The Shadow's Heir

by K J Taylor

  Arenadd looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I don’t care whether yeh want to or not, because you’re gonna talk about it now,” Laela said coldly. “The child. Yeh said it was still alive somewhere. What’d yeh do with it?”

  “Sent it away,” Arenadd muttered.

  “How? Who with?”

  Arenadd closed his eyes. “There was some man there . . . a Southerner . . . had a griffin. He burst in after I . . . after Flell was dead. Saw me by the cradle. I don’t know who he was. He pleaded with me not to kill the child. And I . . . I don’t know why . . . I listened to him. I didn’t know him, but . . . he stopped me. I gave him the child. Told him to take it away, far away, and never come back. I never saw him again.”

  Laela felt sick. “The man,” she said. “Yeh don’t know his name?”

  “No.”

  “What did he look like?”

  Arenadd’s eyes opened. “Big man. About your age. Had a beard.” He sighed and the eyes slid closed again. “Funny; I remember him so well . . . remember his voice, anyway. It was strange. He acted like he knew me. I remember how he called to me, and it felt like his voice . . . woke me up, somehow. ‘Don’t do it,’ he said.”

  At that, Laela lurched forward in her seat. She nearly vomited. Breathe, she told herself furiously. Breathe!

  She breathed deeply, and a strange giddiness came over her. “So yeh still think if yeh ever found the child, yeh’d kill it?”

  The eyes opened once again. They were as black and cold as the gemstone around Laela’s neck. “Yes.”

  There was no humour in Laela’s smile. “I saw somethin’, yeh know,” she said. “In the Sun Temple that day. An’ it was the same thing I saw once before, in a dream. The first time, I didn’t believe it was real. The second time, I didn’t believe it, either. But when I talked to Oeka about what happened, I started havin’ second thoughts. Turns out while I had that vision, there was somethin’ else goin’ on—somethin’ no-one else could explain. The priest who was there said the same thing. I’m a simple woman, Sire. I’ve always been that way. I ain’t no fancy thinker; I see it, I hear it, I touch it: It’s real. But after what happened, even somethin’ so fantastic, I don’t want to believe it is startin’ t’feel a lot like somethin’ real. Know what that is?”

  Arenadd was watching her with a confused expression. “What are you talking about, Laela?”

  “It’s Gryphus,” she said simply.

  He recoiled. “What? No, that’s not—”

  “—Possible?” said Laela. “Hah. You seem t’believe the Night God’s spoken to yeh. I’ve heard yeh callin’ her name plenty of times since yeh’ve been unconscious. An’ now I’ve seen Gryphus, twice, an’ he’s told me things I couldn’t possibly have known.” She looked at him, her blue eyes steady. “An’ one of them things is that I’m the child.”

  Arenadd stared, winced, and laughed. “No. That’s not possible.”

  “My foster dad’s name was Bran,” Laela said steadily. “Branton Redguard. He was a big man with a beard. He told me my mother was murdered. He said he caught the murderer standin’ over my cradle, an’ rescued me from him. An’ now, thanks to Gryphus, I know that murderer was you.”

  “No,” Arenadd said again. “Flell’s child wasn’t . . .”

  “Flell’s child had bright blue eyes,” said Laela. “Like her mother. Like her uncle. Like her grandfather, Lord Rannagon. Flell’s child came from the line of Baragher the Blessed. I couldn’t understand it,” she added, “when Gryphus came to me. He said I was blessed, called me his chosen one. He said I was the only one of my line left, the only one . . . with the power to stop you.” She looked up, terrible in the firelight. “The only one who could punish the Dark Lord for his crimes.”

  Arenadd listened. All of a sudden, he looked quite calm. “And what did you tell him, Laela?”

  “I said no,” said Laela. “I said I didn’t believe him. I said it was none of my business what you’d done. I said I didn’t know how t’fight yeh, an’ I didn’t want to do it anyway. Because you were my friend.”

  “Am I?” said Arenadd, very softly.

  Laela fixed him with a stare. “Are yeh?”

  Silence—deep, foreboding silence.

  “Yeh came into the Temple t’look for me,” said Laela. “Into the place where Gryphus was the strongest. Even though yeh had to have known what it would do to yeh. Just t’help me. But tell me, Arenadd—are yeh my friend? Now yeh know who I am, do yeh want t’kill me? Would yeh?”

  “No,” said Arenadd. He reached out to her, his hand trembling. “No,” he said again. “I would never hurt you. Never. Not even if the Night God herself told me to.”

  “But yeh killed my mother,” said Laela. “An’ my uncle, an’ my grandparents. My entire family, gone. All of them murdered, by you. An’ I know yeh loved every moment of it. I know yeh did. Don’t lie about that, Arenadd. Not now. Not t’me.”

  “Yes,” Arenadd whispered. “I did.”

  “It’s nighttime now,” Laela said in conversational tones. “No-one’s about. Some sailors on watch, but they’ll leave if I tell ’em to. If I tied yeh up an’ put some weights in yeh pockets, yeh’d go right t’the bottom of the sea. An’ no matter if it killed yeh or not, no-one’d have any chance of findin’ yeh. I’d consider that enough punishment for my mother’s sake.”

  “And are you going to do that, Laela?”

  “No,” said Laela. “I ain’t. No matter about my family; I’m part of the North now an’ the North needs yeh. The South needs yeh, too. If yeh weren’t there t’stop it, yer cousin’d invade the South in a heartbeat. So I’m takin’ yeh back there in one piece, an’ when we get there, I’m gonna go on workin’ for yeh. ’Cause if that’s what it takes t’keep my mother’s people safe, then I’ll do it no matter what.”

  Arenadd smiled. “I always knew you were a special person, Laela. Now you know it, too.”

  “Don’t think I’ve forgiven yeh, Arenadd,” Laela said sharply. “I ain’t ever gonna forgive yeh. I’m gonna stay your follower, an’ I’ll do my duties, but we ain’t friends no more, an’ next time yeh feel like pourin’ yer heart out, talk to Skandar or the wall or somethin’. Because I ain’t doin’ it for yeh ever again.” She stood up and bowed stiffly. “Get some rest now. I’m gonna go tell everyone yer feelin’ better.”

  Then she left, leaving Arenadd feeling more alone than he could ever have imagined.

  Even so, he looked at the door that had closed behind her, and his eyes still had some of their old sly glitter. His plan was working. She had become every bit as ruthless and manipulative as she would have to be. She had learnt far more from him than she could have realised, and one day it would be vital to her.

  “You’ve come into your own now, Laela,” he murmured. “I knew you would. You’re the Dark Lady through and through.”

  29

  Home

  Several more days passed, and the Seabreath followed the chain of islands back to Maijan. The further away from Amoran they sailed, the stronger Arenadd felt. His wound finally began to heal again—but at normal, mortal speed. It was enough.

  He slept and ate as much as he could, and those mortal nourishments helped him recover. He wondered if his powers would return when he set foot on Northern soil again.

  When the ship docked in Maijan, Vander came to see him for what they both knew would be the last time.

  The diplomat was plainly dressed and had his messenger dragon perched on his shoulder. He looked as calm and collected as always, but there was a hint of tension in his voice when he said, “How are you feeling this morning, Sire?”

  Arenadd could sit up in bed by now. He sipped some water and inclined his head politely toward him. “Much better thank you, my lord. How’s your journey been so far?”

  “I cannot complain,” said Vander.

  “And how’s Ymazu? I heard she laid her eggs.”

  “Yes indeed, Sire. Five of them—an unusu
ally large clutch. The Mighty Skandar is the father, of course.”

  Arenadd raised a sly eyebrow. “You’ll have to carry them. I hope you’re prepared for that.”

  “They are not the first clutch Ymazu has had, Sire,” Vander said stiffly. “We have carried eggs with us before.”

  “Of course. But it must have been difficult for you not to have a clutch of your own, so to speak.”

  “A diplomat’s life is often a lonely one, Sire,” said Vander. “I have been longing to settle down for many years now.”

  “Every man needs a place to call home,” said Arenadd. “And someone to share it with makes it feel like one.”

  “Yes.” Vander scratched the dragon’s ears, and finally smiled. “For what my advice is worth, Sire, I think you would do well to keep your Master of Wisdom close. You will not find a better advisor or a better friend if you live for a hundred years.”

  “I know.” Arenadd smiled, too. “She’s something very special.”

  Vander chuckled. “You are no ordinary man, either, Sire. You know,” he added unexpectedly, “I pride myself on my ability to judge a person’s nature, and my memory is superb. But even so, you still managed to surprise me, Sire.”

  “Oh, how?” said Arenadd.

  “When I saw you again, after so many years, I was astonished by how much you had changed,” said Vander. “I barely recognised the boy I met in Eagleholm once upon a time. But now I see I was wrong.” He smiled and smoothed his moustache. “Underneath, you are still the same mischief-maker you were then. Oh yes, I knew your reputation in Eagleholm. Every man in the city said you were very thoughtful and quiet; not the sort of man who would make trouble. You did your duty and never challenged authority, you were very gifted at talking to commoners. You were not a fighter, you were good with books and numbers.” He laughed softly. “But everybody knew how the mild-mannered Northern boy they looked down on was bedding Lord Rannagon’s daughter.”

  Arenadd froze.

  “It was a scandal, you know,” said Vander. “Few could understand why Lord Rannagon had not moved to put a stop to it. But the Lady Flell would tell anyone who asked that she loved you. Now that was a fine way to irritate the Eyrie Council!”

  “Yes,” Arenadd managed. “I . . . I suppose. Now, I’m tired . . .”

  “Of course, Sire,” said Vander. “Forgive an old man his reminiscences.” He bowed low, murmuring, “Farewell, Arren Cardockson.”

  Then he was gone, and Arenadd never saw him again.

  • • •

  Weeks passed after Vander left, and the Seabreath and its new companion—the former pirate ship Serene—sailed back toward Tara with all speed. Gradually, week by week, the heat grew less and less. And with every week, Arenadd felt better. After a month he was strong enough to walk again. Another week after that he was up on deck, talking to the griffiners and sailors and training Laela in the art of the sickle.

  But he spent most of his time with Skandar. The dark griffin had refused to live belowdecks any more, and instead slept in the open, by one of the masts. He’d made himself a nest there with straw and some stolen washing, and spent his time sleeping, eating, or idly flying overhead with the other griffins. He was more than happy to see Arenadd, though.

  If their time in Amoran had weakened Arenadd, it looked to have had the opposite effect on Skandar. When Arenadd saw him again after emerging from his cabin for the first time, the giant griffin practically shone with lazy good health. His coat was glossy and his eyes bright, and his sides were thick with solid muscle and more than a little fat. He’d spent their entire visit to Amoran doing nothing but eating, fighting, and mating, and it showed.

  Arenadd found he had almost nothing to say to him. Skandar, never talkative, seemed happy enough just to have him there, and the two sat silently together for long periods, neither speaking nor needing to speak.

  Arenadd would stare out over the sea, his expression serene. When Laela was near, he would watch her. He never tried to speak to her, and she pretended he wasn’t there.

  Once, in the evening while the sailors were in a cheerful mood and had decided to play some music, Laela and Oeka were up on deck and began to play together. Oeka, who’d grown a lot since leaving the North, nipped at her human’s hands and shoved at her—inviting her to play. Laela pushed back, and they wrestled and chased each other around the deck while the sailors laughed.

  Arenadd sat with his back resting against Skandar’s flank, and kept his eyes on Laela. She looked happier than he’d seen her in a long while. Her long hair fell around her face, black and glossy, and her angular features were alight with laughter.

  Gods, how could I not have seen it?

  It wasn’t the first time he had thought that.

  • • •

  The final weeks of their journey home passed peacefully enough, and Laela felt immensely relieved when she felt the air begin to grow steadily colder. Tara’s shore was thick with snow when it came in sight, and chunks of ice floated in the sea.

  “My first Northern winter,” she remarked to Oeka.

  The griffin sighed and wrapped her tail around her paws. “I hate snow.”

  Laela understood her almost perfectly by now, and only smiled.

  Skandar had already flown on ahead and landed on the beach, and he was waiting for his human when he disembarked. Arenadd put a hand on his shoulder. He’d taken to using a walking stick again, and he pointed it at Duach. “The Mighty Skandar and I are going back to Malvern, and Lady Laela and Oeka are coming with us. I want you to stay here and organise transport for our new citizens. Feed them well, get clothes for them. Keep them warm.”

  Some of the slaves had already come off their ship. Arenadd had personally removed their collars, and their hair had begun to grow back, but they still looked strange. They huddled together, staring blankly at this new land they found themselves in.

  “They ain’t so different from how I was, once,” Laela remarked to Arenadd.

  “They’re not so different from how I was, either,” said Arenadd.

  Laela smiled at him for the first time in months. “They’ll find a way t’live. They’re Northerners, after all, an’ if we survived, so can they.”

  Skandar nudged her heavily in the back. “Come,” he rumbled. “Come now. I carry.”

  Arenadd climbed onto his partner’s back, and helped Laela up behind him.

  Oeka watched resignedly. “I am nearly large enough to carry you.”

  Laela caught the hint of resentment, and smiled inwardly. “There’s no hurry.”

  Oeka rasped noncommittally, and took off a few moments after Skandar.

  • • •

  Skandar flew over the vast snowy reaches of his kingdom, his wings beating powerfully. Below, everything was white, darkened by trees and the occasional brown cluster of houses. To Laela, it looked like a country she’d never seen before—as strange to her now as Amoran had been.

  But it’s my country, she thought. I’ll make my home here again.

  She and Arenadd spent the rest of the journey back to Malvern close together—flying on Skandar’s back during the day, and sharing their quarters at night. But it was a joyless kind of closeness. They rarely spoke to each other unless it was necessary—Laela talked to Oeka, and Arenadd didn’t speak at all. He seemed less upset than preoccupied; Laela often caught him fixing her with a penetrating stare, as if he were looking for something. She pretended not to notice.

  And then, finally—Malvern.

  Skandar saw its walls approaching first. He opened his beak and sent out a ferocious screech, sending his own name ahead of him. A little while later, he screeched again, and again, as Malvern drew closer. By the time he reached it, the griffins circling over the towers had long since heard him. They began to gather, flying out to meet their lord.

  Skandar screeched again at the sight of them. It was a sound full of challenge, but none of the oncoming griffins answered it. They circled and flew behind him, riding
on his slipstream back toward the Eyrie. He’d been away a long time, but they still recognised him as their master.

  Skandar flew straight to the Council Tower and landed on its wide, flat top. The human inhabitants had had plenty of warning, and by the time his talons had touched stone, Saeddryn was already there, with Aenae, and Iorwerth and his partner Kaanee were with her. The other councillors were just arriving.

  Arenadd slid off Skandar’s back. He landed awkwardly and nearly fell, catching himself by grabbing his partner’s wing. Laela got down, too, and quickly handed him his walking stick. He took it and leant on it while Skandar went forward to meet his son and the other griffins there.

  Kaanee bent his forelegs and put his head down, displaying the vulnerable back of his neck to Skandar in a sign of submission. The other griffins did likewise, and Skandar acknowledged it with a quick huff through his beak.

  Aenae faced his father arrogantly, with his head held high. He was a head shorter than him, and not as powerfully built, but he was bigger than Kaanee.

  Skandar’s feathers puffed outward, making him look even larger. He opened his wings, holding them above his own head, and hissed.

  Incredibly, Aenae didn’t back down. He raised his own wings and hissed back, his tail twitching like an angry cat’s.

  Skandar’s hiss swung around into a snarl. He rose up and hit his son hard across the face, throwing him to the ground. Aenae landed on his belly and stayed there. Blood glistened on his feathers. Skandar stood over him, huffing his aggression.

  Very slowly, Aenae got up. He made no sound, and only bowed his head.

  Skandar rasped in satisfaction, and turned his back on his son with a dismissive flick of his tail. “Am home. Am master.”

  Arenadd laughed rather unpleasantly. “Getting ideas above your station isn’t a good idea when Skandar’s about. Now.” He limped toward Saeddryn, leaning on his stick. “Dear cousin, you look younger every day.”

  Saeddryn smiled and bowed to him. “Welcome home, Sire.”

  Iorwerth bowed, too. “It’s good to see ye home, Sire. We’ve already begun preparing a feast in yer honour.”