The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy)

by K J Taylor

  Seerae looked away, but Rannagon met the giant griffin’s gaze boldly. “You are the Mighty Kraal? You do not look so mighty to me. Where are the great griffiners Erian told me you commanded?”

  Kraal snapped at him, and Rannagon retreated to hide behind his mother. But Kraal was too relieved to pay much attention to one insolent youngster. “Erian Rannagonson, Aeai ran kai,” he said. “You are tired from your journey, and you must rest and groom. When you are recovered, Elkin shall tell you what has happened in your absence. But there is little time left—you must know this. Kraeai kran ae’s power has grown a hundred times. Soon he will come to Malvern. I marvel that he has not done so already. You must prepare, and quickly.”

  Erian nodded. “I know, Mighty Kraal,” he said, in griffish. “I’m ready.”

  His room looked much smaller than he remembered, and it was musty as well. It was exactly how he had left it, except for the dust and cobwebs over everything.

  By now, Erian was long past caring about dirt. He left Senneck and her chicks to sleep in her nest, and set to doing something he hadn’t done in a very long time: having a bath.

  There didn’t seem to be any servants about, so he dragged out the tin bath from the cupboard himself and filled it with water heated over the fire (he certainly remembered how to light one of those). Once it was full, he stripped off the remains of his clothes and climbed in.

  He sighed beatifically. Oh Gryphus, how could I have forgotten how wonderful a bath feels?

  And soap, too. He scrubbed himself vigorously, taking away so many layers of dirt that by the time he was done, the water had turned an unpleasant murky brown. He still spent quite a long time relaxing in it, not caring about the colour and simply relishing the warmth.

  It went cold all too soon, and he reluctantly climbed out and dried himself down. After that, completely unembarrassed about his nakedness, he filled a smaller basin and began to wash his hair. That wasn’t so enjoyable. His hair had grown so long it nearly covered his shoulders, and most of it was so tangled it was less like hair and more like a kind of mat. Eventually, realising he would never manage to clean all of it, he picked up a knife and cut off the long ponytail at the point where he’d tied it.

  His head felt very light without it.

  He washed and combed what was left of his hair, which took a long time. When he was done he went in search of a razor but couldn’t find one, and settled for cleaning his beard as well as he could. It would do.

  After that, he stumbled over to his bed and promptly collapsed on it. Oh gods, a real bed. He couldn’t even remember what it felt like to sleep on a bed. Now he couldn’t believe he had ever failed to notice how soft and wonderful it felt. Surely it hadn’t been like this. He couldn’t possibly have spent most of his life sleeping on beds like this.

  It was the deepest and most wonderful sleep he had ever had.

  When he woke up, he opened his old wardrobe and was pleased to find his clothes still in there.

  He put on his favourite blue velvet tunic, a pair of woollen trousers and a pair of boots. Oh, to wear boots again! The sword was still on the table where he’d left it, and he picked it up and slung it on his back with a spare scabbard he found in the bottom of the wardrobe. He felt much better to have it with him. Somehow complete.

  Senneck was still asleep in her nest, with her chicks curled up beside her. Erian thought of waking her but shook his head silently as he decided against it. She had done so much and come such a long way; she deserved to sleep.

  Alone, he walked out of his room and up the tower toward Elkin’s chambers, marvelling at how he still remembered the way there, and marvelling, too, at how he didn’t need to stop and rest any more. The ramps that led him there felt like nothing at all.

  Elkin was in her audience chamber with Kraal. Erian, seeing them again, suddenly realised how bad they looked. Kraal looked smaller, and Elkin pale and fragile. Had she been like that before? He couldn’t remember.

  Kraal stood up to meet him. “Come,” he said. “Sit with us and eat.”

  Elkin was seated at a small table. Erian sat opposite her and eyed the food in front of him, suddenly aware of how hungry he was. He was used to ignoring his hunger pains, but here was bread, meat, fruit, cheese, wine—things he hadn’t tasted in months.

  He looked at Elkin, wanting to talk to her. “Elkin. You . . .”

  All the Cymrian words he knew seemed to have fallen out of his head.

  “Elkin,” he said, in griffish. “Elkin, I’m so glad to be home. You can’t imagine how glad I am. Are you all right? You look . . .”

  She smiled sadly at him. “Erian. I thought you were dead, you know. I thought I’d never see you again.”

  Erian smiled shyly. “I missed you so badly, Elkin. I never thought I’d see you again, either. But how are you? Are you well? What happened while I was gone?”

  She nodded toward the food. “Eat, and I’ll tell you. There’s so much to tell.”

  Erian needed no further encouragement. He grabbed everything that looked tantalising—in other words, everything—and ate ravenously.

  While he ate, Elkin talked.

  A moment later, Erian choked on his bread. “What? He kidnapped you?”

  “Yes,” said Elkin. “After he poisoned the council, he snatched me out of this very chamber. He pulled me into the shadows with him and took me away.”

  Erian groaned softly. “Oh gods. Oh Gryphus. I should have been here. If I’d known—”

  “No,” Elkin said sharply. “Finding the weapon was more important than anything else. Even me. And even if you’d been here, you wouldn’t have been able to do anything.”

  Erian put down his food and reached out to touch her hand. “What did he do to you, Elkin? Oh Gryphus . . . what did he do? If he hurt you . . .”

  She reached out with her other hand and clasped his. “No, Erian. Don’t worry. He never touched me. None of his followers did.”

  Erian stared at her. “They didn’t?”

  “No,” said Elkin, for some reason glancing at Kraal. “They gave me a comfortable room to live in, and brought me good food and water. Arenadd—Kraeai kran ae—came and saw me himself. I got sick after a while, and he came to me and—”

  Erian tensed. “What? What did he do?”

  She paused, suddenly and inexplicably ashamed. “He cared for me. Brought me water and medicine, comforted me with words. He even held on to me while I was feverish. He was . . . kind.”

  Erian just stared at her as if she had grown a second head. “Kind?”

  “Yes,” said Elkin. “He acted as if he cared about me. He wasn’t . . . he didn’t act as if he was evil. He seemed . . . sad and lonely.”

  Erian continued to stare blankly, but inside he was thinking. Kraal had said that the Dark Lord was being controlled, that he was the Night God’s slave. What if that was true? What if, underneath—

  “Do not be fooled,” Kraal snapped. “Elkin, tell him what this kind man did next.”

  “Of course. After he set me free in return for the ransom, he destroyed Fruitsheart. Killed every griffiner in it. After that . . .”

  Erian listened in silence as she talked on, telling him everything Kraeai kran ae had done over the last months. Every murder, every conquest, every burning and slaughter.

  “Why didn’t you do something?” he demanded at last, unable to keep his silence any longer. “Why didn’t you send the griffiners against him?”

  “I was ill,” said Elkin, suddenly angry. “Do you understand, Erian? I was so ill I barely survived. I couldn’t govern Malvern in that condition. I was so feverish I couldn’t tell waking from sleeping.”

  “Then why . . .” Erian turned to Kraal.

  The white griffin looked away. “I did what I could,” he said stiffly. “The decisions I made were . . . were not the best I could have made. I sent a hundred of our finest warriors to Fruitsheart the instant I knew Kraeai kran ae was there.”

  “And what happened?�
� said Erian.

  Kraal looked at him again. “They were destroyed,” he said. “Utterly destroyed. The dark griffin’s magic killed all but a handful, who fled back here to tell the tale.”

  Erian gaped at him. “A hundred?”

  “Yes,” Kraal said harshly. “Our strongest warriors have gone. The few we have left . . . we have placed them under the command of our new Master of War, but there is little he will be able to do when Kraeai kran ae attacks Malvern. The unpartnered griffins have betrayed us to him, and now he commands more than twice our strength.”

  Erian sat back in his chair. He was flabbergasted. “Warwick, Skenfrith, Fruitsheart . . . the griffins working for him? How could they? What . . . how could he have . . .”

  “The Night God gave him powers,” Kraal reminded him. “And he has used them well. Erian, you are our last hope. If you defeat Kraeai kran ae when he comes here, his rebellion will be finished. The unpartnered ones will come back to us when they see their leader dead, and we will crush these upstart darkmen who have the arrogance to believe they can govern themselves, let alone a nation.”

  Erian put his hands over his face. “Oh gods. How can I do this? How can I kill him? He’s . . . Oh Gryphus help me, I can’t do this. How could I win against him? I’m not a warrior, I don’t have any followers—”

  “You can do this,” Kraal hissed. “Erian, look at me.”

  Erian obeyed.

  “You can do this,” Kraal said again. “You are Aeai ran kai. There is no doubt left. You have come this far—how can you lose hope now?”

  Erian couldn’t look away. “But how can I do it?” he asked piteously. “How?”

  “You have the weapon,” said Kraal. “When Kraeai kran ae comes, you must go to the Sun Temple and wait for him there. He will come to you. When he enters the temple, he will lose his powers, and you will fight him as an equal.”

  Erian felt a stirring of hope return. “He’ll come to me?”

  “He will, for he knows what a threat you are to him, and he will stop at nothing to kill you before you destroy him,” said Kraal. “In his arrogance, he will believe he can defeat you without his powers.”

  “I think I could fight him,” said Erian. “If we fought like that . . . as equals.”

  “You can, and you shall,” said Kraal. “Erian, listen. It is time for you to know the last part of what you must do.”

  “What?” said Erian.

  “Aeai ran kai shall find Kraeai kran ae, driven to him by a power stronger than his own will,” said Kraal, almost reciting the words. “The two shall meet, and they shall know each other. The avatar of the Night God shall be destroyed when the sun’s champion finds his heart.”

  Erian listened closely. “His heart. I have to . . .”

  “Yes!” Kraal hissed. “Find his heart, Erian. That is his weakness. Find his black, dead heart and plunge the sacred weapon into it. Do it, and he will die. You must kill him.”

  Erian’s own heart beat fast. “I will,” he said. “I swear I will.”

  Perhaps Arenadd was confident that Skade would return soon, but Saeddryn wasn’t.

  “Sir, with respect, we can’t afford to wait,” she told him, having requested an audience and been reluctantly granted it by Arenadd, who had already suspected why she wanted it. Now she faced him determinedly, upon the tower-top, which had become his favourite haunt.

  Arenadd looked at her and sighed. “Is that so?”

  “It is, an’ ye know it, sir,” said Saeddryn.

  Arenadd watched her thoughtfully. She, too, carried herself more proudly these days, despite her missing eye. Behind her, a young griffin clicked his beak and moved closer to her protectively. It was Aenae, one of Skandar’s sons, who had inherited his father’s silver eyes but his mother’s ash-grey hindquarters and rusty-orange wing feathers.

  “Well?” Saeddryn pressed.

  Arenadd pulled himself back to reality. “Saeddryn, I know you’re impatient. So am I. All we need is a few more days, I swear.”

  “How can ye be so sure?” she demanded.

  Aenae nudged at her shoulder. “My father’s human is the Shadow that Walks,” he said. “I trust him to know what is best, and so should you.”

  Arenadd grinned. “Besides,” he said, “there’s something important we have to do first.”

  “What, sir?” said Saeddryn.

  “Have you talked to your intended lately?” said Arenadd.

  “A little,” Saeddryn said stiffly. “What does that have t’do with—”

  Arenadd yawned. “It’s a half-moon tonight. The Deer Moon. Perfect for a little celebration up at the Throne, wouldn’t you say? Perhaps even a wedding?”

  Saeddryn looked surprised. “A wedding?”

  “Of course. I think you and Torc have waited long enough, and wouldn’t you rather marry now than risk one of you dying at Malvern and losing the chance forever? I’m sure Skandar will take us there without any trouble. We can leave Iorwerth and Kaanee in charge. What d’you say?”

  “I’m not sure . . .” Saeddryn began.

  “If you’re not, why not ask Torc?” said Arenadd. “I’m sure he can help you. He loves you, you know. He’d been watching you and secretly pining for you for months before he gave you his stone.”

  Saeddryn looked at her feet, suddenly shamefaced. “I understand, sir. I’ll go an’ find him now.”

  Arenadd nodded in satisfaction as she walked away, followed by Aenae.

  Not for the first time, he thought of how cunning his cousin was. She had taken an active role in caring for Hyrenna’s chicks, until one of them, Aenae, had taken to following her around. She had begun to favour him and give him the best food along with all of her affections, until he began sleeping curled up on her bed at night like a cat. When he reached physical maturity, there was no doubt left as to whether he would choose a human—or which human it would be.

  The bond with the griffin had given Saeddryn all the respect she had wanted and had blamed Arenadd for denying her when he refused to marry her. And no doubt it had taken away some of her humiliation at having to marry Torc, a mere ex-slave half her age.

  “Perhaps they can be happy together,” Arenadd murmured and turned away to keep watching the sky. Around him, the banners of the four tribes fluttered from the poles that had once flown the sunwheel. The wolf with the full moon, the bear carrying the crescent, the deer with the half-moon and the crow with a star.

  He smiled to himself, rather sadly. Perhaps Saeddryn could come to love her husband in time.

  As always, Skade intruded on his thoughts yet again. His smile faded. Gods, Skade. I miss you so much I want to die. Please, come back. Come back to me, Skade. Soon.

  Saeddryn didn’t return, and he eventually gave up and went below to find something to eat, his mind full of a vision of Skade smiling so sweetly at him. I love you, Arenadd.

  In his memory, he reached out to touch her, his eyes lost in hers. Those beautiful eyes, so blue . . . I love you too, Flell.

  Arenadd jerked in surprise. “What?” he said aloud.

  Skade, he thought. Skade, you idiot! You love Skade, no-one else. You’ve never loved anyone but her.

  In his head, the memory warped and shifted. And there was Skade, amber-eyed and silver-haired. I love you, Arenadd.

  I love you too, Skade.

  He sighed wistfully and wandered into the dining hall, where Yorath, who had taken to working in the kitchen, brought him some food.

  While he was eating it, he heard a polite cough from the doorway.

  “Come in, Torc,” he said, without turning around.

  There was a pause, and Torc stepped into his line of vision. He was neatly dressed, in a tunic with a high collar that hid the scars on his neck, and had a look of barely suppressed excitement on his face. “Saeddryn said you want us t’get married tonight.”

  Arenadd put down his cup. “I certainly do. The Deer Moon is tonight—a time for destiny, and for your tribe, Torc. Perfect.”
>
  Torc’s eyes shone. “Who’ll conduct the ceremony, sir?”

  “I will, of course,” said Arenadd. “If you and Saeddryn are ready.”

  “We are, sir,” said Torc. “Oh gods, I can’t believe it . . . I’ve waited so long, an’ now . . .” He coughed. “Sorry. Yes, I’m ready, sir. So’s Saeddryn.”

  “Good,” said Arenadd. “We’ll leave this afternoon, to make sure we get to the Throne in time for moonrise. We’ll spend the night in Taranis Gorge and fly back in the morning.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Torc. “I’ll tell Saeddryn, sir.”

  That afternoon, having instructed Iorwerth and Kaanee to supervise during their absence, Arenadd and Skandar prepared to leave. Two of the unpartnered, wanting to see the mountains, agreed to carry Torc and Saeddryn. Aenae and his brother Iekee came too.

  Nerth, Garnoc, Yorath and Iorwerth had gathered to see them off.

  “Don’t worry,” Torc told them proudly. “I’ll take good care of my wife, I will, and Lord Arenadd and the Mighty Skandar will take care of both of us.”

  “And in the meantime, Iorwerth, you and Kaanee will take care of Fruitsheart,” Arenadd said sternly.

  “There’s no need to fear, my lord,” said Iorwerth. “Ye can trust us.”

  Arenadd nodded, from Skandar’s back. “I know I can. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

  Skandar rasped impatiently and took off, and his two sons followed.

  The flight to Taranis’ Throne took a long time, but Arenadd enjoyed it. It had been a long while since he and Skandar had flown any great distance, without relying on the shadows to take them there, and he suddenly realised how much he had missed the feel of wind—real wind—and the touch of the sun on his face.

  Skandar, too, seemed to be enjoying it, though he had to fly more slowly than he preferred so that the youngsters could keep up.

  They reached the mountains by late evening, and Skandar landed first, in the middle of the stone circle where Arenadd had first encountered the Night God such a long time ago.

  Arenadd dismounted and scratched his partner under the beak. “Ah . . . it’s good to be back, isn’t it?”