instantly, the shouts started. The griffins, seeing him, began to jeer in their own language.
“Blackrobe!”
“Ragged ears!”
“Northern brat!”
Arren winced, very glad that Erian couldn’t understand them. He nodded to the boy, who was looking slightly pale. “Well, go ahead. Talk to them.”
Erian glanced at him. “What, just . . . talk?”
“Yes, go on. Introduce yourself.”
“All right.”
Erian moved forward a few paces. The moment he did, Arren darted back the way they’d come and took shelter in the open doorway. When Erian looked back at him, he gestured encouragingly and then settled down to watch.
Apparently reassured, Erian turned his attention back to the griffins. Many of them had come down to the floor and were coming closer to inspect him, their tails twitching as if they were stalking prey. For a moment Erian did nothing, either confused or, more likely, frightened. And then he started to speak. In griffish. “Griffins!” he shouted. “I have come to show myself to you! I am Erian, son of Rannagon! I have noble blood in my veins—the blood of griffiners—and though I was raised as a farm boy, I am strong and brave and a natural leader! I am worthy! I have come all the way to Eagleholm to show myself to you and prove that I am deserving of your mighty company! If there be any griffin here who would choose me, I would consider it the greatest honour and privilege of my life, and I would spend every day henceforth in that griffin’s company, as his friend and servant, always ready to fight against the forces of darkness and preserve the light of peace and justice!” He raised a hand high, fingers spread. “I am Erian Rannagonson! I am worthy!”
Arren’s gleeful expression changed to one of deep dismay.
The griffins had fallen silent while Erian spoke, and now they were gathering around him in a great bustling flock, all fluttering wings and clicking beaks. Erian stood still and watched them, his demeanour almost bewilderingly calm and collected as the griffins began to come forward, one by one. They sniffed at him and looked at him closely, and some touched him, but one by one they turned away and returned to the flock.
And then a large brown griffin came forward. She scented Erian’s tunic and his hands, and then she sat back on her haunches and looked him in the face. He looked back, unmoving. Then, slowly, he reached toward her.
Arren caught his breath. This was insanely dangerous. Anyone who touched a griffin that was not their partner was liable to lose their hand, if not their entire arm.
Erian laid his hand on the brown griffin’s forehead, right between her eyes. For a time there was absolute stillness between them, and then she sighed and bowed her head. Erian withdrew his hand and she abruptly stood up. She nudged him very gently in the chest and then quietly moved to stand beside him.
Deathly silence fell. Erian stood proudly, with the brown griffin beside him. Then he raised his head and screamed. “Erian! Erian!”
The brown griffin opened her beak toward the ceiling and added her voice to his. “Senneck! Senneck!”
The other griffins took up the cry, screeching their own names as loud as they could, until the whole room rang with the sound. Standing frozen in the doorway, Arren was seized by a powerful urge to do the same. A scream rose in his own throat and whispered in his ears, pleading with him to release it. Arren, Arren, Arren.
“Eluna,” he whispered.
Erian and Senneck turned and began to walk slowly out of the room, keeping pace with each other. Arren saw them coming toward him and was suddenly afraid. It was as if he was watching Rannagon, a younger, taller Rannagon, but with the same hard blue eyes, the same yellow hair. And the griffin—the griffin’s eyes matched his. Light blue. Sky blue. So bright, so perfect.
Arren backed away into the hatchery as they came through the doors, but neither of them so much as glanced at him.
Erian put his hand on Senneck’s shoulder and looked at Arren. “Tell Lord Roland what happened. I am going to find my father. I mean”—he glanced at Senneck—“we are going to find my father.”
Arren couldn’t bear to look him in the face. “I will.” Erian took his hand away from Senneck and came toward him, moving slowly. There was an odd expression on his face; it made him look slightly mad. “That’s Lord Erian, blackrobe,” he sneered, and shoved him