Free The Griffin's Flight by K.J. Taylor Page B

sounds were the wind in the trees and the faint crackling of the fire.
    Skandar removed his claws and backed away, hissing.
    Arren sat up, wincing. He said nothing but continued to stare coldly at the griffin, full of anger and a kind of hot, sick guilt.
    “I go,” Skandar said at last. Without another word, he turned and walked away. When he was a good distance from Arren, he opened his wings and broke into a stumbling run. Arren scrambled to his feet, suddenly afraid, but there was nothing he could do. Skandar took off in a clumsy flurry of wings and flew up and over the forest and then northward, growing smaller and smaller.
    Arren stared at the sky, full of shock. “He’s gone,” he said blankly.
    “So it would appear,” said a voice.
    Arren looked around, and froze.
    It was Skade. She was walking toward him, her sharp face wearing an expression of steady, cold determination. She was holding his sword.

5
     
    The Pact
     
    A rren backed away. “Skade, what are you doing?” he said, reaching for his knife.
    The silver-haired woman stopped, resting the tip of the sword on the ground. “You should put your robe back on,” she said. “It is by your feet.”
    Arren glanced down and saw it lying discarded by the base of a tree. He snatched it up hastily and pulled it on. “That’s my sword. Could I have it back, please?”
    Skade gripped the hilt more tightly. “No. I will keep it for now, thank you.”
    Arren did up the fastenings on his robe and grasped the handle of his knife, though he didn’t pull it out. He didn’t want to risk provoking her. “What are you doing?”
    “I am sorry,” said Skade. “You have—you saved my life. But I cannot risk trusting you more than I have to.” She glanced at the sky. “Your partner is gone. You are not much of a griffiner if you cannot stay in harmony with your griffin.”
    “He’s not my griffin,” said Arren. “He’s just—well, he’s not my griffin.”
    “But he let you ride on his back, and he protected you,” said Skade. “To me that makes him your griffin. It would be an insult to him to say otherwise. Unless you have a reason to think he is not your griffin?”
    “It’s none of your business,” Arren snapped.
    “But I am making it my business, Arren.”
    “You shouldn’t. What I do is my business. I—” Arren broke off and clenched his fists. “Gods, he’s gone. I didn’t think he would do that.”
    “You told him to,” said Skade. “He knew he was not wanted. You should not have spoken to him like that, Arren. You insulted him and rejected him. He will not forget that. Either way, it is no concern of mine.” She held out a hand. “And now you will give that knife to me.”
    Arren drew it. “Why should I?”
    “I do not trust a murderer,” said Skade.
    The word felt like a dagger blow in his chest. Arren backed away further. “What? I’m not a—how dare you say I’m a—”
    Skade’s expression hardened. “You are a liar, Arren Cardockson,” she said, “And not a good one. I know who you are, and I know what you did.”
    Arren’s stomach started to churn. “Who’s Arren? Why are you calling me that?”
    “I called you that twice already,” said Skade. “And you did not notice. That was the only confirmation I needed.”
    Arren felt a strange calm come over him. He looked at her, quickly judging how much of a threat she could pose. She was shorter than him, and thin, and from the way she was holding the sword it was obvious that she did not have any training in weapons. He could probably disarm her if he wanted to. And there was no-one else out here for miles. He decided to play along.
    “How did you know?” he asked.
    Her look was withering. “You are a Northerner,” she said. “You have a scar on your face. You are travelling with a black griffin. You are a fugitive. And you were carrying this sword.” She tapped the weapon’s hilt; it was bronze and decorated with a frieze of griffins. “A sword this