by K J Taylor
“Torc swears he had nothing to do with it, and I believe him,” said Arenadd. “As for who else could have done it . . . or ordered someone else to do it . . .” His eyes narrowed. “I do know that someone didn’t want him to talk. It could well have been himself. If he’s part of some kind of resistance group, then he wouldn’t want to betray his friends.”
The prisoner slumped against the wall, blood dripping from his mouth, and let out a pitiful moan.
Laela shuddered at the sound of it. “Can’t yeh do anythin’ for the poor bastard?”
“Yes, I can.” Arenadd strode over to the bench and pressed the tip of his sickle into the underside of the man’s chin, forcing him to raise his head. The prisoner, unable to spit out the blood from his mouth with his head tilted back, gagged and began to cough, his useless hands dabbing at his throat.
“Arenadd, put him down!” Laela shouted. “He’s suffocatin’—”
Arenadd ignored her. He leant forward and whispered something in the prisoner’s ear. Then the sickle flashed, just once.
Laela stared in disbelief, as the prisoner’s body crumpled to the floor. “Yeh just killed him! Why . . . ?”
Arenadd wiped the sickle clean on his robe, without even glancing at the body. “Well, that was an utter waste of time. But at least I finally showed the bastard what happens to people who stand against me.”
“But . . . yeh just killed him,” said Laela. “Just like that! Shouldn’t he at least’ve had a trial?”
Arenadd actually looked surprised. “A trial? What for?”
“Well, because . . . everyone should have a trial?” Laela said, rather lamely.
Arenadd put the sickle back into his belt. “All Northerners are entitled to a trial here,” he corrected.
“But shouldn’t everybody get one?” said Laela.
“I don’t give Southerners fair trials, Laela,” said Arenadd. “I kill them. That’s what I was made to do.” He saw her look, and added, “They didn’t give me a trial, you know. When I was a prisoner here. They tortured me for information, and then sentenced me to death.”
Laela shivered. “How did yeh get away?”
“Simple,” said Arenadd. “I waited until after they hanged me.” He grinned wolfishly. “I’ll never forget the looks on their faces.”
19
To Amoran
The day after the assassin’s death, King Arenadd left Malvern. He took an escort of several griffiners with him—most of them underlings of Lord Iorwerth, who had been left behind to help Saeddryn run the Kingdom. After the war, most of Arenadd’s best warriors and commanders had been chosen by griffins after he had given them important positions and awarded them with wealth stolen from dead or exiled Southerners. They were the new nobility of the North, and Arenadd had chosen the strongest and most loyal of them to go to Amoran with him.
As the newly appointed Master of Wisdom, Laela would naturally be expected to go as well. Nobody had questioned that, but she was convinced she had seen more than a few people cast dark looks at each other when she appeared at the King’s side that morning.
Skandar was there, too, of course, up on the flat top of the Council Tower. Arenadd had persuaded him to wear a harness for once—a magnificent thing decorated with rubies that gleamed in the early sun.
Oeka, too small to wear the silver leg-bands due to the griffin whose human was Master of Wisdom, stood by Laela’s side and watched while her fellows prepared to leave—harshly reminding their humans how to lean and balance in the air, or standing patiently while their harnesses were adjusted.
Laela glanced at Oeka. Next to the rest, her own partner looked much smaller. But there was a solid, determined look to her as well, Laela thought. She didn’t look like a griffin who would back down easily. Laela grimaced and touched the bandage on her arm—she didn’t need to wonder about that.
Over near Arenadd, Lord Vander placed a hand on his partner’s neck and easily slid up onto her back. Ymazu shifted, re-balancing herself to compensate for his weight, and then settled down, blinking serenely.
Arenadd was on Skandar’s back a moment later, despite the giant griffin’s irritable clicking. Laela glanced around and saw the other griffiners mounting up. She cast an uncertain look at Oeka—nobody had told her how she was going to keep up. She’d assumed they’d be travelling by cart or horseback, but how was she supposed to fly . . . ?
“Hey.”
Laela turned and saw Arenadd reaching down toward her from Skandar’s back. “Are you coming, or what?” He grinned.
Laela stared. “What, am I supposed to—”
“Hurry up, take my hand,” said Arenadd. “Everyone’s waiting.”
He grasped her hand and pulled her up onto Skandar’s back. Embarrassed and more than a little nervous, she sat down behind Arenadd.
“Put your arms around my waist and don’t let go,” he advised.
“But—”
“Don’t let go,” said Arenadd. “We’ve got a long way to go today, and I don’t want to watch them scrape you off the ground. Do you feel secure back there?”
Laela had put her arms around the King’s bony body. “I think so.”
“Good,” said Arenadd. “Now hold oooooon . . . !” The last word turned into a whoop of excitement, as an impatient Skandar charged away over the stonework like a runaway horse. Other griffins scattered out of his way.
Laela bounced up and down with every thud of the griffin’s paws and talons, holding on to Arenadd for dear life. She thought she was going to be sick.
Then Skandar reached the edge of the tower, and hurled himself into the air.
Laela felt as if her stomach had dropped through her spine. She clutched at Arenadd’s robe, anchoring her fingers in the rough cloth, but the panicked thought went through her mind that he wouldn’t be able to hold on with her pulling at him, and she nearly let go in a moment of stupidity. Luckily, Skandar levelled out a moment later, and she thumped back into place on his back.
Riding the griffin was frightening, cold, and noisy, but she got used to it fairly quickly, and once she felt a little safer, she risked a look back and saw the other griffins taking to the air after their master. She couldn’t see Oeka anywhere, but a moment later the small griffin drew level with Skandar. She came close enough to make sure Laela was safe, and then fell back to ride on the dark griffin’s slipstream.
Laela could hardly believe what had happened. She was riding the Mighty Skandar, and in front of half the King’s court. And Skandar had let her get on his back! Arenadd must have persuaded him, but she knew the haughty griffin would have needed a lot of persuading.
It didn’t take her long to feel embarrassed as well as proud—Skandar was enormous, but there wasn’t that much room on his shoulders, and she had to sit pressed up against Arenadd’s back, with very little room to move. Being this close to him made her feel as if she was intruding on him in some way. And despite his thick robe she could feel how painfully thin he was underneath it, and that didn’t do much to make her feel better.
Well, he invited me to sit here, so he doesn’t mind, she told herself.
She still felt embarrassed.
They were in the air for a long time, and making conversation was more or less impossible. Laela occupied herself with looking at the view and watching the other griffins when they came into view, but holding on took more effort than she’d expected. It was tiring, too.
They had been flying long enough for her to start worrying that she was going to fall off, when Skandar abruptly came down to land. He touched down in a large open field, and did it with enough of a thump that Laela fell off him, hitting the ground in a painful and humiliating heap.
A moment later, Arenadd had appeared and was hauling her to her feet. “Are you all right?”
Laela rubbed her numb legs. “Legs’ve gone t’sleep.”
“Yes, that happens on long flights. Walk around a bit; that should wake them up again.”
She looked around
at the field, where the other griffins were landing, too. “Where is this?”
Arenadd stretched. “Somewhere in Lady Hafwyn’s lands, if I’m any judge.”
“The Governor of Warwick,” Laela recalled. “Why have we landed here? This just looks like farmland t’me.”
“So the griffins can rest, of course,” said Arenadd. Behind him, Skandar had lain down and was idly grooming his wings. “They’re not built to fly long distances, especially with a load on their back. We’ll set out again when they’re ready.”
At that moment, Oeka landed lightly on the grass beside her human. She nudged Laela’s hand roughly, and chirped. Laela rubbed the griffin’s head with her knuckles. Oeka pushed back briefly and then looked away, observing the other griffins.
“How long’ll it take us to get to the coast?” Laela asked.
“Hm? Oh, not long. A day or so at most. We’ll stop at Warwick tonight. So, are you excited about seeing the sea?”
Laela nodded and grinned. “It’s the part I’m lookin’ forward to the most.”
“There’s Amoran still to come,” Arenadd pointed out.
“Yeah, I’ve decided to get excited about that once I’m done with the sea,” said Laela. “If that’s all right.”
Arenadd chuckled. “Planning your own levels of excitement ahead of time—now that’s good organisation.”
• • •
They spent most of the rest of the day like that—flying, resting, and then flying again, following the River Snow. That evening, they reached Warwick, a big, walled city built by the river and surrounded by thick, fortified walls—a relic of wars older than the one that had made him King, Arenadd said. At Warwick they were greeted by Lady Hafwyn—an old, silver-haired griffiner who Arenadd said was a veteran of the Dark Wars and one of the first to join his cause.
“Technically, I joined her cause,” he added over dinner. “Hafwyn was one of the rebels who survived the uprising led by Saeddryn’s mother, Arddryn senior, and hid in the mountains with her. They’d been there for years, waiting for their opportunity to fight again.”
“An’ then you came along,” Laela supplemented.
Arenadd nodded. “Skandar and I, and Skade. Fugitives from Southern justice. We were hoping to hide in the mountains, and we found someone had already done it.”
Laela looked up, immediately interested. “What had yeh done, that you were runnin’ away from?”
Arenadd picked up his cup. “I committed murder,” he said, quite calmly.
She faltered at that. “Why . . . ? I mean, who was it?”
“Man called Lord Rannagon Raegonson,” said Arenadd, still casual. “He was one of the leaders who put down Arddryn’s rebellion.” He paused. “He was the first man I ever killed. I slit his throat with a broken sword.”
Laela withdrew from him very slightly while he spoke. It’s too easy, she thought grimly. She watched him as he ate, pausing briefly to exchange a few words with the man on his other side. So normal. Too easy, to forget what he is. What he’s done. He acts . . . he doesn’t act like a murderer.
Laela paused at that. How’s a murderer supposed to act, anyway? her inner voice wondered.
“So, yeh found Arddryn in the mountains,” she prompted.
Arenadd turned his attention back to her. “Yes, and she told me she’d been waiting for me. Another Taranisäii—her younger brother’s grandson, come back out of the South to find her. Or so she thought.”
Laela had heard of the famous Arddryn Taranisäii by now, from various people back in Malvern. “What was she like?”
“Very old,” said Arenadd. “But she was as tough as her daughter. She had a missing eye, and a horrible scar across her face. Courtesy of Lord Rannagon’s sword,” he added. “Of course, the fact that I had killed him made the rebels like me very, very much. Isn’t that right, Hafwyn?”
“Eh?” the elderly Northerner looked up from her food.
“I was just telling my young apprentice here how pleased you and your friends were when you found out what I did to Lord Rannagon,” said Arenadd, raising his voice.
Hafwyn grinned, showing numerous missing teeth. “So we were!” she said. “None of us’d forgotten that old bastard. How could we, seein’ what he did to Arddryn’s face every day?”
Several others there had been listening, and now one of them raised his cup. “To Lord Rannagon!” he said. “May he stay dead forever!”
The other diners cheered raucously, many yelling what sounded like curses in Northern.
Arenadd raised his cup, too. “To Lord Rannagon,” he repeated, and drank. “And to his son, and to his daughter,” he added in an undertone.
Laela had heard him. “So Arddryn wanted—”
“She expected me to take her place and start a new rebellion, with Saeddryn at my side. I was reluctant at first, but . . . well, those mountains—at Taranis’ Throne—that was where I first saw the Night God, and she told me what my purpose was. That was when I knew what I had to do.”
“And Arddryn?”
“She died,” said Arenadd. “Not long after I came. She thought . . . well, that’s a story for another time. Her partner is still alive, though. She lives in the Hatchery and teaches the youngsters griffish lore. Remind me to introduce you to her when we get back.”
They ate in silence for a while.
“Arenadd?”
“Yes?”
“Yeh said somethin’ about Lord Rannagon havin’ a son an’ a daughter,” said Laela.
“Yes, what of it?”
“You killed their father,” said Laela. “Didn’t they . . . wait a moment, wasn’t . . . ?”
“Yes, one of them came after me,” said Arenadd. “His bastard son, Erian. He wanted revenge, and he came all the way to Malvern, looking for it.”
“An’ you killed him.”
“Yes. His sister, too.”
“His entire family,” Laela muttered. “Sweet gods.”
Arenadd sighed. “Not his entire family, actually. Not quite. The Night God wanted it, but . . .”
Laela finally recalled the rest of what he had said that awful night. “Flell had a child. Yeh didn’t kill it.”
“No, and the Night God never forgave me for it,” said Arenadd. He looked her in the face, his expression serious. “He’ll be back one day, you know.”
“Who?”
“The child. He’s out there, somewhere. He’ll be a man by now. Sometimes, I wonder what he looks like and whether he has his uncle’s bright blue eyes.” Arenadd’s own eyes narrowed. “He must know what I did to his family. What I am. And one day, he’ll come looking for me. Just like his uncle; some young fool with a sword, looking for glory.”
“An’ what will yeh do if that happens?” said Laela.
“Kill him, of course,” said Arenadd.
She grimaced. “That’s not very—”
“As long as he stays away from me, I’m happy to leave him alone,” said Arenadd. “I won’t look for him. But if he comes to me . . .”
“He won’t,” said Laela, hoping like mad that she was right.
• • •
The King and his escort left Warwick at dawn the next day, and after the second day of travelling, Laela had settled into the routine of it.
One thing she grew to enjoy was watching Oeka. The green-eyed griffin was the smallest in their party, but she had enough self-confidence for two adults, and Laela loved the way she strutted around the other griffins, sometimes provoking one with a nip to the tail and then easily dodging the angry response. The only griffin she never dared annoy was Skandar—but that was more than understandable. Arenadd had told her that the giant griffin had killed more than one of his fellows for annoying him one time too many.
Most of the time, though, Oeka preferred to stay with Laela. During the journey, Arenadd continued teaching her griffish whenever they landed to rest, and it was in this time that Laela began her first, clumsy conversations with her new partner.
O
eka listened to her human’s attempts at griffish with amusement bordering on disinterest, and was kind enough to offer some feedback.
“‘Your griffish is terrible,’” Arenadd translated.
“Tell her I said I’m workin’ on it,” said Laela.
Oeka only ruffled her feathers and huffed by way of an answer.
Finally, after another day of travelling, the sea came in sight.
By that afternoon, they were standing on the shore. They had landed at a small Eyrie built by the sea, where a port housed the ship that would take them eastward.
That evening, Arenadd and Laela went down onto the rocky beach together and watched the moon rise over the water.
Laela thought she’d never seen anything so magical in her life.
Arenadd said nothing, and seemed content to let her take it in while he kept his eyes on the moon, apparently busy with his own thoughts.
The griffins had stayed at the Eyrie to rest after a long day’s flight, and the King and his companion were alone.
Eventually, when the moon was high and yellow in the sky, Laela sat down on a rock. Arenadd sat beside her, hugging his knees. “So,” he said. “Is it how you imagined it would be?”
It was almost an effort to reply. “No,” said Laela. “It ain’t.” She held a hand out, gesturing at the sea with her long fingers. “Who’s got the imagination to come up with somethin’ like that?”
“Someone, somewhere,” said Arenadd. “The gods, presumably.”
“Well, of course,” said Laela.
Arenadd reached upward, tracing the outline of the moon with his finger-tip. “The Night God is the mistress of the sea. They say sometimes she lives deep inside it, where the sun can never reach, and the night lasts forever.”
“It goes that deep?” said Laela, shivering.
“So they say. She controls the sea, my master does. When her eye is fully open and her power is strongest, the sea comes higher up the land, trying to reach her. They say that’s why the sea moves that way, when lakes and rivers don’t—its spirit can see the moon in the sky and reaches toward it, wanting to have its beauty and its light.”
Laela looked at him. “Is that true?”