The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy) (53 page)

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Authors: K. J. Taylor

BOOK: The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy)
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“Oh?” said Arenadd. “Who?”
“Someone yer’ve met, sir,” Garnoc said grimly. “Erian Rannagonson, the Bastard.”
“Him!” Arenadd started; he hadn’t thought of Erian in some time. “What was
he
doing there?”
“On his way somewhere, sir,” said Garnoc. “I dunno where. He said—” He winced. “I talked t’him, sir. Din’t want to, but that griffin of his had me pinned. They forced me t’tell them where I’d come from an’ why. Afterward they gave me a message for yer, sir.”
“What message?” said Arenadd.
“The Bastard said t’tell yer he was . . .” Garnoc rubbed his shaven head. “Somethin’ . . . he said you was . . . I dunno, Kray kran something.”
“Yes?” said Arenadd.
“He said t’tell yer that him—the Bastard—said t’tell yer
he
was Aee . . . somethin’. Ended with kay. Anyway, he said he was comin’, sir. He said he was gonna kill yer. He said . . . said he knew what you was plannin’, an’ that . . . he said . . .” Garnoc’s expression cleared suddenly. “He said, ‘Remember my face, murderer, it’s the last one you’ll ever see.’ ”
Arenadd chuckled. “I see he thinks he’s grown a sense of humour.” He lost his smile to think. “Hmm. So he found you . . . but he didn’t kill you?”
“Yes, sir,” said Garnoc. “He said he wanted me t’give yer that message from him, sir.”
Arenadd thought about it, and then snorted. “Hah. The Bastard still underestimates me. He’s got no idea.”
“Sir?” said Garnoc.
“I know what he is—or what he thinks he is,” Arenadd said dismissively. “The Night God told me a long time ago. But I wonder what he was doing in Gwernyfed?”
Garnoc’s eyes were wide. “The Night God, sir?”
“Of course,” said Arenadd. “She talks to me every so often. She gave me my powers, after all; she gives me warnings and advice.”
And she takes things in return
. “So you don’t have any idea of where he was going?”
“No, sir,” said Garnoc. “But he was on a journey, sir. Somewhere.”
Arenadd scratched his beard. “Hmm. Well, I suppose it’s not particularly important for the moment. So you went to Warwick?”
“Yes, sir,” said Garnoc. “Me an’ Yorath wandered around for a long time b’fore we found out yer were supposed t’be there. He’s a good lad, Yorath,” he added fondly. “Anyway, we went t’Warwick, got there one way or another, an’ found all sorts of chaos when we did. All the griffiners was dead, an’ people were just doin’ whatever they wanted. But most of ’em was goin’ on about
you
, sir. There was this group there—called ’emselves Wolves. Spent their time goin’ on about how yer were the Night God’s avatar an’ how yer were gonna drive the Southerners out of the North an’ suchlike. Anyway, after I’d bin into the tower an’ found . . . y’know,
her
”—he paused awkwardly, and went on—“I found ’em an’ told ’em who I was an’ so on. They din’t believe me until I told ’em exactly what yer looked like an’ what yer griffin was called an’ so on. Then I told ’em I knew where yer were, an’ they was all willin’ t’come with me here. So here I am.”
Arenadd listened. “You’ve done great work, Garnoc,” he said solemnly when the big darkman had finished. “And proven yourself one of my most loyal friends.”
Garnoc stared at the tabletop. “If it weren’t for yer, sir, I’d still be in Herbstit with a collar around my neck, buildin’ walls for the sun worshippers. It’s my duty t’pay yer back, sir, an’ don’t think the others will’ve forgotten, sir. Dafydd an’ that Prydwen—they won’t have forgotten, f’sure, sir. They’ll be out there somewhere, sir, just waitin’ t’find yer again.”
Arenadd smiled to himself. Dafydd and Prydwen—two Northerners who had been sold into slavery as punishment for trying to find Arddryn and join her. They had been good friends to him at Herbstitt and had begged to come with him and Skandar. He wondered where they were now and hoped he would meet them again.
“You’ll be rewarded for this,” he said.
Garnoc grinned. “Thank yer, sir.”
“I can’t do much now,” Arenadd went on. “But to begin with you need fresh clothes and a good meal.”
“I’d love that, sir,” said Garnoc. “An’ Yorath could do with the same, if yer don’t mind. He was a great help on the way here.”
“Of course,” said Arenadd. “If that’s all you have to tell me, I’ll go and organise it.”
“Yes, sir,” said Garnoc. “Sir?”
“Yes?”
“There’s one other thing I wanted t’know, sir,” Garnoc said apologetically.
“Yes?”
The big darkman’s look was eager, excited. “Are yer really gonna attack Malvern, sir? Are yer gonna set the North free?”
“Yes, Garnoc,” said Arenadd. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do. But not until after I’ve set every other slave in Cymria free.”
Garnoc stared at him. “All of them, sir?”
“Yes,” said Arenadd. “At Guard’s Post, I found out that slaves could be warriors. One day, they’ll help me destroy Malvern. And afterward I’ll set them free, just as I did for you at Guard’s Post. The greatest reward I can offer.”
Garnoc’s eyes shone. “Yes, sir!”
Arenadd smiled and left the dining hall.
Outside, he found Saeddryn. “Ah, hello,” he said. “I was wondering, could you ask someone to find fresh clothes for our new friend? And for Yorath, too.”
“Of course, sir,” said Saeddryn. She paused. “What did he tell ye, sir?”
“That the slaves I freed at Guard’s Post have been spreading the word,” said Arenadd.
“That’s good, sir.”
“I would certainly say so. How many men did he bring with him from Warwick?”
“A good two hundred, sir,” said Saeddryn. “They’re undisciplined, but strong an’ willin’, sir.”
“Excellent. Well, I need to go and get some rest, so if you could get on with that . . .”
“Yes, sir,” said Saeddryn. “But sir . . .”
“Yes, Saeddryn?”
“I dunno if this is the right time, sir, but I’ve been wantin’ t’tell ye . . .”
“What is it now?” said Arenadd, more sharply than he needed to.
She looked up. “Torc asked me to marry him, sir.” She paused. “An’ I’ve said yes.”
32
 
The Siege
 
E
rian stood back to admire his craft.
It hadn’t been easy to make. He had dug out the remains of the boat from the sand, but although it had held its shape, it had proven far too weak to float again. Instead, he had had to use it as a template to try to build his own.
It had taken the best part of two months.
Erian had no axe. He had no carving tools. All he had were his hunting knife and his sword. He didn’t know the proper names for the parts of a boat, beyond “hull” and “keel”—and he knew their names but not what they looked like—yet after weeks of trial and error, he had managed to re-create the part he thought of as the “spine,” and then the “ribs.” After that he had had to carve the planks that would fill the spaces between the ribs, and it had taken far longer than he had anticipated.
But his time on the island had taught him patience, and he worked away at his little project day after day, not particularly worried if it would work or not. During that time, Senneck’s chicks had shed most of their baby fluff, and their wings—though not strong enough to support them yet—had grown the long feathers needed for flight. They were already testing them, and Senneck had said they would begin their first attempts at flight soon.
But they won’t need to fly just yet,
Erian thought, as he admired the little boat he had dubbed
The Pride of Gryphus
. It was crude, certainly, and unlovely, but it was his and he had worked very hard at it. He had tested it several times in the lagoon where he went for water every day. It leaked in a few places, but with a bit more work he hoped it would stay afloat long enough.
They could go back to the mainland soon.
To his surprise, the idea filled Erian with trepidation. He had grown so used to life on the island that he almost never contemplated the idea of going back to civilisation. Gods, it had been such a long time since he’d even spoken to another human being.
“But you have to go back,” Erian told himself sternly. “It’s your destiny to face
Kraeai kran ae
. And what about Elkin? She’s waiting for you! Oh for the love of Gryphus, stop talking to yourself, you sound like a lunatic.”
He fell silent, heaved
The Pride of Gryphus
back onto the sand and turned it over to inspect the places where it had been leaking. He’d stuffed palm fibres into the gaps he’d found; it worked well enough, though he had his doubts over how long they would last. Long enough, hopefully.
There was a soft thudding of paws on the sand behind him, and Rannagon came to join him.
Erian bent to scratch the chick’s head. “Hello, Rannagon, how are you?”
The chick looked up at him, bright-eyed. “Am strong!” he boasted. As he grew toward adulthood, he had taken on some of the gawkiness of his father, Eekrae; so far, none of Senneck’s grace was showing through in him. But his feathers were a rich shade of brown, mottled attractively with grey on the wings, and his fur was a pleasing sandy gold.
“Of course you are,” Erian said fondly. “You’re so big now!”
Rannagon, already bored, waddled over to inspect the boat. “Is big,” he said. “We ride soon?”
“I think so,” said Erian. “I’ve tested it, and it floats well enough. Do you think you’re brave enough to sit in it with me?”
Instantly provoked, the chick drew himself up and puffed out his chest. “Am griffin! Griffin not know fear!” he declared. “I go with human!”
Erian chuckled. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you behind. Or your sister.”
Rannagon snorted dismissively at the mention of his sister. “We go soon?”
“If your mother agrees,” said Erian. “In fact, we should go to her now. Shall we?”
Rannagon darted away and rushed ahead of him by way of an answer, and Erian trudged after him, tired out from another day’s work.
Back in the village, Senneck was sunning herself while the still unnamed female chick scampered about, chasing a butterfly.
Erian stopped to watch them, while Rannagon went ahead to his mother. Now he had been reminded of the trouble that had to be taking place in his absence, he found it hard to imagine that such an idyllic scene could exist while his home was being ravaged by war.
His resolve hardened, and he strode forward and sat beside his partner. “Senneck.”
She looked up. “What news?”
“It’s finished,” said Erian, as he watched the chicks play fight each other. “I tested it again; it’ll float well enough.”
“Even when you are inside it?” Senneck asked, suspiciously.
“Yes,” said Erian. “I paddled it around the lagoon without much trouble.”
“You still have not told me how you plan to take it back to the coast,” said Senneck. “I am not convinced that you could paddle that far.”
“I can rest every so often,” said Erian.
“But there are tides and currents in the open sea,” Senneck pressed. “Could you fight back against those?”
“I . . .”
“As I suspected,” said the brown griffin. “Erian, I am not willing to risk your life and the lives of my chicks by allowing you to do this.”
Erian reddened. “Senneck, I spent
months
making that boat. I can do it!”
“You cannot paddle that far,” said Senneck, with terrible finality.
“Well then—”
“However”—Senneck laid her head down on her talons—“I have a solution.”
“You do?” said Erian.
“I cannot carry you that far,” said Senneck. “But I believe that I can pull your boat with me as I fly.”
“What?” said Erian “How?”
“With rope,” said Senneck. “If you weave one long and thick enough, and tie it to the front of your boat, I shall grasp it in my talons and pull you with me.”
Erian began to get excited. “You think you can do that?”
“It is a chance,” said Senneck, reserved as always. “But we shall have to practise first, to see if it can be done.”
“Of course,” said Erian. “I’ll start making the rope right now.” Senneck made a rasping sound. “Perhaps the length of your fur has changed, my human, but your impulsiveness has not. Weave your rope now if you must. And bring food for the chicks; they will be hungry after so much exercise.”
“Of course!” said Erian.
He scurried off, heart pounding. After so long, they could finally leave. In a matter of days they could be back in Cymria, on their way to Malvern with the magical sword. He could be facing the Dark Lord before the next full moon. He could . . .
Erian’s excitement darkened with fear, and he found some raw palm fibres and the carcass of a bird and took them back to Senneck without the trace of a smile.

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