The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy)

by K J Taylor

  Lady Elkin, Eyrie Mistress, white blonde and fragile. She appeared at Kraal’s left side as if by magic. But next to his enormous bulk her tiny frame was easy to miss.

  Kraal wordlessly shifted back to make room for her. She sat down between his forepaws, almost lost among his thick chest feathers. “Did you talk to Erian?” she asked.

  “He is gone now,” Kraal said by way of an answer. “With his reward.”

  Elkin tucked her hands into the wide sleeves of her gown. “That’s good.”

  “He looked for you,” Kraal added. “I think he was unhappy that you were not here.”

  Elkin said nothing.

  “You do not want to see him,” said Kraal. “Why have you been hiding? Are you afraid of him?” He sounded genuinely curious.

  “I don’t have time to deal with him,” Elkin said, more sharply than she needed to. “I have other things to worry about. An Eyrie to run.”

  “He did you a great service by capturing the rogue dark-man,” said Kraal. “You should have thanked him yourself.”

  “We gave him his reward,” said Elkin, deliberately ignoring her partner’s real meaning. “I don’t want to talk about him any more. I have work to do.”

  Kraal took the hint and dropped the subject, simply getting up to follow her when she left. She had been throwing herself into her work lately, as if nothing else mattered. Maybe, for her, nothing did. But Kraal didn’t believe that.

  Kraal was not the only griffin worried about his human.

  Out beyond the city, near the glorified village called Wolf’s Town, Skandar huddled down in a thicket of wattle bushes and rested. He had been flying for days, often unable to find food, and by now his wings and his stomach ached.

  Nervous and angry with fear, the big griffin pecked at a tick hiding among his wing feathers. He wanted food. He wanted to go back to his new home. But most of all, he wanted his human.

  When Arenadd had disappeared, it had taken Skandar some time to start looking for him. He had been too caught up in his new territory and even more caught up with his mate, Hyrenna. After far too long forced to live a life without the things he expected and loved, finding the mountains at last had been a blessing. No more hiding like a rabbit down a hole. No more doing whatever the human said so that the human would show him to a new and better home for them both. Instead he had had freedom in the mountains and a mate to bear his eggs—and to teach him all the things he should have known all this while. And Arenadd had been there, too, living the way he was supposed to live—with other humans of his own race.

  So when Arenadd had gone, Skandar had assumed that all was well and that the human would come back when he was ready. The other humans seemed to think so, too, for a little while. But when they began to worry and to look for the human, Skandar’s confusion had grown. Where was Arenadd? Why was he not in the mountains any more? The other humans were leaving, and Hyrenna with them, and Skandar couldn’t follow without his human.

  So he didn’t. He ignored Hyrenna’s warnings and flew away to find Arenadd.

  It went beyond mere friendship. Arenadd was his.

  But no matter where Skandar went, he found nothing. He stayed away from human nests; Arenadd had warned him not to let other humans see him. Skandar didn’t want to be seen anyway. He knew what humans that weren’t Arenadd could do to him.

  He searched the other places instead, where there were trees and hills and rocks. Places he had been before with Arenadd. He found nothing. No sign. No scent.

  The great dark griffin rested his head on his talons and sighed. He was lost and starving, and no closer to finding his human. But how could he go back to the mountains alone? He needed Arenadd, needed him to help make sense of the world.

  A rustling from nearby made him raise his head sharply. Keeping still, he listened. Something was coming.

  Skandar sniffed, and the tip of his tail began to twitch. Human.

  He peered through the branches and eventually spotted them, two humans walking together and making noises—that ugly soft-sounding language they used, which made no sense to him. They were coming straight toward him.

  Watching them cautiously, Skandar noticed the brown fur on their heads. Not dark humans, like Arenadd. Those humans were good humans that would help him and Arenadd. But these were the other humans, the pale-furred ones, the same ones who had hurt him and tried to take his human away.

  Arenadd had explained why Skandar should leave dark humans alone, and he had decided that his human knew best.

  But there was no reason to stop these humans from being food.

  His mind made up, Skandar slowly rose to his paws. Huge black talons extended. His wings rose.

  The humans wandered closer, oblivious.

  Skandar leapt. Crashing through the bushes as if they were nothing, he pounced on both humans. One went flying; the other caught the full force of his front paws and was crushed into the ground, its body tearing open. Leaving it dying, Skandar went after the other. The surviving human managed to get up and run, but even with his massive bulk Skandar was faster. He chased it down and killed it with a blow of his beak, before dragging its limp corpse back to where the other one lay.

  Humans were far too easy to hunt.

  They were delicious, too. Skandar ripped the bodies apart and swallowed them, clothes and all. Nothing was left but a few blood stains.

  Once he had eaten, he lay on his belly for a short time and rested. He gulped a little. The food felt good in his stomach.

  Having his hunger satisfied made him feel much better, and more optimistic. Newly determined, he got up and walked away south. It was better not to stay near a kill outside of your own territory; the smell attracted danger.

  He was near the edge of the trees and preparing to take off when the wind, blowing toward him, brought him a scent.

  Human!

  Skandar drew back under the trees and lifted his head, sniffing. Humans, further away this time. But these weren’t food. These were familiar. The unaccustomed word rose up in his head: friends.

  But not his friends.

  2

  Condemned

  Skade sat with her back to a tree and watched the Northerners argue. It seemed they had done nothing else since Arenadd had helped them escape by giving himself up to his enemies. Saeddryn Taranisäii, ragged but wiry, faced off against Davyn and Cai, two of her friends. Davyn was arguing the loudest.

  “. . . sayin’ we should just do nothin’, then? Is that it?”

  “I’m sayin’ there’s nothin’ we can do, and ye know it,” Saeddryn snapped back.

  “Yer talking about yer own mother here,” said Cai. “How can ye be so cold?”

  Saeddryn shook her head. “Don’t ye get it, Cai? They’ve got Arenadd. He must’ve been in their cages for a week now. More than long enough. He’ll have told them everythin’ they wanted t’know.”

  Skade spoke up for the first time. “He will tell them nothing,” she growled.

  Saeddryn rounded on her. “He’ll tell them everythin’,” she said. “I know what they do. By now they know about the others. Where they are, who they are. It’s too late.”

  “But we’ve gotta try an’ do somethin’,” Rhodri interrupted. “Are we just gonna sit here on our backsides while our friends get killed?”

  Saeddryn gave him a look so full of tired resignation that it made her seem as old as her withered mother. “Can ye fly, Rhodri? Do ye have a griffin? Because they do. They’ll send griffiners. Probably have already. Even if we weren’t months away on foot, we’d never stand a chance. By now the others must be dead already.”

  Grim silence fell over the little camp.

  “So we’re all that’s left,” Cai muttered.

  No-one else spoke.

  “Damn ye, Arenadd,” said Rhodri. “Ye’ve destroyed everything.”

  At that, the only Northerner there who hadn’t taken part in the argument stood up—Annir, robed and collared like the slave she had been, made older
than her years by suffering and grief. “Don’t you dare say that about my son,” she said quietly. “If it weren’t for him, you would be the one locked up in that cell.”

  “She’s right,” said Saeddryn, in the same tired voice as before. “If he hadn’t saved us, they would’ve tortured us instead. The story would’ve turned out the same in the end.”

  “They’d never make me crack,” Davyn spat. “Never.”

  Saeddryn laughed bitterly. “So ye say. So everyone says, until the Southerners get their fingers in a vice and keep turnin’ the handle until—”

  “Stop it!” Annir’s cry twisted into a sob. She slumped back beside Skade, holding her ears. “Stop it, Saeddryn.”

  Saeddryn’s expression softened. “I’m sorry.” She looked into the fire, and her shoulders hunched. “I know what they do. They did it to my father. He killed himself in his cell rather than take any more of it.”

  “Yer father was a great man,” Davyn said. “But Arenadd . . . hah. He ain’t one of us. He’s one of them. He might look like a Northerner, even a Taranisäii, but he’s a griffiner just like the rest of them. Talks like one, walks like one. He can read, for shadow’s sakes.”

  “He killed Lord Rannagon,” Cai pointed out.

  “Yeah, not knowin’ why we wanted him dead,” said Davyn. “He killed him for some stupid griffiner squabble. I know the type. Spoilt brats what think murder’s the best answer to all their problems.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Annir snapped.

  Davyn broke off, glaring at her.

  Annir stared at her hands, her greying black hair stirring in the breeze. Curly, just like her lost son’s. “He trusted Lord Rannagon. They were friends. Until Rannagon betrayed him. He tried to have Arenadd killed. Arenadd survived, but his griffin didn’t. He lost everything. Do you understand that?” She looked up, hollow eyed. “That griffin was his life. I think—I know he loved her more than us. He ran away from home when he was ten rather than be separated from her. When she died, he had nothing. That’s why he killed Rannagon.”

  “She is right,” Skade added quietly. “Rannagon did to him what he did to you: took everything away. Even dignity.”

  Silence followed. Davyn looked embarrassed. “Fine,” he said eventually. “I believe ye. But that doesn’t help us any.” He turned to Saeddryn. “If Arddryn’s dead and Arenadd’s gone, then it’s down to ye, Saeddryn. What do ye say we do now?”

  She looked utterly miserable. “There’s really not much we can do now, not that I can see. But there’s no goin’ back to Eitheinn or the Throne. We’ll have t’find a new place t’hide. Somewhere we can start again.”

  The others seemed to have caught her mood, and their suggestions were half-hearted.

  Skade, for her part, openly growled her disgust and walked off. These humans weren’t worth her attention any more; they were weak and indecisive and stood no chance against their enemies. At least they seemed to be realising that themselves, but she wouldn’t wait for them.

  Once she was out of sight—but not completely out of earshot, just in case—she leant against a tree and stared restlessly at her own hands. Thin and delicate and weak, they gripped the bark. What set them apart from ordinary human hands were the nails. She had none; instead a small, curving black claw tipped each finger. She was grateful for them, the last remnants of her old strength. Even her eyes had become more human, but her claws were there to stay.

  She dug them into the tree, relishing the way they cut into the bark. They could do the same to flesh, and had done. She dearly wished they were doing it now.

  She had already decided not to stay with the humans. They were no friends of hers, and staying with them would only bring her more danger. Only two humans had ever meant a thing to Skade, and both of them were dead.

  The only other gift left from her time as a griffin brought her out of her reverie. She froze, sniffing the air. Sure enough, there it was. A scent. A griffish scent.

  Skade tensed, holding up her clawed hands instinctively. The scent was fresh. Male. Coming this way.

  Very cautiously, she crept toward the source. Best to see what this was coming from.

  Moving quietly, like the hunter she had been, she reached a stand of spice-trees and peered around a pale trunk.

  Moments later the griffin came into view.

  Skade’s breath caught.

  The griffin was monstrous, massive, bigger than any other male she had known. The feathers on his front half were silver, his wings mottled with black and white. The rest of him was black. Black fur, black forepaws, and a huge, pitted black beak.

  The eyes were silver, watching suspiciously for any sign of movement.

  Skade stepped out into the open. “Skandar.”

  The dark griffin halted, one forepaw raised. His head tilted. Then he relaxed and came toward her. “You silver human, Arenadd mate.”

  “Yes.” Skade didn’t try to touch him. “How did you find me?”

  “Not looking,” said Skandar, with an irritable shake of his head, “Where Arenadd?”

  “He is not with you?”

  “No, Arenadd leave. I come look.”

  Skade wrapped her arms around herself. “I know where he is.”

  Skandar rose up instantly, full of angry threat. “You tell! Tell now! Where Arenadd?”

  “He is in Malvern,” said Skade. “The enemy has him.”

  Skandar blinked. “Enemy?”

  “Yes. He is in a cage, Skandar, as he was in Eagleholm. As you were.” Skade shuddered. “They will not set him free. They will hurt him. And then they will kill him.”

  Skandar’s tail lashed. “Not kill! Not kill human!”

  “I am sorry.”

  Skandar wasn’t listening. “Where Mal-verk?”

  “It is that way,” said Skade, pointing. “A great human nest, with many towers and walls. Arenadd will be underground, under the towers.”

  Skandar huffed. “I go. Find human.”

  “You will die,” Skade told him flatly.

  “Not die!” Skandar said at once. “Kill.”

  Skade hadn’t really expected him to listen. She watched the big griffin huffing his offence, and to her surprise, her heart went out to him. He was wild and always would be, but for all that he had made Arenadd his human, and nothing would stand in his way.

  And what of yourself? she thought. You are human now, but Arenadd is yours as well. You lost the last human you cared for—would you allow it to happen again?

  Deep down, Skade knew that without Arenadd she was lost. Without him, her life as a human would be the same torment it had been before.

  She huffed back at Skandar. “So be it. You will not abandon him, and neither should I. If you will let me, I will come with you to Malvern, and we will find him together.”

  She half-expected Skandar to be offended by the suggestion that he might need help, but the dark griffin only flicked his tail in a satisfied kind of way and said, “You good human to help. Come now!”

  He offered her his back.

  Even though she had been carried by him in the past, Skade still hesitated. Before, she had always ridden with Arenadd. She had never flown on griffinback alone.

  Skandar quickly grew impatient. He shoved her with his head. “Come! We fly now. Now!”

  She climbed onto his back, settling into the hollow between wings and neck. On most griffins this spot was only just big enough for a single human to sit, but Skandar was large enough for two.

  The moment Skade had sat down and put her arms around his neck, the dark griffin made a shambling and messy take-off, bursting through the branches overhead without a pause. Skade barely managed to hold on. Leaves smacked her in the face, and only a last-minute grab saved her.

  Once Skandar levelled out, she relaxed a little. She could do this.

  As the dark griffin began to fly south toward Malvern, Skade wondered briefly whether she should have told the others where she was going. She dismissed the thought almos
t instantly. They didn’t matter. Only Arenadd mattered, and she vowed to herself now that she would have him back or die in the attempt.

  On the night before his execution, Arenadd tried to rest. He was too tired to sing any more, so he stayed huddled up in his corner and did some counting.

  How many meals had he eaten here? Ten? Twelve? They usually brought in soup for every other meal—if salty water with uncooked vegetables in it counted as soup. Maybe the soup was breakfast. How many bowls of the stuff had he choked down so far?

  He spent far too much time trying to work this out. Anything was better to think of than tomorrow.

  Eventually, he decided that there had been about seven bowls, maybe six. That meant six or seven days here at most. A week in prison.

  Not the first time he’d been locked up but definitely the longest. He growled to himself. Prisons, prisons, always prisons! Was he going to spend the rest of eternity running from one kind of captivity to another?

  Still, he supposed he didn’t have much right to complain about it. He had committed enough crimes in his life to earn this cell a hundred times over.

  Trying to ignore the throbbing agony in his hand, he made a mental list of all his bad deeds over the years. It was longer than he had expected. Theft. Bribery. Poisoning his old master—but that didn’t count, he added hastily. It had been the old man’s life or his own. What else had he done? Abducted a griffin chick, broken out of gaol.

  Murdering Lord Rannagon and his partner Shoa, burning down the Eyrie at Eagleholm and going on the run with a man-eating griffin were probably a lot worse.

  Arenadd counted off on his remaining fingers, muttering to himself. “Then there was stealing all those slaves and using them to massacre everyone in Guard’s Post, along with two griffins and two griffiners. Oh, and that man I killed up at Taranis’ Throne. And then I tried to kill Rannagon’s bastard . . . hah.” He spat. The arrogant bone-headed Southerner had got away from him once, and that was one time too many. Arenadd had a score to settle with him.