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Authors: K.J. Taylor

The Griffin's Flight (62 page)

BOOK: The Griffin's Flight
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Once Erian would have apologised, but not now. He watched her steadily, but she was unreadable.
“How long?” he asked eventually. “What happened?”
“You were hit by an arrow,” Senneck interrupted. “The blackrobes attacked us in the circle. Kerod is dead, and I do not know what happened to Eekrae. After his human was killed he attacked them. He was struck by at least two arrows; they ran and he chased them, and I do not know what became of him after that. I killed the one who wounded you, but the rest escaped. I would have chased them, but I did not want to leave you alone. You were losing blood—too much of it. I carried you back to Malvern as quickly as I could.”
“My shoulder?”
“Badly damaged. That arrow went through it to the other side. It will be a while before you will be able to use your arm again.”
Erian groaned. “Bloodpride. They took it.”
Senneck cocked her head. “Bloodpride? What is that?”
Erian cringed. “My sword.”
“I see,” Senneck said levelly. “I did not know you had named it.”
“Did you get it back?” said Erian.
“No. I am sorry, but Bloodpride was stolen by Kerod’s killers.”
“But couldn’t you have just—?”
“No, Erian,” Senneck snapped. “I could not ‘have just.’ Kerod was dead and you were dying, and I did not have time to waste over your pretty toy. Doubtless you will be able to purchase another one.”
“I didn’t mean that,” said Erian. “I’m sorry, Senneck, I just—you’re right, it was only a sword. I can get another one. Thank you,” he added. “You saved my life.”
“Of course I did,” said Senneck. “It was only expected of me. A griffin who cannot protect her human is useless.” She shook herself. “Now you should thank Lady Elkin. She has visited you many times since we returned.”
Erian turned his head to look at her. “Elkin,” said Erian. “
Lady
Elkin. Thank you for coming to see me. I’m honoured.”
She smiled nervously. “It’s only expected of me,” she said. “I visit all my officials when they’re unwell.”
“What, even one as lowly as me?” said Erian.
Elkin shrugged. “Maybe you’re not as high as the Master of Taxation or the Mistress of Law, but Master of Farms is still quite an important position.”
Erian started. “Master of—
me
?”
“Well, of course,” said Elkin. She sighed. “They haven’t retrieved Kerod’s body yet, but Senneck’s testimony was enough proof. Now that Kerod is dead, his office goes to you as a matter of course. It’s done like that in every Eyrie, you know.”
Erian lay there, head spinning. Him, Master of Farms. Lady Elkin, visiting him in his sick bed. And in spite of what she had said, he knew it was only a half-truth. She hadn’t come to see the Master of Farms; she had come to see him. He was sure of it.
A strange certainty came over him. “Lady Elkin,” he said. “Can I talk to you?”
“Of course,” she said. “I’m listening.”
“Alone,” said Erian.
Senneck stood up. “I do not think—”
Elkin didn’t look at her. She kept her eyes on Erian. He looked back steadily.
The Mistress of the Eyrie drew herself up. “Senneck, could you please leave us?” she said. “Lord Erian and I need to talk.”
Senneck looked at Erian, pure outrage burning in her eyes. But her voice was level when she said, “Eyrie Mistress, I would prefer to stay.”
Elkin glanced at the door. “Please. We won’t take long, I promise.”
Senneck couldn’t argue. She left the room, her tail swishing dangerously.
When she had gone, Elkin turned to Erian.
“Help me sit up,” said Erian. “Please.”
Elkin took him by his uninjured shoulder and helped him struggle into a sitting position, propping him up with a few pillows. The action made his wound scream with pain, but he gritted his teeth and waited for it to subside.
“I really thought you were going to die,” Elkin told him. “You were unconscious for nearly two days. Senneck never left you. Not even to eat.”
Erian hadn’t taken his eyes off her face. “Lady Elkin. I wanted to—”
“Please, just call me Elkin.”
“Elkin, then.” Erian breathed in deeply. “I wanted to say sorry for how I acted at the dance. I got carried away—I said things I shouldn’t have.”
“Oh.” Elkin sat down beside him. “It’s all right, Erian. It really is. We were both—well, I understand.”
Erian wanted to reach out and touch her hand, but his wounded arm refused to move. “But there’s something I have to tell you. I have to say it, and I’m going to, even though I know it’s wrong. I know I shouldn’t say it, and I know nothing will ever happen, but I have to say it, because it’s the truth. You don’t have to say anything or do anything; you don’t even have to talk to me ever again. But I want to say it to you because if I don’t I’ll regret it forever.”
Elkin had become very still. “Erian, I don’t think you should—”
Erian’s heart was racing; it made him feel sick and light-headed, but he knew he had to do it now. “I love you, Elkin,” he said. “I’ve loved you ever since we first met. I didn’t realise it until the day after we danced together. I don’t know if it is right to tell you, but I have to. I love you, Elkin, and I always will.”
The instant the words were out of his mouth, a wonderful calm came over him. He lay back on his pillows, his chest heaving, and watched Elkin. He kept his eyes on her face, the face he knew he loved with more certainty than he had ever known anything before in his life.
Elkin looked back silently at him, and the moment stretched out into eternity. Erian didn’t try to break the silence. He had said everything he needed to say, and now he waited.
Then Elkin turned away. She walked to the window and stood there, looking out, with her back to him.
“I’ve spoken to Senneck,” she said at last. “We have a description of the men who killed Kerod.”
“Elkin—”
“I haven’t sent anyone out there yet,” Elkin continued, her voice flat and distant. “But I’m certain the people living in Eitheinn know something. Even if the killers aren’t living there, the Eitheinnians have to know they’re in the area. I’ve spoken to the Master of Law, and we agreed to wait a while. They must know that we know about them by now, and they’ll have gone into hiding. I’m going to send some griffiners to the stone circle to search, and they’ll ask some questions at Eitheinn. After that they’ll leave. Once the darkmen have decided they’re safe again, they’ll go back and search the whole village. We should learn something that way, and if we’re lucky we’ll make some arrests as well. I’ll catch them, my lord, and they’ll be brought back here to be questioned. After that they’ll be hanged, and Kerod will be avenged.”
Erian felt as if every word were a dagger in his heart. “I see.”
Elkin turned back to face him. “You should get some rest now,” she said. “I’ll make sure the healers keep me informed.”
Erian sighed. “Yes. Thank you—my lady.”
Elkin hesitated, and then came closer to his bed. She leant down, so close he could smell the faint flowery scent that hung about her, and touched his arm. “My brave warrior,” she breathed, and left the room.
Erian lay very still for a long time after she had gone, feeling the deep ache in his shoulder. The wound would leave him scarred, he knew. Deformed.
He turned his face to the wall and began to sob. The tears hurt, and went on for a long time.
 
E
lkin returned to her own chambers. She locked the door behind her before entering her bedchamber. It was a big room; the Master or Mistress’ quarters had always been large, and when she had moved into them they had been expanded even further for Kraal’s sake. The giant griffin couldn’t go into many parts of the Eyrie, which didn’t seem to worry him much, but Elkin didn’t like being separated from him for too long and preferred to stay in the upper levels, where he could be with her.
She sat down on the bed and buried her face in her hands. So many things to do, so much to plan and organise, officials to meet and documents to write—she felt exhausted at the very thought. She had already missed far too much by spending all that time in the infirmary with Erian, talking to Senneck. Elkin had made the griffin tell her story several times, knowing she would bring up more detail every time, and that had meant being forced to be in the infirmary with her for long periods of time, since the griffin refused to leave it.
Elkin looked up at her sword hanging on the wall. It was an elegant thing, its hilt decorated with embossed vines. She had inherited it from her father but had never used it, mostly because it was too heavy for her to lift. The Eyrie’s swordsmith had offered to make her a smaller one, but she had refused. Fighting wasn’t for her.
A
thump
came from the next room, and she got up and walked through the doorway. It led to Kraal’s enormous stable. The griffin was there now, crouched among the straw and grooming his wings, and he looked up when she entered. Even though she made very little noise when she walked, he always seemed to know when she was there. He clicked his beak briefly in greeting and went back to his grooming.
Elkin moved closer to him. “Hello. Do you want some food?”
He flicked his tail briefly to indicate no, and dipped his beak into the trough.
“Lord Erian woke up,” said Elkin. “The healer says he should recover.”
Kraal lifted his head, water dripping from his beak. “You spoke to him.”
“Yes. He confirmed what Senneck told me.”
Kraal shook his head, spraying water over the straw. “I see.”
“Kraal.” Elkin moved closer and touched his feathers. “Kraal, why are you so interested in him?”
The griffin cocked his head in order to fix a huge golden eye on her. “Do you not like him?” he asked mildly.
Elkin faltered. “He’s—well, he’s a good man—brave, maybe not very clever, but—yes, I like him. But why are
you
interested in him, Kraal? You keep on talking about him—why?”
Kraal sighed and lay down on his belly, curling his tail around himself. “You must protect him, Elkin, and keep him close.”
“He certainly needs protecting,” said Elkin. “The first time he left the Eyrie he lost a good griffiner and nearly died along with him. But why does it
matter
so much?”
“Do not be complacent,” said Kraal. “There is more to that boy than there seems. The time will come when we shall all be grateful that he is here among us.”
Elkin started. “What? Why?”
The griffin closed his eyes, and for a moment his massive frame looked smaller. “Because
Kraeai kran ae
is coming,” he breathed.
 
T
he morning after the capture of Guard’s Post, the surviving slaves gathered on the road outside the gates and burned the dead. They had gathered all the firewood they could find inside the fort and laid each body on its own crude pyre soaked with oil and packed with coal.
Arenadd and Caedmon lit the fires, and the slaves stood in a solemn crowd and watched the bodies burn, while Caedmon recited the ritual words.
“Of earth born and in fire forged, by magic blessed and by cool water soothed, then by a breeze in the night blown away to a land of silver and bright flowers. May the gods receive the souls of Cardock Skandarson, Annan Caenborn, Nolan Nolan-son …”
He spoke the names of every single one of the dead men, while the fires burned higher and the others bowed their heads and murmured their own farewells. Skandar circled high above, uneasy around fire and impatient to be off.
When Caedmon had finished he looked at Arenadd. “Do ye want to say something, sir?”
Arenadd looked at the dozens of expectant faces. “They were good men,” he said eventually. “They were my friends. They were all our friends.”
Some of the others took their turns, speaking of lost friends and family, while the fires burned lower and eventually burned themselves out. A cold wind gusted up the road and carried the ashes away and up over the mountainside.
Arenadd took a clay pot from his robe and hurried over to Cardock’s pyre, where he scooped up some of the ashes that were left and then sealed the pot and stowed it away in his robe.
“You’re coming with me, Dad,” he muttered. “Just like I promised.”
When he straightened up he found the others all watching him. They had all shed their slave robes and were wearing an odd assortment of clothing stolen from the guards. Most of it didn’t fit, and more than a few of the former slaves looked faintly ridiculous, but there was a new pride about the way they carried themselves. Nearly all of them carried a sword or some other weapon. They had taken horses and a handful of small carts from the fort and were carrying food and spare clothing; all of them looked ready to leave.
Arenadd coughed. “It’s time for us to go,” he said, his voice sounding rather thin in the open air.
BOOK: The Griffin's Flight
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