The Shadow's Heir (The Risen Sun)

by K J Taylor

  The servant made no move to stop her and stood by impassively while she laced up her boots and dragged a comb through her hair. “Good, now come with me,” she said, the instant that was done.

  Laela thought briefly of arguing or trying to leave, but only briefly. She was in the Eyrie—probably right at the top, judging by all the stairs she’d had to climb. There would be guards everywhere. The chances of escaping were next to none. She was as good as imprisoned.

  Frightened, but a little angry, she followed the servant out of the room.

  Now she got a proper chance to see the inside of the Eyrie, she couldn’t help but be impressed. It was a stone building, of course, but the walls were lined with wood, and there were thick carpets on the floor. Tapestries hung on the walls here and there, too, between ornate silver lamps, and she realised she must be in the richest part of the Eyrie.

  Another thing she noticed was how big the place was. This corridor was easily wide enough for an ox—probably wider, she thought.

  She wondered about that as the servant hustled her on. They passed several doors along the way, and those were abnormally huge as well. When Laela noticed that, she finally realised why—they had to be that size so that griffins could use them.

  The thought only helped to increase her sense of dread.

  Eventually, her guide took her up a ramp and to a door that had a pair of armed guards standing on either side of it. They both glanced curiously at Laela but said nothing and stayed at their posts as the servant nudged her through the door. “In ye go.”

  Laela hesitated, but the servant had already departed, and the guards shut the door behind her.

  She found herself in a fair-sized room furnished with a fireplace and a large table and chairs. And seated at the far end of it was . . .

  Her heartbeat quickened.

  King Arenadd was already coming to meet her. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

  Laela swallowed. “I . . . yeah.”

  “Good. Now, come and sit with me.”

  It didn’t sound like a request. Laela thought he probably wasn’t used to having people say no. She walked numbly over to the chair he indicated and sat in it. There was food laid out on the table in front of it.

  The King returned to his original seat—directly opposite her. “Help yourself. You must be hungry.”

  Laela looked uncertainly at the bread, milk, and fruit. For a moment, she wondered if it could be poisoned. But what sense did that make? If he wanted her dead, he would have seen to it already.

  “Go on,” he interrupted. “It’s perfectly fine.”

  Just do what he tells yeh, she told herself. Just play along.

  Arenadd nodded in apparent satisfaction as she helped herself to an apple. “Settling in all right?”

  Laela swallowed. “It’s nice here, Sire.”

  “Good. Don’t let me interrupt.”

  He sat in silence and watched her eat, apparently in no hurry to do anything or eat anything himself. He was still wearing the robe he’d put on the previous night, and if anything, he looked even paler and gaunter than he had then.

  It was one of the most uncomfortable meals of Laela’s life, but she was too hungry to stop. She ate her fill, and then looked uncertainly at her host.

  “Finished?”

  Laela nodded mutely.

  Instantly, Arenadd summoned a servant to clear away the leftovers. “You look a little happier now,” he said once they were alone again. “Now then. I was hoping that, while you’re here, we could have a little chat.”

  Laela kept her eyes on his face. “All right . . . Sire. Uh . . . yeah. Sure. Sire.”

  “Calm down. Now, I was just wondering . . .”

  Laela watched him. Where was this going?

  Arenadd paused. For a moment, he looked very slightly confused, but the moment passed, and he was impassive again. “You told me last night you’d come from the South. Obviously, going by your accent, you’ve lived there all your life.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  He sat back. “Do tell me about it.”

  Laela blinked. “What, the South? Sire?”

  “Yes, the South. I haven’t been there in a very long time.”

  Now, hearing his voice and free of the distraction and tiredness of the previous night, Laela finally noticed what was odd about the way he spoke. “Yeh sound like a Southerner,” she said, without thinking. “Yeh don’t talk like a b— a Northerner. Sire.” She felt herself going red. Gryphus, girl, keep yer damned mouth shut!

  Arenadd’s expression did not waver. “I was born in the South,” he said evenly. “I didn’t come here until after the Night God had chosen me.”

  Laela shivered internally. The Night God’s creature. “Well, I . . . uh . . . I was brought up in Sturrick,” she stammered. “Sire. Uh . . .”

  “Yes? So where is this place, exactly? I don’t believe I’ve heard of it.”

  “Er . . . well, it’s a village, Sire,” said Laela. “Bigger than most, but not really a town. Farmers, mostly, but it’s on the trade route, so there are some merchants. I’d say it’s due t’get bigger some day, Sire.”

  “I see. How far away is it from the Northgates?”

  “Not sure, Sire. Not that far. I didn’t take too long t’get there—reckon I could’ve walked it in a month or two.”

  Arenadd nodded slowly. “Hm. What did you see along the way?”

  “Not much, Sire,” said Laela. “Villages, countryside . . . not much else. No big cities ’round there. Didn’t see my first one till I got here, Sire. City, I mean. That was Malvern.”

  “Good, good. No griffiners?”

  “No, Sire. Never even saw a griffin till I came here.” She thought briefly of the one she had seen by the grave—but why mention it?

  “What about the people, then?” said Arenadd. “The ones you talked to. What did they say?”

  “About what, Sire?” said Laela.

  “The griffiners,” said Arenadd. “And what they’re doing.”

  “Oh. Well, I . . . they . . .” Laela trailed off, as realisation finally dawned on her.

  “Yes?” Arenadd prompted.

  “They, er . . . they . . . dunno much, Sire.” She was babbling now, trying to think. “I’m just a peasant girl, Sire,” she said at last. “I wouldn’t know that much.”

  “But you might know something,” said Arenadd. “What are the people saying?”

  Laela thought quickly. “Well, after Eagleholm fell, Canran sent griffiners an’ soldiers t’grab some of its lands, an’ I heard tell they got a good chunk, but the Withypool gang came from the other way, an’ they ended up in a scrap. Canran did well but Withypool got the upper hand somehow, an’ in the end Canran’s Eyrie burned, an’ most of their griffins went over t’Withypool. That was a while ago, though, Sire. By the time Dad an’ me came t’live in Sturrick, Withypool owned that land, but it was all disorganised, Dad said. They couldn’t rule so much land from all the way over on the coast, so they was buildin’ a new Eyrie further West.”

  Arenadd leant forward over the table. “Where?”

  “Dunno, Sire, but I’d say somewhere where Eagleholm lands used t’be. Probably halfway between Withypool an’ where Canran was. Best place to control the lands all around. Sire.”

  He blinked. “Did you work that out all on your own?”

  “Yes, Sire.” Laela looked away. “I thought it made sense . . . It was only a guess, like.”

  “It was a bloody good one,” said Arenadd, and the offhand Southern accent and phrasing caught Laela off guard.

  “Thanks, Sire. Is that . . . is that everythin’?”

  “You tell me,” said Arenadd. “Is that all you have to say?”

  “I ain’t heard nothin’ about no plans
to attack yeh, Sire,” Laela said with sudden boldness. “If that’s what yer wonderin’. They ain’t strong enough; they’re spread all over the place. Too much buildin’, too much reorganisin’, an’ they got no slaves now t’do the work for ’em. An’ besides, no-one’d attack you, Sire. They ain’t mad. They know what yeh can do—they know about yer powers. They’re too scared, Sire. I would be,” she added.

  Arenadd stared at her, apparently nonplussed. Then he burst out laughing. His laugh was a harsh, humourless thing—one that sounded like it hadn’t been used in a long time. “Ye gods!” he exclaimed. “What a find I picked up off the street last night! Traveller, fighter, master negotiator, political strategist, and now a tactician!” He laughed again. “Next I suppose you’ll tell me you’re a griffiner as well.”

  Laela gaped at him. “I ain’t . . . well, it was just . . . I shouldn’t’ve . . .” Suddenly, his mocking laughter made anger flare in her. “I’ve given yeh all the information yeh wanted, Sire, so now yeh’ve been repaid for yer trouble. Can I go now?”

  He stopped laughing. “I wasn’t making fun of you, Laela—I was laughing at myself. I wasn’t expecting payment, but it was kind of you to provide the information, and I appreciate the free advice. And of course I’ll let you go. But there’s just one last question I wanted to ask you.”

  “Yes? Sire.”

  Arenadd rubbed his broken fingers. “I just wanted to ask . . . does the name Aeaei ran kae mean anything to you?”

  Laela stared. “What, Sire?”

  “Aeaei ran kae,” he repeated. “It’s griffish, in case you’re curious.”

  “I, uh . . . no, Sire,” said Laela. “I don’t know any griffish.”

  “Obviously. Well, then, have you ever heard tell of someone called the Sun’s Champion? Gryphus’ Warrior? The Chosen One?”

  “Oh. Yeah,” said Laela. “Of course. Everyone knows about that, Sire.”

  “What do they know?”

  Laela hesitated. “Well . . .”

  “Go on. I’m listening.”

  “Well, uh . . .” she plunged on. “They say yer . . . that the Night God chose yeh, Sire. T’fight for her.”

  Arenadd’s eyes were as cold as ice. “I was her assassin and her warlord, yes,” he intoned.

  Laela drew back. “Yeah . . . yeah, that. Chosen. So they say Gryphus . . . the Day God . . . chose someone, too. A Southerner, t’fight for him against . . . well . . .”

  “Against me,” Arenadd supplied. “Continue.”

  “Gryphus’ Chosen was like a warrior meant t’fight yeh, Sire,” said Laela. “His name was Erian Rannagonson. Erian the Bastard. From Eagleholm. An’ he . . . they say Gryphus came t’him in a vision an’ gave him a special weapon what he was supposed t’use to kill yeh.”

  “Hah. And then what?”

  “Well . . .” Laela took a deep breath. “So he met yeh in the Sun Temple here at Malvern when yeh came here with yer followers. He fought yeh, an’ yeh killed him, an’ so the Night God won.” She stopped there, having left out the part of the story in which the Dark Lord Arenadd had stabbed the sun’s champion in the back.

  Arenadd snorted. “I killed him, all right. He put a nice hole in me first, mind you. So that’s it, then, is it? The Chosen One found the magical weapon, fought me with it, and died for his trouble? That’s all they say?”

  “Yes, Sire,” said Laela.

  “Nothing else to the story?” Arenadd persisted. “Nothing about a new champion, or about how the sun shall rise again some day and banish the darkness forever and so on and so forth?”

  In fact, there were several such stories, but Laela had recognised them as the wishful thinking they were and shook her head. “No, Sire.”

  Arenadd stared at her for a long moment, silent and expressionless—as if he were waiting for something. Laela couldn’t meet his gaze and kept her eyes on the table instead.

  “Well, then,” Arenadd said abruptly. “If that’s all you have to tell me . . .”

  “It is, Sire,” said Laela, daring to look up. “I mean . . . I think it is.”

  “It’s enough for one day, anyway,” he said. “And I’ve got other things to attend to, so I’ll let you go.”

  She shivered with relief. “Thanks, Sire.”

  Arenadd stood up. “I’ve made arrangements,” he said briskly. “There’ll be some new clothes waiting for you in your room, and one of the servants will fill a bath for you.”

  Laela didn’t know what to say. “Thanks, Sire.”

  “No need to thank me,” said Arenadd. “Consider this your reward. You can stay in my Eyrie for as long as you want, and I’ll see to it that you have everything you need.”

  Laela opened her mouth to ask why, but all she ended up saying was, “Yes, Sire.”

  Arenadd nodded formally to her and left the room.

  Moments later, she found herself being escorted back to her quarters, where a bath was indeed being filled for her. The servants left soap and a bottle of something they said was for washing her hair, and left her to her own devices.

  The sight of the hot, steaming water was more than enough to cheer Laela up, and she lost no time in stripping off her old clothes and getting in. The water embraced her, soaking warmth into her like a blanket that had just been dried in front of a fire.

  She sighed, a long, blissful sigh that released all the tension that had been tying her stomach into sick knots, and finally let herself relax.

  By the time she’d luxuriated in the water and washed herself as well as she could, she felt much better. And some fresh clothes had been laid out on the bed—a plain but well-made woollen dress, dyed pale blue, and even a new pair of shoes. She put the dress on very gratefully, and sat on the bed, absent-mindedly running her fingers through her wet hair.

  So that’s it, she thought. That’s why he brought me here. For information. He just wanted t’ask me a lot of questions about what’s goin’ on in the South, because no-one he knows has been there in yonks. Mystery solved.

  But she didn’t seriously believe that.

  Still . . . looking around at her new home, and still enjoying the feeling of being clean and well-fed for the first time in months, Laela’s practical side took over. It didn’t matter why she was here—her host obviously had no interest in hurting her, and she had everything she needed. She could recover from her journey, take advantage of everything being offered to her, and consider her next move when she was ready. Simple.

  As she got up and went in search of a comb, something else occurred to her.

  Holy Gryphus, I just gave information to the Dark Lord Arenadd. I betrayed my own birthplace.

  She snorted. As if anyone in the South would know, let alone care about what she did. It had never occurred to her to feel loyal toward her birth-nation, and she didn’t feel it now. Anyway, she added to herself, I’m nobody. I’d never make a difference.

  6

  Living with Shadows

  And that was how Laela’s life in Malvern began.

  She spent the first two days as she’d planned to—recovering from her journey. The Eyrie’s servants continued to look after her, bringing three solid meals every day and providing her with more new clothes and a bath whenever she asked for one. They were polite but distant with her—apparently interested in doing their jobs and nothing else—and brushed off her attempts at conversation. She saw nothing more of the King during that time, which at first made her feel relieved, but it didn’t take long for her to start feeling bored and lonely.

  She didn’t know how much freedom she had in the Eyrie, so at first she stayed in her room and was careful not to stray any further than the corridor outside. But boredom quickly supplanted caution, and she decided that it wouldn’t hurt to wander around a little. With that vague plan in mind, she left her room o
n the third morning and set out.

  She didn’t know exactly what she’d been expecting to find when she first left, but in any case, she was disappointed.

  The tower’s interior looked like nothing but an endless corridor slowly spiralling downward, mostly because that was exactly what it was. Doors lined it at intervals, and every so often she came across an oversized, glassless window—obviously meant for griffins to enter by.

  Before long, bored, she began tentatively exploring the rooms—poking her head through the doors that were open. Most of them led into griffiner lodgings, and some were occupied, but she managed to remain unnoticed. A few people did see her, but she avoided eye contact, and none of them paid her much attention.

  Emboldened, and aware now that she was probably the only Southern-born woman able to see the interior of the greatest Northern stronghold in the world, she sped up, turned a corner, and walked straight into a very large griffin.

  She halted, frozen in shock.

  The griffin paused, too, one enormous forepaw still raised.

  As Laela hesitated, a voice spoke in some harsh language, and a woman appeared, walking forward from the griffin’s side. She was middle-aged and one of her eyes was covered by a round leather patch. The other eye glared at Laela as she spoke again in that same language. It sounded like a command.

  “I don’t understand,” said Laela, backing away.

  The woman’s eye narrowed. “I said, get out of the way,” she snapped, using Cymrian this time. “Who are ye, anyway? What’re ye doin’ in here?”

  Laela tried not to look at the griffin, which was hissing. “I’m, uh . . . Laela. I’m stayin’ here.”

  The eye narrowed further. “Why would that be? Ye ain’t no griffiner.”

  “I dunno,” Laela said honestly.

  She had been going to say that the King himself had brought her here, but at that moment the griffin suddenly moved. It came close, brushing the one-eyed woman aside, and sniffed at Laela as the red griffin had done by her father’s grave.

  Laela cringed away, ducking her head to protect herself. “Please, just let me go. I ain’t done nothin’. The King said—”