The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy)

by K J Taylor

  Erian started. “What? Of course I can! Can’t you?”

  “I met a man who could read once,” said the boy. “He come over here for the fair. He was very clever.”

  “It says ‘Rannagon Raegonson,’” said Erian. “He was my father. Before him his father, Raegon, had it, and all the way back to our ancestor Baragher the Blessed.” In fact he had no idea if this was even close to the truth, but he told himself it didn’t matter. What would they know anyway?

  “What’s your name, sir?” said the girl. She reached out to touch the blade.

  Erian batted her hand away. “Don’t touch it! Never touch it, understand?”

  The girl stared blankly at him for a second and then burst into tears. Erian gaped at her and then looked away, embarrassed, as she ran to her mother for comfort.

  The eldest boy glared at him. “Why can’t we touch it?”

  Erian picked up the sword. “My name is Erian Rannagonson. And you can’t touch it because it’s against the law. None of your people are allowed to own weapons or even touch them. On pain of death.”

  “Why?” said the boy.

  The mother rushed to intervene. “Yorath! Stop that now! Don’t ye dare speak that way to the—”

  “Because your people already proved that you can’t be trusted with them,” Erian snapped, ignoring her. “The last time you handled weapons, you did terrible things to other people. That’s why we made a law to stop it from ever happening again.”

  The boy, who looked about thirteen, thrust out his chin. “Well, ye can’t make us be like that forever. Lord Arenadd is gonna stop ye. He’s gonna drive ye out of Tara, an’ then we can do whatever we want.”

  Erian reached down and slapped him across the face, so hard he threw the boy to the floor. “Never say that name. Do you understand? Never say it in front of me, or any other time. If I ever hear you say it again, I’ll kill you. Understand?”

  The boy struggled to his feet and ran out of the room as fast as he could. His sister cried harder than ever.

  The mother struggled to keep her self-control. “Go on,” she said, pushing the girl toward the door. “All of ye, go outside an’ play. Ye can eat later. Go on, go! The griffiner needs t’be left alone now.”

  The children needed no further encouragement; they all but ran out of the house.

  Erian sheathed his sword and turned to look at the parents. Part of him was horrified, but he was too angry to care.

  “My lord, I’m so sorry,” the miller babbled. “I never knew he could say anythin’ like that, I swear. He must’ve bin—there was these traders in here last week; they was—”

  “I’ll make sure he’s punished, l—” the wife began.

  “Shut up,” said Erian. They did. “Now,” he said, glaring at them. “I don’t know where that boy heard that, and if I ever found out who told him that, I’d see them executed on the spot. Fortunately for that person, I’m in too much of a hurry. But I intend to make sure that the Eyrie finds out about this very soon.”

  The miller blanched. “My lord, there’s no need to—we’re only farmers; we can’t do no harm t’ye, lord—”

  Erian almost hit him, too. “I’ve seen all the harm in the world done by the son of a leather worker. Now be quiet and give me my food.”

  They looked slightly relieved as he sat down again, and scurried to bring him a bowl of stew. It was overcooked and had dirt in it and mostly consisted of vegetables, but he took it anyway and ate it. It was almost certainly the most unpleasant meal of his life; the miller and his wife ate nothing and stayed at the edges of the room, saying nothing and only watching him.

  It seemed to take an eternity to get to the bottom of the bowl, but in the end he finished and put it down. “No thank you,” he said in reply to an offer of another helping. “I’m going to go and visit my griffin now.”

  He left the house without another word, and the instant the door shut behind him he felt relief wash over him like a bucket of cold water.

  In the stable, Senneck was busy tearing her way through what looked like a side of salted pork. The bones made an unpleasant crunching noise under her beak.

  “These fools would not know good meat if it bit them,” she muttered. “Ah. Erian. Back so quickly?” She paused to rip the spine in half and rubbed her beak against the wall to dislodge a piece of bone that had caught in it. “Did you find a better meal than I did?”

  Erian picked up a stray piece of meat and toyed with it. “Not really. It wasn’t very . . .”

  She raised her head. “Yes? What is it?”

  “There was a boy in there. The miller’s son. He said something about . . . Arenadd.”

  Senneck became instantly alert. “What did he say?”

  “He said that the . . . that Arenadd was going to drive us out. He said he would set them free.”

  She hissed to herself. “Already, the message is spreading. Yet it seems odd—”

  “Well, yes!” Erian burst forth. “How could they be talking about him like that now? The story of what happened at Malvern couldn’t possibly have reached here yet. Even if a griffiner could have carried it, it’s obvious none have been here for a long time.”

  Senneck nibbled at her toe. “There must be another explanation behind this. I only wish we had the time to discover more. As it is, I suggest that you avoid mentioning this again. We cannot afford to risk any trouble for ourselves, and I wish to leave here as soon as possible.”

  Erian tried to calm down. “Yes. I suppose you’re right.” He thought of the frightened faces of the miller and his wife. “I should probably go back. I need to ask if I can have some supplies for tomorrow anyway.”

  “Go,” said Senneck. “I am tired and need to rest; I must regain my strength for tomorrow.”

  Erian nodded gloomily. “See you in the morning.”

  He left her to her food and wandered back to the house, absent-mindedly chewing on the piece of meat.

  He was reaching out to open the door when he heard the argument on the other side. He froze for a moment and then crept closer, flattening himself against the wall and placing his ear close to the wood to listen.

  “. . . can’t do anythin’, understand? It’s too late!”

  “Well, he’s got t’be warned. Does Caerwys know about this?”

  “Of course he bloody does! It’s all right, understand? There’s no way the Bastard could know about him. He’s bin warned by now, sure as fate; he’ll be miles away before the moon even rises.”

  “An’ just as well.” This was the woman’s voice, laced with bitterness. “If the gods’re kind, he won’t be comin’ back. All this nonsense about raisin’ the stones—it’s Arddryn’s talk, all over again, an’ it’ll come to t’same end, ye can be sure of that. Bloody blackrobes, they’re nothin’ but trouble. An’ trouble for us. If those whore’s sons at Malvern find out about—”

  “Well, they won’t, see? It was just a threat, an’ what’s he gonna tell ’em? It was nothin’ but a boy’s talk—when would Malvern take that seriously?”

  “It’s nothin’ we want anythin’ t’do with anyway,” said the woman, more calmly. “An’ if Garnoc thinks . . .”

  Erian listened further, until the argument wound down, and then quietly turned and left, making for the stable at a fast walk.

  The boy, Yorath, darted behind a patch of thorn-bushes and hid there, panting. His heart was pattering frantically, like a rabbit’s, and he breathed deeply. Almost immediately, though, his breath became a shudder, and he struggled to stop himself from crying. His face throbbed, and he could feel a bruise starting to rise on his cheek. The griffiner’s threat still rang in his ears; the thought of it, and that huge sword, made him tremble.

  Tears started to leak from his eyes, but he gritted his teeth and forced the rest to stay back. He peeked out from behind the thorn-bushes, and once he was sure there was no-one else around he ran into the trees and away from the village as fast as he could go.

  He hadn’t
been this way on his own before, and once or twice he thought he was lost, but he found a familiar tree or stump and sped up.

  It was further than he remembered. He slowed down after a while, gasping for breath and suddenly aware that it was getting dark. He looked upward and was alarmed to see the first stars had come out.

  He looked forward again. Light had drained out of the trees with frightening speed, and he realised that if he didn’t find the place quickly he would be lost.

  He screwed up his courage and moved on, biting his lip.

  A twig snapped behind him. He froze and then turned, raising his hands to defend himself.

  There was no-one there. Yorath resisted the temptation to call out and stayed where he was, watching for any sign of movement. Nothing. He snatched up a stick and ran away, heart pounding, expecting something to grab him from behind at any moment, but nothing did, and he ran on blindly, branches lashing at his face.

  Something caught around his ankle, and he pitched forward with a yell of alarm, landing hard on his face. For a moment he lay there, winded and gasping, before fear galvanised him back into action.

  He got up, swearing to himself, and stopped dead when he saw a light up ahead. Relief flared in his chest, and he picked up his stick and ran toward the light as fast as he could.

  The light was coming from a clearing hidden among some birch trees. Yorath burst into it, shouting. “Garnoc!”

  A fire was burning in the middle of the clearing, and the man who had been sitting by it leapt to his feet; grabbing a long spear. “What?”

  Yorath skidded to a halt and threw his stick down. “Garnoc, it’s me, Yorath! The miller’s son!”

  Garnoc stared at him, and then relaxed. “Dear sweet holy gods, boy, yer scared the skin off’f me. What are y’doin’ here?”

  Yorath bent almost double. “There’s a griffiner,” he gasped. “In the village.”

  “I know,” said Garnoc.

  Yorath looked blankly at him. “You do? How?”

  Garnoc, a big, heavy man whose black hair was cropped close to his head, growled to himself and ran his thumb over the blade of his spear. “D’yer think the villagers are stupid, boy? They sent a runner down ’ere to tell me what was happenin’ before the Southern filth had even touched ground.”

  Yorath nearly gaped at him. “But . . . well, he’s staying at our house,” he said lamely.

  “Lucky you,” said Garnoc. “He didn’t see yer come out here, did he?”

  “No. He was inside when I left, an’ the griffin was in the stable.” Yorath paused. “He hit me.”

  “The son of a bitch,” Garnoc growled. “Why, did yer say somethin’ to him?”

  Yorath hesitated. “He said his name was Erian Rannagonson.”

  Garnoc started. “What? Rannagonson? Did yer say his name was Rannagonson?”

  “Yes,” said Yorath.

  “What’s he doin’ here?” said Garnoc.

  “I dunno,” said Yorath. “He said as he was on his way somewhere.”

  “But where? For gods’ sakes, you didn’t tell the Bastard anythin’, did yer? What did yer do t’make him hit yer?”

  “He said we couldn’t touch weapons,” said Yorath. “I said Lord Arenadd was gonna drive the Southerners out, an’ then we could—”

  Garnoc swore violently. “You damned idiot!” he said. “What did yer go an’ do that for? D’you realise what y’ve done?”

  “He never knew nothin’ about it,” Yorath said belligerently. “He’s too stupid t’know anythin’, idiot Southern—”

  As he spoke, he heard something behind him and saw Garnoc’s eyes widen suddenly. As he turned to look, it was as if the entire wood exploded.

  Something huge and horrible came bursting through the birch trees and rushed into the clearing. He saw it hit Garnoc full in the chest, throwing him violently to the ground, but as he opened his mouth to shout, a pair of hands closed around his neck and shoulder, dragging him sideways.

  Yorath struggled. “Let me go! Garnoc!”

  The great brown griffin had pinned Garnoc to the ground and was holding him there, snarling and hissing. The big Northerner moaned and tried to pull himself out from under her, but she wrapped her talons around him and trapped him.

  The griffiner hit Yorath as he tried to escape. “Hold still, boy, or I’ll snap your neck.”

  Garnoc managed to raise his head. “Let him go!” he yelled. “He’s only a boy, he’s done nothin’ wrong. I’m the one yer want, see?”

  Erian stalked toward him, dragging Yorath. “Garnoc, is it?”

  Garnoc glared up at him. “That’s me name, you sunworshippin’ son of a bitch. What’s the matter? Are yer too much of a coward t’fight me on yer own, if yer need this overgrown pigeon t’help yer?” He cried out as Senneck tightened her grip, her talons driving cruelly into his skin.

  “I’m not interested in fighting,” Erian snapped. “I want answers. How did you get here?”

  Garnoc said nothing.

  Instantly Senneck closed her talons, squeezing until Garnoc’s ribs cracked and he screamed.

  “How—did—you—get here?” Erian repeated. “Answer me!”

  Garnoc spat blood. “Sod off, Bastard.”

  Senneck squeezed again, and this time she did not loosen her grip. She lifted him from the ground, crushing him mercilessly, her talons tearing through his clothes and into his flesh, until blood began to run down her paw and drip onto the ground and Garnoc thrashed and screamed, howling in agony.

  Yorath began to cry. “Stop it! Stop it! Please, stop it, leave him alone!”

  Erian spoke quickly to Senneck in griffish, and she opened her talons and let Garnoc drop. He fell limply and lay on his back, shaking violently with shock.

  Erian placed a boot on his chest and drew his knife. “I can see you’re brave enough for a blackrobe.” He looked down at Garnoc, examining him. “Hmm. Scars on your neck and a brand on your hand. You’re a runaway slave. And I think I know who set you free. But I want to know for sure.” He pressed the knife into Yorath’s neck. “So I’m going to ask you one more time. Tell me the truth, or your little friend dies.”

  Garnoc’s eyes spat hate. “Kill me if yer want to, Bastard. But yer gonna get yours.”

  “Is that so?” said Erian. “Well”—he pressed the knife down harder—“if that’s all you have to say . . .”

  “Let him go, you son of a whore,” said Garnoc. “I’ll tell yer this, an’ much good it’ll do yer. I was a slave at Herbstitt. Me an’ my mates was buildin’ a wall there while the governor was away. One day a new man joined the gang. His name was Arenadd Taranisäii, an’ he set us free. Him an’ Skandar.”

  Erian breathed deeply. “And then he led you all to Guard’s Post, where you slaughtered nearly sixty innocent men and two griffins.”

  “He set us free,” Garnoc rasped. “All of us. He led us to victory, an’ as a reward he took off our collars and let us go free. We scattered. I dunno where the others are, an’ I wouldn’t tell yer if I did. But they’re spreadin’ the word now. They’re tellin’ every Northerner about what he did an’ who he is. You can’t stop it, Southerner. He’s comin’ back. He’s gonna lead us.”

  Erian waited, still holding Yorath with the knife to his throat. But Garnoc said nothing more, and Erian took the knife away and let the boy go. Yorath stumbled off and then ran from the clearing.

  Garnoc did not move. “That’s all I know. Kill me now. I’m done.”

  Erian sheathed his knife and lifted his boot from the man’s chest. His breathing was ragged and unsteady with suppressed fury. “I would love to kill you,” he said.

  “And so would I,” said Senneck. She glanced at her human.

  “He has nothing more to say, that is clear. We should make an end to it; we must go.”

  Erian ignored her. “I want to kill you,” he said. “But I’m not going to. I want you to stay alive.”

  Garnoc looked warily at him. “It’s to be Malvern, is it?
An’ a hangin’? Or maybe back to the slavers—that it, Bastard?”

  “No. You can keep your life. I want you to go, Garnoc. Leave here. Go and find your master, and give him this message from me. Tell him I said . . .” Erian closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “Tell him I said ‘I know what you are, Kraeai kran ae, and I know what you’re planning. The Night God can’t protect you, and neither can your evil magic. I am Aeai ran kai, and I am coming.’ ” He paused. “ ‘Remember my face, murderer. It’s the last one you’ll ever see.’ ”

  9

  Starting a War

  Yorath almost fled the forest altogether after Erian let him go, but he didn’t. Later on he tried to convince himself that it was because of his own courage and his refusal to leave Garnoc alone, but the truth was that he didn’t know the way back. It was pitch-black by now, and the moon was hiding behind a cloud, so he could barely see an arm’s length in front of his face. He ran blindly out of the clearing and immediately collided with a bush, bounced off it, and landed hard on his back.

  The landing winded him badly, and he lay there, gasping and sobbing.

  Moments later, he heard loud crunching and snapping from somewhere to his left, mingled with the thud of footsteps—large ones. He lay very still, not daring to move, and as the moon emerged from the clouds he saw the outline of the griffin, so close, walking almost straight toward him.

  His heart beat fast. She was coming for him; she was going to crush him in her talons just as she had done to Garnoc. As this idea spread hot panic through his body, he almost got up and ran, but instinct kept him still, lying half-hidden under the bush like a hare.

  And then the griffin was no longer coming; she was there, nearly standing over him, so close he could hear her low, rumbling breaths and smell the musty scent of her feathers. She paused to look over her shoulder at something, and said some harsh griffish word. Then she turned back, toward him, and walked away, turning to one side to avoid the bush, with her human trailing behind her.

  And then they were gone.

  Yorath waited for a long time before he moved. His back felt broken, and his chest ached. Eventually it was the thought of Garnoc, still back there in the clearing, that made him get up. He rolled over and levered himself upright, and limped slowly back the way he had come, toward the light.