“Of course.” Kitaen glanced at the various officials who had been loitering in the area. They had already taken the hint and were retreating toward the tower, whose doors had been opened to let the two griffiners enter.
Lady Kitaen and her griffin led Erian and Senneck into the tower and thence to a large room where a good fire was burning in a finely carved fireplace. There were two comfortable chairs set up in front of it, and wine had been placed on a small table, along with a bowl of strayberries. A fresh haunch of meat had been put on a plate for Senneck, who bit into it without hesitation.
Erian sat down in the chair nearest to her, pleased. They must have been keeping a lookout for him to have everything so well organised.
Kitaen sat down in the other chair and poured wine for the two of them. “I truly am sorry for the circumstances, my lord,” she said. “I assure you that I did all I could to persuade Lord Galrick to stay here at least long enough to greet you himself, but there was very little I could do.”
Erian took the cup offered to him. “I don’t blame you,” he said. “But I am … disappointed. Not in you, but in Galrick. Does the man have no loyalty in him at all? Riona has barely been laid to rest but her so-called loyal city governor has already flown off to swear himself to a different Eyrie?”
Kitaen smiled slightly. “I’m afraid you mustn’t have had too much experience in dealing with your fellow griffiners, my lord. Lord Galrick did what was best for himself and his family. This garrison here is weak, too weak to repel an invasion from the North. If he offers himself to Lady Elkin now, she will be far more likely to accept him than if he waited for her to send her armies to his doorstep. The same goes for the others.”
“Have they all gone north, then?” said Erian.
“Most of them, I believe. They did not tell me, but Lord Manolis was a friend of mine and he confided to me that he planned to go west, toward Canran. If he did, then Liyah, his wife, would have gone with him.”
“I suppose I shouldn’t really blame them. These lands aren’t ready to fend off invasion, and an attempt to resist would be suicide, and pointless suicide at that. I’ve no intention of staying here any longer than I have to, either. I understand why Galrick did what he did. Either way, it’s not really any of my business.” Erian sighed. “I’m only irritated with him because I had hoped he would show me the courtesy of staying to meet me. I suppose he didn’t consider me worthy of that honour,” he added sourly.
“Well,
I
am more than happy to meet you, my lord,” said Kitaen. She paused to drink some wine. “I had been wondering whether you were coming here to take Galrick’s place.”
“Perhaps, one day,” said Erian. “But becoming governor of this city is not my biggest concern at the moment. No, I have come here for a different purpose.”
“And what would that be, my lord?” said Kitaen.
She bloody knows already,
Erian thought. He leant forward. “I am looking for a certain person, my lady, someone I have a very large obligation to find. Someone
every
griffiner should be honour-bound to hunt down.”
Kitaen sighed. “You are looking for Arren Cardockson.”
Erian’s grip tightened on his cup. “Arren Cardockson, Arenadd Taranisäii, the mad blackrobe, the destroyer of Eagleholm—I don’t care what you call him. I want to find him before he escapes from Eagleholm’s lands. If he falls into the hands of Canran, or
any
other Master or Mistress, I will—there will be consequences.”
“Consequences for whom?” said Kitaen, choosing her words carefully.
“I am going to be the one to find him, my lady,” said Erian. “And I intend to be personally responsible for what happens to him after that. Lord Rannagon was my father, and I saw him die in front of me. I have the right to avenge him, and I will go to any lengths to bring that about. Do you understand?”
Kreeak was hissing softly. Kitaen took a strayberry from the bowl and turned it over in her fingers. “I understand perfectly, my lord, and I have no intention of trying to get in your way.”
“Then you’ll help me?”
“As far as I can, yes,” said Kitaen. “What is it you want from me?”
Erian relaxed slightly. “You have his parents.”
She nodded.
“Where are they?”
“They were kept in the prison out in the city at first,” said Kitaen. “But once Lord Galrick found out who they were, he had them moved. They are in the dungeons beneath this tower as we speak.”
“I read that in the last message he sent to Eagleholm,” said Erian. “How were they caught? When?”
“Only a week or so ago, by my guess,” said Kitaen. “According to what I was told, they were found camping in the forest just outside the city and were arrested on suspicion of being bandits or escaped slaves.” She smiled thinly. “Or possibly both. When Galrick found out that the blackrobe’s parents were wanted, he thought this couple could well be them, so he interrogated them himself and managed to find out their names. Since then they have been living in the dungeons.”
“Have they been tortured?”
“No. Threats and starvation were enough to make them give their names. Beyond that, they have given nothing away, but Lord Galrick thought it would be best to refer to Eagleholm before he took any further action.”
Erian smiled grimly. “Then he did at least one thing right.” He finished off his wine in a few mouthfuls and put the cup down. “I want to talk to them.”
“Certainly, my lord. When?”
“Immediately.”
6
Calling
A
rren sat and prodded the fire despondently. It needed more fuel, but he couldn’t summon up the energy to go and get any. He sighed. He was hungry, but he was forcing himself to wait until nightfall to eat. The sheep’s carcass had been picked clean by now, and he and Skade had been steadily eating their way through the meat that he had already smoked. It would all be gone in a day or so and, even combined, their foraging hadn’t turned up much.
He rubbed his eyes. It had been four days since Skandar had left them. Four days, and neither he nor Skade had seen a sign of the black griffin anywhere. For the first day, Arren had remained hopeful; Skandar had occasionally gone on extended hunting trips in the past, sometimes for nearly an entire day. He could still come back. But by noon on the second day, he began to lose hope, and there was little he could do but try to accept the fact that Skandar was not coming back. It was all over. Finished. Without Skandar to help him, he would never get to the spirit cave, or to Norton, or anywhere else for that matter. He had made the half-hearted suggestion that they begin walking, in the hopes of finding a better place to stay, but deep down he knew it would be pointless. There was nothing but forest for miles in every direction, and they could never find enough food for them both. If they left the camp, they would get lost in no time, and after that they would both die of starvation. Even so, he might have given it a try and hoped for the best, but only if he had been on his own—and he wasn’t willing to leave Skade behind.
He glanced at the spot where she preferred to sit, close to the crude shelter he had built for the pair of them. It was unoccupied. Skade had been much weaker than he had realised at first, and for most of the time they had spent together since Skandar had flown away she had remained in the camp resting and eating. She had a voracious appetite once she stopped suppressing it, and Arren hadn’t had the heart to tell her they should try to preserve the food they had. He had done his best to look after her, giving her as much food as she wanted and making sure she had plenty to drink. He let her use the sheepskin as a blanket, and after he’d built the shelter he had offered to let her have it to herself. She had refused the last offer, insisting that they share it so that they could keep each other warm. Arren had been embarrassed by that, but he hadn’t protested much. He liked Skade, liked her very much.
The silver-haired woman had recovered her strength with surprising speed, and for a while she had apparently been content to stay close to the camp and help him look for food. But he had woken up that morning alone, and he had only seen her once since then, briefly, when he had gone looking for her. He had found her crouched by the base of a tree, glaring at the sky, and when he ventured too close she hissed at him and stalked off.
Arren glanced at the sky. Nothing.
They’ve both run off on me,
he thought miserably.
The silence among the trees was oppressive. He couldn’t even hear any insects chirping. Here the sky seemed huge, a massive presence hovering above him, the trees reaching up toward it like pillars. He hated this place. It made him feel as if he were in a cage, being steadily crushed by its great thick bars. He missed his home then, missed it as he had never done since Skandar had left. He thought of his little house on the edge of the city, with the small iron stove and his hammock hanging from the rafters. On cold mornings, when thick mist obscured the view, he would venture out onto the balcony and enjoy the feeling of the wind on his face, hearing nothing but the soft clinking of the bone wind chimes he had bought in the market district. Eluna would be there with him, too, saying nothing, maybe running the tip of her beak through the feathery rudder on the end of her tail to straighten the plumes.
Arren closed his eyes. He hadn’t thought of Eluna for a long time, but she was in his head now. He remembered her so clearly, too clearly, but somehow when he thought of her, he couldn’t make the image of her in his mind stay still. It was always moving, wavering, as if it were about to fade, and every time he concentrated on it an image of Skandar would flash across his consciousness, as if to remind him of the white griffin’s fate.
He forced his eyes open again, and shivered. He missed Eluna, and yet he missed Skandar, too. Just as he missed everyone he had known in his old life. Bran, his best friend, and Gern, who had died, and Flell, Flell whom he had loved, Flell who had abandoned him, Flell …
He thought of her, feeling a sickness inside him.
Flell, I’m sorry. I’m sorry
. He had tried so hard to forget her face as he had last seen it, full of terrible shock. It was futile.
Misery was starting to overcome his senses. He struggled to get a grip on himself.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about her. Make yourself forget it
.
He thought of Skade instead. She was beautiful. The idea crossed his mind before he could squash it, and he instantly felt disgusted with himself. Flell
is pretty,
he told himself sternly.
She’s human. With her fine brown hair and blue eyes, and the way she—no, don’t think about her. Think of Skade
.
Skade was beautiful. He sighed and let himself admit it. She looked odd, but there was something about her that he found attractive regardless. Perhaps it was her ferocity. She was courageous. Yes, that was a safer thought. She had recognised him as the murderer he was, but where another person might have fled or pretended to be oblivious, she had dared to confront him, when she was weak and starved, holding a sword she could barely lift, let alone use. True, she had waited until Skandar was gone, but for all she knew, Arren was a dangerous lunatic who might try to kill her, too. And yet she had faced him anyway. She had
challenged
him. She had not shied away; she had not betrayed fear. And her golden eyes, the way they seemed to burn from within, the way the light caught her hair …
Arren tangled his fingers in his own hair and wrenched at it until it hurt, gritting his teeth savagely. “Stop it, stop it,
stop it
!”
Well, it doesn’t matter,
he thought, trying to calm himself down. Skade was his friend now, and he would help her and protect her as far as he could. If need be, he would starve himself rather than let her die. She deserved more than he did to live, and for her sake he would just have to do his best to act normally. If she knew what he was feeling—
No. I’m not feeling anything. It’s just a few ridiculous thoughts. She’s a bloody griffin, you sick bastard! What’s wrong with you?
Actually, she’s not a griffin,
a treacherous inner voice whispered.
Not any more
.
Arren shut it out and shambled off to find some more wood. Luckily there were plenty of fallen branches in the area, and it hadn’t rained again since he had pulled Skade out of the pond, so they were dry enough. He gathered an armload and carried it back to the camp, where he carefully restocked the guttering fire. Once it was burning strongly again, he went to gather some more wood to pile beside it. It would be sunset fairly soon, and they couldn’t afford to run out of fuel while it was dark.
Once he had done that, he relented and took a chunk of smoked meat from the bark-wrapped bundle that hung from a nearby tree. He’d eat this much for now and hope it would be enough.
As he was impaling it on his knife, the sound of rustling bark behind him made him look up sharply.
It was Skade. The instant he saw her, his stomach started churning. He said nothing but watched her re-enter the camp, moving quickly and picking her way through the rocks and sharp sticks that littered the ground. She reached the fire and sat down opposite him.