The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy) by K. J. Taylor

feel it. Who knows what could happen? When a man can come back from the dead, nothing is certain any more. In times like these, perhaps an Eyrie Mistress can love a bastard.”
    Erian felt close to tears. “Maybe. But it’s happened already, hasn’t it? I love you, Elkin, and not even Gryphus himself could change that. And if you love me, too, then . . . then so be it.”
    Her eyes shone. “Then so be it. Kiss me.”
    He did.
    Over by the wall, Senneck nervously allowed Kraal to groom her. But she soon relaxed and began to purr. Neither griffin seemed to have noticed Erian and Elkin.
    That day at Malvern, everything changed. A man came back from the dead, and an Eyrie Mistress loved a bastard.
    It made no difference to Erian. He leant over the table, feeling Elkin’s lips pressed against his, and his heart, his living heart, pounded as it had never done before. He already knew that this was the happiest moment of his life, and he grasped it with both hands, determined to remember it forever. He knew, too, really knew, that what his grandmother had always told him was the truth: that love was the greatest power in the world, and nothing—not magic, not even death itself—could ever destroy it. Love was life.
    To him, Elkin was life. His Elkin.
     
     
    A renadd and Saeddryn returned to the camp together, and were greeted by some slightly suspicious looks.
    Arenadd, however, was businesslike. “All right, everyone, get yourselves together. We’re leaving.”
    They seemed happy enough with that. Rhodri complained, though. “Why should we be takin’ orders from ye?”
    In response, Arenadd unfastened the front of his robe and freed his right arm from its sleeve. Spiralling blue patterns stood out all over the grimy skin as he held the limb out for them all to see.
    Rhodri and his friends all went very still. “Are those—” Cai began.
    Arenadd stuffed his arm back into its sleeve. “Yes. Arddryn Taranisäii has retired. I am the chief now, and I have the tattoos to prove it.”
    Rhodri and his fellows sprang into action at once, with muttered apologies. Only Annir still looked confused as they put out the fire and set about hiding it.
    “Arren, what’s going on?”
    “It’s Arenadd now,” he told her gently. “I’ll never be Arren again. Come here.”
    She obeyed. “Where are we going?”
    “To the mountains,” said Arenadd. “We have friends there.” He reached out to touch her neck, where the collar of a slave gleamed dully. “Does it hurt?”
    Annir nodded. “They’re made to hurt.”
    “I know,” he said grimly. “But don’t worry, I know how to take it off. I should do it now, before we leave.”
    “You know how to remove them?” she said. “How?”
    Arenadd looked around the campsite. “I wish I had a hammer . . . a rock should do the job, though. Help me find a big one.”
    They wandered around for a short while until Annir picked up one about the size of an orange. “Is this big enough?”
    Arenadd took it and weighed it in his hand. “It should do. Now listen. I’ve done this before plenty of times. All you have to do is lift your chin and hold very still, and I’ll give it a good hard whack in the right spot. If I do it properly, it’ll break the locking mechanism and the collar will spring open.”
    “Is that all?”
    “Yes. But I should warn you: it will hurt, and if I don’t do it right the first time, I’ll have to try again.”
    Annir smiled wanly. “It’s a small price to pay for freedom.” She lifted her head to expose the collar. “Do it.”
    “Saeddryn!” Arenadd waved to her. “I need your help. Hold on to her, or she’ll fall over.”
    Saeddryn took Annir by the shoulders. “Don’t worry. I’ve got yer. Go on, Arenadd.”
    The others had noticed what was going on and came over to watch.
    “Look closely,” Arenadd advised. “One day you might have to do this, too.” He pulled the rock back and bashed it against the collar with all his strength.
    The