real attempt to escape; it was just a mindless action that went on forever. Thump, thump, thump.
It started to rain again.
The thumping went on. Arren was used to it by now and could shut it out, but it filtered through to his brain, mingling with the sound of the rain on the wagon’s cover. It was almost rhythmic, really.
As he watched the landscape slowly roll by, he found himself thinking about his childhood. He’d grown up in Idun, living there even after Eluna had chosen him.
Unlike other griffiners, his training had taken place in secret—supported by Roland, who passed on his knowledge whenever his Northern protégé came to visit. After they had been discovered and the Eyrie had been forced to accept the situation, Roland had lent Arren enough money to buy his own house in the city. He was still paying off the debt, which was one reason why he hadn’t been able to afford to pay Rannagon’s fine.
That made him angry. Most griffiners were wealthy. Even those who didn’t have high-paying positions generally had inherited wealth. Supposedly anyone could become a griffiner, but Arren knew that wasn’t true. The griffiners currently in power were descendants of griffiners, and some could trace their ancestry all the way back to the ancient warlords who had first conquered their fellow humans and become the ruling elite. The griffins knew this, and so did everyone else. It wasn’t so much that commoners were forbidden the chance to win a griffin’s respect—more that a griffin was much more likely to be interested in a human who was already powerful and who had, moreover, grown up among griffins. Plenty of new griffiners already spoke griffish, learnt from their parents or grandparents, even though it was technically forbidden for anyone but a griffiner to know the language. Those who made the rules were allowed to break them. That the son of two slaves who spoke no griffish and had no power or status at all had managed to become a griffiner was extraordinary.
Thinking back on those early days made a terrible ache arise in Arren’s throat. It made him want to scream or cry, but he made no sound. He started to hum. Then, quietly, he started to sing.
Ar y waun, y diwrnod hwnnw,
Rhoddaist flodyn i mi,
Blodyn cyn wynned â’r lloer
Ond nawr rwyt wedi mynd—
Gwynwood y blodyn,
A’m calon sydd ddued â’r nos.
It was an old song, one his mother had taught him. She said that their ancestors had sung it at night in the slave-houses, when the moon was up and they were alone after a hard day’s work. They had been forbidden to speak their own language, but they had continued to do so anyway, among themselves.
The griffin struck the wood harder. Arren stopped singing and got up, muttering to himself. It was probably time to feed the wretched thing again. He took a piece of dried meat from a bag and sprinkled it with yellowish liquid from a bottle—more sleeping draught. Loading the cage onto the lifter would be a lot easier if the griffin was unconscious. He lifted the cloth away and tossed the meat through the bars. The black griffin stopped striking the planking beneath it and snapped it up. Once it had swallowed the food it resumed its monotonous beating and Arren returned to his seat. He listened to the thuds until they finally stopped, and then sighed in relief. It had disturbed him at night more than once doing that, and he suspected that it was only encouraged to go on doing it when he gave it more food to shut it up. But he couldn’t think of any other way to make it stop. It didn’t respond to threats any more.
After a while, lulled by the sound of the rain, Arren slipped into a doze.
He was woken up some unknown time later by loud voices. As he straightened up and rubbed his eyes, he realised the wagon had stopped. Their path had ended between a pair of large stone buildings, the warehouses used to store supplies before they were taken up to the city on the massive platform attached to the lifter. They had arrived.
Arren jumped down from the back of the wagon and stretched. He was horribly stiff and sore. He winced and rubbed his back while the guards and the wagoners identified themselves to the workers in charge of the lifter. The griffiners had already come out of their own wagon and were busy preparing to