Authors: K.J. Taylor

The Griffin's Flight (64 page)

BOOK: The Griffin's Flight

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“No human. I promise.”

Arenadd kept his voice level and his head slightly bowed, careful not to look the griffin in the eye, and Skandar eventually relaxed and lay down on his belly.

“We go,” he said in a satisfied tone. “Morning, go. Rest now. You rest now, human.”

Arenadd nodded quickly at Skade. “Of course. You’re right, Skandar. We should rest. It’s been a long journey.”

Skandar looked placated after that, and the three of them rested and shared some meat Arenadd had smoked the night before. After a while Skandar fell asleep, exhausted from half a day in the air. The stars began to come out.

Once Skandar’s eyes had been closed for a decent amount of time, Arenadd stood up. “Right. I’d better go then.”

Skade pulled her cloak over her shoulders. “You are going into the village?”

“Of course. We still need food, and I still want to ask some questions. I’ll be back soon. Keep an eye on Skandar. If he wakes up try and distract him and call for me as soon as you can—for gods’ sakes, don’t let him follow me.” He took his sword from his back and leant it against a tree. “Better leave this here. See you later.”

“Good luck,” said Skade. “And be careful.”

“I will.” Arenadd dusted the snow off his robe and slipped away through the trees, eerily silent as always.

T
he village was quiet when Arenadd entered it. It looked even smaller than it had from the air, barely more than a handful of wood-and-stone huts clustered together as if to protect each other from the wind. The place was so tiny that it didn’t even have a mill. An inn would be out of the question.

People were coming back from their work in the field when Arenadd arrived, and he quickly found himself attracting the stares he had been expecting. Most of them started when they saw him, and nearly all of them shied away, quickly turning their faces from him as if they expected him to attack.

Arenadd approached the nearest of them. “Excuse me.”

The man glanced quickly around and then, apparently deciding there was no hope of escape, turned to face him. “What d’ye want?” he mumbled. He was clad in the typical rough peasant’s clothing but with a layer of furs over the top, and his accent was even thicker than Prydwen’s.

“I’m not looking for trouble,” Arenadd said as kindly as he could, aware of the people scurrying toward their homes as fast as they could go. “My name’s Llewellyn. Is this Eitheinn?”

“Yes,” said the man, still extremely nervous.

“Good. I’m just on my way through to somewhere else, and I was hoping to buy some food.”

The man straightened up. “We don’t have much,” he said, a little more confidently. “Just what we need to get by on. Money’s not of much use to us.”

“I don’t need a lot,” said Arenadd. “Just a few loaves of bread or some vegetables—whatever you can spare.”

The man looked past him. “Hmm, could be I’ve got a few things I could sell. Where be ye goin’, can I ask?”

“That’s my business,” said Arenadd. “I’m in a hurry, so could you please just—”

His question ended in a yell as, without any warning, something hit him hard in the back of the knees. His legs folded and he fell hard, as the farmer darted away from him, and before he knew what was happening a boot had been slammed down onto his chest and a sharp metal point was jammed under his chin.

Arenadd reached frantically for his dagger, but it was kicked away, and someone stamped on his hand. He looked up into three hostile faces.

“What in the gods’ names do you want?” he demanded, hiding his fear.

The face holding the blade to his neck spat. “Who are ye? Tell me yer name, or the next thing ye say will be yer epitaph, blackrobe.”

“Llewellyn,” said Arenadd. “My name’s Llewellyn. Please, let me up, I’m not going to—
argh!
”

The blade dug in a little further. “Llewellyn, is it? And what are ye doin’ here?” The voice was sharp and aggressive and, he realised with a hint of surprise, female.

“I’m trying to buy food,” he said. “That’s all.”

Hands hauled him to his feet.

“Food, is it?” said the woman.

“Yes,” said Arenadd, and yelped as the two men holding him twisted his arms behind his back.

She looked him up and down. “Where did ye come from, an’ why are ye here?”

Arenadd hesitated, and then decided to throw caution to the winds. “I’m trying to hide.”

The woman regarded him keenly. “A runaway slave, are ye?”

“Yes. I’m from Withypool.”

She kept her sword to his throat a few moments longer, and then withdrew it. “I wouldn’t think Elkin’d be fool enough to send someone so clumsy to spy f’her. But don’t think that means I believe all of that. How did ye get here? Are ye alone?”

Arenadd rubbed his neck. “Yes. And I’m sorry if I frightened people, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

The woman snickered. “Talk fancy, don’t ye?”

“Uh, yes, I suppose so.” Arenadd pulled himself together. “I was told to come here if I wanted to hide.”

She tensed immediately. “By who?”

“By another slave,” said Arenadd.

“Who? What was his name?”

“Caedmon Taranisäii.”

Almost immediately, the hands holding his arms let go.

The woman looked as if he had just slapped her in the face.
“Caedmon?”

“Yes. He said this place was a shelter for him once and that I should come here if I wanted to find people who could help me hide.”

“He’s alive?” said the woman.

“Last time I saw him, yes. Look, do you have a name? You don’t have to tell me, but—”

The woman sheathed her dagger and glanced sternly at her two comrades. “So Caedmon sent ye. That changes things. We thought—” She coughed and held out a hand. “Saeddryn. My name.”

Without even thinking, Arenadd linked his fingers with hers and gave the quick tug of a griffiner. “Pleased to meet you, Saeddryn.”

Saeddryn pulled her hand back very quickly, staring at her fingers as if she’d never seen them before. “What was that?”

“What was what?” said Arenadd.

“What ye just did,” said Saeddryn. “That—who taught ye that?”

“I can’t remember. Someone. Look, I don’t plan to stay here long. I just need to know—”

Saeddryn waved him into silence. “Ye want something from us, don’t ye?”

“Just food.” Arenadd began to feel nervous. “And I really should go soon.”

She was watching him intently. “Go? Go where? It’s nightfall; ye’ll freeze to death if ye sleep in the open.”

“Maybe, but that’s my business,” said Arenadd. “I’m not going to stay here.”

“Then where are ye going?” said Saeddryn.

“It’s not important. Somewhere else.”

She moved closer. “To the mountains, maybe?”

“And why would I want to go there?” Arenadd said carefully.

“I don’t know,” said Saeddryn. “Perhaps because ye’re hopin’ to find something there. Perhaps because Caedmon said ye should go there. Ye tell me, Llewellyn.”

“Well, I would like to see Taranis’ Throne.”

She grinned. “Then ye’ll see it, Southerner. I’ll take ye there myself.”

“D’ye think that’s a good idea?” one of Arenadd’s captors interrupted. “Takin’ him up there?”

“Shut up,” said Saeddryn. “He knows about us, an’ he knows about the Throne. An’ he’s only one man besides, an’ skinny. But we need him even so. After Ouen, we’ll need every man we can find,” she added sourly. “Now come.” She held a hand out toward Arenadd. “Ye need food an’ rest, an’ ye’ll have both. Ye can stay in my home, an’ when the time’s right, I’ll take ye to the Throne. The rest will be up to the moon.”

“Thank you, Saeddryn, I’d love to. But—”

“But?”

“I left my bag outside the village,” said Arenadd. “I should go and get it first.”

Saeddryn nodded. “I’ll come with ye, then. Rhodri, Talfryn, ye come, too.”

Arenadd crumbled inside. “You don’t need to bother; I can do it myself. It’s just a short walk—”

Saeddryn touched the hilt of her sword. “Then we’ll have no trouble in going. Come, let’s go quickly, before the sun is all gone.”

Arenadd knew he was making them suspicious. “All right. Let’s go.”

He walked back out of the village, with the three Northerners following, not daring to try to run away. They, apparently sensing that he was up to something, stayed very close to him, close enough to grab him the instant he did anything suspicious.

Arenadd entered the patch of trees where the others were hiding, hoping to lose himself in the shadows, but his escort kept close, and after only a few steps Saeddryn said, “So, where is it? Is it here?”

Arenadd made a show of examining the undergrowth. “Uh, I thought it was here somewhere. It all looks the same. I’ll just have a look around.”

“I’ll help,” she said immediately. “What does it look like?”

It’s got silver feathers and black fur, and it’s big enough to rip a horse’s head off
. “It’s quite small; I hid it in some bushes under a tree—maybe it’s this one.” He rooted through the clump in question, while Saeddryn and her friends stood over him and watched. He straightened up. “Damn. Maybe it was further in.”

He “searched” several bushes after that, his mind racing, as Saeddryn became more and more impatient and suspicious. There was no chance of shaking them off: they obviously knew what they were doing and would probably kill him if they thought he was trying to trick them. They were getting closer to Skade and Skandar’s hiding place all the while.

Finally, as the atmosphere became increasingly tense, he decided that there was only one option. He paused by a tree, pretending to look at something a short distance away.

“What is it?” said Saeddryn.

“I think I can see something odd over there,” said Arenadd, pointing. “See it?”

One of her companions squinted in that direction. “Too dark t’see anythin’. What’re ye goin’ on about? Where’s this bag, anyway? Moon’s gonna come up before ye find the damned thing, ye Southern fool.”

It was now or never. Arenadd cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted in griffish. “Skade! Skade, it’s me! Quickly, run away! Take Skandar and go, before—”

That was as far as he got. One of Saeddryn’s friends grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the tree, and the other delivered two fast and powerful blows to his stomach, which silenced him and drove all the air from his lungs in a single burst.

Saeddryn grabbed him by the hair and wrenched his head sideways. “Who were ye callin’ for?” she snarled. “Who’s out here with us?”

Arenadd coughed and gasped. “I w-w-w—”

As if by magic, the sword reappeared in her hand and pressed into his throat, hard enough to draw blood. “Answer me!
Now.
”

Arenadd opened his mouth to reply, and in that instant a screech split the air. The three Northerners’ heads snapped around, and Arenadd took his chance. He grabbed Saeddryn’s arm and wrenched it away, kicked one of his captors in the groin, wriggled out of the grip of the other one, shoved his way past them and ran.

There was a scream and a bellow of rage, and they were after him in moments, but he didn’t run far. Even as Saeddryn bore down on him, something huge came crashing through the undergrowth, screeching all the while.

Arenadd ran straight at Skandar, colliding with him. The griffin reeled back, beak opening, ready to attack, before he recognised his human and enveloped him with one wing and began to hiss and snarl at Saeddryn and her friends. “My human!
Mine!
”

Saeddryn pulled up short. “By the—
get back!
”

Her two friends stopped and ran back the way they had come, taking shelter behind a pair of trees. They clearly wanted to run further than that, but neither was prepared to abandon their leader. Saeddryn stood her ground.

Skandar hissed even more loudly and advanced on her with murder in his eyes.

Arenadd managed to extricate himself from the griffin’s wing. “Saeddryn, get out of here! He’ll kill you if you don’t—”

Saeddryn did not move. She put her sword away and bowed low. “Great griffin,” she intoned, and Arenadd’s stomach lurched as he realised the words were spoken in griffish.

Skandar hesitated at that, and Saeddryn went on.

“Please, do not attack us,” she said. “I bow to you, for you are powerful and I am weak. I am Saeddryn, and I will do no harm to you.”

Skandar stopped and held his head up, looking down at her. “You … speak,” he said slowly. “Human speak.”

“I do,” said Saeddryn.

Skandar had begun to look uncertain. He turned to Arenadd. “You hurt?”

BOOK: The Griffin's Flight

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