by K J Taylor
She took it. “I cannot eat raw meat any more,” she muttered as she worked. “It makes me ill.”
Arren piled more fuel onto the fire and blew on it to coax it back to life. “The food isn’t very good out here, is it?” He sighed. “If only we were back in my house at Eagleholm. I could cook a proper meal for you.” The dry bark he’d put onto the coals caught and began to burn brightly. “Potatoes—now, I haven’t had those for as long as I can remember. I’d give anything for a plate of boiled potatoes.”
Skade came over carrying a bloody hunk of meat. “Eggs,” she said. “I would love some eggs.”
“Ooh, yes,” said Arren. “A couple of poached eggs with some sage sprinkled on top, and maybe a cup of strayberry milk to go with ’em.”
She gave him an odd look. “Strayberry milk? You can get milk from strayberries?”
Arren laughed. “No, no, of course not. No, it’s something I invented.” He took the meat from her and impaled it on a stick. “What you do is take a cup of ordinary cow’s or goat’s milk, and then you crush a few strayberries—as many as you like—and mix the juice in with the milk. You can add some honey to sweeten it, and warm it on the stove for a while if you want, and then you drink it. It tastes delicious.”
Skade shook her head. “You humans cannot eat anything as it is, can you? You must always insist on burning it or mixing it with something else.”
“Well, if it tastes better that way, I’m not going to complain,” said Arren.
Skade snickered. “You are a strange man, Arren.”
He looked at her. “How do you mean?”
“I knew many Northerners in Withypool,” said Skade. “To me, nearly all of them looked the same. They were not like you, not at all.”
Arren touched his neck. “They wouldn’t be like me, would they? They were slaves, and I’m not.”
Skade watched him with a gleam in her eye. “I have known only two free Northerners in my life,” she said, “and I think you are a better people when you are free. There is a spirit about you that other humans do not have.”
Arren smiled. “Thank you, Skade,” He checked on the meat, moving it closer to the fire. “Who was the other one? The other free Northerner you met?”
Skade did not reply. When he looked at her, he saw she was watching the sky.
Arren looked skyward as well, thinking that maybe she had seen Skandar. There was nothing.
“Skade?”
She looked at him. “Yes, Arren?”
“Do you think he’s going to come back?”
He waited for her reply, almost desperate to hear it, as if she somehow knew what Skandar would do.
“Do you want him to?” she said at length.
Arren glanced skyward again. “Yes,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because—I don’t know. I keep wanting to hate him, but—” Arren gave her an agonised look. “What if he doesn’t come back? What if something happens to him? He doesn’t know where he’s going. What if he gets lost? If I’m not there to help him, he might start eating people again, and then they’ll catch him and kill him.”
Skade smiled to herself. “I am sure he can look after himself. I suggest you wait here for him to return.”
“But what if he doesn’t?”
“I think he will come looking for you sooner or later,” said Skade. “You saved his life, and he will remember it. Besides, where else does he have to go?”
Arren calmed down a little. “Yes, I suppose that’s all we can do for now. I don’t want to leave here without him. When I see him again I’ll apologise to him and hope he forgives me.”
“If he thinks of you as his human, he will come back,” said Skade.
Arren looked at the sky. “I hope you’re right, Skade. I hope you’re right.”
The sun was high overhead, and the screech of a griffin echoed over the rooftops of Norton to signify that it was noon. The town was right on the border between the lands belonging to Eagleholm and the neighbouring territory of Malvern—the city that ruled over what had once been blackrobe land—and though the fortified walls that surrounded it had fallen into disrepair after a hundred years of relative peace, there was a large stone tower in the centre which was still in use. The top was flat, and large platforms jutted from its sides, built specifically for griffins to land and perch on.
Senneck circled above it a few times rather than landing immediately. There were no other griffins in the sky here or any perched on the tower platforms, but there was a small gathering of people on the ground at the base of the tower, and she made her decision and descended toward them. They moved away to let her land, and once she had folded her wings, Erian slid off her back. He paused to pat her on the shoulder and then turned to look at the little group that had come to welcome him.
“Why are there no griffiners here?” he said, without pausing to greet them. “I expected Lord Galrick to be here to meet me. Where is he?”
One of the group came forward, bowing low. “I am sorry, my lord. Lord Galrick left here only two days ago.”
“Left to go where?” Erian demanded.
“Uh, we, uh—we understand that he has gone to Malvern, my lord, to offer his services to Lady Elkin.”
Erian swore. “Already? Curse him! How many others were here with him?”
“Seven, my lord. The lords Sumner, Manolis, Mervis and Dirke, and the ladies Stellana, Katriona and Liyah.”
“And where have they gone, may I ask?”
“I am not certain, my lord. Sumner and Mervis went with Lord Galrick and his wife, Lady Stellana, but the others—they left without notice, shortly after we received word of what had happened at Eagleholm.”
Erian breathed deeply, trying to contain his anger. “So am I to take it that there are no griffiners left here at all?”
“No, my lord,” said the man. “The Lady Kitaen is still here, at the temple.”
“Go and tell her to come here at once,” Erian snapped.
“I believe she is already on her way, my lord,” said the man. “She was delayed by the noon rites, but they will be over by now. If you would like to retire indoors, I am sure that—”
“I have no time to waste,” said Erian. “I shall wait for her here. Bring water for Senneck.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The man nodded to one of his companions, who dashed off and returned a surprisingly short time later with a very large dish and a jug of water. He placed the dish on the ground at a respectable distance from the two of them and filled it with water, keeping his head bowed and not daring to look directly at Senneck as he retreated. The brown griffin watched him disdainfully, and once he was out of the way, she stepped over to the dish and sniffed at its contents. Apparently satisfied, she dipped her beak in the water, tossing her head back to tip it down her throat.
Erian stood by and watched her, careful not to do anything that might annoy her. She had flown a long way in a brief period, and she was probably far more tired than she would be willing to admit. She had only had a human partner for a few months now, and carrying him in the air must still be hard work for her.
He stifled a yawn and adjusted the hang of his sword. It was a fine weapon; it had a long, straight blade made from the finest steel, and the hilt was gold set with large red stones. The swordsmith who had made it for him according to his exact specifications had said that such decorations were unnecessary and impractical, but Erian had been unmoved. He had spent nearly all his life on a farm and had always dreamt of the wealth and grandeur that would be his once he became a griffiner like his father; even if he didn’t have any land or riches yet, nothing could make him put up with a plain sword. Nonetheless, this sword—fine though it was—was nothing but a temporary stand-in. Erian knew which sword he should be carrying. He had seen it only a few times, but he remembered it very clearly. Old, its bronze hilt decorated with images of flying griffins. His father’s sword, now in the hands of his murderer.
Erian�
�s jaw tightened as the crowd parted to let someone through. He saw the griffin before the griffiner: it was female, with yellow-brown feathers and tawny hindquarters. She looked a little too small to be ridden—not that her partner would be able to ride a griffin anyway. Erian had nothing but contempt for the priesthood. Every major temple in Cymria was headed by a griffiner, but very few griffins would allow their partner to join the priesthood voluntarily. A priest was not allowed to own property or to command anyone outside of the spiritual world, and the priesthood was traditionally a dumping ground for unwanted griffiners: younger siblings, cowards, cripples—in essence, anyone judged unable or unfit to fight or command as every griffiner was expected to do.
This one wore the traditional pale-blue gown of a priestess and had rather grubby blonde hair. She was very fat and walked with a slow, heavy-footed gait. Erian sneered inside. No wonder she’d been shunted sideways into the priesthood. There was no griffin on earth that could carry someone her size.
Senneck went forward to meet the griffin, dipping her head respectfully. The other griffin held her own head high, raising her wings slightly to make herself look larger as she sized the newcomer up. Neither of them spoke, but Senneck clicked her beak rapidly as the yellow griffin sniffed at her head and neck, and made no move when she bit her lightly on the nape of the neck to assert her dominance. Erian looked on, slightly annoyed to see his partner deferring to the other griffin, but he knew better than to interfere.
Finally, Senneck backed away and sat on her haunches, her tail curled around her. “I am Senneck,” she said. “My human is named Erian Rannagonson.”
The yellow griffin flicked her tail. “I am Kreeak, and my human is Kitaen Sunborn, Priestess of the Norton Temple.”
The formalities over with, the two griffins moved to stand behind their humans, giving them tacit permission to talk to each other.
Erian inclined his head briefly to the priestess. “It’s an honour to meet you, my lady.”
She returned the gesture. “May the light of Gryphus embrace you, my lord.”
Erian paused. “Please, my lady,” he said, “there are urgent matters to discuss, and I think we should do so in private. Shall we retire indoors?”
“Of course.” Kitaen glanced at the various officials who had been loitering in the area. They had already taken the hint and were retreating toward the tower, whose doors had been opened to let the two griffiners enter.
Lady Kitaen and her griffin led Erian and Senneck into the tower and thence to a large room where a good fire was burning in a finely carved fireplace. There were two comfortable chairs set up in front of it, and wine had been placed on a small table, along with a bowl of strayberries. A fresh haunch of meat had been put on a plate for Senneck, who bit into it without hesitation.
Erian sat down in the chair nearest to her, pleased. They must have been keeping a lookout for him to have everything so well organised.
Kitaen sat down in the other chair and poured wine for the two of them. “I truly am sorry for the circumstances, my lord,” she said. “I assure you that I did all I could to persuade Lord Galrick to stay here at least long enough to greet you himself, but there was very little I could do.”
Erian took the cup offered to him. “I don’t blame you,” he said. “But I am . . . disappointed. Not in you, but in Galrick. Does the man have no loyalty in him at all? Riona has barely been laid to rest but her so-called loyal city governor has already flown off to swear himself to a different Eyrie?”
Kitaen smiled slightly. “I’m afraid you mustn’t have had too much experience in dealing with your fellow griffiners, my lord. Lord Galrick did what was best for himself and his family. This garrison here is weak, too weak to repel an invasion from the North. If he offers himself to Lady Elkin now, she will be far more likely to accept him than if he waited for her to send her armies to his doorstep. The same goes for the others.”
“Have they all gone north, then?” said Erian.
“Most of them, I believe. They did not tell me, but Lord Manolis was a friend of mine and he confided to me that he planned to go west, toward Canran. If he did, then Liyah, his wife, would have gone with him.”
“I suppose I shouldn’t really blame them. These lands aren’t ready to fend off invasion, and an attempt to resist would be suicide, and pointless suicide at that. I’ve no intention of staying here any longer than I have to, either. I understand why Galrick did what he did. Either way, it’s not really any of my business.” Erian sighed. “I’m only irritated with him because I had hoped he would show me the courtesy of staying to meet me. I suppose he didn’t consider me worthy of that honour,” he added sourly.
“Well, I am more than happy to meet you, my lord,” said Kitaen. She paused to drink some wine. “I had been wondering whether you were coming here to take Galrick’s place.”
“Perhaps, one day,” said Erian. “But becoming governor of this city is not my biggest concern at the moment. No, I have come here for a different purpose.”
“And what would that be, my lord?” said Kitaen.
She bloody knows already, Erian thought. He leant forward. “I am looking for a certain person, my lady, someone I have a very large obligation to find. Someone every griffiner should be honour-bound to hunt down.”
Kitaen sighed. “You are looking for Arren Cardockson.”
Erian’s grip tightened on his cup. “Arren Cardockson, Arenadd Taranisäii, the mad blackrobe, the destroyer of Eagleholm—I don’t care what you call him. I want to find him before he escapes from Eagleholm’s lands. If he falls into the hands of Canran, or any other Master or Mistress, I will—there will be consequences.”
“Consequences for whom?” said Kitaen, choosing her words carefully.
“I am going to be the one to find him, my lady,” said Erian. “And I intend to be personally responsible for what happens to him after that. Lord Rannagon was my father, and I saw him die in front of me. I have the right to avenge him, and I will go to any lengths to bring that about. Do you understand?”
Kreeak was hissing softly. Kitaen took a strayberry from the bowl and turned it over in her fingers. “I understand perfectly, my lord, and I have no intention of trying to get in your way.”
“Then you’ll help me?”
“As far as I can, yes,” said Kitaen. “What is it you want from me?”
Erian relaxed slightly. “You have his parents.”
She nodded.
“Where are they?”
“They were kept in the prison out in the city at first,” said Kitaen. “But once Lord Galrick found out who they were, he had them moved. They are in the dungeons beneath this tower as we speak.”
“I read that in the last message he sent to Eagleholm,” said Erian. “How were they caught? When?”
“Only a week or so ago, by my guess,” said Kitaen. “According to what I was told, they were found camping in the forest just outside the city and were arrested on suspicion of being bandits or escaped slaves.” She smiled thinly. “Or possibly both. When Galrick found out that the blackrobe’s parents were wanted, he thought this couple could well be them, so he interrogated them himself and managed to find out their names. Since then they have been living in the dungeons.”
“Have they been tortured?”
“No. Threats and starvation were enough to make them give their names. Beyond that, they have given nothing away, but Lord Galrick thought it would be best to refer to Eagleholm before he took any further action.”
Erian smiled grimly. “Then he did at least one thing right.” He finished off his wine in a few mouthfuls and put the cup down. “I want to talk to them.”
“Certainly, my lord. When?”
“Immediately.”
6
Calling
Arren sat and prodded the fire despondently. It needed more fuel, but he couldn’t summon up the energy to go and get any. He sighed. He was hungry, but he was forcing himself to wait until nightfall to eat. The sheep
’s carcass had been picked clean by now, and he and Skade had been steadily eating their way through the meat that he had already smoked. It would all be gone in a day or so and, even combined, their foraging hadn’t turned up much.
He rubbed his eyes. It had been four days since Skandar had left them. Four days, and neither he nor Skade had seen a sign of the black griffin anywhere. For the first day, Arren had remained hopeful; Skandar had occasionally gone on extended hunting trips in the past, sometimes for nearly an entire day. He could still come back. But by noon on the second day, he began to lose hope, and there was little he could do but try to accept the fact that Skandar was not coming back. It was all over. Finished. Without Skandar to help him, he would never get to the spirit cave, or to Norton, or anywhere else for that matter. He had made the half-hearted suggestion that they begin walking, in the hopes of finding a better place to stay, but deep down he knew it would be pointless. There was nothing but forest for miles in every direction, and they could never find enough food for them both. If they left the camp, they would get lost in no time, and after that they would both die of starvation. Even so, he might have given it a try and hoped for the best, but only if he had been on his own—and he wasn’t willing to leave Skade behind.
He glanced at the spot where she preferred to sit, close to the crude shelter he had built for the pair of them. It was unoccupied. Skade had been much weaker than he had realised at first, and for most of the time they had spent together since Skandar had flown away she had remained in the camp resting and eating. She had a voracious appetite once she stopped suppressing it, and Arren hadn’t had the heart to tell her they should try to preserve the food they had. He had done his best to look after her, giving her as much food as she wanted and making sure she had plenty to drink. He let her use the sheepskin as a blanket, and after he’d built the shelter he had offered to let her have it to herself. She had refused the last offer, insisting that they share it so that they could keep each other warm. Arren had been embarrassed by that, but he hadn’t protested much. He liked Skade, liked her very much.
