The Shadow's Heir (The Risen Sun)

by K J Taylor

  Four days later, she and Arenadd were ready to leave. Laela had long since packed, and waited while the King got his affairs in order—appointing different people to take up his various duties, giving orders for what they should do if certain things came up, and so on and so forth. Laela had to go with him and listen while he did all of that; it was incredibly boring most of the time, but she went along dutifully, and learnt a fair bit about the things a ruler had to do. A lot of it was surprisingly mundane.

  On the last morning before they were due to leave, Arenadd and Laela took some time for a final lesson in the audience chamber. That was mostly because Laela had asked for it; she was bored to death of talking to an endless list of officials and wanted to spend more time with Oeka and learn about her.

  “Tell me about magic,” she told Arenadd. “I want t’know how they use it an’ that.”

  Arenadd paced back and forth, idly flourishing his sickle. “I can’t tell you too much, I’m afraid; griffins don’t like to talk about magic. Not to humans. It’s almost their religion.”

  “What can yeh tell me?”

  He threw the sickle upward with a quick flick of his wrist and caught it easily by the handle. “Every griffin has its own power, as I think you already know by now, but they aren’t born knowing how to use it. As far as I know, each griffin discovers his or her particular gift when they’re at least ten years old—in other words, when they’re big enough and strong enough to deal with the strain of using it. Magic takes a lot out of them, you see. It taps directly into their life-force. Using too much can put them in a coma for days, or even kill them.”

  Laela rubbed Oeka’s head. “What’s your power, then, Greeneyes?”

  Oeka clicked her beak.

  “She probably doesn’t know,” said Arenadd. “She’s only about seven years old, by my guess.”

  The tawny griffin rose suddenly, pushing Laela’s hand away. “Eeee kree oo eia,” she said, slowly and deliberately.

  Arenadd put his sickle back into his belt with an interested expression. “She said, ‘I will show you my magic.’”

  Laela stood up. “Show us, Oeka!”

  The small griffin stood for a moment, tail swishing. She lowered her head, and a strange stillness came over her.

  “Look out,” said Arenadd. “She’s about to—ggngh!”

  Laela yelled and put her hands over her head as pain lanced through it. As she fell to her knees, she saw Arenadd step backward and slump onto his seat, both hands grabbing at his own head.

  The pain rose sharply, and Laela heard a strange, harsh voice.

  This is my power.

  A moment later, the pain vanished. Laela got up slowly, feeling her arms tremble. “What in the gods’ names was that?”

  Oeka looked calmly at her and lay down on her belly, blinking and apparently tired.

  Arenadd shuddered and gave the griffin an icy look. “Colour me impressed. But don’t try that again when Skandar’s about, or the servants will have to mop you up off the floor.”

  “Ae en’oo, keeeekaree,” said Oeka, apparently unbothered.

  “What was that?” Laela said again. “Oeka, what did yeh just do?”

  Arenadd rubbed his broken fingers. “It would seem that your partner is a telepath. Not a common power.”

  “A what?”

  “She can get into people’s heads,” said Arenadd. “Break into their thoughts, probably. Even send messages from her mind into yours. It’s not very useful for that sort of thing, though, mostly because the pain stops anyone from thinking very clearly. But it’s a powerful weapon.” He smiled thinly. “I doubt anyone would interfere with her if they knew she had the power to make their heads explode.”

  Laela eyed the griffin. “Tell her I said she’d better not use it on me.”

  Oeka got up and came to her, rubbing her head against Laela’s hip. “Ooo ae oo,” she cooed.

  “‘Never,’” Arenadd translated.

  “It’s a deal, then,” said Laela. She scratched Oeka’s ear, the way she liked it. “I’m terrible for sayin’ it, but I almost hope someone tries t’mess with us just so I can see what happens next.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” said Arenadd. “But—”

  There was a sound of running feet from beyond the archway, and a guard came running in. “Sire!”

  Arenadd stood up. “What is it?”

  The guard came to a halt and bowed hastily. “Sire, I’ve got urgent news.”

  “Out with it, then,” said Arenadd.

  “It’s the assassin, Sire. The one who tried to kill ye. They’ve caught him, Sire.”

  Arenadd’s hand went to the handle of his sickle. “Where is he?” he said sharply.

  “Down in the cells, Sire. Lady Saeddryn told me to come tell ye immediately.”

  “I see.” Arenadd glanced at Laela. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

  Laela was already halfway to the archway. “Oh, I’m comin’, Sire. No way I’m missin’ this.”

  Arenadd ignored her and strode out of the room.

  It gave Laela an uneasy feeling to be back in the prison under the Eyrie, even though this time the guards bowed and stood aside when they saw her coming. She even saw the very same guard who had dragged her out of her bed on the morning of her arrest, but when he saw her, he bowed his head to hide his face from her and made a hasty exit at the first opportunity.

  Arenadd paid no attention. He followed the head of the prison guard along a corridor, his hand resting on his sickle all the while. Laela, keeping close behind him with Oeka on her heels, thought he walked with a terrible purpose. She pitied whoever was waiting for them in the cells.

  Ahead, a familiar figure was waiting for them by a cell door.

  “Lord Torc.” Arenadd came to a stop. “What’s happened?”

  The Master of Law inclined his head. “Sire. We’ve got him in here.”

  “When was he caught?” Arenadd said curtly. “Where?”

  “They found him trying to break into the Eyrie,” said Torc. “Very early this morning. He was put into the cells straightaway, but after I happened to see him, I realised he fitted your description of the man who attacked you.”

  “Has he been interrogated?”

  “Briefly, yes, but . . . we won’t get anything out of him, Sire.” Torc’s face was pale.

  “We’ll see about that,” Arenadd growled. “Open the door.”

  “Sire—”

  Arenadd freed his sickle. “Do it.”

  Torc silently opened the door. It was well lit beyond, and Arenadd went in.

  The prisoner was hunched on the wooden bench provided, but he looked up when Arenadd entered.

  His face was small and round, but whatever more definite features it might have had once were impossible to recognise. Something had left three deep slashes at an angle from his forehead to his chin, cutting through his nose and twisting his mouth into a permanent snarl.

  Even Arenadd faltered at the sight of him. “You.” He pointed the sickle at the man’s horrible face. “I know you. I knew I knew you, you son of a bitch!”

  The scarred man’s dark eyes had gone wide. His mouth opened as if he were going to speak, but he made a sick, gurgling sound instead, and blood splashed onto his chin.

  Arenadd’s own eyes glittered with hate. “I saw you in the war,” he said. “You stabbed me five times in the chest. I’d remember those scars anywhere. I thought you died in the fire. And then—” He ran his fingers over the sickle blade, almost lovingly. “Then you stabbed me again and threw me in the river. Don’t you ever give up?”

  The scarred man said nothing.

  Arenadd moved closer, until the point of the sickle was almost touching the man’s deformed nose. “How d
id you get into the city?” he asked softly. “How did you hide for so long? Answer me!”

  Still no reply.

  “Answer me, damn you!”

  The mouth opened again, the lips trying to form words, but all that emerged were hideous wet garglings. The man stopped suddenly, choking, and lurched forward. Blood had matted the front of his tunic, and more coated his lips.

  Arenadd stopped. “What . . . ?”

  “Sire.” Torc appeared behind him. “Sire, I told you there’s no point. He can’t speak.”

  “Something happened to his mouth?” said Arenadd, not taking his eyes off the shaking figure in front of him.

  “He’s got no tongue,” said Torc. His voice was low with revulsion. “It’s been torn out, Sire.”

  Arenadd didn’t flinch. He looked at the prisoner’s hands—bloodied, pawing uselessly at his mouth. “His fingers are gone. So he can’t write anything down, either.” He turned at last, and his eyes met Torc’s. “How did this happen?”

  “I don’t know, Sire. He was like this when we took him.”

  “Then how in the gods’ names could he break into the Eyrie?”

  “I don’t know, Sire,” said Torc. “But look at him.”

  “I already have, Torc. There’s nothing we can do to him that hasn’t already been done.”

  “He’s insane, Sire,” said Torc. “If he wasn’t before this happened to him, he is now. A man can only take so much before he snaps.”

  Arenadd touched his twisted fingers. “I know, Torc.”

  “Arenadd?” Laela’s voice interrupted. “What’s goin’ on? Is it him?”

  “Get out of here, my lady,” Torc said sharply. “This isn’t—”

  “No.” Arenadd put a hand on his shoulder. “Let her see. Get out of the cell, Torc. I don’t need you here just now.”

  The Master of Law hesitated. “Yes . . . Sire.”

  As he went out through the door, Laela came in. “What’s . . . ? Oh, shit.” She lurched away as if someone had punched her in the stomach. Recovering her balance, she leant against the cell wall and breathed deeply, swearing.

  “It’s all right,” said Arenadd. “He can’t hurt you. I thought you should see this.”

  Laela turned to him, a look of open horror on her face. “Who did that to him?”

  “I don’t know, Laela. Laela—” Arenadd took her by the chin, turning her head. “Look at him. Look at him. You have to see this.”

  She did, and immediately tried to look away again. “No. I don’t want—”

  “It’s not a question of what we want or don’t want,” Arenadd said harshly. “You wanted to see him, so look at him!”

  Laela stared at the prisoner and retched. “Oh, gods help me. His hands . . . his face—”

  “This is the man who stabbed me and threw me in the river,” said Arenadd. “And if you hadn’t come along, I would have stayed there. Apparently he was caught early this morning, trying to break into the Eyrie. Seems he must have heard I wasn’t dead.”

  “But what happened to him?” said Laela. “Who would have done that? Why?”

  “Torc swears he had nothing to do with it, and I believe him,” said Arenadd. “As for who else could have done it . . . or ordered someone else to do it . . .” His eyes narrowed. “I do know that someone didn’t want him to talk. It could well have been himself. If he’s part of some kind of resistance group, then he wouldn’t want to betray his friends.”

  The prisoner slumped against the wall, blood dripping from his mouth, and let out a pitiful moan.

  Laela shuddered at the sound of it. “Can’t yeh do anythin’ for the poor bastard?”

  “Yes, I can.” Arenadd strode over to the bench and pressed the tip of his sickle into the underside of the man’s chin, forcing him to raise his head. The prisoner, unable to spit out the blood from his mouth with his head tilted back, gagged and began to cough, his useless hands dabbing at his throat.

  “Arenadd, put him down!” Laela shouted. “He’s suffocatin’—”

  Arenadd ignored her. He leant forward and whispered something in the prisoner’s ear. Then the sickle flashed, just once.

  Laela stared in disbelief, as the prisoner’s body crumpled to the floor. “Yeh just killed him! Why . . . ?”

  Arenadd wiped the sickle clean on his robe, without even glancing at the body. “Well, that was an utter waste of time. But at least I finally showed the bastard what happens to people who stand against me.”

  “But . . . yeh just killed him,” said Laela. “Just like that! Shouldn’t he at least’ve had a trial?”

  Arenadd actually looked surprised. “A trial? What for?”

  “Well, because . . . everyone should have a trial?” Laela said, rather lamely.

  Arenadd put the sickle back into his belt. “All Northerners are entitled to a trial here,” he corrected.

  “But shouldn’t everybody get one?” said Laela.

  “I don’t give Southerners fair trials, Laela,” said Arenadd. “I kill them. That’s what I was made to do.” He saw her look, and added, “They didn’t give me a trial, you know. When I was a prisoner here. They tortured me for information, and then sentenced me to death.”

  Laela shivered. “How did yeh get away?”

  “Simple,” said Arenadd. “I waited until after they hanged me.” He grinned wolfishly. “I’ll never forget the looks on their faces.”

  19

  To Amoran

  The day after the assassin’s death, King Arenadd left Malvern. He took an escort of several griffiners with him—most of them underlings of Lord Iorwerth, who had been left behind to help Saeddryn run the Kingdom. After the war, most of Arenadd’s best warriors and commanders had been chosen by griffins after he had given them important positions and awarded them with wealth stolen from dead or exiled Southerners. They were the new nobility of the North, and Arenadd had chosen the strongest and most loyal of them to go to Amoran with him.

  As the newly appointed Master of Wisdom, Laela would naturally be expected to go as well. Nobody had questioned that, but she was convinced she had seen more than a few people cast dark looks at each other when she appeared at the King’s side that morning.

  Skandar was there, too, of course, up on the flat top of the Council Tower. Arenadd had persuaded him to wear a harness for once—a magnificent thing decorated with rubies that gleamed in the early sun.

  Oeka, too small to wear the silver leg-bands due to the griffin whose human was Master of Wisdom, stood by Laela’s side and watched while her fellows prepared to leave—harshly reminding their humans how to lean and balance in the air, or standing patiently while their harnesses were adjusted.

  Laela glanced at Oeka. Next to the rest, her own partner looked much smaller. But there was a solid, determined look to her as well, Laela thought. She didn’t look like a griffin who would back down easily. Laela grimaced and touched the bandage on her arm—she didn’t need to wonder about that.

  Over near Arenadd, Lord Vander placed a hand on his partner’s neck and easily slid up onto her back. Ymazu shifted, re-balancing herself to compensate for his weight, and then settled down, blinking serenely.

  Arenadd was on Skandar’s back a moment later, despite the giant griffin’s irritable clicking. Laela glanced around and saw the other griffiners mounting up. She cast an uncertain look at Oeka—nobody had told her how she was going to keep up. She’d assumed they’d be travelling by cart or horseback, but how was she supposed to fly . . . ?

  “Hey.”

  Laela turned and saw Arenadd reaching down toward her from Skandar’s back. “Are you coming, or what?” He grinned.

  Laela stared. “What, am I supposed to—”

  “Hurry up, take my hand,” said Arenadd. “Everyone’s waiting.”
r />   He grasped her hand and pulled her up onto Skandar’s back. Embarrassed and more than a little nervous, she sat down behind Arenadd.

  “Put your arms around my waist and don’t let go,” he advised.

  “But—”

  “Don’t let go,” said Arenadd. “We’ve got a long way to go today, and I don’t want to watch them scrape you off the ground. Do you feel secure back there?”

  Laela had put her arms around the King’s bony body. “I think so.”

  “Good,” said Arenadd. “Now hold oooooon . . . !” The last word turned into a whoop of excitement, as an impatient Skandar charged away over the stonework like a runaway horse. Other griffins scattered out of his way.

  Laela bounced up and down with every thud of the griffin’s paws and talons, holding on to Arenadd for dear life. She thought she was going to be sick.

  Then Skandar reached the edge of the tower, and hurled himself into the air.

  Laela felt as if her stomach had dropped through her spine. She clutched at Arenadd’s robe, anchoring her fingers in the rough cloth, but the panicked thought went through her mind that he wouldn’t be able to hold on with her pulling at him, and she nearly let go in a moment of stupidity. Luckily, Skandar levelled out a moment later, and she thumped back into place on his back.

  Riding the griffin was frightening, cold, and noisy, but she got used to it fairly quickly, and once she felt a little safer, she risked a look back and saw the other griffins taking to the air after their master. She couldn’t see Oeka anywhere, but a moment later the small griffin drew level with Skandar. She came close enough to make sure Laela was safe, and then fell back to ride on the dark griffin’s slipstream.

  Laela could hardly believe what had happened. She was riding the Mighty Skandar, and in front of half the King’s court. And Skandar had let her get on his back! Arenadd must have persuaded him, but she knew the haughty griffin would have needed a lot of persuading.

  It didn’t take her long to feel embarrassed as well as proud—Skandar was enormous, but there wasn’t that much room on his shoulders, and she had to sit pressed up against Arenadd’s back, with very little room to move. Being this close to him made her feel as if she was intruding on him in some way. And despite his thick robe she could feel how painfully thin he was underneath it, and that didn’t do much to make her feel better.