The Shadow's Heir

by K J Taylor

  Arenadd checked the message again. “Uh . . . Lord Vander. His griffin is called Ymazu. From what I’m told, he’s a reasonable man, and an extremely good negotiator.” He frowned. “This isn’t going to make me any more popular, you know—this treaty with Amoran.”

  “But it’s for the best,” said Laela.

  “Yes. It would be a lot easier if the Amoranis weren’t so different from us. And if they weren’t sun worshippers.”

  Laela started. “They’re sun worshippers?”

  “Yes. In fact, some people believe that Gryphus was born in Amoran. That’s probably partly because it’s eastward and the sun rises in the east, but also because the Amorani were worshipping a sun god before Cymria was even inhabited by humans.”

  “They worship Gryphus?” said Laela.

  “Actually, their god is called Xanathus,” said Arenadd. “But they also believe that the sun is his eye, and that he’s the father of all life. Most Northerners hate the Amoranis for that. But the truth is, we in Cymria have been copying them for some time.” His expression hardened. “The slave collars that my people used to wear—those were invented in Amoran. Still, you’re right—a treaty with Amoran is exactly what we need.”

  “Are we still goin’ there?”

  “Probably. If my negotiations with Lord Vander go well. In fact, if everything goes to plan, we’ll probably go back to Amoran with him.” He paused. “Are you excited?”

  “Yeah,” Laela confessed. “How long’re we gonna be there?”

  “Well, first we’d have to travel to the coast . . . then a few months of sailing to get to Maijan . . . We’d have to follow the entire island chain, and then cross the Amourfish Sea to get to Amoran itself, and then when we get there, the negotiations with the Emperor would take some time, and we’d have to stay a bit longer to be polite . . .” Arenadd trailed off.

  “How long?” Laela pressed.

  “Probably more than a year.”

  She stared at him. “A year . . . ?”

  “That isn’t going to be a problem, is it?” said Arenadd. “I’m sure I can teach you a lot while we’re on our way.”

  “I guess so,” Laela mumbled.

  “And you haven’t really been here long enough to have to worry about homesickness, so what’s the problem?”

  “Yorath would . . .” She trailed off.

  “Yorath?” Arenadd put his head on one side. “Oh yes, your tutor. What about him?”

  Laela started. “Oh. Uh . . . it’s not important. Never mind.”

  Arenadd gave her a knowing look. “You have been spending a lot of time with him after classes, haven’t you?”

  “Well . . .” Laela felt inexplicably ashamed.

  “Not to worry,” Arenadd said briskly. “I’m sure he can come along with us. After all, I won’t have time to teach you everything myself.”

  Without even thinking, Laela stepped forward and hugged him around the neck. The dragon shrieked and leapt off her shoulder, but she didn’t pay any attention.

  Arenadd jerked away from her, as if in fright. “Laela!”

  She let go and backed off. “I’m sorry—”

  He shook himself. “It’s all right. Sorry, I didn’t mean to . . . You took me by surprise.”

  “Haven’t been hugged in a while, have yeh?” said Laela.

  “No,” said Arenadd, his tone as matter-of-fact as hers. “Dark Lords aren’t very huggable. So,” he added, suddenly awkward, “are you ready to start your first lesson?”

  Laela went to stand by Oeka. “Yeah, I am.”

  17

  The Amorani Ambassador

  Laela spent the rest of that morning with Arenadd, learning her first lessons. To her surprise, Arenadd wasn’t her only teacher—Oeka taught her, too.

  Arenadd began by lecturing her about the habits of griffins—what they liked to eat, the best materials to give them for nest-building, and even the times when they preferred to go to sleep and wake up. Oeka then helped him show her how to clean her partner’s talons, how to treat fleas, how to remove a bone lodged in the throat, and a dozen and one other things about griffish health and medicine.

  Laela took it all in, paying close attention not just because of her renewed interest in becoming a griffiner but also because most of it was fascinating. Learning so much about griffins made her feel like she was being brought into a secret circle of knowledge, seeing things only a select few were allowed to see. That feeling of pride and excitement kept her so enthralled that she didn’t even realise how much time had passed until Arenadd announced that they should stop for lunch.

  After lunch, Laela had to go to the library again for another lesson with a wary Yorath, but the next morning she was with Arenadd again. Now he began teaching her something she was particularly determined to learn—the language of griffins.

  It was much harder than she’d thought. Griffins had a completely different language structure than humans, and the sounds they used were far away from anything humans used. Arenadd explained that griffish was a primitive language that had never really been meant to express complicated ideas, and that humans weren’t built to speak it. The best that Laela would be able to manage would be a crude approximation of griffish sounds, but the important part of knowing griffish was learning how to interpret what Oeka said. Griffins could indeed understand human languages even if their beaks stopped them from speaking them properly, but they preferred to be spoken to in griffish.

  As far as Laela was concerned, knowing griffish was another and even more important part of being a member of the secret world of griffins and griffiners. One day, she would be able to talk to Oeka and know what she was thinking and what she wanted. And maybe then they could be friends.

  On the second night after they had become partners, Laela returned to her room with Oeka, but without the sense of dread she’d had before. On the way she paused briefly to give a few orders to a servant, who hurried away to make arrangements. By the time she and Oeka had eaten, a hammock had been hung near the fireplace.

  “There,” said Laela. “If yeh like that bed better, then keep it. I don’t mind.”

  Oeka watched her while she spoke, and Laela imagined that she could see satisfaction in the griffin’s face. There was definitely a new air of energy about her as she picked over the bones of her dinner and went next door for a drink before returning and climbing into her new nest.

  Laela watched her rearrange the shredded blankets and snuggle down, and felt an affection toward the griffin that hadn’t been there before. She was dangerous; Laela wasn’t about to doubt that now, but she was appealing, too, with those bright green eyes and the fluffy feathers on her chest. Laela wouldn’t have gone so far as to call her cute, but she was nice to look at, and there was something endearing about her slightly awkward, leggy frame and the way her head bobbed up and down when she walked.

  With that pleasant thought, Laela snuffed out the lamp and climbed into her new hammock. She’d never slept in one before, but she was so tired that she was convinced she could sleep anywhere.

  She was wrong. The hammock was uncomfortable and swung back and forth alarmingly whenever she moved too much, and the shock always woke her up. She tried what felt like half a dozen different positions, hoping to find one that would let her sleep, but none of them changed the fact that the hammock didn’t support her back and kept on threatening to tip her out.

  Finally, after spending what felt like half the night trying to sleep in the wretched thing, she got out of it and padded over to the bed, rubbing her back along the way. She could just see the outline of Oeka in the middle of her nest. She could hear her, too—cheeping softly in her sleep.

  Laela didn’t even think about trying to make her move. But maybe there was another solution.

  She took a deep breath and climbed into the nest. Oeka stirred and clicked her beak warily, but she didn’t attack.

  “It’s only me,” Laela told her. “Mind if I join yeh?”

  There w
as a rustling as Oeka moved away, leaving a warm hollow where she’d been lying. Laela grinned and took it. Instantly, the musty smell of feathers enveloped her.

  It wasn’t that bad.

  The nest was surprisingly comfortable, and Laela quickly felt her tiredness take hold. As she started to drift off, she felt Oeka snuggle against her.

  She smiled to herself and went to sleep.

  • • •

  The Amorani diplomat arrived two days after his message, his griffin coming in to land at the top of the Council Tower. Arenadd gave him the rest of the day and that night to rest, so they didn’t actually meet until the following morning.

  Arenadd put on his best robe and the crown he usually avoided wearing, and met his guest in the audience chamber that had once belonged to Lady Elkin. It still had its old white marble floor, but the walls were covered by richly woven tapestries. Dozens of beautifully made, straight-bladed Southern swords hung there, too—trophies from the war.

  Arenadd had managed to persuade Skandar to be there, and the giant griffin grudgingly stepped up onto the marble platform intended just for him. Arenadd sat on a cushion between his partner’s talons and waited.

  Lord Vander came into the chamber, with only his griffin beside him. He was a short, middle-aged man with a thin grey moustache, and most of his body was covered by an enormous cloak covered in feathers that had probably come from his griffin. She was small, as Amorani griffins generally were, and had dark brown feathers with a patch of scarlet on the throat. Her legs and beak were yellow, and she wore an elaborate headdress.

  Arenadd stood to receive them but said nothing and stayed where he was while Skandar stepped down off the platform. The ambassador stepped aside, and waited while his partner went to meet her own host.

  If anything, the dark brown griffin looked even smaller next to the hulking Skandar, but she moved with a grace and confidence that impressed Arenadd. She bowed her head until her beak nearly touched her talons and waited submissively while Skandar walked around her, sniffing her up and down and nudging her none-too-gently with his beak. This would have been enough to provoke most griffins, but this one held still until Skandar moved away. When he was at a respectable distance, she raised her head—not too high, Arenadd noted—and spoke rapidly. She was using the faster, more basic version of griffish, which most humans were too slow to understand.

  Skandar was also too slow. He waited until she had finished, and grated back.

  This time, Arenadd understood perfectly, and he smiled to himself.

  “I am Ymazu,” the ambassador griffin said at last.

  “Am Skandar.” He turned to look at Arenadd. “This one not fight,” he said, and lumbered back to the platform. “Will mate with her later, maybe,” he added, and settled down to groom his wings.

  The griffish formalities over with, Arenadd finally stepped forward to meet his human guest. “Welcome,” he said. “I’m honoured to have you in my Kingdom, Lord Vander.”

  Lord Vander folded his hands together and bowed his head. “The honour is mine, Sire.”

  Arenadd raised an eyebrow. “You speak Northern. I’m impressed.”

  Vander smiled. “As an ambassador, I am expected to know the languages of the places I visit.” He spoke the dark tongue very well though with a pleasantly rounded accent.

  Arenadd extended his good hand. “As one griffiner to another, my lord.”

  Vander hooked his fingers with Arenadd’s, and tugged briefly in the traditional griffiner gesture of greeting. “I see that your fingers are in better condition than I expected, Sire.”

  Arenadd held up his maimed hand. “Not these ones, I’m afraid.”

  “Ah.” Vander inspected it briefly. “Yes. So that story of you is true.”

  “Story?” Arenadd couldn’t help but be intrigued. He gestured at the seat by the platform as he spoke.

  “Yes,” said Vander, taking it while Ymazu settled down beside him. “In my homeland, they call you the King with the Broken Fingers. It is said that you snapped the bones with your teeth to prove to the chiefs of your people that you did not feel pain.”

  Arenadd rubbed the fingers in question. “I wouldn’t dream of ruining such a great story by saying anything about that. So tell me, my lord—I’m curious—where did you learn my language?”

  “From one of your people, Sire,” said Vander. “You may know that there are black-haired men in Amoran who do not have our skin.”

  “Yes,” Arenadd said gravely. “I know that. I’m surprised you were prepared to learn from a slave.”

  Vander ran a delicate finger along his thin moustache. “How else could I have learned their language, Sire?”

  “Most people think they’re above even talking to slaves, my lord.”

  Vander touched his neck. “I am not, Sire.”

  “And neither am I.” Arenadd leaned forward. “My lord, I’m sure you’re aware that my main condition for making this alliance with Amoran—apart from promises of military support—is that I want those slaves to be returned to their homeland.”

  “I do know that, Sire,” said Vander. “And I expected it before I knew. After all, the freeing of slaves is something that you have become famous for.”

  Arenadd touched the collar scars on his neck. “We all need to be set free, in one way or another. Now, is the Emperor willing to accept that condition?”

  “I think so,” said Vander, slowly and deliberately. “If the conditions are agreeable, Sire.”

  “And what conditions would those be?”

  “Conditions,” said Vander.

  Arenadd resisted the urge to drum his fingers. “Be more specific. What does he want? Lower trade taxes? Money?”

  Vander paused. “Tell me, Sire—are you still planning to come to Amoran?”

  “If all goes well with our negotiations,” said Arenadd. “A courtesy visit to the Emperor would be expected of me.”

  “The Emperor would like to see you, Sire,” said Vander.

  “Is that so?” Arenadd scratched his beard. “Did he say why?”

  “Between us, I suspect it is partly curiosity,” said Vander. “All of us in Amoran have heard your story; many would be astonished to see you in person.”

  “But there’s another reason, isn’t there?”

  Vander shifted. “There is,” he admitted at last.

  “Tell me, then.”

  “I have forged many alliances between my country and others,” said Vander. “And with such a major treaty, it is expected for the ruler that suggested it to make a gesture more meaningful than a few agreements and proclamations.”

  “A gift, perhaps?” said Arenadd, not liking the diplomat’s indirect manner.

  “A gift,” Vander nodded.

  “I’m sure I can find something,” said Arenadd. “Is there anything in particular he wants?”

  “Griffin eggs.”

  Arenadd paused at that. “Griffin eggs?”

  Vander stroked his partner’s shoulder. She chirped in response and nibbled at his ear. “Our griffins in Amoran are strong and cunning, but smaller than those in Cymria,” said the diplomat. “This request comes not from the Emperor himself, but from—”

  “But from the griffin who chose him,” Ymazu interrupted. “Wise Zaerih.” She flicked the crest that decorated the back of her head. “Those in Cymria have never stayed in Amoran, but we believe that a mingling of blood would benefit us all. If a nestful of hatchlings from your Eyrie were to come to us, we would be most glad.”

  Arenadd shook his head. “This isn’t a question for me to answer. Skandar?”

  Skandar blinked and raised his head. “What say?”

  Ymazu stood. “Mighty Skandar,” she said, bowing her head to him. “We ask if you would give us eggs from your females. Young griffins, to live with us.”

  Skandar jerked his head forward and snapped his beak loudly. “I give egg!” he boomed. “I give to you!” He made an odd, purring noise deep in his throat. “Come see.
I give Mighty Skandar egg! Hatch big chick!”

  Ymazu fluttered her wings and purred back. “I would be honoured.”

  Arenadd hid a smile. “That answers that question.”

  Vander was openly grinning. “If Skandar comes to Amoran, I am certain that plenty of females will be willing to submit to him. That should please the Emperor enough.”

  “Then that’s settled,” said Arenadd. “Is that all he wants?”

  “No, Sire,” said Vander. “There is one other thing.”

  “Name it.”

  Vander’s dark brown eyes gleamed. “There is another way in which the mingling of blood could be . . . useful to us all, Sire.”

  “Human blood, this time,” Arenadd surmised. “Yes?”

  “The Emperor has a daughter,” said Vander. “She is young—very pretty, too, if you ask me.”

  Arenadd groaned internally. “I see. An arranged marriage.”

  “You are not married, Sire,” said Vander. “I know that already. If the women of your own country do not please you, then perhaps an Amorani princess would.”

  There was no way Arenadd could tell Vander why the idea horrified him, so he settled on a compromise. “I’ll go to Amoran,” he said. “And talk it over with the Emperor. I’m sure we can come to some agreement.”

  Vander smiled. “I am glad to see that you are a reasonable man. Those in the South would not be pleased to know that I am speaking with you!”

  “Ah, yes, and what about the South?” said Arenadd, relieved at the change of subject.

  “Bah.” Vander flicked his fingers dismissively. “The South would not ally with us in a way that satisfied us, and by now they are nothing. By now the North is the only part of this land that is wealthy and peaceful. Thanks to you, Sire,” he added, fixing his eyes on Arenadd’s face.

  Despite himself, Arenadd felt flattered. “I did what I had to do.”

  Vander said nothing. He kept looking at Arenadd, studying him in a way the King found very disconcerting.

  The silence drew out uncomfortably, until Vander finally broke it. “I never thought I would see you again,” he said. “And never in a place such as this. Truly, the gods work in mysterious ways.”