The Dark Griffin (12 page)

It was a fairly nondescript place, built along the banks of the river. Most of the occupants were farmers.

When Eluna landed in the square, there was a crowd of people waiting to receive her and Arren. They gathered around, bowing low, all speaking at once.

“Sir! Welcome, sir!”

“It’s an honour, sir!”

Arren stretched. He was stiff and sore after spending so long in the air. “Hello,” he said. Beside him, Eluna yawned. His stomach twinged. “I’m passing through here on official business and I was wondering if there was anywhere I could stay here. And I need to buy food for my griffin and myself.”

“Sir, anything you want you can have,” one of the crowd said promptly. “Food, somewhere to stay—just ask.”

“Is there an inn here or something?” said Arren. “I can pay—”

“Oh no, sir! There’s no need to pay for anything. Please, come with me.”

Arren wasn’t about to argue. He followed the man with a feeling of tired satisfaction, in spite of the ache in his limbs. Eluna loped beside him, eyeing the people following them. They were sensible enough to keep their distance. Arren was glad about that. He wasn’t sure he had the strength to hold her back if she decided to make a lunge at someone.

They were shown to the local inn, where there was a room for Arren. The horses were removed from the stable so that Eluna could stay there, and people brought meat for her with astonishing speed. Arren accepted the food they offered him with gratitude, especially when he saw that it included plenty of fresh vegetables. Perishable food was expensive in Eagleholm.

He was exhausted when he went to bed that night, but it took some time to get to sleep. It was hard to get comfortable in a proper bed instead of a hammock, without the gentle swinging to soothe him. He’d slept in a hammock for as long as he could remember.

Perhaps it was this vague feeling of unease that gave him an equally uneasy dream.

It was a dream he knew very well.

He was standing in the sky. The wind was icy cold and strong, like a river. But the sun was shining brightly and the sky was blue and dotted with white clouds, and he smiled and reached up toward them, wanting to touch them. And he could, he could—

But then he looked down, and he saw the ground, and it was so far below him, all dark and tiny, and then it was rushing toward him, getting bigger and bigger but never quite reaching him, and he was falling, screaming and screaming, knowing there would be no-one to catch him, knowing he was going to die, and there was nothing but darkness and the howl of the wind and an empty sky mocking him, beyond his reach forever.

T
he ground below was dark. It looked like a huge black sea, stretching away into the distance. There was grass down there, shivering and sighing in the wind. Above him a bright half-moon hung in the sky like an eye. Just like his own eye.

He could see the human, walking over the grass toward the village. It was a large one. He’d been watching it for days.

The black griffin circled lower. Up here, he was almost invisible. Anyone looking up might have seen his shadow pass in front of the moon every so often, but only for a moment, and even if they did it would be too late. He was too fast for them.

The black griffin circled lower, intent on the human. It was moving slowly, unable to see where it was going in the dark. Humans had poor eyes. He had thought they were weak, at first. They were so small, so fragile. But they had built this place. They could make their prey obey them. They didn’t have to hunt. And there were so many of them, all somehow able to live together without fighting. It was something alien to him. They were too intelligent to be herd animals, like goats, and yet they swarmed together like a herd.

The black griffin tensed.
Now.

He dived, front talons spread wide. The human never even saw him coming. He passed over it and snatched it up in his talons before he flew upward again with scarcely a sound, taking the human with him.

The human didn’t move at first, but as he flew away with it dangling beneath him it started to struggle and cry out in distress. It was calling for help from its fellows, but the black griffin knew it wouldn’t be heard. He flew off in a leisurely way over the village and the fields beyond, heading back toward the mountains and his valley. The human continued to writhe in his grip, and he was glad about that. If it could still move around then it probably wasn’t badly hurt.

He passed over the tallest mountain and into his valley, and landed in the overhang. There he let go of the human. It tried to crawl away almost instantly, but he blocked its way—not hitting it but simply forcing it to turn back. It found its feet and bolted, taking him by surprise, but he caught up with it in a few quick bounds and dragged it back. It kept on trying to escape, but it was far too slow, and in the end it gave up and huddled in the back of the overhang, whimpering pathetically. The black griffin curled up and watched it. The others had done this, too. He would have to stay awake all night to keep an eye on it, in case it ran again.

When the sun finally rose, the man woke up from the shallow doze he’d managed to fall into and jerked upright almost instantly, terror hitting him in the chest. The light of dawn showed him the overhang and the huge, hunched shape of the black griffin sitting not far away, watching him. The man pulled back as far as he could into the overhang, staring at the beast in terror. He was expecting it to rush at him at any moment, but it didn’t. It stayed where it was, perfectly still except for the twitching of its tail, not taking its eyes off him.

The man looked around, searching for a weapon, and that was when he saw them.

Bones. Human bones scattered over the dirt floor of the overhang. There was a pair of pathetically small skulls at the far end, one smashed open by a huge beak. Bits of torn cloth lay with the bones, along with coins and boots and the bits and pieces of things people carried around in their pockets. And there was a smell, a rank, rancid, choking smell.

The man started to shudder. He forced himself to look away, toward the weird shapes painted on the back wall of the griffin’s lair. But he could not block the smell from entering his nostrils. His arm and shoulder hurt from where the griffin’s talons had cut into him, and he was cold.

He realised that there were tears starting to stream down his face.

“Ee ar kaee?”

The man turned sharply, raising his hands instinctively to defend himself. The griffin had risen to its claws and was moving toward him, tail swishing.

“Stay away from me!” he screamed.

The griffin stopped and sat on its haunches, regarding him threateningly. The man’s eyes darted to and fro as he searched for an escape route, but there was nowhere to go. He backed away until he hit the wall and slid down it onto the ground, nearly sick with terror.

The griffin moved closer. It stretched its head toward him, beak opening slightly.
“Ae aa krae ae?”
it said. The sound was a weird, hoarse screech-snarl, low and aggressive.

The man’s fingers closed around a bone. As the griffin lowered its head to sniff at him, he screamed suddenly and swung the bone as hard as he could, hitting it on the head. There was a hollow
thunk
as it connected, and he lurched away from the griffin and started to run.

Something hit him in the back almost instantly. He fell hard onto his stomach, and then the griffin was on him, lifting him off the ground and hurling him back into the overhang. He hit the wall and landed on the floor among the bones, winded and gasping.

The griffin rose onto its hind legs, wings spread wide, and screeched. The noise was horrible, harsh and ear-splittingly loud. The man clapped his hands over his ears and curled up, trying to protect himself, but the griffin fell back onto its forelegs and turned away abruptly, lashing its tail.
“Ae ao ak krae ee,”
it uttered, clicking its beak.

After that the man didn’t try to escape again. He stayed in the overhang, watched over by his captor, not knowing what to do. There had to be a way to escape.

The griffin did not sleep, and nor did it take its attention off him for a moment. It spent half the day sitting at the edge of the overhang and just watching him. Several times it moved as if to come closer to him, but it always withdrew. And from time to time it would make those strange sounds again. Later, as noon came, it began to pace back and forth, its movements full of easy grace and power.

Gradually the man’s terror faded into dull pain and misery. He was hungry and thirsty and cold, but there was nothing to eat or drink and nowhere to run to. After a while he started to wonder how long it would be before the griffin decided to kill him. It was odd that it hadn’t done so already. What did it want him alive for? Perhaps it was just doing it for fun. To toy with him, like a cat with a mouse.

Anger rose inside him. “You can’t do this,” he rasped at the creature. “You monster! You sick piece of—”

The griffin paused in its endless pacing and watched him as he spoke. There was an alertness in its eyes, as if it understood. But it only hissed at him and resumed its pacing once he had fallen silent.

Eventually it seemed to tire of this; it stopped abruptly and looked at him again. He pulled back nervously, and as if this was a signal the griffin came toward him. It cornered him against the back wall, and all he could do was brace himself while it sniffed at him, its beak pressing into his chest. Its feathers smelt dry and musty, and there was dried blood on its beak. He could hear its deep, rumbling breaths.

The griffin clicked its beak and drew back once more, turning away to look out over the valley. Then it lay down and curled up, folding its wings on its back. It yawned. The man dared to relax a little, keeping his eyes on the beast. Was it tired now? Was it going to sleep? Fear was keeping him awake, but the griffin must have stayed up all night. It
had
to sleep sometime, surely.

The griffin was watching him, as if it knew what he was thinking. But then it yawned again and laid its head down on its front talons, tail twitching gently. It stayed like that for some time, as the sun started to go down, and then, at last, it closed its eyes. A short time later it started to purr softly, and the man’s heart leapt.

He wasted no time. The instant he was certain that the creature was asleep, he started to edge away from it, toward the end of the overhang where the roof was lower. He’d noticed it earlier and had judged that he could climb over it. Sure enough, the handholds and footholds he had singled out and watched obsessively all evening were enough. He hauled himself up and onto the mountainside above the overhang, stopping every few moments to look back at the griffin. The sun was sinking rapidly, but in the gloom he could still see its great bulky shape on the ledge.

He climbed upward, heaving himself across rocks, ignoring the pain in his arm. Going downward was impossible. That only led deeper into the griffin’s territory. The only way out was over the mountain and down the other side. He had to try. It was his only hope.

The sun finally disappeared behind the mountains to the west as he reached the peak, and he stopped there to rest. In spite of the cold, he was sweating. His wounds stung, and dirt clung to his skin. But he forced himself to get up again and headed for the downward slope of the mountain, and home.

The stars started to come out.

E
luna was the first to see their destination on the horizon. “There!” she called.

Arren woke up from his doze. “What?”

Eluna beat her wings a few times and angled her tail, turning herself toward it. “Rivermeet,” she said simply.

It took a while longer to complete the journey. Arren watched the village approach. It had taken a day and a half to get here from Lansdown, and by now he found he was much more confident in the sky. He couldn’t stay frightened forever. It was simply too exhausting. And he had begun to appreciate how complex and beautiful everything looked from above. He was glad. His fear of heights had always been a secret source of humiliation for him; what sort of griffiner was afraid to fly? It was just good luck that his job hadn’t required him to travel much; if anyone had found out about it he would have been a laughingstock. And he knew Eluna didn’t like it, either.

Nevertheless, his stomach lurched when they began their descent. He closed his eyes and held on until Eluna’s paws hit the ground with a sudden bump, and then he straightened up, sighing in relief.

People were running toward them as he dismounted. Eluna started up instantly, hissing and opening her beak wide. Arren put his hand on her neck and watched the villagers approach warily. But in spite of their fear of Eluna, there was an eagerness about them, and an urgency, too. They stopped at a safe distance and watched him, afraid to come closer.

Arren surveyed the rows of faces. “Who’s in charge here?”

Silence, and then a middle-aged man came forward. “No-one, really, sir, but thank gods you’ve come. We were starting to think—never mind. Welcome to Rivermeet.”