The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy)

by K J Taylor

  Skandar opened a sleepy eye. “Always do magnificently,” he intoned, and closed it again.

  “I can’t argue with that,” Arenadd murmured, and left, grinning.

  The others were waiting for him inside the house, and to his surprise he found that they’d prepared a special meal, which Caedmon and Torc were helping to lay out on the table as he entered.

  Skade and Saeddryn, meanwhile, were deep in the bags of money. Saeddryn buried her hand in one and pulled it out, clutching a fistful of oblong. They gleamed brightly in the candlelight as they clinked softly back into the bag. But there was danger about their shine as well as beauty, Arenadd thought. People had killed for far less gold than this.

  Rhodri pulled a chair out for him. “Sit down, sir, everythin’s been taken care of.”

  Arenadd sat down with a grateful sigh. “Thank you.”

  Skade came over and touched him on the shoulder. “My love,” she said softly and kissed him on the cheek. “You look tired. Were there any problems?”

  Arenadd reached up to touch her hand. “None,” he said, for everyone’s benefit. “The plan worked to the last detail. The Mistress is winging her way back home as we speak, and meanwhile . . . we’re rich as lords.”

  “Ye mean ye are rich as a lord, sir,” said Saeddryn, rising from her crouch and shaking out her hair. “After all, it was ye who kidnapped the Mistress an’ ye who made the deal. This was all yer own plan, sir. So.” She came closer, her eyes aglow. She almost looked lustful. “Tell us how it happened, sir. I want t’hear everything.”

  Arenadd smiled at her. “Sit down, everyone, and let’s eat this food before it gets cold. But”—he grinned to himself—“I’ve started to like the idea of making deals. I’ll tell you what happened, but only after someone’s paid me the ransom of a good cup of wine.”

  Caedmon, chuckling, poured one and obligingly gave it to him. “Now that’s enough of yer teasin’, my lad,” he said. “Tell us the story before we go mad.”

  Arenadd sniffed at the wine and tasted it. “Not bad,” he said and tossed it back. Once he’d emptied the cup, he shuddered a little and dabbed at his mouth. “Fill this up again, would you?” he said and then began his tale. It didn’t take long, and the others listened with interest, asking eager questions.

  “. . . and when we got there, we found him waiting for us, all alone, as agreed.”

  Saeddryn grinned. “Was he angry?”

  “Unbelievably.” Arenadd took another gulp of wine. “I swear I’ve never been more frightened of a griffin in my life. I had to put my hands behind my back so he wouldn’t see them shaking.”

  “He could never have beaten you,” Skade scoffed.

  “He could never have caught us,” said Arenadd. “As far as fighting is concerned, I’m not sure. But Skandar didn’t seem frightened by him. He was more cocky than I was. It’s an interesting thing, though . . .”

  “What, sir?” said Rhodri.

  “Pass me that jug would you, Caedmon? Well, Skandar and Kraal spoke a little; Kraal seemed very interested in him, in fact. He said something that surprised me.”

  “Why?” said Skade.

  Arenadd kept his eyes on the jug as he refilled his cup for the second time. “He claimed to be Skandar’s father.”

  The others murmured.

  “Odd,” said Caedmon. “But sir, didn’t ye say Skandar was born in the Coppertops? That’s on the other side of the world!”

  “I know, but Kraal claimed to have travelled there. It’s not impossible. I’ll admit it makes a kind of sense, actually. There’s some resemblance between them; Skandar’s only a little smaller than he is. But I don’t know why Kraal thought it was so important. Griffins don’t care much about family ties.”

  “Little,” Skade said quietly.

  Arenadd glanced quickly at her. “It didn’t make much of an impression on Skandar. He’s vowed to kill that white griffin himself. I asked him why, and he said a strange griffin came to him in a dream and told him to do it.”

  Saeddryn raised her eyebrows. “The Night God?”

  “That’s what I thought.” Arenadd nodded. “It’s said she has a different shape sometimes. When she wants to. How could it possibly be outside her powers to make herself look like a griffin, considering everything else she’s done?”

  “Then Skandar must be chosen by her, too,” Saeddryn said firmly. “It makes sense. The Night God sent him to help ye, sir.”

  Skade muttered sourly under her breath.

  “She did,” said Arenadd. “Anyway, let’s eat, shall we?”

  The food was good, and there was even an apple pie for dessert. Arenadd ate a little of everything and drank steadily. It had become a habit of his lately, but none of the others had commented on it, and if they had, he wouldn’t have cared. Drink was the only thing that calmed him down nowadays, and the only thing that could stave off his dreams. Dreams of battlefields strewn with the dead, where he walked alone with his bloodied sickle in his hand, bones crunching under his boots, slick with gore. What he saw was bad enough, but not the worst part.

  The worst part was how he looked on all this and laughed.

  But tonight he was in a good mood and drank less than he might have done. Afterward, once the food was gone, Caedmon fell asleep in his chair while Torc, slightly drunk, made shy conversation with Saeddryn. Arenadd and Skade excused themselves and retreated to their own room.

  Arenadd sat down on the bed and hiccupped. “Ooh, pardon me. So, how were things here while we were gone?”

  Skade sat beside him. “Uneventful. I did not worry for you as much this time as before.”

  “That’s good.” Arenadd took her hand in both of his, his maimed fingers clumsy as they tried to grasp hers. He pulled away. “Gods. These fingers, these useless fingers . . . I should have this one cut off. It doesn’t do anything except get in the way.”

  “If only the Night God had healed them for you,” said Skade, with just a hint of sarcasm.

  “Yes. Well.” Arenadd sighed. “It’s punishment. A reminder of my mistakes. Letting them get their hands on me cost me one of mine. If I’d only listened to her when she first came to me, if I hadn’t tried to run away from my duty, I would have known how to use my magic—Skandar’s magic—and I would have been able to rescue you without being captured.”

  “You were brave,” Skade said softly.

  “I was a damned fool,” said Arenadd, without much emphasis. “Let’s not talk about it any more. There’s no point in torturing ourselves.”

  Skade nodded. “We have other things to talk of.”

  “Yes, that we do.” He yawned again. “The first part of the plan is complete. Now we can begin the next part, and this is where you come in.”

  “Me?” said Skade.

  “Yes, you.” Arenadd took her hand again, this time ignoring his useless fingers. “The money I took from Malvern was for you, Skade. I’m going to entrust it to you.”

  “Why?” Skade asked sharply. “You said you would use it to—”

  “Yes, exactly. Skade, I’m sending you south. Some of my best warriors will go with you, to protect you and the money. You’ll take it with you and make the deal with the slavers.”

  Skade stood up. “No. I will not.”

  Arenadd stood, too. “Yes, you will. I’m not going to argue with you about this.”

  “I do not want to be away from you!”

  “And neither do I!” Arenadd exclaimed. “D’you think I possibly could? No. Listen, Skade—I’m sending you because I have to. You’re not a Northerner. You carry yourself like a noblewoman. With your help, my deal with the slavers would look far more legitimate. And more than that, I trust you. I trust you more than Saeddryn. I even trust you more than Skandar. I know you’d never give in or let yourself be cheated, and that you’d never surrender to greed and run away with the money. You don’t trust anybody, and that’s how you have to be with money. This deal can’t go wrong. Everything hinges on it. That’s wh
y I’m sending you.”

  She softened, and stroked his face. “For a master of deception, you are utterly transparent to me, Arenadd. You are sending me because you do not want me to be here when the war truly begins.”

  He spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. “No, Skade. I don’t.”

  “But you are selfish,” she added, without accusation. “You do not realise that your death would be as terrible for me as mine would be for you. What would I do if I returned to the North to find you dead? I would lose you, and know that I had not even been with you in your last moments.”

  Arenadd laughed. “Dead! Skade, you saw what happened to me. I can’t die. I can never die.”

  She looked into his eyes. “Can’t you?” She asked it so softly he only just heard it.

  Arenadd shook his head, as if hoping to dislodge that one nagging doubt. “Only Aeai ran kai can kill me,” he admitted. “But he’s not here. By the time he comes back from this made quest of his, I’ll have conquered the North. You’ll be back by then. And . . .”

  “And?” she pressed.

  He took her by the wrists, holding her hands to his face. “And I don’t believe that Aeai ran kai—the Bastard—could kill me.”

  “Why not?”

  “The Bastard is mortal,” Arenadd said, smiling. “And I’m not. And I have the Night God to help me. That’s why.”

  Skade looked away. “I fear you have too much faith in your god,” she muttered. “In my life, I have seen faith do little but lead to betrayal and death.”

  “So have I,” said Arenadd. “But I wonder: would that be our death, or theirs?”

  22

  Raising the Banner

  Senneck laid her eggs in a hut close to Erian’s, three days after they had arrived on the Island of the Sun. She had built a nest inside the abandoned building, dragging dead branches and clumps of grass inside and arranging them in a crude circle. She did this alone, ignoring Erian’s offers of help. As her time drew near she had become less communicative, preferring to spend most of her time alone, generally sleeping in her nest.

  Erian, realising he wasn’t wanted, occupied himself with his own affairs. He gathered dry grass and made it into a semblance of a bed in his own hut—though the sand on the floor was already comfortably soft—and took planks from the other huts to try to shore up the roof and make it waterproof. He gathered fruit and vegetables from the wild gardens for food, but, quickly consumed by a desire for meat, he soon went after something more substantial. He hadn’t hunted in a long time, but he was confident in his skills, and he spent the best part of a day trying to make a bow. That was something he hadn’t done for an even longer amount of time. He found a vaguely suitable piece of wood and sat in the sun for ages, whittling it into the proper shape. He used a strip of leather from his pocket to make a string; it wasn’t really strong enough, but he managed to make it hold. After that he made a few arrows, and this time he had a stroke of good luck. During his search of the village, he had found a good number of stone arrowheads, left behind buried in the sand. He used those to make the tips and fletched the crude arrows with leaves or feathers Senneck had shed.

  Hunting with his makeshift new weapon proved to be hopelessly impractical, but the goats were unused to any sort of predation and were surprisingly placid. This was probably the only reason why he eventually managed to catch one, but catch one he did, and he spent a gruesome evening skinning and gutting the beast, ready to share it with Senneck. She accepted his offering with a brief chirp of gratitude, and he left her in her nest and went to enjoy his own helping.

  When the day finally came for Senneck to lay her eggs, she came to wake him at dawn.

  “My eggs will be laid today,” she said briefly. “Do not enter my nest.”

  “I won’t—”

  “Do not,” she repeated. “Not for any reason at all, Erian. Laying is a matter of absolute privacy for a griffin, and not even my human may witness it. And if that does not convince you, be warned that the process will awaken my wild nature. If you disturb me, I will attack to kill.”

  Erian nodded dumbly.

  “I will see you tomorrow, perhaps,” Senneck said, almost breezily, and left without another word.

  The day that followed was agonising for Erian. He did his best to keep busy, drying the leftover goat meat and gathering fuel for the fire, but his eyes and his thoughts kept straying toward Senneck’s hut. He couldn’t hear a single sound coming from inside, and the silence lasted for most of the day.

  Erian took his bow and went hunting again. This time the goats were absent, and he returned empty-handed. Instead, he went looking for bird’s eggs and found a few.

  He returned to his hut, pausing for a long moment outside. Senneck’s nest before moving on. After that he sat down, enjoying the warm sunlight on his face. “Gryphus, please protect Senneck and her chicks,” he murmured and then slipped into a doze.

  He woke up again in the evening, and now there was a faint sound from Senneck’s nest. It wasn’t the screeching or any of the other vocal sounds he had been expecting. Instead there was a thumping sound, as of something heavy striking wood. It came intermittently, and he sat and listened to it. Somehow, the noise was far more disturbing in its own way than what he had been anticipating.

  It stopped as night fell, and Erian reluctantly retreated into his hut to sleep. He dreamt of an indistinct golden figure trying to speak to him, while Senneck lay on the ground, dying.

  When he woke up it was dawn, and for a moment he couldn’t remember anything. An instant later it came back, and he sprinted out of the hut. He went straight to Senneck’s nest, ignoring his desperate need to empty his bladder, and only slowing when he was nearly at the door. Remembering Senneck’s warning (or had it been a threat?), he crept to the doorway and peeked through, tensing himself to run.

  Senneck was curled up in her nest, with her back to the door. The light was bad, but he could see her flank moving up and down in time to her rumbling breaths, and he sighed silently in relief. She was alive, at least. But he couldn’t see her eggs. He retreated quietly and left her to rest.

  She did not emerge from her nest that day, but when he ventured near again she heard him and called him inside.

  Erian went in and found her looking at him, tired but bright-eyed. “It is safe,” she said softly. “You may come in and see them.”

  Erian obeyed, walking around so he could see from the other side. The eggs were lying nestled against her belly, partly covered by her wing, but she raised it to let him see. There were three of them—brown and speckled, like oversized hen’s eggs. Each one was the size of a melon, but one was a little smaller than the others.

  Erian examined them, wonderstruck.

  “What do you think?” Senneck asked, sounding almost shy.

  “They’re beautiful,” Erian said simply.

  She flicked her tail. “This is my first clutch,” she said. “They were difficult to lay.”

  “Did it hurt?”

  “Of course. All of the important things we do in life are painful in their way.” She touched the smallest egg with her beak, tapping the hard shell. “I do not think this one will hatch. If it does, it will hatch into a runt. I have not eaten well enough during my pregnancy.”

  “I’m sorry—” Erian began.

  “Do not be. This was my choice. Now I must rest.”

  Erian nodded. “How long before they hatch?”

  “Three full moons, at least,” said Senneck.

  Erian groaned involuntarily.

  “Do not complain,” Senneck snapped. “You, at least, have the freedom of the island. I must stay here and keep my eggs warm until they hatch.”

  “I know,” Erian said hastily. “I’m sorry.” A thought occurred to him. “But if you have to stay with them all that time, how will you eat?”

  “I will not eat, unless you bring food to me,” said Senneck.

  “I will,” said Erian. “I can catch the goats here; it’ll
give me something to do.”

  “Thank you,” she said gravely.

  Erian bowed to her and left. In spite of his frustration and anxiety, he couldn’t help but feel excited. He had never seen griffins hatch or watched them grow up, and he thrilled at the idea of Senneck—his Senneck!—as a mother. What would her chicks look like? What would she name them? Would they look like her, or Eekrae? Maybe he, Erian, could help raise them.

  And maybe . . . his pace slowed. And maybe he shouldn’t be so upset about this. They had made it to the island safely, after all, and they would be safe here together. Gryphus was master of new life; Senneck’s eggs could never have quickened without his will.

  Yes. Erian felt himself cheer up at the thought. He had to trust in Gryphus. Everything would be all right.

  Two days after his return from the rendezvous with Kraal, Arenadd gathered his friends together in their hideout.

  “It’s time,” he said simply. “The war begins now.”

  They had been planning this for weeks, and nobody raised a protest. Skade, Saeddryn, Rhodri and Davyn looked grimly at their leader.

  “We’re ready, sir,” said Saeddryn, speaking for all of them.

  “Good. Go to work.” Arenadd thrust his sickle into his belt. “I’m going to go to Skandar now. Wait for our signal.”

  Skade hugged him briefly before he left. “Be careful.”

  “I will. Watch for me, Skade. When the moment comes, you’ll know what to do.” He gave her a quick smile and left.

  In the stable, Skandar was awake and ready for him. “We go now?”

  The black griffin’s tail was lashing furiously.

  Arenadd touched him on the side of the neck. “Yes. It’s time, Skandar. From here on, we do things your way.”

  Skandar hissed, lowering his head and opening his beak wide to emit a harsh, rasping sound. “Now we fight,” he snarled. “Fight for true, never fly away.”

  “Yes.” Arenadd scratched his partner under the beak, the way he liked it. “From today, Fruitsheart will become our territory, not theirs. When they know where we are, people will start gathering to follow us. Our time has come.”