by Jen Williams
‘You will travel here,’ said O’rin, pointing with one grey finger at a green shape in the top right-hand corner. ‘It is a place called the Rookery. It was once my home, when this world was young. I kept many of my secrets there, and it is there that you will find more of the maps your father was collecting, along with the details of the spell capable of destroying the god of destruction.’ He paused, nodding. ‘Not a bad piece of work, if I do say so myself.’
Jarath was peering closely at the map.
‘That’s practically on the other side of the world.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘We’d have to go down past Old Gods’ Cape and on through the Sea of Bones, and north through the Demon’s Strait.’ He straightened up. ‘Even if we survived that, it would take six weeks to get there, at the very least.’
‘And that brings me to my second gift.’ O’rin turned to Frith once more. ‘I give you my honour guard, Lord Frith.’
There was a dry whirring of feathers and three black birds landed on the deck in the space between them.
‘You will forgive me, Jolnir, but I will personally be very glad to see the back of your flying vermin.’
‘Here.’ The god bowed shortly. ‘I believe they will be of more use to you in this form.’
There was the briefest pause followed by a great rush of air that threatened to blow them all off their feet. The black birds ruffled their feathers, indignant at this sudden change of weather, but as Frith watched they began to grow. They swelled and bulged, suddenly the size of cats, then dogs, and now they had four legs and their heads were thickening, wet eyes bulging.
‘Hell’s teeth,’ cried Wydrin.
Beaks that were small and sharp became huge and curved, more suited to a giant bird of prey, and their wings became long and smooth, sharp as blades. The feet that had been wrinkled and tipped with talons were now flat, powerful paws, like those of a huge cat.
When the wind stopped, Frith found himself pressed up against the guardrail with Wydrin, Gallo and Jarath, all instinctively trying to put as much space between them and the monsters as possible.
‘My griffins,’ said O’rin fondly. He patted one on the head and it opened its beak, revealing a dark pink throat. It made an odd keening warble. Now fully grown, they were roughly the size of large horses; animals with the bodies of giant, lithe cats and the heads and wings of eagles. They were still black, but the feathers on their wings shone with a soft, oily rainbow of blues, greens and yellows. ‘Yours to command now, Lord Frith. They will do as you say – and, believe me, they can fly like the wind.’
Wydrin slowly shook her head. ‘Ye gods and little fishes. What are you supposed to feed those things?’
65
When the shadow passed over them, Sebastian shoved Ip down into the dirt and covered her body with his own. The shield he’d picked up from the battlefield was still strapped to the mule, but there was no time to wrestle it free. He would have to hope that Y’Ruen would miss them on this first pass, and there would be time to protect themselves sufficiently before she came back …
‘What are you doing?’ Ip’s voice was slightly muffled.
‘Trying to stop you from getting burned to cinders.’ Sebastian tensed, waiting for the roar that would precede their grisly deaths. But it didn’t come. Instead, he very much thought he could hear laughter on the wind. Familiar laughter.
He risked a glance upwards. There in the sky were three of the biggest birds Sebastian had ever seen. They circled above, casting gigantic shadows onto the scrubby grass below, and it was only when they swept in to land that he realised they weren’t birds at all. They had the heads and wings of eagles, certainly, but their bodies were those of huge, four-legged animals, thickly muscled and powerful. As they came closer, a pale face with a shock of red hair leaned over the side of one, partially obscured by a giant black wing. A slim arm covered in tattoos waved. Sebastian stumbled backwards, nearly knocking Ip off her feet.
‘Wydrin?’
‘You should see the look on your face!’
The griffins – the word came to Sebastian then – landed one by one, powerful wings sending up clouds of dust and pushing waves through the short grass. Wydrin was perched on the back of one, her hands curled around the straps of a makeshift leather harness. She dismounted on slightly wobbly legs, laughing wildly.
‘I tell you what, you have to be bloody careful about holding on. I’m not sure if I want to throw up or not.’
There were two other passengers. Lord Frith climbed down from the back of another griffin, looking rather paler than when Sebastian had seen him last, and another man he didn’t recognise who looked absolutely dreadful. Sebastian started to turn to Wydrin, but something drew his eye back to the stranger, with his grey skin and deeply sunken eyes. His hair had been blond once, but now it hung in darkened, greasy clumps. The shape of him, the way he held himself …
Sebastian looked down at the ground, blinking rapidly. I’ve been under this sun too long, he thought. The dragon attack, the demon child – it’s all been too much.
Wydrin threw her arms around him, solid and strong and most definitely there. She squeezed him tight, unmindful of the armour he wore.
‘I’ve missed you, you idiot,’ she said. Her voice was tight, somehow on edge, but her hair smelled as it always did, of smoke and ale and a lack of soap. She pulled away to peer up into his face. ‘You look like a sack of dog’s testicles, you know that? And I don’t mean that in a nice way.’
‘Thank you. Where did you find the griffins?’
‘They are my honour guard.’ Frith stepped forward. He appeared to be adjusting a thick bandage around the palm of his hand, although Sebastian could see no wound. ‘A gift from a god, now mine to command.’ He paused, looking pleased with himself, and nodded at Sebastian. ‘It is good to see you are in one piece, Sir Sebastian.’
‘Likewise.’
The other man took a few steps nearer. He was hesitant, unsure, as well he might be. Sebastian swallowed hard. There was bile in his mouth and his head was throbbing again.
‘And who is this?’
Wydrin’s sunny expression disappeared, and she bit her lower lip. It was her face more than anything that told him it was true.
‘I think you know me, Sebastian,’ said Gallo.
Sebastian pulled his sword from its sheath. Its newly silvered surface glittered under the sun like frost on a lake.
‘Last time I saw you, Gallo, you were running away, clutching a dagger covered in my blood. I assume Wydrin must have brought you here so I can return the favour.’
The man claiming to be Gallo held up his hands in a gesture of submission. The fingers were bruise-black, the skin on the palms thin and torn.
It can’t be him. I’d rather think of him dead under the stones of the Citadel than this walking ruin, Sebastian thought.
‘I came here to help, if I can,’ said Gallo. It was his voice all right. A little ragged perhaps, but there was an echo of his old charm there. ‘If anyone can help you deal with Y’Ruen, it’s me. She was in my mind, Sebastian, controlling my actions while all I could do was watch. And now, if her mind is touching yours, then I know what you’re going through.’
Sebastian felt his hands tighten around the pommel of his sword, his lips pulling back from his teeth in a grimace. Unbidden, memories of the slaughter at the ruins rose up, rich with blood and freedom. So much easier just to silence the voices than listen. The pain in his head would ease, and he would be stronger …
Wydrin stepped between them. ‘We’ve obviously got a lot to talk about, and I for one could do with sitting down for a time. You wouldn’t believe what riding one of those things does to your rear end.’ She walked over to one of the griffins and unbuckled a heavy pack from its back. ‘Jarath packed us some food and ale, and I propose we sit and eat it before anyone starts cutting anyone else to pieces.’
Sebastian lowered his sword and took a long steadying breath.
‘Food, then.’
&n
bsp; ‘Food!’ cried Ip. She skipped up to Wydrin and tried to snatch the pack from her arms. Wydrin frowned and held it up out of the child’s reach.
‘All right,’ she glared at Sebastian, ‘who’s the brat?’
‘What do you remember of it?’
Gallo didn’t answer immediately, looking up at the moon instead. Off to their right Wydrin, Frith and Ip sat round the fire, sharing the last of Jarath’s cured pork and black bread. Sebastian dragged his eyes away from his old lover to watch them for a moment, trying to find some peace in the normalcy of the scene. Just people breaking bread together, no dragons, no demons, no dead men. Wydrin and Ip were squabbling over a cup of wine while Frith ignored them both.
‘It was like being underwater,’ Gallo said eventually. A cloud passed over the moon and his ravaged face, turned away from the fire, was hidden. ‘That’s the best way I can describe it. I could see what was going on, and hear it, but everything was muffled, and any attempt to free myself …’ He took a slow breath. ‘The pressure of her mind, Seb. It crushed me like an ox crushing a beetle under its hoof. I saw my hand with the dagger, saw it pierce you. How do you imagine that felt?’
‘How do you imagine it felt to be stabbed?’ replied Sebastian, although there was no heat behind his words. ‘I nearly died. I would certainly be dead if Frith hadn’t healed me.’
‘Yes, he’s a strange one.’ Gallo glanced over to the small group. ‘What does he want, I wonder?’
‘What do you want, Gallo? What are you even doing here?’
‘To help you, of course.’ Gallo took a step towards him. Sebastian looked away. ‘What else can I do to make up for what happened?’ He lowered his voice. ‘She was in my head. I know what that is like. You have a connection to her, don’t you?’
‘Sometimes, when I dream, I think I can sense her.’ Despite the chill of the night, Sebastian found he was sweating. ‘And her army. I think I hear their voices.’
‘You must be cautious, Seb. Men were not made to know the minds of gods. It nearly broke me.’ He shrugged and gestured at his rotting skin. ‘Hell, it did break me. But it may be useful too. The connection goes both ways, I’m almost sure of it.’
‘What good will that do?’ He was thinking of the strange note found on the battlefield, now folded within his belt.
‘I don’t know, my old friend, I don’t know. But I believe you are in great danger, all the same.’
‘You are not my friend,’ said Sebastian. ‘Whatever you are, you are not my friend.’
66
The world spread out below them like the richest tapestry ever woven.
Frith clung to the griffin as best he could, one hand gripping the odd mixture of fur and feathers, the other gingerly wrapped around Wydrin’s waist. Just beyond his feet he could see green valleys veined with silver rivers, fields of crops like squares of precious metal, and flurries of forest so deep in their greenness they were almost black. They were flying over the lands of Litvania, now so far enough north that the sprawling forest was broken up with wide stretches of open land.
Wydrin said something, but the words were snatched away in the wind and the thundering of the griffin’s wings. Frith lowered his head so that his ear was closer to her face.
‘What?’
‘The birds can’t keep up with us!’
Frith saw that she was right. White and grey gulls passed below, lost in their wake. Just in front of them Sebastian and Ip shared a griffin, and to the left Gallo flew on alone, his eyes on the distant horizon. He alone seemed unconcerned by their mode of travel.
‘This is strong magic,’ he murmured. It almost seemed to him that the air itself parted to make way for them.
Wydrin leaned forward, pointing to a series of hills in the distance. They were the faint blue of dusk, and carved into one of them was a tall, humanoid shape. The sun broke through the clouds above and the raw chalk was briefly illuminated, glowing white against the blue.
‘What’s that?’ she yelled.
‘It’s the King of the Under,’ he said. ‘Will you please stop moving about?’
‘King of the what?’ Wydrin half twisted round to look at him, pressing her shoulder-blade into his chest. Her hair whipped around her head, blown in every direction by the wind.
‘The Under.’ When she still frowned at him he sighed and leaned forward to talk directly into her ear. ‘There are legends of a kingdom beneath the hills, full of a long-lived folk who sometimes snatch the unwary to go and live with them.’ He sucked in another breath. ‘The people of this land carved the image into the chalk in the hopes that the King would stop stealing their children away.’
‘Did it work?’
Frith frowned. Wydrin shifted about, pushing back against him to get a better grip on the griffin’s neck. Sitting with her so close while they both clung on for dear life was very uncomfortable. He could feel the warmth of her, could smell the leather she wore.
‘I have no idea. Can you keep still? You’ll have us both off in a minute.’
‘I love stories like that,’ said Wydrin. ‘Kings hidden under hills, magic in the ground.’ She went quiet for a moment. ‘Although it’s less entertaining when it’s actually happening to you.’
They flew on for hours, through clouds that soaked them to the bone, through blazing sunshine that baked the moisture right off them. The land moved under them like a fast-flowing river, and Frith had to admit it was extraordinary to see Litvania laid out below him in such vast detail. There were places he had never seen, passing beneath them in shadow and sunlight, all the secrets of the lands spread out before him. His father would have been entranced by such a view.
The sun began to set in the west, softening the edges of the sky into a subdued rainbow of violets, pinks and indigos. Stars appeared, a handful at first, and then thicker bands of starlight that shone like dew on a web. Frith was so caught up with watching the heavens come to life just above their heads that it was quite dark before Wydrin elbowed him again.
‘I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy flying much further in this light.’ The wind had died down considerably but she still had to raise her voice. ‘It makes the drop look worse, for one thing.’ Before he could stop himself Frith glanced beyond the tip of the griffin’s wing; the blanket of trees directly below them was now a featureless black mass. It was like looking into a deep cave. ‘Not only that, but my arse is killing me,’ she continued. ‘Shall we stop for the night?’
Frith didn’t much like the thought of trying to land the griffins amongst the high trees.
‘Where? There’s no space.’
‘Look.’ Wydrin pointed to the north-east, where it was still possible to make out a plain beyond the trees that bordered a huge lake. The water was silver and black, and on the shores were a number of bright white lights clustered together. For a confused moment Frith took them to be stars reflected in the lake, but they were much too bright and close. ‘There are people down there.’
‘Yes,’ said Frith. ‘They will be Cherolia, travelling people. They move their tents up and down Litvania, Pathania and Istria, moving on when the weather grows worse.’
‘Do they take in travellers?’
Frith started to shrug, and then thought better of it.
‘They sell everything they can, including floor space. I’m sure we will find shelter there.’
Wydrin turned round and began to wave at the griffins behind, sliding dangerously to one side. Frith grimaced and put one hand on her hip to hold her steady.
‘We’re landing!’ she yelled. ‘Follow us!’
They landed in the cover of the trees and the three griffins returned to normal bird size, much to Sebastian’s horror. They approached the settlement slowly, cautious of what they’d find, but the gathering of tents and people was busy and welcoming. The Cherolia were a tall people with burnished copper-coloured skin and tightly curled auburn hair, but there were plenty of locals there too, shopping at stalls filled with a range of
produce collected from all over the continent. It was a mobile town of brightly coloured tents, and they soon found someone willing to rent them shelter for the evening.
‘Be ready to move again at dawn,’ said Frith, pulling open the entrance flap of his tent. The three black birds fluttered down to perch on the top of it. ‘I won’t be waiting around.’
Gallo and Ip were already climbing into their own separate quarters, the girl yawning so widely her head threatened to topple off. Sebastian was looking at the narrow entrance to his own tent with his lips turned down at the corners.
‘I will have a devil of a time sleeping in there.’
‘Just remember to take your armour off first,’ said Wydrin, ‘that might help.’ She paused. In the pearly light of the lamps Sebastian’s armour looked very fine indeed, the delicate gold chasing on the mail glittering like the scales of an exotic fish. It was the first time she’d really looked at it closely, and there was something familiar about it. ‘Where did you get that from?’
Sebastian rubbed at his beard, his eyes not quite meeting hers.
‘It belonged to the Ynnsmouth knights.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I was given it before – well, before the attack.’
‘They gave you that?’ Wydrin leaned against a tent pole, crossing her arms over her chest. One of the advantages of being a champion level liar was being able to spot those less skilled in the art. ‘From what I remember, you weren’t on the best of terms with the Order.’
‘Perhaps they were desperate enough to feel they needed me on their side.’ Sebastian began to unbuckle the straps that held his breastplate. ‘For all the good that did them.’