Authors: K.J. Taylor

The Griffin's Flight (37 page)

BOOK: The Griffin's Flight

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“Yes, sir,” said Caedmon.

“Good. D—Cardock, you’ll stay with me.”

“Sir,” said Caedmon. “What if the guards come after us, sir? It’s a miracle they ain’t been alerted already.”

“They’re not coming after us,” Arren said flatly. “Trust me. And if anyone
does
come after us, Skandar and I know how to deal with our enemies. Now move.”

“Yes, sir.”

Caedmon turned and began to relay the orders to the slaves. They—used to doing as they were told—formed up and filed out of the slave-house. Arren began to walk away with the griffin beside him, and they followed at a safe distance. At first Cardock kept well back, too, but Arren silently gestured at him to join him, which he very nervously did, keeping Arren between himself and the griffin, which was watching him menacingly.

It seemed Arren had everything carefully planned out. He led the slaves directly to the little stone building where the tools were kept. The door had been broken down, and he commanded everyone to go in and take something—an axe, shovel, pick, chisel or hammer—anything sharp or heavy. There were some sacks of potatoes there, too, and he told them to take those as well before leading them away to the wall. They passed through a gap in it and walked into the wilderness beyond, the rain still pouring down.

Cardock managed to keep pace with his son. “Arren, where are we going?”

“North,” Arren answered briefly. “To Tara.”

“But
why
? And why take everyone?”

To Cardock’s surprise, Arren sniggered. “Aren’t you proud of me, Dad? I don’t think I’ve ever done anything this brilliant before. I really don’t.”

“Brilliant?” Cardock snapped. “What’s brilliant about this?” He paused to untangle his robe from a sodden bush. “This—
argh!
Damn it! This is madness, not brilliance!”

“Well, thank you,” Arren snapped back. “I’m sure some gratitude for getting you out of there was too much to expect.”

“Getting me out, maybe,” said Cardock. “But taking
everybody
? How in the gods’ names do you expect to get them all to Tara?”

“They’ve got legs. They can walk.”

“And what about food?”

“There’s farmland most of the way there,” said Arren. “We’ll take what we need. And we can forage. I’ve learnt a few things about that over the last few months, you know.”

“Foraging?” said Cardock. “Forget foraging! We’re not going to get more than two miles. The moment they realise we’re gone, they’ll send people after us. Men on horseback. We’ll be captured or slaughtered.”

Arren laughed. “Captured? Slaughtered? Listen to yourself, Dad. There were nearly a hundred slaves in that building, and that was before you came with the others. I counted them myself. All strong, fit men, used to obeying orders, and all carrying something sharp. It’d take at least a hundred more to capture this lot. And in case you haven’t noticed, you have me with you. And I have Skandar. If anyone tries to lay a hand on me, he’s dead. You
know
what Skandar can do. You saw him in the Arena yourself.”

“Arren, what are you doing with that griffin?” said Cardock. “That
is
Darkheart, isn’t it?”

“He used to be.”

Cardock eyed the massive shape of the griffin, which had pulled ahead of them and was shouldering his way through a soap-bush thicket. “Why is he helping you?”

He listened to Arren’s explanation. “I don’t like this,” he said once Arren was done. “That’s a wild griffin there, not a city one. A man-eater. He killed Eluna, didn’t he?”

“Accidentally,” said Arren. “He saved my life, Dad. I trust him.”

“But you can’t control him,” said Cardock. “What if he decides to attack?”

“Control?” said Arren. “Dad, nobody controls a griffin. I didn’t have any control over Eluna. Griffins make their own decisions. They’ll go along with yours if they agree with you or if they don’t care, but the rest of the time—”

“So, what you’re saying is that if he attacks, you can’t do anything.”

“I can put myself in the way if I have to. But look, griffins don’t attack unless they’re hungry or if they feel threatened. Or if there’s a female in heat, which doesn’t apply here. As long as Skandar stays well fed and no-one does anything to provoke him, we’re fine.”

“Well fed?” said Cardock. “On
what
, exactly? He’s a man-eater!”

“Not any more.” Arren tried not to think of the men Skandar had slaughtered and eaten by the spirit cave. “There’s no
meat
on a human, Dad. He’d only do that if he was starving. There are cows and sheep here for him to eat. And we’ve been travelling together for months and he hasn’t eaten me yet. It’s fine, I swear.”

“I hope so,” Cardock muttered.

An Entourage

A
t dawn the slaves were still marching. They had spent much of the night struggling over a series of forested hills, in pouring rain all the while, rain that was still falling by the time morning came.

The light of the rising sun revealed a miserable and exhausted group moving in a column but now showing definite signs of flagging. Everyone was soaked, and they had collected plenty of cuts and bruises along the way. But nobody was complaining or showing any signs of rebellion. Arren, noticing this, was grimly pleased. Slaves didn’t complain, and they didn’t rebel. They did as they were told and nothing more.

Caedmon was still among the forerunners of the group and looked surprisingly strong and alert given his age.

“How are they?” Arren asked him. “How much longer can they keep going?”

“Quite a bit longer, sir,” said Caedmon.

“Good,” said Arren. “We need to get as far as we can as fast as we can. They’ll find us impossible to track through all these hills, especially with the rain. Is Torc all right?”

“He looks well enough to me, sir,” said Caedmon. “Nolan’s looking after him.”

Arren nodded. “You should probably get them to come closer to the front so I can keep an eye on him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Arren watched the old man leave, and shook his head. It was strange to have people obeying him so unquestioningly. Even back at Eagleholm during his time as an official he’d grown used to being questioned when he gave orders, but this was different. No questions, no arguments. He was completely in control.

Cardock had been watching. “You still haven’t told me why you … stole them,” he said.

Arren shook himself. “Oh, it’s simple enough.”

“What is?”

“Look at this, Dad.” Arren held out his hand. “See this?”

Cardock saw the brand, and hissed to himself. “Gods damn them.”

“They flogged me, too,” Arren said calmly. “I was there in Herbstitt for over a month, wearing those damned leg-irons and working from dawn until dusk. After I got out of there, I had to rescue you. And I wanted revenge.”

“Like the revenge you took on Lord Rannagon?” said Cardock in an undertone.

“No,” Arren said sharply. Too sharply. “I have no interest in killing more people. One was too many. No, revenge doesn’t have to be murder. They made me a slave because they were short on slaves, so I went back and stole the lot of them. They’ll never finish that wall now.”

“What about the guards?” said Cardock. “How did you stop them catching you?”

Arren scratched his ear. “There were only two in the guardroom, and both of them were asleep. I picked the lock, snuck in and tied them both up. They never saw me.”

Cardock relaxed. “Thank gods. I thought you’d—”

“Killed them?” Arren was giving him a furious look. “You thought I’d killed them?”

“No. Calm down, I wasn’t—”

Arren looked away. “Well, what else should I expect you to think? Now that I’m—after what I—I suppose I should get used to it.”

Cardock opened his mouth to speak but found himself unable to. A painful lump had formed in his chest, although what emotion it was made from he didn’t know.

Arren looked at him again, and his expression was so full of fear and guilt and longing that for an instant it was as if the years had fallen away and he was a small boy again, looking to his father for punishment or approval. “Do you hate me, Dad?” he asked quietly. “Please, just tell me. Do you hate me for what I did? And Mum, what does she think?”

Cardock couldn’t bear to look at him any more. “I don’t know what to think, Arren.”

T
he march continued well into the day, through endless rainy forest. Arren led them in a roundabout direction, weaving here and there, climbing over some hills and going around others, and made them wade through several streams. The reason was obvious: he was making sure that when people inevitably came after them, they would be extremely difficult to track. The slaves trudged on until the sun was high overhead and the rain began to thin. By then the pace had slowed considerably, and Caedmon and one or two of the weaker ones were showing signs of exhaustion. Arren, seeing this, finally called a halt.

They settled down in a rocky gorge, taking shelter among a series of large overhangs. Arren managed to find some dry wood and lit a fire with the help of a tinderbox stolen from the guardroom. Skandar curled up close to it to dry his feathers, while his partner sat down by his flank. The griffin looked annoyed and kept making quick jerking motions with his head, and everybody made a wide berth around him.

Arren, apparently unconcerned, summoned Caedmon again. “I’m sorry to bother you now,” he said, “but I need you to go and bring a few people here to see me.”

Caedmon stood straight, supporting himself with his stick, all respectful attention. “Yes, sir. Who do ye want me to bring, sir?” He paused. “If ye prefer, I can call ye ‘my lord.’ ”

Arren sighed. “ ‘Sir’ will be fine. Bring me Nolan, Annan, Prydwen, Olwydd and both of their friends who were wearing irons. And bring Torc as well.”

“Yes, sir.”

Once he had gone, Arren rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “Gods, I’m starving. I’d give anything for some roasted goat right now.”

Cardock was sitting on the opposite side of the fire, well away from Skandar. “I could put some of those potatoes in the fire, maybe.”

“Not right now,” said Arren. “We need to try and make the food last. Later on I’ll take some men and go foraging. And Skandar will want to hunt once he’s rested.”

Cardock eyed the griffin. “You named him after my father.”

“Yes. Your grandfather, really.” Arren looked slightly bashful. “Skandar here is a great warrior, just like you said your grandfather was. I thought the name was right for him.”

“He’s really your friend, is he?” said Cardock.

“I think so. Haven’t you ever wondered why he didn’t kill me in the Arena? It wasn’t because of anything I did. He wanted my help, so I gave it.”
I sacrificed my life to set him free. If I hadn’t gone back, I would never have died. And he knows it
.

“He chose you?” said Cardock. “Like Eluna did?”

“He believes I have magical powers,” said Arren. “He’s—he’s like a big child, really.”

Cardock looked at the massive beast that was now nibbling at the skin between its toes. Each toe was as long as his arm, and considerably thicker, tipped with a curved talon the size of a dagger. “A child,” he said flatly.

“Yes. He doesn’t know anything about human beings; he doesn’t understand magic, not even his own. I speak griffish better than he does. As far as he’s concerned, I know everything and can do anything. Not that that stops him from bullying me and taking my food when he wants to.”

“Aren’t you afraid of him, though?” said Cardock. “I saw everything that happened in the Arena. He nearly killed you!”

“Not really. He only disarmed me and pinned me down. Eluna did that to me a few times, you know. Not when anyone was watching, though.”

“
Eluna
did that? When?”

BOOK: The Griffin's Flight

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