The Shadowed Throne

by K J Taylor

  Softly, Iorwerth began to recite them.

  “Of earth born and in fire forged,

  By magic blessed and by cool water soothed,

  Then by a breeze in the night blown away to a land of silver and bright flowers.

  May the Night God receive the soul of Nerth, born in Eitheinn,

  Who was a brave warrior and true to his family and his tribe

  May he be admitted to the night sky and become a bright star to shine upon us all.”

  That was the version had had been taught, and when he had finished, he said them again, louder and fiercer.

  As he reached the end, he picked up the urn and opened it. “Ye were a great friend to me, Nerth, and a great man, and I’ll never stop cursing the day I did this to ye. Forgive me.”

  He emptied the ashes out and watched them scatter over the snow.

  All at once a terrible feeling of desolation crushed him. Dropping the empty urn, he knelt at the altar and covered his face with his hands. “Oh, Night God, forgive me. What have I done? It’s all gone wrong. I don’t know what to do!”

  Wind blew among the stones. It sounded almost like mocking laughter.

  Iorwerth stayed where he was for some time, mourning Nerth and cursing himself, and searching for an answer that would not come.

  Gradually, as he calmed down, the sense of being watched grew stronger. The wind had stilled. Iorwerth’s throat tightened. Everyone knew what made the Throne different than any other sacred place. This was where the Night God herself was said to reach down to touch the earth. More than that, Iorwerth knew that the stories were more than just stories. Years ago, Arenadd himself had told him the story of how he had come to the circle on the night of the Blood Moon. That night, at the moment of the sacrifice, the Night God had appeared.

  Iorwerth looked around nervously. This was the place where Arenadd had discovered what he was. This was where he had been given his holy task to destroy the Southerners and free the North.

  The sense of being watched grew even stronger.

  “Night God?” Iorwerth called out, rather self-consciously. “Night God, are ye there? Are ye listening to me now?”

  And a voice whispered back, “Yes.”

  Iorwerth nearly choked on his own tongue. “Shit!”

  The voice laughed softly. “I’m listening, Iorwerth of Fruitsheart. So speak.”

  Terrified, Iorwerth knelt. “I need help, Night God.”

  “All of the North needs help,” the voice replied. “What makes ye so special?”

  “I—” Iorwerth’s eyes narrowed. That voice . . . He stood up. “Where are ye?”

  “In the circle,” said the voice, and now Iorwerth’s suspicion solidified.

  “I know that voice—ye’re not the Night God! Show yerself, now.”

  The voice did not reply. But as Iorwerth looked, he saw the figure appear among the shadows and come toward him.

  He flicked his sickle out of his belt and into his hand with one practised movement. “Saeddryn!”

  The former High Priestess wore a plain black dress, and her ceremonial circlet—silver with a crescent moon over the forehead. Her eyepatch had gone, leaving the ugly, scarred hole bare.

  Iorwerth backed off a step, raising his sickle. “What are ye doing here?”

  Saeddryn lifted her chin and gave him an arrogant smile. “Prayin’, like any righteous Northerner should. It’s been too long since I was here.”

  Iorwerth’s mind raced. “How did ye get here?”

  “Easily.”

  “Are ye alone?”

  “The Night God is with me.”

  Iorwerth relaxed a little—she was alone and unarmed. “Forgive me if I sounded shocked, but ye’re supposed to be dead, traitor.”

  “Traitor!” Saeddryn’s smooth self-confidence turned to rage in an instant. “How dare ye stand here in this place an’ call me traitor after what ye did.” She spat at him.

  “I’m not proud of what I did,” Iorwerth snapped back. “Now, are ye going to surrender, or do I have to kill ye myself?”

  Saeddryn sneered. “No need for that. The Bastard’s griffin did a fine job of it already.”

  Iorwerth edged closer, getting ready to attack. “What are ye talking about?” he asked, mostly to distract her.

  Stone-faced, Saeddryn reached up and pulled her dress open. Underneath, hideous red gashes ran down her chest and disappeared under the cloth. Scars, fresh scars—scars so deep they had left channels in the flesh like dried red rivers.

  Iorwerth gave a little cry of disgust and horror. “Oh! Dear Night God . . .”

  “Senneck’s work,” said Saeddryn, covering herself up again. “She killed Arddryn first, an’ Nerth. An’ Aenae.”

  Iorwerth couldn’t bear to listen to another word. He lifted his head and gave a call—bellowing his own name at the sky as loudly as he could. It echoed off the mountains, travelling far away.

  Saeddryn didn’t flinch. “Callin’ Kaanee won’t help ye now, traitor.”

  “Me, a traitor?” Iorwerth yelled back at her. “Don’t play that game with me, Saeddryn. I know what ye did. Ye turned on the King himself, ye tried to kill him. It’s ye who’ll suffer the traitor’s death when we bring ye back to Malvern, not me.”

  Saeddryn’s remaining eyelid twitched. “Aye, I did those things. I won’t lie about it. But I did what was best for Tara.”

  “Like trying to steal the throne from our rightful ruler?” Iorwerth snarled.

  “Don’t be blind,” said Saeddryn. “Ye know what he was toward the end. Drunk every night, obsessed with the past, full of mad ideas. He wanted to talk to the Southerners! Trade with them—he even told me he was thinkin’ of lettin’ some of them settle here! An’ Amoranis, too—he nearly married one of them, for shadows’ sakes! An’ then he takes in this little half-breed from off the street, uses her as his whore—he made her Master of Wisdom! Some stranger who traipsed in from the South, no-one knew who she was, an’ he makes her his chief advisor! He had to be removed, Iorwerth. The country would’ve fallen apart otherwise.”

  “Queen Laela is his daughter,” Iorwerth said stonily. “His rightful heir.”

  “So she says,” said Saeddryn.

  “He chose her to succeed him, and that’s all that matters to me,” said Iorwerth. “I trust his judgment.”

  “He was a madman.”

  “He was chosen by the Night God.”

  “Not any more,” said Saeddryn.

  A screech came from overhead, and Kaanee arrived—landing neatly by his human’s side. He saw Saeddryn at once. “What is this—?”

  Saeddryn backed away. “We need t’talk, Iorwerth. Sensibly.”

  Iorwerth glanced at Kaanee. “Make it fast.”

  “Never mind about the King for now,” Saeddryn resumed. “What about the half-breed, an’ all she’s been doin’? Do ye really think she’s rulin’ well?”

  “And ye’d do a better job?” Iorwerth said sarcastically.

  “Not me,” she said. “It was never going t’be me. Ye know who was the heir before the half-breed came along. I was only plannin’ to rule a short time, until he was old enough.”

  “Caedmon,” Iorwerth muttered.

  Saeddryn smiled gently at the mention of her son’s name. “Ye watched him grow, Iorwerth. Ye taught him how t’fight yerself. All of us in the Eyrie did what we could t’help him grow. The King himself taught him griffish an’ presented him to the griffins. It was always going t’be Caedmon. Even Arenadd agreed with that.”

  “I remember he changed his mind,” Iorwerth said coldly. “Didn’t he?”

  “Caedmon was just a boy. Every boy rebels. He’s what we need, Iorwerth. Caedmon was meant to be King, an’ he will be. What would ye have instead? The half-breed, making Northerner fight Northerner? Don’t ye understan
d? Unless we act fast, this whole mess’ll carry on until the Kingdom is nothin’ but a bunch of warring factions. An’ then what’ll happen, Iorwerth? Do ye really think the South won’t notice—that they won’t come back lookin’ to take back what used t’be theirs? Do ye want to see us lose everythin’ we fought for, all because of that half-breed slut?”

  Iorwerth looked away. “This mess will be sorted out once ye an’ the rest of yer lot are dealt with.”

  Saeddryn laughed out loud. “As if ye believe that. The North doesn’t forget, Iorwerth. We have more supporters than ye think. Until the half-breed’s gone, an’ Caedmon has his throne, this will never be over. An’ Nerth will have died for nothin’.”

  Kaanee tossed his head. “I have had enough of this,” he rasped, and leapt straight at Saeddryn.

  She took a step sideways and disappeared.

  Kaanee skidded in the snow, and crashed headlong into one of the stones. He righted himself and darted around, talons snatching at empty air. “You cannot hide!” he screeched.

  Saeddryn’s laugh echoed in the air. “Oh, I can.”

  Iorwerth turned around, searching in vain. “Where are ye? What—?”

  “Here,” she said, just behind him.

  He turned sharply, and there she was. When he made a grab for her, she stepped into a shadow and disappeared.

  “So ye see now,” her voice said over the sound of Kaanee’s frustrated hissing. “The truth. The Night God has chosen me. The powers of the Shadow That Walks have passed on to me, and I have been given a sacred task of my own.”

  Iorwerth’s heart thudded. “What task . . . ?”

  “Kill the half-breeds,” Saeddryn hissed.

  Kaanee had subsided, his sides heaving. “What is this magic? Where has the human gone?”

  Saeddryn reappeared without a sound. “How can ye change what the Night God commands?” she said. “Would she have brought me back if she wanted the half-breed t’stay on Tara’s throne?” She pointed straight at Iorwerth’s face. “Choose, Iorwerth. Choose carefully. Choose wrong if ye don’t remember what happens to the enemies of the Shadow That Walks.”

  With that, she vanished again and did not reappear, leaving nothing but a low laugh behind.

  Saeddryn waited in the shadows until Iorwerth and Kaanee had gone. From where she stood, they were silver shadows, moving in total blackness.

  She emerged back into the circle and shook herself. The shadows made her feel even stronger than she had already become, but she knew better than to abuse the ability. It was tempting to stay in darkness all the time, but she had known her predecessor too well to give in to that.

  “I can’t die,” he had told her once. “But I only feel invincible when I’m in the shadows. But it makes me afraid as well. Afraid that if I stay too long, I won’t be able to find the way back.”

  Saeddryn remembered that warning well. She also remembered what she had witnessed in the early days, just before the war began. Arenadd had thought he had magic of his own—had thought that his powers truly belonged to him. He had been wrong. No human had magic, dead or alive. It was impossible. Only a griffin could channel it, contain it. Arenadd had had powers, but they had come to him through Skandar.

  Saeddryn guessed that she must be draining the giant griffin’s energy every time she went into the shadows, and even if he was no friend to her, she didn’t want to hurt him. He had done great things for Tara. And besides—if he died, what then? If Skandar died, she might lose her powers, or even die herself.

  She wondered where the dark griffin was now. Had he already returned to watch over his human’s remains? Or was he somewhere else? No way of knowing. She was on her own now, and the Night God would be her only friend.

  Saeddryn’s breath misted in the air. She touched her neck again, checking for a heartbeat. Nothing.

  Yet again, she fought down the fear that hid deep in her stomach. Oh, Night God help me, I’m dead.

  So far she had managed to keep her mind away from it. She knelt at the altar now and muttered a frantic prayer, concentrating all her thoughts on the Night God and her sacred duty. This was all that mattered.

  “I won’t be like Arenadd,” she promised. “I’ll be strong, I swear.”

  A strange feeling of unease began to prickle along her spine. Turning away abruptly, she walked out of the circle and down the mountainside.

  The further away from the circle she went, the better she felt, and she began to think of her mission again. She had paid her respects, and now it was time to go to her work.

  She leapt back into darkness and sped away over the snowbound landscape.

  High up on a ledge outside his cave, the Mighty Skandar had watched the entire scene play out at the stones, standing impassive and still like a part of the mountain itself. He didn’t see Saeddryn go into the shadows, but he flinched when he felt the magic flow out of him again. It came out through his skin, making it prickle and turn cold.

  This was something he had felt before many times, and he didn’t like it, but at least it was easier than before. He didn’t have to spew it from his beak any more like a scream; he had learnt how to control it so that less of it would escape. He had never talked to Arenadd about it because his mate Hyrenna had always told him that magic was something to talk to other griffins about, and never humans. Not even his own human.

  He had not felt his magic being taken in a long time, not since Arenadd had fallen and not stood up again. The one-eyed human was taking it now. Arenadd didn’t like her, and Skandar . . . Skandar didn’t care. She was just another human, like all the others, and only one human had ever mattered to him.

  Skandar huffed out a beakful of fog and went back into his cave. The familiar stench of decay burned in his nostrils, and he went back to stand over Arenadd’s body. It was damaged now, after the ugly little griffin had tried to steal it. Skandar hissed at the memory and pushed the body further into the cave with his beak, trying to make it look neater. The rotting limbs flopped about, seeming to move on their own, and Skandar stopped and peered down intently.

  No more movement.

  Skandar nudged the body again. “Human wake now?”

  Only silence replied.

  Skandar heaved a deep sigh and lay down on his belly. He had tried to use his magic again, to make Arenadd get up, but it hadn’t worked. No matter what he did, the black energy, that captive scream he remembered from long ago, had refused to come. It was gone, and could not be used again. But Arenadd had to wake up, so that they could go home.

  Home. The thought of it filled Skandar’s simple mind with images and senses, of his comfortable nest with the golden trough full of sweet water, the finest meat brought to him whenever he commanded it. Females, all the finest and strongest in his territory, coming to him chirping and lifting their tails eagerly.

  And Arenadd was there beside him every day, to brush his coat and make it glossy, to clean and polish his talons, or just to stay with him and talk when he wanted company.

  Skandar whimpered softly. He missed his home so badly it hurt, but he could never go back. Not without his human, who had been beside him so long as his friend and the key to his power. Without Arenadd, Skandar was not Mighty any more.

  “Wake!” he said again, almost forlornly. “Wake now! Human come back! Skandar . . .” His head sagged. “Skandar . . . need . . . human.”

  Lonely and bewildered, the griffin that had once been the Mighty Skandar slept.

  30

  Griffin Dreaming

  That night Skandar dreamed the white-griffin dream.

  She came to him as she had done long ago when he was young, her white feathers glowing with silvery light. Young and slender, very good to look at, until she turned her head and a black hole gaped in place of an eye.

  Skandar stood up when she came closer to him, but said nothing as she rubbed herself agai
nst him. Her tail-feathers flicked under his beak, and he rasped softly with lust.

  Mighty Skandar, her voice said. You are all alone.

  Skandar stalked her, his tail swishing briskly from side to side. “Want mate.”

  She ignored him. Skandar, why are you not at your human’s side?

  “Am with human,” Skandar snapped back. “Never leave until you come.”

  No. You are alone, Skandar. Alone in this cave.

  “With human,” said Skandar.

  You are lying beside a rotting corpse.

  “Human come back.”

  Arenadd is not the Shadow That Walks any more, said the white griffin. You know that.

  “Human always be shadow that walk,” Skandar said stoutly. “Always come back. Wait, and see.”

  There is a new shadow now, Skandar. You created her. Have you forgotten?

  “Not care.”

  You must care, said the white griffin. You have given the dark power to a new human, and now she is yours. You must go to her and be her partner. Help her to do what must be done.

  Skandar cocked his head. “What do?”

  Your new human must destroy the half-breed ones and take back Tara’s throne.

  “Not care,” Skandar said again.

  Do you not understand? said the white griffin. This is something that will be good for you.

  “Why want? Why good?”

  You long to go home, said the white griffin. You want your old power back. Join with Saeddryn, and she will give you back your home. You will not be an unpartnered griffin any more. You will be the Mighty Skandar!

  Skandar said nothing.

  And you will fight again, the white griffin continued. You were glorious in war. Now war has come again. You shall relive the greatest time of your life! Is that not what you want, Mighty Skandar?

  Her voice was purring, beguiling.

  “Want home,” Skandar said slowly. “Want fight.”

  Then you know what you must do. Go to Saeddryn. Fight beside her. She will be a good human for you.