by K J Taylor
Same?
Yes. Listen, Skandar. I know your desires, and I will give them to you. She drew herself up, terrible and regal in the blackness. You and your human together are all but indestructible. You have the power to gather humans to you to fight on your behalf, and you can destroy the griffins at Malvern and take their land for yourselves. Would you like that, Skandar?
Skandar’s tail twitched faster. Land? Big territory?
Bigger than any griffin’s in the world, Skandar. Forests, rivers, plains and mountains. Humans to bring food and make the finest nests for you, and beautiful stones for you to own—stones that shine like the moon. You will have respect, and humans and griffins will dip their heads before you and call you master.
Want, Skandar said instantly. Want that. Want all.
And you shall have it, Skandar. All of it. But first you must do something for me.
Do what? He bristled, instantly suspicious.
Nothing that will be hard. You and Arenadd can take your reward, but there is someone who can stop you and take all of this away.
I kill, said Skandar.
That is exactly what you must do. There are three humans who must die. They are the family of Rannagon, the man you and Arenadd killed at Eagleholm. One of them is Aeai ran kai. That human has the power to kill Arenadd and will not rest until it is done.
Not kill me? said Skandar.
Aeai ran kai seeks to destroy Arenadd, not you, but you do not need to fear for your human. Gryphus’ chosen cannot win the fight against Kraeai kran ae; he will die. Skandar, your task will be to help Arenadd find and destroy these three humans; he will know who they are and where to find them.
Why help? Skandar asked sullenly. I find, I kill.
Leave your human to fight other humans, said the white griffin. You have your own foe.
What foe? said Skandar.
There is a griffin living at Malvern. His name is Kraal. Most call him the Mighty Kraal. He is master of the North now, and he is powerful and wise. You must kill him to win this land for your own.
Skandar’s talons flexed. I kill, he said. Where find?
At Malvern. Arenadd cannot hope to fight Kraal on his own; you must do this yourself. Do this in my name, and you will be rewarded.
I kill, Skandar promised. Find Kraal. Kill. Kill!
But do not forget this, said the white griffin. Suddenly she looked much bigger, almost towering over him. You must protect your human, Skandar. Protect him at all costs. Do not lose him; do not betray him. If he dies, you will have nothing. A griffin without a human has no status; he is nothing but a wild animal to be hunted. With Arenadd beside you, your future will be assured . . . and the rewards will be great.
I stay, said Skandar. Protect. Not let leave.
That is all I ask, Skandar.
She walked away from him and lay down, her limbs suddenly stiffening. Blood ran from her beak before she became still. Skandar got up and went to inspect her, and as he stepped forward the shadows faded away and he realised he was awake again. In front of him was the dead griffin, smelling of cooling flesh and blood.
Skandar let his hunger take control and settled down to eat with barely another thought. But as he tore into the carcass, he smelled something else in the air: the lingering scent of a living human. A human he knew. Arenadd had been here recently. Watching over him.
I will eat and become strong again, he told himself. Then I will find Kraal at his nest and kill him. Arenadd will help me.
He recalled that thought now as he flew, and that same certainty came back. Yes. The white griffin had helped him and was a friend. Arenadd knew about her, too—he had talked about destroying Malvern. He must know; she had spoken to him as well.
The idea fitted comfortably into Skandar’s simple thought process. He would fight his enemies again and take their land for himself, with Arenadd’s help. The human was clever. He could make good plans.
Skandar sent out a screeching call and executed a fantastic swoop and twirl in midair, just for the sake of it. His wings felt stronger every moment.
Torc heard the screech from down in the city. After the meeting he had helped his adopted father find an empty room to sleep in for a while, and now that was done he was left to his own devices.
He wandered along a corridor, thinking. There should be food in the kitchens, and even though he wasn’t particularly hungry he decided to go there anyway. He had spent more than thirteen years as a slave, and the novelty of being able to eat as much as he wanted was one that hadn’t worn off yet.
On his way back past the hall, he looked through the open door and was surprised to see a black-robed figure slumped over the table. He paused in the corridor, wondering whether he should go in. Arenadd, unaware of his presence, heaved a deep sigh. It sounded so tired, so miserable, and so human that Torc couldn’t make himself leave.
He went into the hall and ventured toward him. “Um . . . sir?”
Arenadd looked up sharply. For a moment Torc saw an emotion flicker about his pale face before it abruptly vanished, leaving it cool and reserved. “Torc.”
Torc bowed hastily. “I’m sorry, sir, I was just passin’ by . . .”
Arenadd stood up. “That’s fine. I should be getting things done now anyway. D’you want to come with me?”
“Er, all right, sir, if y’need help.”
“I’ve got a little errand to run,” said Arenadd. “I think you’ll like it. Come on.”
Torc followed him out of the room, feeling inexplicably frightened. He had caught the look of unutterable despair on Arenadd’s face, and having seen it, he felt as if he had been caught spying on something he wasn’t meant to see.
“You’ll be old enough for your manhood ceremony very soon,” said Arenadd. “Did Caedmon say anything about that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What did he say?”
“He said every Northerner used t’be tested when he was my age, an’ when he was ready he’d be given the tattoos, an’ then he’d be ready t’get a wife an’ a family.”
“That’s right. They did that with me when I found Taranis’ Throne,” said Arenadd. “I was lucky. I got my tattoos from Arddryn herself.”
Torc sped up to keep pace with him. “What was she like, sir?”
Arenadd slowed to accommodate him. “Old. I think she looked older than she was—a hard life will do that to you. But she was so strong as well. She could hardly walk without someone to help her, and she was blind in one eye, but you got the feeling she was made of steel—nothing could stand against her. She hit me, you know.”
“She hit you?” said Torc.
“Yes. When I first came there, she didn’t know if Skandar and I were friends or not, so she and Hyrenna attacked us on the spot. We lost very quickly. I had to convince her I was on her side, so I told her my name. When I told her I killed Lord Rannagon, she punched me in the face.”
“Why?” said Torc.
“Lord Rannagon took her eye,” said Arenadd. “He led the attack that destroyed her army at Tor Plain. He was her worst enemy. She was furious to find out someone else had killed him before she had the chance. Still.” He chuckled. “It made her see I was a friend quickly enough.”
“I wish I could’ve met her,” said Torc.
“So do I,” said Arenadd. “Almost as much as I wish Caedmon could have.” They had descended into the lower levels of the tower, and by now there were no more windows and their way was lit by torches. Arenadd stopped in front of a heavy metal door. “Ah, here we are. Just wait a moment . . .” He rummaged in his pocket and brought out a large brass key. “I think this is the right one . . . ah-ha!” The key fitted and turned. Arenadd turned to Torc. “Could you just pick up one of those torches? Thank you.”
He pushed the door open, and they went in.
The room beyond was small. Its stone walls were lined with shelves. They were laden with metal chests, neatly lined up. At the end of the room, sitting on the floor, was another
much larger chest, also made from metal.
Arenadd walked the length of the room, examining the boxes. “Perfect. If these are full, we’ll have more than enough.”
Torc followed him with the torch. “This is the treasury, isn’t it, sir?”
“It certainly is. There must be thousands of oblong in here. Among other things. Now, let’s see . . .” Arenadd chose a box at random and opened it. It was full of money.
Torc’s eyes widened. “By gods, that’s a fortune!”
Arenadd picked out a gold oblong, turning it over in the light. It was decorated with an embossed griffin on one side and a line of text on the other. “You’ve never owned money before, have you?”
“Not really, sir.”
“Well then. This is a gold oblong, worth the most. Actually it’s made from bronze; gold is too soft to last. And this . . .” He picked up a smaller silver coin of the same rounded rectangular shape. This one bore a picture of a serpent. “A silver half-oblong. Worth half as much as a gold one. And this one here”—he picked up the smallest coin, dark grey, with an ox on it—“made from iron. Ten of these make one oblong, five make a half-oblong. Simple!”
“So, we’re gonna take all this?” said Torc.
“A good amount of it, yes. We’ll need all we can get if we’re going to buy our friends back into freedom.” Arenadd closed the chest and moved on to the large one at the end of the room. “I’ve got a feeling there’s something in here that isn’t money.”
The chest proved to have a lock on it. Arenadd tried to wrestle it open. “Damn!”
“Maybe we could break it open, sir,” said Torc.
“Not easily. These things are designed to be tough. But don’t worry; I’m not beaten yet.” Arenadd drew his dagger and jabbed the point into the lock. He spent a few moments twiddling it this way and that, until the mechanism made a loud clicking noise. “Got it!”
He removed the dagger and tugged at the lid. This time, it began to come open.
“Where’d you learn how t’do that, sir?” said Torc.
Arenadd stood to heave the lid up. “When you deal with smugglers, you pick up a few useful skills. Ye gods, look at this!”
Torc nearly dropped the torch. “Treasure!”
Gold gleamed at them from inside the chest. Gold, and jewels as well. Unable to stop himself, Torc reached out and touched it, burying his fingers in gold chains, rings and arm bands.
Arenadd crouched beside him. “Thank the gods we got in here before anyone else. If I hadn’t had the key, this room would’ve been stripped bare in the blink of an eye.” He started to rummage through the chest’s contents. “By the moon . . . I’d love to keep some of this, if it wasn’t so impractical.”
Torc desperately wanted to try some of the jewellery on, but the thought struck him that he could be accused of stealing. He withdrew his hand and sighed miserably.
Arenadd glanced at him and grinned. “If you like the look of anything, take it. Make sure it’s something small, though, and keep it hidden—or it’ll be stolen from you before you’ve finished breathing in.”
Torc’s face spread into a slow, disbelieving grin. “Can I really?”
“Of course. Go on.”
Torc lunged forward, burying his arm to the elbow in jewellery, pulling out whatever he touched and scattering it on the floor, looking for the most beautiful or valuable thing he could find. During his search, he unearthed several very large rings—some silver, some gold, some set with precious stones.
He examined one, puzzled. “Is this a neck . . . thing, sir?”
Arenadd took it and turned it over in his hands. His face lit up. “I know what this is! This—no, they’re not for humans at all. No-one’s got a neck this thick. No, this is for griffins to wear. On their forelegs. See the hinge there? You snap it on, like a . . . well, like a slave collar, really.”
“Griffins wear jewellery?” said Torc. “Sir?”
“Oh, yes. When a griffiner is honoured with a new official station, his or her griffin gets given rings like these to wear. The higher the station, the finer the rings. Griffins love gold and jewels. Hmm . . . I wonder if Skandar would like a pair?”
“I’m sure he would, sir,” Torc said politely.
Arenadd shook himself and put the ring down. “All right, that’s enough daydreaming. You choose something while I get on with this.” He rummaged through the chest and pocketed a couple of rings and a necklace before finally coming up with what he was looking for; he examined it and offered it to Torc. “Here. This is for you.”
It was a large precious stone, very dark blue in colour and beautifully faceted. Torc examined it, awestruck. “It’s beautiful! What should I do with it, sir?”
Arenadd straightened up. “You’ll be a man soon, and one day you’ll need that.”
“What for?” said Torc.
“One day you’ll see a woman you like,” said Arenadd. “One you’d like to spend your life with. If you’re sure you’ve found that woman, then give her that stone.”
“Oh!” said Torc. “Of course. Caedmon told me—I see, sir.”
“Well.” Arenadd rubbed his broken fingers. “Now that’s done, I’m going to gather some of these chests together and leave them by the door so we can take them when we leave. Put all that back in the chest while I’m doing that, will you?”
“Yes, sir,” said Torc.
Arenadd looped a couple of the griffin-rings over his arm and went to examine the moneyboxes, while Torc repacked the treasure chest, though he couldn’t stop himself from secreting a few choice items away in his clothes.
Arenadd finished stacking several boxes by the door and filled a small bag with money from one of them before turning to look at Torc. “Are you done?”
Torc shovelled the last handful of gold chains back into the chest. “Yes, sir.” They left the treasury together, and Torc summoned up the courage to say: “Sir, why aren’t we taking all the money?”
“We won’t be able to carry it, for one thing,” said Arenadd. “And besides, we’d bankrupt the city. Everyone in it would suffer.”
“Oh.”
“Now, you take good care of that stone, won’t you?” said Arenadd. “Don’t lose it, and be careful who you give it to. Once you’ve given it to a woman, you can’t take it back unless she gives it to you of her own free will. If she keeps it, you’re betrothed.”
“Yes, sir,” Torc said solemnly.
Arenadd’s black eyes glinted. “You saw my cousin Saeddryn at the meeting, didn’t you?”
“She was the one who argued with you, sir.”
“Do you like her?”
Torc looked slightly puzzled. “How d’ye mean, sir?”
“Do you think she’s pretty?” said Arenadd. “Would you like to get to know her better?”
“I think so, sir,” Torc said shyly.
“That’s good. I think she’d like a new friend. She’s a rather lonely person. Her mother made her swear never to marry anyone but another Taranisäii.”
“But don’t ye love Skade, sir?” said Torc.
“That’s beside the point,” said Arenadd. “I don’t have my stone any more. Anyway,” he said abruptly, “thank you for your help. I’ve got to go and deal with some other things.”
“Yes, sir,” said Torc.
Arenadd nodded and smiled briefly, and walked off, leaving him alone. Torc watched him go, and then reached into his pocket for the stone. It looked even more beautiful in daylight, and he turned it over in his fingers, examining it thoughtfully.
15
An Old Friend
Arenadd and his followers stayed at Warwick for several days, planning, resting and recruiting. The city had remained surprisingly calm after the Governor’s Tower was overrun, but Arenadd knew that wouldn’t last; with all its administrators killed, it would soon fall into chaos. He knew there wasn’t much he could do about that, and had determined to leave before it happened. Even so, plenty of the city’s occupants wanted to
join his cause, and he spent most of his time mingling with them, talking to them to find out more about their backgrounds and skills. But there were many of them—over two hundred offered their services during the first two days alone—and he knew there was no way he could take them all with him to Fruitsheart. He also didn’t want to reject them; every follower was valuable.
Nerth provided the solution. Arenadd ordered the tough darkman to take most of the volunteers back to the mountains and go into hiding with them there, ready to emerge when the time was right.
“While you’re there, you can train them,” he added. “They need to know everything you can teach them about hunting and weapons. You have to remind them of everything they’ve forgotten.”
He was tempted to send Saeddryn as well—she still refused to completely subordinate herself to him and argued with him during nearly every meeting—but decided against it. Partly it was because he didn’t want to make her angry with him again, but also because, like it or not, he had to concede that she was a fine strategist and leader in her own right, and quite frankly he couldn’t afford to send her away.
Caedmon also stayed with the party that would go to Fruitsheart, simply because Arenadd knew the harsh conditions up in the mountains could well kill him, as they had eventually killed Arddryn.
On the evening of the fifth day after the conquest, Arenadd returned to his temporary home carrying a large parcel under his arm.
Skade rose from the bed and came to meet him. “What is that?”
Arenadd dumped the parcel on the table and started to unwrap it. “I paid for these to be made a few days ago; they’ve just been finished.”
It was a pair of boots made from thick, heavy leather dyed black. Arenadd tapped one. “Steel toecaps. Plenty of grip on the soles. These were made to last. Cost a tidy sum, too. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted a good pair of boots like these.”
Skade stifled a yawn. “I am sure they will serve you well.”
