The Shadowed Throne

by K J Taylor

  “What is it?” said Kullervo.

  “There was a griffiner living in Malvern,” said Rufus. “She came there just before the war began. She was married to some common thug—a city guard, I believe, who’d somehow been chosen. They had a baby girl, but there were rumours . . . people saying the child’s head was always covered, but underneath there was black hair. People muttered that it was a half-breed.”

  “It must have been Laela,” Kullervo decided. “She was born in Malvern, so I’ve been told. Her mother died when the Eyrie was overrun.”

  “Hah.” Rufus laughed again. “I shouldn’t laugh, but . . . the Dark Lord, loving a Southerner? Madness.”

  “Love is madness,” Kullervo said sharply. “Often.”

  Rufus quietened. “Yes, I know. So this Laela is a better person than her father, you say?”

  “She doesn’t kill people,” said Kullervo. “All she wants is to make the North stronger and keep its people safe. In fact,” he added thoughtfully, “having her on the throne could help you, eventually. I think that when the time comes, she could well decide to try to negotiate with the South. Maybe open trade routes with them. Even let them come here to live again.”

  Rufus looked wistful. “The North, reborn! I’ve tried to imagine it. I think we all have.”

  “And so have I,” said Kullervo, who had only begun to a while after arriving at Gwernyfed. As he watched Rufus sitting there, trying to take in everything he had just discovered, Kullervo decided there and then just what he would do when he returned to Malvern.

  He would tell Laela that he had found Gwernyfed.

  He would tell her that it was a ruin, with not one single inhabitant. He would tell her to have it struck off the maps. Maybe, one day, he would tell her the truth. But for now, it would be his secret. He promised himself that.

  “Thank you, holy one.” Rufus’ solemn tones broke in. “You don’t know how happy all this has made me. There’ll be celebrations in Gwernyfed when the others have heard the news. But with your permission, I’ll wait until you’re well enough before I tell them.”

  “That would be wonderful,” said Kullervo. “Actually, I’ve . . . I’ve never been to a party before,” he said shyly.

  “Never?” Rufus chuckled. “Then we’ll have to make sure this one is worth coming to, won’t we?”

  “I can’t wait!” said Kullervo, privately deciding to get better as fast as he could.

  13

  Ghosts

  Seven long, awful days after her sudden departure, Oeka returned to Malvern. She landed unceremoniously at the top of the Council Tower, and the pair of large males who intercepted her fled in terror before she had said a word or done a thing. She went down into the audience chamber, where she settled down on her marble plinth and rested on her belly with her eyes closed.

  Laela arrived a short time later, puffing a little from having run up several flights of stairs. She went straight to Oeka, red-faced. “Nice of yeh to show yer beak again.”

  “Hello, Laela,” said Oeka, without opening her eyes. She spoke very slowly and deliberately, with an odd reverb to her voice.

  “Oh, wonderful,” Laela growled. “Yeh just piss off for a week without sayin’ a word about where yer goin’, an’ that’s all yeh’ve got to say for yerself. I’m still alive an’ technically in charge, in case yeh give a damn.”

  “I knew you would survive,” Oeka said in the same slow, flat voice.

  “No thanks to you. Where’ve yeh been, anyway?”

  Silence.

  “This ain’t been a good week for me at all.” Laela sighed. She found a chair and dragged it over before sitting on it. “Managed t’keep it secret yeh were gone for a bit, but people figured it out soon enough. Couple of councillors decided it was a good time to have themselves a little coup. I got wind of it. Had ’em both executed and replaced by their apprentices. One of them turned out to have been in on it, so I booted him off. Didn’t have much left without yeh around, though. Went to the Hatchery in the end, hopin’ to get chosen again. Didn’t happen. One of ’em chose Inva instead. Gave her a nasty shock. She’s taking to it well, though.”

  “You should not have gone to the Hatchery,” said Oeka.

  “Well, what was I supposed to do?” Laela said hotly. “Yeh ran off on me! I was gettin’ close to just givin’ up an’ handing the throne over to bloody Saeddryn!”

  “You are a fool,” said Oeka, “if you thought that I would not return.”

  “I had no bloody way of knowin’, an’ you know it, Oeka.”

  “You do not understand our ways,” Oeka said with flat contempt. “I would not leave you unless you were disgraced, or crippled, or had lost your power completely. To leave you would be to abandon the supremacy we had won together, and I would sooner die than do that.”

  “Oh, right?” Laela sneered. “An’ yeh decided to fly off like that why exactly?”

  “I had something I needed to do,” said Oeka. “It was necessary.”

  “An’ what was that, then? Somethin’ so important yeh couldn’t even tell me about it?”

  Oeka finally showed a hint of anger. “Where I went and what I did were secret things, not for a human to know. But be assured that I have succeeded. That is all you need to know. I have succeeded, and now I shall not need to leave again.”

  “What, that’s it? It’s a secret? So yeh ain’t gonna tell me a thing?”

  At last, Oeka opened her eyes. They were glowing, just a little. Laela started at the sight of them.

  “I have increased my powers,” the small griffin intoned. “The magic within me is a thousand times stronger than it was before, a thousand times stronger than that of the Mighty Skandar, or ancient Kraal. Be assured, little human—no enemy shall ever be a match for me. Together, we shall crush all resistance.”

  Laela pulled away, leaning back in her chair. “Made yerself stronger . . . ?”

  “Yes. Over time, I shall unravel the energies in me and use them to unlock new powers—powers beyond imagining.”

  “We can use ’em t’fight?” Laela sounded scared, but excited.

  “Not to fight,” said Oeka. “But to destroy. There will be no fight against my might. Only defeat.”

  Laela said nothing.

  “Do not be afraid,” Oeka said. “I will never hurt my human.” She put her head on one side, just how Laela remembered, and suddenly looked like the griffin she had been before. “Shall you forgive your partner, and trust her again, Laela?”

  Laela smiled gratefully. “I s’pose I could see my way clear since yeh asked nicely. Want some food?”

  “Yeeeesss . . .” Oeka’s eyes closed again. “Bring food, if you can. I must rest now and begin to weave my magic together.”

  Laela left, a little too fast. Once outside, she allowed herself a deep breath.

  She had been happy and relieved to see Oeka, as much as she’d been angry. The situation had been far more desperate during her absence than she had admitted, and having Oeka back meant she could finally breathe easy again. But what she had sensed in the audience chamber had been more than unsettling—it was terrifying. As a human, she couldn’t see anything, if it was there, but there had been a sense there all the same—a feeling of immense pressure in the air, like a thunderstorm about to break. It made her skin prickle.

  “Oeka, what have yeh done to yerself?” she muttered out loud.

  After Lord Rufus’ visit, many more new people came to see Kullervo—people who must have stayed away beforehand. Many of the newcomers were Northerners. Noticing this, Kullervo decided that, like Rufus, they had probably been afraid that “Gryphus’ Messenger” was there to wreak some kind of punishment. Now Kullervo had reassured Rufus, he must have told them it was safe. The newcomers were friendly, and all his visitors were much more talkative than before. They treated him like a friend—someone to
be respected, but welcomed.

  Nobody had ever treated him this way before.

  To his embarrassment, many of them brought babies or small children for him to “bless.” He did his best, laying his hands on tiny foreheads and saying whatever words felt best. It seemed to be what they expected.

  As promised, Rufus hadn’t passed on the news of the King’s death, but the villagers did seem to know about the planned celebrations—in honour of Kullervo’s arrival, or so they said. Everybody who mentioned it talked about it excitedly.

  Kullervo was desperate to get up out of his bed and to finally see the village for himself, and he insisted on spending as much time as possible moving around the room. With Ellan’s help, he began to test his legs and eventually taught himself to walk with the help of a crutch. It felt awkward, like trying to walk on two legs while in griffin form, and in fact his legs were still more or less stuck in that state. The bones in his feet and ankles hadn’t adjusted themselves, and he had to walk on clawed and padded toes with his elongated heels raised off the ground. The crutch stopped him from falling forward, but he moved with a peculiar, hunched, hobbling motion that made him feel stupid.

  It would have to do.

  As soon as he felt strong enough, he asked Ellan to escort him out of the house.

  Outside, it was raining. Blinking in the light, Kullervo moved forward, his paws sinking into the mud. His tail moved from side to side, and his wings shifted feebly on his back—they might have stayed feathered, but the powerful muscles that moved them were gone, and they were too weak to even fold properly, let alone manage a flap. Kullervo draped them over himself for warmth—they were fine for that, at least.

  And now—Gwernyfed.

  The village was smaller than he had expected. He counted about twenty houses, all of them small, rough things made from wood. There wasn’t much difference between each one in size though he did spot a few barns. An open patch of dirt served as a village square, and there were chickens and ducks wandering around near a stone well.

  Kullervo smiled. “A place doesn’t have to be an Eyrie to be home,” he said to himself.

  “What was that?” Ellan said.

  “Hm? Oh, nothing. So, this is Gwernyfed.”

  “Yeah. What do you . . . uh . . . how do you like it, holy one?”

  “I like it.” Kullervo looked around—people were already coming over to see him. He pulled his wings around himself more tightly, suddenly embarrassed. Clothes wouldn’t fit on his deformed body, and since his genitals were tucked away under his tail, griffin style, he had come out naked. It hadn’t occurred to him to feel self-conscious until just now.

  The people who hurried over to him didn’t look bothered. They exclaimed over his griffin-like fur and paws, and came closer to touch his wings. He let them, of course, though his mind was elsewhere.

  “I’ve been told there’s a griffin living here,” he said. “I want to meet her if I can.”

  “Of course ye can, sir,” a Northern man said. “An’ she’s interested to meet ye, too.”

  Kullervo couldn’t see anything nearby that looked like a good home for a griffin. “Where is she?”

  “She lives in a barn just over that-a-way,” said the man. “We always hoped more griffins would come, but there were only the one.”

  Kullervo wasn’t sure what to expect from this griffin, but he wanted to find out. “Can I go to meet her?”

  “She’s not here just now, holy one,” a woman said. “I don’t think she is, anyway. She flies away in the daytime, looking for food. But she’ll be here for the celebration.”

  “Oh, good. Have you decided when it’ll be?”

  “Whenever you choose, holy one.” The woman curtsied and blushed.

  Kullervo coughed. “Well then . . . I declare that the celebrations shall happen . . . tomorrow night!”

  The children who were there cheered.

  “I’ll go tell Lord Rufus,” said the Northern man. He nodded politely and hurried off.

  “Perfect.” Kullervo looked at Ellan. “I’d like to see more, if you don’t mind.”

  “There’s not really much to see, holy one,” she said apologetically.

  “Show me that, then,” said Kullervo, and despite his aching back, he hobbled through the entire village, listening as the inhabitants told him about all the different landmarks. It wasn’t exactly riveting stuff, but he listened happily anyway. Around him, many of his followers were already planning for the celebration, and from the way they talked about it, Kullervo had the feeling that parties of any sort were a rare treat in Gwernyfed.

  Caught up in the general joy, he had almost completely forgotten about Laela.

  If anyone had been afraid that rain would spoil the festivities, they were proven wrong. A bright and sunny day followed a grey one, and the preparations went ahead. All those who were available left their work for the day, and, together, the inhabitants of Gwernyfed put up decorations on every building. A group of men dug a fire pit in the middle of the square, and children helped gather wood to pile inside. Others put the food together—choosing a pig to slaughter and cook on a spit over the fire pit, baking bread and little cakes sweetened with honey, boiling eggs, putting apples on sticks ready to roast.

  Kullervo watched it all, and helped with the lighter tasks. He wished he could do more, but in his current condition, it just wasn’t possible.

  The fire pit was lit at sundown, and by the time a clear, starry night had fallen, the celebrations were in full swing. The pig steamed as it roasted on its spit, and children were holding apples on sticks over the flames until they blackened and hissed. Several of the villagers had brought instruments and launched into a piece of music Kullervo guessed was a jig. Every single one of the musicians was terrible, but nobody minded.

  Once the festivities were well underway, Lord Rufus appeared. To Kullervo’s amazement, he was wearing an outfit of the sort griffiners wore at important ceremonies—a velvet tunic covered in hundreds of cunningly sewn griffin feathers over the chest. Below that was a patch of fox fur that extended into a hanging tab that was decorated with a fan of feathers in imitation of a griffin’s tail. At the back, long flight feathers formed a kind of cape. The outfit was moth-eaten, and many of the feathers had fallen off, but it gave Rufus a kind of majesty as he stepped up onto a crate by the fire pit.

  The musicians stopped playing. The revellers around the pit quietened down and turned to their leader, waiting for him to speak.

  Rufus scanned the crowd until he saw Kullervo. He beckoned.

  People helped Kullervo to reach him. “There you are, Rufus. I was missing you!”

  Lord Rufus smiled at him. “Welcome, holy one.” He straightened up as he spoke, addressing the others more than Kullervo himself. “All of us are gathered here to celebrate the arrival of this man. The winged messenger of Gryphus himself, sent to us.”

  People cheered.

  “Many of us were afraid, when he first came, that he was here to punish us,” Rufus continued. “To judge us. I was one of those people. But we were wrong. Kullervo came here not to hurt us but to help us. He has promised to do whatever he can for Gwernyfed, and for us.”

  “All hail the sacred messenger!” many people shouted.

  Kullervo accepted it with a slight bow.

  “But,” Rufus resumed, “what none of you know yet is that Kullervo came here for another reason. He came to bring us a blessing, a gift that only I have heard. Tonight, I will pass on what he gave to me.”

  A hush fell.

  Rufus bowed his head for a moment. Then he looked up. “The Dark Lord Arenadd,” he said, very softly. “The Dark Lord Arenadd, the destroyer, the Shadow That Walks, the Man Without a Heart—the Dark Lord Arenadd . . . is dead!”

  Utter silence followed.

  “Dead?” someone repeated.

  �
�Dead!” Rufus repeated.

  Others were looking at Kullervo. “He’s really dead?”

  With a mighty effort, Kullervo spread his wings wide. “It’s true!” he said as loudly as he could. “Rufus is telling the truth. The King of the North is dead. I saw his body with my own eyes. Dead. Rotted.”

  “What is this?” a voice interrupted.

  It came from the other side of the fire pit. Everyone there turned hastily, as something approached.

  “Tell me the truth at once, twisted monster,” the voice said. It was loud, harsh, and not human.

  People moved out of the way as the griffin approached.

  She was brown, long-bodied, and slim. Behind a grey beak, eyes the colour of the sky glared straight at Kullervo.

  The shape-shifter shook off his surprise and came toward her. “Hello,” he said. “So you’re the griffin who lives here. I was hoping to meet you.”

  The brown griffin’s tail was lashing aggressively. “I take no pleasure in meeting a deformed thing like you. Answer my question. What is this? You say that Kraeai kran ae is dead?”

  Kullervo let the abuse slide off him. “Yes. He disappeared months ago, along with the Mighty Skandar. I went to look for them and found the Mighty Skandar hiding in the mountains, guarding the King’s remains. It doesn’t look like Skandar will ever leave the mountains, and his human is dead.”

  “Dead,” the brown griffin repeated. “How was he killed?”

  “I don’t know,” said Kullervo.

  “But if he is dead, then who rules the Eyrie at Malvern?”

  “His daughter, Laela. She’s a half-breed.”

  “Half-breed!” the griffin huffed. “Then the human pup at Malvern truly was his offspring. I had my doubts. She will not last long either way.” She looked at Kullervo. “You have not answered my question. Who rules at Malvern?”

  “I told you, Laela—”

  “No!” The brown griffin snapped her beak shut an inch away from his face. “I do not care what tiny human sits on a wooden nest. Who rules in Malvern?”