The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy) (36 page)

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Authors: K. J. Taylor

BOOK: The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy)
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Erian, realising he wasn’t wanted, occupied himself with his own affairs. He gathered dry grass and made it into a semblance of a bed in his own hut—though the sand on the floor was already comfortably soft—and took planks from the other huts to try to shore up the roof and make it waterproof. He gathered fruit and vegetables from the wild gardens for food, but, quickly consumed by a desire for meat, he soon went after something more substantial. He hadn’t hunted in a long time, but he was confident in his skills, and he spent the best part of a day trying to make a bow. That was something he hadn’t done for an even longer amount of time. He found a vaguely suitable piece of wood and sat in the sun for ages, whittling it into the proper shape. He used a strip of leather from his pocket to make a string; it wasn’t really strong enough, but he managed to make it hold. After that he made a few arrows, and this time he had a stroke of good luck. During his search of the village, he had found a good number of stone arrowheads, left behind buried in the sand. He used those to make the tips and fletched the crude arrows with leaves or feathers Senneck had shed.
Hunting with his makeshift new weapon proved to be hopelessly impractical, but the goats were unused to any sort of predation and were surprisingly placid. This was probably the only reason why he eventually managed to catch one, but catch one he did, and he spent a gruesome evening skinning and gutting the beast, ready to share it with Senneck. She accepted his offering with a brief chirp of gratitude, and he left her in her nest and went to enjoy his own helping.
When the day finally came for Senneck to lay her eggs, she came to wake him at dawn.
“My eggs will be laid today,” she said briefly. “Do not enter my nest.”
“I won’t—”
“Do not,”
she repeated. “Not for any reason at all, Erian. Laying is a matter of absolute privacy for a griffin, and not even my human may witness it. And if that does not convince you, be warned that the process will awaken my wild nature. If you disturb me, I will attack to kill.”
Erian nodded dumbly.
“I will see you tomorrow, perhaps,” Senneck said, almost breezily, and left without another word.
The day that followed was agonising for Erian. He did his best to keep busy, drying the leftover goat meat and gathering fuel for the fire, but his eyes and his thoughts kept straying toward Senneck’s hut. He couldn’t hear a single sound coming from inside, and the silence lasted for most of the day.
Erian took his bow and went hunting again. This time the goats were absent, and he returned empty-handed. Instead, he went looking for bird’s eggs and found a few.
He returned to his hut, pausing for a long moment outside. Senneck’s nest before moving on. After that he sat down, enjoying the warm sunlight on his face. “Gryphus, please protect Senneck and her chicks,” he murmured and then slipped into a doze.
He woke up again in the evening, and now there was a faint sound from Senneck’s nest. It wasn’t the screeching or any of the other vocal sounds he had been expecting. Instead there was a thumping sound, as of something heavy striking wood. It came intermittently, and he sat and listened to it. Somehow, the noise was far more disturbing in its own way than what he had been anticipating.
It stopped as night fell, and Erian reluctantly retreated into his hut to sleep. He dreamt of an indistinct golden figure trying to speak to him, while Senneck lay on the ground, dying.
When he woke up it was dawn, and for a moment he couldn’t remember anything. An instant later it came back, and he sprinted out of the hut. He went straight to Senneck’s nest, ignoring his desperate need to empty his bladder, and only slowing when he was nearly at the door. Remembering Senneck’s warning (or had it been a threat?), he crept to the doorway and peeked through, tensing himself to run.
Senneck was curled up in her nest, with her back to the door. The light was bad, but he could see her flank moving up and down in time to her rumbling breaths, and he sighed silently in relief. She was alive, at least. But he couldn’t see her eggs. He retreated quietly and left her to rest.
She did not emerge from her nest that day, but when he ventured near again she heard him and called him inside.
Erian went in and found her looking at him, tired but bright-eyed. “It is safe,” she said softly. “You may come in and see them.”
Erian obeyed, walking around so he could see from the other side. The eggs were lying nestled against her belly, partly covered by her wing, but she raised it to let him see. There were three of them—brown and speckled, like oversized hen’s eggs. Each one was the size of a melon, but one was a little smaller than the others.
Erian examined them, wonderstruck.
“What do you think?” Senneck asked, sounding almost shy.
“They’re beautiful,” Erian said simply.
She flicked her tail. “This is my first clutch,” she said. “They were difficult to lay.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Of course. All of the important things we do in life are painful in their way.” She touched the smallest egg with her beak, tapping the hard shell. “I do not think this one will hatch. If it does, it will hatch into a runt. I have not eaten well enough during my pregnancy.”
“I’m sorry—” Erian began.
“Do not be. This was my choice. Now I must rest.”
Erian nodded. “How long before they hatch?”
“Three full moons, at least,” said Senneck.
Erian groaned involuntarily.
“Do not complain,” Senneck snapped. “You, at least, have the freedom of the island. I must stay here and keep my eggs warm until they hatch.”
“I know,” Erian said hastily. “I’m sorry.” A thought occurred to him. “But if you have to stay with them all that time, how will you eat?”
“I will not eat, unless you bring food to me,” said Senneck.
“I will,” said Erian. “I can catch the goats here; it’ll give me something to do.”
“Thank you,” she said gravely.
Erian bowed to her and left. In spite of his frustration and anxiety, he couldn’t help but feel excited. He had never seen griffins hatch or watched them grow up, and he thrilled at the idea of Senneck—
his
Senneck!—as a mother. What would her chicks look like? What would she name them? Would they look like her, or Eekrae? Maybe he, Erian, could help raise them.
And maybe . . . his pace slowed. And maybe he shouldn’t be so upset about this. They had made it to the island safely, after all, and they would be safe here together. Gryphus was master of new life; Senneck’s eggs could never have quickened without his will.
Yes. Erian felt himself cheer up at the thought. He had to trust in Gryphus. Everything would be all right.
 
 
T
wo days after his return from the rendezvous with Kraal, Arenadd gathered his friends together in their hideout.
“It’s time,” he said simply. “The war begins now.”
They had been planning this for weeks, and nobody raised a protest. Skade, Saeddryn, Rhodri and Davyn looked grimly at their leader.
“We’re ready, sir,” said Saeddryn, speaking for all of them.
“Good. Go to work.” Arenadd thrust his sickle into his belt. “I’m going to go to Skandar now. Wait for our signal.”
Skade hugged him briefly before he left. “Be careful.”
“I will. Watch for me, Skade. When the moment comes, you’ll know what to do.” He gave her a quick smile and left.
In the stable, Skandar was awake and ready for him. “We go now?”
The black griffin’s tail was lashing furiously.
Arenadd touched him on the side of the neck. “Yes. It’s time, Skandar. From here on, we do things your way.”
Skandar hissed, lowering his head and opening his beak wide to emit a harsh, rasping sound. “Now we
fight
,” he snarled. “Fight for true, never fly away.”
“Yes.” Arenadd scratched his partner under the beak, the way he liked it. “From today, Fruitsheart will become
our
territory, not theirs. When they know where we are, people will start gathering to follow us. Our time has come.”
Skandar did not want to listen to any more rhetoric. “Fly, now!” he said. “You, climb onto me and I go,
now
.”
Arenadd hooked an arm over Skandar’s shoulders and nimbly hauled himself up. He still preferred to fly without a harness, and he held on as well as he could. Once he was in place, Skandar tore at the ground, ripping huge furrows with his talons. He paused for a moment, leaning backward on his powerful legs to brace himself, and then lunged forward, straight into the shadows.
This was nothing like travelling through that dark realm on his own. Arenadd lay flat, his arms wrapped around Skandar’s neck, as pure blackness rushed past around them. Skandar never seemed capable of becoming lost. He slid through the shadows without a sound, never seeming to change direction, until he opened his beak wide and let out a screech so horrible, so full of pent-up violence, that it made even Arenadd shudder.
In that instant, the darkness vanished and they were bursting back into the real world—into a large, richly decorated chamber where another griffin was turning to meet them, wings half-open in shock.
Arenadd was ready. He threw himself sideways, off Skandar’s back, rolling when he hit the floor and using the momentum to land on his feet. As he rose he pulled his sickle free and charged.
Skandar had hit the other griffin head-on, full in the chest. Now the two were struggling together, Skandar’s talons locked into his opponent’s neck and shoulders while he tore at vulnerable flesh with his beak. The other griffin bit back, tearing a long gash down the side of Skandar’s face, but could not dislodge the talons still stuck in his own body.
Arenadd had no time to waste watching his partner’s struggle. The griffiner was there, already grasping the hilt of his sword, and Arenadd attacked him instantly, hoping to catch him before he could draw it.
The griffiner, a solidly built middle-aged man, proved to be faster than Arenadd had expected. He wrenched his sword out of its scabbard and raised it, protecting his face and chest. Arenadd’s own weapon was far too small to knock it aside, and at the last instant he changed his tack, darting away to attack side-on. The griffiner struck, turning to face this new attack, but Arenadd was faster. The hooked point of the sickle pierced the skin, and he pulled it downward, tearing a deep wound in the unprotected flesh under the man’s arm. The griffiner bellowed in pain, like a bull, and charged at him.
Arenadd did not panic. Combat never frightened him any more, and he grinned to himself and began his dance, moving this way and that to confuse his enemy and make himself nearly impossible to hit. The griffiner, bleeding badly from his wound, came after him, but Arenadd refused to let himself be cornered. He ducked under the wounded arm and struck again, this time with the sharpened edge of his sickle. It opened a long wound over the griffiner’s back, and bright blood soaked into the man’s tunic as Arenadd darted away.
“Gryphus . . . damn you!” the griffiner yelled, gasping in pain. “Hold still! Fight like a . . . like a man!”
Arenadd sniggered. “Why would I want to do that? Men die. I prefer”—he wove around the man and cut him again—“to fight like a shadow. Can you kill a shadow?”
The griffiner made a quick and powerful attack, aiming to flick the sickle out of Arenadd’s hand. It missed, but only just; Arenadd, caught unawares, barely managed to avoid it, and the blade caught him a glancing blow on the arm. He snarled at the sudden pain and made a reckless attack, charging straight at his enemy. The griffiner protected himself with his blade, ready to swing it at Arenadd the instant he came close enough.
At the last moment, Arenadd dodged sideways. Utterly silent on the wooden floor, he ran past the griffiner and then behind him, and as he ran he struck. His aim was true, and the inner edge of the sickle hit the man full in the throat. The edge did most of the work, but the hook, following it, did the rest. The griffiner made a sickening wet gagging sound and fell to his knees.
Arenadd stood over him, panting, his eyes burning. “No,” he said. “I don’t think you can.”
The noise of the fight, short though it had been, had not gone unnoticed. Even as the griffiner fell, dying before he hit the floor, the door burst open and a dozen armed guards ran in. Arenadd turned to face this new threat, holding his bloodied sickle in one hand, and a grin spread over his face. It was not fearful, or angry, or even hateful. It was full of a raw and terrible hunger.
Skandar raised his head from his kill, blood dripping from the tip of his beak. He saw Arenadd attack, and his heart beat fast, pumping hot blood through his own body, bringing him strength to help his partner.
“Fight!”
he screamed, and charged.
The occupants of the Governor’s Tower at Fruitsheart had been warned of a possible attack and had prepared themselves as well as they could. The five griffiners who lived there kept their swords with them, and the griffins stayed alert at all times. The number of guards in the tower was doubled.

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