The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy) (30 page)

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Authors: K. J. Taylor

BOOK: The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy)
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It was a long time before she finally realised what it was.
He was breathing and moving, and once she heard his muffled voice speaking to her, but even though she was close enough, she couldn’t feel his pulse. His skin was cool—not icy cold, but colder than it should have been—and there was no heartbeat moving beneath.
At first she tried to convince herself it was her imagination, but the longer he stayed close to her, the more she began to realise the truth. This was something she had never experienced or imagined in her life, something that put ice into her veins. A man without a heartbeat. Dead, but still walking.
If she screamed then, the gag killed it.
After that—she never knew how long after—she felt herself being lifted onto his shoulder again and carried away. Another uncomfortable journey followed, until she found herself being slung over the shoulders of a griffin—one who felt nearly as big as Kraal.
As the griffin took off, the Eyrie Mistress felt the first wave of a terrible, crushing despair go through her. It was too late. She had been taken out of the city and was being flown away to who-knew-where, and the gods alone knew what would happen then. How would Kraal find her now?
Moments after they had taken off, she felt a sudden burst of coldness all over her body—just as she had done before, when her captor had dragged her into the darkness. Now, though she couldn’t see anything, she had a strange sense of
motion
—rushing and icy cold, as if through a torrent of water—carrying them forward.
The feeling stopped abruptly, and the griffin touched down with a thud, nearly throwing her onto the ground. But her captor held her in place, and she felt him climb down and then lift her off. After that there was a period of confused motion and jostling, until she finally heard the faint thud of a door closing and felt herself being set down on a solid floor. Her captor kindly lifted her into a sitting position, leaning against a wall, and then he removed the bag.
Light bit into her eyes, and she blinked, cringing away from it, though a moment later she realised it was only candlelight, and not very bright at that. As her vision readjusted, she looked up and screamed again, through the gag.
The face leaning over her was that of a wolf—reddish brown, with big, staring eyes that shone in the candlelight.
Elkin’s heart thudded painfully, even after she realised it was only a mask—wooden, inlaid with copper fangs. As she calmed down, the scholar in her thought,
I’ve seen something like that before. In a book. It’s ceremonial . . . the chief of the Wolf Tribe wears one
.
The man wearing the mask had crouched to look down at her, and now he straightened up, revealing himself to be very tall and clad in a black robe. “Hello, my lady,” he said, his voice slightly muffled but courteous enough. “I hope the journey didn’t hurt you at all. I did my best to be careful with you.”
Elkin peered at him. He spoke Cymrian, his accent clipped and precise and decidedly Southern, though obviously not local.
The man tapped his mask. “I’m sorry for this, but we all agreed it would be best not to let you see our faces. The less you know, the better it is for us. I’m sure you’ll understand. Now I’m going to take the gag off, but I’ll tell you in advance not to bother screaming or calling out for help, because nobody who hears you is going to help. Nod if you understand me.”
Elkin nodded resignedly.
The wolf-man knelt and untied the gag. “There. I’m sure that’s much more comfortable for you,” he said. “I’ll untie your hands a little later, so you can relieve yourself and so forth. Would you like something to drink?”
Elkin’s voice sounded faint and hoarse even to her. “Yes, please.”
He brought her some water and put it to her mouth so she could drink it. It was cold and sweet and made her feel a little better.
“I’ll give you some food later,” he promised. “Now, how do you feel? Is there anything you need?”
“I am . . . not hurt,” she managed. “But please . . . where am I? Who are you?”
He chuckled. “My lady, if I was going to tell you who I am, I wouldn’t be wearing this mask.”
“I know who you are,” Elkin said more forcefully. “A Northerner with a Southern accent, who wears a black robe. You are Arenadd Taranisäii. The one they call the Shadow that Walks.”
He was silent for a moment, and then he laughed again. “Very perceptive, I’m sure. Personally I’ve always thought ‘the Dark Lord’ sounded better. More dignified. A lord of darkmen couldn’t ask for a better title.”
“You’re not a lord,” Elkin said coldly. “You’re nothing, Arenadd. Nothing but a cursed monster with blood on his hands. You don’t even have a heartbeat. You don’t know love or kindness; you’re a twisted abomination, and one day you will be destroyed because of it.”
He made a sudden motion, as if to hit her, but held himself back. “I’d watch that mouth if I were you,” he said, with a dangerous edge to his voice. “I don’t have to be this gentle.”
“What are you planning to do with me?” she demanded, ignoring him.
He paused and then began to pace back and forth, his head bowed. The mask and the pacing made him look like a prowling wolf, following a scent. “Seven hundred oblong,” he said abruptly. “Not many men know exactly how much they’re worth, but I do. I know it to the last copper. Seven hundred oblong. That’s how much they sold me for. A bag of money and a set of chains—that told me what I was. Property, bought and sold. Do you know what that’s like, my lady? Can you imagine?”
“I’m sorry if bad things have happened to you,” she said stiffly. “But—”
“Well,” he interrupted, stopping in his tracks, “it doesn’t matter if you can imagine what that would be like, because soon enough you’re going to find out, my lady. Tell me, if a common blackrobe is worth seven hundred oblong, how much is an Eyrie Mistress worth? Eight hundred? Nine hundred? A thousand, maybe? They say you’re clever for your age—what would your guess be, my lady?”
She stared blankly at him. “You’re going to sell me as a slave?”
He rubbed his hands together; the action provoked a horrible cracking noise. “Come now, my lady. Surely you can understand what I’m getting at. The Eyrie has lost its Mistress. And most of its council as well. Invisibility and a bottle of Viper’s Tears are the perfect tools for an assassination, or several. With them gone, and you, there’ll be nobody left who can plan or take any important decisions. After all, you won’t be there to appoint replacements for the officials I killed. Your partner will be desperate to get you back, along with everyone else in the Eyrie. Tell me, my lady, how much do you think they would be willing to pay for that privilege?”
Elkin felt hot, sick relief fill her stomach. “You’re holding me for
ransom
?”
“If you want to be direct about it.”
She couldn’t believe it. “Money! Is that all you want? You’ll set me free for a bag of oblong?”
“No.” He put his hands behind his back. “I’ll set you free for several bags of oblong. Provided they’re big bags.”
Elkin’s mind raced. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why not kill me?”
He wagged a playful finger at her. “Don’t be silly. A dead body isn’t worth anything, is it?”
“Yes it is,” she said. “If I was dead, Malvern would be leaderless and you would find it much easier to storm the city.”
“True enough,” he conceded. “But you seem to be labouring under the assumption that that’s what I’m going to do. May I ask where you got it from?”
“We know about you,
Kraeai kran ae
,” she said. “We all do. And we know how much you want power and how far you’ll go to get it.” She was inventing now, trying to scare him.
“Power!” he chuckled. “Well, power would be nice, I suppose. But I’m afraid you’ve misjudged me, my lady.” He sighed. “You believe I’m evil, and therefore all my motivations are simple.” Suddenly he was much closer. “Believe me, my lady,” he said softly, “if there’s one thing I know, it’s that life is not simple. And neither am I. Now.” He turned away. “I’m tired, and I’m going to leave you. Later on someone will bring food. If you do anything other than what you’re told, there will be consequences.”
He left the room, and Elkin was alone.
She tried to think, pushing away her fear to clear her mind. She had always prided herself on her ability to think clearly and to analyse any situation, and she had to do that now more urgently than ever before.
Nothing he had said made sense. He wanted to destroy Malvern and take the North for himself, that was certain—so why hold her to ransom? Why not just kill her? What did he need money for? For weapons, perhaps, but there has to be less dangerous ways of acquiring them than kidnapping an Eyrie Mistress.
And in any case, why had he told her about it? Wouldn’t it be in his best interests if she
didn’t
know what he was doing?
It had to be a lie, she decided.
Kraal’s voice came to her, out of her memory. Kraeai kran ae
has a viper’s tongue; he is deceptive. Nothing he says or does can be trusted
.
Quite unexpectedly, she found herself fighting back a sob. Kraal, her griffin, her best friend, who had saved her life so many times. What would he do without her? Did he even know she was alive?
And she thought of Erian, too. What would he do if he knew what had happened to her? Come rushing back pell-mell to look for her, no doubt.
Deep down, Elkin was glad he didn’t know. She wanted him there so badly it hurt, but she forced herself to see that what he was doing was more important than her. But still . . .
Hurry back, Erian,
she thought.
Please, hurry
.
 
 
A
renadd locked the door behind him and climbed up a flight of stairs and through the trapdoor at the top before he took off his mask and shook his hair out.
“Arenadd!” Skade darted over and flung her arms around him.
Arenadd returned the embrace. “Skade. You made it.”
She held him tightly, her hands in his hair. “Thank the sea and the sky. I worried so much for you. If they had caught you . . .”
He pulled away from her, grinning. “They never even saw me. The plan was a complete success.”
She grew solemn. “And now begins the most dangerous part.”
Arenadd kissed her. She kissed him back, eagerly.
“So.” Saeddryn rose from her seat in a corner.
Arenadd reluctantly let go of Skade. “Saeddryn. How are you?”
Saeddryn looked at him and Skade, hiding the resentment she was undoubtedly still feeling. “Well. The journey went well. I take it yer own was a success?”
“A complete success,” said Arenadd. His companions had been sleeping when he’d arrived in the small hours of the morning, and he hadn’t seen them yet.
A smile began to show on Saeddryn’s face. “So ye did all ye set out to?”
Arenadd grinned wolfishly. “All that and more, cousin. And you?”
She nodded. “We got here in one piece. Davyn’s been an’ bought some supplies. How’s Skandar?”
“Sleeping,” said Arenadd. “He pushed himself very hard to get here and used a lot of magic. I’ll go and take him some food in a moment.”
“It’ll be hard t’keep him hidden,” Saeddryn observed.
“I know, but I can’t force him to leave me,” said Arenadd. “Wouldn’t want to, either.”
“And he knows the stakes,” Skade cut in. “He will not betray us.”
Arenadd nodded. “And speaking of steaks . . .”
“Sit down, sir,” said Saeddryn. “I’ll get ye some food.”
Arenadd sat. “Thanks, Saeddryn.”
There was no steak, but Saeddryn had cooked some stew. She heated it up and gave him a bowlful with some bread. Arenadd ate gratefully, suddenly aware of how hungry he was. “I want to talk to everyone once I’ve seen Skandar,” he said between mouthfuls. “So make sure they’re all here.”
“Yes, sir,” said Saeddryn. “What about the prisoner?”
“She’s fine for now,” said Arenadd. “I’ve left water for her. Once I’ve talked to the others we can do something more for her. Can’t risk her getting sick or hurt.”
“Yes, sir.”
He washed the stew down with a cup of water and slipped out the back door and into the little stable that joined onto the house. His friends had done well: they’d purchased a good-sized town house with enough room for them all, even Skandar. And, best of all, it was flanked by the canal on one side and a warehouse on the other. No neighbours and plenty of ways to come and go without attracting attention.
Skandar had gathered the straw provided for him into a heap in the middle of the floor and curled up on top of it. He looked as if he was sleeping, but he lifted his head when he heard the door open.
“Human,” he rasped.
Arenadd bowed to him. “How are you feeling?”
Skandar yawned widely by way of an answer, showing the grey, ribbed inside of his beak and the fleshy pinkness beyond.

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