The Shadow's Heir

by K J Taylor

  “There’s another ship coming this way,” said the man—one of the sailors.

  She perked up at that. “Who is it?”

  “We’re not sure. They’re not close enough to tell. But we have to be ready, in case . . .”

  “In case they ain’t friends?” Laela hazarded.

  “Yes. Just in case.”

  “What, how likely is it that they’re wantin’ to attack us?” said Laela.

  “There are plenty of trading ships in these waters,” said the sailor. “Which means—”

  “—It’s probably one of them?”

  “Which means there are also pirates,” the sailor said grimly.

  “What in the gods’ names are they?”

  “Bandits. Thieves.”

  “Ah. Right.” Laela’s grip on his arm slackened. “I’d better go tell the King, then.”

  • • •

  Arenadd took some time to emerge from belowdecks, and when he did, it was obvious what had taken him so long. He walked slowly, pausing every few moments to look back. Skandar was following—limping slightly and hissing. Several times he tried to turn back, but Arenadd kept talking softly to him, and he gave in to his friend’s coaxing and stepped up onto the deck. There he opened his wings, put his head back and stretched luxuriously. Someone brought a bucket of water and a brush, and Arenadd set to work cleaning the griffin’s flanks. Skandar cooed, obviously enjoying it, and deigned to lift his paws one by one so Arenadd could scrape the muck out of his talons and clean and dress the sores.

  Laela, watching, found the scene so strange and weirdly amusing that she almost forgot about the oncoming ship.

  “Don’t yeh have people t’do that for yeh?” she asked eventually.

  Arenadd glanced up. “He won’t let anyone else touch him. I wouldn’t ask them to, anyway.”

  “Well, yeah, they might lose an arm or somethin’.”

  Arenadd picked up the sharp tool he used to scrape out the inside of Skandar’s talons. “I may be a King, but I’m a griffiner as well, and doing this sort of thing is part of my duties as Skandar’s human. Yes, what do you want?”

  The sailor who’d been trying to get his attention bowed hastily and spoke in Northern.

  Arenadd’s expression changed. “How close?” he asked, using Cymrian for Laela’s benefit.

  The reply came in the dark tongue—Laela understood a few words here and there, but had no idea what the man was saying. She gritted her teeth in frustration.

  Arenadd nodded curtly and went back to his work, speaking to Skandar now. After three months of daily tutoring, Laela was pleased to find that she could understand parts of this, at least.

  “. . . enemies . . . dangerous . . . fighting . . . many.”

  Skandar raised his head and stared out over the sea. His tail began to lash back and forth.

  Laela turned, and her face froze. “What?”

  The strange ship had come so much closer since she’d last seen it that it was as if it had appeared out of nowhere. Now she could see that it was at least as big as the Seabreath—and far more heavily manned. At least a hundred men were up on the decks—Amoranis, all of them.

  Many of them were carrying bows.

  “Pirates, Sire,” one of the griffiners said. “They have us outnumbered.”

  From the other ship, a thickset man brandishing a spear yelled out a sneering challenge in Amorani.

  “Fools,” said Lord Vander, appearing from somewhere as if by magic. “They have no idea that they are up against griffins. Sire—” He turned to Arenadd. “You need not concern yourself with these scum. If you wish, I will go at once and tell the griffins belowdecks. They will deal with them quickly enough.”

  Arenadd didn’t look at him. He kept his eyes on the oncoming pirate ship. There was a very strange look on his face. Not angry, not frightened, but strangely . . .

  Laela stepped closer to him. “What’s up, Arenadd?”

  The Dark Lord was pale, and his eyes were gleaming. He was breathing heavily and his fists clenched. He let out a long, slow sigh. “Oh . . .”

  Laela nudged him. “Sire? Arenadd?”

  The ship was very close by now—so close Laela could see the intent expressions on the bandits’ faces.

  Fear put a tight band around her chest. She moved closer to Oeka and tried to look calm. Strangely, her mind—addled by the heat and now by apprehension—threw up a memory that seemed to have nothing to do with the situation. She was a child back in the village, listening to the miller’s sons singing a taunting song at their sister. Pretty maid, dressed in yellow, went upstairs to kiss a fellow. By mistake she kissed a snake—

  Laela glanced at Arenadd, in time to see a horrible grin spread over his face.

  “Sire?” Vander was still hovering nearby, looking slightly anxious.

  “Those fools,” Arenadd breathed. “They have no idea.”

  “Not yet,” Vander said grimly. “Ymazu and I—”

  “No.” Arenadd held up a hand. “Stop. Stop!”

  The people around him, who had been hurrying to organise the defence, stopped in their tracks.

  Arenadd’s hand went to his belt and freed his sickle. “There’s no need for you to risk your lives here. Leave this to us.”

  The griffiners glanced at each other. “But, Sire,” said one of the younger ones, “there’s no need for—”

  Arenadd drew himself up to his full, impressive height. “Quiet, Arawn.” He gripped the sickle. “I may have been a King for twenty years, but underneath I am still Kraeai kran ae.” He looked at the pirates again. “And I think it’s time I reminded myself of that.”

  Laela gaped at him. “Yeh ain’t gonna—”

  Arenadd laid a hand on her arm. “Sorry, Laela,” he said. “But today you’re going to see a different side of me. Skandar!”

  Skandar, who had been lying on his belly, stood up and limped toward his human. The ship actually leaned to one side under his weight, and several people quickly ran to the opposite side to try to balance it.

  Over on the deck of the pirate ship, the crew stopped their jeering. Laela saw their faces slacken with dismay as they saw the giant griffin.

  Arenadd went to the railings and held his arms out, his hair blowing in the wind. “You fools!” he roared. “You think you can stand against me? You dare to challenge the Dark Lord? Look on your deaths and shudder!” and he laughed like a madman.

  Behind him, Skandar spread his wings and screeched.

  The pirates had already realised their mistake. They dropped their weapons and scattered, desperately trying to turn their ship around. Laela saw them tug on ropes to adjust the sails, shouting at each other in panic.

  A handful of them were more collected. They leapt onto the railings, balancing there with incredible ease, and aimed their bows.

  The captain of the Seabreath shouted a warning, and everyone, including Laela, dropped flat.

  Everyone except for Arenadd and Skandar.

  Laela heard Arenadd grunt as an arrow buried itself in his hip. As she stood up, he yanked it out and hurled it into the sea with a contemptuous laugh. Skandar hadn’t been hit at all, and Laela suddenly realised that the arrow had been aimed at the giant griffin’s chest.

  Arenadd had put himself in the way.

  That was the final straw for Skandar. He stumbled forward and launched himself clumsily into the air. For a moment, it looked as if he were going to go after the pirate ship alone, but once he had gathered momentum he came swooping back and scooped Arenadd up in his talons. Laela stood up and watched, open-mouthed, as the giant griffin flew straight for the fleeing bandits. He paused to deposit Arenadd on the deck, and then landed himself.

  Arenadd had already attacked.

  On the Seabreath, sailors and griffiners alike ran to the railings to watch, expressions of disbelief slowly spreading over their faces.

  For Laela, it was beyond imagining

  Skandar rushed over the decks like a massive wave, all
claws and talons and enormous beak. Men fell in front of him like blades of grass. Most of the time, the dark griffin didn’t even bother to kill them—he simply knocked them over and then crushed them under his paws as he charged on, straight at the wheel and the man holding it. The man in question made a run for it the instant he saw Skandar coming, but there was nowhere near enough room to dodge, and for his size, the griffin was astonishingly fast. He caught up with the fleeing Amorani and his beak snapped shut around the man’s chest.

  Laela heard the sound of breaking bones from all the way over on the deck of the Seabreath.

  But Skandar didn’t have the fight all to himself. Arenadd was at the other end of the ship, apparently oblivious to his partner’s slaughter. A gang of pirates had rushed him, obviously hoping to overwhelm him by sheer weight of numbers. For a moment Arenadd disappeared among the press of bodies, and Laela feared the worst.

  Then she saw the pirates begin to fall. Arenadd appeared, standing on a dead man’s chest, his sickle scattering drops of blood as he flicked it expertly at another man’s throat. He fought with unbelievable speed, but methodically, like a man who was immune to excitement or fear. He took several blows but didn’t react to them at all.

  The ship, listing crazily as Skandar unbalanced it, drifted closer to the Seabreath, and Laela could hear the screams.

  Then, as quickly as it had begun, the fight was over. The surviving pirates dropped their weapons and fell to their knees, holding up their hands in surrender.

  Laela relaxed. “My gods,” she said. “He’s done it. He’s . . .”

  Her voice faded away. Arenadd stepped off the dead man and walked slowly toward the cowering pirates. Skandar, bloodied but apparently unhurt, came to join him. Arenadd spoke to him, pointing at his prisoners. Skandar rasped back.

  Arenadd nodded, and with a quick, graceful blow, slashed a man’s throat from ear to ear.

  “No!”

  Laela’s shout was drowned out by the screams and yells.

  The defenceless Amoranis were trying in vain to escape, screaming what had to be pleas for mercy. Arenadd chased them and cut them down one by one, pausing occasionally to torment one with the point of his sickle before finally slitting his throat.

  Laela realised that he was laughing.

  Skandar joined in the sadistic game, lolloping after the victims like an oversized kitten chasing butterflies.

  When it was over, and not one single man was left alive on deck, Arenadd went into the cabin and then belowdecks. Left to his own devices, Skandar settled down and began to eat the corpses—tearing at them as if they were no different than the goats and sheep Laela had seen him dismember back at Malvern.

  Afterward, when Arenadd returned to the Seabreath, Laela didn’t recognise him at all. His hair was matted with blood, and more blood had stained his bare torso. It dripped from his sickle onto the deck. And from his fingers.

  But it wasn’t the blood she noticed. It wasn’t the blood that made him unrecognisable.

  His eyes, normally so cold and calm, were burning. The impassive face was locked into a fierce and terrible smile. He looked alive in a way that he never had before. But he didn’t look like a man any more, either.

  Laela backed away from him, her inner voice locked into an endless nonsensical loop. By mistake she kissed a snake, by mistake she kissed a snake . . .

  Arenadd didn’t seem to notice her. “The ship’s ours,” he said to Lord Vander, quite casually. “Mostly intact, too, along with its supplies. They’ve got a lot of valuable loot in the hold. Consider it a gift for the Emperor from me.”

  Vander’s expression was guarded. “Thank you, Sire. We had better send men over to clear away the bodies and attach the ship to ours.”

  “Of course.” Arenadd nodded. “Now I’m going to go and clean myself up.” He walked off.

  Laela couldn’t help it—she went over to the other ship once the sailors had pulled it closer with ropes and made a makeshift walkway between the two vessels.

  Once there, she walked around the deck as if in a dream.

  In many places, it was slippery with blood.

  Belowdecks, she saw far worse. There had been other people down there—wounded men and others unable to fight. Some of them looked as if they had been prisoners of the pirates.

  Arenadd had killed them all.

  Laela’s numbed mind managed to note that no-one around her looked particularly bothered. Only some of the younger men showed signs of unease. The older ones—the ones she knew must be veterans of the war—acted as if nothing unusual had happened.

  They must have seen this kind of thing before.

  Laela couldn’t bear to see any more, and went back up onto the deck, where Oeka was idly grooming.

  The green-eyed griffin gave her the keen look she had come to know so well. “You are pale. Did you see things you did not like?”

  Laela strained to understand her. “Everyone . . . is . . . killed . . .” She gave up, and reverted to Cymrian. “Everyone down there’s dead. Even the people locked up in the little prison thing. He killed ’em all.”

  Oeka flicked her tail in displeasure. “I have told you to use griffish when you speak to me.”

  Laela ignored her. She noticed the cabin—its door hanging open as Arenadd had left it. Nobody had gone in there yet.

  She knew it was a bad idea, but once again she couldn’t help herself. She walked toward it, bracing herself for what she might find inside.

  The inside of the cabin wasn’t that much different from her own quarters back on the Seabreath. Somehow, that made the sight of it so much worse. She took in the furniture and the decorations—all made in unfamiliar styles that she knew must be Amorani. They were strange, but beautiful.

  She wondered what colour the rug had been, before it had been dyed with blood.

  There were two bodies there, one lying near the door and the other slumped over the table. Both of them had had their throats cut.

  They died quickly, Laela thought distantly. He killed them quickly. He didn’t . . .

  Her inner voice died away as she saw the lumpy object by the fireplace, covered in blood.

  There was more blood nearby, leaking out of what looked like a wooden cage.

  Laela never knew why she looked closer, or where she found the will, but she looked.

  She never looked more closely at the thing by the fireplace. Not once she had seen the wisp of hair and the tiny ear showing through the blood.

  She left the body of the child and investigated the cradle.

  The baby inside had been cut almost in half.

  • • •

  When Laela returned to her cabin she found Arenadd there. He had cleaned the blood off himself and put on fresh clothes, and was sitting by the empty fireplace and peacefully reading a book.

  “Hullo!” he said, in cheerful tones. “Have you looked at the treasure yet? If you see anything you like, feel free to take it—I’ve told them you’re allowed to.”

  Whatever she’d meant to say fell out of her brain when she saw him, looking so normal and happy. “I . . . ain’t looked yet.”

  “Well, go ahead if you want to.” He paused. “Something you want to talk about?”

  Laela found her voice again. “Why did yeh kill the baby?” she said. “An’ the child?”

  Arenadd looked blank. “What?”

  “I went on the ship,” said Laela. “I saw it.” Her face twisted with anguish. “I know they was gonna attack us an’ that, an’ it was amazin’ how yeh killed all them bandits, but . . . why did yeh have t’kill the rest, too? The prisoners down in the hold? The children? Why did yeh have t’kill the children? The baby? They weren’t no harm.”

  Arenadd’s face fell. “You shouldn’t have gone on that ship.”

  “Well, I did,” said Laela, her voice cracking. “An’ I saw what yeh did. I saw it all. I saw the dead baby. Why did yeh do it? Why?”

  He put down the book. “Laela, you don’t unders
tand—”

  “Yeah, I do.” Laela felt fear twist inside her and become anger. “I understand just fine.” She took a step closer to him. “I never understood before, but now I do. This is why they call yeh the Dark Lord. This is why they’re afraid of yeh. This is why they say yeh ain’t got no heart. It’s because of this. Yeh did things like this in the war.”

  “Yes,” Arenadd said quietly. “I did things exactly like this in the war.”

  “But why?” said Laela. “Why the baby? Why kill a baby, an’ a child? Why kill people who didn’t have no weapons, people who wanted . . .”

  Arenadd sighed. “Oh, gods. I knew I should have kept you away from this. Laela . . .”

  “What? Tell me. Tell me why.”

  “Your foster father,” said Arenadd.

  “What?” Laela started. “What about him?”

  “You told me he drank himself to death, yes?”

  “Yeah, I did. So what?”

  “He couldn’t stay away from it,” said Arenadd. “He knew it was hurting him, but he kept on drinking.”

  Painful memories came back to her. “Yeah . . . he knew it. I told him, too. I begged him t’stop. But he never could stop.”

  Arenadd nodded. “He couldn’t live without it. Couldn’t live without that feeling that drink gave him. And I . . .” He sighed. “I’m the same as him. I kill, Laela. I love to kill. It gives me a feeling . . . I can’t describe it. When I fight, a madness takes hold of me, and then all I can do is kill. Kill as many people as I can, it doesn’t matter who. I didn’t even know I killed a baby. I swear.”

  Laela couldn’t think of anything to say.

  Arenadd closed his eyes and sighed. “Gods, it’s been such a long time since I’ve had a reason to fight. You can’t imagine how wonderful it felt to do it again.”

  There was a long silence, while Laela stood and looked at him. Arenadd looked back, with a hint of uncertainty.

  “I thought I knew yeh,” Laela said at last. “But I don’t, do I?”

  “I am what the Night God made me,” said Arenadd.

  “Yer a monster,” said Laela.

  He stared at his broken fingers. “I know.”

  • • •

  Laela couldn’t eat anything for the rest of that day even though the sailors had brought over enough new supplies for an impromptu feast. She managed to get her hands on the carcass of one of the live goats that had been on board, and gave the choicest part to Oeka. Once the griffin was satisfied, Laela spent the evening skulking in the shadows, avoiding Arenadd and drinking spiced Amorani wine.