The Griffin's Flight Read Online Free Page A

before you go.”
    “Why, ain’t you leavin’, too, sir?”
    “I doubt it,” said Roland. “I’m too old to go gallivanting around the countryside, and Keth’s wings are too stiff for much flying. Besides, the people here need us.”
    “But what about later on?” said Bran. “I mean, someone said we’ll be invaded soon as the other cities find out what happened here.”
    “Of course,” said Roland. “They certainly will not be slow to recognise land for the taking. But I doubt they will be very concerned if they find one old griffiner left behind. I’ll be no threat to them. If I’m still alive when the city finds a new ruler, I shall ally myself with him or her. No doubt I could be useful. But you, I think, have other things in store. You’re young, and so is Kraeya. You could do great things, given the chance.”
    “Where will I go, though?” said Bran.
    Roland shrugged. “There are other cities out there and other countries. Places that need griffiners. Choose someone to ally yourself with. You will be invaluable in the right place among the right people.”
    “But this is my home,” said Bran. There was very little conviction in his voice, though.
    “No, Bran. This is no-one’s home any more,” said Roland. “It’s a graveyard.”
    Bran bowed his head. “Yes, sir. I know.”

2
     
    Nightmares
     
    M urderer .
    He could see it again. It was rising out of the darkness, utterly silent, almost glowing.
    Blood was everywhere. He could feel it matting his hair, running down his face and into his beard, soaking into his robe. It was coming from his neck and from his eyes. And from his hands. They were bleeding. They would not stop bleeding.
    He held them out, as his boots were slipping and sliding out from beneath him. The floor was slippery with blood. Help me. Please, help .
    The shape was there in front of him now, its eyes turned accusingly toward him. He could see the blood coming from its throat, from the terrible wound. Flames were coming from it, too. He could smell the smoke.
    Arren, what have you done?
    There was pain in his neck. It was weighing him down, pulling him down, tearing his flesh, bringing the blood out of him like rain and tears.
    Somewhere in the gloom he saw a griffin, her feathers white as snow. Arren, what have you done? she whispered.
    I’m falling. Help me, I’m falling, I’m falling, help me …
    And then he was falling.
    Murderer .
    Arren Cardockson woke up on his side, breathing heavily. Sweat had plastered his hair to his head. He could feel more of it trickling down his back, and he sat up, trying to wipe his face clean on his sleeve. The fabric was full of ingrained dirt, so it only served to spread a layer of sticky mud over his forehead, and he lay down on his back, trying to breathe deeply.
    He could hear the faint rumble of Skandar’s breathing, somewhere to his left, and realised that he must have rolled away from the griffin’s flank in his sleep. But he couldn’t summon up the energy to move back. Instead he lay and stared up at the sky. It was still night, and a crescent moon was shining. That comforted him slightly.
    He sighed. The terror of the dream was fading now, and he tried not to think about it. After all the months that had passed he had hoped that the nightmares would have left him by now, but they hadn’t. If anything, they were getting worse.
    Murderer, the inner voice whispered.
    Arren turned over on his side again, fighting down the impulse. But it wouldn’t leave him alone. Unable to stop himself, he put his hand to the side of his neck and waited.
    Nothing.
    He had been expecting that, but it still sent a dull shock through his chest. It always did.
    He closed his eyes and tried not to think. In spite of his exhaustion, though, he couldn’t sleep. He never slept well any more. It was partly the dreams, but it was also the fear. It troubled him every time he lay down to rest: the fear that somehow, this time, he wouldn’t wake