Read The Griffin's Flight Online
Authors: K.J. Taylor
The Griffin's Flight (11 page)
“I am not an innocent victim, Arren,” said Skade, without turning around. “I was not cursed out of malice. It was punishment.”
“Punishment for what?” said Arren.
She turned to look at him. “I am—I was a rogue griffin. I lived in the city, but one day I turned on the humans around me. I killed many. I was judged to be unstable and therefore worthless, and when it was clear that I had declared myself an enemy to humankind, the great council of griffins decided they would punish me, not with death but by forcing me to live as a human.” She closed her eyes. “Arakae cast the spell on me, and when it was over I was banished and told that my fate was to wander the world in human form, with no hope of ever changing back.” Her eyes opened. “That is why I have decided to trust you, human. Because you and I are alike. We are outcasts and murderers, and both of us are cursed.”
“Cursed?” Arren repeated dully.
She nodded. “That is why you are so desperate to go to the cave, so much so that you decided to take my side rather than Skandar’s, even though you barely knew me.” She sighed and sat down with her back to a tree, evidently exhausted. “It only makes sense. When so many griffins want you dead, there is every chance that those with the power have death-cursed you by now.”
Arren looked away. “Yes.”
There was silence after that. Arren gazed up at the sky, scanning the endless blue. There were a few birds up there, but no sign of anything that could be a griffin. His feeling of sickness increased.
“I’ll just fix the fire now,” he mumbled. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes,” said Skade. She got up. “I will help.”
Arren opened his mouth to tell her she should rest, and then shut it again. He wandered off into the trees and gathered wood. When he returned, Skade was using the sword to cut some more meat from the sheep—not a very efficient process. The blade was blunt, as sword blades always were—after all, they were made to slash bodies open, not perform surgery.
Arren went over and offered her his knife. “Here, this might work better.”
She took it. “I cannot eat raw meat any more,” she muttered as she worked. “It makes me ill.”
Arren piled more fuel onto the fire and blew on it to coax it back to life. “The food isn’t very good out here, is it?” He sighed. “If only we were back in my house at Eagleholm. I could cook a proper meal for you.” The dry bark he’d put onto the coals caught and began to burn brightly. “Potatoes—now, I haven’t had those for as long as I can remember. I’d give anything for a plate of boiled potatoes.”
Skade came over carrying a bloody hunk of meat. “Eggs,” she said. “I would love some eggs.”
“Ooh, yes,” said Arren. “A couple of poached eggs with some sage sprinkled on top, and maybe a cup of strayberry milk to go with ’em.”
She gave him an odd look. “Strayberry milk? You can get milk from strayberries?”
Arren laughed. “No, no, of course not. No, it’s something I invented.” He took the meat from her and impaled it on a stick. “What you do is take a cup of ordinary cow’s or goat’s milk, and then you crush a few strayberries—as many as you like—and mix the juice in with the milk. You can add some honey to sweeten it, and warm it on the stove for a while if you want, and then you drink it. It tastes delicious.”
Skade shook her head. “You humans cannot eat anything as it is, can you? You must always insist on burning it or mixing it with something else.”
“Well, if it tastes better that way, I’m not going to complain,” said Arren.
Skade snickered. “You are a strange man, Arren.”
He looked at her. “How do you mean?”
“I knew many Northerners in Withypool,” said Skade. “To me, nearly all of them looked the same. They were not like you, not at all.”
Arren touched his neck. “They wouldn’t be like me, would they? They were slaves, and I’m not.”
Skade watched him with a gleam in her eye. “I have known only two free Northerners in my life,” she said, “and I think you are a better people when you are free. There is a spirit about you that other humans do not have.”
Arren smiled. “Thank you, Skade,” He checked on the meat, moving it closer to the fire. “Who was the other one? The other free Northerner you met?”
Skade did not reply. When he looked at her, he saw she was watching the sky.
Arren looked skyward as well, thinking that maybe she had seen Skandar. There was nothing.
“Skade?”
She looked at him. “Yes, Arren?”
“Do you think he’s going to come back?”
He waited for her reply, almost desperate to hear it, as if she somehow knew what Skandar would do.
“Do you want him to?” she said at length.
Arren glanced skyward again. “Yes,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because—I don’t know. I keep wanting to hate him, but—” Arren gave her an agonised look. “What if he doesn’t come back? What if something happens to him? He doesn’t know where he’s going. What if he gets lost? If I’m not there to help him, he might start eating people again, and then they’ll catch him and kill him.”
Skade smiled to herself. “I am sure he can look after himself. I suggest you wait here for him to return.”
“But what if he doesn’t?”
“I think he will come looking for you sooner or later,” said Skade. “You saved his life, and he will remember it. Besides, where else does he have to go?”
Arren calmed down a little. “Yes, I suppose that’s all we can do for now. I don’t want to leave here without him. When I see him again I’ll apologise to him and hope he forgives me.”
“If he thinks of you as his human, he will come back,” said Skade.
Arren looked at the sky. “I hope you’re right, Skade. I hope you’re right.”
T
he sun was high overhead, and the screech of a griffin echoed over the rooftops of Norton to signify that it was noon. The town was right on the border between the lands belonging to Eagleholm and the neighbouring territory of Malvern—the city that ruled over what had once been blackrobe land—and though the fortified walls that surrounded it had fallen into disrepair after a hundred years of relative peace, there was a large stone tower in the centre which was still in use. The top was flat, and large platforms jutted from its sides, built specifically for griffins to land and perch on.
he sun was high overhead, and the screech of a griffin echoed over the rooftops of Norton to signify that it was noon. The town was right on the border between the lands belonging to Eagleholm and the neighbouring territory of Malvern—the city that ruled over what had once been blackrobe land—and though the fortified walls that surrounded it had fallen into disrepair after a hundred years of relative peace, there was a large stone tower in the centre which was still in use. The top was flat, and large platforms jutted from its sides, built specifically for griffins to land and perch on.
Senneck circled above it a few times rather than landing immediately. There were no other griffins in the sky here or any perched on the tower platforms, but there was a small gathering of people on the ground at the base of the tower, and she made her decision and descended toward them. They moved away to let her land, and once she had folded her wings, Erian slid off her back. He paused to pat her on the shoulder and then turned to look at the little group that had come to welcome him.
“Why are there no griffiners here?” he said, without pausing to greet them. “I expected Lord Galrick to be here to meet me. Where is he?”
One of the group came forward, bowing low. “I am sorry, my lord. Lord Galrick left here only two days ago.”
“Left to go where?” Erian demanded.
“Uh, we, uh—we understand that he has gone to Malvern, my lord, to offer his services to Lady Elkin.”
Erian swore. “Already? Curse him! How many others were here with him?”
“Seven, my lord. The lords Sumner, Manolis, Mervis and Dirke, and the ladies Stellana, Katriona and Liyah.”
“And where have
they
gone, may I ask?”
they
gone, may I ask?”
“I am not certain, my lord. Sumner and Mervis went with Lord Galrick and his wife, Lady Stellana, but the others—they left without notice, shortly after we received word of what had happened at Eagleholm.”
Erian breathed deeply, trying to contain his anger. “So am I to take it that there are no griffiners left here at all?”
“No, my lord,” said the man. “The Lady Kitaen is still here, at the temple.”
“Go and tell her to come here at once,” Erian snapped.
“I believe she is already on her way, my lord,” said the man. “She was delayed by the noon rites, but they will be over by now. If you would like to retire indoors, I am sure that—”
“I have no time to waste,” said Erian. “I shall wait for her here. Bring water for Senneck.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The man nodded to one of his companions, who dashed off and returned a surprisingly short time later with a very large dish and a jug of water. He placed the dish on the ground at a respectable distance from the two of them and filled it with water, keeping his head bowed and not daring to look directly at Senneck as he retreated. The brown griffin watched him disdainfully, and once he was out of the way, she stepped over to the dish and sniffed at its contents. Apparently satisfied, she dipped her beak in the water, tossing her head back to tip it down her throat.
Erian stood by and watched her, careful not to do anything that might annoy her. She had flown a long way in a brief period, and she was probably far more tired than she would be willing to admit. She had only had a human partner for a few months now, and carrying him in the air must still be hard work for her.
He stifled a yawn and adjusted the hang of his sword. It was a fine weapon; it had a long, straight blade made from the finest steel, and the hilt was gold set with large red stones. The swordsmith who had made it for him according to his exact specifications had said that such decorations were unnecessary and impractical, but Erian had been unmoved. He had spent nearly all his life on a farm and had always dreamt of the wealth and grandeur that would be his once he became a griffiner like his father; even if he didn’t have any land or riches yet, nothing could make him put up with a plain sword. Nonetheless, this sword—fine though it was—was nothing but a temporary stand-in. Erian knew which sword he should be carrying. He had seen it only a few times, but he remembered it very clearly. Old, its bronze hilt decorated with images of flying griffins. His father’s sword, now in the hands of his murderer.
Erian’s jaw tightened as the crowd parted to let someone through. He saw the griffin before the griffiner: it was female, with yellow-brown feathers and tawny hindquarters. She looked a little too small to be ridden—not that her partner would be able to ride a griffin anyway. Erian had nothing but contempt for the priesthood. Every major temple in Cymria was headed by a griffiner, but very few griffins would allow their partner to join the priesthood voluntarily. A priest was not allowed to own property or to command anyone outside of the spiritual world, and the priesthood was traditionally a dumping ground for unwanted griffiners: younger siblings, cowards, cripples—in essence, anyone judged unable or unfit to fight or command as every griffiner was expected to do.
This one wore the traditional pale-blue gown of a priestess and had rather grubby blonde hair. She was very fat and walked with a slow, heavy-footed gait. Erian sneered inside. No wonder she’d been shunted sideways into the priesthood. There was no griffin on earth that could carry someone her size.
Senneck went forward to meet the griffin, dipping her head respectfully. The other griffin held her own head high, raising her wings slightly to make herself look larger as she sized the newcomer up. Neither of them spoke, but Senneck clicked her beak rapidly as the yellow griffin sniffed at her head and neck, and made no move when she bit her lightly on the nape of the neck to assert her dominance. Erian looked on, slightly annoyed to see his partner deferring to the other griffin, but he knew better than to interfere.
Finally, Senneck backed away and sat on her haunches, her tail curled around her. “I am Senneck,” she said. “My human is named Erian Rannagonson.”
The yellow griffin flicked her tail. “I am Kreeak, and my human is Kitaen Sunborn, Priestess of the Norton Temple.”
The formalities over with, the two griffins moved to stand behind their humans, giving them tacit permission to talk to each other.
Erian inclined his head briefly to the priestess. “It’s an honour to meet you, my lady.”
She returned the gesture. “May the light of Gryphus embrace you, my lord.”
Erian paused. “Please, my lady,” he said, “there are urgent matters to discuss, and I think we should do so in private. Shall we retire indoors?”
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