K. J. Taylor - The Dark Griffin
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- Book:The Dark Griffin
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- Publisher:Ace Books;Penguin Publishing Group
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- Year:2014
- City:New York
- Rating:3 / 5
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The Dark Griffin: summary, description and annotation
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Being chosen as a griffins companion has allowed Arren Cardockson to gain a place of status within the land of Cymria. But Arren can never escape the prejudice that comes with his Northerner slave origins. For chained within the Arena where rogue griffins battle to entertain the crowds, there lies another soul crying out to be freed-a kindred spirit that will allow Arren to fulfill his destiny and release the darkness in his heart. Read more...
Abstract: Being chosen as a griffins companion has allowed Arren Cardockson to gain a place of status within the land of Cymria. But Arren can never escape the prejudice that comes with his Northerner slave origins. For chained within the Arena where rogue griffins battle to entertain the crowds, there lies another soul crying out to be freed-a kindred spirit that will allow Arren to fulfill his destiny and release the darkness in his heart
Abstract: Being chosen as a griffins companion has allowed Arren Cardockson to gain a place of status within the land of Cymria. But Arren can never escape the prejudice that comes with his Northerner slave origins. For chained within the Arena where rogue griffins battle to entertain the crowds, there lies another soul crying out to be freed-a kindred spirit that will allow Arren to fulfill his destiny and release the darkness in his heart
K. J. Taylor: author's other books
Who wrote The Dark Griffin? Find out the surname, the name of the author of the book and a list of all author's works by series.
K. J. Taylor
Caris Roane
Leslie Moore
Gena Showalter
Virginia Loh-Hagan
Deanna Cameron
Taylor
Kathy Griffin
Steven Gould
W.E.B. Griffin
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Table of Contents
Wild
The black griffin circled lower, as if he was singling out prey, and soon he could see the strange creatures that moved among the rocks. They were tiny, only about as long as his foreleg, and they stood on two legs like birds, but they didnt have wings. He saw them looking up at him. They did not run, but he heard their calls drifting up toward him, and his heart leapt when he realised that they were speaking to each other.
Humans, the yellow griffin said. They are the key.
Food? the black griffin suggested.
Nosometimes, maybe. She fixed him with a steady bright blue stare. I will give you some advice. If you want to live in this world, find a human. Protect it. Keep it safe. Help it. If you do, you will always be safe. Our magic is not enough for us to survive now. Not alone.
As she spokeusing words he did not know, to express an idea he did not comprehendthe black griffin had a strange feeling in his throat. It wasnt quite pain, but it wasnt quite pleasure, either. It felt as if something was lodged in there, something hard and unyielding and burning hot. It made him want to scream.
For Bran.
Youll always be my big guy.
Youll always be my big guy.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to the following people, who told me I didnt suck: Arthryn, Carnoc, Lord Alexander, Mordacity, Galdor, bl1nk, jumpman1, blahblahwhatever, Cerenthor, Elohim of Death, Skandar Traeganni, Jinx, Fenris, Attack Bunny, Brienne, Irith Omor, Randomdej, Vox, Pegasus, MurtaghRider, Corascant, NammilLumpen, Warthode, Murtagh799, Seithr Arget, StormShade, Texas Sweetie, LadyWater, Sugarquill, Queen Mindi, Beefstew, unconquerableflame, Kazza, Fricai Andlat and many, many others. I apologise to anyone I left out.
Extra thanks to OceanicChick for her helpful suggestions and for listening to and commenting on my ideas in their early stages. Your input was invaluable.
Extra thanks also to Dragonknighttara, a.k.a. Natalie Van Sistine, the great composer. Your talent amazes me. That you decided to use it on a project dedicated to something I created was one of the most incredible things Ive ever had happen to me in my life.
Final thanks for Welsh translations to Janice Jones of Gairynei Bryd (A Timely Word), which provides proofreading, editing and mentoring services (camlas@hotmail.com).
Authors Note
The language of the Northerners is Welsh, a very ancient and beautiful language.
Accordingly, in line with the rules of Welsh pronunciation, dd sounds like th.
Hence our protagonists name Arenadd is pronounced as Arrenath.
Cymria
Eagleholm Lands
Eagleholm
The Black Egg
It all began with the hatching of the dark griffin. A restless day. A grey day. Clouds the colour of lead lay low over the land like a blanket, and the wind that blew over the mountains had the tang of ice in it. Winter was over, but the memory of it lingered.
The valley, overlooked by a trio of craggy peaks, was green and wild, untouched by humans. This was the domain of something else.
From her perch high above the treetops, the great beast who owned the valley had an excellent view of her territory. She lifted her head, the wind ruffling her feathers, orange eyes scanning the area for any sign of movement. All was peaceful, and she sighed and resettled herself in the massive nest she had made for herself. It was supported by the tops of five large trees and woven from the branches she had broken away to make room for it. Normally a griffin was content to sleep on a bare bough or a ledge, but this one had a clutch of eggs to guard. She would not leave her nest once during the three months it would take for them to hatch.
She sighed again and rustled her wings. It had been two and a half months since the laying, and she had not eaten for two of them. Her stores of fat were running out, and if the eggs did not hatch soon she would be forced to abandon themor even eat them to save her own life. She lifted her wing and rolled slightly on her side to check on them. There were three eggs, each one about the size of a melon. Two of them had light brown shells, flecked with white. The third was black. Not just dark brown, but pure jet-black, without a speck of any other colour. She had never seen an egg like it before.
She nudged the black egg a little further into the soft curve of her underbelly and crooned deep in her throat, then listened intently. Nothing, and she rolled back onto her chest and refolded her wings. When the eggs were ready to hatch they would start calling back. Until then all she could do was keep them warm and safe.
At thirty years old and as tall at her shoulder as a man, the mother griffin was a well-grown adult. Her front half was covered in glossy grey feathers, and her wings were mottled with black and white. Her hindquarters had tawny brown fur, clawed, padded paws and a long tail whose tip bore a wide fan of rigid black feathers. Her forelegs were bony and covered in grey scales, and her forefeet had long, many-jointed toes tipped with sharp, curved talons. Perfect for grasping and holding. She rested these formidable weapons on the edge of her nest and murmured to her eggs. Hatch soon. Soon. Do not make me wait longer. Awaken soon and break the shell. It was less real talk than a kind of mantra, and she repeated it several times, letting the sound of her own voice keep her company and stave off her boredom.
After that she slept, woke and slept again, stuck in a kind of half-dreaming twilight as the time dragged by. She wanted to go, wanted to be free and fly away over the valley, but her instincts forced her to stay. She continued to check on her eggs, day after day, waiting for the chicks to begin their piping.
But they didnt. The weeks dragged by and she slowly weakened. Her ribs started to jut through her skin, and her feathers lost their shine. She was starving to death. Yet still she did not leave. Every day she thought of finally giving up and leaving the eggs, but every day she decided to wait another night. Just one more night. Just one more.
And then, at last, nearly half a month late, the chicks began to awaken. She crooned to them, just as she had done so many times before, and finally heard a faint chirping in reply. She nudged the eggs with her beak and called again, and once more the piping voices of the chicks came from inside the shells that imprisoned them.
The mother griffin pushed them forward to rest between her forelegs, and prepared for the final stage of her vigil.
The black egg was the first to begin moving. Tapping came from inside it, and the chick ceased chirping as it began to struggle to hatch. Shortly afterward, the other two eggs began to rock gently from side to side. The chicks were bracing their legs against the inside and trying to push their way out. The hatching began.
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