brought him the hammock he’d asked for, so he slept on the bale of hay. It was uncomfortable, but he was too exhausted to notice much. He slept fitfully, constantly disturbed by brief snatches of bad dreams. Bits of memory replaying themselves in his mind. His chest hurt, preventing him from lying on his side, and when he woke up shortly before dawn he decided to give up the struggle and stop trying to sleep. He sat up and checked on the griffin. It still hadn’t moved, but he could see it beginning to stir. The drug had worn off.
Arren sat with a blanket around his shoulders, sagging a little with tiredness, and resumed watching his charge.
The black griffin woke up slowly; he could see it moving its head. The light of the rising sun was coming in through the high window of the barn, all grey and sleepy, making everything colourless. The griffin finally seemed to revive, and made an attempt to get up. The ropes around its legs must have loosened slightly, because it managed to half-stand and turn itself around in the cage. It slumped down again, its head now turned toward Arren. He could see it watching him.
“Good morning,” he said in griffish, without really thinking about it.
The black griffin blinked and raised its head a little. “You . . . human?” it rasped.
Arren started a little. It hadn’t really occurred to him that the thing could speak. “Yes,” he said.
“You . . . kill?” said the griffin.
“I don’t understand,” said Arren. “Kill what? Kill you?”
The black griffin blinked slowly. It still looked rather sluggish. “Human kill,” it said eventually.
“You killed humans,” said Arren. “We should kill you, but we won’t. You’re coming with me. To Eagleholm.”
“Eagle . . . home?”
The black griffin spoke griffish slowly and clumsily, as if it was a chick. Arren watched it curiously. “Do you have a name?” he asked.
“Name?” the griffin repeated dully.
“You know,” said Arren. “A name. What are you called?”
The black griffin just stared at him.
Arren persisted. He placed a hand on his chest. “Arren Cardockson,” he said.
More staring.
“That’s my name. My name is Arren. Arren,” he repeated, touching his chest.
“Ah . . . rin?” said the black griffin.
Arren could see he wasn’t getting through. “Can’t you speak properly?”
The black griffin seemed to understand that. “Not speak. Not . . . know.”
“You don’t know how?”
The griffin started to bite at the ropes holding its forelegs together. Arren reached for his bow, but it gave up a few moments later and rested its head on the ground in front of it. “Want . . . fly,” it said plaintively.
“You can’t,” said Arren.
The black griffin started up suddenly and screamed at him. “Want fly!”
Arren snatched up his bow and nocked an arrow onto it, pointing it at the griffin. “Sit down!” he snapped. “Sit down or I’ll hurt you.”
The griffin hurled itself at the bars, making the whole cage shake. “Kill!” it screamed at him. “I kill! I kill human!”
Arren got up and came toward it, pointing the arrow at its open beak. “I said sit down!”
The griffin ignored him. It jammed its head between two of the bars and started to snap its beak at him, still screaming threats.
Arren loosed the arrow. It hit the griffin in the shoulder, and the creature screamed and reeled, its pinioned wings jerking as it tried to fly away. Arren reloaded the bow. “Lie down, or I’ll do it again. Now!”
The black griffin stopped abruptly, eyeing him. Arren gestured meaningfully at it with the arrow, and the creature subsided back onto the floor.
“All right,” Arren said softly. “I’ll take that arrow out of your shoulder. But if you move . . .”
He laid the bow down, moving slowly and carefully, and reached through the bars. The griffin watched him but didn’t move, and he took hold of the arrow-shaft and pulled it out with one quick motion. The black griffin screeched and bit him. Arren smacked it in the eye with the back of his hand and then pulled his arm out of the cage. The black griffin hissed and shook its head at him, its eye half-closed.
Arren pointed at it, ignoring the blood dripping from his arm. “I am not afraid of you,” he told it in a low voice. “And if you try that again, I will make you sorry.”
The griffin couldn’t possibly understand all of what he’d said, but the stern voice and steady gaze were enough. It stared back,