by K J Taylor
Laela touched his face. “Arenadd. Arenadd, wake up!”
His eyes opened slowly, and he peered at her. “Laela.”
She almost sobbed in relief. “Yer all right! I thought . . .”
“Laela.” His good hand reached into his robe, and dragged out a small scroll. He thrust it into her hand.
Laela took it. “What’s this?”
Arenadd’s hand dropped onto the snow. “Give . . . Saeddryn,” he whispered, and his eyes slid closed.
Laela stuffed the scroll into her clothes and shook him gently by the shoulder. “Arenadd. Arenadd! Wake up! Open yer eyes, damn it!”
He didn’t move. Laela ran her hands over him, searching for any sign of injuries.
There was a wet patch on the front of his robe. She pulled it open, and took her hands away at once. “What . . . ?”
The old wound left by Erian Rannagonson’s sword had opened once more and begun to bleed. And as Laela watched, it happened before her eyes: Slowly, one by one, every one of Arenadd’s old scars re-opened. Blood trickled down his arms and onto the snow, turning it red.
Laela pulled at the edge of her gown, trying to use it to stop the flow, but she may as well have tried to dam a river. The blood soaked into the cloth and kept on coming, more and more of it. Arenadd’s skin turned grey, and then as white as the snow that had begun to drift down from the sky.
A sickening crack broke the silence. And then another, and another. Arenadd jerked slightly and gasped. His eyes opened.
Laela touched his face. “Arenadd. Arenadd, can yeh hear me?”
His eyes rolled back into his head, and he jerked again as more awful cracks rifled through his body.
And then it was over.
Sobbing, Laela put a hand on his chest.
She screamed.
Arenadd’s eyes opened slightly. “Bran,” he whispered.
“Arenadd.” Laela sobbed harder. “Arenadd, I felt a heartbeat. I felt a—”
Arenadd stirred, but he could not move. His arms and legs were bent at horrible, unnatural angles. Barely audibly, he said, “Arren.”
Laela lifted him as gently as she could, cradling his head in her lap. “What is it? Arenadd, what is it? What should I do?”
Blood gurgled in his chest, and trickled out of his mouth. “I . . . am . . . Arren.”
It was the last thing he ever said.
Quietly, watched over by the moon and mourned by his daughter, Arren Cardockson died.
31
The Shadow Walks
Nearly a month after Saeddryn’s cousin disappeared, when the people had finally accepted that he was not going to return, the day of Saeddryn’s coronation as Queen of Tara had finally arrived.
Few people protested. Arenadd had lost a lot of popularity after his refusal to invade the South, and even more after he’d gone away to Amoran, “abandoning” his Kingdom in the process. Saeddryn was what they wanted now, and she was happy to oblige.
A platform had been built, just outside the gates of the Eyrie, for the ceremony. Everyone in the city could come. Saeddryn had thought of that; she wanted her coronation to be for everyone, great or small.
She sat on the carved chair that had been brought out for her and felt just a hint of apprehension as she watched the excited crowd below.
She didn’t feel any guilt over Arenadd. The idea of killing him—or trying to—had been revolting to her. She’d wrestled with herself for years before she’d even begun to contemplate it.
And then Arenadd had solved her problem for her. He’d vanished, and that was far better than death. His story would become legend, and the name of Taranisäii would keep that grandeur for a long, long time. If he did return, and found her, Saeddryn, wearing the crown . . . well, what could he do? She was only doing her duty. The North needed her.
Aenae, standing beside her, stirred and sighed. With the Mighty Skandar gone, he was the strongest griffin in Malvern. Saeddryn knew he didn’t care about the Kingdom or its people. All he’d ever wanted was to prove that he was stronger than his father and take his status.
Iorwerth and Kaanee stood on her other side. Saeddryn had been afraid that they wouldn’t support her, but they had. Iorwerth was very unhappy about the King’s disappearance, but he’d agreed that if he wasn’t coming back, then Saeddryn was the logical choice to succeed him.
Saeddryn was pleased about that. Iorwerth was a useful man, and having him on her side was a great help.
The people had gathered. Lynedd, a senior member of the priesthood, had been chosen to perform the ceremony. They hadn’t been able to find the crown, so a replica had been made. Saeddryn kept her eyes on it as the ceremony began.
Finally, the moment came for the crowning. Saeddryn bowed her head, waiting for the crown to be lowered onto it.
That was when she heard the voice.
“I am the shadow that comes in the night . . .”
It came from somewhere behind her, where a false wall at the back of the platform supported long, black drapes.
Saeddryn froze.
“. . . I am the fear that lurks in your heart . . .”
Lynedd had heard the voice, too. She stopped and turned, glancing uncertainly at the guards.
Saeddryn stood up. “Who’s that? Who’s there?”
“I am the Shadow That Walks,” the voice whispered.
Saeddryn paused, uncertainly. “Arenadd?” She faltered. “Is that ye?”
A low laugh came from somewhere nearby, and a figure slipped out and onto the platform. A tall, thin shape, clad in a black robe. Long, curly black hair fell over its shoulders like a mane.
“Arenadd,” Saeddryn breathed.
The figure turned, and she saw the bright blue eyes, staring straight at her.
“Close.”
Laela stepped toward the High Priestess and held something out. “A gift for yeh,” she said. “From yer cousin. He told me to give it to yeh.”
Saeddryn took the scroll and unrolled it. She quickly scanned what was written on it, and her face went white. “What . . . ?”
“That’s right,” said Laela.
The crowd had reacted with great excitement when she’d appeared. More than a few of them started chanting Arenadd’s name.
“Read it,” said Laela. “Read it to them.”
The scroll had begun to tear in Saeddryn’s fingers. “It’s fake,” she whispered. “A forgery.”
“It isn’t,” said Iorwerth.
Laela nodded to him. “He left a copy for yeh, didn’t he?”
“He did,” said Iorwerth. “I didn’t know if ye were coming back, my lady. But now ye have, his orders must be carried out.”
Laela nodded at Saeddryn. “Read it, then. Let them know.”
Saeddryn looked up at her. “Where is he? What happened to him?”
Laela’s expression hardened. “He ain’t comin’ back. Read it.”
Saeddryn had no choice. She went to the front of the platform, where every one of the gathered people could see her.
“‘By royal decree,’” she read, “‘I, King Arenadd Taranisäii the First, name my daughter, Laela Taranisäii, as heir to my throne and all my property. I hereby command every griffin and griffiner in the Eyrie to serve her loyally through all the days of her reign.’”
Laela came forward, to stand by Saeddryn’s side. “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” she murmured. Without waiting for an answer, she raised her voice. “I am King Arenadd’s daughter!” she yelled, for all the crowd to hear. “I am his heir!”
The people went mad. Some shouted Saeddryn’s name, some Arenadd’s—and some Laela’s.
“I brought the slaves home!” Laela yelled. “I served the King. I was his friend. I am his heir. He de
cided it long ago.” She paused. “I am the rightful Queen.”
The crowd roared.
Laela turned to Saeddryn. “So what’s it t’be?” she asked quietly.
At that moment, a small brown griffin came flying down from a rooftop and landed by Laela’s side. Laela stroked her head, but kept her eyes on Saeddryn.
Saeddryn looked at the crowd.
Then she stepped aside. “If that’s what the King wanted,” she said softly, “then so be it.” She knelt and bowed her head. Iorwerth knelt, too. Aenae and Seerae started forward angrily, but Oeka hissed warningly at them, and they faltered and backed away.
Saeddryn looked up. “The realm is yours,” she said, through gritted teeth. “Queen Laela.”
Laela reached into her robe and brought out Arenadd’s crown.
It fitted perfectly.
• • •
Far away from Malvern, the Mighty Skandar lay silently in a clearing beside the cold body of his human. He had nearly gone home, nearly gone back alone, as he’d said he would.
But he had turned back well before he got there. He wanted to fight, wanted it more than anything else. But not like this. Not without his human.
So he’d turned around. Maybe if he talked to him again, he could make him come. Or if he said no again, he could force him to come. Arenadd couldn’t argue if Skandar just picked him up and carried him away.
So Skandar returned to the clearing and found him there, lying in the snow.
Arenadd’s body had already gone stiff. Dozens of wounds had opened on his chest and body, and from these wounds, blood had flowed and dried. The snow around him was red with it.
Skandar tried to wake him, but he wouldn’t get up, wouldn’t open his eyes. But Skandar had seen him like this before. He would wake again. He would come back. He was a magic human, after all.
So Skandar lay down beside him and waited.
He would wait for a long time.
About the Author
K. J. Taylor was born in Australia in 1986 and plans to stay alive for as long as possible. She went to Radford College and achieved a bachelor’s degree in communications at the University of Canberra before going on to complete a master’s in information studies. She currently hopes to pursue a second career as an archivist.
She published her first work, The Land of Bad Fantasy, through Scholastic when she was just eighteen, and went on to publish The Dark Griffin in Australia and New Zealand five years later. The Griffin’s Flight and The Griffin’s War followed in the same year and were released in America and Canada in 2011.
K. J. Taylor’s real first name is Katie, but not many people know what the J stands for. She collects movie sound tracks and keeps pet rats and isn’t quite as angst-ridden as her books might suggest.
Visit her website at www.kjtaylor.com.
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Click here for more books by this author.
Ace Books by K. J. Taylor
The Fallen Moon
THE DARK GRIFFIN
THE GRIFFIN’S FLIGHT
THE GRIFFIN’S WAR
The Risen Sun
THE SHADOW’S HEIR