The Golden Griffin (Book 3) by Michael Wallace

am their friend. But I was also an owl. There was only so much I could do.”
    Markal threw up his hands. “By the Brothers, we wouldn’t even have known about this if we hadn’t pried it out of you. Is there anything else? You didn’t spot the dark wizard at the head of ten thousand men or anything, right?”
    “I don’t think so.” Narud got a far-off look and plucked at his beard. “No, no, I’m certain.”
    Markal sighed and gave Darik a look. Can you believe I have to deal with this?
    “You see?” Darik said. “Sometimes all you want is a straight answer to a straight question.”
    “All right, all right,” Markal said. “You want answers, you’ll get them. Here is why I sent the horses off with your sword and the supplies. We’re going right over that mountain. It will cut a day and a half off our journey.”
    He pointed to one of the lower mountains to the east. Lower yes, but still plenty intimidating. The rare tree or clump of brush clung to the mountainside, but for the most part it was a rocky, boulder-strewn escarpment. Nobody could climb that way.
    Narud coughed. He covered his mouth, then bent over, hacking like he was choking on something.
    Markal slapped him on the back. “Come on. Get it out.”
    A final cough from Narud, then he spit something onto the ground. It was a slimy mass of bones and feathers. A mouse skull poked out one side.
    Narud straightened and wiped at his mouth. “Yech.”
    “Next time, try to spit up your pellets before you change back,” Markal said.
    Suddenly, Darik understood. A thrill raced down his spine. “Oh, I understand.”
    “Don’t get too excited,” Markal said. “You’re not flying over the top, if that’s what you’re hoping. That’s too much magic for you, and a bird brain is far too different from your own. For your first time, you might not be able to change back again.” He gave Narud the side eye. “Although, come to think of it, some people always find the transition challenging.”
    Narud didn’t seem to notice the insinuation. He stared up at the mountain slope. “Mountain goats. That’s what we need.”
    Darik couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re going to turn me into a goat?”
    “You’re going to turn yourself,” Markal said. “Or try, anyway.”
    “What is the final bit of the incantation for mountain goat?” Narud asked his fellow wizard. “Caverus?”
    “Cabiris,” Markal said without hesitation. “Caverus is the other kind of goat. Haven’t you done a mountain goat before?”
    “Sure, dozens of times. How about you?”
    “Never.”
    “Ah, well, it’s a good thing you remembered. That would have been inconvenient to turn into a billy goat up here. There are wolves around.”
    “Wolves?” Darik said. “That sounds dangerous no matter what kind of goat you’re talking. How about mountain lions? They could climb that, couldn’t they?”
    The other two wizards ignored him. Narud threw his cloak over his shoulder and lifted his right hand. “Cabiris, you say? Good. Novum lycanthus cabiris.”
    Even as he said the incantation, Markal was jumping in to interrupt. “Wait, not yet. I need to tell the boy—oh, bother. Do you have to be so impatient?”
    Narud dropped to his knees.
    “Nothing to be done for it now,” Markal told Darik. “Pay attention. Watch the transformation if you can.”
    But that was impossible because suddenly Darik found his attention dragged elsewhere. He wanted to search the trees for bandits or wolves, to look back at the stream, to see if the nearby bushes had any berries.
    When he glanced back, Narud was gone and a gray goat stood in front of him. It had spiraled horns, a beard, and sharp-looking hooves. It trotted into the brush on the side of the road and disappeared.
    “You weren’t watching, were you?” Markal said.
    “I tried. Where did his cloak go?”
    “It became his pelt.”
    “So we won’t come out the other side naked?”
    “No.”
    “Then what about my sword?