The Shadowed Throne

by K J Taylor

  On that last, half-remembered morning, he came across a tiny village in the middle of nowhere. There, he landed by a building and promptly collapsed. His last thought was that whoever lived here might help him. If he were human . . .

  Magic tore at him, and he blacked out.

  He woke up in unbelievable pain. Immobilised, too overcome to even scream, he lay on his side and gasped convulsively. Hands touched his head; he heard voices somewhere but couldn’t understand them. His foreleg jerked forward and moved around, and he eventually realised that someone was wrapping it up. Help, then? Someone helping him?

  Something he thought was water poured into his mouth. He swallowed it and tried to relax. Some of the pain receded.

  Voices, rising and falling. He couldn’t see anything.

  He slept, woke, and slept again.

  Food came, when he was awake. He didn’t know or care what it was, and only swallowed it as it was put into his mouth. He swallowed liquids, too—maybe water, maybe medicine. Either one was good.

  The pain began to go away, and he felt himself getting better. As proper consciousness came back, he struggled to make sense of his surroundings, wanting to know where he was. He found himself lying on his back. That wasn’t right. His wings were trapped underneath him, and he could feel his tail trailing between his back legs. His head felt wrong. Too light. Something kept brushing at his cheeks.

  He fought to make himself wake up. His whole body felt very warm—there was a blanket over him. He blinked and looked upward. There was a ceiling above him. He was glad to see it, but confusion quickly took over. Why was he in a bed? Why . . . ?

  He tried to move and found himself lifting a pair of human arms. Human. He was human? He couldn’t remember changing. Had it happened while he was unconscious? It had happened before. His talons were gone, and his fingers were tipped with misshapen fingernails. Those usually took a while to grow.

  He felt his face. No beak. Everything seemed normal. His arm was bandaged. He could feel something trapped under the pillow. Fumbling with the covers, he slid a hand underneath to investigate. Wings! Just his wings. But they were still coated with feathers.

  Kullervo inspected his bare chest. It was also covered in feathers.

  Something went wrong, he thought muzzily.

  His carers must know what he was now. What were they going to do? He consoled himself that at least they had helped him so far. They might not be enemies. But he would have to be careful.

  He lay back and waited for someone to come and check on him.

  After a while, a door opened somewhere, and a woman appeared. She was young, with brown hair and . . . blue eyes?

  Kullervo’s brow furrowed.

  The woman gave him a nervous smile. “Hello. You’re awake.” She spoke Cymrian, without the harsh accent of a Northerner.

  Kullervo coughed. “Yes. Don’t know . . . what—happened.”

  “It’s all right.” She came closer and gave him some water. “You’ve been ill. Do you feel better now?”

  He took the water gratefully. “Yes. Thank you. Name’s Kullervo.”

  “I’m Ellan,” said the woman. She was looking at him cautiously, almost with . . . awe?

  Kullervo was too exhausted to think about it. “Am I going to be all right?”

  “I don’t know. But I think you will. You’re strong.”

  “I’m a freak,” Kullervo mumbled. “You weren’t meant to see me like this.”

  “Oh, no, it’s all right,” Ellan said, too quickly. “We’re honoured . . . I mean . . . we thought that you . . .”

  “What?” Kullervo squinted. “Feel sick. Need more water.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. Sorry.” She provided it. “Is that better?”

  He closed his eyes for a long moment and nearly fell asleep. But the need for answers was too important, and he forced himself awake. “What’s this place? Where?”

  Ellan glanced over her shoulder. “This is Gwernyfed.”

  A Northern place-name, Kullervo thought. For a little while, he’d thought he had somehow ended up back in the South.

  “You,” he said. “You’re Southern. Why are you here?”

  Ellan winced and bowed hastily. “Gwernyfed’s our secret,” she said. “We live here. The last survivors.”

  Kullervo just stared at her.

  “We were living in the North when the war started,” Ellan said. “We were all born in this country. After the Dark Lord took over, we refused to leave. The North is our home. So we came here to Gwernyfed. We had friends—Northerner friends, who helped us. This is our place now, and no-one knows we’re here. We hoped nobody would find us.”

  “But I did,” said Kullervo.

  “Yes.” Ellan was watching him carefully. “We weren’t sure . . . you look like a Northerner, a little. But the wings, the eyes . . .”

  Finally, Kullervo realised. “You think I’m—”

  “We hoped.”

  He turned his head away. “Gryphus’ Messenger.”

  “A man with a griffin’s wings and golden eyes,” Ellan said. “A man who flew down from the sky to us. We believed Gryphus sent you to help us.”

  Silently, Kullervo thanked the gods—whichever of them might be listening. He was saved. “You’re right,” he said. “I was sent. I am a messenger. You helped me, so I should help you.”

  Ellan’s face lit up. She looked as if she were going to laugh out loud. “It’s true! I knew it. Some of the others doubted it, but I knew.”

  Kullervo smiled at her. “How can I help?”

  “Oh.” Ellan looked taken aback. “With blessings, if you can, holy one.”

  “Of course.” Kullervo let the smile grow warmer. “Is there anything else?”

  “Protection from the Dark Lord,” Ellan said with real fear.

  Kullervo pulled up short at that. An image of Arenadd’s rotting remains flashed behind his eyes, and he shuddered.

  “I’m sorry,” Ellan said. “I should never have said that name in front of you, holy one.”

  “It’s all right.” Kullervo shifted under his covers. “I need to rest. When I’m awake again, anyone else who wants to visit me can. I’ll help them any way I’m able.”

  Ellan bowed. “Thank you, holy one. I understand.”

  Now that he knew he was safe, Kullervo could afford to take some time to recover. He spent most of his days in bed and let his hosts keep him clean and fed. Plenty of people came to visit him once word got out that he was awake and talking, and many of them brought food and medicines. Kullervo was used to this sort of treatment by now. At least, he was used to people coming to stare at him. He accepted the attention placidly, thankful that nobody was throwing anything at him or trying to pull on his wings or feathers. These people were afraid of him, but they honestly believed in him as well, and he quickly saw that this was different from how it had been before. His transformation back into human form had gone wrong, but not in a bad way. He had kept most of his fur and feathers, and his tail was still furred and had the feathery fan on the end. His feet were clawed and padded, and his legs were improperly shaped and no good for walking. But despite that, his face was properly human, and his hands and arms. He looked bizarre, but not hideous, and that made all the difference.

  Maybe Gryphus was smiling on him after all.

  He soon had a good idea of how many people were here in Gwernyfed and what they were like. At least twenty different people came to see him, and of those, most were Southerners of varying ages. From the way some of them spoke and carried themselves, he suspected they were griffiners—or had been once.

  There were some Northerners among them, too, most of them acting as if they were more interested in him for his oddity rather than convinced that he was divine.

  The third type of human that he saw was far more astonishing.


  Half-breeds.

  Several children came to stare at him one day. One or two of them were pure Southerner or Northerner, but most of them weren’t. Black hair, with brown eyes. Brown hair with black eyes. Pale skin, and a stocky build.

  Kullervo could hardly believe it. He beckoned and smiled to the children, and as they timidly came closer, their mixed features leapt out at him. Half-breeds!

  “Are you from Gryphus?” one small boy asked.

  “Yes, that’s right,” said Kullervo. “What’s your name?”

  “Gath,” said the boy.

  Kullervo listened to them ask their questions and did his best to answer, but his mind was elsewhere. He had never imagined anything like this in his life. A place, just this one place, where the two races lived side by side as equals. They were even intermarrying. This place had been founded by people who had every reason to hate each other, but somehow they had found a way to co-operate and survive. And in twenty years, Malvern had never suspected that they even existed.

  Privately, Kullervo swore to himself that he would never, ever tell anyone that Gwernyfed existed. And, if he had to, he would kill to protect it.

  The next day, when Ellan brought him breakfast, he asked her who led the settlement.

  “All of us, really,” she said. “We make most of the decisions together, anyway. Lord Rufus was the one who started it, though. And the griffin always gets her say.”

  Kullervo started. “Griffins? There are griffins here?”

  “Just one,” said Ellan. “She can’t come here to see you, of course, but she’s very curious.”

  “I’ll have to go out and meet her,” said Kullervo. “But what about Lord Rufus? Who’s he?”

  “He used to live at Malvern,” said Ellan. “He was a griffiner, but he was disgraced and his griffin left him when they found out he was in love with his servant. She was a Northerner. When the Dark Lord and the monster griffin attacked Malvern, Lord Rufus nearly died, but his lover helped him escape. They joined with a group of others who were running away, and Lord Rufus took charge. They ran from place to place, trying to find a place to hide, and a lot of them died. Lord Rufus’ lover was one of the ones who was killed. Lord Rufus kept the others going until they found Gwernyfed. It was in ruins, and most of the people there had been killed by other Northerners for refusing to join the rebels. The people who were left let Lord Rufus stay because they thought a griffiner would rebuild their village and show them what to do. He did.” Ellan smiled. “My mother was one of the people Rufus brought here. I was still in her womb then.”

  “And so Lord Rufus rules Gwernyfed now?”

  “Sort of. He’s a guide, though, not really a ruler. He’s got old. But we all believe in him.” There was genuine affection in Ellan’s voice. “When other people came here, he took them in no matter what race they were. He believes we should all live together in harmony, like the clouds in the sky.”

  “I wish we could,” said Kullervo, with a bitterness that surprised him.

  “We’ve managed it well enough,” said Ellan.

  Kullervo pulled himself together. “I’d like to meet Lord Rufus. I think I know some things he might be interested in. Will he come?”

  “I’m not sure. I think so. If he hears you were asking him to. I think he’s been keeping away on purpose.” Ellan looked troubled.

  “Ask him to come, then,” said Kullervo. “And tell him I said not to worry—I won’t bite.”

  “I’ll tell him,” she promised.

  Kullervo waited eagerly to meet the famous Lord Rufus. But nearly three whole days passed before he finally came. By then, Kullervo was well enough to get out of bed and try to walk again—not easy, with his misshapen legs, but he managed to hobble around with the help of a stick. He liked to sit by the fire-place and watch the flames, and think about all the things he had seen and heard.

  One evening, there was a knock at the door, and Ellan opened it and ushered in yet another visitor. Kullervo turned to look and saw someone he didn’t recognise. An old man, with a pure white beard. His nose had obviously been broken at some point, and an old scar gave him a permanent frown.

  “Lord Rufus,” Ellan said.

  The old man nodded to her, but his eyes were on Kullervo. Slowly, he walked toward the fascinated shape-shifter, saying nothing but watching him intently.

  “Lord Rufus.” Kullervo inclined his head. “It’s an honour to meet you.”

  Lord Rufus squinted slightly. He folded his hands together in front of his chest and lowered his own head toward them. “Holy one,” he said at last.

  “Call me Kullervo, my lord.”

  “Kullervo, then.” Rufus’ voice was rough, and his face was weather-beaten, but there was something direct and honest about the way he looked at Kullervo. “The honour is mine.”

  “It shouldn’t be, my lord,” said Kullervo. “I’ve been told about everything you’ve done. I wish I could have been half as brave, but I never have.”

  Rufus gave a slow, hesitant smile. “You mean you . . . you think what I’ve done was good, holy one?”

  “Of course I do,” said Kullervo. “Why shouldn’t I? You saved lives, you protected people, you made a home for them better than anything I could ever imagine. A place where Northerners and Southerners live together in peace—this place is amazing. I never would have thought that it could be possible.”

  At that, Rufus lost his air of uncertainty and smiled properly. “Is that the truth, holy one? You approve of all this? I thought . . .”

  “I approve very much,” Kullervo said firmly. “I don’t know why you’d expect me not to.”

  “It’s just that—I loved a Northerner, and—” Rufus bowed his head. “I believed I was damned for it. Cut off from Gryphus forever. But I loved her too much to stop myself. I thought that you were here to . . . to . . . that you would be angry with me.”

  “Never!” Kullervo said it more loudly than he had expected. “Never. Gryphus never condemns love, never. What you did was a good thing, Rufus. Believe me.”

  “I do.” The old man looked more joyful and relieved than anyone Kullervo had ever seen.

  “I want to thank you, too,” Kullervo added. “You’ve taken care of me for I don’t know how long, given me shelter. Saved my life.”

  “Of course we took you in,” said Rufus. “We never turn anyone away. And turning away an agent of Gryphus—! Are you feeling well?”

  “I am,” said Kullervo. “I’ll be better before long. And I can start to repay you however I can. Tell me, Rufus—what is it that you want?”

  Rufus shook his head. “Nothing really. We have everything we need here. All we need is good rain, and . . .”

  “And?” Kullervo prompted.

  “And to be safe,” said Rufus. “Every day I pray to Gryphus to protect us, to keep the Dark Lord and his minions away. It’s worked for this long, but one day . . .”

  “One day you’ll be found,” said Kullervo. “I understand.”

  “Yes.” Rufus’ voice was full of bitterness. “The Dark Lord finds everyone he thinks is an enemy. No-one escapes him for long. We might not know much here, but we do know what happened to the others. Other survivors, others who hid. The Dark Lord’s followers hunted them all down. None of them were spared. Only a few escaped and found us here, and we have nowhere to go. One day, I know we’ll be found. But I pray to Gryphus that I won’t live to see that day.”

  “That won’t happen,” said Kullervo. “I swear it won’t. I will do everything in my power to keep Gwernyfed safe; you have my word for it.”

  “I believe you. But Gryphus didn’t protect Malvern. He didn’t protect any of the others. The Dark Lord found them.”

  “But he won’t find you,” said Kullervo. “He’s dead, Rufus.”

  Rufus stared. “What? The Dark Lord Arenadd—dead?”

&n
bsp; “Yes. He died a few months ago. I’ve seen his body. He’s dead. Rotted. He’s not coming back. Not this time.”

  “But how . . . ?”

  “Nobody really knows,” said Kullervo. “Some say he was assassinated. Some say he left Cymria forever. And some say the Night God came for him and took him into the void to be with her. But I don’t believe any of that,” he added coldly. “He died like an ordinary man, and like an ordinary man, he rotted away. The Mighty Skandar went with him, and he won’t ever come back. I can promise you, Rufus, neither of them will ever come for you.”

  Rufus found a chair and sat down heavily. He looked speechless. “All those years living in terror of him, and now he’s gone. I can’t . . .” He looked up sharply. “Who rules in Malvern now? Did the griffiners come back—?”

  “His daughter took the throne,” said Kullervo. “Queen Laela.”

  “He had a daughter?”

  “Yes.” Kullervo thought of Laela, and wondered if she was worried about him. By now, she must be. He couldn’t bear the thought of going back to her to tell her he’d failed.

  Rufus sagged. “Then we’re still lost. A Dark Lady to follow a Dark Lord. This . . . Laela will be the one to find us.”

  “Oh no!” Kullervo actually laughed out loud. “No, Laela’s not that sort at all! She’s nothing like her father. She looks like him, they say, but she’s no Dark Lady. I think if she found you, she’d want to protect you, not kill you.”

  “Why?” said Rufus.

  “Because she was raised in the South,” said Kullervo. “And because she’s a good-hearted person. She listens to people. And she’s a half-breed.”

  Rufus looked completely bewildered. He choked on a laugh. “What? The Dark Lord—with one of us?”

  Kullervo smiled to himself. “He wasn’t that choosy about who he went to bed with. Trust me. Yes, he bedded a Southern woman, apparently. I don’t know her name, but I heard she was a noble.”

  “Wait. Wait.” Rufus’ brow furrowed. “A Southern lady . . . surely . . . Gryphus’ talons.”