by K J Taylor
Elkin looked back silently at him, and the moment stretched out into eternity. Erian didn’t try to break the silence. He had said everything he needed to say, and now he waited.
Then Elkin turned away. She walked to the window and stood there, looking out, with her back to him.
“I’ve spoken to Senneck,” she said at last. “We have a description of the men who killed Kerod.”
“Elkin—”
“I haven’t sent anyone out there yet,” Elkin continued, her voice flat and distant. “But I’m certain the people living in Eitheinn know something. Even if the killers aren’t living there, the Eitheinnians have to know they’re in the area. I’ve spoken to the Master of Law, and we agreed to wait a while. They must know that we know about them by now, and they’ll have gone into hiding. I’m going to send some griffiners to the stone circle to search, and they’ll ask some questions at Eitheinn. After that they’ll leave. Once the darkmen have decided they’re safe again, they’ll go back and search the whole village. We should learn something that way, and if we’re lucky we’ll make some arrests as well. I’ll catch them, my lord, and they’ll be brought back here to be questioned. After that they’ll be hanged, and Kerod will be avenged.”
Erian felt as if every word were a dagger in his heart. “I see.”
Elkin turned back to face him. “You should get some rest now,” she said. “I’ll make sure the healers keep me informed.”
Erian sighed. “Yes. Thank you—my lady.”
Elkin hesitated, and then came closer to his bed. She leant down, so close he could smell the faint flowery scent that hung about her, and touched his arm. “My brave warrior,” she breathed, and left the room.
Erian lay very still for a long time after she had gone, feeling the deep ache in his shoulder. The wound would leave him scarred, he knew. Deformed.
He turned his face to the wall and began to sob. The tears hurt, and went on for a long time.
Elkin returned to her own chambers. She locked the door behind her before entering her bedchamber. It was a big room; the Master or Mistress’ quarters had always been large, and when she had moved into them they had been expanded even further for Kraal’s sake. The giant griffin couldn’t go into many parts of the Eyrie, which didn’t seem to worry him much, but Elkin didn’t like being separated from him for too long and preferred to stay in the upper levels, where he could be with her.
She sat down on the bed and buried her face in her hands. So many things to do, so much to plan and organise, officials to meet and documents to write—she felt exhausted at the very thought. She had already missed far too much by spending all that time in the infirmary with Erian, talking to Senneck. Elkin had made the griffin tell her story several times, knowing she would bring up more detail every time, and that had meant being forced to be in the infirmary with her for long periods of time, since the griffin refused to leave it.
Elkin looked up at her sword hanging on the wall. It was an elegant thing, its hilt decorated with embossed vines. She had inherited it from her father but had never used it, mostly because it was too heavy for her to lift. The Eyrie’s swordsmith had offered to make her a smaller one, but she had refused. Fighting wasn’t for her.
A thump came from the next room, and she got up and walked through the doorway. It led to Kraal’s enormous stable. The griffin was there now, crouched among the straw and grooming his wings, and he looked up when she entered. Even though she made very little noise when she walked, he always seemed to know when she was there. He clicked his beak briefly in greeting and went back to his grooming.
Elkin moved closer to him. “Hello. Do you want some food?”
He flicked his tail briefly to indicate no, and dipped his beak into the trough.
“Lord Erian woke up,” said Elkin. “The healer says he should recover.”
Kraal lifted his head, water dripping from his beak. “You spoke to him.”
“Yes. He confirmed what Senneck told me.”
Kraal shook his head, spraying water over the straw. “I see.”
“Kraal.” Elkin moved closer and touched his feathers. “Kraal, why are you so interested in him?”
The griffin cocked his head in order to fix a huge golden eye on her. “Do you not like him?” he asked mildly.
Elkin faltered. “He’s—well, he’s a good man—brave, maybe not very clever, but—yes, I like him. But why are you interested in him, Kraal? You keep on talking about him—why?”
Kraal sighed and lay down on his belly, curling his tail around himself. “You must protect him, Elkin, and keep him close.”
“He certainly needs protecting,” said Elkin. “The first time he left the Eyrie he lost a good griffiner and nearly died along with him. But why does it matter so much?”
“Do not be complacent,” said Kraal. “There is more to that boy than there seems. The time will come when we shall all be grateful that he is here among us.”
Elkin started. “What? Why?”
The griffin closed his eyes, and for a moment his massive frame looked smaller. “Because Kraeai kran ae is coming,” he breathed.
The morning after the capture of Guard’s Post, the surviving slaves gathered on the road outside the gates and burned the dead. They had gathered all the firewood they could find inside the fort and laid each body on its own crude pyre soaked with oil and packed with coal.
Arenadd and Caedmon lit the fires, and the slaves stood in a solemn crowd and watched the bodies burn, while Caedmon recited the ritual words.
“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 gods receive the souls of Cardock Skandarson, Annan Caenborn, Nolan Nolan-son . . .”
He spoke the names of every single one of the dead men, while the fires burned higher and the others bowed their heads and murmured their own farewells. Skandar circled high above, uneasy around fire and impatient to be off.
When Caedmon had finished he looked at Arenadd. “Do ye want to say something, sir?”
Arenadd looked at the dozens of expectant faces. “They were good men,” he said eventually. “They were my friends. They were all our friends.”
Some of the others took their turns, speaking of lost friends and family, while the fires burned lower and eventually burned themselves out. A cold wind gusted up the road and carried the ashes away and up over the mountainside.
Arenadd took a clay pot from his robe and hurried over to Cardock’s pyre, where he scooped up some of the ashes that were left and then sealed the pot and stowed it away in his robe.
“You’re coming with me, Dad,” he muttered. “Just like I promised.”
When he straightened up he found the others all watching him. They had all shed their slave robes and were wearing an odd assortment of clothing stolen from the guards. Most of it didn’t fit, and more than a few of the former slaves looked faintly ridiculous, but there was a new pride about the way they carried themselves. Nearly all of them carried a sword or some other weapon. They had taken horses and a handful of small carts from the fort and were carrying food and spare clothing; all of them looked ready to leave.
Arenadd coughed. “It’s time for us to go,” he said, his voice sounding rather thin in the open air.
Skandar, seeing the fires had died out, came down to land close to his human. “Go,” he rasped. “Go now.”
“Yes, yes.” Arenadd waved at Skade to join him, and then turned to Caedmon. “I suppose this is goodbye,” he said. “To you and everyone. We’ll get through the mountains before you do, so—”
“Where are ye plannin’ to go?” asked Caedmon.
Arenadd shrugged. “We’ll find a place.”
Caedmon came closer. “I know where ye should be goin’,” he said. “Here, come to me. I don’t want that griffin too close.”
Arenadd obeyed. “What is it?”
Caedmon frowned and glanced over his shoulde
r before he spoke. “Eitheinn,” he said in an undertone. “Go to Eitheinn. It’s the furthest north of all the villages—tiny place. We hid there once durin’ the war, an’ if any one of our lot got away they’ll be there now.”
“Eitheinn,” Arenadd repeated. “How do I find it?”
“Follow the River Snow,” said Caedmon. “It’ll get ye there. Even if Eitheinn’s no good, go into the mountains beyond it. You’ll find a stone circle. Only one left standing, far as I know. Taranis’ Throne.”
“It really exists?”
“Yes, and it’ll protect ye. It’s a sacred place.”
Arenadd nodded. “I understand. If you think Eitheinn is where I should go, then I’ll find it.”
“Go then, an’ good luck,” said Caedmon.
“Thank you. Caedmon, where are you going to go?”
Caedmon shrugged. “I’ll find something. I’m takin’ Torc with me. We’ll find a place to settle down. Somewhere quiet. I’m sure no-one’ll ask too many questions of an old man an’ his grandson who’ve lost their home.”
“But what about the scars on your neck? Won’t people ask questions?”
“Listen, lad,” said Caedmon, with a touch of his old impatience, “we’re all darkmen in the North, and darkmen protect each other. If a man makes it clear he’s got no interest in lookin’ for trouble, then he’ll be left alone nine times out of ten.”
Arenadd grinned. “Understood.” He backed away toward Skandar and, raising his voice so that every one of the former slaves could hear him, said, “Never talk about what happened here, but never forget. I hope you can find a way to survive, and that you find better lives for yourselves. And I hope that one day we’ll meet again.” He bowed and turned toward Skandar, preparing to get onto his back.
“Wait!” A man came running toward him. Instantly Skandar reared up, hissing.
“Stay back!” Arenadd yelled.
The man backed away hastily, until Skandar relaxed. “Let me come with you,” he said.
“And us!” Prydwen added, pushing forward.
The three Northerners stood together in a little group, arms folded, watching him resolutely.
“Let us come with ye, sir,” said Prydwen.
“I’m sorry,” said Arenadd, “but you can’t.”
“Please, sir!” said Dafydd. “We want to follow ye!”
“After all ye did for me, I’d go with ye no matter what,” Garnoc added. “It’d be an honour, sir.”
“I told you, no,” said Arenadd. “I’d be happy to have you with me, but we can’t do it. Six people travelling together would draw far too much attention; just travelling with Skandar is bad enough.”
“But we can protect ye, sir,” said Prydwen.
Arenadd laughed. “Be careful, Prydwen, I think you just insulted Skandar.”
“Sorry,” said Prydwen, casting a quick glance at the griffin. “But sir, ye’re goin’ into Lady Elkin’s lands. There’s hundreds of griffiners living there, and if they knew ye was there they’d never stop chasing ye. An’ if they catch ye . . .” He shuddered.
“Ye set us free, sir,” said Dafydd. “I . . .” He hesitated. “I saw someone die the traitor’s death once. If that happened to ye, sir ...”
Arenadd shook his head. “I understand. But don’t worry about me. I’ve got Skandar to protect me, and Skade as well. With just the two of us, we can fly most of the way. No-one will ever see us. And if I’m caught—well, I foiled the griffiners once, didn’t I? I can do it again.” It was empty bravado, but the three Northerners looked convinced.
“I trust ye, sir,” Prydwen said reluctantly. “If ye could do everythin’ people say ye did back at Eagleholm, then those sons of bitches at Malvern would be the ones in trouble if they ever caught ye.”
Skade cackled. “Do not worry, Prydwen. My Arenadd can look after himself. And if not, then Skandar and I shall do it for him.”
Skandar had looked increasingly bored and irritable during the conversation, and now he abruptly limped forward and thumped Arenadd on the head with his beak, nearly knocking him over. Arenadd yelped and staggered sideways as the three Northerners hurriedly backed off.
Arenadd turned to Skandar, rubbing his head. “Ow! You didn’t have to do that.”
But Skandar had had enough. He made a sudden rush forward, and his outstretched talons snapped shut around Arenadd’s body, pinning his arms to his sides before the griffin leapt into the sky, carrying his human with him.
Torc screamed. “Oh my gods, he’s going to eat him!”
Prydwen snatched up a rock and hurled it, but Skandar was already well out of range, flying up and away northward with Arenadd dangling from his talons.
Skade ran after him, shouting. “Come back! Skandar!”
For a moment it looked as if Skandar was going to keep on flying, but then he leant on one wing and wheeled back before he tipped head-downward and made a spectacular dive. Skade stood as still as she could, and the dark griffin swooped straight toward her and snatched her from the ground before his trajectory carried him upward. He flew low over the Northerners’ heads and back into the sky.
Almost completely immobilised by the talons wrapped around her body, Skade tried to catch her breath. Skandar’s silver feathers fluttered over her head as he turned northward once again and resumed his journey.
Dangling beside her, Arenadd spat out the hair that had been blown into his mouth and grinned madly at her. “Now, this is the only way to travel!” he yelled.
“Are you hurt?” Skade yelled back.
“No! Are you?”
Skade shook her head.
“I don’t think he’ll hurt you!” Arenadd shouted. “He seems to like you! Thank gods he decided to bring you as well! I thought I was going to lose you again!”
The wind made further conversation close to impossible, and the two of them hung limply side by side and let Skandar carry them away. Arenadd kept his eyes screwed shut, but Skade watched him.
You won’t lose me, she thought. Not again. You’re mine. And I’m yours.
29
Homecoming
Deep down, Arenadd had never been as confident about his bid to find shelter in the North as he had acted. From the beginning he had thought of it as little more than a last-ditch effort, something he was doing simply because there were no other realistic options. Going north would be difficult and dangerous, and the odds were that before he was even close to finding a place to lie low he would be spotted and then inexorably hunted down. But hiding anywhere else would be even more dangerous and impossible, and so he had settled on the North as the least hopeless out of a range of even worse decisions.
But within days of crossing over the border into the land called Tara, he knew that he had made the best choice he could have.
Skandar, for all his naïvety and ignorance of human ways, was already well versed in travelling inconspicuously. He followed the river as much as he could, taking large detours to avoid even the slightest hint of human habitation, sometimes choosing to fly at night to make more progress. They camped in the thickest patches of forest they could find, sometimes forced to lie low in small patches of cover to snatch some sleep before they moved on to find a safer location.
Skandar still persisted in taking livestock to feed himself, and there was very little Arenadd could do to make him stop, but he occasionally brought some meat back for his human cargo and insisted that “human not see” whenever Arenadd questioned him.
Arenadd and Skade rarely saw any humans, and when they did it was almost always from a great distance. Once they saw a griffin fly overhead, early one evening, but they tucked themselves away in a patch of willow trees and waited there until long after it had vanished.
That was their closest brush with danger, and the more they travelled the more Arenadd began to feel that they were in a land that could provide everything they needed.
The North was very different country than the Southern lands they had left behind; here the
spice-trees were smaller and paler, interspersed with pine and fir. They began to see deer—animals that Arenadd had never seen before. And sometimes, at night, they heard the distant howling of wolves.
The last leg of their journey passed far more easily and uneventfully than they had expected, and the further north they went the easier it became. They had passed over and around towns and villages, but then there were only villages. The villages became smaller and the distances between them longer, until Skandar was following nothing but a small and winding road that ran alongside the River Snow. Ahead, mountains rose out of the landscape, and Arenadd knew they had made it.
They found a village tucked away at the very edge of the mountains just as Caedmon had said it would be, and went to ground well outside its edge to rest and consider their next move.
Arenadd sat down with his back to a tree and rubbed his numb legs. “I suppose this is it. We’ve done it.”
“What do now?” said Skandar. “Where go? Mountain?”
Arenadd shook his head. “Not yet. We need to find out if this is Eitheinn and if there are any of Caedmon’s friends still living here.”
“How?” said Skade.
“I’ve been thinking about this for the last few days—I think I should go in there in the morning and talk to someone, see what I can find out.”
“Is that wise?” said Skade.
“Relax,” Arenadd advised. “We’re miles away from the nearest town; there’s no griffiners here and no guards, either. I wouldn’t be surprised if these people don’t even know about Eagleholm, and if they do, why in the world would they guess who I am? I’ll just look like another Northerner, won’t I?” He sat back and grinned. “The North was the right place to come, Skade. The best place. I could have gone into any of those towns we passed and no-one would have looked twice at me. Come to think of it, you’re the one who’ll stick out here.”
“I would stand out anywhere,” Skade said acidly. “How many Southerners have my hair or eyes?”