by K J Taylor
“Well then,” Roland said resignedly, “it seems there is no other choice but to move on.”
Arren knew what that meant. He almost started to protest, but then gave up and joined Roland in the next room. Keth followed them silently.
The adult griffins had just been fed, and most were lying in their stalls, dozing. Others were flitting among the massive rafters in the ceiling, or were wandering here and there as they chose, or talking or mock-fighting among themselves.
Without being prompted, Keth stepped forward and screeched loudly, cutting across the racket. Every griffin’s head turned toward her at once. Some of them called back, but most of them stopped what they were doing and came toward her in silence. They formed themselves into an untidy group in the middle of the floor, all looking toward Keth with considerable respect.
She stood by Roland’s side, tail swishing. “A human has come for you to see,” she told them. “Do not leave until it is done.”
Arren came forward at Roland’s prompting. He was horribly aware of all the eyes now on him, sharp, fierce, intelligent griffin eyes. Some of them chirped or clicked their beaks at the sight of him, and one or two lay down on their bellies and rested their heads on their claws, openly bored.
He knew what to do now. He’d seen it dozens of times, when young would-be griffiners had come to present themselves. He and Eluna had always found it amusing. As he came forward and stood where they could easily see him, he almost thought he could see the white griffin sitting in the rafters overhead, mocking him with a griffish snigger.
“Who are you?” one griffin asked.
Arren looked up. “I am Arren Cardockson,” he said, keeping his voice loud and clear. “I am nineteen years old. I can—”
“So this is he,” a brown griffin interrupted. “The Northerner. I remember him.”
“You fed me when I was a chick,” said another griffin. “I remember. You were hardly older than a chick yourself. You had a griffin with you then. Where is she now, human?”
“She is dead,” said another. “Shree himself has told me this. Darkheart the mad griffin killed her, and the blackrobe fool did not protect her.”
There was a hissing from the assembled griffins.
Shame burned inside him. “Eluna was my friend,” he answered. “She chose me when I was only three years old, and she told me she would not have any other human as her partner.”
“And yet you let her die,” said the brown griffin. “Why is this so, Northerner?”
“It wasn’t my fault,” said Arren. “She persuaded me to fight the black griffin. When he attacked us, she died to save me from him.”
“I knew her,” said a grey griffin. “We were chicks together. She was a fool to choose you.”
“What griffin would want to tie herself to someone such as you?” said the brown griffin, coming forward slightly. “I see nothing about you to make you special. You have no noble blood, or power. Are you wealthy?”
Arren paused, but he knew what would happen if he lied to a griffin. “No. Eluna didn’t choose me because of those things,” he said. “She chose me because she believed I was brave and intelligent.”
“And perhaps you are,” said the brown griffin. “But those qualities do not change the fact that you are a blackrobe. And a blackrobe cannot and should not be a griffiner.”
Arren bit down on his anger. “That’s for you to decide,” he said, bowing his head to them all.
That pleased them. He heard them muttering among themselves in approval.
He didn’t look up, but waited silently where he was.
After a while, a griffin came forward to inspect him. She looked at him closely and scented at him, and then turned and went back to her place. A few moments later another came. This one scented him and then backed away. The griffin paused a moment, and then suddenly reared up, hissing. Arren looked up sharply but didn’t move. He stayed where he was, braced for an attack, and stared defiantly up at the griffin. The griffin lashed out at him with his claws, narrowly missing Arren’s face, and then screeched. The noise was deafening and utterly terrifying to anyone who did not know griffins. But Arren refused to back down.
The griffin dropped back onto his foreclaws and clicked his beak, evidently impressed. “Courage, indeed,” he said, and returned to his spot.
None of the other griffins came forward, but the contempt in their gazes had lessened noticeably.
No-one moved or spoke for some time, and then there was a scuffling from among the griffins and a third one came forward. This one was female and had vivid silver feathers. She crouched a short distance from him, watching him closely. She seemed uneasy and kept shivering her wings, the feathers rustling.
At last she rose and stretched her head toward him, half-closing her eyes as she sniffed. Then, suddenly, she started and backed away, hissing. “Kraeai kran ae!” she rasped, opening her wings.
The other griffins hissed and began to stir at this, some backing away.
The silver griffin raised a forepaw and held it out toward him, talons spread. “Kraeai kran ae!” she said again. “Kraeai kran ae!”
Arren had never seen or heard anything like this before. “What does that mean?” he asked nervously.
The silver griffin snapped her beak at him. “You are cursed,” she snarled. “Kraeai kran ae! Cursed one!”
Keth started forward. “Okaree, stop this! You know nothing about curses.”
“A silver griffin smells magic!” Okaree snarled, eyes blazing. “I smell it on this man. He is Kraeai kran ae. He is cursed. Beware!”
There was silence, and the silver griffin turned away and flew up into the rafters and through one of the huge open windows in the roof, into the sky beyond.
No-one spoke for some time after she had gone, but then the griffins began to chirp. They were laughing, and they broke up and wandered back to their stalls without another glance at Arren. The brown one stopped on her way past him, though. “Do not listen to Okaree. She is a fool. But perhaps she should have chosen you. You are as mad as each other.”
“Don’t insult me,” Arren snapped back. “I’m still a griffiner.”
The brown griffin paused, looking at him. Then she leapt. She knocked him onto the floor and pinned him down, much as Eluna had once done, and brought her beak toward his face. “Not just a blackrobe, but an arrogant blackrobe,” she hissed, and bit him on the ear.
Keth darted forward to intervene, but the brown griffin removed her claws and walked off, tail swishing.
Roland and Flell helped Arren to his feet. His ear was bleeding, and Roland took a rag from his pocket and gave it to him, saying, “Here, quickly, cover it up before you get any on your tunic.”
Arren folded it up and clapped it over his ear, which was hurting quite badly. “I think she took a piece off it,” he said through gritted teeth.
Flell took him by the arm and steered him back into the chicks’ room. “That cursed thing,” she muttered venomously. “She had no right to speak to you like that.”
Roland looked unhappy. “I’m terribly sorry for that, Arren. Okaree has always been a little peculiar, and Senneck—well, she’s always been like that. Are you all right, lad?”
“I’ll be fine,” said Arren. He took the rag away from his ear and felt it carefully. “She’s bitten a piece off the top. Well, at least it’ll match the other one,” he added bitterly.
“I don’t know why griffins always seem to bite people’s ears,” said Roland. “I asked Keth once, but even she either didn’t know or wouldn’t tell me.” He sat Arren down at the table and pushed a mug of the now-cold tea into his hands. “I really am very sorry, Arren.”
“It’s not your fault,” said Arren, taking it. “I didn’t expect them to be pleased to see me.”
In fact, he had guessed from the outset that they would be unsympathetic, and that they would dislike him on principle given that Eluna had died as a result of being partnered with him. But the rejection had still hu
rt, even more so than his torn ear.
“Well,” said Roland, ever cheerful, “there’s no cause to despair just yet. Consider yourself my assistant from now on. You can come in here every day to help me keep the place up and running, and I’ll see to it that you’re well paid. And who knows, perhaps things will change for you. We’ve always got more chicks hatching. They’ll get to know you better if you’re here all the time, and I don’t see why one of them won’t change its mind.”
Arren nodded. “Thanks, Roland. This means a lot to me.”
“It’s the least I can do,” said Roland.
Flell scratched Thrain’s head. “You’ll be all right,” she said. “Don’t listen to those overgrown chickens next door. Ow!” Thrain had bitten her on the ear. “I didn’t mean you, silly.” She took Arren’s hand. “Will you be all right?”
He nodded again. “Thanks for your help, Flell.”
Flell lifted him to his feet and embraced him. “I’ll always be there when you need me, Arren,” she said. “Always. Just as you’ve always been there for me.”
The embrace, and her words, lifted some of his black despair. He hugged her back tightly, ignoring the blood soaking into his hair. “I love you, Flell,” he murmured.
She let go and punched him playfully on the arm. “Do you, now? Well then, next time there’s a problem, you come to me. No more locking yourself away, understood?”
Arren dabbed at his ear. “I’ll try to remember that.”
“Good,” said Flell. “Now, I’m afraid I have to go and see my father. But come and visit me soon and we’ll have dinner together, all right?”
“I’ll be there,” Arren promised. “Roland, d’you want me to start work today?”
Roland shook his head. “No, no. You’ve had quite enough excitement for one day, I think. Go home and get some rest and be back here tomorrow as early as you can. If I’m not here, just go to Alisoun or Landry. I’ll let them know about the situation so they’ll be expecting you.”
“Thanks, Roland.” Arren drank the cold tea out of the mug. “I’d better go home and do some tidying up.”
He and Flell parted just outside the hatchery, and Arren made for his home, shoulders hunched. He’d put on a brave face for Flell and Roland, but he knew they hadn’t been fooled. They knew what he was really feeling. They’d always been able to read him, especially Flell.
He tried to look on the bright side. At least he had a job now, even if it was a menial one. It would help him get by until . . .
Until what? Until another griffin chose him?
He sneered. There was no chance of another griffin choosing him, not now. It had been a freak chance that had led him to become a griffiner in the first place, and the likelihood of it happening again was extremely poor, if not nonexistent. No, he was not a griffiner now, and he never would be again. That dream was over, and there was nothing left for him to do but get on with his life.
He reached into his pocket and felt the tiny object in there. He’d almost forgotten about it. Perhaps it was time now...
He reached his home, lost in thought, and unlocked the front door. Some food and sleep would do him good, after he put a dressing on his ear.
But when he entered the house, he found someone already there.
14
Accusation
It was Lord Rannagon.
Arren started toward him. “What are you doing here?”
Rannagon was alone this time, but he had his sword with him. He stood up. “Good evening. Don’t worry, there’s no need to be alarmed; I’m just here to say hello.”
Arren closed the door. “I’m not doing anything wrong, all right? I haven’t told anyone anything. They wouldn’t believe me anyway. I’m just trying to get on with my life, understand? So you can leave me alone.”
Rannagon nodded, “Yes, yes, understood. Have you found another job yet?”
“Yes. With Roland, at the hatchery.”
“That’s good,” said Rannagon. “Roland’s very fond of you. He’ll be a good employer. Flell told me she was helping you get back on your feet.”
Arren stuffed the key back in his pocket. “I suppose you want me to stop seeing her.”
“No. That’s her own choice. I don’t entirely approve, but I can’t stop her. Go on seeing her, by all means. I’ve been keeping an eye on you, and I’m very pleased to see you’re doing so well. But if there’s anything you still need—”
Arren sneered at him. “D’you honestly think you can come in here and pretend you’re my friend? You betrayed me, Rannagon. Don’t think I’m going to forget that.”
“I don’t think that,” said Rannagon. “I’m just making sure you’re all right.”
Arren pointed at the door. “And now you know. So you can leave me alone.”
Rannagon nodded and made for the back door. It was open, and Arren could just see Shoa crouched outside. “Understood. Goodnight, Arren.”
Arren stood by the table, arms folded, and watched him go without saying a word.
Rannagon paused in the doorway. “I’ll be in touch.”
Arren just stared at him, unreadable, and the old lord shrugged and was gone.
Once he’d left, anger boiled up inside Arren again. He slammed the back door and locked it, then sat down heavily at the table. The chair was still warm.
So, Rannagon was still watching him. And probably other people were, too. If he did anything—tried to tell someone the truth—what then?
“No,” he muttered. “No, I won’t put up with it any more. I’m going to . . .”
To do what?
The next day, Arren’s new life began. He put on his plainest and toughest clothes and went to the hatchery first thing in the morning. There he was met by Alisoun, another of Roland’s assistants, who gave him his first task for the day, feeding the chicks. After that he had to clean out and replace the straw in the pens, help round up some goats so they could be slaughtered and fed to the adult griffins, carry some heavy crates from the nearest lifter to the storeroom and then sweep the floor.
It was hard work, and boring, but he didn’t mind. He worked steadily, not speaking to anyone, his face a cold, impassive mask.
At noon he broke for lunch, which he ate with Roland and the other assistants, and after that it was back to work. He left that evening with a sore back and aching hands, but Roland had given him a small bag of coins. It wasn’t much to show for one day’s effort, but it was enough. He only needed to feed himself now.
Flell was waiting for him that evening.
Her home was only large enough to need two servants, who had already finished preparing the meal. She and Arren sat together in the dining room and ate, enjoying each other’s company.
The food was good, much better than his usual fare. Arren ate heartily, savouring the rich flavours of roasted meat and fresh vegetables, and the fine wine Flell had had brought out.
Flell watched him a little anxiously. “How’s your ear?”
Arren touched it carefully. “It’s all right. The bleeding stopped in the end. It should heal.”
“And your chest?”
“It still hurts, but I think it’ll be fine. I’ve been keeping an eye on it and I think the infection’s gone.”
“That’s good. So, how was work?”
“Hard,” Arren said. “My back is killing me. I had to carry a lot of crates; I didn’t ask what was in them, but I’d swear it was lead. I don’t mind, though.”
Flell nodded. “But how are you, Arren? And I don’t mean are you healthy; I mean, are you all right?”
“There’s no need to worry about me,” said Arren, in a tone of forced casualness.
“Isn’t there?” said Flell.
Her direct gaze was unsettling, and he drank some more wine to hide his uncertainty. “What d’you want me to say?” he said, putting down his cup. “I mean, no, I haven’t forgotten about . . . what happened. But life goes on, doesn’t it? I can’t sit around feeling sorry for myself
; you already made that quite clear, and you were right. And—” He tried not to think about Rannagon, or Shoa’s icy stare.
Flell hadn’t dropped her gaze. “What did happen out there, Arren?” she asked. “Why did you run off like that? It doesn’t make any sense. It’s not like you to do something like that. What were you thinking?”
Arren was silent. He looked at Flell, at her light-blue eyes and freckled face. He couldn’t bear the thought of lying to her. Surely . . . surely Rannagon wouldn’t kill her? Not his own daughter. “I—”
His eyes flitted toward the door. Flell’s housekeeper was standing there, watching him. She saw him look in her direction and quietly vanished.
Fear ran down Arren’s spine. “I made a mistake,” he said, a little too loudly. “I was stupid.” And it was true, he thought. He wasn’t lying to her.
“But why didn’t you ask anyone else before you left?” said Flell. “And you lied to me. Why, Arren? I just keep wondering why you didn’t tell me the whole truth. Was it because you were afraid I’d tell someone else?” She was looking at him not reproachfully, but with hurt bewilderment. “I’m not angry with you,” she said. “I just want to know why.”
Arren couldn’t look her in the eye. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.
“Please, Arren,” said Flell. “Just tell me. I’ll understand.”
“Because I wanted it to be a surprise,” Arren said at last. “I wanted—I was trying to impress you.”
“Impress me?” said Flell. “Arren, for gods’ sakes, you don’t need to impress me! What on earth gave you that idea?”
“It’s just—well, I’ve always felt—you know, that I didn’t deserve you,” said Arren. He was speaking the truth now, at least in part. “And I know people don’t approve of you seeing me. I thought maybe if I did it—if I proved I could be brave, it would—”
“Arren, disobeying orders and abandoning your duties so you could put yourself in danger does not impress me,” Flell said sharply.