Read Online The Dark Griffin by K. J. Taylor - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: K. J. Taylor
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Nice to see you here again. What’s that you’ve got there?”
“It’s a present for Roland,” said Arren. “Is he up yet?”
“I think so, yeah,” said the man. “He’s in the hatchery, or he should be.”
“Thanks.” Arren made for one of the smaller buildings. It had large windows, which had been thrown open to let in the light, and the doors opened easily when he pushed on them. He backed through, carrying the cage, and found himself in a big open room. Most of it was lined with pens, and in them were the chicks. The place rang with their piping voices and the scuffling of talons on the wooden floor. When Arren came in, the noise redoubled. He smiled to himself. He loved the hatchery. It was where he and Eluna had first met, years ago.
There was a huge griffin there, crouched in the middle of the room. She was old—her feathers greying, her beak chipped and one eye whitened—but she stood up and came toward him at once, tail swishing. Arren stood still and let Eluna go forward. She loped toward the old griffin, moving confidently, and clicked her beak. The old griffin sniffed at her and then relaxed. “Eluna.” She looked past her. “And Arren. Good morning.”
“Good morning, Keth. Are you well?”
“I am,” said Keth. She sat back on her haunches. “I am pleased to see you, Arren Cardockson. And you, Eluna.”
Arren bowed. “We’re here to see Roland. Is he here?”
“I will call him,” Keth said. She raised her head. “Keth! Keth!”
There was silence for a short while, and then a man emerged from a back room. He was short and stocky, and his once-yellow beard was greying. There was a griffin chick nestled in his arms. “Hello, what’s this?” he said, speaking griffish. He stopped when he saw Arren. “Arren Cardockson!” he said, and beamed. “And Eluna, of course!”
Arren went to meet him. “Hello, Roland. How are you?”
“In excellent form, thank you, lad.” Roland scratched the griffin chick under the beak and put it back into its pen. “Poor little thing has a touch of scale. Should be all right, though, with a little care. So, what brings you here?” He saw the bandage on Arren’s arm. “Oh dear, what happened to you?”
“It’s nothing,” said Arren. “Roland—”
Roland looked at him, and then at Eluna. “Has she bitten you?”
“There was a bit of a scrap this morning,” said Arren. “We raided a smugglers’ den and one of them fought back.”
“Ah, I see,” said Roland, relaxing. “A nasty business. So, what have you brought me?”
Arren’s jaw tightened. “We found this in with the rest of their loot.” He pulled the cloth aside.
Roland froze. “Oh, dear gods.” He took the cage from Arren and tore the cloth away, looking in anxiously at the chick. It looked up at him and fluttered its wings. “Food?” it said.
Roland looked up. “Where did you find this?”
“In their cellar,” said Arren. “With the rest of the crates and things. I checked through it all; this was the only one.”
“A red, by the looks of it,” said Roland. “Seems to be in good health, thank Gryphus.” He opened the cage and lifted the chick out, murmuring to it in griffish to soothe it. It gripped his arm with its small talons and then snuggled up against his chest. “Roland,” it muttered.
“One of mine, definitely,” said Roland, handing the cage back to Arren. He touched the chick, checking it for injuries. “A bit thin—few bruises—nothing serious. Thank you so much, Arren.”
Arren put the cage on the floor. “What were they thinking?”
Roland looked grim. “A griffin chick can fetch a very high price, if you know who to sell it to. Or perhaps they hoped they could win its trust, join the griffiners.”
“They must have been idiots,” said Arren.
“Quite.” Roland found an empty pen and put the chick into it. It sat down amid the fresh hay, still looking hopefully at him. He fed it some goat meat from a pouch tied to his
“It’s a present for Roland,” said Arren. “Is he up yet?”
“I think so, yeah,” said the man. “He’s in the hatchery, or he should be.”
“Thanks.” Arren made for one of the smaller buildings. It had large windows, which had been thrown open to let in the light, and the doors opened easily when he pushed on them. He backed through, carrying the cage, and found himself in a big open room. Most of it was lined with pens, and in them were the chicks. The place rang with their piping voices and the scuffling of talons on the wooden floor. When Arren came in, the noise redoubled. He smiled to himself. He loved the hatchery. It was where he and Eluna had first met, years ago.
There was a huge griffin there, crouched in the middle of the room. She was old—her feathers greying, her beak chipped and one eye whitened—but she stood up and came toward him at once, tail swishing. Arren stood still and let Eluna go forward. She loped toward the old griffin, moving confidently, and clicked her beak. The old griffin sniffed at her and then relaxed. “Eluna.” She looked past her. “And Arren. Good morning.”
“Good morning, Keth. Are you well?”
“I am,” said Keth. She sat back on her haunches. “I am pleased to see you, Arren Cardockson. And you, Eluna.”
Arren bowed. “We’re here to see Roland. Is he here?”
“I will call him,” Keth said. She raised her head. “Keth! Keth!”
There was silence for a short while, and then a man emerged from a back room. He was short and stocky, and his once-yellow beard was greying. There was a griffin chick nestled in his arms. “Hello, what’s this?” he said, speaking griffish. He stopped when he saw Arren. “Arren Cardockson!” he said, and beamed. “And Eluna, of course!”
Arren went to meet him. “Hello, Roland. How are you?”
“In excellent form, thank you, lad.” Roland scratched the griffin chick under the beak and put it back into its pen. “Poor little thing has a touch of scale. Should be all right, though, with a little care. So, what brings you here?” He saw the bandage on Arren’s arm. “Oh dear, what happened to you?”
“It’s nothing,” said Arren. “Roland—”
Roland looked at him, and then at Eluna. “Has she bitten you?”
“There was a bit of a scrap this morning,” said Arren. “We raided a smugglers’ den and one of them fought back.”
“Ah, I see,” said Roland, relaxing. “A nasty business. So, what have you brought me?”
Arren’s jaw tightened. “We found this in with the rest of their loot.” He pulled the cloth aside.
Roland froze. “Oh, dear gods.” He took the cage from Arren and tore the cloth away, looking in anxiously at the chick. It looked up at him and fluttered its wings. “Food?” it said.
Roland looked up. “Where did you find this?”
“In their cellar,” said Arren. “With the rest of the crates and things. I checked through it all; this was the only one.”
“A red, by the looks of it,” said Roland. “Seems to be in good health, thank Gryphus.” He opened the cage and lifted the chick out, murmuring to it in griffish to soothe it. It gripped his arm with its small talons and then snuggled up against his chest. “Roland,” it muttered.
“One of mine, definitely,” said Roland, handing the cage back to Arren. He touched the chick, checking it for injuries. “A bit thin—few bruises—nothing serious. Thank you so much, Arren.”
Arren put the cage on the floor. “What were they thinking?”
Roland looked grim. “A griffin chick can fetch a very high price, if you know who to sell it to. Or perhaps they hoped they could win its trust, join the griffiners.”
“They must have been idiots,” said Arren.
“Quite.” Roland found an empty pen and put the chick into it. It sat down amid the fresh hay, still looking hopefully at him. He fed it some goat meat from a pouch tied to his
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