He stopped when he saw Arren. “Arren Cardockson!” he said, and beamed. “And Eluna, of course!”
Arren went to meet him. “Hello, Roland. How are you?”
“In excellent form, thank you, lad.” Roland scratched the griffin chick under the beak and put it back into its pen. “Poor little thing has a touch of scale. Should be all right, though, with a little care. So, what brings you here?” He saw the bandage on Arren’s arm. “Oh dear, what happened to you?”
“It’s nothing,” said Arren. “Roland—”
Roland looked at him, and then at Eluna. “Has she bitten you?”
“There was a bit of a scrap this morning,” said Arren. “We raided a smugglers’ den and one of them fought back.”
“Ah, I see,” said Roland, relaxing. “A nasty business. So, what have you brought me?”
Arren’s jaw tightened. “We found this in with the rest of their loot.” He pulled the cloth aside.
Roland froze. “Oh, dear gods.” He took the cage from Arren and tore the cloth away, looking in anxiously at the chick. It looked up at him and fluttered its wings. “Food?” it said.
Roland looked up. “Where did you find this?”
“In their cellar,” said Arren. “With the rest of the crates and things. I checked through it all; this was the only one.”
“A red, by the looks of it,” said Roland. “Seems to be in good health, thank Gryphus.” He opened the cage and lifted the chick out, murmuring to it in griffish to soothe it. It gripped his arm with its small talons and then snuggled up against his chest. “Roland,” it muttered.
“One of mine, definitely,” said Roland, handing the cage back to Arren. He touched the chick, checking it for injuries. “A bit thin—few bruises—nothing serious. Thank you so much, Arren.”
Arren put the cage on the floor. “What were they thinking?”
Roland looked grim. “A griffin chick can fetch a very high price, if you know who to sell it to. Or perhaps they hoped they could win its trust, join the griffiners.”
“They must have been idiots,” said Arren.
“Quite.” Roland found an empty pen and put the chick into it. It sat down amid the fresh hay, still looking hopefully at him. He fed it some goat meat from a pouch tied to his belt.
“Well, we’ve caught them,” said Arren. “We might not find out who stole it, though. Some of the smugglers weren’t there, and one of the others was killed trying to escape. Hopefully one of the ones we caught will talk.”
“They may as well,” Roland growled. “They’ve got nothing left to lose. I don’t condone the use of wild griffins as punishment, but anyone who does what they did deserves the worst Rannagon can offer them.”
“One of them already had the worst Eluna can offer,” said Arren. “She killed him.”
Roland’s expression changed. “Ah.” He looked at Eluna. She looked back calmly.
“I’d better go. I have to report to Rannagon,” said Arren. “He’ll want to hear it from me first.”
“Don’t worry, lad,” Roland said gently. “You won’t be in trouble for this. The man was criminal scum of the first order. He deserved worse, and he would have had it, too.”
Arren nodded. “He attacked me. Eluna saw it.”
“Ah. Then the case is clear-cut. I doubt you’ll have to do more than explain yourself to Rannagon. He’ll believe you. He’s fond of you, you know. In fact he told me—no, never mind.”
“What?” said Arren.
Roland shook his head and smiled. “No, no, I’ll leave you to find out on your own. It’s not my place to say. Now, off you go.”
Arren bowed to Keth before he left. “See you later, Roland.”
“Right you are, lad. And say hello to Flell for me.”
“I will.” Arren left the hatchery.
Rannagon Raegonson was the Master of Law in Eagleholm, though he was generally referred to as “the reeve,” an old word for a judge or sheriff. Where Arren ruled the marketplace, Rannagon was master of the prison district. It was his responsibility to judge and sentence criminals—hard work, and frequently unpleasant. Arren didn’t envy him. In fact, he had been offered the chance to work as Rannagan’s apprentice but had turned it down. Rannagon was old, and if he died before retiring, his apprentice would be given his position. That was something Arren didn’t want.
The prison district was on the far side of the city, but Arren made instead for the very centre of the city. That was where the Eyrie stood. Riona, the Mistress of the Eyrie, lived there, along with many of the more senior griffiners.