The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy)

by K J Taylor

  There was no time for introspection, however. He reached the slums on the edge of the city, and there he finally dared to stop. Behind an old warehouse he found a particularly squalid corner that even beggars apparently preferred to avoid, and went to ground there.

  And there, he waited. He stayed for a long time, hiding under a heap of old cabbage leaves and other assorted garbage, ignoring the stench and waiting, with Elkin beside him. He dozed, woke, checked the sky and returned to his bolthole. Elkin, lying helplessly beside him, struggled from time to time or tried to speak through her gag. He ignored her other than to check her bonds and make sure the bag wasn’t suffocating her.

  Time dragged by, while the sun ever so slowly sank in the sky. Eventually Arenadd’s nervousness turned to stultifying boredom. He ate some food he’d stored in his pocket and went over his plan in his head again to occupy himself. Elkin, meanwhile, tried to wriggle away from him, and he dragged her back and held her down with a hand to her back. “Stay,” he told her quietly. “There’s nowhere for you to go.”

  Naturally, she didn’t reply. However, as the afternoon continued its slow advance toward evening, he began to have some fellow feeling toward her. He might be unhappy with his situation, but it had to be far worse for her.

  “Stay calm,” he advised. “You’re not going to be hurt. I’m going to take you to a safe place.”

  Elkin wriggled again and made that muffled whimpering sound that was probably a sob or a scream.

  “Listen, my lady,” Arenadd told her. “If I was going to kill you, I’d have done it already, like I did to your council. I was there when you were eating lunch, you know. I could have poisoned your food the same way I poisoned theirs. I’ve been watching you for a while, actually. I had a hundred opportunities to kill you. You’re safe with me. If we get caught, I’m the one who’s in trouble, not you. So please, just relax and trust me.”

  He doubted that she had even heard half of what he’d said, but he did notice that she seemed a little calmer afterward. Perhaps she had heard and believed him, or perhaps she was just exhausted. He could understand it if she was.

  The sound of griffins screeching echoed somewhere high above him, and he tensed. They had been screeching for a long time, calling to each other as they searched the city.

  Too soon to move yet.

  As he lay there, trying not to move more than he had to and listening to the threatening sounds of hunting griffins, he felt a strange numbness come over him. Images flashed through his brain, and sounds with them, too. Pounding feet, the buildings of a darkened city flashing past. He saw faces turn to stare at him and ducked into a side street to avoid them. His neck hurt, something was cutting it . . . he could feel cold blood on his skin. But he was carrying something. No hand free to touch it. His fingers were long and thin, and perfect in the moonlight. Unhurt. But overhead the griffins came screeching, and he ran, his boots thudding on the ground and his heart thudding in his chest.

  He felt a sharp pain tear into his cheek and gasped involuntarily, reaching up to touch the scar. The motion woke him up, and the visions disappeared, leaving him feeling drained.

  None of it had felt familiar. Had it happened to him? Was that one of the memories he had lost? He didn’t know. Maybe Skade knows. Maybe I told her before I forgot.

  He shook himself. It didn’t matter now, if it mattered at all. “If it was a memory, it was Arren’s, not mine,” he muttered to himself. “Arren can dream if he wants to. Meanwhile Arenadd has a city to escape from.”

  He peered out at the sky again. The sun was sinking lower toward the horizon now. He touched the hilt of the sickle to reassure himself. The moment dusk set in, he could go.

  The sun inched lower, and he watched it with an increasing sense of irritation bordering on anger. Go away, Gryphus, and take your eye with you.

  He wondered, briefly, if the sun would stop rising once he had destroyed all of the Day God’s temples.

  No. That wouldn’t do it.

  Deep down, he was glad about that. The idea of a night that never ended bothered even him. The world needed sunlight.

  At long last, the sun touched the horizon and began to dip below it. The griffin calls started to die away, and he knew they were returning to the Eyrie; no griffin liked to fly at night. Other than Skandar, of course.

  As the sky darkened and the stars came out, he felt new strength come into him. He stood up, shaking away the garbage that had covered him, and stretched his arms and legs to limber them up before turning to pick up Elkin. She was limp and still—breathing, but apparently unconscious. To his disgust, he realised that there was a damp patch on her gown. Still, needs must. He lifted her onto his shoulder again and sprinted away into the gathering night.

  Most of the abduction from Malvern passed in a blur for Elkin—albeit a blur of sheer terror. She had always had weak hearing, and the bag over her head blotted out most sound. But she was aware of a presence near her—breathing but without warmth. Her captor carried her a long way; she could feel him running and dodging, and after that he dragged her through some opening, probably a window. She could feel his feet pounding on the ground and his thin arm wrapped around her waist, holding her in place over one bony shoulder, and yet . . . and yet there was something wrong about him and his touch, something she couldn’t understand. Something not right. Later on, when they stopped and he put her down and lay beside her for a long time, she could feel his skin touching hers, and the feeling of wrongness increased.

  It was a long time before she finally realised what it was.

  He was breathing and moving, and once she heard his muffled voice speaking to her, but even though she was close enough, she couldn’t feel his pulse. His skin was cool—not icy cold, but colder than it should have been—and there was no heartbeat moving beneath.

  At first she tried to convince herself it was her imagination, but the longer he stayed close to her, the more she began to realise the truth. This was something she had never experienced or imagined in her life, something that put ice into her veins. A man without a heartbeat. Dead, but still walking.

  If she screamed then, the gag killed it.

  After that—she never knew how long after—she felt herself being lifted onto his shoulder again and carried away. Another uncomfortable journey followed, until she found herself being slung over the shoulders of a griffin—one who felt nearly as big as Kraal.

  As the griffin took off, the Eyrie Mistress felt the first wave of a terrible, crushing despair go through her. It was too late. She had been taken out of the city and was being flown away to who-knew-where, and the gods alone knew what would happen then. How would Kraal find her now?

  Moments after they had taken off, she felt a sudden burst of coldness all over her body—just as she had done before, when her captor had dragged her into the darkness. Now, though she couldn’t see anything, she had a strange sense of motion—rushing and icy cold, as if through a torrent of water—carrying them forward.

  The feeling stopped abruptly, and the griffin touched down with a thud, nearly throwing her onto the ground. But her captor held her in place, and she felt him climb down and then lift her off. After that there was a period of confused motion and jostling, until she finally heard the faint thud of a door closing and felt herself being set down on a solid floor. Her captor kindly lifted her into a sitting position, leaning against a wall, and then he removed the bag.

  Light bit into her eyes, and she blinked, cringing away from it, though a moment later she realised it was only candlelight, and not very bright at that. As her vision readjusted, she looked up and screamed again, through the gag.

  The face leaning over her was that of a wolf—reddish brown, with big, staring eyes that shone in the candlelight.

  Elkin’s heart thudded painfully, even after she realised it was only a mask—wooden, inlaid with copper fangs. As she calmed down, the scholar in her thought, I’ve seen something like that before. In a book. It’s ceremonial . .
. the chief of the Wolf Tribe wears one.

  The man wearing the mask had crouched to look down at her, and now he straightened up, revealing himself to be very tall and clad in a black robe. “Hello, my lady,” he said, his voice slightly muffled but courteous enough. “I hope the journey didn’t hurt you at all. I did my best to be careful with you.”

  Elkin peered at him. He spoke Cymrian, his accent clipped and precise and decidedly Southern, though obviously not local.

  The man tapped his mask. “I’m sorry for this, but we all agreed it would be best not to let you see our faces. The less you know, the better it is for us. I’m sure you’ll understand. Now I’m going to take the gag off, but I’ll tell you in advance not to bother screaming or calling out for help, because nobody who hears you is going to help. Nod if you understand me.”

  Elkin nodded resignedly.

  The wolf-man knelt and untied the gag. “There. I’m sure that’s much more comfortable for you,” he said. “I’ll untie your hands a little later, so you can relieve yourself and so forth. Would you like something to drink?”

  Elkin’s voice sounded faint and hoarse even to her. “Yes, please.”

  He brought her some water and put it to her mouth so she could drink it. It was cold and sweet and made her feel a little better.

  “I’ll give you some food later,” he promised. “Now, how do you feel? Is there anything you need?”

  “I am . . . not hurt,” she managed. “But please . . . where am I? Who are you?”

  He chuckled. “My lady, if I was going to tell you who I am, I wouldn’t be wearing this mask.”

  “I know who you are,” Elkin said more forcefully. “A Northerner with a Southern accent, who wears a black robe. You are Arenadd Taranisäii. The one they call the Shadow that Walks.”

  He was silent for a moment, and then he laughed again. “Very perceptive, I’m sure. Personally I’ve always thought ‘the Dark Lord’ sounded better. More dignified. A lord of darkmen couldn’t ask for a better title.”

  “You’re not a lord,” Elkin said coldly. “You’re nothing, Arenadd. Nothing but a cursed monster with blood on his hands. You don’t even have a heartbeat. You don’t know love or kindness; you’re a twisted abomination, and one day you will be destroyed because of it.”

  He made a sudden motion, as if to hit her, but held himself back. “I’d watch that mouth if I were you,” he said, with a dangerous edge to his voice. “I don’t have to be this gentle.”

  “What are you planning to do with me?” she demanded, ignoring him.

  He paused and then began to pace back and forth, his head bowed. The mask and the pacing made him look like a prowling wolf, following a scent. “Seven hundred oblong,” he said abruptly. “Not many men know exactly how much they’re worth, but I do. I know it to the last copper. Seven hundred oblong. That’s how much they sold me for. A bag of money and a set of chains—that told me what I was. Property, bought and sold. Do you know what that’s like, my lady? Can you imagine?”

  “I’m sorry if bad things have happened to you,” she said stiffly. “But—”

  “Well,” he interrupted, stopping in his tracks, “it doesn’t matter if you can imagine what that would be like, because soon enough you’re going to find out, my lady. Tell me, if a common blackrobe is worth seven hundred oblong, how much is an Eyrie Mistress worth? Eight hundred? Nine hundred? A thousand, maybe? They say you’re clever for your age—what would your guess be, my lady?”

  She stared blankly at him. “You’re going to sell me as a slave?”

  He rubbed his hands together; the action provoked a horrible cracking noise. “Come now, my lady. Surely you can understand what I’m getting at. The Eyrie has lost its Mistress. And most of its council as well. Invisibility and a bottle of Viper’s Tears are the perfect tools for an assassination, or several. With them gone, and you, there’ll be nobody left who can plan or take any important decisions. After all, you won’t be there to appoint replacements for the officials I killed. Your partner will be desperate to get you back, along with everyone else in the Eyrie. Tell me, my lady, how much do you think they would be willing to pay for that privilege?”

  Elkin felt hot, sick relief fill her stomach. “You’re holding me for ransom?”

  “If you want to be direct about it.”

  She couldn’t believe it. “Money! Is that all you want? You’ll set me free for a bag of oblong?”

  “No.” He put his hands behind his back. “I’ll set you free for several bags of oblong. Provided they’re big bags.”

  Elkin’s mind raced. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why not kill me?”

  He wagged a playful finger at her. “Don’t be silly. A dead body isn’t worth anything, is it?”

  “Yes it is,” she said. “If I was dead, Malvern would be leaderless and you would find it much easier to storm the city.”

  “True enough,” he conceded. “But you seem to be labouring under the assumption that that’s what I’m going to do. May I ask where you got it from?”

  “We know about you, Kraeai kran ae,” she said. “We all do. And we know how much you want power and how far you’ll go to get it.” She was inventing now, trying to scare him.

  “Power!” he chuckled. “Well, power would be nice, I suppose. But I’m afraid you’ve misjudged me, my lady.” He sighed. “You believe I’m evil, and therefore all my motivations are simple.” Suddenly he was much closer. “Believe me, my lady,” he said softly, “if there’s one thing I know, it’s that life is not simple. And neither am I. Now.” He turned away. “I’m tired, and I’m going to leave you. Later on someone will bring food. If you do anything other than what you’re told, there will be consequences.”

  He left the room, and Elkin was alone.

  She tried to think, pushing away her fear to clear her mind. She had always prided herself on her ability to think clearly and to analyse any situation, and she had to do that now more urgently than ever before.

  Nothing he had said made sense. He wanted to destroy Malvern and take the North for himself, that was certain—so why hold her to ransom? Why not just kill her? What did he need money for? For weapons, perhaps, but there has to be less dangerous ways of acquiring them than kidnapping an Eyrie Mistress.

  And in any case, why had he told her about it? Wouldn’t it be in his best interests if she didn’t know what he was doing?

  It had to be a lie, she decided.

  Kraal’s voice came to her, out of her memory. Kraeai kran ae has a viper’s tongue; he is deceptive. Nothing he says or does can be trusted.

  Quite unexpectedly, she found herself fighting back a sob. Kraal, her griffin, her best friend, who had saved her life so many times. What would he do without her? Did he even know she was alive?

  And she thought of Erian, too. What would he do if he knew what had happened to her? Come rushing back pell-mell to look for her, no doubt.

  Deep down, Elkin was glad he didn’t know. She wanted him there so badly it hurt, but she forced herself to see that what he was doing was more important than her. But still . . .

  Hurry back, Erian, she thought. Please, hurry.

  Arenadd locked the door behind him and climbed up a flight of stairs and through the trapdoor at the top before he took off his mask and shook his hair out.

  “Arenadd!” Skade darted over and flung her arms around him.

  Arenadd returned the embrace. “Skade. You made it.”

  She held him tightly, her hands in his hair. “Thank the sea and the sky. I worried so much for you. If they had caught you . . .”

  He pulled away from her, grinning. “They never even saw me. The plan was a complete success.”

  She grew solemn. “And now begins the most dangerous part.”

  Arenadd kissed her. She kissed him back, eagerly.

  “So.” Saeddryn rose from her seat in a corner.

  Arenadd reluctantly let go of Skade. “Saeddryn. How are you?”

  Saeddryn look
ed at him and Skade, hiding the resentment she was undoubtedly still feeling. “Well. The journey went well. I take it yer own was a success?”

  “A complete success,” said Arenadd. His companions had been sleeping when he’d arrived in the small hours of the morning, and he hadn’t seen them yet.

  A smile began to show on Saeddryn’s face. “So ye did all ye set out to?”

  Arenadd grinned wolfishly. “All that and more, cousin. And you?”

  She nodded. “We got here in one piece. Davyn’s been an’ bought some supplies. How’s Skandar?”

  “Sleeping,” said Arenadd. “He pushed himself very hard to get here and used a lot of magic. I’ll go and take him some food in a moment.”

  “It’ll be hard t’keep him hidden,” Saeddryn observed.

  “I know, but I can’t force him to leave me,” said Arenadd. “Wouldn’t want to, either.”

  “And he knows the stakes,” Skade cut in. “He will not betray us.”

  Arenadd nodded. “And speaking of steaks . . .”

  “Sit down, sir,” said Saeddryn. “I’ll get ye some food.”

  Arenadd sat. “Thanks, Saeddryn.”

  There was no steak, but Saeddryn had cooked some stew. She heated it up and gave him a bowlful with some bread. Arenadd ate gratefully, suddenly aware of how hungry he was. “I want to talk to everyone once I’ve seen Skandar,” he said between mouthfuls. “So make sure they’re all here.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Saeddryn. “What about the prisoner?”

  “She’s fine for now,” said Arenadd. “I’ve left water for her. Once I’ve talked to the others we can do something more for her. Can’t risk her getting sick or hurt.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He washed the stew down with a cup of water and slipped out the back door and into the little stable that joined onto the house. His friends had done well: they’d purchased a good-sized town house with enough room for them all, even Skandar. And, best of all, it was flanked by the canal on one side and a warehouse on the other. No neighbours and plenty of ways to come and go without attracting attention.