The Griffin's Flight (16 page)

Read The Griffin's Flight Online

Authors: K.J. Taylor

Arren got up. His robe and the front of his trousers were hanging open, and he refastened them hastily. “There’s no pain?”
Skandar yawned. “Hungry.”
“I’ll take that as a no.” Arren looked at the sky. The sun was well up. “I suppose we should get going, then.”
“We should conceal all of this first,” said Skade. “We do not want to be tracked.”
Arren shook himself. “Yes, you’re right. I’ll demolish the lean-to; you bury the fire.”
“As you wish.”
Arren quickly dismantled the crude shelter, saving the sheepskin blanket. He found his sword and strapped it on, and retrieved his knife from the fireside. Skade quickly finished covering the heap of ash and coals with leaf litter, and then scattered the sheep’s bones.
Arren watched her surreptitiously. She looked completely unflustered, as if nothing had happened at all. It made him feel strangely embarrassed. He tried to think clearly, but it was hard. His head was full of memories, little snippets, little pieces of speech.
I want you for my mate, I want you, I want
…
His hands fumbled with the crude straps holding his sword to his back. He tried his best, letting himself remember it all, trying to identify the emotion beneath it.
Skandar had grown tired of waiting. He got up and came forward. “We go,” he said.
Arren returned to the present. “Yes, of course. Skade?”
She came to his side, looking speculatively at Skandar. “Can he carry both of us?”
Arren shrugged. “I think so, but not all day. He carried two sheep at once just a few days ago.”
Skade glanced at him. “I only saw one.”
Arren smiled slightly. “The other one was in his stomach. Skandar, what do you think?”
The black griffin clicked his beak; if he had been human, he would have been scowling. “Can carry you,” he said.
Arren knew he was annoyed by the suggestion that he couldn’t. “Of course you can,” he said soothingly. “I’ll get up first.”
Skandar lowered his head and let Arren climb onto the gap between his neck and his wings. Arren settled down there and then looked at Skade. “Now you get up behind me.”
She approached carefully, not wanting to provoke Skandar in any way. He didn’t react, but merely ruffled his wings irritably. Skade paused uncertainly, apparently trying to decide how best to get on without hurting him.
Arren reached down to her. “Here, take my hand.”
She did, and he pulled her up over Skandar’s shoulder. She managed to get her leg over and settled down behind Arren, putting her arms around his waist. Skandar didn’t like this much; he shifted around, hissing softly. For a moment, the horrible thought crossed Arren’s mind that he might try to throw them off. He didn’t, but now would be a very bad time to provoke him.
“I’ve never done this before,” said Arren. “Griffins aren’t supposed to carry two people at once, but Skandar’s very large for a griffin, and he’s strong. Aren’t you, Skandar?”
“Am strong,” said Skandar, mollified. “We fly now.”
“Just hold on to me, Skade,” said Arren, tensing as the griffin spread his wings. “Try and move as I move, and for gods’ sakes, don’t let go.”
“I am ready,” Skade said calmly.
Skandar, too, was ready. He paused a moment, then set off in a rough, shambling run across the campsite. His wings opened wide as he ran, and he began to beat them, harder and harder. They lifted him a little each time, but his paws remained stubbornly on the ground; he ran on, faster, beating his wings with all his might as the trees at the edge of camp loomed up in front of him. Arren started to panic. He’d been through dozens of take-offs, and none of them had been like this. Skandar couldn’t get off the ground, he’d—
The trees were there, directly in front of him, and then they were gone, rushing past as Skandar broke into a sprint, folding his wings to fit through the forest. The motion jolted Arren violently up and down, and he lay as flat as he could, doing his uttermost to keep still and not throw the griffin off balance. He could feel Skade’s arms wrapped around his waist, holding on tightly. She was light, but not enough; they were going to fall off.
The landscape cleared again as the trees opened up at the banks of the pond. In a moment they were going to plough straight into the water.
Skandar’s wings opened again, and he jumped. They were stuck in midair, gravity dragging at them, and then Skandar’s wings beat, hard, and Arren’s stomach felt as if it had dropped straight into his boots as they finally made it into the air.
Skandar flew higher, lurching a little, but struggling on determinedly. For a few moments it looked as if they weren’t going to clear the trees, but they made it, passing so close to them that the griffin’s tail snagged briefly on a branch.
Skandar levelled out with some effort and began to fly away over the trees, heading directly north, and Arren felt his heart soar. They had made it.
He sat up, letting himself relax, moving with Skandar. “It’s all right!” he called to Skade when she tensed behind him. “We’re in the air!”
“Thank the stars in the sky!” she called back over the wind. “I thought we were going to fall into the pond!”
“I don’t know how long he can keep it up, though!” said Arren. “And landing will be a bit tricky as well!”
Skade leant forward so that she could talk directly into his ear. “I am sure we will be fine,” she said. “I have faith in him, and in you.”
That made Arren feel better. He smiled to himself, some of his inner turmoil cooling.
“You know,” he said, “I feel—”
“What?”
“I said I feel—” Arren shouted.
“What do you feel?” said Skade.
“I feel that—” Arren gave up. “Never mind. We’ll talk later!”
And that was how the day’s flight began. Arren had been right; Skandar could not carry two people for an entire day. He was much clumsier in the air now and could not fly as high; he could only soar for much shorter distances and constantly had to resume beating his wings in order to regain the height he kept losing. But he toiled on regardless, and Arren knew what he was probably thinking. Taking off was more strenuous than remaining in the air, so stopping to rest would actually wear him out faster. It was easier to just keep going. Arren only hoped that he wouldn’t push himself too hard.
Noon drew closer and they stayed in the air. Arren dozed briefly and woke up again with a start. Falling asleep now would be a bad idea. To distract himself, he watched the landscape below them. It was still thick with trees, but he could see the creek peeking through here and there. They were following it. He nodded to himself. Sensible.
Then Skade shifted behind him, reminding him of her presence. He started slightly, his mind instantly refilling with uncomfortable thoughts.
What have I done?
His stomach was churning. It had felt right. It had felt more than right, but—
Well, how do you feel about her?
he asked himself, almost sternly.
The answer came slowly, nearly obliquely, as if it was embarrassed to do so. He examined it, forcing himself not to push it away, trying to accept it, and that was when it all became clear in his mind. Arren knew he was falling in love.
Again!
he raged.
So soon after Flell—you bastard! How could you be so
—
?
Then, without warning, he laughed. The sound was snatched away by the wind the instant it was out of his mouth, but he laughed on regardless. He couldn’t help it. Here he was, Arren Cardockson, the heartless one, the destroyer of Eagleholm, worrying about right and wrong. The sheer ridiculousness of it was almost too much to bear.
It was as if the laughter cured him of his fears and his guilt. The moment he stopped, he felt a new and powerful certainty that swept them all away. What did it matter whether it was right or wrong? If he didn’t care, and Skade didn’t, then that was all that mattered. Who else would even know about it?
Nobody,
he thought.
Skade was right. What do we care?
He sat up straighter on Skandar’s back, suddenly relishing the feeling of Skade’s warm body pressed against his. Fierce Skade. His mate.
 
A
rren’s euphoria lasted until partway through the afternoon, when Skandar slowed his progress and started to circle, looking for a place to land. By now the creek had joined itself to a river, and the griffin found an open space by its banks and began to fly lower. Arren leant forward, holding on tightly.
“Brace yourself!” he shouted.
The landing was not a pleasant one. At first it seemed they were going to be all right; Skandar managed to retain his balance as he descended, wings half-folded, tail turning sideways to steady himself. But Arren was quick to see their danger. He leant forward as far as he could, yelling at Skade to do likewise as the wind whipped his hair away from his face. He could see the ground below getting closer and closer very fast, too fast. Panic shot through him. Skandar couldn’t slow himself enough; the extra weight was dragging him down. And then the ground was no longer below them; it was
there
, directly in front of them. Arren closed his eyes and braced himself.
Skandar’s talons hit the ground with a massive thud, ploughing up sand and dirt. His momentum pitched him head forward, and Arren was thrown from his back. He smacked into the ground so hard it knocked all the breath out of him and made his vision go black, rolled down a steep embankment and fell straight into the river. The cold shock of it engulfed him, and the next thing he knew he was floundering in the water. It was deep and the current was powerful. All his instincts screamed at him to get out, and he started to flail desperately, trying to swim. Too late, he remembered the sword still strapped to his back. He managed to break the surface once, and gasped in a lungful of air before it dragged him down again. He rolled over and over as he sank, wrestling with the straps, but they had expanded in the water, and the shock of landing had nearly knocked him senseless. Panic-stricken, he grabbed hold of the sword by the hilt and tried to pull it out, but he couldn’t get purchase. His lungs were bursting; he was going to drown.
Something snagged on the back of his robe. He let go of the sword and made a grab for it, and then he was being dragged inexorably backward. He forced his eyes open and saw nothing but dark water and a whirl of silvery bubbles escaping from his mouth and nose. Then something wrapped itself around his waist and hauled him upward, back to the light.
He re-emerged into the open air, coughing and gasping, pain shooting through him as he breathed in at last. Skandar, moving on three legs with Arren’s sodden form clasped to his chest, scrambled up the bank and dumped him on the sand. Arren lay there on his back, head spinning.
Skandar nudged him with his beak. “You hurt?”
Arren coughed. “Sk-Skandar.”
The griffin flopped down on his belly and laid his head beside his partner. He was breathing hard and his feathers were soaked. “Drink later,” he muttered.
Arren managed a laugh. “I think I’ve—had enough—for now.”
“Arren?” It was Skade. He turned his head and saw her coming toward him, moving slowly and carefully. She kept glancing at Skandar, but the black griffin only groaned and closed his eyes. The silver-haired woman came to Arren’s side. “Are you well?”
Arren stayed where he was, looking up at her. “I’m all right.”
Skade touched his forehead, pulling away the damp locks of hair. “I thought you had drowned.”
Arren lifted his head briefly and then let it drop. “I’ve had landings that went better.”
She smiled. “I am sorry I did not try and rescue you myself, but Skandar looked very … upset. I did not want to provoke him.”
Arren watched her, and the wonderful certainty became stronger. “You really care about me, don’t you?”
Skade looked uncertain. “What do you mean by that?”
Arren didn’t answer. He pulled himself into a sitting position and kissed her. She started a little, but she returned the kiss willingly enough.

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