The Dark Griffin - K. J. Taylor Page 0,65

you on the council would show the world that Eagleholm, at least, believes that Northerners have worth. You could have been an inspirational symbol and a good example. But she’s naïve. It never would have worked. If Northerners ever attacked here, what would you do then, Arren? Would you be able to fight against them? And what if you had been sent into the North or asked to track down runaway slaves?”

“I would have done my duty,” said Arren.

“But your duty to whom?” said Rannagon. “Blood is thicker than water. You may have been born in the South, but you’re still a Northerner at heart and you always will be. You can’t control your nature forever.”

“Lord Rannagon, I am not a Northerner,” said Arren. “I know I look like one, but I’m not. I’ve never been in the North. I don’t want to go to the North, and I never have. I only ever wanted to live here and . . .” He trailed off.

“And what?” said Rannagon. “Be like us? No. It doesn’t work like that. You live in the South and you speak the Southern tongue, and you act like a Southerner, but sooner or later your true nature will emerge. When that day comes, it’ll be better that you aren’t a councillor or a griffiner.”

Arren slammed his fist onto the table, so hard the porridge bowl rattled. “There’s nothing wrong with me!” he shouted. “My true nature? What in the gods’ names do you think you’re on about? You killed Eluna because you think I’ve got some sort of dormant something inside me? You did this to me because of—because of this?” He grabbed a lock of his hair and yanked it violently, nearly pulling it out.

Rannagon started when Arren began shouting, and put his hand on the hilt of his sword. “No,” he said, drawing back slightly. “I did what I did because of this.” He gestured at Arren. “Northerners are violent at heart and always will be. I have seen them in battle. They fight like wild animals.”

Silence. Arren looked down blankly at his fist. It was still resting on the table where he’d slammed it, and he suddenly realised that it hurt.

Rannagon stood up. “I’ve said all I have to say. You’ll be left alone from now on. I have no wish to persecute you after what you’ve already gone through. I hope that one day, perhaps, you’ll forgive me for what I did.”

Arren stood, too. “I didn’t ask to be born the way I was,” he said.

“None of us ever do,” said Rannagon. “All we can do is try to make the best of it. You are a worthy man, Arren. I never thought otherwise.”

There was another silence as each man regarded the other, waiting for him to make a move.

Finally, Arren lost the battle with his rage. He spat. “I will not forget,” he promised, speaking griffish, and thumped a fist against his chest. “I will not forgive. And if the chance comes, I will have revenge.”

They were ritual words only ever used by griffiners or griffins, and Rannagon stiffened when he heard them.

Shoa suddenly rose from her corner and advanced on Arren, head low and shoulders raised, hissing softly, backing him up against the wall. Rannagon stood behind her, hard-faced. “You will regret that,” he said. “And if you ever breathe a word of this to anyone else, no matter who, you will suffer the consequences. You will tell everyone the same story I told Riona, and you will not deviate from it. Believe me when I tell you that I have my methods of finding things out. If you accuse me to anyone, they will die. And so will you. Do you understand?”

Arren, flattened against the wall, looked away from the hissing griffin. “Yes . . . my lord.”

11

Darkheart

The black griffin was terrified. He could see light ahead of him, showing through the bars of the strange cave he had been put into, and he lunged toward it, again and again. The thing around his neck would not let go. It dug into him with every lunge, but he continued to fight as hard as he could, pitting his full strength against the chains. The skin at the base of his neck was one massive bruise, and the feathers had begun to wear away. When he finally subsided, exhausted, he could feel blood trickling down over his shoulders.

He bit at the chain holding his forelegs together. His beak left a

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