The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy)

by K J Taylor

  He stopped on his way out. “Yes, Eyrie Mistress?”

  Elkin smiled at him. “I would be honoured if you would join me for dinner this evening. The dining hall two levels down, at sunset.”

  It would be some time before Erian could recover from his rage and his fear, but those words helped to carry him for the rest of that day.

  Midday, and in Saeddryn’s little camp near Wolf’s Town another argument had broken out.

  “We can’t go without her,” Annir said yet again.

  “She’s left us,” said Saeddryn. “She wants t’be left behind. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t’ve run off.”

  “How do you know she didn’t get into trouble?” Annir persisted.

  “Then that’s her lookout,” said Cai. “She didn’t want t’stay, an’ we didn’t want her along, either.”

  “She ain’t one of us,” Rhodri agreed.

  Annir tried a different tack. “What if she gets caught? She could tell them things you don’t want them to know. Have you thought of that?”

  They glanced at each other.

  “She doesn’t know nothin’,” Saeddryn said at last. “Nobody told her.”

  “I still say we should look for her,” said Annir. “Just in case.”

  “Well, I don’t,” said Rhodri. “What I say is, the longer we stay here, the more people can find us. We’ve waited for her long enough.”

  “You’re right,” a voice interrupted. “There’s no time to waste at all.”

  Everyone around the fire froze.

  “Who’s that?” Cai exclaimed.

  Saeddryn stood up. “I know that voice!”

  As if by magic, Arenadd appeared. He walked out from among the trees, looking ragged and exhausted, but there was a smile on his face. Skade was on one side of him and Skandar the other.

  Annir ran to him. “Arren!”

  He opened his arms to receive her, and held her tightly without saying a word. She sobbed softly, holding on to him as if she would never let go.

  The others were quick to crowd around, all of them talking at once. “How did ye get here?” “What happened?” “Are ye hurt?”

  Arenadd let go of his mother and reached out to pat Saeddryn rather awkwardly on the shoulder. “Hello, cousin. It’s good to see you again.”

  She grinned disbelievingly at him. “It’s a miracle! I thought we’d lost ye for good!”

  Arenadd shrugged. “I’m like a bad cold: impossible to shake off. Come on, let’s all sit down for a bit. We’ve got time for a rest before we go.”

  “Go where?” said Saeddryn, as she led the way back to the fire.

  “Back to the mountains, of course.” Arenadd sat down.

  “We’ve got important things to do. But . . .” He looked down at his bandaged hand. “First things first. Saeddryn, do you know anything about healing?”

  “I can help,” Cai piped up.

  Arenadd’s mouth tightened. “I need some help. Mum, you should look away.”

  She was already moving closer, reaching out. “Let me see. What happened?”

  He pulled away gently. “It’s not pretty. Cai—”

  Cai took his hand and very carefully peeled off the bandages. Arenadd sat very still, tensing in anticipation. He groaned softly when the last layer came off.

  Cai gave a strangled cry of disgust. “Sweet Night God!”

  Every single one of Arenadd’s long, slender fingers had been broken—horribly broken. The flesh had turned purple and blue, bulging over crushed bones and mangled joints. They barely looked like fingers any more.

  Saeddryn cringed. Skade hissed to herself. Annir cried out and clutched her son’s arm. “My poor sweet boy, what have they done to you?”

  Arenadd’s face looked tired and old with pain, and his voice sounded thin. “Every finger was a question. ‘Where are they?’ Snap. ‘How many are there?’ Snap. ‘Who is their leader?’ Snap. ‘Where is Darkheart?’ Snap.”

  Saeddryn’s look toward him was full of pity. “I knew they’d do that to ye, Arenadd. I’m sorry.”

  “It could have been worse,” he said, with forced good cheer. “Cai, can you do anything?”

  Cai was still examining the ruined fingers. “I can splint them, but I don’t have any equipment. It’ll have t’be just sticks an’ string. But even if I had everythin’ I needed, it wouldn’t change much.” She looked steadily at him. “Ye know ye won’t be able t’use them fingers again, don’t ye?”

  Arenadd nodded. “I suppose I should thank them, really.”

  “For what?” Saeddryn exclaimed.

  “For letting me keep my right hand.” Arenadd nodded to Cai. “Do it, then, for what it’s worth.”

  Cai turned to the others. “Rhodri, could ye go an’ find some sticks? An’ if anyone’s got somethin’ we could use for strings, pass ’em over.”

  Arenadd clenched and unclenched his good hand, and sighed. “I’ll never use a long sword again, that’s obvious. Besides, I lost mine. I need a new weapon. Something I can use one-handed.”

  “Worry about that later,” said Saeddryn. “Tell me now, Arenadd”—she leant in close—“what did ye tell them?”

  Everyone watched him closely, waiting for the reply.

  He sighed. “They broke my fingers—”

  “I know,” said Saeddryn. “We won’t blame ye. Just tell us the truth. What do they know?”

  “They broke my fingers,” Arenadd repeated. “They broke all my fingers on that hand before I even started lying.”

  Cautious hope showed on Saeddryn’s face. “Lies?”

  “You saw me,” said Arenadd. “When they caught me.”

  “Ravin’ like a lunatic,” said Davyn. “I thought—”

  “So did they,” said Arenadd. “I thought, they all think I’m mad. Why not let them go on thinking it? So I kept pretending. Did everything I could think of. Sang all night, talked to walls. I did everything short of wearing my pants on my head. And then I bit half the captain’s ear off, but that was just me losing my temper.”

  Rhodri and Davyn both sniggered, but Saeddryn didn’t even smile. “So they know nothin’? Ye didn’t give anythin’ away?”

  “Not a thing,” said Arenadd. “They decided I was too deranged to be any help, so after the fingers they stopped torturing me.”

  Saeddryn rubbed a hand over her face. “What about the others, then? Up at the Throne? Ye were the last t’see them.”

  “Don’t worry about them,” said Arenadd. “I saw what had happened at Eitheinn and gave your—gave her a warning. They’ll all be long gone by now.”

  Saeddryn relaxed. “Thank the Night God. I was so worried.”

  Arenadd smiled. “No need to worry any more. Not unless you’re me, anyway.”

  Rhodri and Davyn had helped Cai to gather the sticks she needed, and some strips of cloth would serve to hold them in place.

  “I can start now,” she told her patient. “But I’m warnin’ ye, it’s goin’ t’be painful.”

  Arenadd nodded stiffly. “Do it.”

  Cai began her work. Arenadd made no sound; he clenched his jaw, and sweat beaded on his face. Annir sat close by him and held his other hand, and he leant on her for comfort. None of the others wanted to watch the gruesome process of straightening each bone before the splints were strapped in place, and Saeddryn quietly motioned them away with her to search for food. Skade went with them, and Skandar lay down by a tree and slept, apparently unconcerned.

  By the time Saeddryn returned, the splinting was done and Cai was wrapping the bandages back over Arenadd’s hand. He looked even more haggard than before.

  “Are ye all right?” Saeddryn asked.

  Arenadd winced as Cai tied the end of the bandage down. “Gods, I would kill for a drink. But I suppose I’ll just have to wait.” He stood up. “Saeddryn, I need to talk to you. Alone.”

  “Ye should rest,” she said gently. “Ye look about t’fall down.”

  “Later. This is more important.” H
e walked out of the campsite, waving to her to follow. Skandar glanced up and rose to go with them.

  Skade watched them go, narrow-eyed with suspicion, but stayed where she was.

  The moment they were out of sight and earshot, Arenadd stopped. “Saeddryn,” he said. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  She stopped, too, standing close and facing him. “I know,” she said softly.

  Arenadd looked away for a moment, his good hand rising compulsively to fiddle with his beard. “I’m going to be honest with you now,” he said. “Completely honest. And I know this is going to be hard to accept, but I promise you that it’s the truth.”

  “I believe ye,” she said. Nearby, Skandar looked on with vague interest.

  “I know you want a war with the Southerners,” said Arenadd. “A war with Malvern. That’s what your mother wants.”

  Saeddryn nodded. “Ye know it all, Arenadd. T’fight is all we’ve wanted all these years. My whole life I’ve been raised to it. But we knew we couldn’t begin until the time was right. We needed more followers—needed griffins.” Her hands curled into fists. “That’s why we lost before.”

  Arenadd nodded. “You wanted a war, and a war is what you’re going to have.”

  “When we’ve got the right—”

  “Now,” he interrupted. “It starts now. Here. Today. All I wanted to know was whether I had your support.” Arenadd turned to Skandar. “And yours,” he added, using griffish now. “Skandar?”

  The massive griffin looked up. “What have?”

  “War,” said Arenadd. “To fight the other griffins, and the pale humans. Do you want to do that, Skandar?”

  Skandar opened his beak and made a low, ugly rasping sound. “Want fight! I kill, kill many, kill enemy! Kill human and griffin who hurt us. Take all territory, all for us! Fight!” He slammed one huge forepaw into the ground, talons ripping through the dirt.

  Arenadd smiled darkly. “That’s what I thought. And that’s what I want, too.” He moved away, turning to look at both Saeddryn and Skandar. “War,” he said again, in a low voice. “I’ve made my mind up. No more running. No more hiding. I was a lost soul my whole life, and I didn’t even know it. But now I know the truth. Now I know who I am, and I won’t ever try to hide from it again. I’m going to start a war, Saeddryn, and I need you with me.”

  She came closer. “To the death, Arenadd.”

  “Then it’s decided,” said Arenadd, as if that settled it.

  “Wait,” said Saeddryn. “I still need t’know how this is goin’ to go. Ye know we can’t just march out there. We need support—an’ not just a few hundred, we need thousands. We need good fighters, we need griffins. That’s the only reason we hadn’t started already. We failed before, Arenadd. Hundreds of us died. Our people haven’t forgotten that yet. I believe in ye, I do, but ye must tell me—what are ye goin’ t’do? What’s goin’ t’make it different this time?”

  Arenadd stood tall, black eyes glinting. “This time you’ll have us.”

  “We had a griffiner before,” Saeddryn pointed out, not unkindly.

  “I’m not your mother, and Skandar isn’t Hyrenna. We have . . . a different power on our side now. The greatest power in the North.”

  Saeddryn stared. “What?”

  “We have the Night God,” Arenadd said softly. “She’s come, Saeddryn. She’s answered your prayers. She sent us. Both of us.”

  She looked uncertain. “It’s good t’have faith, but . . .” Arenadd braced himself. “No. It’s not faith; it’s reality. Touch my neck.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Just do it. Here.” He lifted his chin, exposing his throat, and indicated a spot just below the angle of his jaw. “Put your fingers there, and tell me what you feel.”

  She had already seen the ugly purple mark on his neck. “Sweet Night God, what’s that?”

  “A rope mark. Just touch it, would you?”

  Saeddryn did. “What am I meant t’feel for?”

  “A pulse.”

  She kept her fingers on the spot for a few moments, frowned and tried again on the other side. “That’s odd . . .”

  Arenadd reached up and gently grasped her hand. “Don’t bother. There’s nothing there.”

  Saeddryn looked bewildered. “What are ye talkin’ about?”

  He looked tired, but steady. “There’s nothing there. Try all you like, but you won’t find anything. I tried every day for months. There’s no pulse.”

  Silence.

  “No heartbeat,” Arenadd said softly.

  “But that’s—that’s . . . that doesn’t make sense. Everyone’s got a—”

  “Not me.” Arenadd straightened up. “I’m not human, Saeddryn. I’m not alive.”

  Saeddryn only looked at him.

  Arenadd couldn’t take the tension any more; he began to pace back and forth, shoulders hunched. “I died the day after my twentieth birthday. Fell to my death. I shouldn’t be here at all. But Skandar was there. He found me; he was the only one there when I died. He used his magic on me. Brought me back. I look the same, I talk the same, but I’m not the same.” He stopped and looked at her. “I don’t have a heart. I don’t have a soul. They’re gone forever.”

  He had been speaking griffish for Skandar’s benefit, and the griffin had been listening “Is true!” he said unexpectedly. “True, truth. Use magic, first time that day. Black magic, like black scream.”

  “Magic the Night God gave him,” said Arenadd. “I didn’t know it at first, not until I came here—neither did Skandar. But on the night of the Blood Moon, when I killed that man—”

  “She came,” Saeddryn rasped. “The Night God came.”

  “Yes. I summoned her without even meaning to. She told me the truth then. Told me what I am. What Skandar is.” Arenadd seemed to age as he said the words. “I am the man without a heart. I am the Master of Death. I am Kraeai kran ae, the Cursed One. I am the Night God’s creature. I don’t have a life any more; the purpose she gave me is all I have left.”

  “What purpose?” said Saeddryn, though she looked as if she already knew.

  “To destroy her enemies. To free the North.” To kill Rannagon’s children.

  “And I see,” said Skandar. “See too. Have dream. White griffin with one eye. She say, never leave dark human. Say, fight by side. Kill all enemy. Fight, and have all you want.”

  “She said the same thing to me,” Arenadd told him. He smiled very slightly. “I never was happy except when I had power. So we’re going to take it now. All of it.” He looked at Saeddryn. “I thought I was cursed, but now I know the truth. It’s not a curse; it’s a blessing. I’m immortal, cousin. Unkillable. They hanged me today at Malvern—I heard my neck break. But here I am.”

  Saeddryn said nothing. She had become very still.

  “So you’ll get your war,” said Arenadd. “And when our people know what I am, they’ll come to us. All of them, every true Northerner in Tara will come. Skandar and I will crush the Southern scum like insects. Anyone who tries to stop me—anyone, even another Northerner—will join me in death.”

  He fell silent, and at last Saeddryn moved. She took a stumbling step back, stopped and knelt at Arenadd’s feet. “Master,” she whispered. “Holy warrior. I’m sorry I didn’t recognise ye, I’m sorry.”

  She looked up to see Arenadd reaching down to her. “Get up.” He pulled her to her feet. “You don’t kneel to anyone, Saeddryn,” he said sternly. “You’re a Northerner. We stand on our own two feet, or we die.”

  She smiled hesitantly. “I always knew the Night God would help us one day. I knew she’d answer our prayers. I should never have doubted.”

  “Everyone doubts,” said Arenadd. “Especially me.” He glanced at Skandar and translated the gist of what had been said. “So, we’re agreed?” he finished.

  “Agree!” Skandar snorted. “I take humans back to mountain. Where Hyrenna is. Know where they nest.”

  Saeddryn nodded. “We’ll go bac
k t’my mother an’ the rest. They’ll have good advice, an’ we can’t abandon them.”

  “Go now.” Skandar walked off, back toward the camp.

  Saeddryn had one more question. “The others—should I tell them? About . . . what ye are?”

  “Not now,” said Arenadd. “They’ll have enough on their minds. And we’d better get back to them now. There’s work to be done.”

  6

  The Chosen One

  Erian and Elkin ate together that night, alone but for Senneck and the Mighty Kraal. The two griffins crouched together by a wall in the massive dining hall and shared a huge ox carcass that nevertheless didn’t look big enough to feed Kraal.

  As for the two humans, they sat at the long table. Elkin ignored the impressively carved chair at the head of the table and sat opposite her guest instead, watching him with those pale green eyes while servants laid out the food.

  Erian’s mouth had gone dry. He drank some cider to calm himself down and tried to think of something to say. All his words seemed to disappear when Elkin was there.

  “Try some of the venison,” she said. “It’s roasted in cymran juice and honey.”

  He obeyed. “It’s delicious.” Any possible follow-up escaped him.

  They ate in awkward silence, while behind them Senneck and Kraal huffed at each other. Senneck seemed intimidated by the massive white griffin and kept her distance from him. Erian saw her, and felt more empathy for her than he had in ages.

  As the uncomfortable meal drew on, he started to panic. He’d barely said anything since he’d arrived, and if he didn’t speak soon his last chance would be gone.

  He was so caught up in his own embarrassment that he utterly failed to notice that Elkin was just as quiet and fumbling as himself. But in the end, it was she who spoke.

  “What do you think about all this, Erian?” she asked.

  He started, nearly upsetting his cup in the process. “What—I mean, uh . . . what do I think about what?”

  “All this,” she said. “Everything that happened today. After all, you were mixed up in it.”