The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy)

by K J Taylor

  Iorwerth dashed away.

  “Sir, what are ye going t’be doin’?” said Saeddryn.

  “I have to take the chicks to the wine cellar, where they’ll be safer,” said Arenadd. “After that, Skandar and I will fly out together, the way we planned.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Saeddryn. “I’ll get to work. Good luck, sir.”

  “I don’t need luck; I have the Night God on my side,” said Arenadd. “But good luck to you, Saeddryn Taranisäii.”

  She smiled briefly, pleased to be called Taranisäii, and thrust the chick back at him before running away.

  Arenadd, knowing how urgent the situation was, sprinted down the corridor. Fortunately his head seemed to be clearing; maybe it was panic, or some gift his powers had given him, but the hangover didn’t feel so bad now.

  Down in the wine cellar, he opened a trapdoor into a little chamber he had already fitted with straw bedding, food and water, and put the chicks into it.

  “Stay here,” he told them. “You’ll be safe here, and I’ll come back and let you out after it’s over.”

  The chicks looked up at him with resentful eyes, but he shut the trapdoor on them and hastily weighted it down with a spare barrel or two just in case.

  Someone had left a jug of cider on a nearby shelf. He paused to take a strengthening gulp from it, and ran out of the cellar.

  The tower was a hive of activity. People were running in all directions, carrying weapons and armour, shouting orders, some pausing to take a few bites of breakfast. As Arenadd passed, many of them called out to him, asking him to bless them with the Night God’s grace and protection. Some even reached out to touch his robe, as if that would give them some of the power he had. Arenadd stopped to bless every one of them, touching their heads and murmuring.

  The moment he was at the griffiner quarters, he dashed through the nearest door and onto the balcony. There, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called.

  “Arenadd! Arenadd!”

  It wasn’t long before Skandar responded. He called his own name and flew to his partner’s side.

  Arenadd patted the griffin’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Skandar, your chicks are safe. Shall we go and kill some of those bastards?”

  Skandar hissed and rasped, practically vibrating with anger. “Kill!” he said. “Kill now! Come, human! We fight!”

  Arenadd climbed onto his back without another word. He had picked up a bow and a quiver of arrows on his way up; as the dark griffin took to the sky, he freed an arrow and nocked it onto the bowstring, balancing on his seat.

  They weren’t a moment too soon. The approaching enemy were huge on the horizon: there were a hundred griffins at least. When Arenadd saw them, he groaned aloud. Malvern must have sent nearly every griffiner they had to attack him. How were they going to hold this lot off?

  Anger hardened in his chest. I am the Master of Death! I cannot be defeated! If they want to kill my followers, they will die!

  Skandar knew what to do. He circled higher, following his fellow griffins. When griffins fought, height was the most important advantage. If they could be above their enemies, they could attack first and far more devastatingly, as they had already proved at Skenfrith.

  Skandar, however, had other plans. As the attackers drew nearer, he broke away from the flock of unpartnered griffins flying over Fruitsheart and flew toward the enemy, screeching his name over and over again in a mocking challenge.

  In the bright blue of a morning sky, the dark griffin was instantly visible and instantly recognisable. A perfect target for the griffiners from Malvern, who had come to Fruitsheart specifically to find the dark griffin and his human and destroy them both.

  It worked. The bulk of the griffiners swept into the city, but at least twenty of them ignored their orders and broke away from their fellows to pursue the two rebel leaders.

  Skandar waited until they were close and then flew away. Straight toward the rest of the flock now flying into the city. He folded his wings and slipped through a gap, leaving his pursuers to fly into their allies, scattering them. An instant later, the unpartnered attacked.

  Skandar continued to drop until he was a hair’s breadth away from the rooftops of Fruitsheart. His wings opened and he swooped up toward the attacking griffins. On his back, Arenadd loosed an arrow. It hit one of the griffins carrying a firebomb—a ceramic pot full of flammable oil, which was meant to be lit before being dropped onto the city. The griffin dropped out of the sky with his unlit burden, which smashed harmlessly on the roof of the Sun Temple.

  The unpartnered were under strict instructions. They attacked the enemy griffins, aiming for the ones who carried firebombs, intent on killing them before their humans could light the deadly missiles. Meanwhile Skandar shot past directly below them, while Arenadd loosed arrow after arrow, frequently hitting his targets thanks to the fact that they were so tightly bunched together.

  It was a cunning tactic and one that killed a good number of the firebombers, but some of them survived. Leaning over as far as they dared, they lit the cloth plugs of the firebombs with burning coals they carried in special fireproof pouches, and their griffins released them over the city. Some of them landed harmlessly in the street or failed to catch fire, but some of them hit their targets. When they did, they exploded.

  Fire blossomed into the sky, yellow-orange and beautiful.

  Fortunately the Governor’s Tower had been built to resist this kind of attack, but Arenadd knew the city was suffering, and he cursed internally as Skandar angled his wings and banked sharply upward to attack the rest of the enemy flock.

  After that, there was nothing but fighting.

  Skandar attacked with all the mad ferocity that was his nature, rushing past enemy griffins with his talons spread to cause as much damage as he could, sometimes grappling with one of them in midair and tearing at them with his beak. Arenadd, for his part, did plenty to help. He loosed arrows at every griffin that came within range, and when they were fighting at closer quarters he drew his sickle and hacked at them and their riders.

  Despite the success of these tactics, and despite the number of attackers who died during those first few moments, the defenders were still outnumbered. At least twenty enemy griffins broke away from their flock to attack the archers on the wall around the tower and on the balconies of the building itself. Arenadd’s human followers did their best, but they had been hastily trained and organised, and few had ever fought in open combat before, least of all against fully trained griffiners.

  Worse, the griffins did not take long to begin using their magic.

  One of them swooped low over the ramparts, spitting fireballs at the hapless defenders and killing a good number of them. Another, small and fast, circled over the tower and breathed a column of blue light, which instantly froze a knot of archers solid. As if this was a signal, the griffins still in the sky—both enemy griffins and the unpartnered—began to unleash their own powers. Some, lacking powers that were useful in combat or perhaps simply wishing to conserve their energy, continued to rely on their beaks and talons.

  A gust of wind nearly as powerful as a hurricane blasted into a group of unpartnered, sending them pinwheeling through the sky. Arenadd saw another griffin send out a wall of force that knocked away those who were snatching at his neck and wings, though whether it was an enemy or one of the unpartnered he couldn’t tell.

  The unpartnered fought back doggedly, using any and every power they possessed that could hurt their enemies. Arenadd saw griffins fall out of the sky with their wings consumed by fire. Others died more gruesomely.

  He saw a large tawny-brown griffin with a human on his back fly past a bunched pack of enemy griffiners. As he passed the griffiners he released a thin line of silvery light from his beak, straight at them. Wherever it hit, it had a devastating effect.

  Severed limbs fell away in all directions. In some cases, the light had cut through human and griffin in a single stroke. Dozens of griffins fell, horribly
cut apart.

  Arenadd looked quickly at the griffin that had killed them, and realisation hit him in an instant. Kaanee.

  He had never realised just how powerful the leader of the unpartnered truly was.

  The humans below were not faring so well.

  Arenadd had kept most of his attention on balancing on Skandar’s back and aiming his arrows, but during a brief moment of rest he glanced downward and felt his stomach lurch. There were huge gaps on the walls where the archers had been wiped out and not replaced. The tower itself was little better; he could see smoke billowing out of at least one of the openings and an alarming number of corpses scattered on the roof and elsewhere.

  “Godsdamnit, they’re being crushed,” he muttered. “Skandar! Skandar!”

  The dark griffin, caught up in the midst of battle, didn’t seem to hear him. Arenadd tried yelling for a little longer, and when that didn’t get a response he finally leant forward and yanked at a handful of feathers.

  Skandar lurched slightly in midair, his head half-turning to glare back at him.

  Arenadd waved urgently at him. “Skandar! Skandar, we’ve got to go down! Down! Skandar!”

  At first it seemed that Skandar wasn’t listening, but after Arenadd had repeated himself several times, he suddenly wheeled about and began his descent toward the tower. The enemy, seeing him, went in pursuit by the dozen. Arenadd could hear them screeching, and he fancied there was a note of vicious triumph in it: on the tower, he and Skandar would be sitting ducks.

  Skandar touched down, a little too fast, making an audible thud. Arenadd was off his back almost the instant talon had hit stone, and they took up a fighting stance side by side, both looking up at their oncoming enemies.

  Arenadd realised he had only a handful of arrows left, but that was more than enough. He loosed them as quickly as possible, not taking the time to aim them very precisely. Some of them hit their mark, and those that didn’t managed to scatter the diving griffins. Once his quiver was empty, he hurled the bow aside and drew his sickle.

  “Wait for it,” he muttered. “Wait for it . . .”

  Skandar knew. He crouched low like a wolf about to pounce, paws and talons spread wide in readiness. He kept his head turned upward, silver eyes narrow. Waiting.

  The griffins came lower . . .

  Arenadd could see the foremost of them now, talons open ready to strike, the human on his back holding on for dear life. It looked as if they were aiming for his throat, and they were coming so fast . . .

  “Now!”

  A mere instant before the griffin hit, Skandar and Arenadd both leapt.

  The real world vanished in an eye blink, and cool, welcoming shadows embraced them both.

  The oncoming griffin saw them vanish, but he had no time for more than a moment’s terror. A heartbeat later, he hit solid stone.

  The impact sent shock waves straight through the griffin’s body. His outstretched forelegs took the full force. They shattered instantly, collapsing back into his chest. His beak struck the stone next, at an angle, snapping his head sideways and breaking his neck.

  His human was thrown from his back and died almost instantly.

  The rest of the attackers were only slightly luckier. Most of those at the front smacked into the tower like the first, some dying and others suffering crippling injuries.

  Those who managed to save themselves were forced to land, angry and bewildered.

  “Where have they gone?” one griffin screeched.

  Above, the unpartnered were ready to carry out the next stage of the plan. They gathered together and attacked as one, driving the enemy down toward the tower-top, almost as if they were trying to herd them. A good number of them, thinking their comrades on the tower had cornered Arenadd and Skandar, went in the direction the unpartnered wanted for at least a short distance. The unpartnered continued to attack them from above for a few moments, but the enemy quickly began to drive upward again.

  And then, inexplicably, the unpartnered fled. They broke off their attack and scattered, and the griffiners quickly spread out to chase them.

  But only for an instant.

  As they rose in a great untidy flock, now utterly disorganised, something huge and dark and horrible appeared directly above them.

  Skandar hovered in place for a moment, his body strangely rigid. Then his beak opened, and light came forth. Black light.

  It shot straight downward, spreading out in a great cloud when it hit the enemy griffins. It did not seem to do anything to them; in fact, it looked as if it was simply passing straight through them as it made its way down to the tower-top, touching every single one.

  Skandar kept his beak wide open, belching his magic forth in an endless wave, apparently completely unaffected by all the energy he was expending. But on his back, Arenadd could feel the griffin trembling.

  After a moment that felt as if it lasted an eternity, Skandar’s beak snapped shut and the light vanished.

  Moments later, they began to fall.

  Every single griffin the light had touched dropped out of the sky, limp and unresisting. Dozens of them, all at once, falling like rain, not one of them trying to stop themselves. All of them stone dead.

  Here and there the odd griffin who had escaped by pure luck flew away from the tower at full speed, panic-stricken. The unpartnered chased them and killed most of them, but one or two managed to evade their talons and escaped from the city.

  In the eerie silence that followed, Skandar descended slowly back toward the tower. He was sluggish in the air, as if he was drunk—or exhausted to the point of near-death. He landed clumsily, stumbling a short distance before he collapsed in a swoon.

  Arenadd was thrown from his back, but landed on the body of a dead griffin and picked himself up unharmed.

  He paused to dust himself down, and hurried to Skandar’s side, checking for a pulse. It was there, though abnormally slow, and Arenadd sighed in relief. He would be all right by the time he woke up. And there would be plenty of meat ready for him when he did.

  Arenadd gently pulled his partner’s limp wings onto his back, folding them neatly, and smoothed down his feathers. “Rest now,” he murmured, as Skandar stirred. “You’ve earnt it.”

  He looked up, and felt a dull shock when he saw how empty the sky looked.

  There were no enemy griffins left—only the unpartnered, circling slowly overhead. The battle was over, and they had survived. Just.

  33

  Waiting

  The day when Erian finally left the Island of the Sun was an emotional one for him, and more painful than he had expected. It had taken him another two weeks, with Senneck’s help, first to find a safe and easy way for her to tow The Pride of Gryphus from the air, and second to reinforce the entire craft and add even more plant fibres between the planks. He still had a suspicion that it might leak once they were out on the open water, but he had a pair of crude buckets he had made during his stay on the island.

  He had also packed the tiny craft with food, the goatskin blanket he had made, and meat for Rannagon and his sister. Senneck was ready to leave. Everything was done.

  Erian walked through the ruined village that had been his home for so long, suddenly unable to reconcile himself with the idea that he would, in all likelihood, never see it again.

  It gave him a strange feeling: partly sadness, but also an odd sense of fear, as if in leaving the island he would also be leaving something else. Home.

  No. More than home. Sanctuary. The Island of the Sun had been a haven for him ever since he and Senneck had nearly killed themselves to reach it. And even though he had thought he would go mad from loneliness and his longing to see Elkin again, he had finally accepted it as a new home.

  He wandered into his old hut and ran his fingers over the walls, which he had carved with patterns and sunwheels during an idle moment. I love this place, he thought suddenly. It feels more like home than my rooms at Malvern. How can I leave it?

  But he kne
w he had to. With a heavy heart, he turned and walked away, out of the village and back to the beach, where Senneck was waiting with the chicks.

  “Are you ready?” the brown griffin asked tersely.

  Erian nodded. “Let’s go.”

  He lifted the chicks into the boat, and pushed it down the sand and into the waters of the lagoon before they could climb out. Once he was ankle-deep in water, he got in with them and sat down on the folded blanket.

  Senneck, still on the beach, picked up the thick piece of wood Erian had tied to the end of the rope. “Are you certain that you are ready?” she asked. “Is there nothing more to be done . . . nothing you have forgotten?”

  Erian grabbed Rannagon to stop him leaping over the side. “Yes, Senneck. Food, water, blanket, sword and chicks—everything. It’s time to go.”

  She clicked her beak and took off, hampered a little by the rope trailing behind her. They had practised this many times, but Erian still braced himself nervously.

  Once Senneck was well into the sky, the rope went taut, and a moment later they were off. Erian, still restraining the chicks, felt a sudden thrill as The Pride of Gryphus skimmed through the lagoon and then out into the open sea.

  The chicks, too, seemed excited. Rannagon, escaping from his guardian’s grasp, scampered to the front of the boat and looked out at the water, cooing to himself.

  Erian, deciding it was safe to do so, let the female go and watched her explore the boat with her brother. The chicks were both the sizes of dogs by now, and difficult to restrain, and Erian hoped they wouldn’t try to leap overboard. Fortunately, neither of them looked inclined to do so at the moment, and he relaxed and sat back while the boat sped on.

  But he was out of luck if he expected the journey to be easy. The boat began to take on water when they were barely away from the island, and though he ignored it for as long as he could, it quickly rose until it was lapping around his feet. Sighing, he picked up a bucket and began to bail.