The Shadowed Throne (42 page)

The shadow worshippers muttered among themselves.

“I'll believe it when I see it,” said the skeptical griffiner. “But not because I don't trust you, Saeddryn. It's only that I trust Arenadd more, and if he trusted Laela, then so do I.”

“Do whatever ye want,” said Saeddryn. “Ye'll see I'm right, sooner or later.”

“Well
I
believe you,” said a woman in front of her. “Because you've come in the Night God's name, and the Night God wouldn't lie. Would she?” She gave the skeptical griffiner a sour look.

“She's right!” others shouted.

“The half-breed is in league with the Southerners!” some added. “She'll send us back into slavery!”

A good number of them turned to Saeddryn now and bowed low.

“What do we do now, Holiness?” they asked. “What can we do to help?”

“Spread the word,” said Saeddryn. “But don't tell anyone I'm in Malvern. For now, I have to stay hidden.”

“Why?” asked Teressa. “What are ye going to do?”

“What's the plan?” someone else put in.

Saeddryn paused a moment before answering, looking down on them all. Their faces were upturned to look at her, their eyes all alight with faith and excitement. They believed in her.

“My son is coming,” she said. “To claim his throne. But I'm going to strike the first blow. In the meantime, I want ye to do what ye can. Tell other people the truth that I've told ye. We won't meet up again like this; it's too risky. Don't let yerselves be caught, because if ye are, then the half-breed will have ye killed, an' I won't come and save ye.”

“And what will ye do, Holiness?” asked Teressa.

Saeddryn smiled horribly. “Once everything is ready, an' the word has been spread, an' Malvern is ready to welcome its true King, I'm going to the Eyrie, and I'm going to kill the half-breed. I'll cut off her head and throw it from the top of the Council Tower for everyone to see.”

Several of the assembled shadow worshippers cheered or shouted savagely.

“Kill her, Holiness! Kill her for us!”

“I will,” Saeddryn promised. “Ye have my word as a Taranisäii.”

There was nothing more that needed to be said after that, and Saeddryn felt the meeting beginning to break up, as people talked rapidly among themselves, making plans for how they were going to spread her claims and discredit the usurper. They didn't come to try to speak to her personally—too intimidated, perhaps.

Teressa the novice, though, stayed nearby, and murmured to her, “What about me?” she asked. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, Teressa,” said Saeddryn. “Ye've done plenty. I owe ye for this. Keep out of it from now on—it's best if ye don't get caught.”

“Yes, Master,” said Teressa. “And thankye for coming here.” She smiled proudly. “Now I can say I've seen two Shadows That Walk.”

“And if everything goes well, ye'll never need to see another,” said Saeddryn. “Once the half-breed is dead and Caedmon is crowned, I won't be needed any more.”

“No,” Teressa said passionately. “The Shadow That Walks will always be needed.”

Saeddryn nodded appreciatively at the look on the girl's face. “Good, Teressa. Faith is the greatest gift ye can have. Never let it go.”

“I won't,” Teressa promised.

“Now . . .” Saeddryn turned away. “It's time. Send everyone away, and let them begin. Ye can go back to the Temple, an' say nothing to the others. I don't trust them any more.”

“I understand,” said Teressa. “But will ye still want to use my room—?”

“No,” said Saeddryn. “I'll find my own place to hide.”

“How will I find ye?” asked Teressa.

“Ye won't,” said Saeddryn. She smiled horribly. “No-one finds the Shadow That Walks. And no-one ever sees her coming. Not until it's too late.”

K
ullervo's pains continued for most of the voyage to Maijan. He rarely left his and Senneck's quarters, and spent most of his time sleeping. When he was awake, however, at Senneck's insistence, he took advantage of his state and exercised, lifting and lowering a lump of lead someone had found for him. The effort made his arms ache just as badly as his back and legs, but he kept at it anyway, driven by his absolute trust in his partner. Inva, whose many skills included healing, visited and applied various soothing ointments, which helped to ease the pain. Trained to be silent and discreet, she made no comment on his condition, and in fact only really spoke once, a month out to sea.

“The messenger dragon reached our ship. Prince Akhane is visiting Maijan and will be waiting for us there.”

With that, she put the lid back on the jar and left without another word.

As Maijan drew steadily closer as the weeks went by, and the weather became hotter and hotter, Kullervo finally began to improve. The pains eased off, and moving became easier. He continued to exercise, more vigorously now that it hurt less, and a contented Senneck, watching him, said, “My work is done. You are ready.”

Kullervo smiled at her with real gratitude. “I know. I can feel my magic gland now. I couldn't before, but now”—he touched his throat, in the hollow just below his voice-box—“there's a swelling just here; I can feel it if I press down. It really has got bigger.”

“Yes,” said Senneck. “And when you transform again, you will feel it even more. If need be, you will even be able to open your throat wide enough to display it. But you should not do that.”

Kullervo nodded proudly. “I can't wait!”

“But do wait,” said Senneck. “Do not change again until you are fully recovered; to use magic now would be dangerous.”

“I understand.” Kullervo lay back peacefully. Sleeping was much easier now.

As his strength returned, he became more active and spent more time on deck; but he didn't enjoy the suddenly glaring sun or the attention of the crew, all of whom stared at the hump on his back and his broken teeth. Kullervo acted as if he didn't notice it. Stares were something he'd lived with all his life.

Finally, nearly three months after the initial pains had begun, Kullervo found himself nearly pain-free and, more or less, fully recovered. But by now, he hardly recognised himself. He was puzzled to find that, all of a sudden, he had to stoop to get through doors. His shoulders had become wide and muscular from the exercise he had done. His hands looked big and powerful. More astonishingly, his wings had grown as well. They were longer now and felt more strongly rooted to his back. They weren't bald any more, either, but had sprouted long, tawny feathers and looked almost ready for flight. His tail had grown fur, and feathers as well. He cut those off; they made it impossible to hide the tail in his trousers. He couldn't bring himself to cut the wing feathers, however, and resorted to binding them up with Inva's help. She must have been let in on his secret by Laela, or had ridiculous levels of self-control, because she scarcely reacted to the sight of them. But Kullervo thought he noticed a new level of respect from her once she had seen them.

Senneck took in his new physique—he had no problem with stripping in front of her—with obvious pleasure and satisfaction. “Look at you now!” she exclaimed, flexing her talons. “Look what magnificence I have made of you! When I last saw you unclothed, you were thin and scrawny, like a newly hatched bird. Now you are big and strong, as a male should be. I did not expect this to happen, but I am very pleased that it did!”

Kullervo felt himself blushing. “It feels weird. I don't feel like myself any more.”

Senneck blinked slowly. “How can you not feel like yourself? You
are
yourself.”

“I don't feel like my body belongs to me any more,” said Kullervo, cautiously prodding his deepened chest. “I'm not complaining,” he added hastily. “It's just . . . odd.”

“You will become used to it,” said Senneck.

“I'm sure I will.” Kullervo shrugged and grinned. “I'm used to having my body do odd things. I should be able to deal with this.” A speculative look crossed his face, and he turned sharply and punched the wooden wall of the stall. It juddered under the blow, sprinkling wood dust onto the floor. Kullervo cringed and rubbed his knuckles.

“You see?” said Senneck. “You are powerful now! Imagine how well you will do when there is danger.”

Kullervo pulled his trousers back on, suddenly troubled. “I don't want to hurt anyone.”

“You must.”

Frowning, Kullervo came closer and rubbed his shoulder against her chest, griffin-like. “I suppose . . .”

Senneck nibbled his wings. “When the time comes, you and I shall fight side by side, and we shall be unstoppable.”

“But we won't have to,” said Kullervo. “The war's going to end. We're going to end it.”

“Indeed we are.”

They lay together in companionable silence for a while, Senneck grooming Kullervo's wings with surprising gentleness.

“I am becoming ready to mate,” she said abruptly, breaking the silence.

Kullervo froze. “You are?”

“Yes. Soon it will be time for me to choose a male. I am not too old for that! It has been too long since I have mated.”

“Who are you going to choose, then?” asked Kullervo, in an odd voice.

Senneck yawned. “Skarok, of course. Normally I would have nothing to do with that young fool, but my time has come, and there are no other males here for me.” She stopped her grooming. “Stay here and sleep in my warmth. I am going above to fly.”

She walked out and above deck, leaving Kullervo to lie very still where he was, staring blankly after her. His nose was full of her scent, and he could feel her warmth still embracing him.

Silently, not moving or changing his expression at all, he felt tears roll down his face.

S
enneck emerged into the open air. She stretched her wings, shivering them as the muscles loosened. She had been contented, but now her throat pulsated irritably. Heat had built in her loins, spreading tense energy through her body. The mating urge had risen up unexpectedly while she was resting, and it made her jittery and angry with undirected lust. She rubbed herself against the mast, bumping her head and flanks on the rough wood and purring frantically. Her talons caught on the planking beneath her, and she dragged them backward, leaving a row of grooves.

Shaking herself vigorously, she darted off, almost prancing around the deck. Her wings unfurled, and she hurled herself into the air.

The wind, moving over her back and belly, helped to cool her down but did very little to soothe the mad energy. She flew with all her strength, beating her wings recklessly. The wounds she had collected in the fight for Warwick ached—they had healed on the surface, but underneath it seemed the damage still lingered. She ignored it, and began to swoop and turn in the air, dodging and banking to avoid imaginary enemies. She had always been an agile flier, and without a human weighing her down, she was fast.

She flew like this for some time, easily keeping up with the slow-moving ship. There were other griffins in the air with her—all females. Senneck, aggravated by the sight of them, flew aggressively at the nearest one. The other female rolled out of the way. Screeching, Senneck attacked the others as well, driving them away. None of them flared up in response, and it was lucky that was the case because if any of them had done so, an ugly fight would have broken out. A griffin on heat wanted nothing except to mate or kill, and failing one, most would happily choose the other.

Unable to vent her urges through combat, Senneck came in for a rough landing on the deck. Huffing and snorting, she looked around quickly for anything that moved. There were humans there, sensibly hurrying off out of her sight. She ignored them.

At last, a scent hit her nostrils that made her bristle and hiss. It was the rich, musky smell of a male.

Skarok.

The younger griffin came toward her, stiff-legged, with his head held high and his wings out to make himself look larger. Tail lashing with controlled excitement.

Senneck turned to him and lowered her own head in what looked like submission. Encouraged, Skarok came closer. Step by careful step. He rasped a deep, throaty, lustful rasp.

When he was one step away from her—one step away from mounting her and making her his—Senneck rose up and smacked him across the face with her talons.

Skarok sprawled on the deck, squarking in shock. Before he could get up, Senneck came forward and began to lunge at him with her beak wide open. He made some attempts to fight back, but Senneck was bigger and more powerful. She hit him several times, tearing out clumps of fur and feathers, and in moments he was up and beating an undignified scrambling retreat. Senneck chased him until he had clumsily thrown himself into the air. She stayed on deck, screeching madly after him.

Once he was out of reach, she lay down on her belly, snorting.

She felt calmer now, but when Skarok came back later, chirping meekly and looking for another chance, she chased him away with just as much ferocity as before.

This was the way of griffins. Her heat would last for three more days, and during that time she would continue to tease him with flirtation followed by aggression, drawing out the torment until she decided to relent and submit to him. Normally, this would be a strategy to attract as many males as possible so that they could fight it out, and the strongest would win the right to mate with her. As it was, she followed the ritual out of instinct—and spite, since in all honesty she did not like Skarok and did not think he was a particularly worthy mate, and as far as she was concerned, this was a good way to teach him a lesson. If he persisted long enough, she would eventually give in.

Persist was exactly what he did. As the next few days dragged by, each one hotter than the last, Skarok returned again and again. Senneck slept up on deck, too antsy to cope with her nest below, and wallowed in the savagery of her mating urge.

She rolled, she purred, she hissed at humans and other females, she went to the bows and sent out an unearthly mating call several times a day. When Skarok came near, she would sometimes sit on her haunches with a hind leg raised, coyly showing off the female part she might let him near, maybe this time . . .

But every time Skarok gave in to his desire, every time he came too close, she would snarl and screech and hit out at him, and when he finally did lose his temper and fight back, she beat him down mercilessly, leaving him bloodied and humiliated.

Caught up in the game of courtship, she had almost forgotten about Kullervo. He did not appear on deck, and in fact hadn't so much as shown his face since she had spoken to him in their nest. If she had spoken to Inva, she might have found out why, but she didn't. Kullervo might have been her partner, but for now that didn't matter, and neither did he.

If she had spoken to Inva, she might have found out that Kullervo hadn't been on deck at all and, in fact, hadn't even left the nest once. Or eaten anything. Or even said a word.

O
n the third day, Senneck finally felt her mating urges beginning to die down. On that day, she finally tired of her games as well. She sent out the call again, and sure enough Skarok patiently returned. He looked wary now, obviously expecting very little.

Senneck bowed her head toward him, wings tilting upward, and huffed softly. When Skarok ventured closer, she lifted her tail, flicking it invitingly.

Skarok came on, hesitating every few steps, tensed to run if she attacked. But this time, she did not move.

He reached her safely, and when she did not lash out, he lowered his beak toward her neck. Still no attack, and he began to groom her, with surprising gentleness. Senneck closed her eyes and purred.

Growing bolder, Skarok moved closer—standing over her in the dominant position—and ran his beak through her feathers with increasing strength. In response, Senneck tilted her head and nibbled at his chest. Her purr warmed and deepened.

“At last,” Skarok murmured, his old confidence coming back.

Senneck let him move over her body, scratching her with his talons just hard enough to make her shiver. It had been such a long time since she had felt the touch of a male . . . but even though it was as thrilling as she remembered, she felt the slightest hint of self-disgust. To be reduced to this, submitting to some scrawny youngster she despised, one who would not give her any help or status in return . . .

It occurred to her then, gently and sadly, that she had never in her life mated with a male she truly desired. There had never been a male of the kind she had once longed for, a male who was big and solid and self-assured. Her first mate had been not much different from this one—thin and leggy and with the false confidence of youth and uncertainty. If only . . .

Skarok had come alongside her, rubbing his flank against hers. Senneck pushed back, still willing enough, twining her tail with his and rasping sensually. Skarok began to bite at the nape of her neck, preparing to mount, and she tensed in anticipation.

A snarl broke in on them. It was low, it was piercing, and it was full of rage.

Senneck and Skarok broke apart instantly, turning to face the threat, and there was the very last thing either of them had expected.

A griffin. A male griffin. Not a very large one—one much smaller than Skarok, in fact. He was barely the size of a half-grown youngster. But his shoulders were heavy and solid, his paws and legs proportioned like those of an adult. And if he was smaller than Skarok, there was so much hatred burning in his yellow eyes that the skinny griffin found himself squaring up to him in response, his own beak opening to hiss back.

The stranger, whose feathers were grey mottled with black, stepped forward with his head and chest low to the ground and his tail waving from side to side, stalking. His wings opened, making him appear to double in size, and he snarled again.