The Dark Griffin (45 page)

There was nothing unusual in the study. The fire was burning cheerily in the grate, well stocked with fuel, and a flask of wine and two cups were on the table. Flell frowned when she saw the second cup. She’d given Thrain some in the past, but it was a bad idea, and the extra cup would only give her ideas. She made a mental note to tell her housekeeper not to do that again.

As she set the lamp down on the table, she saw the flame flicker a little and realised there was a cold breeze in the room. She shivered slightly and reached for the wine.

Thrain gave a sharp shriek from behind her. Flell turned in time to see the little griffin streak past her and dive under the table, where she cowered against one of its legs, quivering.

“Thrain? What’s wrong with you?”

The breeze blew on her face. She looked up, and then she saw the broken window and went cold. Without looking around, she reached to her waist and drew her dagger. The feel of the metal hilt against her skin gave her courage, and she turned slowly, every sense alert for danger.

There was no-one there.

“Thrain,” Flell called, still scanning the room for any sign of movement. “Is there someone else in here?”

Thrain hissed again. “Fear,” she said suddenly. “Fear. Blood. I smell blood. I smell death.”

Holding the dagger tightly in one hand, Flell stepped toward the fireplace. Someone could be hiding behind one of the chairs.

“Flell,” said a voice.

Flell almost screamed. She whirled around, dagger raised, and saw a shadow detach itself from the wall and come toward her. It was human, tall and thin, utterly silent when it moved, like a piece of living night.

“Stop there!” Flell shouted.

“Flell,” the voice said again. “It’s me.”

The shape came forward into the light.

A young man, tall and sinewy, most of his body concealed by a long black robe. His face was pale, gaunt and angular, marred by a long cut just under his right eye. He had black curly hair and a pointed black beard. His eyes were black, and they were cold and glittering in the darkness.

Flell froze. “Who are you?” she demanded.

The man held out his hands; they were elegant and long-fingered. “Flell, it’s me,” he said again. “It’s Arren. Don’t you recognise me?”

And, at last, she recognised his voice. The dagger dropped out of her hand and she staggered away from him. “No!”

“Flell, please, don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you. I just wanted to see you again.”

“But you’re dead,” Flell whispered. “You’re dead!”

“Flell.”

Arren came toward her, his boots making no sound on the floor. She did not move away. She could hear him breathing now; she could see him clearly, see he was real.

He reached out and brushed her face lightly with his fingertips. His touch was cold.

Flell started to shrink away, but then she reached out to him and touched him, feeling his hair and his skin. All real. All still there. “Arren.”

He stood there a moment and then pulled her to him, hugging her tightly. She hugged him back; the feeling of his thin body in her arms was so familiar—and yet so strange.

They parted, and Arren looked at her, with a terrible fear and vulnerability in his face. “Flell,” he said, “I—I shouldn’t have come here. But I had to see you again. So you’d know.”

Flell took his hand. “Arren, what happened? How can this be real? Are you—are you a ghost?”

He laughed a sad, hollow laugh. “Do I look like one?”

“No. Well, I’ve never seen a ghost before. But how did you survive? How did you get back here?”

Arren shook his head. “Where were you?” he asked. “I kept trying to find you, but you were never there. I really missed you. I needed you.”

There was no accusation in his voice, but his words cut her deeply. “Arren, I’m sorry. I missed you, too. I wanted to see you, but—”

“It was your father, wasn’t it?” Arren said bitterly. “He told you to stay away from me, didn’t he?”

Flell nodded. “He asked how you were, and I told him about how I visited you and how I helped you get another job, and how you were coping. He said he was glad you had me helping you, but then he asked me to stay away from you. He said people were afraid you were losing your mind, and he was frightened that you might turn violent and that I’d be hurt. I told him it was all lies. I said you’d never been like that and you never would be, but then when I saw what you did to those men . . . and afterwards, when you . . .” She bowed her head. “I told Father you believed he was trying to kill you, and he said—”

Arren grabbed her shoulder. “Flell, how could you?”

“I’m sorry,” Flell sobbed. “I didn’t know what was going to happen; I was just scared for you. You were changing; I could see you changing. You weren’t like you were before you went away. I was frightened of you. But I didn’t know—Arren, what happened to you? You did all those awful things, you killed all those people, you—”

“Flell, I didn’t,” said Arren. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

“But everyone
saw
you!” said Flell. “People saw you running out of the Arena, and when they went in there ten men were dead! You let that griffin out of his cage and made him kill them all. You even killed Orome, and Sefer as well! And before then you stole that chick and set fire to your own house, and you said those terrible things about my father right in front of everyone—”

“Flell, please!” said Arren. “Stop it! It’s all
lies
. I didn’t kill anyone, and I didn’t make that griffin do anything. How could I control that thing? It’s wild!”

“But you made it spare you in the Arena,” said Flell. “Everyone saw it. It knocked you over, and then it just left you alone. How did you do it?”

“I didn’t,” said Arren. “I didn’t do anything. Please, Flell, listen to yourself. I wouldn’t do something like that! You
know
me.”

“Well then, what did you do?” said Flell. “How did you get out of prison?”

“Flell, I—listen. I’ll tell you what happened. Yes, I stole that chick. I won’t lie about that. I took it out of its pen and ran away with it. But I wasn’t going to hurt it. I thought if I could look after it for long enough it would change its mind, start to like me.”

“You can’t
do
that,” said Flell. “It’s wrong.”

“I know. I just—I think I lost my mind for a bit. It was so long, and so—after what happened to me, I knew I would die without a griffin. I just wanted my life back.”

“Arren, you can’t. Stealing a chick wouldn’t have made you a griffiner again.”

“I
know
. I was going to leave the city, find somewhere else to live and take the chick with me. But I saw the griffins looking for me, and I panicked and ran back toward my house, to hide. And when I got there it was on fire. Someone must have—well, I don’t know how it happened. And then I was caught.”

“And they threw you in the Arena.”

“Yes. I asked to go there. I knew I was going to die, but I wanted to fight Dar—the black griffin. I wanted to kill him. Or at least, I thought if I died fighting, it would be better than just being executed.”

“But the black griffin didn’t kill you,” said Flell. “Why?”

“He was—he
knew
me,” said Arren. “He knew my name. He knocked me over and just held me down, and I thought he was going to kill me, but then he—he spoke to me. He called me by my name.”

“What did he say?” said Flell.

“He asked me to set him free,” said Arren. “He thought I could get him out of the Arena. He said that if I promised to set him free, he wouldn’t kill me. So I promised, and he let me go.”

“But why?” said Flell. “Why would he do that?”

“I think—I put him in that cage in the first place, didn’t I? So he must have believed I had the power to take him out again.”

“And that night you escaped,” said Flell. “How?”

Arren shook his head. “I won’t say. But I got out of there, and I could have just run out of the city. But I knew I had to keep my promise, so I went to the Arena instead.”

“Why?” said Flell. “It was suicide!”

“I know. But I just knew I had to do it. Because—”

“Because why? That griffin is a monster! He killed Eluna! What happened to you was his fault, not my father’s!”

“But—I knew that, but it was strange,” said Arren. “Somehow, when we met in the Arena, when I was looking up at him, I just
knew
.”

“Knew what?”

“Knew that—” Arren closed his eyes for a moment. “I knew we were the same,” he said finally, and as he said it he knew at last why he had gone to keep his promise and so sacrificed his own life.

Flell looked bewildered. “The same? How?”

Arren turned away. “I hated that griffin so much I tried to kill him with my bare hands. I blamed him for what happened as much as I blamed your father, but I was wrong. He killed Eluna because he was trying to defend himself. He wasn’t even after her, he was after me. And I took his life away from him. Put him into a cage, stopped him from flying any more. I sold him to the Arena. I . . .” He turned back to face her. “I turned him into a slave,” he said simply. “A slave living in a cage, wearing a collar and chains. I saw those cages. They were tiny. They couldn’t even turn around; they were chained to the walls the whole time. It was inhuman.”

“They’re man-eaters, Arren,” said Flell. “They deserve it.”

“No. Nothing and no-one deserves that. When they threw me into prison they thought exactly the same thing. When they put that collar on me, they were thinking,
He’s a blackrobe, he deserves it
. When I was sitting there afterwards and thinking about it, I realised I’d done something wrong. And I had to put it right before I went.”

“So you let that griffin out of his cage and let him kill all those men?” Flell said sharply.

“I didn’t know he was going to do that,” said Arren. He bowed his head, forcing himself not to admit what he had been thinking at the time, which was that if the griffin killed anyone, he wouldn’t care.

“Arren, the thing is a man-eater! What did you
think
he was going to do?”

Griffins are warriors; they kill their enemies. And so do we
.

Arren said nothing.

“So, then what?” Flell went on in an oddly disjointed kind of way, as if each word was hitting a wall. “After that you ran out of the Arena, and . . .”

“I tried to stop him,” said Arren. “If I could have—did they catch him?”

“No,” said Flell. “He smashed a hole in the lifter and flew away. They were hunting for him all yesterday. He’s probably flown back to where he came from.”

Arren sighed. “Humans are killing the wild griffins. Taking their homes away from them. Why would anyone be surprised that they’re trying to fight back?”

“I saw Bran today,” said Flell. “He was going to see your parents and tell them you were dead. He looked terrible. I know he blames himself for what happened. He said he cornered you at the edge of the city, and that you were begging him to help you when some of the other guards shot arrows at you. He said he nearly fell off the edge trying to catch you, but . . . you fell.” She looked him in the eye. “And you died.”

“Flell . . .” Arren breathed in deeply and reached into his pocket. “I can’t stay long. There’s something I wanted to give you before I left.”

He held it out, and she took it and stared at it.

“Arren—”

It was a small gemstone, jet-black in colour, cut into the shape of a shield. Or a heart. It glittered in the firelight, like Arren’s eyes.

“Arren,” Flell said again. “Is this . . .”

“Yes,” said Arren. “I was—I carried it around with me all year. I kept telling myself that tomorrow I’d give it to you, but I kept holding myself back. It was never the right time, and—”

The shame and longing in his voice reawakened her love for him, and she put her hand under his chin and lifted his head so that they were looking each other in the face. “Arren,” she said, “I would have taken it.”

“I thought maybe you would,” said Arren. “But how could I? I’m so stupid, Flell. I kept fooling myself that I was one of you, that it didn’t matter what I was. I knew it didn’t matter to you, but it mattered to everyone else. I knew that if I asked you and if you married me, no-one would ever—you’d be disgraced. Southerners can’t marry Northerners, even if they are griffiners. I knew that you would do it anyway, and that was when I realised that I couldn’t do it to you. It would be cruel, making you choose like that. As long as we were just seeing each other the way we were, everyone would have said it was just flirting. Nothing serious. You’d snap out of it and choose a proper husband. When you stopped seeing me, I knew it was because you were ashamed. So I left you alone.”

“No,”
said Flell. “Arren, no. It’s not like that; it never was. I didn’t care what anyone said. I love—I loved you. I would have married you no matter what anyone said, including you. I knew you were thinking of asking me. I could see the signs. I kept wondering if I should just tell you to get on with it, but I thought if I pushed you, you’d be hurt.”

“I think . . . maybe I wouldn’t have,” said Arren. “But it doesn’t matter any more. Not now.”

Flell held out the stone for him to take, but he took her hand and gently curled the fingers around it.

“Keep it,” he said. “I mean, if you want to. To remember me by.”

“Arren, what are you going to do?” said Flell, clutching it to her chest. “Why are you here? Why are you alive?”

“You won’t ever see me again,” said Arren. “Tomorrow I’ll be gone, and I’ll never come back. I came here to tell you I love you, and to . . .” He bowed his head. “I came here to ask you to forgive me,” he said. “I care about you and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I should have stayed away and let you think I was dead, but I had to see you. If you remember me, remember me for who I was when you knew me, because then . . . I think maybe I was worth something then.” He took her hands. “Only forgive me,” he pleaded.

“You haven’t hurt me,” said Flell. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

“Just forgive me,” Arren said again. “I never wanted any of this to happen. I spent so long trying to do the right thing, but now I don’t know what that is any more. I know what people will say about me. What they’re already saying. But it wasn’t my fault. Tomorrow . . . tomorrow, I want you to know that I didn’t plan it. I didn’t want it. Tell them, Flell. Tell them what really happened. Tell them I didn’t fall. Tell them I was pushed.”