The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy) (52 page)

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Authors: K. J. Taylor

BOOK: The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy)
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Arenadd stopped to think about it. She was right. Who
would
try to stop him? If he won the war, he would be powerful enough to change whatever he liked. He could marry Skade . . .
“Ye see, sir?” said Saeddryn, impatiently.
“Yes, Saeddryn. I see.”
She was looking at him very carefully. “So, ye see ye can marry, sir. An’ if ye did—”
“Why does it matter?” said Arenadd. “Who I marry is my business.”
“No, sir,” said Saeddryn. “I’m sorry, sir, but it ain’t just yer own business.”
“Oh?” said Arenadd, hiding his annoyance.
“Ye are the head of our tribe,” said Saeddryn. “An’ the head of the Taranisäii family, too. Now Mother is dead, ye’ve inherited all her powers an’ her position, too. Who ye marry is important to everyone in our tribe.”
“So you think I should marry you because it would strengthen us,” Arenadd concluded. “I know that’s what you’re thinking, Saeddryn, so there’s no need to beat about the bush.”
“Sir, I know what they’re sayin’,” said Saeddryn. “Nobody on our side trusts that Skade or likes her. They don’t know who she is or where she came from, but they know ye an’ her are sharin’ a bed every night, an’ they don’t like it.”
“Is that so,” said Arenadd in his flattest, coldest voice.
“She’s a Southerner, sir,” said Saeddryn. “She’s not one of us. How can the Lord of Darkmen bed a
Southerner
, one of his worst enemies? One of the cursed sun worshippers?”
“Skade is not a Southerner,” Arenadd snapped.
“Well then, where did she come from?” said Saeddryn. “Her hair ain’t black. Her eyes ain’t black. Why does she look so odd? I never saw a woman with her colouring or heard one what spoke the way she does. Where did ye find her?”
“Skade is on our side, Saeddryn,” said Arenadd, fighting to keep his temper. “She hates the Southerners as much as we do, and she wants to see us defeat them—that’s all you need to know.”
“Sir, it’s not that I don’t respect yer feelin’s,” said Saeddryn. “It ain’t that. Ye’re no fool, ye know what ye want, but . . .”
“But
what
?”
“But ye’re a leader, sir,” said Saeddryn. “Ye have more than yer own heart t’think of. A leader must think of his followers an’ his cause before what he wants for himself, sir. An’ that’s why—”
“Why I should turn my back on Skade,” said Arenadd. “Why I should marry a woman I don’t love. Why I should betray myself. Is that it, Saeddryn? Is
that
what I should do, for the good of my followers and my cause? Well?”
“Yes, sir,” Saeddryn said bluntly.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but the answer is no,” said Arenadd. “Completely, utterly and finally,
no
.”
“But sir—”
“
No
, Saeddryn. You heard me, and that’s my final word. Not now, not ever.”
“But why, sir?”
Because my love for Skade is the only good thing left in me. Because if I lost that, I would be nothing
.
“Because I am your lord, and that’s my order to you, Saeddryn. I’ll win this war and destroy our enemies, but I will not marry you. Not now, not ever.”
Saeddryn stared at him as if he had just slapped her in the face. The apple she was holding fell onto the floor.
As if the thump had revived her, Saeddryn stood up. “Yes . . . sir,” she said, and left the room with a slow, defeated tread.
 
 
T
he next day began quietly enough. After a quick breakfast, Arenadd had another meeting with the remnants of his council. Iorwerth had now become Kaanee’s partner and had accepted it with a kind of awe. Arenadd would have to teach him griffish, but for now he had other things to deal with.
After the meeting, he returned to his chambers and spent some time with the chicks. They seemed lively enough and had taken to him quite well. That surprised him; for as long as he could remember, animals had been terrified of him. Even griffins seemed to feel the fear that drove lesser beasts away from him, but these chicks showed no sign of it.
Maybe it was Skandar’s blood in them.
After that, Arenadd and Skandar paid a visit to Nerth. The darkman and his followers were still travelling away from the mountains and toward the hiding place Arenadd had chosen.
Arenadd had a brief conversation with Nerth. It seemed he had been doing well: they had avoided being seen by travelling mostly at night and were making good progress. Arenadd briefly shared with them everything that had happened, including the deaths of Rhodri and Davyn, and Caedmon.
Nerth accepted it all in impenetrable silence. “An’ Skenfrith?”
“Destroyed,” said Arenadd. “None of the griffiners there survived.”
Nerth looked away. “Good.”
Arenadd wanted to stay longer but knew he had to return quickly. He gave Nerth and his friends the supplies he’d brought for them and then got back onto Skandar’s back.
“May the Night God bless you,” he said, and the dark griffin took off.
When they reached Fruitsheart and landed on the tower as always, it was to find Torc waiting for them.
Arenadd dismounted. “Hello, Torc. What’s going on?”
Torc shuffled his feet. “Sir . . .”
Arenadd looked closely at him. The boy had seemed uneasy and distracted lately, but now he looked downright ill.
“What is it?”
“Sir, something’s happened,” said Torc.
Arenadd tensed. “What?”
“Come with me, sir,” said Torc.
Arenadd followed him into the tower, with Skandar trailing uninterestedly after them.
The boy took him to the room where Caedmon had died. “It’s in here, sir,” he said unnecessarily, pushing open the door.
Arenadd followed him, and stopped, staring in astonishment.
Saeddryn was there, rising to meet him. With her was a boy about Torc’s age, clad in the ragged remains of a peasant’s clothes. Limping toward him, leaning on a spear, was . . .
“Garnoc?”
The burly darkman bowed low to him. “Lord Arenadd Taranisäii,” he rumbled. “It’s an honour to see yer again.”
Arenadd looked at him. Garnoc had shed the black slave’s robe he had been wearing on their first meeting and now wore the clothes he had stolen from Guard’s Post, but the scars of the collar were still livid and obvious on his neck.
“Garnoc,” he repeated. “Good gods. I never thought I’d see you again.”
Garnoc straightened up and grinned. “I didn’t think t’see
you
again either, sir, but here we are. Seems yer’ve bin doin’ pretty good since we last saw each other.”
“How did you get here?” said Arenadd.
“Walked, sir,” said Garnoc. “Slowly. Had some help from Yorath here, mind.”
Arenadd looked at the boy. “Oh, hello. Yorath, is it? Where did you come from?”
Yorath gaped at him in silence.
Garnoc smacked the boy in the back of the head. “Bow to Lord Arenadd, boy. Ye’re in the presence of a great man, so show some respect.”
Yorath bowed hastily. “Y-yes, sir,” he said, almost whispering.
Arenadd couldn’t help but smile. “It’s all right; I won’t bite. Where did Garnoc find you?”
“He ran away from home t’follow me, sir,” Garnoc growled when Yorath didn’t answer at once. “He was a miller’s son at Gwernyfed, a little peasant village way out east. I told him t’go home, but he wasn’t listenin’ to a word of it, sir.”
“Y-yes, sir,” Yorath stammered. “That’s the truth, sir. I came’ere t’help ye, sir, I wanted—”
“Shut up,” said Garnoc. “Sir.” He turned respectfully to Arenadd. “Sir, I’ve never stopped bein’ yer follower after Guard’s Post, sir. I’ve bin travellin’ the land, spreadin’ the word about yer, sir. Makin’ all our people know what happened at Herbstitt an’ afterward, sir. After what happened at Gwernyfed, I knew I had t’find yer, sir. So here I am.”
“What happened at Gwernyfed?” said Arenadd.
Garnoc cast a glance at the bed. “It can wait till later, sir. But I came here from Warwick, sir. I’ve brought a good number of men with me, sir. They wanted t’come here t’join yer, sir.”
Arenadd blinked at him. “You brought . . . Garnoc, how did you know where to find me?”
Garnoc looked at the bed again. “She told me, sir.”
Arenadd looked past him and saw a hunched shape lying under the blankets. “Who?”
Garnoc stepped aside. “I’ll leave yer with her, sir,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. There was nothin’ I could’ve done.”
He left the room with Yorath. Saeddryn cast a sad look at Arenadd and left, taking Torc’s hand on the way out.
Alone, Arenadd stepped toward the bed. He was full of apprehension. Who was this? What was going on?
The person in the bed was a middle-aged woman—or had been once.
Arenadd stood over her, just looking at her and wondering.
The woman had long curly black hair and had probably once had strong features. Now she looked withered and shrunken. Her hair had greyed, and her face was lined and scarred with pain.
Arenadd looked lower. Her hands, resting on the blankets, were a ruin. The fingers had been utterly destroyed, twisted and broken until the skin tore and bled.
“Tortured,” Arenadd muttered.
At that, the woman opened her eyes. They were black and blank, like two empty pools.
“Arren
.”
Arenadd, driven by some instinct he did not understand, touched her forehead with his good hand. “They tortured you, didn’t they?” he said. “Like they tortured me.”
The woman stared at him, unblinking. “Arren,” she said again.
Arenadd frowned. “What are you saying? Are you trying to tell me something?”
The remains of her fingers twitched. “Arren. Arren. My little Arren.”
“Who, me?” said Arenadd.
She looked at him, desperation showing through the pain and despair in her face. “Arren. My Arren. My little Arren.”
Gods, what did they do to her?
Arenadd thought.
She must have been driven insane
. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I don’t know who that is. Can you tell me your name?”
She didn’t seem to hear. “Arren was my son,” she intoned. “Arren is dead. The Dark Lord has gone to Fruitsheart, to kill his enemies. My son lies dead at Eagleholm.”
Eagleholm
. . . the name stirred something in Arenadd. “What’s your name?” he said. “How did you know where I was? Can you tell me?”
“Our family is all dead,” said the woman. “My husband died at Guard’s Post; my son died at Eagleholm. I died at Warwick.”
“You’ll meet again in the stars,” said Arenadd, wanting to comfort her. “I know you will.”
Her eyelids drooped. “My son is dead,” she said in a monotone. “He died at Eagleholm. His name was Arren. He died by falling. What came to our house was not my son. My son is dead. His name was Arren. He died the day after his birthday. His name was Arren. My son is dead.”
Arenadd realised he wasn’t going to get any sense out of her. “I’m sorry,” he said, and he meant it. Gods, what had they done to her?
The woman said nothing more, and Arenadd turned away. He wondered why the enemy had tortured her. How did she know he was going to Fruitsheart, and how had they guessed that she knew?
Garnoc and Saeddryn were waiting outside for him.
To his surprise, Saeddryn put a hand on his arm. “How was she, sir?”
Arenadd glanced at her and shook his head. “She’s incoherent. Whatever they did to her must have broken her mind. I don’t think she even knows how she knew we were here.”
Saeddryn hugged him tightly. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered in his ear.
Arenadd let go of her and gave her an odd look. “I’m sure I’ll be fine, Saeddryn,” he told her. “But thank you. Garnoc—”
“Yes, sir?” said Garnoc.
Arenadd thought of asking him if he knew who the woman was but pushed it aside. He could find out later. “I want to know more. What happened at Gwernyfed? How many men have you brought with you?”
Garnoc looked nonplussed. “I’m sorry, sir, but I thought yer’d want a moment—”
“I’m fine,” said Arenadd, slightly annoyed and beginning to wonder why they were acting as if someone had just died. “Come on, we’ll go to the dining hall and talk there. Saeddryn, can you go ahead and ask them to get some food ready for us? Thank you.”
Garnoc followed him to the dining hall, still acting as if he was deeply shocked by something but sitting down readily enough when Arenadd indicated a chair.
“Now,” said Arenadd, taking a seat opposite him. “Tell me everything.”
“Sir,” said Garnoc. “I met someone at Gwernyfed. Not Yorath—someone else. A griffiner.”

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