humans. And that would mean that griffins would see it in terms of—
He realised that Skade had asked him a question. “Sorry, what?”
“I said, where are you from?” said Skade.
“Oh. Uh, well, nowhere really. It’s not important.” Arren cursed inside yet again. He hadn’t been ready for the question and didn’t have a lie prepared.
“I can understand that you do not wish for other people to know,” Skade said more gently.
“I prefer to keep things to myself,” said Arren. “I can tell you do. You’re on the run, aren’t you?”
She tensed. “Why do you say that?”
“It’s obvious. You’re from Withypool, but you’re not there. You’re hundreds of damn miles away, in the middle of the countryside, all alone and with no shoes. Why in the gods’ names would you be out here by choice?”
Skade looked at him, unreadable. Arren wondered if he had made her angry, but then she relaxed and sighed. “You are not a fool,” she said.
So he’d guessed correctly. “Are you trying to get somewhere?” he asked.
“Why should I tell you?” said Skade. “I do not trust you, blackrobe.”
Arren winced. “But you told me where you were from. You told me your name. That’s enough for me to tell other people who you are and where you are.”
Skade laughed at him. “You cannot threaten me. You are a fugitive as much as I am. You would not go near anyone to tell them.”
Arren relaxed. “And neither would you.”
“No,” said Skade. “I would not. Tell me your name, and I will tell you where I am going.”
“Why do you care?” said Arren.
“I do not care,” said Skade. “But I will trust you if you trust me.”
“Fine. I’m Taranis.”
Skade looked away. “Why are you out here, Taranis? Are you a slave who has escaped?”
“Do I look like one?”
She examined him. “You are a blackrobe. You are hiding. There are collar scars on your neck.”
Arren nodded. “That’s a good guess,” he said. “But there’s one problem.” He held up his right hand, showing her the grubby skin on the back of it. “No brand,” he said.
“Yes,” said Skade. “I noticed that. And”—she looked at Skandar—“a slave would not be travelling with a griffin. And he would not know griffish.”
“And how do you know griffish?” said Arren. “Wouldn’t it be easier to speak human?”
Skade’s expression hardened. “I have the right, blackrobe. Who taught you to speak it? Was it this griffin?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Arren.
“But I want to know,” said Skade. “Tell me.”
“No. You said you’d tell me where you were going if I told you my name. You know my name, so tell me where you’re going.”
There was a tense silence. They looked challengingly at each other while Skandar watched, ready to attack if Skade showed any sign of hostility.
She glanced quickly at him, and then looked at Arren again. “I was looking for a cave.”
“A cave?” said Arren. “What sort of cave?”
“Have you ever heard of a spirit cave?” said Skade.
“I don’t think so.”
“There is more than one spirit cave,” said Skade. “I was looking for one that is said to be near the Northgate Mountains. It is a magical place.”
“Why are you looking for it?” said Arren.
“The spirits of the dead dwell inside it,” said Skade. “The cave has magic. It can do things no griffin can do. Answer questions. Give guidance. Reveal the future. And … it can heal a soul.”
“Heal a soul?” said Arren. “How? Is it a holy place or something?”
“No,” Skade hissed. “It is a griffish place. Griffins have no gods. The magic of a spirit cave can undo other magics. It can remove even the most powerful curse.”
Arren froze. “Curse? What sort of curse?”
“Any that is woven by a griffin,” said Skade. “Even a death curse.”
His hands closed around the now-cold meat, squashing it. “Where is this place?”
“It does not matter,” said Skade. “I am not going
He realised that Skade had asked him a question. “Sorry, what?”
“I said, where are you from?” said Skade.
“Oh. Uh, well, nowhere really. It’s not important.” Arren cursed inside yet again. He hadn’t been ready for the question and didn’t have a lie prepared.
“I can understand that you do not wish for other people to know,” Skade said more gently.
“I prefer to keep things to myself,” said Arren. “I can tell you do. You’re on the run, aren’t you?”
She tensed. “Why do you say that?”
“It’s obvious. You’re from Withypool, but you’re not there. You’re hundreds of damn miles away, in the middle of the countryside, all alone and with no shoes. Why in the gods’ names would you be out here by choice?”
Skade looked at him, unreadable. Arren wondered if he had made her angry, but then she relaxed and sighed. “You are not a fool,” she said.
So he’d guessed correctly. “Are you trying to get somewhere?” he asked.
“Why should I tell you?” said Skade. “I do not trust you, blackrobe.”
Arren winced. “But you told me where you were from. You told me your name. That’s enough for me to tell other people who you are and where you are.”
Skade laughed at him. “You cannot threaten me. You are a fugitive as much as I am. You would not go near anyone to tell them.”
Arren relaxed. “And neither would you.”
“No,” said Skade. “I would not. Tell me your name, and I will tell you where I am going.”
“Why do you care?” said Arren.
“I do not care,” said Skade. “But I will trust you if you trust me.”
“Fine. I’m Taranis.”
Skade looked away. “Why are you out here, Taranis? Are you a slave who has escaped?”
“Do I look like one?”
She examined him. “You are a blackrobe. You are hiding. There are collar scars on your neck.”
Arren nodded. “That’s a good guess,” he said. “But there’s one problem.” He held up his right hand, showing her the grubby skin on the back of it. “No brand,” he said.
“Yes,” said Skade. “I noticed that. And”—she looked at Skandar—“a slave would not be travelling with a griffin. And he would not know griffish.”
“And how do you know griffish?” said Arren. “Wouldn’t it be easier to speak human?”
Skade’s expression hardened. “I have the right, blackrobe. Who taught you to speak it? Was it this griffin?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Arren.
“But I want to know,” said Skade. “Tell me.”
“No. You said you’d tell me where you were going if I told you my name. You know my name, so tell me where you’re going.”
There was a tense silence. They looked challengingly at each other while Skandar watched, ready to attack if Skade showed any sign of hostility.
She glanced quickly at him, and then looked at Arren again. “I was looking for a cave.”
“A cave?” said Arren. “What sort of cave?”
“Have you ever heard of a spirit cave?” said Skade.
“I don’t think so.”
“There is more than one spirit cave,” said Skade. “I was looking for one that is said to be near the Northgate Mountains. It is a magical place.”
“Why are you looking for it?” said Arren.
“The spirits of the dead dwell inside it,” said Skade. “The cave has magic. It can do things no griffin can do. Answer questions. Give guidance. Reveal the future. And … it can heal a soul.”
“Heal a soul?” said Arren. “How? Is it a holy place or something?”
“No,” Skade hissed. “It is a griffish place. Griffins have no gods. The magic of a spirit cave can undo other magics. It can remove even the most powerful curse.”
Arren froze. “Curse? What sort of curse?”
“Any that is woven by a griffin,” said Skade. “Even a death curse.”
His hands closed around the now-cold meat, squashing it. “Where is this place?”
“It does not matter,” said Skade. “I am not going
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