his head. There was no point in being bitter at Roland and Flell. It wasn’t their fault. And besides, they already knew.
“Well then,” Roland said resignedly, “it seems there is no other choice but to move on.”
Arren knew what that meant. He almost started to protest, but then gave up and joined Roland in the next room. Keth followed them silently.
The adult griffins had just been fed, and most were lying in their stalls, dozing. Others were flitting among the massive rafters in the ceiling, or were wandering here and there as they chose, or talking or mock-fighting among themselves.
Without being prompted, Keth stepped forward and screeched loudly, cutting across the racket. Every griffin’s head turned toward her at once. Some of them called back, but most of them stopped what they were doing and came toward her in silence. They formed themselves into an untidy group in the middle of the floor, all looking toward Keth with considerable respect.
She stood by Roland’s side, tail swishing. “A human has come for you to see,” she told them. “Do not leave until it is done.”
Arren came forward at Roland’s prompting. He was horribly aware of all the eyes now on him, sharp, fierce, intelligent griffin eyes. Some of them chirped or clicked their beaks at the sight of him, and one or two lay down on their bellies and rested their heads on their claws, openly bored.
He knew what to do now. He’d seen it dozens of times, when young would-be griffiners had come to present themselves. He and Eluna had always found it amusing. As he came forward and stood where they could easily see him, he almost thought he could see the white griffin sitting in the rafters overhead, mocking him with a griffish snigger.
“Who are you?” one griffin asked.
Arren looked up. “I am Arren Cardockson,” he said, keeping his voice loud and clear. “I am nineteen years old. I can—”
“So this is he,” a brown griffin interrupted. “The Northerner. I remember him.”
“You fed me when I was a chick,” said another griffin. “I remember. You were hardly older than a chick yourself. You had a griffin with you then. Where is she now, human?”
“She is dead,” said another. “Shree himself has told me this. Darkheart the mad griffin killed her, and the blackrobe fool did not protect her.”
There was a hissing from the assembled griffins.
Shame burned inside him. “Eluna was my friend,” he answered. “She chose me when I was only three years old, and she told me she would not have any other human as her partner.”
“And yet you let her die,” said the brown griffin. “Why is this so, Northerner?”
“It wasn’t my fault,” said Arren. “She persuaded me to fight the black griffin. When he attacked us, she died to save me from him.”
“I knew her,” said a grey griffin. “We were chicks together. She was a fool to choose you.”
“What griffin would want to tie herself to someone such as you?” said the brown griffin, coming forward slightly. “I see nothing about you to make you special. You have no noble blood, or power. Are you wealthy?”
Arren paused, but he knew what would happen if he lied to a griffin. “No. Eluna didn’t choose me because of those things,” he said. “She chose me because she believed I was brave and intelligent.”
“And perhaps you are,” said the brown griffin. “But those qualities do not change the fact that you are a blackrobe. And a blackrobe cannot and should not be a griffiner.”
Arren bit down on his anger. “That’s for you to decide,” he said, bowing his head to them all.
That pleased them. He heard them muttering among themselves in approval.
He didn’t look up, but waited silently where he was.
After a while, a griffin came forward to inspect him. She looked at him closely and scented at him, and then turned and went back to her place. A few moments later another came. This one scented him and then backed away. The griffin paused a moment, and then suddenly reared up, hissing. Arren looked up sharply but didn’t move. He stayed where he was, braced for an attack, and stared defiantly up at the griffin. The griffin lashed out at him with his claws, narrowly missing Arren’s face, and then screeched. The noise was deafening and utterly terrifying to anyone who did not know griffins. But Arren refused to back down.
The griffin dropped back onto his foreclaws and clicked his beak, evidently impressed. “Courage, indeed,” he