The Dark Griffin

by K J Taylor

  He could hear scuffling, thumps and clinking chains from Aeya’s cage. A few moments later several humans emerged into his line of sight. They were pulling a griffin along by the chains connected to her collar, and she was following them meekly enough, though she kept tossing her head and flicking her tail.

  Darkheart stood up to watch. The griffin was grey, and older than him. Her eyes were blue, and there were hints of blue on her wings and throat as well. He realised that she was Aeya. He had never seen her before now, only heard her voice. He called her name but she didn’t look at him. The humans led her away from the enclosure and out through the gate, which had been opened to let them through. Others were already opening Kraee’s cage. He proved to be brown and quite old. He put up no resistance at all and walked with a slight limp as they took him out after Aeya.

  Now it was Darkheart’s turn. He watched closely as a pair of humans came forward and opened his cage door. It swung outward with a loud creak and groan, and suddenly there was nothing in the way, nothing standing between him and freedom. He threw himself forward at once, and screamed when the collar jerked him back yet again. Escape was so close, not even a tail’s length away—

  The humans put themselves in the way. He screamed again and lashed out at them, but they were beyond his reach. They carried long sticks in their paws. One of them poked its stick into the cage. Darkheart tried to grab it at once, but the other human smacked him smartly in the face with its stick. He started trying to seize the stick instead, and while his attention was on it, the first human unhooked the chain connecting one side of his collar to the wall, dragged it out and held it. The second human unhooked and seized the other chain, then two others came to help, and between them they dragged Darkheart out of his cage. At first he resisted, but then, realising the chains were no longer holding him to the walls, he rushed at them.

  But they were ready for that. They darted out of the way, pulling the chains tight. When he tried to attack the humans on one side, those on the opposite side would pull him back. Others had run around behind him and were striking his hindquarters. He lurched forward to get away from their sticks, and the humans holding the chains immediately began pulling him toward the arched entrance. He went, fighting every step of the way, his instincts screaming at him to fight and kill.

  They got him through the archway, and the gate was instantly slammed shut behind them. Up ahead there was light, and they headed toward it, bit by bit, hitting him in the sensitive spot under his beak whenever he tried to attack. The gate blocking the end of the tunnel was just large enough for him to fit through. They opened it and lodged him in the opening, which pinned his wings to his sides. There they took the manacles off his forelegs and removed the chains from his collar, and then pushed him forward into the open space beyond. He instantly turned and tried to attack them, but the gate had already clanged back into place.

  And then . . .

  A roar filled the air. It came from above and from all sides at once, loud and rushing, almost like wind. Darkheart turned, peering around in confusion, and he saw them.

  Humans. Hundreds and hundreds of them. They were sitting above him, lining the walls of the strange round cave he was in, and all of them were calling. Their voices had mingled together into one sound, like that of a giant beast.

  Darkheart ran around the edges of the pit, looking for a way to get at them. His legs were free now, but there was no way out of the pit. There were more steel cables here, forming a huge net between him and the humans. It was too high for him to reach, and he knew he could not fly. He tried all the same, struggling pointlessly against the chains holding his wings together. It hurt, and he screamed his frustration.

  Aeya and Kraee were there already, pacing back and forth expectantly. Darkheart ran to them and sniffed cautiously at Aeya’s feathers. She stopped her pacing and raised her head, looking down on him aggressively. “Do not expect me to help you,” she hissed, her voice suddenly hostile. “I will take what I can, and I will fight you for it.”

  Darkheart hissed at her. The presence of the humans had filled him with rage and fighting will, and he suddenly wanted to attack her. “I want human,” he rasped.

  She ignored him and loped toward the centre of the pit. Kraee had barely looked at him. The old griffin’s feathers were fluffed up, and he was striking the ground with his tail, over and over again.

  Darkheart left him where he was and ran around the edges of the pit again, looking for a way out. There were other gates, but they were all shut, and when he tried to break through them they proved too strong. And overhead the crowd continued to roar. They knew what to expect.

  A few moments later one of the gates opened, and a human staggered through. He was followed by several others. Three other gates opened, and more humans entered, many of them carrying long sticks like those wielded by the humans who had taken Darkheart out of his cage. They scattered as soon as they emerged, running away into the pit, keeping close to its walls. Some tried to get back through the gates they had emerged from, but were forced out again.

  Kraee acted immediately. He rushed at the nearest group of humans, beak open. They didn’t stand a chance. He killed three of them with one blow and knocked down a fourth. Before it could get up again, he ripped its head off and swallowed it. Aeya, too, was quick to go after them. Some of the humans, overcoming their panic, began to strike at her and Kraee with their spears, but the two griffins paid little attention. The slaughter began.

  Darkheart watched for a few moments, bewildered. He had never attacked humans on the ground. But then one passed close to him, and he lashed out at it by instinct, bowling it over. His hunger took over and he pounced on it and tore it open with his beak. Blood spurted into his mouth, hot and sticky and wonderful, and he pulled the limbs off and swallowed them. It tasted delicious. Human meat was not like goat or cow or any other kind of animal he had ever eaten. It was rich and sweet, and he loved it.

  He finished his meal quickly, aware that there were still others there to catch. If he could kill a few of them, he could store them somewhere to eat later.

  Ignoring Kraee and Aeya, he spotted a pair of humans by the wall. They were trying to help each other climb up it. He galloped toward them, wings raised as high as they would go. They, seeing him, turned and tried to run. But he darted first one way and then the other, blocking their escape. He killed one with an easy blow of his talons, but as he bent to finish it off with his beak he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his shoulders. He turned and saw the other human. It was already running, but he lashed out and caught it around the torso with his foreclaws. He dragged it toward him, struggling and screaming, and pinned it to the ground. It lay there, injured but alive, unable to get up.

  Darkheart brought his beak down toward it. “You fight?” he asked it.

  There was no recognition in the human’s eyes, only fear. It snatched up a rock from the ground and smashed it against the joint of one of Darkheart’s toes. He screeched and pressed down as hard as he could, crushing the creature into the ground. There was a crunch and a wet tearing sound, and when he raised his claws he saw that the human’s torso had been mashed into a pulp. The head lay on the sand, connected to nothing but red mush, and he peered curiously at it. The eyes were still open, but they weren’t looking at anything now.

  He lost interest a moment later and turned his attention to the rest of the humans. There were still plenty left. Most of them just ran away. Others, cornered, tried to fight back. They died. Darkheart dragged their bodies to a spot by the wall and kept an eye on the pile. The other two weren’t stockpiling their kills. They paused to eat parts of the humans they killed, but left the bodies lying on the ground and ran on to kill more. Darkheart began taking these, too, until he had a sizeable collection.

  It was all so easy.

  After a while, as the killing went on and his beak and talons turned red with blood, a strange madness came over him. His killer instinct, left unsatisfied for so long, ros
e up inside him with a vengeance, blotting out all thought and all semblance of rationality. He was barely aware of what he was doing. All he could see were the humans, dying, and all he could hear were the screams, the snarls and the roar of the crowd over the dull thud of beak and talon in flesh.

  And then, at last, there were no more humans left. Darkheart ran here and there, looking for them, but they were all dead. The madness receded somewhat and he withdrew to his heap of corpses and began to wolf them down. His exertions had made him hungry again, and the madness put an insane greed into him.

  He saw a beak flash past him to snatch one of the bodies, and turned, snarling. Kraee had come and was eating, too. Darkheart did not think. Nor did he pause. He threw himself at the other griffin, smacking bodily into him. Kraee staggered away but then turned, rearing up on his hind legs. Darkheart rose, too, and the pair of them started to lash out at each other with their talons, screeching and rasping. Darkheart dived in under Kraee’s beak and sank his own beak into Kraee’s throat. It tore through the feathers and left a deep gash, which started to bleed profusely. Kraee screamed again and hurled himself at the black griffin. His front talons struck him in the shoulders and sank in deeply, puncturing the thick muscle. Darkheart howled in agony and began to strike wildly, hitting Kraee in the face, neck and chest. His beak clacked against that of the old griffin with a sound like falling rocks. Then it hit Kraee’s in the eye.

  Kraee’s scream was indescribable. He let go and reeled away, still screaming, blood pouring from his ruined eye. Instantly Darkheart sprang forward, foretalons outspread. His hind legs gathered beneath him, kicking away from the ground in a great burst of powerful muscle. His wings spread partway and beat just once, clumsily. It was enough. He leapt at Kraee with all his strength. His front talons hit the other griffin square in the neck.

  There was a crack and a thump, and Kraee fell, writhing on the ground. Darkheart did not pause over the dying griffin. He hit him again, in the back of the neck, and shook him violently until he stilled. Then, ignoring the yells of the crowd, he began to eat.

  In the end it took twelve strong men to fight him into submission. They threw a net over him and pinned him down, and then wrenched his beak open and poured something bitter-tasting into it. A few moments later, exhaustion and weakness enveloped him, smothering his will to fight back. He could only just stand up when they reattached the chains to his collar and tugged him back to his paws, and the journey back to his cage passed in a haze. When he woke up there later, he wondered if it had all been a dream. But there was still blood on his talons, and his wounds ached savagely.

  And there was no answering voice from Kraee’s cage.

  12

  Visions

  The Red Rat was bustling. Flell stood uncertainly in the doorway; she’d never seen the place so busy before. Every table was full, and the sheer volume of talk was deafening.

  Thrain, perched on her shoulder, shifted nervously. “There are so many of them,” she said. “What do they do here?”

  “They’re talking and drinking,” Flell explained, wincing slightly as the griffin’s talons stuck into her. “Can you see them anywhere?”

  Thrain was silent for a time, scanning the room with her violet eyes. “Yes,” she said at length. “They are there. By the fire.”

  Flell looked in that direction, and sure enough, there were Bran and Gern, sharing a drink. There was no-one else with them, and her heart sank. But she went toward them anyway, practically wading through the mass of people crammed into the tavern. It was so crowded that barely anyone noticed she had a griffin with her, so she didn’t attract too much attention. She managed to get to their table and sat down next to Gern, somewhat awkwardly. He and Bran stopped their conversation and looked at her with surprise.

  “Hello, Flell,” said Gern, raising his voice over the hubbub. “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you,” said Flell. “What’s going on?”

  “Not much,” said Bran. “Gern’s been tellin’ me about this new griffin they got at the Arena.”

  “You mean Darkheart?” said Flell. “I heard something about that. Is it really black?”

  “Yeah!” Gern half-shouted. “Black and silver! Arren caught it!”

  “So, he is back,” said Flell. “Gern, where is he? Have you seen him?”

  “No,” said Gern. “Well, once. Where’ve you been, Flell? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  “I had to go to Lansdown,” Flell explained. “Father sent me to see about something—it’s not important. Look, where’s Arren? I can’t find him.”

  “Have yeh checked his house?” said Bran.

  “Yes. Haven’t you?”

  “Yeah, but there wasn’t anyone home. Windows shut up, no-one answerin’ the door.”

  “We’ve both been,” said Gern. “If he’s there, he’s not coming out.”

  “Well, haven’t you tried to find anything out?” said Flell. “What if something’s happened to him?”

  Gern looked grim. “Something has happened to him,” he said. “Haven’t you heard?”

  “No, what’s going on?”

  “Eluna’s dead,” said Gern. “I heard it days ago.”

  Flell froze. “What? How?”

  “It’s all over the city,” said Gern. “Arren didn’t have permission to go to Rivermeet. He just heard about it from your father and ran off on his own.”

  “But why?” said Flell. “He wouldn’t do something like that!”

  “But he did,” said Gern. “Or that’s what I’ve been told. He fought the black griffin on his own, and he caught it, but Eluna got killed. He came back here and Lady Riona sacked him for disobeying her. No-one seems to have seen him since then.”

  “We’ve been to his house dozens of times,” said Bran. “Never saw a sign of him. His neighbours ain’t seen him, either. We’ve got no idea where he’s gone.”

  “I’ve heard all sorts of things,” said Gern. “Someone said he’s left the city. Gone to the North, to find his people.”

  “His people are here,” Flell snapped. “You know he doesn’t think like that, Gern.”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” said Gern, holding up a hand as if to shield himself. “I didn’t believe it. And someone else said he’s killed himself, which I don’t believe, either. That’s rubbish. He’d never do something like that. And someone else said he’s been locked up.”

  “What for?” said Flell, aghast.

  “It’s said he went crazy when Riona told him he was disgraced and tried to kill Lord Rannagon. If that’s true, then it’s a pretty serious crime. They could execute him for that.”

  Flell jumped up. “What? No—for the gods’ sakes, tell me it’s not true!”

  “It ain’t,” Bran snapped. “Shut up, Gern. Yeh’ve got no bloody idea what yer goin’ on about. Sit down, Flell.”

  Flell sat. “What’s going on, Bran? How d’you know it’s not true?”

  “I’ve been moved to a different squad,” said Bran. “I’m workin’ in the prison district now, and I promise yeh that if Arren was in there I’d know about it. All right?”

  She relaxed a little. “Well, if he’s not at home and he’s not in prison, where is he?”

  “I think he’s probably gone to visit his parents down in Idun,” said Gern.

  Flell shook her head. “I went to see them before I came up to the city. They haven’t seen him. They don’t even know about Eluna. I don’t like this. He wouldn’t just run off again, not after what happened last time.”

  “I saw him right after he got back,” Gern said. “He looked terrible. He was dirty and he’d grown a beard, and there were bruises on his face, like someone’d been hitting him. I couldn’t understand what was wrong with him. He wouldn’t talk to me—just disappeared. It must’ve been right before he went to the Eyrie. I’ve never seen him look like that before. It scared me.”

  Flell stood up. “Well then, we’ve got to find out what’s going on,” she said st
ernly. “Come on.”

  “Where to?” said Gern, putting down his drink.

  “To Arren’s house,” said Flell. “I know where he keeps the spare key. Even if he’s not at home, there could be a clue there. Come on, let’s go.”

  “What, now?” said Bran.

  “Yes, now. Come on, damn it! What if he’s in trouble? He’s our friend, and he needs our help.”

  Bran and Gern got up and went with her without much argument, abandoning their drinks and following Flell as she left the tavern and walked toward the market district at high speed. Thrain jumped down off her shoulder and ran ahead, her claws skittering on the wood beneath her.

  When they reached Arren’s house they found it cold and still. The front door was closed and the windows shuttered. Flell, though, lifted Thrain over her head, holding her as high as she could. The griffin chick, balanced on her partner’s hands, rooted around among the thatch over the door with her beak, as if looking for worms. Eventually she gave a triumphant chirp and pulled out a small oilcloth pouch. Inside was a key. Flell put it into the lock and turned it. But the door wouldn’t open. She pushed hard, but it refused to move more than an inch. “It’s stuck,” she said.

  Bran reached past her and shoved on the door, but without result. “Must be blocked from the other side,” he said.

  “Then someone must be in there,” said Flell. She put the key back into the pouch and hid it among the thatch. “What do we do now?”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” said Bran. “I’ve done this sort of thing before. Outta the way please, miss.”

  Flell stood aside and the big guard drew his sword. He poked it through the gap at the edge of the door, and then lifted it hard and pushed. There was a thud from the other side, and the door swung open.

  “There yeh go,” Bran said triumphantly.

  It was gloomy inside the house. Some light was coming in through the back windows, but there were no candles or lamps burning. The air smelt stale and there was a layer of dust on the furniture. But it was plain that it had been lived in recently: there were dirty dishes on the table and a fire smouldering in the hearth. The hammock had been slept in, and there was a stained tunic hanging on the back of the chair.