The Dark Griffin (40 page)

“Arren Cardockson?”

Arren looked up sharply. The words had been spoken in griffish, but it was not a griffin’s voice. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he realised that the door to his cage was open. Someone was standing in the entrance, outlined by the torchlight from the guard post.

Arren stood up. “Who’s that?”

The figure stepped forward into the cage. “Are you Arren Cardockson? Speak griffish.”

“I’m Arren. Who are you?”

The stranger took hold of his arm. “You must come with me,” he said. “And quickly.”

“What for? Who are you?”

“Not now!” The stranger dragged him out of the cage, and Arren hurried after him. There was a thud as something hit the platform in front of them; the griffin had leapt off the roof of the cage and landed between them and the guard post. Arren froze. The griffin came toward them, and the stranger went and got on her back. “Get up behind me,” he urged. “Hurry!”

Arren pulled himself together and climbed onto the griffin’s back. There was only just room for the two of them, but luckily the stranger was slightly built. Arren held on to his waist, and the griffin ran off the edge of the platform and into the air. Almost instantly, she started to fall. Her wings beat furiously, fighting back against gravity; as Arren held on, panic-stricken, she soared clumsily out over the dark landscape and then spiralled upward, away from the prison. When Arren dared to look down he saw Eagleholm laid out below him, a dark, sprawling mass dotted with lights. The griffin flew straight for the centre, already flagging under the unaccustomed weight of two people, and the city got closer and closer as she started to lose height. But she made one last mighty effort and shot forward, the wind rushing past them, her talons grabbing at the air. Ahead, the Eyrie reared up out of the darkness, a great window-studded mountain in the night, coming straight toward them. Arren stifled a scream, and then they hit it. The griffin’s talons latched onto the edge of one of the balconies, and she scrabbled up over the side and promptly collapsed onto her side, flinging the two humans off.

Arren picked himself up, wincing. The stranger was already up and attending to his partner. She rolled onto her front and lay still, shuddering with exhaustion. “Go,” she rasped. “Hurry.”

The stranger opened the door leading from the balcony, and light poured out as he disappeared inside, gesturing at Arren to follow. He entered a large and comfortable-looking bedroom with a carpeted floor and a good fire burning, along with several expensive wax candles. There was a table with a jug of wine and a pair of cups laid out on it, along with a bowl of fruit.

The stranger gestured at a chair. “Sit down. There’s time for you to eat something before you go.”

Arren sat, staring at him. “Lord Vander?”

Vander was clad in a black tunic and leggings which didn’t suit him very well, and he looked a little strained. But he poured out some wine and pushed it toward Arren. “Drink. You look as if you need it.”

Arren accepted it without argument; it was sweet and strong, flavoured with exotic spices. “Lord Vander, what’s going on?”

“I am setting you free,” said Vander. “Ymazu has agreed to carry you away from the city as far as she can.”

“But why?” said Arren. “You’ll get into trouble. They’ll probably lock you up, too, if they catch you.”

Vander shrugged. “I am leaving the city tonight as well. My diplomatic mission is finished.”

“But if they know you did it—”

“I do not think the Emperor can forge any kind of lasting alliance with this city,” said Vander, sitting down and helping himself to some wine. “I have seen enough of your ways by now. The Lady Riona is a fine leader and good-hearted, but she is reaching the end of her reign and her council is plainly corrupt. I witnessed your trial yesterday.”

“But why do you care?” said Arren.

Vander smiled very slightly. “I took a liking to you when we first met. I admired your intelligence and your refusal to be ashamed of your blood and background. And your courage in the Arena impressed us both.”

“Yes, but why do you care?” Arren persisted. “Why risk your life to save mine?”

“Because I am sympathetic to you,” said Vander. “And to the rest of your people. The darkmen are a dying race. Their land is subjugated and occupied, and most of their population live in chains. Despair can destroy a people as no massacre or disease ever can. And though you are not a slave, you have all but been turned into one. You know what it is to be humiliated, to wear a collar and be beaten and locked in a cage like a beast, waiting to be put down as soon as your usefulness comes to an end. It was not enough that your griffin was taken from you and that you were disgraced and cast out from your fellows—now they must use you for their sport.”

“You
know
about that?” said Arren.

Vander nodded. “I have heard things, here and there. Lord Rannagon was very anxious to assure me that the city would not have a Northerner advising its Mistress. He told me that it would not be accepted, by him or by the other councillors. And I heard your accusation yesterday and was inclined to believe it. I had already suspected that those in power were plotting to be rid of you, and it seemed far too convenient that you had simply lost your mind. And they would not listen to you. It made me very angry to see. In Amoran, every man accused of a crime may speak out and defend himself, and his claims will always be taken seriously and investigated. The only time a criminal is ignored and punished without fair hearing is when that criminal is a slave. I watched many trials when I was a boy; my master was a judge, and I learnt a great deal about law while I fetched papers and cleaned the floor.”

Arren paused. “You mean, you weren’t born a noble?” “No, Arren. I was not,” said Vander. He touched his neck. “The marks have faded now, but I have not forgotten that time.”

“You were a
slave
?”

“Yes,” said Vander. “I was born one. When Ymazu chose me, I was set free.”

There was a thump from the doorway and both of them turned sharply, but it was only Ymazu. The brown griffin entered, limping slightly, and sat down by Vander’s side.

“Your griffins are fools,” she said to Arren, “to only choose nobles. No blood makes one man worthier than another. I chose Vander for his courage and his intelligence, because I knew that he could become great with my help, and so he has done. I liked Eluna. She was also wise in her choice.”

“Thank you,” Arren said softly. “To both of you.”

Vander stood up. “I am sorry for what happened to you. I hope we can meet again, Arren Cardockson, but now it is time for you to go.”

“But where should I go to?” said Arren, standing up. “Where can I hide?”

“One of the neighbouring states, perhaps, could hide you,” said Vander. “But I advise you to go to the North. Some of your own people still live there free; they will, perhaps, accept you. It is your only hope.”

Ymazu stood. “Come,” she said, and walked out onto the balcony. Arren bowed low to Vander and followed her. On the balcony, Vander helped him onto Ymazu’s back. “Good luck,” he said. “And to you, Ymazu.”

Ymazu rubbed her head against Vander’s dark cheek. “I shall see you again soon, Vander.”

Arren held on to the harness fastened around the griffin’s neck, and Ymazu took off, flying up and away from the Eyrie with easy grace. She could bear up under his weight without any trouble, and began to circle the city, climbing for height. “Where shall I take you, Northerner?” she asked. “Make your choice quickly.”

Arren’s mind raced. He would have to find somewhere to hide, of course, but the idea of going to the North almost revolted him. It was far away; even if Ymazu was willing to carry him there, it would take at least a month. On foot, it would probably take six. Assuming he wasn’t caught along the way. And, in spite of everything that had happened, in his heart he still felt tied to Eagleholm, where he had spent his entire adult life; it was the only place where he had ever been truly happy and where Eluna’s spirit still lived.

But, as the night air cut through his ragged tunic and made him shiver, he saw that there was no way he could stay. There was nothing left here for him, only suffering and death.

His resolve hardened. “I want to go northward. Toward Norton. But first . . .”

“Speak,” said Ymazu.

“Do you know where the Arena is?”

“Beside the prison district,” said Ymazu.

“Yes. I want to go there before we leave. I still have something to do here.”

Ymazu was silent for a long time. “Very well. For Vander’s sake. But I will not fight to protect you. If we are discovered, I shall leave you.”

“I understand.”

The brown griffin angled her tail and flew downward, toward the dark mass of the Arena. There were only a few sources of light down there, and the enclosure behind the pit was completely dark. Ymazu landed neatly on top of the wall, and Arren got down off her back and perched beside her, looking down at the cages. There was a steel net stretched over the top of the enclosure, fastened to the wall where he stood, but the gaps in it were big enough for him to get through.

Arren breathed in deeply. All he had to do was jump down through the net, find the black griffin’s cage and let it out. There were no guards down there. Anyone who broke into the enclosure would have to be insane; there was nothing in there to steal, and if they let one of the griffins out they would be killed before they had the chance to remove the thing’s chains.

The only question in Arren’s mind was how he would get out afterward. If he took the conventional route he would run into guards and locked doors, but the walls of the enclosure were too sheer to be climbed or consisted of bars with man-eating griffins behind them. Anyone trying to use them as a ladder would lose a leg.

Very carefully, Arren began to move along the top of the wall, looking for a loose length of cable or something else that could be used to pull himself back up. He didn’t think he could climb a rope, but perhaps he could ask Ymazu to pull one up while he held the other end. If he could only find one.

Ymazu was watching him. “What are you doing?” she asked softly.

“I’m trying to find something I can use to climb out of there,” said Arren. “Can you see anything, Ymazu?”

She shifted, talons digging into the wall. “Not from here. Why do you want to go down there at all?”

“Because I made a promise,” said Arren. He continued on, putting one foot in front of another and trying to avoid looking at the drop. In his head, words whispered and spiralled.
Wear a collar, live in a cage, wear a collar, live in a cage
. . .

He rubbed his neck, just under the collar. It was horribly swollen. The fight in the Arena had reopened the wounds; he could feel the spikes embedded in his flesh, jabbing at his windpipe as he breathed. Without thinking, he dug his fingers under the collar and tugged at it, trying to pull the spikes out a little way. That made the back of his neck hurt badly, and he swore and yanked his hand away instinctively. But his fingers were trapped under the collar, and the motion pulled his head sideways. Caught off balance, he tried to straighten up, but once again the weight of the collar made him clumsy. He scrabbled desperately to stay on the wall, and then he fell.

He hit the net and fell through one of the gaps in it; a cable hooked him under the arm and he almost managed to save himself by grabbing it, but the cold metal slipped out of his grasp and he dropped into the enclosure, landing with a dull
thump
on the sawdust-covered floor.

Bruised and shocked, he lay with one arm twisted painfully beneath him and caught his breath. Then he got up, quickly looking around for any sign of guards. There was no-one in the enclosure. The griffins lay in their cages, most of them asleep, silent but for the occasional clink of a chain. He was safe. For now.

Arren glanced up at Ymazu and then padded swiftly toward the gate leading out. It was shut, but he judged that he could squeeze through the bars without much trouble. Of course, there would be other gates to get through beyond it . . . No. No escape that way. He looked up at the net. It was more than twice his height, and there was nothing dangling from it that he could grab. Full of fear, he began to make his way around the edges of the enclosure, keeping well back from the cages, looking for footholds he could use to climb back up. But there were none. Though there were some unoccupied cages, their bars were vertical and there weren’t enough horizontal supports between them for him to climb. Between the cages there was nothing but smooth, featureless stone.

Arren started to panic. He went to the centre of the enclosure, where the lifting platform was set into the wooden floor, half-buried by sawdust. It was tightly locked into place, and someone had taken the handle off the winch, rendering it useless. He examined the frame holding the ropes attached to the platform. Maybe he could climb that? It didn’t look too difficult.

He stepped onto the winch and hefted himself up the side of the frame, grabbing hold of a strut to balance himself. It was hard going but he managed it, and after a brief struggle he got to the top and stood below the net. Perfect. From here he could jump and grab the net, and climb up through it. Then Ymazu could pick him up and get him out of there.

The brown griffin was watching him, and he whispered this plan to her. She listened and then clicked her beak to show her agreement.

Arren breathed in deeply and felt his fear recede. All right. He had an escape route.

He jumped down from the frame, ignoring the brief burst of pain from his legs, and walked toward the nearest of the cages. Which one had they put the black griffin into? It had been near the gate, he was fairly sure of that. Accordingly, he went to the cage set into the wall on the right side of the gate and peered in. It was empty. So was the next.

The third was occupied. Arren stood well back, squinting. All he could really see was the outline of the griffin inside, though a shaft of moonlight had fallen over its beak.

For a long time he didn’t move, but then he decided to risk it. “Darkheart?” he whispered.