by K J Taylor
Arenadd felt the same cold calmness he had become so used to over the years, mixed with a terrible excitement—an almost sexual, lustful feeling.
“Join me,” he whispered, and brought the knife down with all his strength.
The copper blade, etched with sacred runes, sank into Aled’s chest, through his ribs, and penetrated his heart. He jerked and screamed briefly, and then went limp as he died.
The instant that happened, Arenadd saw the world around him fade away.
Darkness came in its place.
He looked around, almost dreamily, and found himself surrounded by a ring of strange beast-headed women. Each one was an animal spirit in human form, and each one represented one of the ancient tribes of his people. He inclined his head toward the wolf-headed woman who represented his own tribe, and then looked upward, to where the mural of stars painted on the roof had become real stars, shining far more brightly than they usually did in a sky that had become the entire world.
Arenadd breathed deeply. “Come to me,” he said softly.
Silence answered him.
And then she was there.
Arenadd turned to face her and saw her, standing near him as if she had been there all along. She looked just as he remembered her—young but old, wearing nothing but a mantle of silver fur that left her breasts exposed. In one hand she held a silver sickle, in the other the full moon, somehow balanced on her palm.
Why have you summoned me, Arenadd Taranisäii?
Arenadd stepped toward her. “I gave you your blood, just as I did before, Master.”
The Night God sighed. Oh, my sweet Arenadd. How much you have suffered.
“You know the pact,” said Arenadd, stone-faced. “I gave you your blood. Now answer my question.”
She ignored him. Arenadd, you have not listened to me in such a long time. I am not pleased by this.
“I have a Kingdom to look after,” said Arenadd. “That’s enough to occupy me now.”
Yes. She lifted her hand and put the full moon into the hole where her eye should have been. You have done so well, Arenadd. My people prosper, and I am worshipped as I should be once again. You have done as I asked you, and I am grateful.
Arenadd’s expression did not change. “Good. Now you can tell me what I want to know.”
Ask, and I shall answer.
“Then tell me this,” said Arenadd. “Who am I?”
The Night God smiled. You are Arenadd Taranisäii. You are the Shadow That Walks. You are the King you deserve to be.
“I didn’t deserve to be a King,” Arenadd snapped. “And that isn’t what I mean, and you know it. I want to know who I was, Master. Who was I before you changed me? Before I was your creature?”
She reached out to caress his face. Why do you wish to know this, Arenadd? Why can you not let the past rest?
“I don’t know, Master, but I want to know.” Arenadd’s face creased in pain. “Who did you sacrifice to make me? I know . . . I know I had a life before then. I know I was someone. But I don’t know who, or why I died . . . I don’t know why I forgot.”
It does not matter, said the Night God. Truly. Listen, Arenadd. Our time is short, and I have new commands for you to carry out.
“Oh, do you?” Arenadd snarled. “What is it now, then? Who else do you want me to kill?”
You have reclaimed the North in my name, said the Night God, quite calmly. Now I would have you deliver Gryphus’ ultimate punishment. You must invade the South. Conquer its cities and its Eyries while they are still in disarray. There is confusion and poor leadership there now—take advantage of it. The griffiners’ power can be overthrown. If you act quickly, the whole of Cymria may be ours for the taking!
“So Saeddryn tells me,” Arenadd said sourly.
Then she is right. Destroy the South, Arenadd. I command it. It is in your power.
Arenadd hesitated. “I don’t want to.”
Do it, she hissed. I command you.
“What if I refuse?”
She enveloped him, smothering him in her cold, numbing power. You know what I can do to you if you do not do as I tell you, Arenadd.
He shuddered, trying not to show his fear. “I know, Master. I know. But the Southerners aren’t a threat any more, and surely . . .”
The coldness around him increased, spreading pain into his limbs. Surely nothing! the Night God raged. I have commanded, and you must obey! The Day God will be an enemy to me until the ending of time itself, and he must be destroyed, or he will destroy me!
Arenadd cringed under her onslaught. “All right! All right! I’ll do it, Master. I’ll do it.”
She relaxed and took away the pain. Excellent. You will do as I have told you?
“Yes. But only if you tell me who I was.”
Why are you so anxious to know?
“I don’t know, but I am. Please, just tell me.”
Very well. She stood over him, her skin shining like the full moon. Before you died, you were a young griffiner who went by the name of Arren Cardockson.
Arenadd felt a shiver go down his spine. “Why did I die?”
You had a griffin partner who was killed in an attempt on your life, said the Night God. You swore revenge upon the one who had betrayed you, but you did not have the strength or the will to take that revenge. Eventually, you attempted to become a griffiner again by abducting a griffin chick, and were sentenced to death for your crime. You were killed as you tried to escape from prison.
“I fell . . .” said Arenadd.
Yes. You were thrown from the top of a mountain as you fled from the city guard. The fall crushed every bone in your body.
“And I died.”
Of course you did. No human could have survived such injuries. Arenadd, I chose you because you were a Northerner who had seen and suffered the cruelties of Gryphus’ people yet had the strength and the wit to resist. You alone had been fully trained as a griffiner and had all the knowledge of their ways that you would need to defeat them. When you were in prison, facing almost certain death, you prayed to me in the dark tongue, begging me to save you. I heard that prayer, and it was a true prayer. And as you lay dying, I sent Skandar to you. It was his magic that made you become the Master of Death. My chosen one.
Arenadd felt strangely blank. “Arren Cardockson. I was Arren Cardockson.”
Yes. But that man is dead now. You are King Arenadd Taranisäii. Kraeai kran ae, as the griffins call you.
“Your creature.”
Yes. Now, do you pledge to do as I have told you?
“I do,” said Arenadd.
Excellent. She caressed his cheek. You have never failed me before, and I trust you that you shall not do so now.
“Thank you, Master.”
She began to fade. Arenadd, listen. I have one final command for you.
“Yes, Master?”
This girl you have taken into your Eyrie . . .
“Yes?”
Protect her, the Night God said sharply. Keep her close to you. Make her trust you. Make her worship me, love me. Do not let Gryphus have her.
“I won’t. Master, why is she so important?”
She has a power she does not know, said the Night God. Arenadd, make her mine. Make her a darkwoman. You must do this.
“I will,” said Arenadd. “I promise.”
Good. If she does not become loyal to us—you must kill her.
“Why?”
The pain again. Do not question me! She will give her soul to me, or she must die. You will not allow one to live in our land who does not serve us—this is all-important, Arenadd. Do not let her out of your sight, do not let her fall under Gryphus’ spell. She will be mine, or she will die.
“Yes, Master,” said Arenadd. “Yes, yes, I understand . . . I swear . . . I’ll keep her by me. I already arranged for her to go through the womanhood ceremony here in the Temple under your eye.”
See that she does so with a pure heart, said the Night God. There must be no doubt.
8
Secrets
Days passed, and Arenadd’s birthday came and went without ceremony. Once, years ago, he’d considered making it a public holiday, but he never had, and by now most people had forgotten what day it was altogether.
Instead, he spent the day in the council chamber, arguing with his officials.
Saeddryn, as High Priestess, had a seat on the council with her partner, Aenae—Skandar’s son. Her husband, Torc, wasn’t a griffiner, but Arenadd had given him a seat anyway as he was a member of the royal family. The other seats were taken up—very amply—by Lord Iorwerth and Kaanee, the commanders of Malvern’s army, and a handful of other officials, most of them griffiners.
As King, Arenadd stood on the platform at the centre of the chamber, which had once been reserved for Malvern’s Eyrie Mistress. Skandar sat beside him, powerful and magnificent, with his fur and feathers shining with health and his forelegs adorned with gold and silver bands.
Since it was a formal occasion, Arenadd had put on the crown he usually kept stowed away in his robe, and he stood gloomily and listened as Saeddryn said her piece.
“. . . I’ve talked it over with Lord Iorwerth an’ his best commanders, an’ they all agree with our assessment, Sire. The people in the street are behind us on this as well. There’d be no outcry; this would be the most popular move we’ve made in years, Sire.”
“The griffins in our city agree with this,” Kaanee put in. “Many have come to me and asked me when we shall finally act.” He shifted and scratched his head with his pitted talons. “Cymria is ripe for the taking.”
“I see,” said Arenadd. “Iorwerth, what’s your opinion?”
Iorwerth stifled a yawn. “Whatever we do, we have to do quickly, Sire. The longer we wait, the more opportunity we give the sun worshippers to recover. Now is the time when they’re weakest.”
Arenadd nodded. “And what would we have to gain from it?”
“Everything, Sire!” said Saeddryn. “We’re Northerners—we were born t’be warriors, not traders an’ money-lenders! The Southerners are our enemies, an’ they deserve—”
“We must do it to defend ourselves as well, Sire,” Iorwerth interrupted. “The Southerners outnumber us, and as soon as they’re strong enough, they’ll attack us again. Ye know what they’re like—how they think.”
“Iorwerth’s right,” said Saeddryn. “Do ye want to throw away all we fought for, Sire? Unless we crush the Southerners first, they’ll never let us live in peace. They’ll want this land back, an’ they’ll come in just like they did before. Ye know they will.”
Arenadd’s mouth narrowed. “And you can’t think of any alternatives? Not one?”
“There’s no negotiatin’ with Southerners, Sire,” Saeddryn argued.
Arenadd held up his hands. “All right. Please, just be quiet. I’ve heard your arguments now, and you’ve made a strong case. And I’ve been thinking this over for years, long before you first started to petition me.”
“An’ it’s time ye reached a decision, Sire,” said Saeddryn. “Past time.”
Arenadd resisted the urge to glare at her. “I have.”
“Yes, Sire?” said Iorwerth.
The King’s brow furrowed and he breathed in deeply. “I’m . . . expecting a visit from the Amorani ambassador soon. He should arrive here in a few days.”
There was a stirring from the others.
“Amoran!” Saeddryn said disgustedly. “Dog-eatin’ heathens!”
Arenadd fixed her with a cold, unwavering stare. “Amoran is a very powerful country, Saeddryn, and we can’t afford to cut ourselves off from the world. You may prefer to spend your time enjoying happy fantasies about the so-called golden age, when we solved all our problems by jamming spears in people’s throats, but I have the welfare of an entire Kingdom to think about.”
Saeddryn choked on her rage. Beside her, Aenae started up angrily but shrank back when Skandar hissed at him.
“Listen,” said Arenadd. “I know the Amoranis are different, but they’re a fellow nation, and in many ways, they’re more powerful than we are. The stronger our alliance with them, the stronger we are. And if the South ever does invade again, we can call on them to help us.”
“Are ye suggestin’ we should let other people fight our battles for us? Foreigners? Cursed sun worshippers?”
“Saeddryn, the Southerners outnumber us a hundred to one,” said Arenadd.
“All the more reason to attack now, before they can organise themselves against us!” said Saeddryn. “Don’t ye see, Sire?”
“Saeddryn, we can’t keep doing this!” said Arenadd. “Don’t you understand? We cannot keep trying to live in the past. Our people can do more than squabble among themselves and make war on their neighbours—look at how much they’ve done already.”
“We must destroy the South, Sire,” Saeddryn said softly. “In the name of the Night God.”
Arenadd thought of the Night God’s silver moon-eye. “The Emperor of Amoran is sending his best ambassador,” he said. “When he arrives, I’ll see to it that he speaks with all of you. Until then, I don’t want to hear another word about this from any of you. And that includes you, Saeddryn.”
She looked him in the eye. “Our ancestors would be ashamed of ye, Sire.”
The others there breathed in sharply. Several of the griffins stirred, bracing themselves for a fight.
“Our ancestors lived in a different time,” Arenadd said evenly. “This is our time, not theirs. And unless we change as the world does, we’ll perish.”
That said, he stepped down from the platform and strode out of the council chamber.
Skandar stood up, towering over the entire council, griffins included. “You do as human say,” he threatened. “He know what do. Not you.”
Iorwerth bowed his head. “Mighty Skandar, do you believe we should go to war?”
Skandar clicked his beak dismissively. “This my home nest now. Enemy come here, I kill them. Why leave? Have enough here; territory big enough now. You do as human say, or I drive you away.”
His piece said, the dark griffin stepped off the platform and loped away after his retreating partner.
• • •
Up in his own room, Arenadd sat down at the desk and began to sort through a heap of paperwork. These days, it seemed everything was about pieces of paper. And arguing. Gods, how had it come to this?
The Night God gives me immortality, he thought. And here I am, spending it doing this all gods-damned day.
“Well, what’s the alternative?” he muttered aloud. “You’re a warrior who’s lost his taste for fighting. Maybe you don’t have any grey in your beard, but you’re ageing on the inside.”
A sudden, intense feeling of loneliness came over him. He put down his pen and buried his face in his hands. Gods help me, what am I supposed to do? Everything used to be so simple. What happened to me?
But things had been simple then because he had known what he had to do. The Night God had ordered him to use his powers to destroy the Southerners and free the North for her people to own once again. She had promised him power and riches in return, and he had them now. But without Skade . . . without his Skade, none of it could make him happy.
Attacking the South won’t bring Skade back, and it won’t make me happy. And my people don’t need war.
But the Night God had commanded him to, and if he defied her, even now . . .
He shuddered. What do I do? What? I know what I must do, but I don’t want to do it.
For some reason, he had imagined that finding out his old name would answer the questions that had been spiralling endlessly in his head for the past few years. But now he had the knowledge, nothing felt any simpler.
“Arren Cardockson,” he repeated to himself.
The name stirred nothing inside him. It could have been anybody’s name. It certainly wasn’t his. Not now. No, whoever Arren Cardockson had been, he was gone now.
His short life had ended a long time ago, and perhaps his soul was at rest now.
“For your sake, I hope it is, Arren,” he said. “And I hope you never did find out who would use your body after you died. No matter what you did in life, you didn’t deserve that.”
His misery and anxiety were making him feel sick. He wanted to scream.
Instead, he breathed out slowly and picked up his pen again. Control yourself. You have work to do.
• • •
Laela returned to her room after dinner, tired but happy. She had spent the entire morning in the library with Yorath, learning more runes. She could draw all of them by now, and once she’d practised the last of them and could write them down in their proper order, she could begin learning a few simple words.
After the lesson, Yorath had surprised her by offering to show her around the Eyrie. She’d accepted, and after they’d had lunch together, he took her through the five towers—showing her the armoury, the treasury, the kitchens, and the Hatchery, where unpartnered griffins lived and bred. They couldn’t actually enter the Hatchery since unpartnered humans weren’t welcome inside it unless they worked there, but Yorath showed her to a window, where she could look through and see the huge space, teeming with griffins, fighting, eating, or sleeping.
“’Course griffins weren’t really meant to live this close together, but they manage,” said Yorath. “Takes humans t’keep ’em peaceful-like. If a griffin kills a human, he’s likely t’be brought up on murder charges. Same goes if a human kills a griffin. It’s different if a human attacks a griffiner, mind. Then the griffin’s within his rights t’kill the bastard. Ye don’t have much t’fear if yer a griffiner. Probably why everyone wants t’be one.” He grinned.
“I’d be damned scared having one of them things followin’ me around,” said Laela.
“Oh, me, too,” said Yorath. “Wouldn’t happen, though. Griffins, they’re picky. They only choose the best humans.”
“Still,” Laela said wistfully. “Flyin’ would be somethin’ else.”
“Oh, yeah, wouldn’t it just,” said Yorath. He sighed. “I used t’dream of flyin’ a griffin, when I was a lad.” He tugged at her elbow. “C’mon, anyway—there’s one last thing t’show ye. I saved the best part till last.”
