a stupid hatchling.”
“Is that why you said yes to Rannagon?”
“Yes. To earn my honour back. And yours.”
Arren let go of her. “Do you really think we can do this, Eluna?”
“Yes. You are brave and strong. You can fight. So can I. This wild griffin cannot hurt us if we act together.”
Arren remembered the bottle in his pocket. “I suppose I shouldn’t be scared. Rannagon has faith in us. And I have faith in you.”
Eluna blinked. “You do?”
“Yes, Eluna. I always have done. I let you—” He smiled. “When we were chicks, you bit the top off my ear. But I still trusted you.”
She chirped. “And if I bit the top off your other ear, would you trust me even more?”
Arren chuckled. “Maybe. But you shouldn’t do it now. Wait a while. If you ever lose my trust, you’ll know how to win it back.” His confidence grew. “We can do this, Eluna,” he added softly. “I know we can. You and me, working together. And we should see something of the world, shouldn’t we? Before we’re too old and tired for it. Before we—before we become councillors.”
“It was just talk,” said Eluna. “It may not happen.”
“No. Rannagon wouldn’t lie to me, and Riona wouldn’t lie to him. And neither of them would have said anything if it was just talk. Good gods, can you imagine that? Us on the council? A blackrobe advising the Mistress of the Eyrie?”
“Not a blackrobe, Arren,” said Eluna. “A griffiner.”
Once Arren had finished putting away the last of the goods, changed into a clean tunic and locked his sword up in the chest, he started packing for his journey. He’d never travelled much before, and especially not on griffinback, but he knew well enough that it would mean having to travel as lightly as possible. Eluna would only just be able to carry him and a few light objects.
That meant leaving his sword behind. He unpacked his bow and strung it, testing the string. It was strong and well waxed, and the bow itself was still supple. Arren nocked an arrow onto the string and aimed it experimentally at the wall, drawing back as if to loose it. But he relaxed the string and put the arrow back into the quiver with the others. The bow still had plenty of spring in it. It hadn’t seen much use; the only things he’d ever aimed it at were an archery butt and, once, a rabbit. Still, he knew he was a good shot. And a griffin was a big target. He wrapped the bow up in oiled leather and strapped it to the quiver. That would go on his back. There was a packet of spare bow-strings in the chest, and he put that on the table next to the bottle of poison and the skull talisman.
He stopped to eat an orange and think. What else should he take? A clean tunic would probably be a good idea, and some salve and bandages. And a cloak to wear in the air. Food was out of the question, apart from a few snacks to go in his pocket. He’d have to take some money and buy food along the way. People were generally happy to help a griffiner; he’d probably be given it for free. Best not to take too many chances, though. Arren knelt and lifted a loose board out of the floor beneath the table. There was a box underneath, and he filled a small leather pouch with oblong-shaped pieces of metal from it and tied the pouch to his belt. Fifty oblong should be enough to get by on. If the worst came to the worst, he could always ask Eluna to hunt. She wouldn’t like it, but it would be better than starving.
Once he’d packed everything into a small shoulder bag and fetched Eluna’s harness from the stable, he stacked them neatly in a corner and sat down to have some lunch. Eluna had spent the time dozing by his hammock, but she woke up at the smell of food and gave him an expectant look. Arren got up and took a large wrapped parcel from a cupboard by the window, saying, “All right, I haven’t forgotten about you—hope it’s still fresh.”
He pulled off the cloth wrapping. Inside was a gory lump of meat: a raw goat’s leg with half the haunch still attached. Eluna stood up when she saw it, tail swishing. “If you throw it—”
Arren smiled and placed it down in