The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy)

by K J Taylor

  The cave floor was covered in flowers. They were everywhere, growing in all different colours, fresh leaves and bright blooms reaching up to his ankles.

  “What?”

  Erian decided to ignore them for the moment and crouched by Senneck, touching her neck. She was warm and alive, and her eyes were half-open.

  “Senneck,” he said. “Wake up. Please, wake up.”

  She opened an eye very slowly.

  Erian rubbed her head with his knuckles. “Senneck. Can you talk to me? Are you all right?”

  It took a lot of effort, but the brown griffin finally roused herself and got up. She shook herself vigorously and looked at him. “Erian,” she said, and her voice sounded tired but wonderfully normal.

  “Senneck.” Erian sighed in relief. “What in Gryphus’ name happened?”

  She was looking around at the flowers. “Where did these come from?”

  “I don’t know. Senneck, what happened to you? What did you do?”

  She shuddered. “I do not know. I know I used magic, but I do not understand why or how. I did not intend to use magic; I felt as if I was compelled to do it. But it was so powerful . . . a hundred times stronger than my own. I have never used such magic. Erian . . .” She looked at him. “I did not hurt you?”

  “I don’t think so. Senneck, do you know what that magic did?”

  “I think it created these flowers,” said Senneck. “But I do not think that is what it intended to do.”

  “Intended?”

  “Yes.” Senneck bit nervously at her flank. “I know that magic was not mine, and that it used me. But what for, I do not know.”

  Erian looked ahead of her, toward the rock heap. “You cast it this way,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “It must have gone here.”

  He walked forward, keeping himself in line with her body. Close to the rock heap, he nearly tripped over something buried in the flowers.

  It was his sword. He lifted it out and clutched it tightly by the hilt. “Thank Gryphus; I completely forgot about it. Wait . . . Senneck!”

  She came to see. “What is it?”

  Erian turned the sword over to show her. The hilt looked the same, but the blade did not. It was covered in strange markings: odd rippling shapes, like water or wood grain.

  “I don’t remember them being there before,” he said.

  Senneck leant down and tapped the blade with her beak. “I know those markings. The sword was in the path of my magic,” she said.

  “What d’you mean?” said Erian.

  “When an object is touched by magic, these marks appear upon it,” said Senneck. “They show that magic has passed through it, infused it. Nature stores magic, but sometimes a griffin passes that magic on into something else, usually by accident.”

  Erian looked at the sword a moment longer. Then, without a word, he stepped forward and hugged Senneck tightly around the neck.

  She nibbled at his back. “Erian? What are you doing?”

  He let go and looked her in the eye. “Thank you, Senneck. You’ve done it.”

  “What have I done?” she asked blankly.

  “You’ve created the weapon,” said Erian. He touched the sword. “And it’s this. My father’s sword. You’ve made it magical, Senneck. Gryphus put his power into you, and you used it to do his will. This sword can destroy Kraeai kran ae.”

  Senneck blinked. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes,” Erian said immediately. “I’ve never been more certain in my life. This is why you came with me, Senneck. So you could make the weapon.”

  She thought about it for a moment. “I do not know if I have created anything. But that magic was outside of my control, and who can say what it may have done?”

  “Look,” said Erian. “Kraeai kran ae has magic, doesn’t he? That’s what keeps him alive. This sword is full of magic now, Gryphus’ magic. Good magic. It can destroy his power. Why else would Gryphus have given it to you? To us? So we can kill him! Don’t you see?”

  Senneck paused for a long moment. “Perhaps you are correct,” she muttered. “It does not matter whether your god is real. The sword is infused with magic now.” She broke off suddenly and then made a hacking, coughing sound that was probably a griffish laugh. “So you have your magical sword after all, Erian Rannagonson.”

  Erian’s eyes were wide and fanatical. “Yes,” he breathed. “And I can destroy him with it. And I will. Oh, I will. I’m coming, Kraeai kran ae. I’m coming, Shadow that Walks. And when I find you, you’re dead.”

  24

  Fatherhood

  After the massacre of the griffiners in the Governor’s Tower, it hadn’t taken long for the rest of the city to fall under Arenadd’s shadow. Goaded on and led by Saeddryn and the others, the local people who had already been secretly won over to Arenadd’s side had risen up and attacked the city guard. Others had joined them—some of them brave men and women swayed by Arenadd’s message, and others merely criminals with scores to settle. Arenadd didn’t care which was which; followers of any sort were welcome. And followers were what he found in Fruitsheart . . . by the hundreds.

  Once Saeddryn had led them to the tower and occupied it with their help, Arenadd went out into the city with Skandar and led the attack on the nearest guard stronghold. If Arenadd had been expecting anything when he and Skandar appeared down in the streets, it was not this.

  People recognised them easily enough; he heard them shouting his name as he passed, and Skandar’s, too. But when he reached the guard tower and the mob that surrounded it, what followed shocked him.

  The people nearest the back of the mob saw him first. Some moved away to hide, but the others stayed where they were, staring at him as if they could hardly believe their eyes.

  Arenadd inclined his head toward them, a little awkwardly. “My name is Arenadd Taranisäii,” he said, in Northern. “And this is Skandar. We’ve come to help.”

  There was silence, and then a man came forward. Arenadd touched his sickle, but the man did not attack. He stood for a moment, and then fell to his knees.

  As if that was a signal, dozens of others threw themselves down at Arenadd’s feet, abasing themselves as if he was an Eyrie Master, none of them saying a word.

  “Get up,” Arenadd said uncomfortably. “Please, get up. We have work to do.”

  The nearest of them obeyed, and the others followed. Then the man who had knelt first spoke.

  “Lord Arenadd.” He kept his head bowed, murmuring the words, but then he looked up at Arenadd’s face and said it again. “Lord Arenadd. Master.”

  The others near at hand repeated it, and then the man suddenly turned to them, raising his fist into the air, and shouted.

  “Lord Arenadd! Lord Arenadd!”

  The shout was taken up by others, and others, and in an instant the mob surged forward, roaring Arenadd’s name.

  “Attack!” the man yelled, and now he was speaking Northern, shakily but with anger and determination. “Attack! Break down the doors! Kill the Southerners! Fight in the name of the dark griffin and the Shadow that Walks! Fight!”

  Arenadd felt a hot, fierce triumph and confidence rush through his body like blood. He drew his sickle, still covered in griffiner blood, and pointed it at the tower. “Attack!” he echoed.

  In an instant, Skandar obeyed. He screeched and surged forward, and people scattered out of his way. The dark griffin hit the doors head-on, and his beak impaled itself deep in the wood. He wrenched it free, taking a chunk the size of a man’s head with it, and struck again and again, tearing at it. Blood oozed out of his wounds as he pulled back and then leapt, his huge muscles flexing. He hit the doors yet again, and they shattered into pieces. Wood scattered everywhere, but before the chunks had even hit the ground Skandar struggled over the remains of the barrier and into the tower. The mob charged after him.

  Arenadd followed in the rear, but his sickle was not needed. The guards inside the tower were hopelessly outnumbered, and Skandar scatter
ed them like chickens. Those who didn’t die at his talons or break met their end at the hands of the rebels. None survived.

  When the massacre was over, Arenadd directed his new followers to take weapons and armour and follow him back to the Governor’s Tower.

  They obeyed, forming themselves into a rough column behind him and Skandar. As they went up the main street of Fruitsheart, other people came to join them. Saeddryn opened the doors to the Governor’s Tower, and Arenadd took them all inside with him.

  “We have no enemies here,” he told the astonished Saeddryn. “Only friends.”

  Later on, when things had calmed down somewhat and he had sent people to search through the tower for any survivors who might be hiding, he went looking for the man who had rallied the mob on his behalf and found him up on top of the walls. When he saw Arenadd coming, he stopped and knelt to him again.

  “Please, get up,” said Arenadd.

  The man obeyed. “My lord Arenadd,” he murmured reverentially.

  Arenadd looked him up and down. He was strongly built but young—probably not much older than Torc—and quite well dressed.

  “What’s your name?” Arenadd asked.

  “Iorwerth, master,” said the man.

  “You were a great help to me today,” said Arenadd. “I wanted to say thank you.”

  Iorwerth bowed low. “It was nothing but my duty, master.”

  “You don’t have to call me that. ‘Sir’ will be fine.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Listen . . .” Arenadd paused. “You knew who I was when you saw me. How?”

  Iorwerth’s black eyes gleamed. “I knew before ye came here, sir, even before I heard one of yer friends talking about ye in a tavern and realised ye were in the city somewhere.”

  “Oh?” Arenadd was instantly curious. “How?”

  “My father, sir,” said Iorwerth. “He’s a merchant. He was in Malvern, sir, on the day . . .” He looked at the ground. “On the day ye revealed yerself to us, m—sir. He saw what happened, when they tried to kill ye, sir. And he saw ye risen from the dead, sir. And he told me . . .”

  “Yes?” said Arenadd.

  Iorwerth looked up. “He said that ye were the one the Night God had sent and that when the time came we must all follow ye if we believed in her, sir.”

  Arenadd smiled. “You showed a lot of resolve and quick thinking today. And more than that, you showed loyalty.”

  “I am loyal to the Night God, sir,” Iorwerth said fervently. “To follow ye is to follow her, and we all know that.”

  “It is, Iorwerth,” said Arenadd. “And I know it, because I’ve seen her, and spoken to her.”

  Iorwerth’s eyes widened. “Ye have, sir? Ye’ve seen her?”

  “Yes. I’ve seen her.” Arenadd fingered his beard. “She looks like a beautiful woman with black hair, and one of her eyes is the full moon. Iorwerth, I can see that you’re a brave and resourceful man, and I need brave and resourceful men for what I have to do. If I’m going to destroy Malvern and drive the Southerners out, I’ll need good followers, and men with the ability to help me lead them. Now that Fruitsheart has become my stronghold, it’s time for me to start organising my followers, and I can’t do that alone.”

  Iorwerth watched him keenly. “Yes, sir?”

  “I’ve formed a council,” said Arenadd. “As a reward for what you’ve done today, I want to offer you a place on that council.”

  Iorwerth gaped at him. “Ye want me?”

  “I think you could do very well,” Arenadd said mildly.

  “But I’m just a—”

  Arenadd chuckled. “Iorwerth, once upon a time I was the son of a boot maker and Skandar was killing criminals in an arena. If it comes to that, you’re probably more highborn than I am. Now, will you accept a place on my council?”

  Iorwerth bowed to him. “I’m yer own to command, sir.”

  “Thank you. Okay, let’s go. We’ve got work to do.”

  Iorwerth fell into step beside him. “Sir?”

  “Yes, Iorwerth?”

  Iorwerth paused very briefly, as if to steel himself. “Sir, if I’m on yer council, then I can advise ye, can’t I, sir?”

  “You certainly can.”

  “Well then,” Iorwerth said boldly. “I think ye should put archers on the walls, sir. If griffiners come, we need a way to defend ourselves.”

  Arenadd smiled. “Yes, I’d already thought of that.”

  “Of course, sir,” said Iorwerth. “I thought ye had, but I wanted to be sure, sir.”

  Arenadd smiled again, internally. I’ve made the right choice, he thought. Exactly the right choice.

  Later on, in the dining hall, he gathered together his new council. So far it included Skade, Saeddryn, Caedmon, Davyn, Rhodri and Iorwerth.

  “Now then,” he said. “Fruitsheart is ours. Iorwerth”—he glanced at him—“has sent men up to the walls to keep watch, but I doubt any griffiners will come here for a while. Even so, it’s only prudent that we post some archers up there.”

  “I don’t think there’s many in the city, sir,” said Saeddryn.

  “I know, but there will be,” said Arenadd. “We’ll pick a few people who’re interested and give them some training. It doesn’t have to be much; all they’ll have to do is frighten them away. The odds of a griffin being killed by an arrow aren’t much. Anyway, the other thing we have to do is something Skandar and I can handle.”

  “What, sir?” said Saeddryn.

  “Send a message to Nerth and the others, obviously,” said Arenadd. “Skandar can take me to them quickly enough, and I’ll tell them what happened.”

  “Good idea, sir,” said Saeddryn. “Will ye be tellin’ any of them to come here?”

  “Not yet. We need to keep a few good men in hiding, away from us. If anything goes wrong, we can join them. And they can be a haven for anyone who can’t fight. Anyway, moving on to another topic . . . I intend to stay here for a good while, as long as I can. The country needs to know where we are. If people know, they can come here to join us. We can build up an army here, and once we have enough numbers we’ll be ready to move on. We’ll conquer cities one by one, until the time comes for us to attack Malvern itself.”

  “It will work, sir,” Iorwerth said resolutely. “There’s not a man in Tara who won’t fight for ye if he knows where ye are, sir.”

  “That’s my hope, Iorwerth,” said Arenadd. “But in the meantime . . . well, it’s beyond obvious that Malvern will attack the instant they know we’re here, and we have to be prepared for that. Now, Rhodri . . .”

  They spent a good amount of time discussing defence tactics and siege weapons before the coversation turned to Skade and her mission.

  “I can’t say it’s not a very big risk,” said Arenadd. “Because it is. But it’s a risk we’re going to take.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Saeddryn. “I understand.”

  Arenadd looked at Iorwerth. “The others here already know the plan, but I’ll repeat it now for your sake. I kidnapped Lady Elkin, and the Eyrie paid me a very hefty ransom to get her back. I plan to use that ransom to buy our brothers in the South back into freedom. I’ve asked Skade here to do it. But . . .” He paused. “She hasn’t agreed yet. Skade?”

  Skade kept her eyes on his face for a long moment. Arenadd wanted to say something, but he kept silent, waiting for her to speak.

  Finally, Skade spoke. “If you believe I am the one to do this, then I will,” she said.

  Arenadd wanted to hug her. “Thank you, Skade. I know you’re the right one to do it.”

  “I agree,” said Saeddryn.

  She was probably very happy to know that Skade would be leaving, Arenadd thought. He turned his attention to the rest of the council. “What do you think?”

  Rhodri frowned. “Why Skade, sir? Out of curiosity, why her?”

  “Because the Southerners won’t trade with our race, Rhodri,” said Arenadd. “At least, not on equal terms. Skade looks like a Sout
herner. More than that, she’s beautiful and imposing. The slavers will probably fall over themselves to make a deal with her.”

  Skade gave her odd flat little laugh. “Men have always thought with something other than their brains. Of course, I will need protection.”

  “Yes, and that’s what I want to discuss now,” said Arenadd.

  “I’ll go with her, sir,” said Rhodri.

  “So will I, sir,” said Iorwerth.

  “Not you, Iorwerth,” said Arenadd. “I need you here.” And you haven’t proven yourself yet. “But you can go, Rhodri. I can only afford to lose one of my council, and you’re the best fighter here—but we can’t send just you. Who else would you suggest?”

  Rhodri frowned. “Nerth would be a good choice, sir. He’s tough, an’ he knows how t’handle a situation. There’s a few others with him in the Gorge who’d be good.”

  “He’s right, sir,” said Davyn.

  “Yes . . .” Arenadd scratched his beard. “I can talk to Nerth when I get there and tell him to come here to meet up with Skade, along with a few others he thinks would be good. It’ll be harder without them, but we have to send veterans, trusted men. But that will mean waiting longer than I wanted to.”

  “Can’t be helped, sir,” Rhodri said bluntly.

  “I suspected as much. Well.” Arenadd stood up. “The sooner the better. I’m going to go up and see if Skandar’s rested enough. While I’m gone, you’re in charge, Saeddryn. Here’s what I want you to do . . .”

  Saeddryn listened to his instructions and gave a curt nod when he was done. “Consider it done, sir.”

  “Good. Skade, stay by her. If anything happens, barricade yourself in the master bedroom and stay there. Rhodri, you and Davyn will protect her if there’s danger. Caedmon, I want you to inspect the armoury and the pantries. Make a rough list of everything we’ve got. Torc, you’re good at counting—have a look inside the treasury and estimate how much money is in there. Iorwerth, you can organise the defences with Davyn. Are there any questions?”

  “No, sir,” said Iorwerth.