by K J Taylor
It wasn’t that bad.
The nest was surprisingly comfortable, and Laela quickly felt her tiredness take hold. As she started to drift off, she felt Oeka snuggle against her.
She smiled to herself and went to sleep.
• • •
The Amorani diplomat arrived two days after his message, his griffin coming in to land at the top of the Council Tower. Arenadd gave him the rest of the day and that night to rest, so they didn’t actually meet until the following morning.
Arenadd put on his best robe and the crown he usually avoided wearing, and met his guest in the audience chamber that had once belonged to Lady Elkin. It still had its old white marble floor, but the walls were covered by richly woven tapestries. Dozens of beautifully made, straight-bladed Southern swords hung there, too—trophies from the war.
Arenadd had managed to persuade Skandar to be there, and the giant griffin grudgingly stepped up onto the marble platform intended just for him. Arenadd sat on a cushion between his partner’s talons and waited.
Lord Vander came into the chamber, with only his griffin beside him. He was a short, middle-aged man with a thin grey moustache, and most of his body was covered by an enormous cloak covered in feathers that had probably come from his griffin. She was small, as Amorani griffins generally were, and had dark brown feathers with a patch of scarlet on the throat. Her legs and beak were yellow, and she wore an elaborate headdress.
Arenadd stood to receive them but said nothing and stayed where he was while Skandar stepped down off the platform. The ambassador stepped aside, and waited while his partner went to meet her own host.
If anything, the dark brown griffin looked even smaller next to the hulking Skandar, but she moved with a grace and confidence that impressed Arenadd. She bowed her head until her beak nearly touched her talons and waited submissively while Skandar walked around her, sniffing her up and down and nudging her none-too-gently with his beak. This would have been enough to provoke most griffins, but this one held still until Skandar moved away. When he was at a respectable distance, she raised her head—not too high, Arenadd noted—and spoke rapidly. She was using the faster, more basic version of griffish, which most humans were too slow to understand.
Skandar was also too slow. He waited until she had finished, and grated back.
This time, Arenadd understood perfectly, and he smiled to himself.
“I am Ymazu,” the ambassador griffin said at last.
“Am Skandar.” He turned to look at Arenadd. “This one not fight,” he said, and lumbered back to the platform. “Will mate with her later, maybe,” he added, and settled down to groom his wings.
The griffish formalities over with, Arenadd finally stepped forward to meet his human guest. “Welcome,” he said. “I’m honoured to have you in my Kingdom, Lord Vander.”
Lord Vander folded his hands together and bowed his head. “The honour is mine, Sire.”
Arenadd raised an eyebrow. “You speak Northern. I’m impressed.”
Vander smiled. “As an ambassador, I am expected to know the languages of the places I visit.” He spoke the dark tongue very well though with a pleasantly rounded accent.
Arenadd extended his good hand. “As one griffiner to another, my lord.”
Vander hooked his fingers with Arenadd’s, and tugged briefly in the traditional griffiner gesture of greeting. “I see that your fingers are in better condition than I expected, Sire.”
Arenadd held up his maimed hand. “Not these ones, I’m afraid.”
“Ah.” Vander inspected it briefly. “Yes. So that story of you is true.”
“Story?” Arenadd couldn’t help but be intrigued. He gestured at the seat by the platform as he spoke.
“Yes,” said Vander, taking it while Ymazu settled down beside him. “In my homeland, they call you the King with the Broken Fingers. It is said that you snapped the bones with your teeth to prove to the chiefs of your people that you did not feel pain.”
Arenadd rubbed the fingers in question. “I wouldn’t dream of ruining such a great story by saying anything about that. So tell me, my lord—I’m curious—where did you learn my language?”
“From one of your people, Sire,” said Vander. “You may know that there are black-haired men in Amoran who do not have our skin.”
“Yes,” Arenadd said gravely. “I know that. I’m surprised you were prepared to learn from a slave.”
Vander ran a delicate finger along his thin moustache. “How else could I have learned their language, Sire?”
“Most people think they’re above even talking to slaves, my lord.”
Vander touched his neck. “I am not, Sire.”
“And neither am I.” Arenadd leaned forward. “My lord, I’m sure you’re aware that my main condition for making this alliance with Amoran—apart from promises of military support—is that I want those slaves to be returned to their homeland.”
“I do know that, Sire,” said Vander. “And I expected it before I knew. After all, the freeing of slaves is something that you have become famous for.”
Arenadd touched the collar scars on his neck. “We all need to be set free, in one way or another. Now, is the Emperor willing to accept that condition?”
“I think so,” said Vander, slowly and deliberately. “If the conditions are agreeable, Sire.”
“And what conditions would those be?”
“Conditions,” said Vander.
Arenadd resisted the urge to drum his fingers. “Be more specific. What does he want? Lower trade taxes? Money?”
Vander paused. “Tell me, Sire—are you still planning to come to Amoran?”
“If all goes well with our negotiations,” said Arenadd. “A courtesy visit to the Emperor would be expected of me.”
“The Emperor would like to see you, Sire,” said Vander.
“Is that so?” Arenadd scratched his beard. “Did he say why?”
“Between us, I suspect it is partly curiosity,” said Vander. “All of us in Amoran have heard your story; many would be astonished to see you in person.”
“But there’s another reason, isn’t there?”
Vander shifted. “There is,” he admitted at last.
“Tell me, then.”
“I have forged many alliances between my country and others,” said Vander. “And with such a major treaty, it is expected for the ruler that suggested it to make a gesture more meaningful than a few agreements and proclamations.”
“A gift, perhaps?” said Arenadd, not liking the diplomat’s indirect manner.
“A gift,” Vander nodded.
“I’m sure I can find something,” said Arenadd. “Is there anything in particular he wants?”
“Griffin eggs.”
Arenadd paused at that. “Griffin eggs?”
Vander stroked his partner’s shoulder. She chirped in response and nibbled at his ear. “Our griffins in Amoran are strong and cunning, but smaller than those in Cymria,” said the diplomat. “This request comes not from the Emperor himself, but from—”
“But from the griffin who chose him,” Ymazu interrupted. “Wise Zaerih.” She flicked the crest that decorated the back of her head. “Those in Cymria have never stayed in Amoran, but we believe that a mingling of blood would benefit us all. If a nestful of hatchlings from your Eyrie were to come to us, we would be most glad.”
Arenadd shook his head. “This isn’t a question for me to answer. Skandar?”
Skandar blinked and raised his head. “What say?”
Ymazu stood. “Mighty Skandar,” she said, bowing her head to him. “We ask if you would give us eggs from your females. Young griffins, to live with us.”
Skandar jerked his head forward and snapped his beak loudly. “I give egg!” he boomed. “I give to you!�
�� He made an odd, purring noise deep in his throat. “Come see. I give Mighty Skandar egg! Hatch big chick!”
Ymazu fluttered her wings and purred back. “I would be honoured.”
Arenadd hid a smile. “That answers that question.”
Vander was openly grinning. “If Skandar comes to Amoran, I am certain that plenty of females will be willing to submit to him. That should please the Emperor enough.”
“Then that’s settled,” said Arenadd. “Is that all he wants?”
“No, Sire,” said Vander. “There is one other thing.”
“Name it.”
Vander’s dark brown eyes gleamed. “There is another way in which the mingling of blood could be . . . useful to us all, Sire.”
“Human blood, this time,” Arenadd surmised. “Yes?”
“The Emperor has a daughter,” said Vander. “She is young—very pretty, too, if you ask me.”
Arenadd groaned internally. “I see. An arranged marriage.”
“You are not married, Sire,” said Vander. “I know that already. If the women of your own country do not please you, then perhaps an Amorani princess would.”
There was no way Arenadd could tell Vander why the idea horrified him, so he settled on a compromise. “I’ll go to Amoran,” he said. “And talk it over with the Emperor. I’m sure we can come to some agreement.”
Vander smiled. “I am glad to see that you are a reasonable man. Those in the South would not be pleased to know that I am speaking with you!”
“Ah, yes, and what about the South?” said Arenadd, relieved at the change of subject.
“Bah.” Vander flicked his fingers dismissively. “The South would not ally with us in a way that satisfied us, and by now they are nothing. By now the North is the only part of this land that is wealthy and peaceful. Thanks to you, Sire,” he added, fixing his eyes on Arenadd’s face.
Despite himself, Arenadd felt flattered. “I did what I had to do.”
Vander said nothing. He kept looking at Arenadd, studying him in a way the King found very disconcerting.
The silence drew out uncomfortably, until Vander finally broke it. “I never thought I would see you again,” he said. “And never in a place such as this. Truly, the gods work in mysterious ways.”
Arenadd’s forehead wrinkled. “‘Again,’ my lord?”
Vander smiled. “You do not remember me? Disappointing, considering that I saved your life, Arren.”
Arenadd went cold all over with shock. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, my lord,” he said, keeping his face carefully blank.
Vander ignored him. “When we last met, you were only a boy,” he said. “It was in Eagleholm, before the war. I was there to treat with Lady Riona. A long time ago by now, but I remember you well. And I remember you,” he added, looking at Skandar. “I saw you fight in the arena. Darkheart, they called you.”
Skandar blinked lazily at him.
Vander, however, was still looking at Arenadd. “Forgive me, Sire,” he said. “But if I saw you today as I saw you then, I never would have dreamed that one day you would be a King.” He paused. “But I would have easily accepted that you had the strength and the will.”
Arenadd didn’t know what to say.
Fortunately, Vander took his silence as modesty. “My masters always taught me to be truthful, Sire. You could have fled that night—taken your escape while your enemies did not know you had broken free of your prison. But you returned. Ymazu told me everything. You stayed to free another prisoner.” He looked at Skandar again. “And I see that he was grateful.”
Arenadd shivered internally. Dear gods, he was there. He knew me . . . knew Arren.
“Ancient history, my lord,” he said airily. “Right now I’m more interested in the here and now.”
“Understood, Sire,” said Vander. “I apologise if my idle reminiscences were not appropriate.”
Arenadd longed to ask him more, but he knew he couldn’t. “Thank you for . . . what you did for me back then, my lord.”
Vander smiled. “I considered it a parting gift to the masters of Eagleholm. But I doubt they even thought of it after they had suffered your own. Now.” He leaned forward. “We have talked long enough, and I am tired. Perhaps we should speak again, this evening, or perhaps tomorrow.”
“Agreed,” said Arenadd.
• • •
Saeddryn was not amused. “Amoran? Ye’re goin’ to Amoran?”
Arenadd folded his arms. “A courtesy visit to the Emperor. I’m sure the Kingdom will be fine in your capable hands.”
She took a deep breath. “I see. An’ ye didn’t think it would be a good idea t’say somethin’ to us beforehand?”
“Actually, I’m pretty sure I mentioned it more than once,” Arenadd said calmly. “In fact, if I recall, I said something about it last week.”
“Well, yes, but I didn’t think that was anythin’ more than idle speculation . . .” Saeddryn trailed off, eyeing the other councillors. None of them looked about to support her, so she shifted her gaze to Laela, who had begun attending council sessions.
Laela noticed the thinly concealed hatred in Saeddryn’s expression, but she only raised her chin and looked back smugly.
The High Priestess looked away. “An’ ye’ll be away for a year.”
“At the very least.”
The councillors looked uncomfortable.
“A year, Sire?” said Lord Iorwerth. “Without ye?”
“I’m afraid so.”
The tough commander straightened up. “No, Sire. We can’t let ye go. Not that far. Not for that long.”
“I agree,” said Torc, from beside his wife. “Too far, too dangerous.”
Arenadd raised his eyebrow. “I don’t know what I’ll tell the ambassador, then. He came a very long way to negotiate this visit.”
“Sire,” said Iorwerth. “Think of this.” He rubbed his head. “Ye are what’s stopping the South from invading us again. Fear of ye. With ye gone for a year . . . what would we do if they came back? Without our protector . . .”
Arenadd cast an amused glance at Laela. “I think the Master of Wisdom can help us here.”
Laela stepped forward, aware of all the eyes on her. Oeka came with her, to stand by her side, and Laela put a hand on her head. The griffin didn’t object, and Laela felt warm confidence fill her from end to end.
“No offence to yeh, Lords an’ Ladies, but yeh ain’t been in the South,” she said. “I have. I seen what’s goin’ on there, an’ let me tell yeh, there ain’t no invasion comin’. Not now, not for ten years. South’s in turmoil. In the place where I grew up, we had a new Eyrie Master every other spring. Griffiners over there’re too busy fightin’ each other t’even think about comin’ up here.”
Arenadd nodded as if that settled it. “Well said, Lady Laela. Now.” He turned his attention back to the council. “The South is in no condition to fight us, and even if they were, I doubt they’d ever dare set foot on my soil again. And how would they even know I was away? We’re miles away from them, we have no communications with them—there’s no way they’d ever find out. And besides,” he added wickedly, “I hope you’re not implying that you don’t think you could fight them off if they ever came sniffing around our borders.”
The King’s jab had the right effect; Saeddryn looked irritated, and several of the griffins hissed at the insult.
Iorwerth’s partner, the scarred Kaanee, spoke out. “Then we have no argument against your plan, Kraeai kran ae,” he rasped. “But if you are right, why do you care so much about Amoran? Those griffins are small and strange, and the humans are not of your kind.”
This was Arenadd’s moment. He stepped forward, his face suddenly full of rage. “What in the Night God’s name is wrong with you?” he de
manded. “We’re Northerners, aren’t we? Didn’t we fight to give our people back their homes? Didn’t we stand up against the enemy to set our brothers and sisters free? Didn’t I come into this city, alone, and fight to protect you all—didn’t I lead the slaves back to the North? Have you forgotten that?”
Iorwerth’s fists clenched. “I would never forget that, Sire. Never.”
“Well then, remember this,” Arenadd snarled. “Remember that there are still Northerners living in slavery. And they’re out there.” He pointed a thin finger eastward. “They’re in Amoran, building giant statues of the Day God. Cleaning his temples. Serving his worshippers.” Arenadd wiped a hand over his forehead. “You think I care about military benefits? Trade agreements? No. I care about our people, and unless I make an agreement with the Emperor, and please him enough to make him want to repay me, then there’s no way I can bring those people home.” He paused. “That’s my duty. It’s always been my duty, ever since the Night God handed it down to me. And if I never do anything else while I’m King, I’ll fulfil that duty to the very last.”
Silence followed the King’s speech. The councillors glanced at each other.
Laela almost gaped at her protector. She’d thought she knew him better than anyone else aside from Skandar, but she’d never imagined that he could be so eloquent, or so passionate.
For the first time, she began to see why so many people had been prepared to follow him—and still did.
Finally, Saeddryn spoke out. “Sire,” she said. “I apologise. I was too hasty. If going to Amoran is what it’ll take to bring the rest of our people home, then so be it. I’m sure we can look after the Kingdom while ye’re gone.”
“Agreed,” said Iorwerth.
“I agree as well,” Torc said solemnly. He touched his neck. “I haven’t forgotten what slavery is like, and I never will. And I’ll never forget who it was that set me free. Go to Amoran, Sire. Bring our brothers and sisters home.”
Arenadd smiled with his eyes. “I will, Lord Torc. I promise.”
“There’s only one other thing left to decide,” Saeddryn cut in. “An’ that’s who ye’re going to leave in charge of the council while ye’re away.”