by K J Taylor
Saeddryn adjusted the gown. “Yes,” she said shortly.
“Were you the only one?” said Caedmon. “Were there others? Did Arddryn—?”
“No.”
The room suddenly seemed very cold.
Caedmon bowed his head. “I thought . . . hoped . . .” He took a step closer to her. “But we’ve got you back at least,” he said. “At least we’ve got you.” He took her in a tight embrace.
Saeddryn hugged him back, just as glad in her own way to have him there. “I ran here,” she said quietly. “Ran. I had to get here before they did, had to, before they got to ye, before it was too late.”
“I’m all right,” said Caedmon, not letting go. “They haven’t attacked yet. But how did you come here so fast? Did Aenae—?”
Saeddryn pulled away. “Aenae’s dead,” she said. “Like Arddryn. Like Nerth. Like everyone at Warwick.”
Caedmon shuddered. “Oh, gods . . .”
Saeddryn took his hand. “Come now,” she said gently. “We’re Taranisäiis. The last true Taranisäiis. It’s up to us t’be strong now, t’show our people the way just as we did before. And trust me, Caedmon, the half-breed bitch is not going to win.”
Caedmon’s own expression hardened. “You’re right. I’ve already vowed that.”
“Good!” Saeddryn let go and made for the door. “Let’s go. We’ve got plannin’ to do, an’ not much time t’do it in!”
Caedmon hurried after her. Another man might have tried to argue or suggested that she needed rest, but he knew his mother too well to bother.
Shar was waiting outside, and she almost reared up when she saw Saeddryn. “It is you!”
Saeddryn stopped and inclined her head toward the griffin. “Hello, Shar. Yes, I’m back t’help yer human.”
Shar looked quickly at Caedmon. “And Aenae?”
“He’s dead,” said Saeddryn, in a short, flat kind of way.
Shar’s look toward Caedmon didn’t show the triumph she must have felt, but he knew it was there. Without Aenae, Saeddryn wasn’t a griffiner any more, and the implications of that were major.
If Saeddryn had noticed any of this, she didn’t show it. “Where’s the council chamber, Caedmon? Haven’t been there in too long . . .”
“This way, Mother.” Caedmon went to her side and guided her away toward it, casting a warning look back at Shar. The griffin ignored it.
Caedmon had expected Saeddryn to stay close to him and maybe need his help to walk, but he was wrong. She strode on ahead, apparently remembering the way now, and Caedmon, staying respectfully behind her, noticed something had changed. Saeddryn had lost the stiff gait of the old woman she was. Now she moved with a new and terrible grace, every stride full of certainty and power that felt chillingly familiar.
Caedmon’s neck prickled. What was going on here? How could this be . . . ?
Saeddryn reached the council chamber and shoved the doors open. There was nobody in there, but she went to the circle of benches at the centre and sat down. “Where’re the others? There’s talkin’ to be done.”
Caedmon nodded briefly and went to stand on the governor’s platform, along with Shar. “We’ll summon them now.”
“Yes,” said Shar. “They must know what has happened and hear what she has to say.” With that, she lifted her head and screeched her own name to the ceiling. The chamber, uniquely designed for it, magnified the sound and sent it out through the channels in the walls and roof, spreading it to the rest of the tower. It didn’t take long for other griffins to hear it, and in a very short time Hafwen and Garnoc arrived. Both of them greeted their old friend Saeddryn with affection. Saeddryn only replied with a brief look and a muttered word. She looked almost indifferent. Hafwen and Garnoc, old campaigners who had become council members despite not being griffiners, sat down on either side of her—but kept their distance. Their looks toward her were wary.
Shar screeched again a few times, for good measure, and the rest of the council arrived in ones and twos. All of them were griffiners; younger men and women chosen by Caedmon for their talents and loyalty. Lady Kaefan, the Lords Cadan and Rees, and Lady Myfina, the youngest of the lot. All of them openly stared at Saeddryn—one or two even exclaimed their astonishment out loud. At a look from Caedmon, they quickly took their seats, with their partners remaining as looming presences behind them. To Caedmon’s surprise, Saeddryn didn’t stand up, and only stayed quietly where she was. Her single eye moved around the room, pausing occasionally to stare at different people, but her expression stayed impenetrable.
Caedmon had seen this look before, and it meant one of two things. Either she was very angry or very upset. Either one was very unsettling.
He cleared his throat. “Apologies for bringing you all in here so suddenly, but obviously it’s important. My mother, Saeddryn Taranisäii”—he gestured at her, expecting her to get up, but she still didn’t—“is alive and has come to find us. The only survivor from the outrage the half-breed committed at Warwick. I thought it was important for all of you to see her yourselves and to hear what she has to say.”
He looked hopefully at Saeddryn, along with everybody else. At last, she stood up and came forward. Caedmon stepped down from the platform, along with Shar, and let her take their place.
Saeddryn stood there a moment, silently. She looked pale, but strong. Old, but ageless. Thin, but terrifying.
Once the silence had drawn out and become steadily grimmer and colder, she raised her head and looked at everyone. She didn’t look angry or threatening, but there was something in her gaze that made everyone there—even the griffins—shift around uncomfortably.
“Warwick’s destroyed,” she said at last, in a low voice. “Nerth is dead. Morvudd is dead. Nerthach is dead. Penllyn, dead. Seerae, Yissh, and Raekae, all dead. Torc Taranisäii, my husband, is dead. My daughter Arddryn is dead. Crushed to death. Her partner Rakek died with her. Aenae, my partner—dead.”
She listed out the dead in a cold, flat tone, dropping each name like a stone slab. All the humans there bowed their heads. Some even shed a few tears. Even some of the griffins huffed softly or closed their eyes sadly as they thought of their fellows.
“The fall of Warwick was a day we’ll never forget,” Saeddryn said softly. “I know I never will. And I confess that when I went into the Eyrie tower there an’ found my daughter’s dead body, left for me to find, I cursed the Night God right there an’ then. Decided it was all over. We’d been abandoned. I’d been abandoned.” She smiled very slightly. “But I was wrong. I’ve been sent here to tell ye that. Ye are not abandoned. True Northerners are never abandoned, no matter how often it looks that way. I believe it now, an’ my message to ye is that ye should never give up hope.”
The councillors smiled back at her, some standing straighter. Caedmon, watching, couldn’t help but smile a little as well. This was a side of his mother that he recognised very well. Listening to her now, it was easy to imagine her back in the beautiful Moon Temple in Malvern, directing the sacred ceremonies.
But that was something she would never do again, Caedmon thought, losing his smile when he remembered what had happened to the Temple. Burned to the ground, almost certainly on the Queen’s orders. When that had happened, he had known for certain that there were no depths she wouldn’t sink to.
“Now then,” Saeddryn went on, suddenly businesslike. “Here’s what I know. Lord Iorwerth an’ Kaanee, his partner, have taken the unpartnered an’ gone back t’Malvern. But they’ve left a garrison in Warwick. Most likely once the half-breed’s had a think about the situation she’ll send them on here. Like it or not, Fruitsheart’s the centre of all this now. That’s all I know for now, but there’s one other thing I’m going t’tell ye that I’ve learnt.”
“What’s that, Mother?” said Caedmon, using the familiar term without any embarrassment. “Anything you know could help us n
ow.”
Saeddryn acknowledged him with a nod. “The half-breed has someone workin’ for her other than that poor fool Iorwerth an’ that lot he commands. Someone just as dangerous, in a way. Maybe more so. A pair of spies. Both of them look harmless, but they aren’t.”
“Who are they?” Lady Myfina asked.
“One is an old griffin. Brown, with blue eyes.” Saeddryn’s own eye glinted as she gave Hafwen and Garnoc a meaningful look. “Her name is Senneck. Do ye know that name?”
They looked puzzled. “Can’t say I do,” Hafwen muttered, but hesitantly.
Saeddryn smiled without humour. “She’s an old friend from the war. Once partnered to Erian the Bastard.”
“Her!” Garnoc exclaimed. “I thought she died in Malvern!”
“So did everyone else, but she’s back now an’ working for the half-breed,” said Saeddryn. “Remembers me very well, an’ that’s probably why.”
“Who’s the other one, then?” said Garnoc.
“The other one.” Saeddryn’s mouth twisted. “The other one is . . . odd.”
“Human, or griffin?” Shar asked.
Saeddryn’s mouth twisted even further. “Both.” She rubbed her forehead, and ploughed on. “I don’t understand it, but this is all I know. Sometimes he’s a small grey griffin. Sometimes he’s an ugly man with . . . wings.”
“Wings?” said Lord Rees.
“An’ a tail,” said Saeddryn, unsmiling. “His name’s Kullervo. We caught him in Warwick, kept him locked up. He wouldn’t talk, but Morvudd had a look at him. He’s got some sort of power—he can grow feathers an’ fur, turn into a griffin. Morvudd wanted t’find out more, but he escaped on the day Warwick fell. Killed her in the process.” Noticing the puzzlement and skepticism on the faces of her listeners, she growled, “Don’t look like that. I don’t lie. That’s what I saw. That’s what he is. He looks harmless, but he’s dangerous. He tore Morvudd’s throat out. Did the same t’four guards on his way out, too. He’s with Senneck. They work together—fly around the place spyin’ for the half-breed. They’re as dangerous as each other.”
“Are ye sure?” said Hafwen.
Saeddryn gave her a deathly look. “Senneck is the one who killed Arddryn. An’ Rakek, an’ Aenae as well. All in the same day. She’s a survivor, an’ all she cares about is revenge. That makes her deadly. Now.” She glanced at Caedmon. “That’s all I know. Now ye must talk it over, an’ decide what to do.” With that, she stepped off the platform and returned to her seat, leaving Caedmon to take over.
He retook his place, hiding his utter astonishment, and did his best to take the initiative. “Er . . . ahem. Yes. As you’ve heard, things are bad. With Iorwerth on the half-breed’s side, the unpartnered will also be on—”
“With Kaanee, the unpartnered will be against us,” Shar interrupted. “They have not forgotten that it was he who led them to turn against the Mighty Kraal and so gave them great power. He has their respect, and seems likely to keep it.”
“Exactly,” Caedmon said smoothly. “And with the unpartnered against us, as well as Malvern’s army—and whatever’s left of Warwick’s, if they can take control of it—that gives them an advantage. And, unfortunately, we have the weaker stronghold. Everyone knows that Warwick is the most-well-fortified city in Tara. But with the enemy occupying it—and you can bet Iorwerth will have left some unpartnered there—we just don’t have the numbers to take it back. But we can’t afford to stay here. Fruitsheart might have plenty of pears, but it doesn’t have good walls. It’ll be far too easy to overrun. And if that happened, it would be all over for us. We have to leave, and soon, and I know exactly where we should go.”
“Where?” asked Myfina.
“Skenfrith.”
“No,” said Garnoc. “It’s too close t’Malvern.”
“That’s the whole point,” said Caedmon. “We establish ourselves in Skenfrith, and from there we can launch an assault on Malvern itself. We strike hard, and we strike fast, and we do it without any warning. If we can take Malvern and kill the half-breed, we win the war—and we win it by killing as few Northerners as possible.” He gave Garnoc a look. “Remember, this isn’t like the war you fought. This isn’t against Southerners. It’s against our own people. If I’m going to become King as I should, then my first duty is to my people. I refuse to go to Tara’s throne by wading through Northern blood. The longer this war drags on, the more of us are killed, and I won’t let that happen.” Caedmon sighed. “You know, we keep some Southerner-written books in our libraries. King Arenadd insisted that we keep them, so we wouldn’t forget what they were like. What Tara was like back then. I read some of the things they wrote about us.” His expression became distant as he remembered the exact words. “‘Left unattended, the Northerner quickly reverts to his natural state. An ungoverned piece of land, left in his hands, soon breaks down into anarchy . . . left to rule themselves, Northerners at once turn on each other and will fight until not one of them is left alive.’”
Several of the listeners actually growled at this.
Caedmon’s face had darkened, too. “That’s what they believed about us. Now we have been left to rule ourselves at last, just as they feared. Should we do what that sun-worshipping scum suggested, and fight until none of us are left? Or will we show the world that we can be better than that? Will we show our people and our country that we can be worthy to own Tara and all its beautiful cities?” He looked penetratingly at them all. “I, for one, intend to do everything in my power to lead and fight like a griffiner and not a barbarian. The only question is, are you with me?”
The councillors cheered. Even Hafwen looked impressed. Shar, fired up by her human’s speech, crouched low and snarled, tail lashing. The other griffins there responded with snarls and hisses of their own, and aggressive calls directed at the enemy they would soon fight. Every griffin loved a fight. They were made for it.
“I agree with Caedmon,” Lord Rees said once the excitement had died down.
“And I,” said Cadan.
“So do I,” said Lady Kaefan.
Lady Myfina gave Caedmon a smile that made him blush. “Nobody could say no to you now!”
“Go for it!” Hafwen interrupted, thumping the floor with her stick. “The boy’s right. Nothin’ good’s gonna come of fightin’ our own, so the sooner we end this the better. The half-breed’s the only one we really need dead, so let’s get to it!”
The councillors laughed and nodded their agreement. Even Garnoc grinned.
“Right, then!” said Caedmon, taking charge. “Time to go to work! Start preparing. Pass the news on to the city, see to it that everyone here who supports us comes along. Men, women—anyone who can use a weapon. I don’t care if they’re carrying chair-legs and rocks, I want them in Skenfrith with us. Empty the armoury, leave the treasury, and let that twit of a governor out of his cell and tell him he can take charge again once we’ve gone. No sense leaving one of our own behind to get killed. Organise supplies, pack clean underwear—you can figure out the rest!”
The council broke up in a mood of purposeful excitement, leaving Caedmon and Shar behind. Aside from them, only Saeddryn stayed.
Only Saeddryn hadn’t laughed, or smiled, or said anything at all once Caedmon had begun. Nor had she left her seat.
Caedmon turned to her now, suddenly awkward. She was looking at him, and though her face was expressionless, he felt judged. “Er . . . how did I do?”
Saeddryn continued to fix him with that impenetrable stare. Then, at last, she smiled. “For a while I thought I was seein’ Arenadd there in front of me. Not as he was when ye knew him, but as he was back when we were young.” Her smile saddened. “I wish ye could have seen him back then. How he was. Full of fire an’ passion, full of rage. A Northern warrior through an’ through. All he cared about was winning Tara back in the Night God’s name. That an’ that woman of hi
s. But after the war was done, he never was the same. Maybe he never could be unless he was fightin’ someone. Without him . . .”
“You don’t wish we had him back now, do you?”
Saeddryn shook herself. “What? No. No, not now. His time was done. This is our time now. Yer own time, Caedmon.” She stood up and came toward him, reaching for his hands. “Arenadd’s time is over, an’ so is mine. This is your war, Caedmon. Yer own rebellion. Ye must win it, not me. Ye an’—” She nodded at Shar. “Ye an’ Shar.”
“You mean—?” Caedmon glanced at Shar.
Saeddryn nodded slowly. “I’m not a griffiner any more. Not without Aenae, Night God bless him. I can’t lead now I’ve lost him, an’ I don’t want to, either. The throne’s meant for ye, Caedmon, an’ I’ll do whatever I can t’guide ye there. Look on me as a useful servant, to use how ye choose. I’ll let ye do the judging yerself.”
Caedmon was surprised. “You’ll still be on the council—”
“No.” Saeddryn grimaced. “I’ve been on enough councils. I’ll advise ye if ye want, but it’s down to ye an’ the offsiders ye choose. Garnoc an’ Hafwen can be a great help too—make sure ye listen to them. I’m just . . . a helper. Use me however ye see fit.”
Caedmon said nothing. He held her hands in his, and he could feel the coldness.
Saeddryn didn’t let go. “It’s been a long road,” she murmured, apparently to herself. “I thought it ended long ago. But I’m glad t’have this chance, this last chance t’set things right . . .”
“You’re like him, aren’t you?” Caedmon said softly. “You’ve become like him.”
Saeddryn nodded jerkily.
“You came back, like he did. That’s why you’ve got those scars. That’s how you got away. You’re . . .” Caedmon reached out, and she didn’t resist when he touched her neck. He let go and moved away sharply a moment later, his face turning pale. “My gods. It’s true. You’re—”
“Yes,” said Saeddryn. She touched his face, holding it between her hands. “Ye look like yer father, ye know. I know people say ye’re like Arenadd, but I see yer father in ye. Poor Torc. He was the sweetest man I ever knew. He deserved a better wife than me.”
