by K J Taylor
Arriving at the Council Chamber brought Laela back to the present. Several of her councillors were waiting for her, but the rest weren’t, so she took up her place on the platform at the centre and waited impatiently until the last of them had walked or flown in.
‘Right,’ she said unceremoniously. ‘Let’s get started. You all know why yer here, but there’s been some more news …’
The Council listened as she outlined the situation — including the fact that griffiners from other cities were now probably joining up with Caedmon as he marched on Malvern. That part of Skandar’s story had sounded plausible enough that she was prepared to repeat it here, and the Council listened with alarm.
‘So what it comes down to is this,’ Laela concluded. ‘They’re coming here, an’ the Unpartnered can’t be relied on to intercept them.’ Naturally she had left out the fact that Skandar was ill. Nobody was going to hear that from her, not even Kullervo. ‘My thought is that it’s best if we just stay here an’ wait for them. When the Unpartnered see strange griffins coming to attack, they’ll fly out to fight them right away, without being asked. Griffins always defend their territory. Then, if Caedmon has any troops on the ground, you’ — she pointed to her new Master of War — ‘can lead the army out there an’ deal with them. That is if the Unpartnered don’t do it first. What d’you all think?’
The councillors glanced at each other. Some of them frowned to themselves thoughtfully.
The Master of War spoke up. ‘Human armies do poorly under the talons of griffins,’ he said in his thin Amorani accent. ‘My men would do better to stay behind these walls and defend them.’
‘That’s true,’ the Master of Building put in. ‘If you have a defence, use it. We should man the arrow-launchers, and maybe make some more, in case any enemy griffins come into the city.’
‘Good point,’ said Laela. ‘All right, then. We’ll let the griffins fly out, an’ hopefully they’ll keep the fight away from the city. Either way the army’ll stay here an’ keep us protected.’
‘It is a good plan,’ the Master of War said politely. ‘My commanders and I will discuss it and fill in the details. Give us one day, and we will present it to you then.’
‘Done,’ said Laela. She looked at the Master of Building. ‘You an’ yer apprentice should inspect the walls. Make sure they’re in good shape. Anyone else got anythin’ to add?’
Several of the other councillors had questions or suggestions, so Laela heard them one by one and helped the Council debate some minor details. But she knew the decision was already made, and the discussions here were almost a formality.
The meeting eventually broke up, and Laela went to lunch with her husband, thinking grimly that now was the time to do her least favourite thing: wait.
Arenadd, however, was not waiting.
So far the Night God didn’t seem to have realised what he had done. Or if she had, she had been unable to find him. Uncertain of how to go on avoiding her attention, he hadn’t stopped moving since Saeddryn’s death. He felt safer during the day, and at night-time he would hide near either Kullervo or Skandar. Maybe the dark power inside the two of them would mask his own.
Now, with plenty of daylight left, he watched over the sleeping Skandar and grew worried. His old partner was clearly very sick. Arenadd hoped Laela would have the sense to get a healer to him as quickly as possible.
The fear hadn’t left him. It had taken hold some time ago, when he had gone to watch over Caedmon and had seen griffiners flocking to his side. Unless the Unpartnered fought them, they could well overrun the city — human army be damned. Humans alone had never been a match for griffins. And now, with Skandar too sick to even walk, and he himself unable to do anything …
Damn you, Arenadd said aloud. He looked skyward, ignoring the Eyrie roof in the way, and screamed out a curse. Damn you! This is it, isn’t it? You do know what I’ve done, and you can see me. This is your punishment. You’re going to make me stay here and watch them all die, knowing there’s nothing I can do. Damn you!
Skandar stirred in his sleep, but didn’t wake. His eyes, half open, looked dull and cloudy.
Panic filled Arenadd. But there had to be something he could do.
For now, at least, Skandar and Laela were more or less safe. But Kullervo was another matter. The man-griffin was clearly very troubled, and troubled people did stupid things. He certainly hadn’t done a very good job of keeping himself safe before now.
With that in mind, Arenadd decided to go and check on him.
He found Kullervo alone in his rooms. He was still in his griffin shape, his tail waving restlessly as he padded around.
Once again, inexplicably, being in Kullervo’s room made Arenadd feel stronger. And he already knew that it wasn’t just his imagination. That feeling had been what had allowed him to show himself to Kullervo so clearly, and speak to him properly, even if it was only in a dream. Last time he had tried to get through to him, he had appeared as something vague and distorted.
Arenadd hovered near the ceiling and wondered what Kullervo was up to. He looked as if he were thinking hard about something. Briefly, Arenadd considered trying to speak to him again. But he decided against it. Kullervo didn’t seem to trust him much, and another ghostly vision would probably just disturb him. Besides, manifesting himself to someone again might attract unwanted attention.
While Arenadd thought this over, Kullervo seemed to make up his mind about something. He loped over to the fireplace and pulled away a rug with his beak. Underneath it were bare floorboards. Kullervo scratched clumsily at them until his talon caught in a gap and he managed to hook out a loose board.
Underneath that was a space. Kullervo reached into it with his beak and pulled out a small leather pouch.
The moment the pouch came into view, Arenadd shuddered. Coldness expanded in him, making his cloudy shape turn darker and denser and for a moment it took on an almost human shape.
Kullervo looked as if he were affected by it too. He carelessly pushed the rug back into place without bothering to replace the board, and limped off into the nest chamber.
When Kullervo took off from the balcony, Arenadd followed him. Surely he wasn’t going to leave the city alone again?
But that was exactly what Kullervo did. Flying a little unsteadily thanks to his wound, he headed determinedly out over the city walls and away, the pouch dangling from his beak. He and Arenadd flew together for a long time, and Arenadd reached out to touch the pouch.
The instant he made contact with it he reeled away. Groaning, he formed himself into a little black cloud in the air and tried to pull his wits back together.
Kullervo flew on obliviously, and Arenadd watched him go without trying to follow. Whatever was in that pouch stank of power, and now that he had finally touched it Arenadd knew what it was. It was Saeddryn’s heart, and her power was still locked inside it. That was what had been troubling Kullervo, and no wonder. No mortal would ever be able to stand having the damn thing anywhere near them.
Arenadd turned away and let Kullervo go. His son was going to hide the heart somewhere, and nobody, especially not Arenadd, could ever know where. If Arenadd knew, then the Night God would know too.
Unable to let himself rest, Arenadd headed off in a different direction. It was time to see what Caedmon was doing.
Finding him was easy, just as it had always been. He was flying as well, with Shar of course, and a band of griffiners behind them. On the ground below was a ragtag army of humans. The griffiners seemed to be guarding them.
Going closer to inspect the foot army, Arenadd felt certain that there were even more of them now than when he had last seen them. Almost none of them looked like trained fighters. There were peasants and farmers, tradesmen and servants. Ordinary people from all over the North, carrying whatever weapons they had been able to find. But at their core there were others who looked much more dangerous.
Men and women, wiry and scarred, all of them wearing the unmis
takeable marks of the collar. They marched in perfect formation, and most of them were carrying curved Amorani swords.
Somehow, Caedmon had persuaded Laela’s own freed slave army to join him. Arenadd suspected that he had done it by saying they would all die if they didn’t. That was a strategy that usually worked.
Above, the griffiners were far less numerous, but there were plenty of them. All of them had humans, except for one. Weirdly enough, it was flying at the front rather than in the inferior position that an unpartnered griffin should take up. Even more weirdly, it had a spotted coat.
Arenadd turned his attention to Caedmon, and his fear only increased.
Caedmon was still and silent on his partner’s back. He had trimmed his beard and cut his hair, and now should have looked like a city-dwelling lord again. But even though he was better groomed the tattoos were still there, looking even more striking now his skin was clean. He was wearing a big, ragged griffin hide over his clothes, and there was a wooden hunting spear tied to his back. But more striking was the look on his face. It was set and hard with determination, and could have looked impressive because of it, but Arenadd could almost feel the hatred underneath that had created it.
He was looking at a man who had lost everything — and now had no reason at all to give up, or to spare anyone who stood in his way.
Arenadd’s fear turned to something closer to terror. He’s me, he said, or thought. He’s turned into me. All he has left is hate, and when he gets to Malvern he’ll …
Memories flooded through him. Blood, fire, and murder.
He remembered his own hands, when he had still had them and had used them to kill. And now, at last, he came to feel what his enemies in Malvern must have felt when they had known that he was coming, and had guessed what he was planning to do when he got there.
He saw the death of Erian in the Sun Temple, only it wasn’t Erian now, it was Kullervo, choking and dying on the floor. He saw the death of Flell, but now it was Laela, Laela collapsing over the child she had died to protect. Dying with a snarling Northerner standing over her with a bloodied sickle in his hand. And the child lying there helplessly, watched by a father who could not protect her.
No! It was as if Arenadd’s whole form became that word. No! Please, gods, no!
Madness gripped him. He turned and flew away from Caedmon, streaking over the lands of the North like a black comet. Further and further North he went, until the green farmlands ran out and he passed over the ruins of a dead village and into the mountains. He saw the famous stones of Taranis Throne, where he had made his first sacrifice to the Night God.
And overlooking it was a cave. It was set into the mountainside, its entrance mostly hidden by a pile of rocks. Arenadd passed through them with ease. Inside, the cave was jagged and freezing cold, too high up to be a home for anything.
It wasn’t much of a tomb, but it was all he had.
Arenadd’s spectre drifted over a dead branch and the rotting remains of some animal, and floated over the withered corpse that had once been him.
Time had not been kind to the mortal remains of Arenadd Taranisäii. The cold had dried out what was left of the flesh, drawing it tightly over the bones and giving the face a horrible grimace. Arenadd stared at it, scarcely able to believe that it had once been his face. It barely looked human any more.
But he could see the deformed bones of the left hand, and the long strands of black hair that had fallen away from the skull as the scalp rotted. He could even see the gap where one of his teeth had been knocked out. His robe had gone, but there were a few shreds of trouser fabric lying around, and the peeling remains of his boots.
Arenadd reached down to touch the leering corpse. It’s me, he said aloud. It’s still me.
The empty eye sockets seemed to stare at him. For a moment the corpse almost looked as if it were laughing silently at him, asking him why he would want it.
But Arenadd needed it now.
He drifted down into the corpse and let himself spread out to fill it. Body and soul, reunited. They had been ripped apart, but now they were together again, and once he had retaken control his body would heal and turn back into what it had been before. Arenadd would live again, and then he could go back to Malvern and put a stop to everything. His children needed him.
Nothing happened.
Arenadd gathered all his willpower and concentrated, trying to remind himself of what it had felt like to be alive. To be able to walk and speak, and do everything that mortals took for granted. He tried to remember what pain felt like.
He couldn’t. He kept trying, but the more he tried, the more those memories slipped away. He had no connection with his body, none at all. It was an object now. Useless and broken beyond repair.
Arenadd persisted, desperate now, unable to let go of his last hope. Without his body he had no power, and …
Dreadful calmness overtook him. No power, he thought. That was it. The power that had kept him connected to his body was gone. The Night God had taken it away from him, and she had never given it back.
Arenadd floated back out of his corpse as realisation dawned on him.
I need power, he said. Power like … the heart! I need — Kullervo!
He rushed toward the entrance and into the sky, filled with his new plan. If he could make Kullervo give the heart to him, then he could use its power to resurrect his body. He could —
In midair, Arenadd jerked to a stop. He tried to keep going, but he couldn’t move. Something had hold of him and would not let go.
He looked toward the horizon, and saw the thing he had come to dread. The moon, rising inexorably into the darkening sky. His master had woken.
Arenadd struggled, but nothing could save him now. Realising it, he reached out hopelessly toward where his children were, beyond his help forever.
Then the Night God dragged him away into the void.
THIRTY-FIVE
DEFECTION
Flying made Kullervo’s wound ache. He took things slowly, partly because of that, but also because there was no need to hurry. And because of the heart.
He had been feeling miserable and listless for a while now, and at first he had thought it was just his guilt and confusion. But now that he was carrying the heart with him, the feeling intensified. It grew even worse when he stopped that night, and slept with the leather pouch tucked in under his wing. In the morning, when he took it in his beak again, the feeling eased slightly, but his fear of the heart only increased.
His wound didn’t seem to be healing. He slept too deeply, and tired too easily. The mere presence of the heart made him feel as if the life were draining out of his body.
He travelled on alone for the next few days, suffering under the effects of the heart’s influence, but his exhaustion and his illness only made him more determined to hide it. Hide it, and be rid of it for good.
He had already chosen the place, though it took longer to get there than he had expected. It was the best place he could think of. Quiet and remote, and best of all, thanks to his own secret meddling in the library, it wasn’t on any of the maps in Malvern. Nobody would ever think of looking here.
Once he had found the place, he landed and wandered around for a while, searching for a good spot. Eventually he found a hollow in a tree, out of reach of an ordinary human. Rearing onto his hind legs, he thrust the pouch inside and pushed it as far back as it would go.
He didn’t mark the tree, or leave any other signs to show where the spot was. If he ever came back here, even he might not be able to find the tree again. That was how it should be.
Satisfied that the heart was safe, Kullervo walked away through the trees. He was horribly tired, but he didn’t stop to rest until he was a long way away from the hiding spot. Once he felt he had gone far enough, he lay down in a handy clearing and slept.
When he woke up, he was amazed by how well rested he felt. He stood up and stretched, and for the first time in weeks he felt almost cheerful. His wound hur
t less, and at last the future looked less dark.
He took off with an easy leap and flew off back toward Malvern. As he did his heart soared. He wanted to laugh. At last! The heart was gone, and he felt as if he had left his troubles and his guilt with it in that tree.
Of course, Senneck would be furious with him for leaving again, and Laela would probably be upset too. But at least now he had completed his last mission. Now there was no reason left for him to leave Malvern.
At least, not until Caedmon came.
Some of Kullervo’s good mood left him when he remembered that. But surely … surely Skandar and the Unpartnered would be able to stop him when he attacked Malvern. Most likely he would never even touch the city. One more battle, and then Kullervo could finally live in peace with the family he had worked so hard for. Surely, he thought almost frantically, surely it would end then.
He sighed. All his life he had wanted to have a real home, to be loved, and to have a family of his own. He had gone North to find those things, but he had never imagined that it would be such a long struggle, or that he would see so much horror. Or that he would have to kill people.
Yet again, images of the dead rose up in his mind. Saeddryn, dead and mutilated. Lady Morvudd and those guards he had killed to escape from prison. And he himself had nearly died more than once. Death was never far away in this world — the world he had discovered outside the cage where he had spent most of his childhood.
But he would have to accept that if he was going to survive in it. Senneck was right: if Malvern was attacked then it was his duty to help defend it.
He felt slightly ill at the thought, but as he flew on he promised himself that, if he must fight, he wouldn’t kill. He would injure if he had to, but not kill. Never again.
‘Where have you been?’ Senneck asked. To Kullervo’s relief, she didn’t look particularly annoyed.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I had to deal with something. It’s done now.’