It was Senneck. The brown griffin landed neatly over by the archery butts, sending up a small cloud of dust. She folded her wings and came toward him, tail swishing behind her.
Erian went to meet her. “Hello, there you are.”
Senneck’s blue eyes were cold. “What are you doing?”
Erian held up his bow. “Just a little archery practice. I thought I should keep my hand in, since we’re here.”
“I see.” She sat back on her haunches, but she still towered over him, watching him.
Erian started to feel uncomfortable. “Why, is there something else I should be doing?”
Senneck stood up abruptly. “Why are we here?”
“I
told
you already,” Erian snapped. “We’re here to check the slaves. I want to be sure he’s not among them. As soon as they finish work for the day I’m going to have them lined up and talk to them.”
“You think he is here?” Senneck hissed. The tip of her tail was twitching.
“He could be,” said Erian.
“That is not good enough,” said Senneck. “Be exact. What are the chances that he is here?”
“Well, they’re low,” Erian admitted. “But—”
The griffin clicked her beak sharply. “They are low! So then, why have we come here, may I ask?”
“Because I wanted to see this place for myself,” said Erian. “Just on our way, so I could ask a few questions, scout things out—”
“You are looking for him here,” Senneck sneered. “You think he could be here, hiding among the slaves!”
“He could have come this way!”
“You have already spoken to the governor, and there has been no word of anything. He is not here, Erian. You and I should be in the North by now, and yet you have insisted that we waste our time here. Why?”
Erian failed to spot the danger signals. He shrugged. “Do we need a reason?”
Senneck lashed out with lightning speed, sending him flying. He hit the ground hard, and his bow shot out of his hand. He tried to get up, winded and gasping, but she was too quick for him. She stood over him, hissing and furious. “Do not presume to speak to me like that, bastard.”
Erian scrabbled at the ground, trying to pull himself away. “Senneck, no! I don’t—”
Senneck lowered her head so that they were eye to eye. Hers were blazing. “You are not my master. Understand that? You do not tell me what to do. I am not your pet; I am not your beast of burden. You are mine now, and if I decide that we should or should not do a thing, then you are the one who must obey me.”
There was enough defiance in Erian to make him say, “And what will you do if I don’t?”
She straightened up, head turning to look to her left. The governor’s dog had wandered into the yard and was regarding her cautiously. “This is what I shall do,” the griffin said. She lowered her head and braced herself, placing her forelegs well apart. For a moment she stood like that, unmoving, and then she suddenly went rigid. Something changed around her, something unseen. The ground shook gently, and the air thrummed silently. Without warning she lifted her head, beak opening wide as if she was going to scream. But what came forth was not sound.
A great beam of light, pure green with a core of brown, came from Senneck’s throat. It enveloped the dog, hiding the animal from view. For a few moments there was nothing but silence, and then Erian heard a horrible cracking, groaning noise coming from within the great green glow. It lasted only briefly before Senneck abruptly closed her beak and sat back on her haunches, the light disappearing like a flash of lightning.
Senneck turned to look at him again as he struggled upright. “That is what I shall do,” she said softly.
Erian was not aware of the dirt besmirching his new tunic. He stared, dumbstruck. The dog was still where it had been before, but it had stopped moving. Its entire body had become grey and rigid; it sat there, locked into place, frozen in an attitude of cringing terror. It had turned to stone.
Erian found his voice at last. “You—you—”
Senneck refolded her wings. “You asked me what my power was. Now you know. That dog shall be trapped like that forever, neither alive nor dead. And the same shall happen to anyone I choose.” She turned her terrible gaze on him. “No matter who they are.”
“You wouldn’t!” Erian whispered. “You’re my griffin!”
The brown griffin’s blue eyes were full of terrible contempt. “
Your
griffin?” Her tail started to twitch. “You are beginning to displease me, Erian Rannagonson.”
“Why?” said Erian.
“Hear me now,” she said. “You wish to have revenge. That is your desire. To find the man who killed your father and kill him in return.”
“Yes,” said Erian. “You
know
that, Senneck.”
“Understand that I am sympathetic to your desire,” said Senneck. “I despise that creature as much as you do, and if I find him before you, I shall kill him.” She sighed. “I spent many long years living in the hatchery, unpartnered. I had food and shelter, but that was all I had. A griffin without a human has no status, any more than a human without a griffin does. I wanted a human to call my own, but I rejected all those who came to me. I wanted a human worthy of me, a noble—wealthy, respected. A human I could help become great. But none were worthy. I rejected some; others were claimed before I could reach them. And then … you came.”
Erian felt a little glow of pride. “Yes. I’ll never forget the day we met.”
“I knew you were a commoner the moment I saw you,” Senneck said icily. “From your clothing, from the way you carried yourself. You had no status; you looked like a peasant. That blackrobe had sent you in alone to amuse himself, in the hopes that you would make a fool of yourself. I did not like him, but I agreed with him. I rejected you the instant I saw you.” She paused. “And then you spoke, and spoke
griffish
. You proved you knew something. And you told us you were Lord Rannagon’s son. I already knew that Lord Rannagon had a bastard son, and so did my fellows. They rejected you because you were a bastard; they would not dishonour themselves. They all knew what had become of Eluna when she partnered herself to a blackrobe. Even her own parents rejected her for it.”
“But you chose me,” said Erian. “You chose me.”
“I took a risk,” said Senneck. “I had grown tired of waiting. And if Rannagon had favoured you enough to acknowledge you as his son, then that meant there was a chance you could overcome your bastardy. It was my hope that, if you became a griffiner, you could persuade Lady Riona to legitimise you. Together, we could have become something more.”
“And we will,” said Erian. “I swear.”
“Then
become
,” Senneck rasped. “I command you. That blackrobe robbed me of my chance when he killed your father and Lady Riona, and I wish to see him dead. But if you continue to allow yourself to be this—this landless, penniless vagabond without even a lordship—I shall abandon you.”
Erian went pale. “No. You wouldn’t do that. We belong together. We’re partners. You chose me.”
“I chose you,” she said. “Understand this, Erian. I made you. If it were not for me, you would still be a lowly farm boy. And if I left you, you would become that once again. All you are, you owe to me.” She drew herself up. “So tread carefully, bastard.”
He hesitated. “I—I will, Senneck. I promise. I won’t forget. I’ll do whatever you want.”
Satisfaction gleamed in her eyes. “Then do as I say.”
“I will.”
“We leave tomorrow,” said Senneck. “No more delays; time is short. We shall go to Malvern immediately and swear our service to Lady Elkin. She will want youth and strength on her side if she chooses to invade Eagleholm’s lands. But first you must go to the Wylamese slave-trader and speak with him. Command him to send the traitor’s mother to Malvern to await our arrival. Return his money to him and say you are buying her back.”
“Why?” said Erian.
She gave him a contemptuous look. “You truly know nothing, bastard. The woman will be useful. Use her as your personal slave. And when her son resurfaces, you will have the perfect bait to lure him to you.”
Very slowly, Erian began to smile. “And when he comes …”
“You shall have a fine statue to sell,” said Senneck.
I
t was raining. Drops landed on the bracken fern in a soft pattering that made them glisten and bob gently. More struck the mound of freshly dug earth surrounded by trampled vegetation. There was no marker there, nothing but a heap of dirt to show the spot.
There was a rustling among the ferns, and a long grey-green shape waddled toward the heap. It was a lizard, nearly as long as a man, moving surprisingly fast on its squat legs. Its tongue flicked in and out, tasting the air. It hated rain. The cold slowed it, made it feel confused and weak. But just now its mind was on something else. There was a smell coming from up ahead, a smell that rid its mind of all else.
Food.
The lizard made for the mound of disturbed soil and inspected it, tongue still flicking. It was faint, but unmistakeable: dead flesh lying just under the surface. The lizard paused briefly and then began to dig. Sharp black claws scooped the earth aside with ease, and the creature thrust itself downward. Before long it had dug a sizeable hole, and the scent was becoming stronger. Finally, its questing snout encountered something soft.
The lizard shovelled more dirt aside and found something pale and reeking of flesh. It took it between its teeth and bit down, shaking vigorously from side to side until the skin broke and it tasted blood. Encouraged, the lizard tugged more strenuously. But its efforts were not rewarded. The lizard’s teeth were small and short, lacking the sharp serrations of a predator. This meat was too fresh to be easily torn apart.
The lizard hissed to itself in frustration. A find like this would be perfect if it had been allowed to rot for a week or so. But that was far too long to wait; it needed to eat now.
The lizard dug further, uncovering more of the corpse. It was human, mostly covered in a second skin of the kind humans had. The lizard found the soft midsection, just below the ribs, and nuzzled into it, pulling and biting. The flesh was thin there and could be opened with tooth and claw to expose the innards. Those would be far easier to eat, and they were the lizard’s preferred food.
The creature dug its claws into the outer skin and pulled hard until it tore, exposing the pale second skin beneath. It bit into that, and began to pull.
Engrossed in what it was doing, its senses dulled by the cold, the lizard failed to see its own danger. There was a sudden flurry in the rain, a faint crash, and something enormous hit the lizard square in the back. The lizard jerked and began to thrash wildly, hissing, but the struggle was over almost as soon as it had begun. Huge talons closed tightly around its middle, and a black beak larger than a man’s head struck, shattering the lizard’s skull and breaking its neck in one blow. The lizard abruptly went limp.
Skandar hissed to himself and ripped the lizard in half with a jerk of his neck. He swallowed the front section in one go, gulping a little as it went down.
The second half was larger, but he was too impatient to tear it into smaller pieces. He threw his head back to tip it down his throat and then, part of the lizard’s tail hanging from his beak, looked down for anything he might have missed.
That was when he saw the hand.
Skandar got up, tossing his head again quickly so that the last of the lizard slid down his gullet. His tail twitched. There was a smell, damped by the rain. A smell he knew.
It took him only a few moments to drag Arren out of the makeshift grave. He wrapped his talons around him and pulled him free as if he weighed nothing. Arren hung from his grip, cold and limp. He was deathly pale, his hair and beard tangled and matted with dirt.
Skandar lay down on his belly with Arren’s still form cradled between his forelegs, and nosed at him.
“Arren,” he rasped. “Arren. Wake now. Wake.”
Arren did not move. He was dead.
A feeling of desolation rose up in Skandar’s chest. The dark griffin continued to shove at Arren and call his name, waiting in vain for him to respond. His scent was still strong, the same scent he had had during all their time together in the wild. A cold, metallic scent, unlike anything a living creature could have. But a scent Skandar had come to know and to connect with the human he had claimed for his own.
Finally the griffin gave up and slumped disconsolately over Arren’s body, rain dripping from the tip of his beak.
All his life he had been alone. His siblings had died, and his mother. The humans he had abducted had died as well. He hadn’t meant to kill most of them, but they had all been so fragile, and most of them had made him angry with the strange whining and moaning noises they made. They were stupid animals who did not know how to speak and could not fly or fight. All of them but one. Just one, this human who had set him free, the one with the special powers, the one who could talk. Skandar had seen him use his magic many times. When they had first met, he had used some power to take away Skandar’s strength and make him sleep, and had trapped him and taken him to a different place, as easily as if he were a newly hatched chick. And he could control other humans, make them do things. When Skandar had known he would face him in the arena, he had known at once what he must do. The human had talked to him; now he must talk to the human, and so he had. He had commanded him to use his magic once again to set him free, and left him alive so he could do as he had promised.