Authors: K.J. Taylor

The Griffin's Flight (61 page)

BOOK: The Griffin's Flight

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“The honour was mine,” said Arenadd, bowing to him.
“Hynafgwr.”

Caedmon smiled at him and shuffled out, leaving Arenadd alone in the room with Skade and Skandar.

Arenadd yawned and rubbed his back. “Well,” he said, half to himself, “that’s it, then.”

“Human go,” rasped a voice. It was Skandar. The griffin rose from his corner and limped toward the two humans. He’d already torn the bandage off his foreleg, and the shredded remains were tangled around his talons. He paused to rip them away, and then nosed at the heap of collars, which toppled over in a shower of metal clangs. The griffin snorted and lifted his head away. “Collars.”

“That’s right,” said Arenadd.

Skandar didn’t seem to hear him. He scratched at the bald patch on his neck. “Collars. Collar.”

“Yes. Just like the one you wore, Skandar,” said Arenadd.

Skandar fixed him with a steely silver gaze. “You break collar for me. Now break for them.”

“Yes. You were a slave once, too, Skandar. Just like them. Now they’re free, just like you. Do you understand?”

Skandar was silent for a time. “You help them,” he said at last. “Why?”

“Why did I help you?” said Arenadd.

“Because I say I kill you unless you help,” Skandar said immediately.

Skade and Arenadd both laughed.

“Well, yes,” said Arenadd. “But I didn’t have to come back and help you. I could have run away and left you there. Yet I didn’t, because I owed you my life. And because I felt sorry for you.”

“Do you think they will help you in return?” said Skade.

“They already helped me,” said Arenadd. “Skade, without them we’d never have made it past Guard’s Post. We could have flown over it, but we would have been seen, and we’d never have found enough food to make it through the mountains, anyway. Thanks to them we’ve got all the supplies we need and safe passage into the North. I hope I did the right thing for them. It was the only thing I could think of that felt right.”

Skandar made a harsh cackling sound in his throat. “You strange,” he said. “Always worry. Always say, ‘right thing, wrong thing, not know.’ ” He flicked him lightly with his wing. “My human,” he added fondly. “Silly human.”

Arenadd grinned and ducked. “Hey, don’t take my head off, you big brute.” He noticed Skandar wince as he put weight on his injured leg. “How do you feel?”

“Am strong,” Skandar said instantly. “Not hurt.”

“Of course. Skade, d’you want to go exploring together? I haven’t seen half of this place yet.”

She smiled and nodded. “I found some interesting things—would you like to see them?”

Arenadd took her hand. “I would.”

Skade started a little, and then smiled. “Then we will. Skandar, do you want to come?”

“I come,” said Skandar. “Come now.”

At Skade’s suggestion, they made for the nearer of the two towers that flanked the gates, whose tops were manned by sentries. “Look,” she said, letting go of Arenadd’s hand to point at a large pair of wooden doors set into the end of the passage they had taken. “That should lead into the tower. The doors look very grand.”

“They do, don’t they?” said Arenadd. “Doesn’t seem like anyone’s been in there yet—shall we have a look?”

“Why not?” said Skade. She went ahead, pushed the doors open and stepped through. After a few moments her voice drifted back. “A chapel! Come and see!”

“What’s that?” said Arenadd.

Skade re-emerged. “I said it is a chapel. Too small to have a priest, but the guards must have come here to worship.”

“Oh. I’ve never been in a temple, actually,” he said. “I wasn’t allowed in the one back at Eagleholm. I’ve always wondered what they were like inside.”

“Come and see, then!” said Skade. “The decorations are impressive.”

He smiled and followed her to the doors. “I wouldn’t mind …” His voice trailed off.

Skade looked back, and saw that he had stopped in the doorway. “Arenadd?”

Arenadd’s expression had changed. “Skade—”

She came toward him. “Arenadd? What is wrong?”

His face had gone pale. “I can’t go in there.”

“Why not?” said Skade.

“Don’t know. Something feels wrong.”

“There is nothing to be afraid of,” said Skade, reaching toward him. “Here, come and see the paintings.”

He shook himself, banishing the irrational fear that had come over him. “It’s all right. I’m fine.” He stepped into the chapel, and screamed.

“Arenadd, what—?”

He stood rigid for a moment, his face ghastly with sweat. “It hurts,” he moaned. “It hurts.”

“What does?” said Skade. “Arenadd, come here!”

He took a few lurching steps toward her, his hands pressed into his chest. “My heart …” The pain increased with every step, until he went staggering to his knees and was violently ill.

Skade ran to him. “Arenadd!”

In the blink of an eye, he scrambled to his feet and ran out of the chapel as fast as he could go. He collapsed in the corridor outside and lay there gasping for breath. “Oh gods. Oh gods.”

Skade took him by the arm. “Arenadd, what happened?”

He looked up at her, wild-eyed. “I can’t go in there,” he said. “There’s something wrong. It made my heart hurt. I felt like I was going to die.”

“But why?” said Skade. “It is only a room.”

“No. There’s something different about it. Skade, close the doors. Please.”

Skade got up and pulled them shut, and Arenadd began to look better almost immediately. She helped him up. “Do you feel better now?”

He breathed deeply. “I think so.”

Skandar nosed at him. “Sick? Human sick?”

Arenadd patted him on the beak. “I don’t know, Skandar. But I’m not going in there again.” He looked at Skade. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. I need some water.”

He walked quickly, taking long strides that left the chapel far behind, and the further he went from it the more he recovered. By the time they reached the kitchens and he had drunk several cups of water he looked as if nothing had happened at all.

Skade still looked worried. “I do not understand. What could have made that happen? Will it happen again?”

Arenadd gave her a watery smile. “I suppose the gods just don’t like me.”

“Do not be foolish,” said Skade. “A chapel is only a place; it has no power in it.”

“Like the spirit cave?” said Arenadd. He shook his head. “Well, I don’t like the gods, so I couldn’t blame them for not liking me.”

“Bah. Gods are human inventions, made out of vanity,” she said.

“Maybe,” he said. “What would I know? But—” He shook his head again, dismissing the idea that had occurred to him. “It’s probably just a coincidence. It’s been a long day, and I’m tired.”

“We are all tired,” said Skade. She took his shoulder. “Come. We should find a place to sleep. There will be many more things to do tomorrow, and we should take advantage of having proper shelter for the night.”

“Good idea,” he said, and wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Come on, Skandar.”

Rebels

E
rian never remembered what happened after the arrow struck him and he fainted. He woke up briefly as something shoved at him, and screamed as pain erupted in his shoulder. His vision went red, and he tried to crawl away from whatever was attacking him. But something sharp dug into him and he was dragged to one side, able to put up only the most feeble resistance before a roaring filled his ears and he blacked out again. All he remembered after that was a confused vision of trees and sky and wind dragging at him for what felt like days or weeks or months.

He woke again later and found himself lying on a hard surface. Voices were coming from nearby, and he felt hands patting his face as someone called to him. He stirred and moaned, his good arm rising to try to fend them off, before he was dragged sideways onto some other surface and he was lifted and carried away.

He did remember being taken down a slope, and a confusion of voices around him as he was laid down on something soft. Someone pried his mouth open and poured liquid down his throat, and he gagged on it before managing to swallow. It made him feel warm and sleepy, and he lay peacefully on his back, not feeling anything more than the vaguest sensation of pain from his shoulder. After a little while even that faded, and he slept.

He dreamt that he was in the barn back at his grandparents’ farm, and in spite of the high windows it was dark inside. The air was full of the scents of hay and horses, and it made him feel safe.

But as he turned to look for the doors, he felt the back of his neck prickle. The air had suddenly become colder.
He’s here
.

He turned sharply. “Where are you? Come out!”

Then, without warning, flames sprang up around him. They burned higher and higher, trapping him in a ring of heat, but somehow they gave off no light, and the barn remained full of shadows.

“Come out!” Erian shouted again.

I come,
a voice whispered back, and he saw something move just beyond the flames. The shadows that filled the barn swirled in toward the thing, melting together to form a tall human shape.

The murderer stepped forward, robed in shadows, pale face leering at him.
I come
.

Erian snarled and reached for Bloodpride’s hilt, but it wasn’t there, and panic stampeded through him. He was unarmed, helpless, and when he looked up he saw the murderer coming toward him, stepping through the fire as if it were nothing. Erian tried to back away, but he couldn’t move; he could feel the heat of the fire behind him, and icy cold came from the murderer’s robe as he lifted a bloodied hand and drew a sword: Bloodpride, its blade blackened and horrible.

“Help,” Erian called. “Help me! Senneck!”

The murderer laughed at him. He raised the sword and stabbed it into Erian’s shoulder.
Erian,
his voice called.
Erian. Erian
.

“Stop it,” said Erian. “Stop it!”

Erian. Erian, can you hear me?

“Erian? Erian!”

Erian moaned. “Stop it. That hurts. Don’t … Senneck …”

Pain continued to stab at his shoulder, and he felt his fingers curl on the blankets.

“He’s waking up!” a voice exclaimed from somewhere above him. “Come, quickly!”

Something hard and sharp, like a dagger blade, touched his arm and then his shoulder, and he heard a voice he knew. “Erian. Erian. Speak. Open your eyes! Erian!”

Erian stirred again. “Senneck?”

A hand touched his forehead. It felt light and soft. “Lord Erian? Can you hear me?”

Erian forced his eyes open. Something blurry was hovering over him, and he blinked until it came into focus. It was Elkin’s face, looking down at him with concern.

The instant he saw her, his heart leapt. He began to struggle, trying to sit up, but he felt weak and his entire body ached. He slumped back, groaning.

Senneck’s beak touched him again. “Erian,” she rasped. “You are back.”

Erian’s throat was dry and painful. “Senneck. I w—”

“Bring water,” Senneck’s voice commanded, and a few moments later some was poured into his mouth. He gulped it down, and some of his strength came back.

“Erian,” said Senneck. “Speak. How do you feel?”

Erian coughed. “I … hurt. Senneck, where—? What happened?”

“Be still,” said Senneck. “You are safe. We are at Malvern, and you are wounded.”

“My shoulder,” said Erian.

“Yes. It has been treated. Do you need more water?”

“Please.”

“Bring it,” said Senneck.

More water was brought, and Erian drank it eagerly. He could feel his confusion and dizziness beginning to die down now, and he was able to take in his surroundings. He was lying on a bed in a room he didn’t recognise but which had to be a hospital. Senneck was sitting close by, her forepaws resting on the bed beside him. But Erian only had eyes for the other person in the room.

Elkin was sitting by his side, wearing a simple yellow gown, her eyes fixed on his face. She smiled weakly at him. “Erian. Thank Gryphus you’re awake.”

Erian smiled back. “Elkin. You’re … Elkin.”

Elkin laughed. “Well, you recognise me. That should mean you’ll recover. But—” She became solemn. “But you were lucky, you know. I thought you were going to die. After losing all that blood.”

“Elkin, if the first thing I saw after I died was your face, I wouldn’t care,” said Erian.

She looked startled. “Erian … !”

BOOK: The Griffin's Flight

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