The Griffin's Flight

by K J Taylor

  “Only we’re wearin’ collars, too,” Garnoc muttered savagely.

  “Moon damn it!” Olwydd burst forth. He snatched at his collar, trying to hook his fingers beneath it, but in vain. “These damn things! I hate them! If I could get this off by tearin’ my own arm off, I’d do it. I’d do anything. I’d get it off and melt it down an’ piss on it t’cool it off.” He looked wildly at Caedmon. “How can ye bear it? Tell me true, old man, how d’ye bear it? How can ye live a life with that thing around yer neck an’ not go mad or kill yerself?”

  Caedmon sighed. “They don’t hurt forever, lad. Once it heals—”

  “I’m not talkin’ about that!” Olwydd shouted. “I’m talkin’ about how can ye wear it an’ just—I mean, don’t ye know what it is? What it means? It’s more than torture, Caedmon. It’s more than that. They put this—when they put this on me, when it snapped on, an’ the spikes went into me like they was gonna—it changed me. I was a man, but after they put the collar on me I wasn’t any more. I was a thing. Something ye could buy or sell. A thing.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Olwydd broke off and turned sharply to look behind him to see who had spoken.

  It was Arenadd. He emerged from the shadows like a ghost, and Cardock felt sick to his stomach at the sight of him. He looked half-dead. Grey-faced and gaunt, his eyes hollow, as if he was deathly sick.

  The others recovered themselves hastily. “My lord,” said Caedmon, standing up. “Please, come, sit—move out of the way, all of ye, the Master needs—”

  Arenadd waved him into silence with a rather listless gesture, as if his arm was very heavy. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Just—I just want to sit down. And some food. Skandar’s behind me. Give me some meat for him, or he’ll take it.”

  They obeyed with the speed of men accustomed to it: Nolan and Torc took the remains of the sheep carcass they had been cutting meat from and put it at the edge of the camp, and Skandar loomed out of the darkness and hooked it with his talons. While the griffin settled down to eat, Arenadd sat down by the fire. The others, including Cardock, moved to the other side, as far away from him as they could get, leaving him surrounded by a ring of empty space, as if he were at the centre of an invisible wall that only Skandar could pass through. Arenadd watched them dully and sighed, the only sign he gave.

  Torc served him some mutton, potatoes and an ear of corn, and retreated, bowing and ducking. Arenadd gave no comment but started to eat.

  When the silence became too uncomfortable, Cardock said, “So, which way are we going to take next?”

  Arenadd said nothing, but Prydwen answered for him. “Around this hill and on through the valley, split up like Lord Arenadd said. One half on the east side, other half on the west, an’ we meet up on the other side an’ follow Lord Arenadd from there. Should be just a day or so before we’re at the edge of Y Castell.”

  Dafydd smiled. “T’will be good t’see Tara again, lads.”

  “I’ll drink t’that, Dafydd, or I would if I had any wine,” Olwydd said, and grinned.

  Cardock rubbed his forehead. “But what are we going to do when we get there? We still haven’t talked about that.”

  “We join the rebels, of course,” said Prydwen.

  “We’ll do what Lord Arenadd wants us to do,” Caedmon snapped. “I should remind ye, my lad, that he’s master of ye now, an’ that it’s him who’ll be tellin’ ye what to do from now on.”

  Cardock coughed loudly. “I’m sure he’ll tell us what he’s got in mind when he’s ready.” He glanced at Arenadd, expecting him to say something at this point, but he was still sitting by the fire, chewing slowly at his food and apparently oblivious to the discussion going on in front of him.

  “So he will,” said Caedmon. He gave Cardock an approving look. “Right an’ sensible as always, Cardock Skandarson.”

  Cardock chuckled. “Always right! If I had an oblong for every time my wife told me that—” He broke off abruptly, his smile fading as his mind suddenly filled with pictures of Annir. Poor sweet Annir, so far away, so lost and afraid, not knowing where her husband and son were or whether either of them was alive. His dear Annir. He closed his eyes.

  “I’m sure you’ll get her back some day, sir,” Torc said.

  Cardock looked up. “I’ll never give in. I’ll do anything I have to in order to set her free.”

  “I’m sure ye will,” Caedmon said kindly. “If a man’s determined enough, he’ll—”

  “I had to do it.”

  For the second time that night, everyone stopped.

  “What, Arenadd?” said Cardock.

  Arenadd looked up. “I had to do it,” he said again. His eyes were bloodshot. “You have to understand that, Dad. I had no choice.”

  Cardock dared to shuffle closer to him, stopping when Skandar looked up. “What are you saying, son?” This was the first time Arenadd had spoken to him directly in days.

  Arenadd shuddered a little. “I had no choice,” he said huskily. “I had to kill him. Please, you have to understand.” He looked briefly at him, and then stared at the ground, fists clenching. “I had to do it. He killed Eluna. He sent us to our deaths. I was honour bound, had to avenge her, had to punish him for what he did. It was my duty. They made me swear. ‘By friendship bound, by blood sworn.’ The words—I said them at the ceremony. When they made me a griffiner. Protect each other, always. And if one is killed, the other must—it was honour. I swore an oath. His life for Eluna’s, and mine—I had to do it.” His fists clenched harder. “I had no choice,” he intoned.

  Deathly silence followed. No-one dared make a move.

  Finally, Olwydd spoke up. “We don’t blame ye, my lord. Ye’re no murderer; we know it. What ye did was for everyone, all of us. The North knows it. Yer people know it. We know it. Ye stood up, avenged us, showed the griffiners our people aren’t conquered, showed them we can still fight. Ye set us free, my lord. We won’t ever forget that.”

  The other three Northerners nodded fervently.

  “I’ll never forget seein’ ye,” Dafydd put in, “when ye came to us at Herbstitt. Every night I was there, I swore I’d get free some day. Nothin’ an’ nobody could ever make me give up. I prayed every night, looking for guidance. A sign for what to do. For a while I thought maybe the moon had left me, stopped caring about me. But I was wrong.” He laughed incredulously. “Wrong! I prayed, an’ the moon sent ye.” He looked at Arenadd with something like adoration. “It sent ye to us,” he said, eyes shining. “It brought ye to that slave-house to set us free, take us home. I’m no slave, sir, an’ never will be, but that doesn’t matter. Ye’ll always be a master to me.”

  Arenadd’s face betrayed no reaction to this. He stared dully at Dafydd, who looked back for a few moments before he turned nervously away, his air of bravado suddenly gone.

  Arenadd appeared to wake up in some way. “How are they?” he asked in a tone of forced calmness, looking toward the trees beyond which the light of the other fires was visible.

  Caedmon looked relieved. “Doin’ well, sir,” he said. “Everyone looks t’be in good health to me. Few scrapes an’ whatnot from the last couple days’ walk, but that’s to be expected. We picked up plenty of food at the last farm, an’ I’ve seen to it the load’s distributed properly.”

  “How long will it last?”

  Caedmon clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “Few days. Four, five maybe. More’n enough to get us to the mountains, sir.”

  Arenadd nodded vaguely. “Good. That’s good.” He glanced at Olwydd. “The mountain pass—a week to get through it, didn’t you say?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Olwydd. He hesitated. “But that’s only a guess. I went through there before by cart. On foot it could be longer. And that still leaves Guard’s Post. How’re we gonna get past it, sir?”

  “I’m . . . thinking about it,” said Arenadd, staring at the ground again. There was a crunching sound from behind him, and Skandar appeared, gulping slightly as he swallowe
d the last of the carcass. The others around the fire drew back in fright, and the griffin sat down on his haunches behind his partner, the feathers on his chest brushing the top of Arenadd’s head. He stayed there, watching them balefully.

  Arenadd made no move. “I only hope there’ll be enough game around there,” he said. “He needs a lot of food.”

  No-one replied, not even Cardock. Arenadd watched them in silence for a while and then stood up abruptly. “I’m tired,” he said. “I think I’ll go and get some sleep. See you tomorrow.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked back toward the shadows he had emerged from. Skandar hissed softly and followed.

  Cardock, watching them go, suddenly felt a little pang of fear. He scrambled upright and went after them. “Arren!”

  Skandar turned sharply, beak opening, and Cardock backed away. “Arren!”

  There was no reply, and for a moment it seemed that Arenadd had abandoned him yet again. But there was a rustling from up ahead and he stepped forward, ghostly in the gloom. “What is it?”

  Cardock almost reached out to grab his arm but stopped himself, knowing that would only provoke the hissing griffin. “I want to talk to you.”

  A brief silence followed. “Fine,” Arenadd said at last. “Follow us back up the hill if you want.”

  Cardock waited a while to let Skandar get well ahead of him, and then followed at a distance. Night had fallen, but fortunately the moon had risen and was bright enough to see without a torch. He climbed the hill, following Skandar’s massive shape, and the three of them navigated the stones and finally came to a halt in a sheltered spot where a small fire was smouldering.

  Arenadd crouched down by it and added more wood, blowing on it until it had rekindled. Skandar paused to watch him for a moment and then made an easy leap to the top of a nearby chunk of rock and crouched there like an enormous gargoyle.

  Cardock stood at a safe distance, watching until Arenadd beckoned him closer. “Come on,” he said, his voice suddenly taking on a more familiar note of impatience. “Sit down.”

  Cardock obeyed, still watching Skandar. Even now, though, father and son sat well apart.

  Arenadd sat cross-legged, watching the fire. “It’s a good spot, this,” he said, again sounding much more normal than he had with the others.

  Somehow, that gave Cardock some of his courage back. “I wanted to talk to you, Arren,” he said. “It’s been—well, it’s been almost a week since you took us out of there, and you and I have barely spoken.”

  Arenadd had looked up at him. “Was there something you wanted to ask me?”

  “Well, yes,” said Cardock. “Several things. Where were you? Your mother and I went to Norton; we left the same day you came back to us. We were there for weeks, waiting for you. We spent all our money. Your mother started to say we should go back, but I said we had to keep waiting. But you never came. Why?”

  Arenadd groaned softly. “I’m sorry, Dad. I meant to come. I swear, I meant to.”

  “Then why didn’t you?” Cardock said harshly. “Well?”

  “Dad, I was lost. Skandar and I were out in the middle of nowhere, trying to find Norton. We didn’t have a map, and we couldn’t exactly ask anyone for directions. All the time, I knew you were waiting for me and that you were in danger, but there was nothing I could—I was trying, Dad. I tried for months. Half the time we were starving.”

  Cardock stared at him.

  “Lost, Dad. That’s all.” Arenadd couldn’t look him in the eye.

  “Arren, I’m sorry,” said Cardock. “I shouldn’t have doubted you. I should have known it was out of your hands.” He sighed.

  “It’s all right, Dad,” said Arenadd. But inside he knew he was lying. He could see his father’s face in the firelight, could see how thin it looked, even half-obscured by a matted beard as it was. He could only guess at what he must have suffered. You miserable, self-centred bastard, his inner voice whispered, full of furious hatred. While you were romancing a griffin and running after idiot fantasies, your own parents were being tortured. Because of you.

  He shuddered. “Well, you’re free now,” he said loudly. “And I swear I’ll die before I let anything else happen to you. And we’re going to find Mum as well. One way or another, we’ll set her free, and I’ll take care of both of you. I’ll find a way to fix things, I promise.”

  Cardock sighed. “In the North, maybe.”

  “Do you think I’m doing the right thing?” Arenadd asked. “Taking them all to the North, I mean.”

  “Olwydd and the rest couldn’t be happier,” said Cardock.

  “I know. But what about the others? What do they want?” Arenadd buried his face in his hands. “I’ve tried to ask them so many times, but they won’t tell me anything. All they’ll do is what I tell them to do, and they never disagree with me about anything. Olwydd was right. They’re not men any more. They’re broken. Objects. They’ve got no will of their own.”

  “They’ve been slaves all their lives, Arren,” Cardock said gently. “You can’t expect them to be able to forget it overnight. These things take time.”

  “Was it like that when you were a slave?” said Arenadd.

  “I don’t know,” said Cardock. “I barely remember any more. I was only very small. Too young to be used for labour, too young to sell, and my parents were both dead. Until the Bastard sold me, I hadn’t seen another Northerner besides you and your mother in more than thirty years.”

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do with them when we get to the N—to Tara,” said Arenadd. “I was planning to free them, let them go their own way.” He tugged at his beard. “I thought I was setting them free!” he raged suddenly. “I thought they’d be happy! I thought they’d thank me! I’d be their saviour, some kind of hero. But all I’ve done is become another master for them to serve, who’s probably even worse than the last one they had. Now instead of living in a leaky barn and doing what they’re told, they’re wandering through some gods-forsaken wilderness with no shelter and doing what they’re told. And they probably hate me far more than they hated—” His voice broke. “I thought I was doing the right thing, Dad. I thought I was being brave.”

  “You were,” said Cardock. “Arren, you were. What you did was one of the bravest things I’ve ever known. You knew that if they caught you, you’d be killed; you knew you could be seen, but you came back anyway, just to help me and your friends.”

  Arenadd didn’t seem to hear him. “I thought I was redeeming myself,” he mumbled. “I thought that if I did that, it would somehow make up for what I did. I don’t know what I’m doing any more, Dad. I don’t know why I’m doing it. Everything I do only makes things worse.”

  “It hasn’t,” said Cardock. “Are you listening to me? It hasn’t.”

  His voice was a father’s voice now, stern and no-nonsense. It pulled Arenadd up short. “What do you mean?” he said, a little timidly.

  “I mean that what you did at Herbstitt was a good thing,” said Cardock. “It made things better for me, didn’t it? And it did for Olwydd and his friends. And the others—they’ll thank you one day, Arenadd, I swear they will.”

  “But it doesn’t change anything,” said Arenadd. “It doesn’t change what I did . . . Rannagon.” The name was half-whispered, almost fearfully, as if it were a curse. “I still killed him. But I had to. Eluna died because of me, it was my fault as well as Rannagon’s. If I’d only done something. If I hadn’t gone to Rivermeet, if I hadn’t run, if Eluna hadn’t—and I knew it was my fault. I had to kill him. Eluna put her trust in me. I had sworn to—we were partners. I served her, she served me. I had to avenge her, to make amends . . .”

  He was mumbling, his words wandering here and there, and Cardock knew he was bringing up everything he had thought of since Rannagon’s death, trying desperately to find some way to justify himself. “If Rannagon tried to kill you, then he was a traitor,” Cardock said. “And if he could have been brought to fair trial for it, he would ha
ve been sentenced to death.”

  “Sentenced to death?” There was suddenly a sneer in Arenadd’s voice. “For what? For trying to kill me? I’m only a Northerner, Dad. Who would have cared? Without Eluna, I was nothing. Less than nothing.”

  “For Eluna, then,” said Cardock.

  “Perhaps, but it never would have happened. I was the only witness. Nobody would have believed me, and I knew it. That’s why I never said anything. And when I did tell the truth, at my trial, they didn’t listen. Rannagon told them all I was mad, and they believed him. Killing him was the only way to make him pay.”

  “Then you made him pay,” said Cardock. “For Eluna, and for the North.”

  Arenadd watched him miserably. He wanted to scream it out. His children saw me do it! They saw their father die! I burned the Eyrie; I killed Lady Riona and all the others. I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep any more. I can’t—

  Cardock watched him. “Don’t torture yourself,” he said. “You can’t change the past.”

  Arenadd said nothing. He stared out at the stars, blank-faced but breathing shakily.

  Cardock moved closer to him. “Arren?”

  Arenadd didn’t look at him, but he stirred at the sound of his voice. Then he began to speak. “I’m a bad person.” His voice sounded jerky and emotionless. “I’ve always been a bad person. There’s something wrong inside. I know it.”

  “You’re not a bad person, Arren.” Cardock touched him on the shoulder. “Stop it.”

  Arenadd didn’t react to the touch. “I ran away from home when I was only ten. But after that, I never really did grow up. I did things I shouldn’t have. Bad things.”

  Cardock felt cold all over. “What things?”

  “I wanted to be a griffiner,” Arenadd mumbled. “A real griffiner. That’s all I wanted all my life. They did everything to stop me, but I kept on going no matter what I had to do. All those apprenticeships, and they never let me finish one. Every time I got close, they moved me on to a new master. One day, I realised they’d never let me finish. I’d never be a master of anything.”