The Dark Griffin

by K J Taylor

  “Arren!”

  Arren embraced her. “Hello, Flell!”

  They kissed, while Eluna nipped playfully at the other griffin. Flell’s griffin was only a chick, as tall as Arren’s knee. It rubbed itself against Eluna’s foreleg, cheeping.

  Arren stooped. “Hello, Thrain. Remember me?”

  Thrain fluttered her wings and lifted her beak toward his hand. She sniffed it for a moment, and then bit him lightly on the finger. Arren flinched, but didn’t move, and the chick let him scratch her behind the ears. “Food!” she said.

  Arren fished in his pocket and found a piece of dried beef. “Well, how are you?” he said to Flell, while Thrain ate it. “I meant to come and see you earlier, but something came up.”

  Flell smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “I missed you. Come on, come in.” She ushered him inside.

  They went to the main room and sat down together by the fireplace. Flell made tea for them, and they drank it together in companionable silence.

  “What happened to your arm?” Flell asked.

  Arren glanced at it. “We raided a smugglers’ den this morning.”

  “Oh!” said Flell. “How did it go?”

  “Quite well. We caught two of them, and . . . sort of caught a third. Eluna killed him.”

  “Oh no,” said Flell. “Have you talked to my father about it yet?”

  Arren nodded. “It’s all right; Eluna was only defending me. But there’s a problem . . .”

  Flell listened while he explained. She was a little younger than him, delicately built, with a freckled face and light-blue eyes. She looked seriously at him while he told her about the bounty he was setting out to take, though he did not say that it had been her father’s idea.

  “So, you’re going all the way to—where did you say it was?”

  “Rivermeet. It’s right at the edge of the Coppertops.”

  Flell looked unhappy. “Arren, you don’t have to do this. I can help.”

  Arren shook his head. “I don’t need it, Flell. I can deal with it myself. Anyway, it shouldn’t be too hard. I can fight this thing.”

  “But you’ve never done anything like this before.”

  “It sounds pretty straightforward to me,” Arren said confidently. “I’ll plan it out—set an ambush. Just like catching a smuggler. Find the wild griffin’s den, flush it out—”

  “But you won’t have Bran with you,” said Flell. “You’ll have a lot of farmers.”

  “Farmers, guards, what’s the difference? They can throw rocks and obey orders. And they want this griffin dead or caught. Its crime is against them, after all.” He hadn’t added that the thing was a man-eater. He didn’t want to upset Flell.

  Flell looked wistful. “I wish I could go with you.” Thrain, sensing her worry, hopped up onto her lap and snuggled down. She petted the griffin, her eyes still on Arren.

  He started to feel slightly uncomfortable. “I’ll be fine. Eluna will protect me.”

  “Do your parents know?” Flell asked.

  Arren shook his head. “I was going to go and visit them this afternoon. In fact”—he looked out the window and sighed—“I should probably go soon. I have a lot to do today—got to get my affairs in order before I go. Rannagon said he’d choose someone to look after the marketplace for me, but I have to talk to Gern and the rest, make sure they know what’s going on.”

  “You mean I won’t see you again before you go?” said Flell.

  “I have to leave at dawn,” said Arren. He paused. “Look, tell you what, I promised Bran I’d meet him down at the Red Rat this evening for a few drinks. D’you want to come?”

  Flell finished off her tea. “Not if he gets drunk and starts making lewd remarks again.”

  Arren grinned. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Gern should be there.”

  “All right, I’ll come,” said Flell. She stood up, lifting Thrain onto her shoulder. “Here, let me help you with that,” she added, lifting the roll of leather. “Your arm must hurt.”

  “It’s not too bad,” said Arren, but he let her take it to the door for him anyway. There, he gave her a quick hug. “I’ll see you in a while, all right?”

  She kissed him again as she handed over the roll of leather. “Make sure you’re there, Arren.”

  “I will be.” Arren tucked the leather under his arm. “You know . . .”

  “Yes?”

  Arren paused, and then shook his head. “No, never mind.”

  “No, what is it?” said Flell.

  “I’ll tell you when I get back,” said Arren. “See you later.”

  Flell stood at her doorway and watched him go, and he frowned once he was out of earshot. He hated to leave her like this.

  Once they were in the street, in a clear patch, he took Eluna’s harness from inside the roll of leather where he’d stowed it. “Do you want to fly to my parents’ place?” he asked her.

  Eluna eyed the harness, saying nothing.

  “We can ride the crates down, if you’d prefer,” Arren added. “But I thought since we’re going to be flying to Rivermeet maybe we should get in practice. What d’you think?”

  Eluna cocked her head. “We’ll fly,” she said at last.

  “All right. Hold still.”

  Arren attached the harness to Eluna’s chest and neck. There were straps to hold it in place that crossed over her chest and went around her forelegs. Arren tightened them carefully, not wanting to cause her any discomfort. She shifted irritably a couple of times, but made no complaint. Once he was done, Arren climbed onto her back, settling down between her neck and wings, just over her shoulder blades. The harness had a pair of simple leather stirrups hanging off it, and Arren slipped his feet into them and took hold of the harness in front of him. People had gathered to watch, but he ignored them. He looked down at the roll of leather, lying on the street where he’d left it. “Can you carry it for me, Eluna?”

  The white griffin snatched it up in her talons. “Are you ready?”

  Arren tightened his grip on the harness. “Yes.”

  “Then hold on.” Eluna tensed and then made a short, hobbling run down the street, wings opening as she went. Arren bounced up and down on her back, cushioned by her feathers, holding on grimly. Her head jerked up and down, threatening to dislodge him, and then, without warning, she leapt. Her wings beat furiously, lifting the pair of them into the air. She was rising, wings lashing, bucking wildly in the sky. Arren lay flat against her neck, eyes closed. He started to panic. Had she done this the last time they’d flown? What if she was about to fall?

  The thought terrified him. Even though he forced himself to keep his eyes shut, his brain showed him an image of the ground rushing up to meet him. His stomach lurched horribly. For a moment he thought he was falling, down and down, the wind ripping at him. He bit back a yell, and then Eluna’s voice broke through the spell. “Let go!” she shouted.

  Arren realised he was nearly strangling her. He loosed his grip as the griffin steadied and flew in a wide circle over the city. When he looked down he realised the buildings were tiny and distant. Vertigo seized hold of him, and he retched. “Oh gods.”

  “Calm down,” Eluna snapped. “Hold still; I cannot balance.”

  She was listing forward slightly in the air, he realised. He pulled himself together and, to avoid looking down, watched the feathers on her neck moving in the wind. His nausea receded gradually.

  Eluna flew away over the city. “You are heavier than I remember,” she remarked. Arren didn’t reply, and she must have felt how tense he was. “Are you still afraid of falling ?” she asked.

  “No,” Arren lied.

  “Arren, it was years ago,” said Eluna. “Can you forget it?”

  “I have,” said Arren.

  “But you dream about it,” said Eluna. “I have heard you in your sleep. Crying out. Does your back still hurt you?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “I saved you then,” said Eluna. “I will not let you fall now.
I promise.”

  Arren calmed down. “I trust you.”

  But he didn’t completely relax for the rest of the journey. They flew out over the edge of the city until they were above Eagle’s Lake and the large village built among the hills on its shore. Technically it was part of Eagleholm, but the village went by the name of Idun.

  Eluna landed not far from the lake, among some houses built on a hill. Arren slid down off her back, very grateful to feel solid ground beneath him again.

  The white griffin dropped the roll of leather and shook herself. Once Arren’s head had stopped spinning, he noticed the squashed feathers on her neck and shoulders. “Sorry.”

  Eluna preened herself wordlessly.

  People were already coming to meet them, bowing to Eluna.

  “Sir!”

  “Sir, can I do anything to help you?”

  “Sir, please, can you spare a coin? I have no money for—”

  Arren rummaged in his pocket and flipped an oblong toward the speaker. He picked up the roll of leather and tucked it under his arm. “I’m just here to visit someone. No need to be concerned.”

  Several people followed him as he walked off down the hill, but they gave up and left him alone soon enough. He sensed that some of them just wanted to look at Eluna. Griffiners and griffins didn’t come into the village very often. To many of Idun’s inhabitants, griffiners were just as unreachably distant as the griffins that circled over their city. Out in the countryside, he could expect even more excitement. In places where griffiners almost never went, they were regarded almost as demigods.

  Arren’s parents lived at the bottom of the hill, in a modest wooden house. They had seen him coming and hurried out to meet him. His mother threw her arms around him. “Arren!”

  Arren hugged her. “Hello, Mum, how are you?”

  She let go, bright eyed. “Oh, we’re fine. Hello, Eluna.”

  Eluna sat on her haunches and regarded them with an almost benevolent expression.

  Arren held out the roll of leather toward his father. “Here, Dad, I brought you this.”

  His father felt it and whistled. “This is top-quality stuff. Where did you get it from?”

  “Seized it from some smugglers. I thought you’d probably be able to use it.”

  Arren’s mother smiled and waved a hand at him. “Come on, come in, don’t stand around out here.”

  They entered the house, leaving Eluna outside to wait.

  Arren sat down at the table in the main room with his parents.

  Arren’s father, Cardock, stowed the leather away in a corner. “Thanks. There’s at least twelve pairs of boots in this if I’m any judge.”

  “No problem,” said Arren. “I’d have brought some other things but I couldn’t carry anything else. I’ll send them down with one of my assistants. So, how’re you doing?”

  “We’re fine,” said his mother, Annir. “Your father’s thinking of taking on another apprentice.”

  “And what about you?” said Cardock. “How are things up in the city, Arenadd?”

  “Arren will do fine, Dad,” said Arren.

  Cardock, who had the same angular features as his son, frowned. “I don’t see any reason for you to be ashamed, Arenadd. It’s a fine, strong name. A Northern name.”

  “A stupid name,” Arren said flatly. “Things are fine in the city. There was a bit of bother this morning, though. Seems I’ve—”

  “You are ashamed, though,” Cardock interrupted.

  “Cardock, please,” said Annir.

  “You are,” said Cardock, ignoring her. “You don’t want to remind people you’re a Northerner. Arenadd isn’t Southern enough for you, is it? Well?”

  “Dad, I’ve told you before. I changed my name because I didn’t like it. That’s all.”

  Cardock shook his head. “I am proud of you, you know. When you first became a griffiner I wasn’t happy. After what the griffiners did to us—but there are worthy griffiners, and you’re one of them. But you can be a griffiner and a Northerner as well.”

  “Dad, I’ve never even been in the North.”

  “But the North is in your blood,” said Cardock. “I’ve seen it, Arenadd. Ever since you moved into that city you’ve been trying to change. Wearing Southern clothes, using a Southern name. You won’t even speak our language any more. What are you so ashamed of?”

  “Dad, our ancestors came here in chains,” said Arren. “They were slaves. I really don’t see why that’s anything to be proud of.”

  Cardock rubbed the livid scar on the side of his neck. “A slave collar can’t take away a man’s dignity, or his heritage.”

  “I’d say it does a pretty good job of it,” said Arren. He sat back in his chair. “Listen, Dad, there’s no point in trying to hang on to the past, so just let it go. I’m sure the North is a beautiful place, but I’ve never been there and neither have you. This is our home, right here. Forget about the old days. They’re done.”

  Cardock sighed. “I suppose you’re right there, Arenadd. But I won’t forget who we are, and I advise you not to forget it, either. Because other people haven’t.”

  Arren tried not to think of Craddick the smuggler and his snarling voice. Go back to the North, blackrobe. “I’ve come here to give you some news,” he said.

  “Yes, what is it?” said Annir, sounding relieved.

  Arren recounted the story of the raid, finishing with “. . . so now I have to go down to the South for a week or so, to earn some money to pay it off.”

  “Where in the South?” said Cardock.

  “Oh, nowhere in particular. Some village called River-something. Hold on a bit.” Arren fished the scroll out of his pocket; it was badly squashed, and he smoothed it out. “Okay, it says, ‘Cattle went missing every night for months before someone finally saw the creature taking them, an enormous griffin with black feathers, which flies out from the Coppertops to steal from us. It became bolder when we locked the cattle away at night, and broke a hole in the roof of a barn in order to take what it wanted. Then, a few days later, a man went missing from out in the fields. He was never seen again. Others also disappeared. We discovered that the griffin was taking them. We beg you to send some of your people to destroy the beast, before it claims any more victims. We are in fear for our lives.’ ” Arren turned the scroll over and examined the simple map drawn on it. There was a large X over a village by the mountains. “It’s called Rivermeet. Probably because two rivers come together there.”

  “So, they want you to kill a wild griffin?” said Cardock.

  Arren nodded. “There’s a bounty on its head. If I can capture it alive, I’ll get even more.”

  Annir looked aghast. “But they can’t just send you off like that! On your own, when you’ve never done anything like this before!”

  “I can fight,” said Arren. “Honestly, Mum, there’s nothing to worry about. All I have to do is get close enough to hit it with an arrow. I’ve got some special poison to coat the barb with. No matter where I hit it, it’ll be knocked out in a heartbeat.”

  “You think you can hit a wild griffin in the air?” said Cardock.

  “I’ve hit moving targets before. And if the worst comes to the worst, Eluna can defend me. And . . .” He paused. “If it turns out to be more than I can cope with, I’ll just give up and come back and tell someone else to go deal with it. Maybe try again with someone else helping.” In spite of his casual tone, the more he talked about the idea, the less certain he felt about it. But it was too late to back out now.

  Cardock, though, looked fairly unconcerned. “I’m sure you can do it. You’ll have Eluna with you, after all.”

  “Well, be careful,” said Annir, not quite able to hide her worry. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Arren embraced her briefly. “I’ll be fine, Mum. Really.”

  Arren hated to leave his parents, but the sun began to sink and he was forced to get back on Eluna and return to the city. This time the flight went a
little more smoothly, and he managed to control his fear better. That gave him some hope. Maybe, some day, he would be able to fly without being afraid.

  Once he’d arrived home, he took Eluna’s harness off and packed a box with a selection of things to go to his parents, including everything perishable in the house. Coming back to a cupboard full of rancid cheese and shrivelled oranges was not a pleasing idea. He nailed the box shut and put it by the door. Gern could come and collect it in the morning.

  It was dark by now, and Arren put on his cloak before he left. Time to go and meet Gern, Flell and Bran at the Sign of the Red Rat. He found them there waiting for him; they were sharing a pitcher of beer and called out cheerily when they saw him coming. Arren went and joined them, gratefully accepting a drink from Bran.

  “Good to see yeh,” said the burly guard. “We were start-in’ to think maybe yeh’d bailed out on us.”

  Arren took a mouthful of beer; it was cheap but strong, and he sighed and wiped the foam away from his mouth. “Sorry about that. I had to go and see my parents.”

  “How’d they like the leather?” said Bran.

  “Dad was pleased. Said it was good quality. It was, too. I had a look at it first. Should’ve kept some for myself, actually. I could use a new pair of boots.”

  Flell laughed. “That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen, you know, a griffiner who makes boots.”

  “Well, it’s a skill, isn’t it?” said Arren. “My dad always said we ought to value our skills above our status. ‘Maybe Lady Riona is Mistress of the Eyrie, but she can’t make boots, can she?’”

  Gern snickered. “He really said that?”

  “Yeah. He gets some funny ideas every now and then.”

  “I saw him in the marketplace the other day,” said Flell. “I thought about saying hello, but I decided not to. It’s amazing how much you look like him, you know.”

  Arren frowned. “What was he doing there?”

  “Trying to buy something, probably,” said Flell. “I almost wish I had spoken to him. Maybe I could have got him to tell me what your real name is.”

  Arren had another drink. “A stupid one,” he said, swallowing. “Trust me on this.”