The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy) (69 page)

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Authors: K. J. Taylor

BOOK: The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy)
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Outwardly, Arenadd’s face was full of triumph and pride. Inside, his dead heart shrivelled with despair.
Gods save me,
he thought.
When the crowd had begun to quieten, Arenadd looked quickly at them. He knew that whatever he said in the next few moments would be remembered forever. Later on there would be arguments and debates, but for this brief time they would do whatever he said.
“My cousin Saeddryn said we would destroy this city,” he said. “I heard her as I came in, saying we would raze Malvern to the ground.”
“Aye,” said Saeddryn, her eye shining. “Malvern will be destroyed, along with every one of the cities the Southerners built, an’ we shall live the way darkmen were meant to live, among the trees an’ the mountains.”
Arenadd laughed. “Destroy it?” he said. “Destroy Malvern, after we fought so hard to win it? No!”
Saeddryn paused. “What, sir?”
“I’m not going to destroy Malvern!” said Arenadd. “I’m going to
live
in it!”
The crowd had gone quiet.
“We will not destroy Malvern,” Arenadd called. “We will make it our own. This is a good city, strong and well built. I will make this the seat of my government, along with all the cities the griffiners built. Tara will be a great land under our rule, and we will show the world that we can be as wealthy and powerful as any one of the griffiner states in the South.
That
is what we will do!”
In the cheering that followed, Arenadd turned to look at his councillors. Iorwerth, Garnoc and Torc both looked excited. But Saeddryn, Cai and Nerth looked utterly dismayed.
Arenadd ignored them. He had known some of them wouldn’t like it, but they would have to put up with it. Tara would never survive unless it adopted the ways of its neighbours and learnt how to defend itself. The old ways were dead. This was the way of the future. The griffiners had been right about that, at least.
 
 
 
A
fterward, when he had finished making his proclamations, Arenadd slipped into the shadows and escaped from the councillors’ chamber. Unseen, he darted away through the corridors until he had found Skandar.
The dark griffin had flown to the top of the Council’s Tower, into the massive nest that had once belonged to his father. Even though he could not have known that this was where the Mighty Kraal had lived, some part of him must have sensed that this, the highest and best of the griffin roosts in the Eyrie, was now his by rights.
Arenadd walked through the marble-lined audience chamber, admiring its design. Yes, this would be a good place to live. The Eyrie Mistress’ old bedroom beyond it looked comfortable enough. But he would have to replace most of the furniture. No matter.
He passed through the archway and into the nest, and there was Skandar, curled up in the straw as though asleep.
Arenadd went to him. “Skandar. Dear old Skandar.”
Skandar’s massive flanks rose and fell with each breath. There were deep wounds on the back of his neck and on his belly, but Arenadd knew he would survive them. After all, few griffins were as tough as a wild griffin, and Skandar had been blessed by the moon.
Arenadd sat down beside him and patted his shoulder. “You fought so well, Skandar. You’re already a legend.” He made a bitter half-laughing sound. “And so am I.”
He waited by him for a long time, unspeaking.
At last, Skandar stirred, and his eye slid open and focused. “Human,” he croaked.
Arenadd touched his head. “It’s over, Skandar,” he said. “We’ve won.”
Skandar blinked. “Win?”
“Yes. The war is over, and the North is ours. Skandar, listen. They’ve made me king. Your human is a king. And you, Skandar . . . you own this land now. It’s your territory, forever.”
The dark griffin sighed. “Home,” he said. “Home.”
Arenadd felt tears burning in his eyes. “Yes,” he said. “We’re home now, Skandar.”
Home
.
 
 
K
ing Arenadd Taranisäii the First was crowned two days later in the councillors’ chamber, at night, when the moon shone through the openings in the ceiling.
He stood on the Eyrie Mistress’ platform with Skandar beside him and the council standing in a ring around them, while Saeddryn began the ceremony, speaking the ancient Northern words that had been passed down through generations but had not been used in hundreds of years.
Up in the gallery, the witnesses had gathered. Former slaves, former renegades, former vassals, with the unpartnered sitting among them wherever they chose. Now all of them were free citizens of Tara’s new kingdom.
Skandar looked up at the griffins with pride. His fur and feathers were neat and shining with health, and his stance was regal and proud. Gold, silver and copper rings gleamed on his powerful forelegs. He looked like the most magnificent Eyrie Master who had ever lived.
Beside him, Arenadd, too, stood tall. His hair was glossy from a morning of patient grooming, and his beard had been trimmed to a perfect point. He wore a brand new robe, embroidered with gold and silver spirals. A golden collar hid the scars on his neck. Perhaps he had been a filthy rebel once or a fugitive criminal, but now he looked like a lord. More than that.
Saeddryn spoke the last of the ceremonial words as she stepped up onto the platform, holding a silver circlet in her hands.
“May ye be judge and warlord, master and protector; may ye care for yer people above all else; may ye live long and shield us from misfortune.” Arenadd bowed his head, and she placed the circlet there, so that it rested on his forehead. “Rise, King Arenadd Taranisäii the First, ruler of Tara,” she intoned.
Arenadd stood.
“Hail King Arenadd!” Iorwerth shouted.
“Hail!”
The crowd roared.
Arenadd looked up at them, at his subjects bellowing his name, their faces alight with joy mixed with awe. He saw men and women swearing their undying loyalty and devotion, giving him all the power the Night God had ever promised. Among them the griffins screeched Skandar’s name, and he screeched back. This was everything Skandar had always wanted, everything his partnership with Arenadd had earnt him.
But Arenadd couldn’t look any more. He bowed his head and stared at the floor, so that none of them would see the tears in his eyes.
“Skade,” he whispered. “Skade . . .”
 
F
ar away, beyond the Northgate Mountains, in a mouldering barn, Branton Redguard huddled into a corner to try to shelter from the rain. Kraeya stood nearby, keeping watch, her tail twitching.
“It’s all right,” Bran mumbled, again and again. “It’s all right.”
But the child in his arms would not stop crying.
Bran felt the tears aching in his own throat, but he didn’t let them out. “It’s all right. Laela.” He held her close. “Laela, yer safe. I swear. I’ll keep yeh safe. He can’t find yeh here, never . . .”
But the child cried on.
About the Author
 
“A lot of fantasy authors take their inspiration from Tolkien. I take mine from G. R. R. Martin and Finnish metal.”
 
Born in Canberra, Australia, in 1986, Katie J. Taylor attended Radford College, where she wrote her first novel,
The Land of Bad Fantasy
, which was published in 2006. She studied for a bachelor’s degree in communications at the University of Canberra and graduated in 2007 before going on to do a graduate certificate in editing in 2008. K. J. Taylor writes at midnight and likes to wear black.
For news and author contact, visit
www.kjtaylor.com
.
 
Ace Books by K. J. Taylor
 
The Fallen Moon
 
THE DARK GRIFFIN
THE GRIFFIN’S FLIGHT
THE GRIFFIN’S WAR

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