The Shadowed Throne

by K J Taylor

  “Skade.”

  “I knew her,” said Iorwerth. “Dangerous woman. Had a face like a hatchet. Nobody really knew where she came from. Acted like she hated everyone.”

  “Except the King,” said Garnoc. “He was the only one she was kind to.”

  “Some say he never loved anyone but her,” said Iorwerth. “After she died, he was never the same.”

  “But Saeddryn never forgave him,” said Garnoc. “She never stopped believin’ it was her right t’be his Queen even though she’d married Torc by then. Where’s Torc, anyway?”

  “I sent guards to pick him up,” said Laela. “He should be locked up by now.”

  “Unless he’s left too,” said Iorwerth. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Garnoc, go an’ find out,” said Laela. “Guard him yerself if he’s in the cells. Iorwerth—stay here.”

  Garnoc left smartly.

  “Now then,” Laela said, to Iorwerth. “Time to start makin’ plans.”

  A hiss broke into the conversation, and a griffin rose. Kaanee, Iorwerth’s partner, hulking and battle-scarred.

  “Now is the time to fight,” he rumbled. “The traitor should be afraid that I am here in Malvern by your side.”

  Laela bowed to him. “I know everythin’ yeh did in the war, Kaanee. The King told me. He said once that he never would’ve won if it hadn’t been for you.” In fact, Arenadd had said no such thing, but that was beside the point.

  Kaanee held his head high. “The Mighty Skandar’s human was most wise. Do not be afraid, Queen. I shall win your war as well.”

  Oeka puffed up. “I shall win, Kaanee. Do not forget who is the most powerful griffin in Malvern.”

  Laela cringed, expecting an attack.

  Kaanee, however, only chirped in amusement. “You are young, little griffin, and have discovered your gift too early. Arrogance does not win wars, but be assured that if it did, you would be our champion.”

  Oeka bristled. “You may be old, but you have not yet learnt all you should know. I shall teach you.”

  Kaanee faltered under the mental blow, but he didn’t back down or strike back. “You are powerful in magic, but weak in body,” he rasped. “And the more you use your power, the more you shall be weakened. Have you thought of what would happen if you attacked one in front while another was behind and another to the side? You would die, and fast. Can your all-powerful gift strike more than one enemy at once?”

  Oeka looked away. “Soon I shall have that strength.”

  “And what shall you do, then, little one? Magic is not the only weapon a griffin possesses. Do you know where to strike to break another griffin’s neck? When an enemy holds you by the leg, how shall you break free?”

  Oeka said nothing.

  Kaanee sat on his haunches, satisfied. “So you see that you do not know everything, Mighty Oeka.”

  Silence. It lasted so long that Laela was about to start talking to Iorwerth again, but then Oeka broke it.

  “You are right, Kaanee,” she said. “I know less of fighting than you. Therefore, I command you to teach me.”

  Kaanee’s wing twitched. He looked honestly surprised. “If I am not too old and weak, perhaps I could teach the all-powerful Oeka.”

  “Teach,” Oeka said. “We shall begin at once, while our humans plan.”

  “That’s a great idea,” said Laela.

  Both griffins ignored her. Without waiting to say anything to their partners, they left the council chamber together.

  “That was unexpected,” Iorwerth said.

  “I’ll say!” said Laela. “Never saw Oeka go all humble like that before in my life. Humble for her, anyway. That’s the closest yeh gonna get. Now, let’s get to work.”

  While Laela and Iorwerth were in the midst of their discussion, Garnoc came hurrying back.

  “Lord Torc’s escaped, milady.”

  Iorwerth groaned.

  “Escaped how?” said Laela.

  “He was gone when they went to get him, milady. Someone must’ve tipped him off. The warrant’s been put out, an’ I’ve got guards searching the city.”

  “Didn’t expect anythin’ else,” Laela sighed. “He ain’t stupid.”

  “I don’t reckon he had anything to do with it anyway,” Garnoc added. “Him and Saeddryn were barely speakin’ any more, an’ he was far too loyal to the King.”

  “Yeah, loyal enough to think I killed him,” said Laela. “Bring him in, Garnoc. Even if he ain’t in on it, he’s the hostage we need.” She nodded to Iorwerth. “We’re done for now. Go an’ give the orders. An’ find Kaanee, for gods’ sakes. Send a message the moment there’s news.”

  They parted quickly and went to work.

  Laela’s first priority was a simple one: send out griffiners to every town and city in Tara, with orders to intercept Saeddryn. Her offspring had to be in one of those cities, and if she wasn’t going to join them, they at least should be arrested.

  But Laela wasn’t really expecting Saeddryn to head for the cities. Her real destination was far more obvious than that. The High Priestess had led a rebellion before, and now that she was about to do it again, there was only one place she would feel safe to begin.

  The Throne.

  Kaanee was her first choice to fly there. Just Kaanee, and a second griffin to help. Iorwerth could stay behind. She needed his help, and Kaanee would fly much faster without him. Of all the griffins in Malvern, Kaanee was the strongest who was loyal to her. Other than Oeka, of course.

  As she strode up the ramps toward her audience chamber, Laela found herself feeling energised in a way she hadn’t been in a long time. Her father had once told her that he was someone made for action, and now she began to think that she might be the same. Politics took too much talking and too many lies. Laela had never been much good at either. But when it came to acting fast and aggressively—that was when she felt alive.

  Being extremely angry helped.

  Her audience chamber was empty, aside from a pair of guards at the entrance and Inva, who was busy cleaning a stain off the floor.

  “I got servants to do that, yeh know,” Laela said on her way past.

  “I am your servant,” Inva said, without looking up.

  Laela shrugged and pushed the door to Arenadd’s bedroom open. Inside, it was just how he had left it, down to the unused bed and the faint smell of wine in the air.

  A lump ached in her throat. She wasn’t sure if it was grief, or fear. This was the place where she had first met her father—or at least the place where she had first seen his face. She remembered that night clearer than anything else in her life. The sheer terror was clearest. That moment when her new friend had uncovered his face, and she had seen the signs. The long scar under the eye. The crippled fingers. All the marks of a man who had been killed a hundred times over but refused to die.

  She shuddered and opened the wardrobe. She almost laughed when she saw the contents: at least a dozen black robes of different designs, some plain, some decorated with embroidery or lined with fur. There were no other clothes in there, other than a few pairs of boots and some folded trousers.

  She didn’t know why she could have expected to find anything else. Her father had never worn a single garment that wasn’t a robe. He was famous for it.

  Laela flicked through the robes, still fighting back laughter. They were all beautifully clean and well made, and though they were obviously inspired by the uniform of a slave, they’d been tailored as elaborately as the finest of noble outfits. King Arenadd might have been cold-hearted and bloodthirsty, but he’d always been very meticulous about his appearance.

  Laela stopped abruptly and flicked back to the last robe she’d looked at. She frowned and lifted it out.

  “What the—?”

  While the others were pristine, this one was practically in rags.
One sleeve had been torn off at the shoulder, and there were holes big enough to put her hand through. In many places, the thick wool was stiff with something that might have been mud—but she had a horrible feeling that it wasn’t.

  “Why in the world did he keep this one?” she said aloud. “It ain’t even clean.”

  She shrugged and put it away. There were enough nasty things in her father’s wardrobe already, so to speak, without looking for more.

  Remembering her original purpose, she sought out one of the thicker robes, which had a fur-lined hood, and put it on over her gown. It was cold outside. That, and she had a point to make.

  Laela closed the wardrobe and went to the bed. On the wall behind it, the sickle hung. She lifted it down carefully and felt the blade.

  Touching it made her feel sick. She knew how many murders this sickle had committed. But still, it was her weapon by rights, just like the Kingdom. Queendom.

  Sickle in hand, she returned to the audience chamber.

  Oeka was there, with Kaanee. “And here is the Dark Lady!” she said, sounding almost cheerful.

  Kaanee’s tail swished. “If your eyes were not blue, I would think that you were your father,” he said.

  Laela grunted. “Yeh look like yeh had some exercise, Oeka.”

  The small griffin was breathing hard, and her feathers were ruffled. “I have learnt. Now speak, Laela. What have you and Kaanee’s human planned?”

  “We’re sendin’ griffiners to the cities,” said Laela. “They’re gonna try to catch Saeddryn, or at least they’ll take her kids in. Iorwerth’s organisin’ that already. Kaanee—I got somethin’ to ask yeh.”

  “I am listening.”

  “The Throne,” Laela said bluntly. “I want yeh to go there. Choose another griffin to take with yeh, but you’re the one I want.”

  “You think the traitors will have gone there,” said Kaanee.

  “Yeah, I do. It only makes sense. An’ you’re the best one to go catch ’em, Kaanee.”

  Oeka huffed to herself.

  “I’d send yeh, Oeka, but we need yeh here to lead, don’t we?” Laela said.

  She looked pleased. “That is true. Kaanee, do as my human commands.”

  “I cannot,” said Kaanee.

  Oeka bristled. “You refuse to obey me, Kaanee?”

  “I cannot do as I have been told,” the older griffin said calmly.

  “Why not?” said Laela.

  “Come, and I will show you why.”

  There was an archway in the wall, added during Arenadd’s time to allow Skandar to fly straight into the audience chamber. Kaanee went to it, shouldering aside a tapestry, and stepped onto the little platform beyond.

  Laela came to join him, and saw immediately what he had meant. The sky had turned slate grey, and a huge bank of pure white cloud had drifted in over the horizon.

  “There is a storm coming, and a strong one,” Kaanee said. “No griffin can fly far.”

  As if to emphasise the point, thunder growled over the city. Lightning flashed not long afterward.

  “Damn it!” Laela stomped back into the audience chamber. “The ole slag’s gonna get an even bigger head start on us now. Here’s hopin’ she gets struck by lightnin’ along the way.”

  “Aenae left before dawn,” said Kaanee. “He will reach safe haven before the storm strikes.”

  “Great. If anyone needs me I’ll be down the practice yard, killin’ straw dummies.” Laela stormed out. Oeka followed at a more leisurely pace.

  The storm drew in while Laela practised. Down in one of the courtyards between the towers, a patch of dirt had been fenced in and equipped with archery targets and dummies made from bundled straw. It served as a decent enough training yard.

  So far Laela had been taught more about hand-to-hand combat than archery, so she went to work on the dummies with her sickle. It still felt clumsy in her hand; she had had plenty of lessons, but not as much practice as she really needed, and she’d never used a weapon in a real-life fight before.

  Not that she really had practice on her mind.

  Thunder crackled, louder and louder. Lightning flashed on the sickle, and Laela launched herself at the nearest dummy. Ignoring any notion of strategy or using the moves her father had taught her, she hacked at it with all her strength. The sickle caught on the bindings holding the straw together and flicked out of her hand.

  Laela gave an incoherent yell of rage and started to kick the dummy. Above, the storm gathered its power, and the wind and the icy rain gave her a feeling of invincibility. She kicked the dummy again, harder, then started to punch it.

  Laela might not have been an expert swordswoman, or an archer, but if there was one thing she knew how to do, it was throw a punch.

  Oeka arrived during the midst of her tantrum. She came on foot, thanks to the storm, and stood by the base of the nearest tower to watch. The wind had picked up alarmingly and kept lifting her wings away from her back, but she ignored it and stared blankly at the raging Laela.

  Eventually, when the Queen of Tara stopped to rest, Oeka came toward her. She stumbled a little when the wind hit her, but went straight to the dummy. Ignoring Laela completely, she rose onto her hind legs and tore the straw head off with her talons.

  “Show-off,” Laela growled.

  “There is no shame in showing strength,” Oeka said. “Be calm, Laela. This upstart can be beaten.”

  Laela was panting. “That so?”

  “Sooner or later, he will come to Malvern,” said Oeka. “And when he does, I shall break his mind like an egg.”

  “Yeh can do that?”

  “By that time, nothing shall be outside my power.”

  “Let’s hope. Thing is—” Laela broke off and ducked her head as a spat of rain hit her. The dusty ground underfoot turned dark in quick patches, and an instant later the real downpour had started. Oeka ran for cover at once, leaving Laela to snatch up her sickle and follow.

  Sheltering in the doorway to the tower, Laela peered out. The parts of her hair that were still dry whipped around in the wind. The rest stuck to her face. She pulled it away and looked out at the storm. “My gods, look at it. I ain’t seen one this big in yonks.”

  “It is nature’s reminder,” said Oeka from behind her, where it was completely dry.

  “What d’yeh mean, Oeka?”

  “Our magic comes from nature,” the small griffin explained. “We alone, of all creatures, have the gift to control that magic. Even the cunning human does not have that gift. But when nature rages, it is a reminder to us that for all our magic we can never be as powerful. If there is a storm in the sky, even one that is too weak for danger, a griffin will not fly.”

  “Sounds like nature’s a god to yeh,” said Laela.

  “No.” Oeka snapped her beak. “There are no gods. Nature is, and demands nothing. Death is the punishment for those who will not give it caution.” Moving carefully, the small griffin came to Laela’s side and looked out at the sky. “See, there,” she said.

  Laela followed her gaze. “What’re we lookin’ at?”

  “There is a griffin in the sky,” said Oeka.

  “What? Where? Flyin’? Now?”

  “So I can see.”

  It took a long time, and the darkness made it difficult, but eventually Laela spotted it. A winged shape, not too far from the Eyrie, struggling to fly. So she assumed—the wind threw it around, whipping it this way and that like a cat playing with a feather.

  Laela cringed. “Poor thing ain’t got a chance.”

  “The fool who flies in a storm dies,” Oeka said coldly.

  “Now that ain’t nice,” Laela snapped. “For all we know, he couldn’t find shelter in time. This thing came on fast.”

  “Not so fast that he could not have gone to ground,” said Oeka. “If he must die, then so be
it.”

  “Let’s hope he ain’t carryin’ a message for us or somethin’. C’mon, let’s go up higher an’ get a better look. I want somethin’ to eat, anyway.”

  They headed into the tower and upstairs. The dining hall had a large window, and Laela opened it to look out while the servants brought food. She saw the poor griffin again eventually—closer to the Eyrie now, and, incredibly, still struggling to reach it.

  “He’s gonna get struck by lightnin’ at this rate,” Laela murmured. “Poor bugger.”

  When the food arrived, she carried it over to the window to eat it, unable to resist being caught up in the anonymous griffin’s survival. More than once she saw the wind grab the poor creature and hurl it off-course so violently she thought its wings must have been broken. But every time, the griffin doggedly righted itself and kept on coming. Eventually, it came close enough that she could make out talons and feathers, and she began to hope that maybe it could reach the Eyrie after all.

  She was wrong.

  The griffin passed over the outer wall and came in among the towers. Then another gust hit it in the flank and, with terrible ease, slammed it into the wall of the nearest tower.

  Scrabbling and flailing at the stonework, the griffin slid downward, then fell away, straight downward. For a moment, Laela thought it had recovered when the wings peeled open, but they only slapped uselessly at the air until the griffin had fallen out of sight.

  “Poor bastard. Poor, poor bastard.”

  Oeka looked up from her lump of raw meat. “The fool has met his end?”

  “I dunno.” Laela turned away from the window. “He was still movin’ when he fell. I think he might’ve survived. I better send someone to look.”

  “Do not waste your time,” Oeka said, and went back to her meal.

  Laela ignored her and summoned a servant. “There’s a griffin what just fell at the bottom of the livin’ quarters tower. Go let people know, will yeh? I want someone to go see if he’s all right an’ bring him inside.”