by K J Taylor
“Lady Elkin,” Senneck corrected.
“Yes, of course. He said she had a great gift for seeing potential in people, and it must have worked well this time. So, he’s very pleased,” Erian added.
“I would expect him to be pleased,” Senneck said tartly. “Now that he has an assistant upon whom he can lay all the more tedious aspects of his duty he should be very pleased indeed.”
Yet again, Erian felt himself crumble inside.
“You do realise that what you did this afternoon was pointless, do you not?” Senneck added, almost casually.
Erian blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Come now. Do not tell me I chose a fool for my partner. I listened carefully to everything your master told you today, and I saw what he was truly saying. Do you honestly believe that after two years the taxes have not already been long since calculated for all those villages? If they pay every year, would it not be somewhat inefficient to conduct matters this way?”
“But . . .” Erian faltered. “But why? I don’t understand. Why would he want me to do that?”
“To test you,” said Senneck, “To see if you would do as you were told without question, and do it efficiently. I spoke to Eekrae today, and he told me a great deal about his partner. Kerod may be an eccentric, but he is not a fool. He loves the power that he has—slight though it is—and he does not want to lose it. When he was told that he was to be given an assistant, he was afraid that there was a warning in it, that he was to be replaced by a younger man. He and Eekrae agreed that they should get the measure of you first, to see how pliant or ambitious you were. So Kerod gave you a pointless task to carry out and watched to see how you would react.”
All of Erian’s pride vanished. “What? He—what in the gods’ names ... ?” But helpless anger quickly lost out to humiliation. “Oh gods. Senneck, I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot! Why didn’t I see it?”
“Be calm,” Senneck urged. “No, Erian. Listen. What you did was precisely what you should have done.”
“It—what?”
“You did the right thing,” said Senneck. “You showed no sign of knowing what was happening, and now Kerod’s fears have been soothed. If you do not appear to be ambitious, if you act as if your only desire is to do your duty and please him, if Kerod believes you are too unintelligent to pose a threat, then he will relax, and you will endear yourself to him.”
“Oh. Oh, I see. Yes, of course. You’re right, Senneck. As always. Yes.” Erian relaxed and wiped his arm across his forehead. “Well, I was very friendly and polite to him. I liked him.”
“Yes,” said Senneck. “You conducted yourself well with him, and I was impressed. You were natural and polite and friendly, and you flattered him. Eekrae saw it, too. He told me I had chosen well.”
“It sounds like he told you a lot,” Erian observed.
“Oh yes,” said Senneck. She chirped. “Perhaps you think that I was merely indulging myself today when I agreed to go with him. I assure you that I was not. I have done good work for us today.”
“By mating with him?” The words were out before he could stop them.
“Eekrae wanted me,” she said after a lengthy pause, “but not merely to fertilise my eggs. He wanted to know me better, to talk to me and try and get the measure of me, as Kerod did with you. But he is young and male, and he could not hide that he wanted more than that, even in spite of himself.”
“But did you mate with him?” Erian asked quietly.
“You are jealous,” said Senneck.
“Maybe I am—who cares? Did you mate with him?”
Another pause. “If you must know, yes. I paired with him. My first time,” she said, almost shyly. “And afterward—afterward he was confused, caught up in the moment. He told me all I wished to know, and more.”
Erian tensed. “What things did he tell you?”
“He told me that Kerod has no children and that he is the last of his house. He is not the wealthiest human in Malvern, but he owns some property. And he has no direct heir.”
“So, what does that mean?” said Erian.
“Kerod is an old man,” said Senneck. “When he dies, his Mastership shall go to you, and so will a portion of his wealth. And the more you charm him, the more he may choose to leave you.”
“That could be a long way away, though,” said Erian.
“Time we have. We are young, and secure here for now.” Senneck paused and then got up and came closer to him. “I know that I have not been as kind to you as I could have,” she said, almost gently. “And you know it, do you not?”
Erian hesitated. “I—I don’t blame you. I understand—”
“No,” said Senneck. “I have been harsh with you. Even cruel. What I said to you at Herbstitt was not—” She shook herself. “I did not like it there. There was a wrongness about that place. It made me feel sick and . . . afraid, as if there was some influence there. I grew angry with you for forcing me to stay there and so I threatened you, and when you resisted—well, it is in the past now.”
“We shouldn’t have been there, Senneck,” said Erian. “You were right to want to leave, and I shouldn’t have argued like that.”
“To have a will of your own is no bad thing.” Senneck sat on her haunches, her tail twitching among the straw. “You have done well, Erian Rannagonson. You have made me proud. For a time I had doubts; I worried that I had not—” She looked up. “Perhaps you do not understand. You are in a place you do not know, among people you do not know, either, you are afraid and uncertain, you are facing challenges you have never faced before. And so am I. You are afraid; you are uncertain—that is what I feel as well. You have only just become a griffiner, and I have only just become partnered. I want what is best for us both, and that has made me anxious. I have demanded a great deal from you. Perhaps too much. But you stood up under that burden, and so I know ...”
“Know what?” said Erian.
“That you are worthy,” said Senneck. “Worthy of me, worthy of the status we are in search of. Do not believe your own fears, Erian. You are worthy, and I am proud to have chosen you.” She looked at him, her blue eyes serene. “I have chosen well.”
23
Guard’s Post
Captain Burd had gone to bed early. A good-sized mug of hot mead and a wedge of toasted cheese, then he had flopped onto his straw pallet, pulled the blankets over himself and quickly been lulled to sleep by the crackling of the fire in the grate.
It had been a stressful day. Burd had been the sole commander of Guard’s Post for several years now, ever since his predecessor had retired, and he liked his life here. It was easy: organising the shifts, keeping everyone in order and, from time to time, vetting a traveller who looked suspicious. Comparatively few travellers passed through the mountains nowadays; most of them were traders making the journey to or from Canran or Eagleholm. It was the duty of the guards to search each cartload that passed through the two gates, in search of illegal goods, but they rarely bothered. Burd’s men already knew most of the traders who used the road regularly, and if they were willing to put them in the way of some good cider or a little addition to their usual pay, then they weren’t inclined to look too closely. Burd himself rarely went down to the gates any more.
Recently some of the sergeants had been half-seriously suggesting that they begin leaving the gates open, but Burd had put his foot down about that. If Malvern got wind of it he’d be put on duty in the fighting pits for the rest of his natural life.
He was deeply asleep, warm and comfortable under the blankets, when someone shook him awake. “Sir? Captain?”
Burd groaned and opened an eye. “What?”
“Sorry, sir, but something’s happening and Sergeant Wiln sent me to wake you up.”
The captain sat up in bed. “What kind of something? Is the sun up yet?”
“It’s just before dawn, sir,” said the guardsman. He looked a little tousled but alert. “I’ve been asked to say that you should proba
bly go and wake the griffiners, sir. Some travellers have come, and they look a bit strange.”
“Understood. Go and tell the sergeant I’m on my way.”
“Yes, sir.”
The guard left, and Burd splashed water on his face and pulled on his uniform with the speed of one accustomed to being woken up at short notice. The light coming in through the window was dull and grey, and he cursed as he stubbed a toe on the edge of the bed. Damn it all. Damn those griffiners. They’d arrived the previous day: two young idiots, minor lords from Malvern with shiny swords and big ideas about how the place should be run. What the blazes did they know? As if having a griffin could make you know better than someone with thirty years of experience.
Burd didn’t like griffiners, and he didn’t like griffins, either. They were damned dangerous creatures, no matter what the griffiners said. Supposedly only rogue griffins or wild ones ever attacked people with the intent to kill, but everyone knew that was nonsense. The cursed things were animals, and you couldn’t rely on an animal to do anything other than look for food. And spending your time living next to these overgrown bird-things who had beaks strong enough to tear through solid wood and who could eat a whole ox in a day—madness. Bloody madness.
Burd paused outside the door to Lord Tuomas’ chamber and straightened his uniform. He took a deep breath and knocked.
Nothing happened, so he knocked again, more loudly. There was a sudden thump from the other side, and the snarling rasp of a griffin. Burd backed away hurriedly.
The door opened, and Lord Tuomas appeared, still clad in his nightshirt. A large grey griffin was close by, trying to poke its head through the door to hiss at him.
“What?” The young man’s voice was thick and irritable.
Burd coughed. “My lord. I’m sorry to wake you up, but I’ve just been informed that something’s happening down between the gates—some travellers have shown up and it sounds like they need to be looked at.”
“Why? Can’t you deal with that?”
Burd forced himself not to react to the imperious tone. “Yes, my lord, but with all due respect, this is your command now, and part of your duties is to attend to this sort of thing when it comes up.”
Lord Tuomas looked at him a moment longer and then said, “Delegation is the key to successful command, captain. See to it yourself.” He shut the door before Burd could answer.
Burd sighed and walked away. Once he was out of ear-shot, he swore vigorously under his breath. Bloody griffiners. They come here, take over everything. Their griffins eat all the damned meat. And they can’t even be bothered to do their blasted duty.
He wasn’t going to bother wasting his time with Lord Rine, and instead he hurried to the staircase that would lead him down to the gap between the gates. As he reached the top, Sergeant Wiln came up the other way to meet him.
“Sir! There you are.”
“Morning,” Burd said curtly. “What’s going on?”
“It’s a griffiner, sir,” said Wiln. “One’s trying to get passage through the gates.”
“What?” said Burd. “With a griffin?”
“Yes, sir. She’s asking—”
“Why in Gryphus’ name didn’t she just fly over instead of bothering us?”
“Well, sir, it’s because she’s not alone,” said Wiln. “She’s brought a load of slaves with her, and they’re all on foot.”
“She—What the—? Which way are they going?”
“Northbound, sir. She says she’s going to Malvern.”
“From where?”
“Withypool, sir.”
Burd scratched his head. “Why in the gods’ names would a griffiner be taking slaves to Malvern?”
“She won’t say, sir. Have you woken up the griffiners?”
“I tried Lord Tuomas, but he didn’t want to hear about it,” said Burd. “I didn’t bother with the other one. But—” He thought for a moment. “This sounds strange. Go and wake up Lord Rine and tell him to come down. Don’t take no for an answer. If this is griffiner business then it’s our duty to let them know.”
“Yes, sir.” Wiln hurried away.
“Right,” Burd muttered to no-one in particular. He descended the stairs, taking them two at a time.
The space between the two gates was very large, and today it needed to be. Both gates were closed, and a ring of guards had gathered around—
Burd stopped at the foot of the stairs, dumbfounded. The slaves were standing together in a large group, nervously watching the guards. There were more than a hundred by his count, all robed and collared, but they had a ragged, travel-stained look about them, as if they had walked a long way. He looked at the nearest one to him but couldn’t read anything in his face other than a kind of steady, controlled fear, the kind of dumb animal look he had seen in all slaves. Pathetic, really.
Burd made his way to the head of the group at the northernmost gate. The griffin had been easy enough to spot: it was male, with silver feathers and black fur, and was the biggest griffin he’d seen since that day in Malvern when he had caught a brief glimpse of the Mighty Kraal himself.
The beast’s partner stood beside him, and if she was a griffiner then she was the grubbiest one he’d ever seen. She looked just as ragged and desperate as her slaves: the grey dress she wore was torn and filthy, and her extraordinary long silvery hair was tangled. But her demeanour was full of cool pride and reserve, and she looked straight at him without hesitation.
“My . . . lady.” Burd gave her a slightly hesitant bow. “I’m Captain Burd, and I’m in command here.”
She watched him for a moment, shifting slightly so he could see the long sword slung on her back. “Greetings, captain,” she said. Her tone was formal and a little flat, somehow lacking in emotion, as if she were reciting her words from a piece of paper. “I am Lady Skade, of Withypool,” she told him distantly. “And I command you to open the gate and allow me and my slaves to pass through.”
“Yes, my lady,” said Burd, eyeing the griffin. He bowed again. “I would happily do that, but it’s my duty to search you first.”
She fixed him with a dreadful stare. “Search?”
“Yes, my lady,” Burd said again. “In order . . . to ... be certain . . .” He felt himself beginning to sweat. “We must search every traveller who comes this way,” he said, pulling himself together. “If any of them are smuggling illegal items into Malvern’s territory, then we’re obliged to arrest them.”
Skade’s look did not waver. “Are slaves illegal, captain?”
“In some circumstances, yes, my lady,” said Burd. “Slaves can only be sold by slave-traders licensed and authorised by an Eyrie.”
“But I am not going to sell them,” said Skade. “These slaves are my property, and I am taking them with me.”
“May I ask where you’re taking them, my lady?” said Burd.
“That is not your concern,” said Skade. “I am taking them north, to my new home.”
“And you say you’re from Withypool, my lady?”
“I do. I purchased these slaves there, and I have documents to prove it. Is there anything else you want from me?”
“I’m sorry, my lady, but yes,” said Burd. “If you’ll just wait a moment, my commander is coming—a griffiner, who’ll want to talk to you.”
Skade sighed. “Very well, then we shall wait.”
Fortunately, Wiln arrived only a short time later. Lord Rine was with him, his griffin walking slightly ahead of them both.
The instant the dark beast by Skade’s side saw the other griffin, he began to hiss and lash his tail. Skade laid a hand on his shoulder to restrain him, and inclined her head toward Lord Rine. “Greetings,” she said, speaking griffish now. “I am Skade, and this is Skandar.”
Rine gave her a slightly shocked look but said nothing. He stood back and allowed his partner to come forward instead, toward Skandar, to greet him and size him up.
Skandar’s reaction was immediate, and violent. He stood
up and screeched, his wings opening, aggression vibrating in every hair and feather. The other griffin backed off, screeching in return and positioning himself to protect his partner.
For a moment it looked as if the two would come to blows, but Skade hurried forward and put herself in the way. “Enough!” she snapped, turning to face Skandar. “Skandar, no. No.”
Skandar hissed and moved to push her out of the way, but she made eye contact and shook her head very slightly. “No,” she said again. “Do not move. It is not time.”
They challenged each other with a glare for a few moments, before Skandar sulkily sat back on his haunches.
“My apologies,” said Skade, apparently unaware that the griffin still looked more than inclined to attack. “Skandar has not seen another griffin in many months.”
“So I see,” said Lord Rine, appearing beside his partner. “Then perhaps we can dispense with the formalities.” He bowed very slightly. “I am Lord Rine of Malvern.”
“I am pleased to meet you,” Skade said stiffly. “I am the Lady Skade of Withypool, and my partner, as you have heard, is Skandar.”
“Now,” said Rine, seeing his own partner was still busy glaring at Skandar. “What brings you here, my lady?”
“I am travelling to the North,” said Skade. “And these are my slaves, which I am bringing with me.”
“Those are all yours?” said Rine.
“They are.”
“And why are you going north?” said Rine.
Skade hesitated very briefly. “I plan to begin a new life. I have purchased land there, and I am taking my slaves with me to build a home for me. If you are wondering why I am travelling this way, it is because I spent the last of my money on the slaves. The trader asked for an outrageous sum—my family told me he had robbed me, but I did not care, for I wished to leave Withypool quickly.”
“Why?” said Rine.
“My father intended to force me into a marriage I did not want,” said Skade. “The only way to escape it was to leave as soon as I could, and so I made arrangements and left home at speed.” She smiled for the first time. “Perhaps it was reckless, but I have always been reckless. I am chasing a dream, my lord, and we both of us know the power of dreams to disrupt our lives.”
