The Griffin's Flight

by K J Taylor

  Skade hid a smile behind her hand. “There is water just over there,” she said, pointing to the creek.

  “Thanks.”

  The creek was a little deeper here, and he drank and then washed himself, scrubbing his skin with a handful of sand. He was still carrying the object, and gave that a quick rinse as well. He frowned at it, puzzled. It wasn’t a branch but something else; obscured by something that looked like—

  His happiness started to drain away as quickly as it had come. Cloth. The thing was wrapped in cloth. He pulled it away; it was perished, and disintegrated almost instantly, leaving the hard object inside it to fall onto the ground.

  Arren picked it up, and the sick, anxious feeling he had had before came flooding back. He got up and ran to the clearing where Skandar lay.

  “Skandar!”

  Skade was there, holding his robe. “He is asleep,” she said. “You should let him rest. What did you find in his throat?”

  Arren showed it to her.

  Skade’s face fell. “But that—”

  “Yes.”

  She came closer, staring at it. “I do not understand. How did that come to be in his throat?”

  It was a long dagger, still in a leather sheath. Arren drew it cautiously; the blade was straight and looked quite sharp. Not an extremely expensive weapon, but good quality.

  “Oh gods,” Arren groaned. “What’s he done?”

  “Tried to eat a dagger, I think,” Skade said dryly.

  “No,” said Arren. “Isn’t it obvious? He’s eaten someone. He’s killed another human.”

  Skade’s reaction caught him completely off guard. She looked at him for a moment, and then she laughed.

  “It’s no laughing matter,” Arren snapped. “Don’t you understand? If he’s killed someone, that means all kinds of terrible things. For one thing, someone’s dead, and for another, someone else could have seen him do it. It’ll draw attention to us—for all we know there could be a hunting party out there right now looking for us!”

  Skade lost her smile. “And what will you do if that is true, Arren? What if they are out there now and come across our camp without warning? What will you do?”

  Arren gripped the dagger. “I’ll fight. Not to win, but to escape.”

  “And if there is no escape?”

  “Then I’ll fight until I’m dead. I am not going to let myself be captured, not for anything.”

  She nodded. “Yes, that is what a warrior would do,” she said in an oddly satisfied tone of voice.

  “Here.” Arren gave her the dagger. “You can keep this if you want. It’ll probably be useful. I’m going to wake Skandar up. I have to know if there are people near here.” He strode over to the griffin and nudged him with his boot. “Skandar? Skandar, wake up.”

  Skandar stirred and coughed softly. “I . . . wake, Arren.”

  Arren paused. “Skandar, do you feel better now?”

  Skandar raised his head. “You help me,” he said simply.

  “Of course I did,” said Arren. “You’re my—” He suddenly felt a little awkward. “Well, you’re my friend,” he mumbled at last. “I’m sorry, Skandar. I shouldn’t have said those things. I don’t hate you, and I don’t want you to go away. I missed you when you were gone.”

  Skandar blinked slowly. “I not—did not want—not want you to—” He gave up. “I heard you. You calling for me. I should not fly away. I cannot fly without you.” He sighed and lowered his head onto his talons. “My human,” he mumbled. “Mine.”

  Arren smiled. “I’ll be your human for as long as you want me to be, Skandar. Truly. But—” Somehow, asking now felt almost cruel. But he had to do it. “Skandar, listen. Have you killed someone? A human?”

  Skandar said nothing.

  “Where did you go?” Arren persisted. “Where did you fly to?”

  “Mist,” Skandar said softly.

  Arren’s forehead wrinkled. “What? What’s that, Skandar? Mist?”

  “Mist,” the griffin repeated, not raising his head. “Place . . . mist. Whispering.”

  “Whispering mist?” said Arren. “What are you talking about? Where was this?”

  Skade had come closer to listen. “What did he say?”

  “He said something about whispering mist,” said Arren.

  She stiffened. “Skandar, where was this? Where did you see the mist?”

  “Place,” said Skandar. “Place in ground. Hole. Space.” He was growing frustrated searching for the words.

  “Was it a cave?” said Skade.

  Skandar sighed. “Yes. Cave, yes. Rocks, hole. Two mountains. Singing hill.”

  “Skade?” said Arren. “What’s he talking about?”

  Skade had become very still. “The cave,” she said softly. “He’s found the cave!”

  Arren stared at her. “What?”

  “The cave!” Skade said again. “The spirit cave! Don’t you understand? Two mountains, a whispering mist—those were the spirits!” She went closer to Skandar, stopping only when he started to hiss warningly. “Where is it?” she said. “This cave with the mist in it, where is it?”

  “Mountains,” said Skandar. “Singing hill, then mountains. Big mountains. Cold. There was mist.”

  “Did it speak to you?”

  The black griffin shuddered softly. “Yes. Whispering.”

  “What did it say?” said Arren.

  Skade laid a hand on his arm. “No. Don’t ask him. What the spirits tell must not be shared with another living soul.”

  Arren touched Skandar’s beak. “Skandar, where is this place? Can you—will you take us there?”

  “Yes,” Skandar rasped. “I take you there.”

  Arren sighed. “Thank you, Skandar. A hundred times.”

  Skandar raised his head. “We go tomorrow,” he said, with a touch of his old brusque authority. “Fly at dawn.”

  “Yes, of course. But Skandar, were there people there? Did you see people there?”

  “Yes,” said Skandar.

  Arren groaned. “How many? What happened?”

  “Humans near cave,” said Skandar, sounding almost bored. “They see me, I kill them.”

  “You killed them?”

  “And eat them,” Skandar added blandly. “Good food.”

  “You probably shouldn’t have tried to eat their weapons as well. Did any of them get away?”

  “No. One run, I chase him. Eat him. Then sick.”

  “That was when you got the dagger stuck in your throat,” Arren summarised. “And then you flew back.”

  “Yes.” Skandar yawned. “I sleep now,” he said abruptly, lowered his head back onto his claws and closed his eyes.

  Skade took Arren by the arm. “We should leave him alone,” she said softly.

  Arren went reluctantly. It was nearly dark. “How are we going to find our way back to camp now?”

  “Here.” Skade gave him his robe. “We can follow the firelight. Don’t forget your sword.”

  Arren struggled back into the robe and found his sword lying on the ground where he’d dropped it. Skandar was fast asleep. He’d be able to find them in the morning.

  The two humans trudged back toward the camp. Arren was quick to spot the light of the fire showing through the trees and led the way to it. It was fortunate that he had added more fuel not very long ago; otherwise it could well have gone out by now.

  He put the sword down by the lean-to and put some more wood on the fire.

  Skade took meat out of the parcel. “We are lucky some animal did not steal this while we were gone,” she commented.

  Arren watched her take a generous amount of mutton out. “We really should try and save it,” he said weakly.

  “Perhaps,” said Skade, who was already laying it out to warm up by the fire. “But I am sure we can find better food at the next place we stay. And besides, we should finish it now. Humans eat more when they have something to celebrate, and we have a great deal to celebrate.”

  Arren
brightened up. “Yes, we do, don’t we?” He paused and then laughed. “My gods! Can you believe this? Skandar found it for us!”

  Skade nodded. “He is as remarkable as his partner.”

  Arren smiled bashfully. “Thanks. It’s odd, though,” he added. “How do you think he did it? He can’t have had much idea of where he was going, and yet—it’s bizarre.”

  “Not so bizarre,” said Skade.

  “What d’you mean by that?”

  “The spirit cave is a place for griffins,” said Skade. She moved closer to the fire, light and shadows playing over her face. “It calls,” she half-whispered. “Its magic reaches out, drawing griffins toward it when they come close enough. He was meant to find it. And so are we.”

  Arren scratched his beard. This sort of thing sounded a little too mystical for him. Griffin talk. “You mean, it’s destiny?” he ventured.

  “I suppose it could be called that,” said Skade. She shrugged. “Never mind.”

  They were silent for a time, busy with their own thoughts. Skade checked on the meat every now and then, and eventually passed a piece of it over to him.

  Arren ate it, chewing slowly. “You know, we really should try and spice this stuff up a little,” he said. “You can use soap-bush leaves as seasoning, I think. We could try it, if you want.”

  Skade wasn’t listening. Arren glanced at her and saw she had that distant look about her again. He shrugged and decided to leave her alone.

  Skade closed her eyes for a moment. “The spirit cave is so close,” she breathed. “After so long, when I had begun to think I would never find it, it is within my grasp. Soon my curse will be lifted.”

  Soon, Arren thought. Soon I’ll be there, and the spirits will make me whole again. I can feel it. It’s so close.

  Skade looked up at him. “Soon I shall be a griffin again,” she said. “And you shall see me as I should be. You shall see my beauty.”

  “You look beautiful already,” said Arren without even thinking. He cringed the instant the words were out of his mouth. It was such an idiotic thing to say, and it was bound to make her angry with him.

  Skade smiled, though. “I hated being a human,” she said. “Every moment of it was torment. I despised what I saw reflected in the water when I went to drink. It made me hate my own self. But you have helped me, Arren Cardockson.”

  “Helped you do what?” said Arren.

  She glanced quickly at him and smiled again, almost shyly. “These last few days have been the only time I have not hated myself. And now, here with you, I almost feel as if I could be happy again.”

  “Well,” said Arren. “Well, uh, it’s the same for me,” he said in a rush. “I like you, Skade. I’ve been so lonely out here for so long with nobody but Skandar. I felt like the whole world hated me. Sometimes even I hated me. But you were—well, you’re a friend to me, Skade. A good friend.”

  She was watching him with that searching look. “You did a very brave thing tonight, Arren,” she said softly. “What you did to save Skandar’s life took great courage, and compassion as well. I did not think you would be able to do it, but you proved me wrong.”

  “I had to do it,” said Arren. “Skandar’s my friend. You were right, Skade. Any friend I have now is worth a hundred times what the friends I had in my old life were.” He paused, and sighed. “I miss them all the same, though.”

  Skade nodded and picked up a piece of mutton. She teased at it with her fingers, shredding it, and ate the pieces one by one. “I have great admiration for you, Arren Cardockson,” she said abruptly. “I spent this day thinking of you, and other things as well. I am sorry that I left you, but I needed to be alone.”

  “I understand,” said Arren. “We all need to be alone sometimes.”

  “I was thinking,” Skade said again. “I have made a decision.”

  “What kind of decision?” said Arren.

  She looked him in the eye. “You saved my life,” she said matter-of-factly. “I owe you a debt. And you—I have been watching you these past few days. You are strong and intelligent and kind. I have been thinking it over and over today. I was still uncertain when I returned to you before sunset, but after I saw what you did for Skandar, I was certain.”

  Arren swallowed. “Certain of what?”

  “You have proven your worth to me,” said Skade. She was moving closer, watching him intently.

  Arren tried to keep calm and stopped himself from pulling away. “Thank you.”

  Skade stopped. “I felt a change in myself today,” she said. “It made me angry and afraid. That is why I hissed at you. I did not think it could happen now that I am human, but it has.”

  “What has?” said Arren. He was feeling more and more bewildered, almost afraid.

  Skade sat back. “I am ready to mate,” she said calmly. “All day I have felt the urge to find a high place and call for a male to come to me, but this body cannot do that, and nor can it pair with another griffin.”

  Arren backed away. “What?”

  She watched him, unwavering, showing no sign of embarrassment. “I want a mate,” she said. “I need a mate. I have made my decision. I want you, Arren Cardockson.”

  “But I . . .”

  Skade ran her fingers through her hair. “Do you not find me attractive?” she asked, with a hint of mischief. “You said you thought I was beautiful.”

  Arren stared at the ground. “Well, I—”

  “Answer me!” Skade said sharply.

  Arren looked up. “Look, I can’t—it’s not—you’re a griffin!”

  “No. Not now, Arren Cardockson. Now I am human. A human needs another human, and you are all I want in a mate.” She came closer, so close he could feel her warmth; her eyes were aglow. “Tell me I am beautiful,” she breathed. “Hold me like you did before. I want you to.”

  Arren didn’t know what to do. Part of him wanted to move away; part of him wanted to move closer. “It’s wrong,” he said. “It’s wrong.”

  She laughed. “And what do we care for what is right and wrong, Arren? We are murderers. There is nothing we can do that would make others condemn us more.”

  “Yes, but, but—” He could not find words to complete the sentence.

  Skade’s eyes narrowed. “If you will not hold me, then I shall hold you,” she said, and pounced.

  She collided bodily with him, knocking him flat on his back. He yelped and almost shoved her off, but she was surprisingly strong. She brought her face close to his, her hair brushing against his cheeks. “I am not a fool,” she whispered, her eyes fixed on his. “I know how to be human, I know—” Then she kissed him. She did it clumsily at first, but she followed it up with another kiss, and this time there was more certainty, and when her lips touched his, Arren’s buried feelings boiled over, sweeping away all his doubts and fears. He kissed her back, reaching up to put his arms around her. They rolled over, holding each other close, and after that there was nothing, no thought, nothing to propel them but instinct and an inner heat that changed itself to passion.

  Arren could feel Skade’s warm body pressed against his own, separated by nothing but a few layers of cloth. She was thin, but so strong, and delicate as well. She was beautiful; she was wonderful; she was wild; she was untamed. She was Skade.

  As their embrace tightened, Skade’s heart began to beat faster, pattering inside her chest. But Arren’s heart was completely silent.

  7

  In This Together

  Erian sat at a table in a dank stone room, hands folded in front of him. Senneck wasn’t with him; much to her irritation, the brown griffin had been told that the dungeon passages were too small for her to fit. She was outside, waiting for him impatiently.

  Meanwhile, Erian waited, jaw clenched, as a barred door in the opposite wall opened and a trio of guards entered, leading two manacled prisoners. The foremost guard shoved them toward the pair of chairs that had been placed on the other side of the table, facing Erian, and once they were seated, th
e guards stationed themselves just behind them, ready in case they made any sudden moves.

  Erian regarded the prisoners. They were both middle-aged and had the black hair and pale skin of Northerners. The man had curly hair and wore a ragged beard that had probably sprouted during his imprisonment, and the woman had a haggard look about her. Both of them were watching him silently, their black eyes unreadable. Anger rose in Erian’s chest almost instantly. He did not need any proof that they were the murderer’s parents. The resemblance was obvious.

  “So,” he said, as coldly as he could, “I am told that you are Cardock the bootmaker, formerly of the village of Idun.”

  Cardock stared at the tabletop, unspeaking.

  “And you,” Erian went on, “are his wife, Annir, yes?”

  “Yes,” Annir whispered.

  Erian nodded. “You both lived in Idun, very close to Eagleholm itself,” he said. “I have seen the house you had there, and I cannot help but wonder, why are you not there now?”

  They kept silent.

  “It seems odd,” Erian continued, “for you to suddenly abandon your home and your livelihood as you did. Your neighbours said you left in a great hurry. In fact, you didn’t even stop to say goodbye. Could you, perhaps, provide some kind of explanation?”

  More silence. For a moment Annir looked as if she was about to speak, but her husband touched her arm and shook his head.

  “Cardock,” said Erian. “You have an interesting name. And yet, somehow, I find it familiar. As if I have heard it before somewhere.” He scratched his chin. “Cardock . . . Cardock . . . oh, yes. That was it. Cardockson.” His voice hardened. “Do you, perhaps, know of a man with the last name of Cardockson?”

  They stared at him, unyielding.

  “I believe it’s the tradition in these parts for a man to take his father’s name,” said Erian, his voice becoming louder. “So it’s not unreasonable, perhaps, to assume that a man called Cardockson would, in fact, be your son, Cardock. Is that so?”

  Annir and Cardock had drawn a little closer together, their hands clasped. Somehow, it only increased Erian’s hatred of them.

  “I haven’t given my other name, have I?” he said. “Actually, I haven’t given either of them. How rude. Please, forgive me.” He touched his chest. “I am Lord Erian Rannagonson, and now you know my name, and the name of my father as well.”