by K J Taylor
Erian glanced at Kraal. “I don’t really know what to think. I’m . . . scared.”
Elkin half-laughed. “Of course you are! I’m afraid. If you said you weren’t, I would know you were lying.”
Erian blushed, but his old desire to impress her made him square his shoulders. “I’m afraid of him, but I’m going to fight back. I swore to see him dead, and I’ll keep my word. I’ll always keep my word, the way a griffiner should.”
Elkin smiled. “I knew you would. But I wonder . . . what does Kraal think you’re going to find on this island?”
“A weapon,” Erian said instantly. “Something that can kill him. I’m sure of it.”
She put her head on one side. “Why so certain, Erian?”
He could feel his blush deepening, but he pushed on regardless. “What else could it be? If I’m the one to find it—I’m not much, but I know I’m a warrior. I was trained in swordplay since I was seven years old. If I’m going to be given something to defeat him, it has to be a weapon.”
“I suppose so,” said Elkin.
The cider had already gone to Erian’s head. “And—and—I’ve been thinking. If he’s been sent to fight us, then maybe I’m meant to fight him. Maybe it’s destiny. Maybe—maybe it’s Gryphus’ will.”
Elkin watched him. “May—be,” she said, very slowly. “You could ask Kraal that, but now isn’t the time. He never talks when he’s eating.”
Erian’s look toward her didn’t waver. “I think it’s Gryphus. I think he sent me. Made me. To stop the darkness.”
“You sound very certain,” said Elkin, in the same cautious manner as before.
“I have a reason,” Erian told her hastily. “There’s a reason I think that.”
“Yes? What reason?”
He looked at the tabletop. “I’ve . . . I’ve never really told anyone this before, but . . .”
“Yes?”
Erian gathered his wits, and ploughed on. “I was born in a village called Carrick. They farmed cows there. And bees. It’s where Eagleholm got most of its honey. There were orchards there, too. I remember them . . . they smelled wonderful in the spring. I used to practise there, with my wooden sword.” He looked wistful. “My mother was a tavern maid. Belara. Bell, they called her. My father stayed at the tavern on his way back home from the war, and he and my mother—well, they spent the night together. He left after that and never came back to her. But when the tavern owner found out she was pregnant, he threw her out. She went to the temple instead. There was a small one there, with just one priest. No griffin, just a bell. The priest let her stay and help him gather flowers and bring new candles.” Erian took a deep breath. “I was born in that temple. My mother went into labour one day while she was working. There was no time to take her anywhere, so she lay on the altar. That’s where I was born. At the stroke of noon, just as the sun touched her. I came out into sunlight. That’s what my grandmother used to say. Came into life, into sunlight. A gift from Gryphus.”
Elkin’s eyes had widened. “Great sun. Is all that true?”
“That’s what my grandparents told me. My mother—she didn’t survive. She died as I was born. But when I found out where I was born, and how, I thought it meant something special. I started going to the temple more, to pray. I believed it was all a message—a sign. That’s why I never gave up, why I went all the way to Eagleholm to become a griffiner. I knew it was what Gryphus had always meant to happen. And now—now this. A Dark Lord. A special weapon. It’s destiny, Elkin, I know it is.” Erian smiled beatifically.
Elkin smiled back, uncertainly. “That’s . . . an amazing story. And maybe it will be better for all of us if you’re right. But you know that isn’t why I asked you to come here.”
Erian looked at her properly for the first time in a while. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have talked so much . . . I suppose I got carried away.”
Elkin coughed. Her hands, resting on the table in front of her, played compulsively with her spoon. “I asked you to come here mostly because I felt I owed you an apology.”
“An apology? For what?”
“Just a few days ago, you confessed something to me and I ignored it. I was cruel, and I haven’t stopped regretting it since.”
Erian’s heart paused its beating. “I don’t understand,” he lied.
For almost the first time since they had met, Lady Elkin, Eyrie Mistress, looked utterly lost—even afraid. “You said you loved me,” she said. “And I pretended not to hear. I made you think I didn’t care, but the truth is that I didn’t know what to say.” She gave him a weak smile. “I am very clever. I know three languages, I’ve memorised the names of every town and village in my territory, I can tell you who invented the woodcut—but feelings are something that have always been a puzzle to me. I can analyse your emotions like they were a book, but my own are confusing sometimes, a riddle I can’t solve.”
To Erian, nothing that had happened that day could be as terrifying or as magical as this. For once, he didn’t try to say anything.
“I have had more marriage proposals than years on this earth,” Elkin went on matter-of-factly. “But I turned them down, every last one. Some people think it’s because I don’t want to risk sharing my power with a husband, but the truth is simpler. All those men who wanted me didn’t want me at all—they wanted other things. My money, my power, my beautiful Eyrie. Even access to my magnificent partner. But you’re different. I know you well enough now. You don’t want power or money or status. You only want my love. Don’t you?” she added, suddenly forceful. “Isn’t that the truth, Lord Erian Rannagonson?”
A great weight seemed to press down on him at that moment, heavy as the hand of Gryphus himself. When he opened his mouth to reply, the words nearly stuck in his throat; he all but choked them out. “Yes. I don’t want you because you’re an Eyrie Mistress; I want you because you’re you. I always have.”
“Why?” she demanded. “Why? Why me?” Her face was almost angry.
“Because—because—because you’re beautiful and clever and kind and graceful and everything I’m not, and when I’m with you I—” Erian’s babble spluttered to a halt as suddenly as it had begun. “I feel . . . alive. When you’re there. But”—he bowed his head—“I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m just a stupid bastard peasant, and I’ll never be good enough for you. I should have left it alone.”
“We both should,” Elkin said softly. She glanced toward Kraal. “Chaos is coming. War, most likely. I can feel it. Who knows what could happen? When a man can come back from the dead, nothing is certain any more. In times like these, perhaps an Eyrie Mistress can love a bastard.”
Erian felt close to tears. “Maybe. But it’s happened already, hasn’t it? I love you, Elkin, and not even Gryphus himself could change that. And if you love me, too, then . . . then so be it.”
Her eyes shone. “Then so be it. Kiss me.”
He did.
Over by the wall, Senneck nervously allowed Kraal to groom her. But she soon relaxed and began to purr. Neither griffin seemed to have noticed Erian and Elkin.
That day at Malvern, everything changed. A man came back from the dead, and an Eyrie Mistress loved a bastard.
It made no difference to Erian. He leant over the table, feeling Elkin’s lips pressed against his, and his heart, his living heart, pounded as it had never done before. He already knew that this was the happiest moment of his life, and he grasped it with both hands, determined to remember it forever. He knew, too, really knew, that what his grandmother had always told him was the truth: that love was the greatest power in the world, and nothing—not magic, not even death itself—could ever destroy it. Love was life.
To him, Elkin was life. His Elkin.
Arenadd and Saeddryn returned to the camp together, and were greeted by some slightly suspicious looks.
Arenadd, however, was businesslike. “All right, everyone, get yourselves together. We’re leaving.”
They seemed happy enough with that. Rhodri
complained, though. “Why should we be takin’ orders from ye?”
In response, Arenadd unfastened the front of his robe and freed his right arm from its sleeve. Spiralling blue patterns stood out all over the grimy skin as he held the limb out for them all to see.
Rhodri and his friends all went very still. “Are those—” Cai began.
Arenadd stuffed his arm back into its sleeve. “Yes. Arddryn Taranisäii has retired. I am the chief now, and I have the tattoos to prove it.”
Rhodri and his fellows sprang into action at once, with muttered apologies. Only Annir still looked confused as they put out the fire and set about hiding it.
“Arren, what’s going on?”
“It’s Arenadd now,” he told her gently. “I’ll never be Arren again. Come here.”
She obeyed. “Where are we going?”
“To the mountains,” said Arenadd. “We have friends there.” He reached out to touch her neck, where the collar of a slave gleamed dully. “Does it hurt?”
Annir nodded. “They’re made to hurt.”
“I know,” he said grimly. “But don’t worry, I know how to take it off. I should do it now, before we leave.”
“You know how to remove them?” she said. “How?”
Arenadd looked around the campsite. “I wish I had a hammer . . . a rock should do the job, though. Help me find a big one.”
They wandered around for a short while until Annir picked up one about the size of an orange. “Is this big enough?”
Arenadd took it and weighed it in his hand. “It should do. Now listen. I’ve done this before plenty of times. All you have to do is lift your chin and hold very still, and I’ll give it a good hard whack in the right spot. If I do it properly, it’ll break the locking mechanism and the collar will spring open.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes. But I should warn you: it will hurt, and if I don’t do it right the first time, I’ll have to try again.”
Annir smiled wanly. “It’s a small price to pay for freedom.” She lifted her head to expose the collar. “Do it.”
“Saeddryn!” Arenadd waved to her. “I need your help. Hold on to her, or she’ll fall over.”
Saeddryn took Annir by the shoulders. “Don’t worry. I’ve got yer. Go on, Arenadd.”
The others had noticed what was going on and came over to watch.
“Look closely,” Arenadd advised. “One day you might have to do this, too.” He pulled the rock back and bashed it against the collar with all his strength.
The impact threw Annir back against Saeddryn with a cry of shock and pain, but she had barely recovered herself before she began scrabbling at the collar, wrenching it open. It swung apart on its hinge, the ruined lock mechanism protruding. She hurled it away into a tree, where it got hooked on a branch and stayed there, swinging back and forth.
Rhodri had already torn a strip of cloth into a bandage. “Here, use this.”
The collar had left dozens of small bleeding puncture marks on Annir’s neck. She dabbed at them, breathing hard. “It’s not so bad.”
“Bandage it up anyway.” Arenadd rubbed his face. “Gods, how did it come to this? If I’d known what I was sending you into . . . and Dad as well . . .”
Annir finished wrapping the makeshift bandage in place, and she looked up sadly. “I know what happened to him. Skade told me.”
“He died bravely,” Saeddryn said stoically.
“He was always brave,” said Arenadd. “I can’t bring him back or undo what happened to you. But I promise you, the Bastard will pay. They’ll all pay.”
“All of them,” said Skade.
“Aye, they’ll pay in blood,” said Saeddryn. “Rhodri—c’mon, hurry up an’ finish buryin’ them ashes.”
Arenadd was looking at the sky. “We’ll head north, obviously. That way.” He pointed. “Don’t bring anything you don’t need. Skandar?”
The dark griffin listened. “I fly,” he said. “Watch from sky.”
“Good idea,” said Arenadd. “I’ll stay down here and keep everyone together. Skade, you and Saeddryn stay close by me. Rhodri, you and Davyn bring up the rear. Everyone has to stay alert.” He squared his shoulders and smiled to himself. “Time to go home.”
Erian’s departure from Malvern was a quiet affair. On the morning after Flell’s arrival he and Senneck went to meet Elkin and Kraal in the audience chamber, and found them both waiting there. To Erian’s dismay, Bran and Flell were there, too, the former watching him with barely concealed contempt.
Erian ignored the former guard captain and embraced Elkin.
She returned the gesture, a little awkwardly. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
“Not really,” Erian confessed.
“I know that,” said Senneck. “You did not stop pacing until the Day Eye was near to opening. The noise kept me awake.”
“Sorry,” said Erian.
“Are you prepared?” Kraal interrupted.
“I think so,” said Erian. He already knew Senneck wouldn’t be able to carry anything beyond himself and his sword, and had chosen the single warmest and toughest set of clothes he owned. A bag of oblong hung from his hip, and he had filled his pockets with travel rations.
“But are you ready?” said Kraal.
The question caught Erian off guard. “Uh, I . . .” He caught a glimpse of Flell and straightened up. “Yes.”
“Well then, that’s good,” Elkin said brightly. She held out a hand. “Here. A gift for you.”
It was a golden sunwheel: three curling lines connected at the centre like the petals of a flower. The place where the lines intersected was set with a large blue stone.
“It’s very nice,” said Erian.
“It belonged to my father,” said Elkin. “My mother told me it was passed down to him by his grandfather, and he wore it when he fought in the war.”
Erian smiled and tied it around his neck. “I won’t lose it.”
Bran pushed forward. “Excuse us,” he said.
Erian glared at him. “What do you want?”
Bran glanced quickly at Kraeya, who was busy grooming her feathers. She flicked her tail but said nothing.
Bran turned his attention back to Erian. “Yer sister an’ I came up ’ere to see yeh off, as yeh might’ve noticed. Trouble is, no-one’s told us where yer goin’ or why. Lady Elkin said we oughta wait for yeh an’ yeh’d tell us yerself, like.”
“I didn’t think it would be fair for us to tell them,” Elkin put in. “This is for you to tell, Erian.”
Erian gaped at her. “But I . . . Elkin, should we really be telling people?”
“I think your sister has a right to know,” said Elkin. “Kraal agrees.”
“Tell her,” Kraal rumbled.
Erian tried not to look at the child in Flell’s arms. “Senneck and I have to go east,” he said eventually. “To find something.”
“All the way t’Amoran?” said Bran.
“No, not that far,” said Erian.
“So, what is this thing?” said Flell. “And why do you have to go after it?”
“Well . . .” Erian glanced desperately at Kraal, who stared back, calm and still. “Well,” he said again. “It’s something magical. A weapon.”
“Magic weapon?” said Bran suspiciously. “What sorta magical weapon? What for?”
Erian felt cold hatred rise up inside him at the sound of the man’s voice. “You know about what happened yesterday,” he said, trying to keep his own voice level. “In the city.”
“When Arren escaped,” Flell said coldly.
Erian turned away. “You don’t understand, Flell. You don’t know what he did. He didn’t escape. He came back from the dead.”
“What?” said Bran.
Erian found himself savouring the disbelief in their faces. “Yesterday morning, Arenadd Taranisäii was executed for murder and sedition. He was hanged, in public. I was there. I saw it. I saw him come back to life. He has magic; I saw him use it
. He disappeared . . . like a shadow.”
Erian watched the horror etch itself into Bran’s and Flell’s faces as he spoke, and felt his embarrassment vanish as well.
“Your friend,” he said. “Your dear, misunderstood pet blackrobe—he’s not human any more. He’s become something else.”
Flell gripped her husband’s arm. “Become what?”
“Kraeai kran ae,” Senneck hissed.
Every griffin in the room stilled. Thrain whimpered and pressed herself against Flell’s leg, and Kraeya stood up sharply.
“What is this?” the red griffin demanded. “Senneck, what are you speaking of? Kraeai kran ae is not possible; it cannot be real.”
“It is real, and if you do not accept it then you are a bigger fool than I thought,” Senneck snapped back. “The blackrobe is Kraeai kran ae. He has the powers of death and the shadows; he is chosen by the dark griffin. The dark griffin has shared his magic with him, and soon they will both return to bring down the same fate to Malvern as they did to Eagleholm.”
“And that’s why we’re leaving,” Erian interrupted. “Senneck and I are going to find a special weapon that can kill him. He has to be stopped, and I’m the one who’s going to do it.”
“Why you?” said Flell.
Erian drew himself up. “Because I’m his enemy. Gryphus chose me.”
“You think that this bastard is Aeai ran kai?” said Kraeya to Senneck.
Senneck snapped her beak at her. “I do not know.”
“But I do,” said Kraal, silencing them both with a glare. “Save your petty bickering for another time; we do not have any to waste. This human is Kraeai kran ae’s enemy, and that makes him Aeai ran kai, and that is all. I have spoken, and my word is final. Senneck, I have entrusted you to help him reach the Island of the Sun. Once you are there, you will know what must be done. Protect and guide your human.”
Senneck arched her neck and puffed out her chest proudly. “I shall, Mighty Kraal.”
“We shall have our own work to do while they are gone,” Kraal added. “Return quickly, Senneck, and we shall fight Kraeai kran ae as well as we can until then.”
