they touched the balcony above it, which was already beginning to catch. Griffins were flying overhead, screeching and bewildered.
She started to sob. “What are we going to do? What are we going to do?”
Erian hugged her. “It’s all right, Flell. We’re safe.”
“But Father!”
Erian looked up at the Eyrie, his eyes fixed on the burning balcony, which was already beginning to crumble. “He’ll pay for this, Flell,” he said. “I swear it by my father’s blood. The blackrobe will pay. If I have to hunt him for the rest of my life, I will.”
“And I shall help you,” said Senneck.
That night, the Eyrie burned.
There was no large source of water nearby, no way to smother the flames. They spread through first one floor and then the next, until flames were showing in every window and balcony. There were dozens of griffiners inside, and nearly all of them were asleep. They had no chance.
Flell, standing in the street below, where the other survivors had gathered, could hear the screams. She saw griffins fly up, alone, having left their partners behind in their panic, and then circle overhead, calling for them. Some went back in, but of those most never re-emerged.
Erian was trying his best to help organise the people who had escaped, shouting his explanation to bewildered and frightened griffiners. “The blackrobe did it! He’s alive! He murdered my father! Someone has to go after him!”
Many griffiners had already taken to the sky and were flying off in all directions, trying to spot the fleeing black griffin. But their search was in vain. In the dark, a black griffin would be nearly invisible. Arren had escaped.
And Flell cried. She held on to Erian, letting his warm body comfort her, and sobbed as though her heart would break. Thrain came from her house, where she had left her, and rubbed herself against Flell’s leg, cheeping her concern. Flell picked her up and held her close, her tears wetting the little griffin’s feathers.
Erian put his arm around her. “Flell, it’s all right. It’s all right. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
“Arren, how could you?” Flell whispered between sobs. “How could you?”
“He’s evil,” Erian rasped. “Like the rest of his kind. He’ll die for this.”
After a time, Flell stilled and her sobs died down. “Erian . . .”
“Yes, Flell?”
“Erian, I—I’m—I . . .”
“What is it, Flell?” said Erian. “It’s all right, you can tell me. I’m your brother, remember?”
Flell stared at the ground. “Erian, I’m pregnant.”
Arren dangled from Darkheart’s beak, unable to see a thing. He could tell they were high up; the air was cold as ice, and there was a strong wind. The collar of his robe had pulled tight around his neck, half-choking him, but he didn’t really notice. Flell’s horrified face filled his vision. Arren, what have you done?
Far below and behind him, he could see the faint light of the burning Eyrie. It would all be destroyed, he realised. He hoped so.
Rannagon’s sword was still clutched in his hand. He thought of letting it go, but something made him keep hold of it. And why not? It was his now. He’d fought for it.
The back of his robe started to tear. He felt himself slipping and grabbed blindly with his free hand, catching hold of one of Darkheart’s talons. The griffin’s paw twitched slightly, and then he suddenly let go. For one heart-stopping moment Arren was hanging in midair, and then Darkheart wrapped his talons around him and clutched him to his chest, holding him firmly in place with his face pressed into his feathers. They were warm and soft, almost comforting, and he did not struggle. Darkheart wasn’t going to kill him. He knew that well enough by now.
They flew on toward dawn. Arren had no idea what direction they were going in, but he knew they were leaving Eagleholm far behind, and that was enough. He slept briefly, lulled by the steady beating of the black griffin’s great heart, and when he woke up again it was dawn. Darkheart was flagging; he was flying lower now, and his wing beats seemed clumsy. He began his descent even as Arren woke up, and finally landed in a small clearing in a forest. There he put him down and lay beside him, breathing slowly and heavily.
Arren was stiff and chilled, but he sat up, groaning, and inspected his surroundings.
There was nothing but trees all around, tall and strong, their leaves sighing in the early-morning breeze. Birds sang here and there.