The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy) (46 page)

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Authors: K. J. Taylor

BOOK: The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy)
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Arenadd translated his words for the benefit of the council, who looked duly impressed.
“Unfortunately,” he went on, “we can’t afford to rest on our laurels. This victory may have been important, but it was also minor. There are hundreds of griffiners still left at Malvern, and ordinary soldiers as well. We’re outnumbered but not out-led—not yet. I don’t know if Lady Elkin will recover, but we have to take advantage of the chaos we’ve created at Malvern as quickly as we can. Kraal is leading poorly without his human, so we have the upper hand. And he still doesn’t know where we are. The faster we act, the better.”
“I agree,” said Saeddryn. “But what d’ye advise we do, sir? If we send people out t’attack other cities, we’ll weaken ourselves too much here.”
“I agree,” said Arenadd. “But we still have to strike now, while they’re unprepared.”
“What about Nerth, sir?” said Caedmon. “What orders have ye given him?”
“That he’s to come south immediately,” said Arenadd. “I told him to leave some men behind but bring three-quarters of them down the river and take cover in a certain spot where the land is very wild. When they arrive, if Fruitsheart is still in our hands, Skandar and I will go to them and order them to come here. They’ll give us the numbers we need.”
“But it’ll be months before they get here, sir,” said Saeddryn. “Too long.”
“I know,” said Arenadd. “Until now I thought it would have to do. But now it’s different. Kaanee, I have orders for you.”
Kaanee looked alert. “Speak, Lord Arenadd.”
“We don’t need all of your griffins here at once,” said Arenadd. “Twenty would be enough to defend Fruitsheart if we were attacked, at least for a while. In the meantime, I have a use for the rest of them.”
“You want them to attack other cities?” said Kaanee.
“Exactly.” Arenadd unrolled a map on the table and pointed to different marks on it. “I’ve been reading the records in the library here—the governor’s aides were kind enough to keep them all nicely up-to-date. Now obviously none of these towns have been used for military purposes for a long time, but they all still have walls and defences and so on. We’ll want to attack the largest and most well placed of them, and I’ll welcome suggestions once I’ve finished speaking. I’ve already marked out two that I think should be the first. Caerleon, a little further north, deals in cows and has at least twelve griffiners in permanent residence and a small garrison. Obviously they’re still prepared in case us nasty rebels decide to attack from the mountains again.” He grinned, and then became serious again. “Kaanee, I want that city. Do you think you and your friends can overrun it?”
Kaanee curled his talons. “If the strongest and most magically powerful of us are chosen, then we shall defeat the griffiners there easily.”
“Skandar, can you help him do that?” said Arenadd.
“Will help,” Skandar said.
“Good. The other city we must attack is closer to us: Skenfrith. An important trade centre, very large and well populated and, more importantly, two days’ march away from Malvern. If we own Skenfrith, we’ll be in the perfect position to strike.”
“That’s a strong city, sir,” Saeddryn said doubtfully, following his pointing finger. “I’m not sure we could send a force big enough.”
“I know,” said Arenadd. “That’s why I plan to use the strongest weapon we’ve got on that city.”
Saeddryn raised an eyebrow. “Weapon, sir?”
Arenadd patted Skandar on the shoulder. “Us. Skandar and I will lead that assault ourselves.”
“Sir, are ye sure we could hold on here without ye?” said Davyn. “What if we were attacked while ye were gone?”
“Don’t worry,” said Arenadd. “Skandar and I can be back here in a—”
“—Heartbeat,” said Saeddryn.
“I suppose so. And as I’ve said before, I didn’t agree to lead this rebellion so I could sit on my backside and do nothing while everybody else did the fighting for me.”
“It’s a good strategy, sir,” Saeddryn soothed. “But if ye want t’hear, I’ve got some suggestions, sir.”
“I’m all ears,” said Arenadd.
They spent a good portion of the rest of that day in the hall discussing strategy. It was a long and slightly tedious process, but by the end it was agreed that they would attack Skenfrith first. Once it had been secured they could consider an assault on Caerleon, but for now Skenfrith was their priority. Half the griffish force would mount the assault with Arenadd and Skandar, and the other half would stay to guard Fruitsheart.
“Even if Malvern finds you here before we return, they’ll have a hard fight on their hands—much harder than they could be expecting,” Arenadd said confidently. “And Skandar and I will only be gone a few days. The instant we get the chance, we’ll come back with news.”
Saeddryn nodded. “Ye’re right, sir. As ye’ve said, ye an’ Skandar were given power so ye could use it.”
Arenadd grinned wolfishly. “Are you ready to fight again, Skandar? Skenfrith will be a much bigger struggle than we’ve faced yet.”
“Am ready!” said Skandar. “Always ready.
You
ready?”
“If you’re ready, I am,” said Arenadd. “It’s time the Southerners know exactly who they’re up against.”
Kaanee stirred. “They are up against an enemy more powerful than they have ever faced before,” he said. “An enemy that will destroy them.”
Arenadd sat back in his chair, ignoring his lingering headache.
Are you happy yet, master?
he thought.
Have I pleased you yet?
No. He knew the answer at once. No, not yet. But she would be pleased, she would be . . .
28
 
Skenfríth
 
A
renadd had been afraid when he went into battle at Fruitsheart, but as he and Skandar flew toward Skenfrith with fifty griffins following them, he felt nothing but hot, fierce confidence and determination. He could feel Skandar’s huge muscles flex, and his ears were full of the sound of the wings of Kaanee and his followers. This was not a ragtag group of escaped slaves or a band of rioting civilians. This was a real army.
The records at Fruitsheart had said that there were fifteen griffiners in permanent residence at Skenfrith but that there were quarters for twenty.
Twenty griffiners against fifty griffins. Unpartnered griffins, faster and more agile in the air without humans to weigh them down. Griffins who had been organised into a true army. And they would strike without any warning.
Arenadd had to suppress a laugh. Skenfrith wouldn’t stand a chance. He and Skandar would be walking over the corpses of their enemies before the day was out.
They had organised it well in advance. The moment Skenfrith’s walls came into sight Skandar banked sharply upward. The griffins followed him higher and higher, until the air became icy cold. Few griffins could fly this high for long before the thin air began to suffocate them, but they would be almost impossible to see from the ground unless someone was actively looking for them—and why would anyone do that?
Arenadd clung on to Skandar’s back, shivering. The height quickly made him dizzy, but he ignored the discomfort and focused on staying alert. He had to be ready when the moment came.
Skandar flew calmly, keeping his eyes on the ground. Skenfrith looked ridiculously small from here, but a griffin’s eyes were made to pinpoint anything on the ground from a great distance, and this target wasn’t even moving. Skandar knew exactly what he was doing.
When the city was directly below him, he wheeled around and flew in a tight circle. He screeched a command to the griffins, and then folded his wings and dropped.
Arenadd instantly lost his grip with his knees, and very nearly lost everything else, too. He had persuaded Skandar to wear a harness, and he had tied his own wrists to it before they left, and thank the Night God for that. As Skandar dived, Arenadd flapped helplessly in midair like a human flag, the straps around his wrists the only thing keeping him from tumbling out of the sky.
Skandar ignored his partner’s troubles. All his attention had to be focused on what he was doing.
Skenfrith grew larger and larger below, as if it were hurling itself toward them. All around Skandar, griffins were falling out of the sky.
There were other griffins visible below them now, flying idly over the city. None of them seemed to have noticed the danger hurtling toward them from above.
Skandar chose his moment. He closed his eyes for an instant and burst into the shadows without slowing.
Blackness enveloped them. The wind seemed to vanish, and everything slowed. Arenadd finally managed to grab the straps and pull himself onto Skandar’s shoulders, leaning back so far his head touched the griffin’s wing.
The enemy griffins were silvery shadows moving below them like fish in a pool. Skandar chose the nearest of them and flicked a wing to roll sideways, directly above the enemy griffin. He opened his talons wide, folded his wings back as far as they would go and plummeted.
Arenadd closed his eyes and braced himself for the impact.
When it came, it felt as if they had flown into a stone wall. Arenadd lost his hold on the harness again and jerked backward so hard the straps cut into his wrists.
Skandar’s dive ended in a clumsy sideways spin that nearly knocked him out of the sky. But he recovered and managed to right himself with a skilful flick of his wings.
The griffin he had struck fell toward the city, its own wings trailing uselessly behind it. It was probably dead already.
Arenadd dragged himself upright and slumped across Skandar’s neck. He could feel blood on his hands, and though he wasn’t in any pain he knew that the moment they left the shadows his spine would be sheer agony. No griffiner would ever be suicidal enough to actually be on his griffin’s back during a manoeuvre like that. No mortal griffiner, anyway.
Skandar didn’t pause to gloat over his victory. Around him the unpartnered griffins had begun their own attack. Some had hit their targets, others not. Skandar saw an enemy griffin that had escaped unscathed, and attacked it. He passed directly over it and lashed out with his beak on his way. The blow broke the other griffin’s wing and sent it spiralling helplessly down into the city.
It was a short fight. The enemy griffins were caught completely unprepared, and few of them had a chance to fight. Kaanee’s griffins—the unpartnered, as Arenadd had dubbed them—fought ruthlessly and did not let a single one escape. Perhaps the enemy could have put up more of a fight, but Skandar stopped that. The constant attacks from a griffin they could not see, a griffin who struck in complete silence, drove them into a panic. After that, the unpartnered made short work of them.
Once the last of them was dead, Skandar flitted back into the sunlit world, and Arenadd groaned as the pain finally hit him. But there was no time to worry about that. The black griffin gave another commanding screech and flew toward the two griffiner towers that loomed over the city. Many of the unpartnered had already begun to attack them. Arenadd had directed a group of griffins whose power was fire to fly to the nest entrances and hurl flames through them. The strategy must have worked: he could already see smoke beginning to plume out as the nesting material caught fire.
Some griffins who had been inside when the attack began emerged from the towers and were instantly set upon by the unpartnered ones that Skandar had brought with him. The black griffin himself flew between the towers, seeking out targets wherever he could. It quickly became clear that the griffins in Skenfrith were all but defeated.
Arenadd fumbled with the straps around his wrists, and managed to peel them away from the bruised and bleeding flesh as Skandar came in to land on top of the larger of the towers. Once they had touched down, Arenadd dismounted and limped around to his partner’s head.
“You did it, Skandar,” he said. “You’re a fine commander, you know.”
Skandar clicked his beak. “No talk!” he said. “Now, fight!” Arenadd grinned and freed his sickle from his belt. “Yes. Now it’s my turn. Let’s go.”
They found the trapdoor set into the brickwork in a moment. It was made from solid wood, but a few blows from Skandar shattered it into pieces. Arenadd jumped through it and into the tower, all his senses alert and ready. Somewhere deep in his chest, where his heart had been, the dark thirst awoke once again.
Time to kill
.
Grinning to himself, he darted down the corridor without a sound.
 
 
T
he griffiners in the tower were in a panic, faced with the twin threats of attacking griffins and a fire beginning to spread through the building. Most of them were more interested in escaping the flames than trying to fight, and when Arenadd appeared in their midst they had no time or presence of mind to organise themselves.
For Arenadd, it was almost a game. Whenever he saw an enemy he would jump into the shadows before he struck. The sickle was a perfect weapon; now he had had time to become used to it, he found it easier and easier to use. The wickedly sharp inner blade could open a throat with one blow, and the tip finished the job. He struck from behind, unseen, and watched blood spurt away from him like water.

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