The Dark Griffin by K. J. Taylor

that lot I’d be even more nervous. Shall we go?”
    Bran put his helmet on. “I hate this thing,” he muttered. “Yeah, ready as I’ll ever be, sir.” He looked at the other guards. “All right, you lot, let’s get goin’. Just follow Arren.”
    Arren nodded to them and left. Eluna walked beside him, and Bran followed on the other side, keeping well away from the griffin, though he wasn’t as afraid of her as other people were. The rest of the guards followed in a neat rank behind them.
    “How many d’you think there’ll be?” said Arren.
    “Oh, probably not too many, sir,” said Bran. “There’d be more’n enough of us to take care of ’em even if we didn’t have yeh with us. Anyway, they won’t be interested in fightin’. They’ll try to run off before they try anything like that. I mean, they’d have to be bloody stupid to try and fight a griffiner. An’ afterwards”—he grinned, showing a couple of missing teeth—“it’ll be rich pickings, I’ll bet. Always is with this sort.”
    Arren nodded. “I hope so. I could do with a few luxuries. I haven’t had an orange in months.”
    “Oooh, a few oranges would be nice,” Bran said. “Last time I had one of them was at my sister’s wedding.”
    “We’ll just have to wait and see, I suppose,” said Arren.
    They knew where they were going. The place had already been scouted out, and Arren had seen it several times in the past. It was in the large residential area that backed onto the market district. Thousands of people lived there: traders, craftspeople, guardsmen, anyone and everyone the city needed. Since the house was on the solid part of the city rather than on the platform, it was built out of stone and was significantly older than most of the buildings on the edge, which had to be replaced or repaired much more frequently. This one looked as if it belonged to someone fairly wealthy. The windows were glass, and the doors and frame were freshly painted. There was even a little bit of a garden out the front.
    “Huh,” said Bran, seeing it. “Bloody bastard thinks he’s a lord, does he? Must’ve had this racket goin’ pretty long.”
    “Yes, and he’d be able to keep it going a lot longer if he hadn’t decided to spend some of the profits on his house,” said Arren. “Let’s go in.”
    Some of the guards had already detached themselves from the group and moved around to the back of the house, to block any other doors. Arren and Bran made for the front door, not troubling to avoid trampling the flowerbeds. Eluna took up position next to the door, and Bran glanced at Arren. “Yeh goin’ in first, sir?”
    Arren drew his sword and tried the handle. It turned and he went in. There was no-one in the entrance hall, and he silently beckoned to Bran. The big guard joined him, moving surprisingly quietly, and several other guards came, too. “Spread out through the rooms,” Bran told them in an undertone. They nodded and separated, drawing their weapons. Once they had gone, Eluna stepped into the entrance hall. Arren stroked her head. “Will you come with me?” he asked in griffish.
    “I will be listening,” she said simply and sat back on her haunches.
    Arren inclined his head to her and strode through the entrance hall and into the main room of the house.
    A man and a woman were sitting there at a table, eating breakfast, and looked up sharply when he entered.
    Arren pointed at them. “All right, you two,” he said, “don’t make any sudden moves. You’re under arrest.”
    The man didn’t move, but the woman got up, so quickly she knocked her chair over. “What is this?” she demanded. “What’s going on?”
    Arren glanced at Bran, who took a set of manacles from his belt and strode forward, pointing his sword at the woman. “Hold out your hands,” he said.
    The woman tried to pull away, but Bran grabbed her and roughly snapped the manacles shut around her wrists. More guards hurried into the room, one leading a