The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy)

by K J Taylor

  Panting, he glared at the gold sunwheel set into the wood.

  One of his followers, a local man, caught up with him. “Hah! They’re done now!” he yelled. “There’s no other way out of there!”

  Arenadd turned to the others as they arrived. “They’re trapped,” he told them. “If they think Gryphus can protect them, they’re mistaken.” He nodded at the doors. “Go in after them. Kill them all. I don’t care if they surrender.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Saeddryn.

  Arenadd paused before he turned away. “After they’re dead, burn it to the ground.”

  He left them there and walked back toward the tower, feeling a strange, dark pleasure burning inside him like a flame. Not just the pleasure of killing, he thought, or the thrill of victory . This was something else. The Night God, telling him she was pleased.

  You want me to destroy Gryphus’ temples, he thought. He smiled grimly. Consider it done, my lady.

  He returned to the Governor’s Tower, to find it ransacked. His new allies—many of them criminals he had freed from the local prison—had gone through the storerooms and the treasury, helping themselves to whatever they liked. Arenadd had to pick his way through the ruins of some shattered furniture to get through the dining hall, and nearly slipped over on a squashed wheel of cheese. A pair of women were lounging on the table, busy drinking their way through a barrel of wine.

  One of them waved cheerily at him. “Welcome back, lord! Have a drink!”

  Arenadd opened his mouth to snap at her, but suddenly found himself shrugging and reaching out for the proffered cup. It had been a long time since he had tasted wine, and he downed the contents in a few swallows, much to the delight of the two women. It was fine wine, rich and sweet, with plenty of kick to it. He grinned. “Very nice. Save some for the rest of us, all right?”

  The woman giggled. “There ain’t no worries over that, lord; the cellar here’s full of it. The whole city could drown ’emselves in it an’ die happy.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Arenadd, and gave the cup back to her before he left the room. Elsewhere he found similar sights of greed and misbehaviour, and privately marvelled at how little time it had taken for them to start indulging themselves. The last of the guards hadn’t even been defeated yet, and they were already drinking and looting. His first response had been anger and disgust, but now he found that he didn’t particularly mind. What does it matter that they’re having a little fun? I want devotion; I want them to like me. And I want to send a message. The more chaos I create here, the louder it will be and the more Malvern will fear me. I can worry about discipline later.

  Besides, he had more important things on his mind. He climbed the stairs to Lord Tynan’s chamber. He had given everyone very clear instructions to stay away and was pleased to see he’d been obeyed. Or at least no-one had come this far yet. He unlocked the door and went in.

  Tynan’s body was still lying on the floor where it had fallen. Arenadd barely spared it a glance before he passed through the archway and into Retha’s nest. Retha, a slim white and grey griffin, was lying on her side in her bedding. She looked as if she was still asleep, just as he’d left her, but he could see the blood on her neck and side. Skandar stood over by the trough, panting and bloodied. “My nest now,” was all he said.

  Arenadd didn’t argue with him about that; the big griffin obviously resented the fact that he had been asked to stay away from the fighting in the streets and instead hide here. Killing Retha must have helped him deal with some of his frustration.

  “It’s over now,” Arenadd said. “Let’s go and see what’s happening in the city.”

  Skandar came at once, all aggression and excitement. “Come, we fly,” he said.

  Arenadd got on his back willingly enough, and the dark griffin ran out and nearly hurled himself into the sky, circling over the buildings several times before coming down to land.

  Outside, the fight was more or less over; Arenadd couldn’t see any of the enemy left alive, and things looked fairly calm. He hoped the looting hadn’t spread out into the rest of the city; the situation could become extremely ugly if it had. He would worry about that later.

  As he approached the temple, he could already see a thick plume of smoke rising over the rooftops, Saeddryn and her friends had worked quickly.

  The fighting had reached this far; he saw several bodies lying here and there in the street. A couple of Northerners were busy looting them, but they stood up and bowed reverentially when they saw Arenadd and Skandar coming.

  He nodded curtly. “Carry on.”

  “Yes, lord.”

  In the open space in front of the temple, Arenadd found Saeddryn and her friends just emerging through the shattered front doors. Nerth and some others were dragging several bodies out with them.

  “Saeddryn, what happened?”

  She stopped and wiped the sweat off her forehead, leaving a smear of blood. “Sir. There ye are.”

  Arenadd made a quick count of the dead. “Seven of the poor bastards. What happened? You had them outnumbered, didn’t you?”

  “There was more inside, sir,” said Saeddryn. “An’ some others showed up. They must’ve all had the idea t’come here an’ hide. Lucky for us, some of ours came t’help.” She gestured at them.

  Arenadd gripped the hilt of his stolen sword. “Skade! What are you doing—are you all right?”

  Skade was breathing heavily, and her clothes were torn and stained red. “This blood is not mine,” she said. “I am not badly injured.”

  Arenadd strode toward her. “I told you to stay with Skandar. You were supposed to wait until I gave the all clear—for gods’ sakes, Skade—”

  “I am not one of your followers,” she snapped back. “I do what I choose, and I chose to enter the city and fight.”

  “You should’ve seen her, sir,” Nerth put in. “She bit one bastard t’death, I swear. She fights like a wolf. I offered her a sword, an’ she wouldn’t take it!”

  Arenadd grabbed her arm. “You could have been killed! Skade, it wasn’t necessary—you have to stay safe. What if something happened to you?”

  She pulled free. “I can care for myself. I am not a hatchling, Arenadd, or a coward.”

  “It’s not a question of . . .” Arenadd realised people were staring at him. “Fine,” he muttered sourly. “Do what you want to do. I’ve got other things to deal with right now.”

  “I assume it was a victory?” Skade asked coldly.

  “Yes. Skandar and I came to see how things were going—care to join us?”

  Skandar had already wandered off, sniffing here and there and huffing irritably to himself. Arenadd grinned and ran after him, waving at Skade to follow.

  In the streets of Warwick, people stopped to watch them. Many of them bowed to Arenadd; some even cheered, and some darted over to touch his robe then backed away, wide-eyed and mouthing his name.

  Arenadd did his best to acknowledge them, though awkwardly, and tried not to shy away when they came too close; he had always disliked being touched, and it had become even worse lately. They didn’t seem to notice, or to mind.

  He soon forgot his irritation in the joy of the moment. They had won their first victory, and nothing mattered more than that.

  11

  Rebirth

  They celebrated that night in the dining hall with dozens of friends and followers. Arenadd had managed to round up the kitchen staff and had ordered them to cook everything they could lay their hands on. The centrepiece was half a dozen mutton carcasses stuffed with expensive yellow cymran fruit—something only griffiners and the wealthy usually enjoyed. Arenadd had more of them sent out into the city for the general population to enjoy, and opened the cellars and distributed all the alcohol. There had been some looting out in the city, but not as much as he had feared, and now the atmosphere had relaxed somewhat.

  In the hall, Arenadd passed a chunk of mutton to Skade. “Here, try it.”

  Skade tasted it. �
��It is strange. Unlike anything I have tasted before . . . but not unpleasant.”

  Arenadd chewed his own portion, and sighed beatifically. “Gods. There’s nothing like mutton cooked with cymran juice. I’ve only ever had it three times before, on special occasions.”

  Skade tried another mouthful. “Tangy,” she commented. “I like it.”

  Arenadd poured himself some more wine. “D’you know Cymria is actually named after the cymran fruit?”

  “Of course I do,” said Skade.

  “Ah, but do you know why?”

  She hesitated. “No.”

  “Not many people do. Well . . .” He paused to gulp down some wine, and sighed again. “Oh gods, I needed that so badly . . . all right. So, you know the Southerners originally came from Eire and a few of its neighbouring countries. After the first of them found this place—that was hundreds of years ago, of course—they wanted to encourage more Eireans to come here so they could conquer it before anyone else did. No-one was interested at first, so they told all sorts of lies about what a rich country it was.” Arenadd took another throatful of wine. “Including the little tidbit that it was stuffed full of cymran trees. They said, ‘There are so many cymrans there that everyone will be able to eat them, no matter how rich or poor they are!’ Back in Eire, you see, cymrans were so rare they were practically sacred. So, people started believing the lies, and they actually named the country Cymria—Land of the Cymran fruit, see?” He sniggered. “I love how people work. They’re so easily fooled sometimes, aren’t they? So the people came in droves, to feast on cymrans. And after that they realised this place was dry and rocky and full of these strange giant creatures they called gryphans.”

  Skade laughed. “Ah, but humans are so clever. Perhaps you do not have magic or wings or talons, but you have a cunning that griffins do not, and a resourcefulness. That is why you have survived and the wild griffins are all but gone. It was a great sacrifice of my—of Skandar’s race to do what they did, choosing to live alongside humans. They put aside their pride.”

  Arenadd drained his cup. “Well, they didn’t have much choice, did they? Humans cut down the trees, drove away the animals . . . we changed everything. No amount of strength or power could undo that. Not even magic could.”

  “No.” Skade sighed. “Griffins may be intelligent, but they are still animals at heart, as humans are. In the end, their only instinct is to survive. And if survival meant changing their way of life, then they did what they had to.”

  “Yes, well . . . they make use of us as much as we make use of them.”

  Skade nodded and helped herself to some more mutton. Arenadd, meanwhile, downed several more cups of wine while he talked to the people around him, growing more relaxed and expansive as the evening went on. He was on his fifth cup and looking rather woozy by the time Saeddryn came over to talk to him.

  “How long are we stayin’ here?” she asked, raising her voice over the hubbub.

  Arenadd refilled his cup yet again. “Not too long. A few days, maybe. Once we’re ready we can leave, before the griffiners get here. Tomorrow you can help me decide where to attack next.”

  “Is that yer strategy, then?” said Saeddryn. “Keep attackin’ cities an’ gatherin’ followers until we’re ready t’go after Malvern?”

  Arenadd finished filling the cup and took a healthy swig from it. “No. Can’t keep that many people on the move long enough for that. We’re heading for Malvern before the next full moon.”

  Saeddryn looked bewildered, and then irritated. “Yer drunk. I’ll wait until tomorrow to discuss this.”

  Arenadd grinned and toasted her. “Relax. Have a drink. You’ve earnt it.”

  Saeddryn rolled her eyes and left.

  Skade watched her go. “She is far too serious.”

  Arenadd laughed. “And coming from you, that means a lot, Skade.”

  “What do you mean?” said Skade, quite innocently.

  “Oh, come on now,” said Arenadd, nudging her. “Do you know how many times I’ve seen you actually smile?”

  “Griffins do not smile,” she said primly.

  “But humans do,” said Arenadd, and polished off another cup.

  Skade eyed him. “But perhaps Saeddryn was correct—you are drinking a lot, Arenadd.”

  He reached for the jug. “I know. I have a lot of catching up to do.”

  “Be careful you do not make yourself ill,” said Skade.

  Arenadd filled the cup and gulped some down. “I’m drinking to forget,” he said impulsively. “If you must know.”

  “Forget?” Skade looked puzzled. “I do not understand.”

  Arenadd squinted at her; she was starting to look a little blurry. “People drink,” he said. “I mean, when they want to forgot . . . forget things.” He took another mouthful. “And I have a lot of things I’d rather . . . not remember.” Another mouthful. “Everything, for a start. And at the very least”—he made a grab for the jug, but missed—“I’d like to sleep tonight.”

  “You sleep every night,” Skade pointed out, as she moved the jug out of his reach.

  Thwarted, Arenadd sat back. “Yes, but I’d like it if it felt, you know, restful,” he said bitterly. “Instead of being full of nightmares. Give me the damn jug, will you?”

  When Skade didn’t, he stood up and grabbed it himself, and refilled his cup yet again.

  “Being tortured once was bad enough,” he said, holding on to the table to steady himself and staring into the red depths of the wine. “Now I have to relive it every time I go to sleep. I’m tired of it, Skade. Tired, tired, tired. I want it out of my head, all of it. Instead of everything else that’s gone.”

  Skade touched his arm. “Arenadd—”

  He ignored her and downed the cup, too quickly for his own good. He retched. “Oh, yuck. I think I’m going to throw up.”

  “Come,” said Skade. “We should go and check on Skandar now.”

  Arenadd nodded vaguely and yawned. “All right.”

  She helped him out of the hall as discreetly as she could, hoping he wouldn’t stumble too obviously. A few people waved or called out, and Arenadd grinned and waved back, which turned out to be a mistake; he promptly tottered sideways into the doorway, and Skade had to help him recover his balance. There were a few laughs, but fortunately most of the people in the hall were too busy eating or talking to notice.

  Skade helped him out before anything else happened, and they headed upstairs.

  Arenadd weaved slightly on the steps but managed to keep his balance. “Oooh, I’m going to regret this tomorrow,” he mumbled. “Didn’t realise how strong that stuff was.”

  By the time they reached the door to Tynan’s chamber, he looked to have sobered up a little and managed to open it himself. It was dark inside, but there were still a few flames flickering in the fireplace.

  “I’ll sort it out,” Arenadd said confidently. “I’ve got good night vision.”

  He staggered over to a table and found a candlestick with a candle in it. He lit that from the fireplace and then went around the room, lighting the lamps.

  “That’s better. Now . . .”

  He stumbled off toward the archway, still carrying the candle. Skade, fearing he would set the straw on fire, hurried after him.

  “Arenadd—”

  He had stopped in the archway, and as she approached he turned to look at her with a wide smile. “Come and see this,” he said. “Be quiet, though.”

  Skade came to his side, and he wordlessly held the candle out in front of him, casting light over the nest.

  There was blood on the bedding. Retha’s body had been ripped limb from limb, and the entire chest and part of the haunches had been stripped to the bone. Tynan’s remains were nowhere to be seen. But neither of the two humans were particularly bothered by the carnage.

  Skandar was curled up in the middle of it, close to Retha’s carcass. He was lying on his stomach now, with his legs folded beneath him and his head tucked under
his wing. He had eaten so much that his flanks were bulging.

  Arenadd grinned, his face ghostly in the gloom. “You old glutton,” he murmured.

  Skade couldn’t help but smile, too. “He must have been hungry. It was kind of you to leave food for him.”

  “Come on,” said Arenadd. “We’ll leave him to sleep.”

  They returned to the bedchamber, and Arenadd put the candle down and took Skade in a crushing embrace.

  “Yes, yes, yes!” he exalted. “We did it! We bloody did it! We won!”

  Skade, returning the hug, couldn’t help but be the voice of caution. “You were lucky this time. Next time may be more difficult.”

  Arenadd was too elated—and drunk—to care. “Let’s hope so. Skandar wants to fight next time. And he will. We’ll fight side by side at last, and that’ll be something to remember! I just wish I could still use a sword.” He kissed her on the lips. “Never had the training back at Eagleholm. I was meant to be an administrator, not a warrior. But”—he kissed her again—“I have other skills, don’t I?”

  She kissed him back. “No sword can kill you, Arenadd.”

  “No arrows, either,” he agreed. “But magic, maybe.”

  They kissed again. This time, it lasted longer.

  “Magic cannot kill you, either,” Skade said afterward. “You have come through every kind of danger and lived.”

  Arenadd laughed and nuzzled the nape of her neck. “No. Not lived, Skade. Not lived.”

  She pressed herself against him, tangling her fingers in his hair the way he liked her to. “Well, it is living to me,” she murmured. “You do not look dead, or feel dead.”

  He didn’t hear her, but kissed her again and ran his hands down her body. “Gods,” he almost whispered. “I need you, Skade. I need you so badly. I need to be loved. I feel so empty sometimes, but you make it go away. You make me feel like I still have a heart, somewhere . . .”

  She unfastened the front of his robe and reached inside, touching the bare skin of his back, feeling the marks of the lash there. “You have a heart,” she said.