron-hard hide, only enraging the creature further. Many brave men had fallen to no effect.

“Then what are you waiting for? Send out the knights at once!” Uther no longer cared for the knights’ earlier hesitation. Should the beast breach Camelot, it would spell disaster indeed.

Arthur, too, forgot his gloom. He immediately called for Merlin, instructing him to fetch his armor and sword. As commander of the knights, he could not afford to sit idle at such a time.

Yet just then, Sir Leon called out to Arthur, a strange look upon his face.

“Wait, my lord!”

---

“What is it? Have you more ill tidings?” Uther, frayed by Leon’s agitation, felt his nerves unraveling. Lately, Camelot had suffered calamity after calamity—no sooner did one misfortune pass than the next arrived. Uther had scarcely slept a sound night in days, and had grown somewhat numb to it all.

“No… I am not sure if this is good news or ill. I would rather call it strange news…” Sir Leon was not given to jest, but the message from the soldiers left him at a loss. “The soldiers report that the griffin is engaged in battle—with a man.”

Uther was not pleased with Leon’s uncharacteristic lack of clarity and gravity. Yet this peculiar news, in Uther’s mind, was not all bad. The griffin’s rampage had left knights and soldiers alike wary of facing it; to know that someone now dared combat the monster was heartening.

Uther was about to order a handsome reward be prepared for this brave soul when Leon finished his report.

“They are fighting in the air…”

Uther’s words caught in his throat. He stared at his knight in astonishment. “In the air?”

It was Merlin, lurking at the sidelines, who perked up at this. After all, to battle a griffin airborne smacked of magic—something Merlin was always keenly interested in.

And there was another deeply interested party.

“Is it magic or sorcery?” Uther’s expression, which had shown a glimmer of hope, now hardened once more.

In Camelot, all magic and sorcery were forbidden. Any who dared traffic with such arts within the city faced the headsman’s axe—no exceptions, no mercy. It was King Uther’s decree that had instituted this iron law, and of this, he was most proud: Camelot’s laws had never yet been broken. Any who defied them suffered the most brutal punishment. Uther was ever vigilant against even the faintest whisper of magic.

At this, Arthur and Merlin exchanged a helpless glance—no words were needed.

Leon and the others were hardly surprised; after all, Uther’s reputation as a tyrant was well earned.

“I cannot say for certain, my liege… At least, the knights on the wall saw no trace of magic,” said Leon. Uther’s men had slain more sorcerers than they could count; they were well attuned to the signs of spellcraft. “The… the warrior, it seems, was astride the griffin in combat… at least, that is the report I received.”

Uther exhaled quietly. None knew better than he the dangers of magic; if he could, he would never again cross paths with such things in his lifetime. His curiosity was piqued, though, by this warrior who dared battle a griffin in midair.

Like all kings of his age, Uther was enamored of valor—especially when it came in prodigious measure.

---

“Let us go and witness the valor of the warrior who dares battle a griffin in the skies!” Eagerly, Uther strode out, curiosity overriding all else.

Arthur, so like his father in his admiration for martial prowess, rushed out as well, barely bothering to don his armor, heedless of Merlin stumbling after him, arms laden with the heavy mail.

…

When the company reached the city walls, they found the knights and soldiers there had abandoned all pretense of vigilance—whistling and shouting encouragement instead.

Uther, ever the stern ruler—some might rightly call him a tyrant—darkened with fury at the disorder, the utter lack of Camelot’s martial discipline.

But soon, he had no room in his mind for his soldiers’ unruliness.

His attention was wholly captured by the battle raging above.

…

Shrill cries pierced the sky as all heads tilted upward. There, rolling and writhing in the air, was a monstrous beast five meters long—its body a dusky blue-black, its head that of an eagle, its torso that of a lion.

This monster had made quite a name for itself of late. Many knights and soldiers had seen it with their own eyes, though none had met it and come off well.

None harbored any fondness for the creature; seeing someone finally giving it a sound thrashing, they could not help but cheer—especially since its latest target was Camelot itself. None wished to face the horror again.

It was not for lack of courage, but of means—their weapons were utterly useless against it; what could they do? So they left it to the warrior above. And what a relief it was—a true champion, it seemed, had the upper hand at last.