by K J Taylor
The man holding it saw her interest and grinned hopefully. “You like?” he asked, in fractured Cymrian.
Laela’s other guide raised his pole and snapped something in Amorani.
“No, stop,” said Laela, taking the necklace. She turned it over in her fingers. “It’s beautiful! Did you make it yerself?”
The man nodded rapidly. “Make all myself,” he said. When Laela tried to give the necklace back, he pressed it into her hand, saying, “Keep. Free.”
Laela smiled and put it on. “Ta.” She paused. “Listen . . .” She glanced at Inva, appealing to her for help, and then groped in the little bag she’d brought with her. After a moment she found the black jewel she’d found in her room back at Malvern, and which she had brought with her as a treasured possession. The jeweller’s eyes widened when he saw it. “I was wonderin’ if you could make somethin’ for this,” said Laela.
Inva translated. The jeweller replied, holding out his hand for the jewel.
Laela made sure there was no escape route for him and handed it over. “I thought a ring, or somethin’.”
The jeweller examined it expertly, muttering to himself. Finally, he looked up and smiled ingratiatingly as he spoke in Amorani.
“‘A gem unlike any I have ever seen,’” Inva translated. “‘I can make a fine setting for it. For a price.’”
There had been some Amorani money in her chamber, apparently meant for her. Laela had no idea how much it was worth, but she nodded anyway. “Give it the setting it deserves,” she said.
The jeweller grinned even more widely and led them to his own stall, where he showed off his tools with an expansive gesture and explained that it would take two days for the job to be finished.
Laela nodded in response and promised to be back.
“No, no,” the jeweller said, inclining his head toward her. “I bring.”
“All right, then,” said Laela.
She left, feeling excited, wondering what it would look like when it was done. The only thing she’d asked for in particular was that he use silver. It would suit the stone better.
After that, she wandered around the marketplace some more and bought a couple of trinkets before Inva suggested going back to her quarters before noon brought the worst of the heat.
Laela, sweating badly by now, agreed.
Back in her own room, Inva caught her unawares by saying, “Shall I bathe my lady before the food is served?”
Laela went red. “What? Er . . . well—” She thought wistfully of cold water and pulled herself together. “A bath’d be nice, but I reckon I can do it on my own.”
Inva bowed. “As my lady commands.”
“My lady” went on to command that she be left alone to enjoy the stone tub full of scented water, and dressed herself while Inva and her colleague got the food ready.
While Laela was enjoying a light lunch of fruit, nuts, and flatbread, she found herself watching Inva with more and more curiosity.
“So what’s yer story?” she asked eventually.
Inva glanced up. “My lady?”
“The name’s Laela. I was just wonderin’ about yeh.”
Inva looked politely bewildered. “What were you wondering, my lady?”
“Well, yer a slave,” said Laela. “How come yeh speak Cymrian so well? Yer better spoken than I am, for gods’ sakes.”
Inva smiled very slightly. “I am a slave meant for the nobility, my lady. I can read and write, and know many of the finer arts.”
“Oh.” Laela paused. “To be honest, I ain’t never seen a slave until I came here, but back in my part of the world, slaves were just used for buildin’ houses an’ suchlike.”
For a moment, a hint of emotion showed through Inva’s reserve. “You’re from the land called Tara, my lady?”
“Yeah. The North, most of us call it.”
“Tell me, I . . .” Inva broke off quickly and bowed her head. “I am sorry, my lady. I did not mean—”
Laela bit off a mouthful of bread. “Listen, Inva, I was brought up in a peasant village, an’ I don’t stand on ceremony,” she said, with her mouth full. “Just say it. I ain’t gonna bite yeh when I got bread.”
Inva smiled. “What is it like, my lady?” she asked. “The North?”
Laela thought about it. “Cold,” she said eventually. “I dunno how you people can live here. It’s like a bloody oven!”
“I know that it snows there,” Inva said, cautiously.
“Yeah. The coldest place in the world, is the North. It ain’t so bright there, either.”
“I can’t imagine it,” said Inva.
“I couldn’t have imagined this place, either,” said Laela. “But I bet you’ll like the North,” she added encouragingly. “It’s our place.”
Inva blinked. “When I was younger, I wondered what it would be like. But I don’t think it would be . . . the place for me even if I could go there.”
“But yeh are gonna go there!” said Laela. “Don’t yeh know?”
“I’m sorry, my lady?”
“Arenadd—the King’s—here t’bring yeh home,” said Laela. “You an’ all of our people.”
Inva said nothing. She looked completely bewildered.
“He’s gonna take that off yeh,” said Laela, pointing to the collar. “Yeh can grow yer hair out again, live free in Malvern—be in yer own land at last.”
She didn’t get any of the joy or excitement she’d expected. Instead, she got the same blank look as before.
“But where would I live?” Inva said eventually.
“I dunno,” said Laela. “I’m sure there’d be somewhere. Don’t yeh wanna be free?”
Inva blinked and shook her head slowly, as if trying to push away an idea that bothered her. “I . . . I don’t know . . . my lady.”
Laela didn’t know what to say after that, but she felt inexplicably guilty as she finished her food, as if she’d somehow insulted her new friend.
• • •
Another day passed. Laela spent it seeing more of the city with Oeka and a couple of other griffiners. Her fellow Northerners seemed far less excited by Amoran than she was. They grumbled over the heat, insisted on wearing their own clothes instead of adopting the local dress, and showed awkward dislike toward the local people. Laela heard them muttering among themselves in the dark tongue, and wondered what they were so upset about. Maybe they were homesick.
She didn’t feel homesick herself. She missed Yorath, but she was happy enough in Amoran. Then again, she hadn’t lived in the North long enough to be that attached to it. Not enough to remember every detail of it after the months she’d been away.
That evening, tired out from the heat and suffering from a sudden fit of wistfulness over Yorath, she curled up on her bed and idly played with the other keepsake she’d brought. It was the note that had been with the gem, and she ran her fingers over the crude, faded letters, trying yet again to decode them. She’d learnt more about reading and writing on the voyage, and knew quite a few Northern words by now, but somehow none of these looked familiar. She knew the letters but not the words they made.
She tried sounding some of them out instead, talking to herself in an undertone.
“‘D . . . deee’? ‘Deeeeaah’? ‘Efff’? ‘Arr’? Oh, blow this for a game of soldiers.” She put it down and sighed. Was she really so stupid that she still couldn’t read? Yorath made it look so easy. She sighed again and wondered how he was. Did he miss her, too?
She moped for some time before she realised she was doing it, and dragged herself out of bed to make herself stop. She hadn’t seen Arenadd since the night they’d arrived—it was probably time she went to see how he was doing.
Oeka came after her. “Where are you going?”
“To see Arenadd,” said Laela. “Just makin’ sure he’s goin’ all right. An’ t’see if he wants any advice.”
Oeka clicked her beak. “You never stop trying to fuss over him, do you?”
The griffish te
rm she’d used translated literally as “act like a brooding mother.” Laela scowled. “He’s so immature sometimes, he needs someone t’do it. Who else is gonna say no to him if it ain’t me?”
“I should not argue,” Oeka conceded. “You have a power over him I cannot understand.”
“Yeah, it’s called mutual respect,” said Laela. “Yeh might’ve heard of it.”
She ignored the guards outside Arenadd’s chambers and strode in without bothering to announce herself.
Arenadd was there, alone. He was slumped on a couch with his head back, staring at the ceiling. When Laela called his name, he barely moved.
“Hey,” she said, coming closer. “It’s me. Wake up.”
Very slowly, Arenadd dragged himself upright. His face was ghastly. Once his skin had been pale. Now it looked grey, and glistened with sweat. His eyes were dull, his expression slack and lifeless.
Laela felt her insides twist. “Ye gods, yeh look horrible! What’s wrong? Are yeh sick?”
Arenadd coughed. “Oh, hello.” His voice was low and weak.
Oeka nudged her human hard in the hip. “Laela, you should find a healer. He looks as if he is dying!”
“Arenadd, should I go and get someone?” said Laela. “Do yeh need . . . ?”
“Just get me some water,” Arenadd croaked.
She found a jug on the table and filled a cup for him. He fumbled with it as if he barely had the strength to hold on to it. But once he’d drunk the contents, he looked slightly better.
“There,” said Laela. “Better now?”
“A little,” said Arenadd.
“So what’s up?” said Laela. “I didn’t know yeh could get sick.”
Arenadd raised his eyebrows. “Neither did I.”
“Have yeh seen a healer?”
“The Emperor suggested it, but I refused,” said Arenadd. “I can’t let them find out what I am.” He shuddered. “And they wouldn’t be able to help me anyway.”
“Then what are yeh gonna do?” said Laela.
“I don’t know.”
Those simple three words sounded so unnatural coming out of Arenadd’s mouth that Laela didn’t know what to say.
Arenadd didn’t seem to notice. He grimaced and pressed his hand into the scar in the middle of his chest, where Erian Rannagonson’s sword had impaled him all those years ago. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he groaned.
Laela stepped closer, reaching out. “Are yeh all right?”
“It hurts,” Arenadd gasped. “It won’t stop hurting . . . ever since we got here . . .” He slumped again, breathing rapidly.
Laela knelt beside him, casting a desperate glance at Oeka. “Do yeh have any idea why it’s happening?”
Arenadd managed to pull himself up again. “It’s Gryphus,” he said. “He’s here . . .”
Instinctively, Laela glanced over her shoulder. “What d’yeh mean?”
“He’s here,” Arenadd repeated, his voice riddled with pain. “This is his place. His land. The sun’s so bright here. It’s unbearable.” He gasped again and made a noise that sounded almost like a strangled scream. “Oh, Night God help me, why did I come here? I’m surrounded by sun worshippers; they’re all full of his light, I feel like I’m going to be sick whenever I go near them.” His eyes darted wildly, as if expecting to see enemies in every corner. “He doesn’t want me here. He wants me gone. He’s protecting this land against me. He’s taken—”
Laela grabbed his hands. “Stop it. Arenadd, stop it. Calm down. Just breathe. In an’ out, slow like. C’mon. It’s gonna be all right.”
He breathed deeply and began to look calmer. “I’ve lost my powers, Laela.”
Laela could feel how cold his skin was. “What? What d’yeh mean?”
“I feel stronger at night,” said Arenadd. “Last night I tried to go into the darkness . . . where I’m strongest.” He stared at the ceiling. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get there. The way . . . just wasn’t there any more. I don’t know if I’m even immortal here.”
Laela felt sick to her stomach. “What about Skandar? Is he . . . ?”
“Hah.” The sound was half laugh, half cough. “Skandar doesn’t even know I’m like this. He’s been off this whole time, enjoying himself. He’s had thirty-seven different females since we’ve arrived here.” He coughed. “I counted.”
Laela had to laugh. “At least he’s keepin’ his end of the agreement. Arenadd—” She lost her grin very quickly. “Are yeh serious? Do yeh really think yeh ain’t immortal here?”
Arenadd nodded weakly.
“Well, for gods’ sakes, we’ve got t’get out of here!” said Laela. “We’ve got t’get yeh home an’ away from this damned place, before somethin’ goes really wrong.”
Arenadd pulled on her arm, using it to drag himself to his feet. “No,” he rasped.
“Arenadd—”
“No. I’m not leaving.” He breathed in shakily. “Not until my business here is done. I won’t leave without my . . . without my brothers. My sisters.”
“Screw them!” Laela yelled. “You’re more important than them, damn it, an’ if—”
“No.” Arenadd waved her into silence. “No. If I leave now, this whole . . . thing will be for nothing.”
“But what if you die?” said Laela, almost plaintively.
“I’ve survived worse,” said Arenadd. He was trembling slightly as he stood there. But his voice sounded as confident as always when he said, “Thank you for helping me up. But please don’t tell anyone about this. I trust you, Laela.”
“Lips are sealed,” said Laela. “Oeka, can yeh keep this to yerself, too?”
The small griffin had been looking on uncertainly. “You will know if I do tell anyone else,” she said.
Laela supposed that would be the best she could get out of her. “How much longer are we gonna stay here?”
“I’m not sure,” said Arenadd. “But I think”—he winced again—“the Emperor won’t be suspicious if I want to hurry things along. He’s a generous man. So, how are you enjoying yourself?”
Laela wasn’t fooled. “I like it fine here.”
“Good. Well . . . you can go now. Get some rest.”
“Don’t yeh need me to—”
“No, no. I’ll be fine. Go on.”
Laela gave him a nervous and unhappy look, and left the room with Oeka skittering along after her.
• • •
As Laela disappeared, Arenadd had a sudden, wild urge to call her back. He said nothing. Exhaustion and pain gripped him, and he turned to slump back onto his couch, but paused when he noticed something on the floor. It looked like a scrap of old cloth—Laela must have dropped it on her way out. Arenadd picked it up.
Every bone in his body screamed in protest when he sat down. He felt as if they could shatter at the slightest impact. His entire body felt hideously fragile.
He waited until the pain died down, telling himself again and again that the day was nearly over. Night would come soon—blessed, cool night. All he had to do was hold on until then.
When he felt a little better, he examined the piece of cloth, wondering vaguely why Laela had been carrying it.
There was writing on it. Arenadd squinted at it. It took him a few moments to realise why it looked so odd—it was written in Cymrian. He hadn’t read anything that wasn’t in his own language in a while. Parts of it were smudged out, but he managed to decipher the gist of it.
“‘How are you?’” he read. “Something, something ‘not very’ . . . ‘come and see you’ . . . ‘I love you very much’?” Arenadd chuckled to himself. A note from Yorath, no doubt. Odd that he would write it with charcoal on a piece of cloth, though. And why would he have written it in Cymrian?
Uncertainty wormed its way inside him. He knew Yorath’s handwriting, and this wasn’t it. These words did look like they’d been written by someone educated, though, even though the crude materials made them look messier than they might have.
He examined the signature at the bottom. Someone had put a thumb print over it, but he thought he could guess at it . . .
The feeling of uncertainty twisted and became cold.
I know this handwriting, he thought. I know it.
He looked at the signature again, and felt the coldness spread over his entire body.
Arren.
The piece of cloth crumpled in Arenadd’s hand. “I wrote this,” he whispered.
But why? And to who?
24
The Sun Temple
The next day came, and Laela’s new necklace came with it. The jeweller was shown in just after she’d finished breakfast and presented his latest piece of work with a bow and a proud smile.
Laela took it eagerly and examined it with wonder. It was all in silver, as she’d asked. The stone had been set into a magnificent amulet in the shape of three snakes, their bodies all entwined and their heads pointing outward to form a rough triangle. Even the little loop that attached the whole thing to the chain was a small snake.
The stone glittered, seeming smaller but somehow more precious in its new home.
Laela took off the heavy golden creation Inva had brought her that morning, and replaced it with the amulet. It felt wonderfully cool against her skin, and she grinned and touched it. “It’s beautiful.”
The jeweller looked very pleased at that, and even more so after Inva had given him his payment, which Laela thought looked like a lot of money. She didn’t care.
Even Oeka looked impressed when she came out and saw the snake amulet. “A very fine thing indeed,” she remarked. “The human did fine work.” She sat on her haunches and idly groomed her tail-feathers. “So tell me. It is our third day of doing what we please. What did you think we should do today?”
“Dunno,” said Laela. “We’ve seen the marketplace an’ the palace”—she doubted she’d ever see that much gold again for the rest of her life—“I ain’t sure what we’d want t’see next.”
“We have not yet seen the great Sun Temple,” said Oeka. “It is said to be a magnificent sight.”
