The Shadow's Heir

by K J Taylor

  Laela grabbed a cloak and put it on over her night-gown. “It’s fine, Sire,” she babbled. “I can always . . . What’s up?”

  “I wanted to talk to you,” the King mumbled. He was swaying slightly.

  “What about?” said Laela.

  Arenadd gestured at the hearth, where a fire was still burning. “We can . . . can sit down if you want.”

  Laela took a chair and watched in alarm as he staggered over and half-collapsed into a second one.

  “What’s goin’ on, Sire?”

  Arenadd waved a hand, a little wildly. “Oh, it’s nothing . . . nothing, just wanted someone to talk to, really.”

  “Well . . . all right, Sire. Talk about whatever yeh like.”

  He looked unsteadily at her. “D’you know, it was my birthday not long ago.”

  Laela stifled a yawn. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” He sighed. “Forty years old. I look good for my age, don’t I?”

  “I didn’t know it was yeh birthday, Sire,” said Laela.

  “Almost no-one does,” said Arenadd. “I don’t celebrate it any more. Why bother? I died . . . a long time ago. You don’t celebrate a dead man’s birthday.”

  Laela watched him sadly. “Everyone should celebrate his birthday, Sire.”

  Arenadd slumped in his chair. “I’d only celebrate mine if I had someone to celebrate it with. If she were here . . . maybe. Skandar cares, but he’s a griffin, and griffins don’t care about birthdays. She would have . . .” He shivered. “She cared about me. She always did.”

  “Did she?” said Laela, wondering who he was talking about. One of his mistresses, perhaps?

  Arenadd nodded. “Always. You see, I never realised until it was too late. I didn’t see that she was the only one who cared about me. Skandar cares about me because I’m his human, and I give him what he wants. But she . . . she . . . loved me.”

  “She did?” said Laela. She was being polite, but inside she was deeply curious, and surprised as well.

  Another nod. “Oh, she did. She loved me so much, and I loved her. I could talk to her about anything. She would have cared that it was my birthday. Nobody else does, you know. Not Saeddryn, that’s for sure. She hates me.”

  “Who loved yeh, Sire?” said Laela. “What was her name?”

  His gaze was distant. “Skade,” he said softly. “My sweet Skade. Oh, gods, how I wish she was here . . .”

  Laela had already caught the stench of wine on his breath. “Where is she, Sire?”

  To her surprise, his response was to jerk out of his chair. “You want . . . want to see her, do you?”

  “Sure,” said Laela, still playing along.

  “Well.” He dragged himself out of his chair. “Well, come with me, then. I’ll show you.”

  Laela stood, too. “All right, Sire.”

  Bleary-eyed, barefoot, and not a little frightened, she followed him out of the room, and then on a long journey through the Eyrie. Arenadd walked a few paces ahead, weaving slightly but apparently confident about where he was going.

  Where he was going, Laela quickly saw, was down.

  They followed the corridor that lined the tower, down and down, only pausing once when Arenadd stopped to rest. But he quickly recovered and went on until they had passed all the parts of the tower Laela had seen. She kept close to her companion, though not too close, sometimes wondering if she should try and support him or suggest that he stop.

  Finally, they reached a point where the passageway became dark and cold, and a door opened onto a narrow flight of stone stairs. Arenadd started down them without hesitation, clutching a torch taken from the wall.

  Laela followed, but reluctantly. She had already realised they were going underground.

  The staircase was horribly cramped, and she began to feel the first hints of irrational panic before they had gone very far. But it ended soon enough, and as she hesitated at the bottom, Arenadd went ahead into the room it led to and lit the torches.

  When the place had been lit up, Laela saw a large, stone space with a low ceiling. The air was still and smelt of earth.

  Ahead, two large, stone blocks had been placed side by side, the gap between them just large enough for someone to walk through. Arenadd had already gone to the nearest of them and was standing over it, unmoving.

  Moving as quietly as she could, Laela went to stand by him, and her heart fluttered when she realised what she was seeing.

  It was a tomb.

  The stone block—actually a hollow box intended to hold a body—had a lid decorated with a highly detailed, life-sized statue of a woman lying on her back. The woman wore a long gown, and her hair flowed over her shoulders. She had sharp, hard features, and her mouth was set into a stern line. Laela thought she looked strange and unfriendly.

  Arenadd, shoulders hunched and heaving slightly, caressed the cold stone face. “This is Skade.”

  Laela looked at the face again. The eyes were open but without pupils, and stared blankly at the ceiling.

  “Who was she, Sire?” she ventured.

  Arenadd lurched suddenly, and almost collapsed over the tomb. “She was . . . someone very special,” he mumbled. “She was a . . . she was the most beautiful woman I ever met. The most wonderful.”

  Laela blinked. “She looks fierce.”

  He laughed softly. “She was. Fiercer than Saeddryn. Fierce as a griffin. Gods, how I loved her.”

  Those simple few words had an incredible effect on Laela. For a moment she felt faint. She looked at the Dark Lord, his eyes now fixed on the statue’s face, and felt as if her heart had swelled inside her.

  Arenadd didn’t seem to notice her any more. “She was the only one who knew me. The only one I could talk to. She knew all my secrets. She had my heart, Skade did. My poor, dead heart. Such a worthless thing, but she wanted it, she did, and she protected it . . .” He looked at her suddenly. “You see, I always knew that when I drove the Southerners out, I would rule Malvern. My followers would demand it, and the Night God had promised it. I wanted that.” He breathed in shakily. “I wanted the power. And I always planned that when I was King, I would make her my Queen. Only she could rule with me. And on the last day, when we came here, she and I, and Skandar . . . I told her. And she said she would. We could have been so happy, I know we would have, I . . . I could have loved being King, with her there beside me.”

  Without even realising what she was doing, Laela moved closer to him. “Who was she, Sire?”

  “Sire!” He spat the word. “Don’t mock me, Laela.”

  Laela started in fright. “I wasn’t mockin’ yeh, Sire, I was only askin’—”

  He was breathing strangely. “I have a name. Arenadd. That’s my name. So call me that. Let me be a man, not a King.”

  Laela had backed away, but now she dared move closer. “Arenadd?”

  He calmed down. “That’s better.”

  “Who was she, then, Arenadd? This woman yeh loved.”

  Arenadd looked at the tomb again, and shuddered. “Who was she? Just a woman I loved. I’ve had lovers since she died, but I never loved any of them. There was only ever one woman for me. Just her, just Skade. And my lovers all died. My touch killed them. It took longer for some of them, but in the end . . . it was me, you see. My curse. I am the Master of Death. All I know how to do is kill. I can never create.”

  “Yeh made a Kingdom,” said Laela.

  “Oh yes.” He snorted. “My precious Kingdom. All I do day in and day out is care for it. It gives me a reason to . . . live.”

  “At least yeh got a reason,” said Laela, trying to sound upbeat. “Plenty of people ain’t.”

  He didn’t seem to be listening. “I killed Aled a few days ago, like I said I would.”

  Laela shivered. “Yeh did?”

  Arenadd nodded. “I sacrificed him on the night of the Blood Moon. Gods, I forgot how much I missed killing. You know—d’you know . . .” He had begun to sway. “D’you know . . . when you . . . when it’s t
he Blood Moon, when the sacrifice is made, it summons the Night God. It did last time, before the war. That was when she told me who I really was.”

  Laela gaped. “It what?”

  “Summons the Night God.” Arenadd nodded unsteadily. “The blood brings her. I’d been . . . been planning for it a long time. I wanted to ask her things, and I knew when the Blood Moon came, I could do it. When she came, she told me . . . told me . . .”

  “What did she tell yeh, S—Arenadd?”

  Arenadd rubbed his eyes. “She told me she wants me to invade the South.”

  Laela bit her lip. “She wants . . .”

  “Invade the South,” Arenadd repeated. “She . . . she’s my master. She always knows what I should do. And Saeddryn wants me to do it, too. It’s not enough to take back the North. If we attack while they’re in disarray, take advantage of it, we could take the whole of Cymria for ourselves. For the Night God. My power—and Skandar’s—could do it.”

  Laela felt sick. Images flooded her mind, images of Northern warriors in Sturrick, burning the houses and slaughtering everyone in the village. She thought of the Dark Lord’s armies, carrying destruction into all the city-states until there wasn’t a single Southerner left in the country. And she thought of the Dark Lord himself, riding Skandar into battle—the dark griffin unleashing his magic and visiting death on anyone in his way.

  “Yeh can’t do it!” she burst out, unable to stop herself. “The people—all them ordinary people—in the country, just tryin’ to keep their farms goin’—what’d happen to ’em? An’ everyone else, too . . .”

  Arenadd grimaced. “Yes. But . . . sweet shadows, to fight again . . . I haven’t gone into battle in such a long time, and gods I miss it. I haven’t felt so alive since then.”

  “But yeh’ve got yeh Kingdom here, ain’t yeh?” said Laela. “Ain’t it enough?”

  “It’s not as simple as that,” said Arenadd. “Laela, the Night God is my master. I must do what she tells me. If I don’t, she could do terrible things to me. You don’t know how powerful she is. She has my soul. She owns me. Without her, I wouldn’t exist. How can I disobey her?”

  “I . . . I dunno,” Laela stammered.

  “And besides . . .” Arenadd turned back to look at the tomb. “I know what happens when I hesitate. When I falter. If I had killed the Bastard’s sister as the Night God told me to, instead of holding back, then Skade would still be alive. She killed her, you see.”

  “Who?” said Laela.

  “I was ordered to kill her,” said Arenadd. “The Night God told me that there were three people I must kill. One was the Bastard—Erian Rannagonson. I killed him in the Sun Temple, the poor fool. After that, I had to kill his sister as well . . . Flell, her name was. But when I found her, she was trying to defend her child from me—a child I was also ordered to kill. I didn’t want to do it. I hesitated. Skade attacked her instead, and she killed her. Killed her in the same room you’re staying in now.” He looked up. “But that was my punishment, you see. The price I paid. If I hadn’t held back, if I’d only obeyed the Night God, then Skade would be here with me now.”

  The sick feeling in Laela’s stomach increased. “What’ll happen if yeh don’t invade the South?”

  Arenadd looked her in the eye. “The Night God will take away my powers,” he said.

  “Do yeh need them, though?” said Laela. “If yer only runnin’ a Kingdom . . .”

  He gave a hollow laugh. “I need them. And my Kingdom needs them.”

  “Then . . . are yeh gonna do it?” Laela asked in defeated tones.

  Arenadd looked away. “I met with the council today and Saeddryn petitioned me to invade. So did Iorwerth. The entire damn Kingdom wants me to do it.”

  “What did yeh tell ’em?” said Laela.

  He looked at her again. “I told them no.”

  Laela stopped. “‘No’?”

  “I refused the petition,” said Arenadd. “The gods alone know why. Maybe I’ve turned into a coward over the years, but going to war again . . .” He shook his head. “I can’t do it. I won’t do it. It isn’t what the Kingdom needs. It isn’t what I need. Truth be told, I’d rather try and engage in trade negotiations with the South. Not that I’ve got the spine to say that in front of the council.”

  Laela hid a grin. “Yeh ain’t gonna do it, then.”

  “No.” Arenadd touched the statue again. “Ah, what would Skade say if she were here? She’d say I’d lost my nerve.”

  “No, she wouldn’t,” said Laela.

  “Oh, she would have,” said Arenadd. “She always chose fighting, Skade did.” He smiled wistfully.

  “She’d be proud of yeh,” said Laela.

  Arenadd gave her a look that was almost pitiful. “Would she?”

  “Yeah,” said Laela.

  He became serious. “Listen, Laela. An ambassador from Amoran is coming here soon. I haven’t told anyone yet, but he’s coming here to talk to me about my going to Amoran to speak with the Emperor himself.”

  “Yer goin’ to Amoran?” said Laela. “Ye gods, isn’t that over the sea?”

  “Yes. Skandar and I will both be going. Do you want to come with us?”

  Laela stared at him. “What? Go to Amoran?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Why?” Laela said at last.

  He smiled that crooked, joyless smile. “I’ll be a long way from home. I wouldn’t mind having a friend with me.”

  Laela backed away from him. “We ain’t friends.”

  He started as if she had slapped him, and then his eyes narrowed. “But we could be. D’you . . .” He lurched and grabbed onto the tomb to support himself. “Don’t you know why I saved you? Why I looked after you? Why I like spending time with you?”

  She wanted to run away. “Why?”

  He grinned manically. “You remind me of myself. That’s why. And the more time I spend with you, the more I feel it.”

  Laela snapped. “I ain’t like you. I ain’t nothing like you.”

  He turned his back on her. “Hah. Who’d want to be like me, anyway? Of course you don’t. Go, Laela. Just go. Leave me.”

  Laela stared at him a moment longer and stumbled away.

  10

  A Price

  Back in her room, Laela slumped onto the bed. She couldn’t stop herself from shuddering.

  He was drunk, she told herself. He was talkin’ nonsense. I ain’t like him. And I ain’t goin’ to Amoran with him, either.

  The dream came back to her, and she shivered again. Gods, but it had felt so real. And what if it was real?

  No. The idea was ridiculous. Why would Gryphus want to talk to her, anyway?

  An’ even if it was real, it’s still ridiculous, she thought. Me, kill the Dark Lord? How’d I even do it?

  And she didn’t want to do it, either. She was afraid of him, true—horribly afraid. But she couldn’t bring herself to hate him. He was too . . . sad to hate. Deep down, she had long since realised that the man she was living with wasn’t the warrior of darkness people saw him as. Not any more. He was past his prime: weak and indecisive, full of regrets he was obviously trying to drown in wine—and failing. She couldn’t hate a man like that, and killing him felt like little more than cowardice.

  Assuming it was even possible.

  As she lay there, thinking it over, she remembered something Gryphus had said to her.

  But you did pray to me once. A prayer offered up in terror and despair, but a true prayer nonetheless . . . You prayed to me for protection . . . and help came.

  A slow smile spread over her face. “Yeah,” she said aloud. “I prayed to yeh for help, an’ help came. But not from you.”

  • • •

  After Laela had fled, Arenadd staggered back to his private chambers. He felt sick and dizzy, and once or twice he nearly fell over, but he made it back and locked himself up in his room, where he sank into his chair and poured himself another cup of wine.<
br />
  It made him feel a little better.

  He sat forward, resting his forehead on his hand.

  Why would she want to go to Amoran with him, anyway? There was no reason for her to want to. And there was certainly no reason for her to want to be his friend.

  He picked up his cup and wandered into Skandar’s nest. It was empty, and he clambered over the nesting material and out onto the balcony.

  Alone, he looked up into the sky and saw the half-moon glowing among the clouds.

  “Damn you,” he growled. “Damn you. I served you, and you betrayed me. You took Skade. You sent me back. All I wanted was for you to let me die, but you sent me back. Sent me back here, trapped me in this hideous body again. You betrayed me.”

  He hurled the cup away with all his strength, at the sky—at the moon.

  “You betrayed me!” he screamed. “Damn you, let me die!”

  There was no reply, but he clenched his fists and continued to shout, hurling his curses at the moon with all his strength until something in him snapped, and he simply screamed.

  The scream went on for a long time, a primal sound, full of agony and hatred.

  Afterward, the silence seemed deafening.

  Arenadd fell to his knees, as if his exhaustion were forcing him to abase himself before his mistress once again.

  “Damn . . . you,” he gasped. “I won’t do it. I won’t. I don’t care what I told you. I won’t invade the South. I won’t kill any more. I don’t care what you do to me.”

  He fell silent, panting as he calmed down.

  Then, without any warning, a slow and horrible grin appeared on his face.

  “I’ll have my revenge on you,” he said softly. “Oh yes, I’ll make you pay. I can do it, and now I know how.”

  The grin widened, and madness gleamed in his eyes as it all unfolded in his mind—as if it had been there all along, just waiting to show itself.

  “Yes,” he hissed to himself. “Oh yes. Yeeesss . . .”

  And he laughed.

  “Oh I know what to do now. I know how . . . oh yes. She’s the key.”

  He stood up and dusted himself down in a dignified fashion before returning inside.