by K J Taylor
“She cares?”
“Yes,” said Arenadd, knowing it was what he needed to hear. “She cares, Caedmon. And She’ll welcome you. When you get to her, she’ll make your star one of the brightest.”
Caedmon had begun to look sleepy. “Are ye sure?”
Arenadd leant close to him. “Yes, Caedmon. More than I’ve ever been. She’ll be waiting for you. And so will I.”
Caedmon’s eyes drooped. “You?”
“Yes.” Arenadd hesitated and then whispered in his ear. “The Night God already has my soul, Caedmon. She took it from me a long time before I met you, so she could put magic in its place. She took it and gave me power in return. My soul is already with her. Waiting. When you find her, you’ll find me. I’ll protect you. And so will she.”
Caedmon’s eyes had closed. “I’ll see yer then,” he mumbled. “One day . . .”
Arenadd sat back. “Sleep, Caedmon. You’ve earnt it. I’ll win this war for you, and when I have, I will build a great temple to the Night God. The greatest temple the world has ever seen. And I’ll carve your name on the altar. The North will know what you did for it. I promise.”
Two days after the destruction of Skenfrith, Caedmon Taranisäii died. He spent his final day unconscious, while his adopted son kept up a vigil over him. That night, as the moon began to rise over the rooftops of Fruitsheart, he finally stopped breathing, one final, silent sigh marking the moment when his soul slid out of his body and away.
Arenadd himself conducted the funeral rites, which took place that very night under the moon—the best time for any Northerner to be laid to rest.
As the funeral pyre burned, the Lord of Darkmen stood by with Saeddryn to his right and Torc to his left—the two surviving members of his family—and said the rites while their friends looked on in silence.
“Of earth born and in fire forged, by magic blessed and by cool water soothed, then by a breeze in the night blown away to a land of silver and bright flowers. May . . .”
As he spoke on, Torc and Saeddryn sang a low humming song in the Northern tongue, invoking the spirits of the sky and the sacred animals. Deer, wolf, bear, crow, griffin.
Skandar had come to the ceremony, too, along with Kaanee and the chicks. The griffins stood by awkwardly, aware that they had no part in what was a human ritual.
When it was over and the pyre had burned itself out, the mourners quietly dispersed, leaving the three Taranisäiis alone.
Arenadd watched the wind stir the ashes and blow them away. “He was a good man,” he murmured.
Torc wiped away his tears. “He was the only father I ever had. If only I could’ve . . . if I could’ve done something . . .”
Saeddryn put a hand on his arm and shook her head. “No, Torc. This isn’t the time for that. And it wasn’t yer fault. It was never yer fault. Ye did yer best.”
Torc stilled. “Saeddryn, I . . .”
“Yes?”
“I want to talk to you,” said Torc. He paused to screw up his courage. “Somewhere alone.”
Saeddryn looked a little surprised. “Of course,” she said.
Arenadd stood aside as Torc led her away. He was unable to hold back a smile. “I’ll see you two later, then,” he said. “Take care of yourselves.”
Torc cast a nervous glance back at him as he left. Arenadd gave him an encouraging wink.
Once they were gone, he leant against the wall, where a bored Skandar had gone to sleep, and kept an eye on the chicks. Poor old Torc. So used to being downtrodden and ordered about that he was afraid to even think for himself. But he was learning.
Despite himself, Arenadd chuckled. True, not everything had gone as well as he had hoped, but his plans were still working. The sun worshippers had suffered two crushing defeats. They had lost more than two cities and dozens of lives. And they had lost their credibility as well. There was no way, once word of this had spread, that anybody would think of Arenadd and his rebellious darkmen as easily defeated or as a minor threat.
In fact, now that he thought about it seriously, he could most likely be ready to attack Malvern well before Skade returned.
Skade.
Gods, he missed her already. Her absence felt like a weight in his chest. There was so much he wanted to tell her.
“Lord Arenadd.”
Arenadd looked up to see Kaanee limping toward him. “Oh. Hello. Yes, what is it?”
The tawny griffin sat on his haunches, looking down at him. “I am sorry to disturb you, Shadow that Walks.”
“It’s all right,” said Arenadd. “What can I do for you?”
Kaanee yawned briefly and closed his beak with a snap. “My leg is badly damaged and unlikely to heal well,” he said. “The unpartnered know this. Soon, I will be challenged as the strongest among them, and if I am defeated, then there is no telling what will happen.”
Arenadd tensed. “If you want me to protect you . . .”
“No. I cannot accept that. A griffin who hides behind another’s strength is weak. No.”
“Then what are you going to do, Kaanee?” said Arenadd. “I can’t afford any trouble.”
“I have thought of a way,” said Kaanee.
“Yes?” said Arenadd.
“It will be dangerous,” Kaanee admitted. “But I believe it will be the best thing to do.”
“Tell me, then,” said Arenadd.
Kaanee scratched his head with his talons. “Iorwerth,” he said.
“What about him?” said Arenadd.
“I have been watching him,” the griffin muttered. “He is a strong human, a good fighter and a fine leader. Worthy. And he is one of your inner circle.”
Arenadd blinked. “Oh. You don’t mean . . . but Saeddryn is closer to me than Iorwerth is and . . .”
“The female is impressive, but not as strong,” Kaanee said dismissively. “If I am to choose a human, he must be the strongest. Iorwerth has impressed me, and I wish to know him better.”
Arenadd thought quickly. If Kaanee chose a human, his standing would improve immensely in the eyes of his fellow griffins. But if that human were a Northerner . . .
“I know I shall be looked down upon by some for choosing a Northerner,” said Kaanee, apparently reading his thoughts. “Yet I have already accepted a leader who is partnered to one—what loyalty would there be in refusing the partnership of one of your race? No. I shall choose Iorwerth as my human and seal our alliance.”
Arenadd smiled grimly. This was an unexpected turn of events but one he liked very much. If Kaanee chose a Northerner as his human, others would follow suit. Soon he could have followers who were more than ordinary people. He could have griffiners.
His mind filled with images, each one more pleasing than the last. His friends flying on griffinback. Northern griffiners loyal to him. Northern griffiners attacking Malvern. Saeddryn, Iorwerth and Nerth flying into battle with himself and Skandar. The Southerners at Malvern baffled and frightened in the face of the Northern onslaught, unable to believe that griffins born in their city would choose mere darkmen to ride them . . .
His smile widened. “Your plan is a good one, Kaanee. Very good. If Skandar agrees, then you can take Iorwerth as your human. I’m sure Iorwerth himself won’t have any objections.” Although at first he may think he’s been smoking too much whiteleaf.
Kaanee made a rasping sound in the back of his throat. “I am pleased to hear it, Lord Arenadd.”
Of course you are, Arenadd thought. But you couldn’t possibly be as pleased as I am.
31
Endings and Beginnings
On the morning after Caedmon’s funeral, Arenadd and Skandar returned to Skenfrith.
They found it utterly ravaged.
Arenadd, watching from Skandar’s back, was shocked.
The fire had completely gutted the towers, destroying the wooden framework and causing the stones to crumble in many places. The ruins were festooned with griffins.
Skandar landed at the top of the largest tower, and
the unpartnered were quick to come to him. They flocked around their leader, all calling at once in loud harsh voices.
Skandar reared up and screeched his name so loudly that every single person in the city must have heard him.
The unpartnered backed away, instantly cowed, and Arenadd dismounted.
“Where Skree?” Skandar called. “Skree, come!”
Skree, a big female who was the strongest of the unpartnered now in Skenfrith, appeared from among her fellows. She bowed her head to Skandar. “Mighty Skandar.”
“Up,” Skandar said.
She raised her head obediently. “We did not expect you back so soon, Mighty Skandar.”
“Am back,” said Skandar. “You stay . . . my human speak.”
Arenadd obligingly stepped forward. “Hello, Skree.”
The grey griffin stared at him. “The Shadow that Walks.”
“The same,” said Arenadd. “Skree, tell me what happened here after Skandar and I left.”
She had not stopped staring. “Forgive me, but I had thought . . . it does not matter. I am pleased to see you back, and well.”
Arenadd’s mouth curled. “Yes, Skree, the stories are true. I am the Shadow that Walks—the Cursed One, as some griffins have called me. The Night God has made me immortal, and no human weapon can kill me.”
Skree’s tail flicked—the only sign of agitation she showed. “I had heard the tales but had not . . . I was not ready to witness the truth . . . master.”
“Well, you’ve witnessed it now,” Arenadd said shortly.
“Now tell me, what happened after we left?”
“Little of note,” said Skree. “We stayed in the city, as the Mighty Skandar had commanded, and killed any Southern humans who remained. We used our magic to ensure the towers were destroyed.”
“Good.” Arenadd nodded. “We won’t need them. When we do come here in force, we’ll only stay for a few days before we move on. And the sun worshippers won’t be able to hold on to it for long if they come back.”
“Your plan was a cunning one, master,” Skree said politely.
“It couldn’t have been done without your help,” said Arenadd. “But now your work here is done, and we need you back at Fruitsheart.”
She was instantly alert. “When shall we leave, master?”
“Soon,” said Arenadd. “First Skandar and I are going into the city. If anyone there wants to follow us, we’ll find them. When we leave, you’ll follow us.”
“Yes, master.”
Arenadd nodded curtly to her and got back onto Skandar’s back.
Their visit to the city proved to be a fruitful one. Its inhabitants, having witnessed the attack, were in no doubt at all about the extent of Arenadd’s power, and while many of them hid when he and Skandar appeared in the town square, others gathered to see them.
Arenadd was tired and still deeply depressed over Skade’s absence, but he made a speech because he knew it was expected of him.
“My people,” he said. “Men and women of great Tara, my brothers and sisters, chosen by the Night God. I, Arenadd Taranisäii, have come to you as a friend. I carry the tattoos of a chief, given to me by Arddryn Taranisäii herself. Beside me is Skandar, the Night Griffin, more powerful than the Mighty Kraal himself. We have come here to give you back your pride . . . and more than your pride. The Night God has chosen us. She has named me the Shadow that Walks, the Master of Death, the Lord of Darkmen, and sent me to free her land and her people. Join us, and we will lead you to Malvern, where we will crush the sun worshippers who have oppressed us for so long and take our land back!”
The people close enough to hear roared their approval. Others, spurred on by their enthusiasm, joined in.
“Unite under my banner!” Arenadd yelled. “Join with us, and you will see the same fate that befell the towers here befall the Eyrie at Malvern! That is my promise!”
“I will join ye, lord!” one woman shouted. “Command me, lord!”
Others joined their voices to hers, declaring their support.
“If you wish to join me, then here is my first order,” said Arenadd. “Go to Fruitsheart. I will be waiting there with my followers. We will teach you to be warriors again. All of you come, men and women. I should warn you that if you stay here, you will be in danger when the griffiners return. They will suspect all of you because of the colour of your hair and eyes. Because you are darkmen. Warn your friends and your neighbours. Even if you choose not to join me, you must be ready when they come. The Southerners will show no mercy.”
Over half the crowd pledged to follow him then and there, and once he had spoken to some of them and given them his advice on how to reach Fruitsheart quickly he got back onto Skandar’s back and the dark griffin flew away.
The shadows brought them back to Fruitsheart as quickly as before but left Skandar tired and Arenadd nearly as much so. He left the dark griffin to sleep in his nest and went to find Saeddryn.
But she was already in his chamber, waiting for him.
Arenadd stopped in surprise. “Saeddryn. What are you doing here?”
She stepped toward him. “I’m sorry, sir. I wanted t’speak with ye. Are ye too tired? I can wait.”
“No, it’s fine,” said Arenadd. “I wanted to speak with you anyway, to make sure nothing happened while I was away.”
Saeddryn halted. “Everythin’s fine, sir. We’ve got everythin’ together. I’ve spent most of the day trainin’ the archers. They ain’t great, but they’re gettin’ better. The sooner Nerth gets here the better.”
“Good,” said Arenadd. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”
She looked uncomfortable. “Maybe we should sit, sir.”
Arenadd began to feel suspicious, but he nodded anyway and sat down at the table. There was a bowl of fruit in front of him, and he picked up a pear and bit into it. Delicious.
Saeddryn sat opposite him and took an apple, which she toyed with rather than ate. “Sir, I wanted t’ask ye . . .”
Arenadd swallowed. “Yes? If it’s important, then just say it.”
She didn’t look him in the eye; instead, she kept her gaze on the apple, which rolled back and forth across the table as she passed it from hand to hand. “Skade,” she said eventually.
Arenadd tensed. “What about her?”
Saeddryn looked up. “I want t’know if ye love her, sir.”
“What sort of question is that?” Arenadd snapped.
“A question I want answered,” said Saeddryn, suddenly resolute. “Just tell me, sir. Do ye love her?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Enough t’spend yer life with her, sir?” said Saeddryn. “Enough t’marry her?”
“Saeddryn, we’ve been through this,” said Arenadd. “I don’t have a stone any more. I can’t marry her.”
“As if that matters!” Saeddryn said, with sudden anger. “We’re Northerners, Arenadd. We don’t marry the same way; we’ve got our own rituals. Forgotten, maybe, but we can revive them. An’ besides, ye ain’t ordinary, sir. If ye commanded it, there’s no-one would stop ye marryin’ whatever woman ye chose. Sir.”
Arenadd stopped to think about it. She was right. Who would try to stop him? If he won the war, he would be powerful enough to change whatever he liked. He could marry Skade . . .
“Ye see, sir?” said Saeddryn, impatiently.
“Yes, Saeddryn. I see.”
She was looking at him very carefully. “So, ye see ye can marry, sir. An’ if ye did—”
“Why does it matter?” said Arenadd. “Who I marry is my business.”
“No, sir,” said Saeddryn. “I’m sorry, sir, but it ain’t just yer own business.”
“Oh?” said Arenadd, hiding his annoyance.
“Ye are the head of our tribe,” said Saeddryn. “An’ the head of the Taranisäii family, too. Now Mother is dead, ye’ve inherited all her powers an’ her position, too. Who ye marry is important to everyone in our tribe.”
“So you think
I should marry you because it would strengthen us,” Arenadd concluded. “I know that’s what you’re thinking, Saeddryn, so there’s no need to beat about the bush.”
“Sir, I know what they’re sayin’,” said Saeddryn. “Nobody on our side trusts that Skade or likes her. They don’t know who she is or where she came from, but they know ye an’ her are sharin’ a bed every night, an’ they don’t like it.”
“Is that so,” said Arenadd in his flattest, coldest voice.
“She’s a Southerner, sir,” said Saeddryn. “She’s not one of us. How can the Lord of Darkmen bed a Southerner, one of his worst enemies? One of the cursed sun worshippers?”
“Skade is not a Southerner,” Arenadd snapped.
“Well then, where did she come from?” said Saeddryn. “Her hair ain’t black. Her eyes ain’t black. Why does she look so odd? I never saw a woman with her colouring or heard one what spoke the way she does. Where did ye find her?”
“Skade is on our side, Saeddryn,” said Arenadd, fighting to keep his temper. “She hates the Southerners as much as we do, and she wants to see us defeat them—that’s all you need to know.”
“Sir, it’s not that I don’t respect yer feelin’s,” said Saeddryn. “It ain’t that. Ye’re no fool, ye know what ye want, but . . .”
“But what?”
“But ye’re a leader, sir,” said Saeddryn. “Ye have more than yer own heart t’think of. A leader must think of his followers an’ his cause before what he wants for himself, sir. An’ that’s why—”
“Why I should turn my back on Skade,” said Arenadd. “Why I should marry a woman I don’t love. Why I should betray myself. Is that it, Saeddryn? Is that what I should do, for the good of my followers and my cause? Well?”
“Yes, sir,” Saeddryn said bluntly.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but the answer is no,” said Arenadd. “Completely, utterly and finally, no.”
“But sir—”
“No, Saeddryn. You heard me, and that’s my final word. Not now, not ever.”
“But why, sir?”
Because my love for Skade is the only good thing left in me. Because if I lost that, I would be nothing.
