The Griffin's Flight (69 page)

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Authors: K.J. Taylor

BOOK: The Griffin's Flight
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“Well, why else would you want more griffiners on your side? It’s obvious.”
“Then why d’ye even need t’ask, if it’s obvious?” said Arddryn.
Arenadd, choosing his words with care, said, “The last rebellion failed, didn’t it? Hundreds of people died. How many eggs does a griffin lay in one clutch? Three? Four? Even if every one of the chicks survived and then chose humans, you’d have three or four griffiners. How many are there at Malvern? Fifty? A hundred?”
“Griffiners ain’t immortal,” said Arddryn. “Ye should know that better than most, Arenadd.”
“What difference does that make? You’re outnumbered. They’ve got all the advantages. You’ve seen how they fight. You know the weapons they can use. Fire-jars, burning water, shooting stars. And magic. Who knows what powers some of those griffins might have?”
“Ye’re blunt,” said Arddryn. “I like that. But tell me”—she stumbled on a stray root but recovered herself and ignored his proffered arm—“how many griffiners were in the Eyrie at Eagleholm?”
“I think about fifty,” said Arenadd. “Not including the ones who lived in the city.”
“An’ how many are there of ye?” said Arddryn. “One. Two. Ye and Skandar. No followers, no magic, no weapons but a broken sword an’ a set of talons, an’ what did ye do between ye, in one night? Saeddryn told me the story. The whole Eyrie destroyed, by ye and Skandar alone.”
I didn’t mean to do it
, Arenadd thought, but he knew he couldn’t say it out loud. “Yes, but—”
She waved him into silence. “D’ye know what that tells me?”
“Not really.”
Saeddryn appeared. “That even one darkman is worth a hundred Southerners, griffiners an’ otherwise,” she said. “Hello, Mother.”
Arddryn leant on her daughter’s arm. “Well said, Saeddryn. Now, Arenadd, d’ye understand?”
“I suppose so.”
She caught the sceptical tone and prodded him painfully in the ribs. “We’re warriors, boy, an’ we weren’t meant t’be vassals, not in our own land or anywhere else. We were the chosen of the Night God, an’ we’re the ones what understands her power an’ her mystery. She gave us this land t’be our home, an’ we’re its guardians until the end of time. The Southerners came here, they defiled the holy places an’ knocked down the stones, an’ they raised their temples to their false gods an’ forced us to forget our ways an’ our tongue. We must fight back. For us, an’ for the Night God.”
Arenadd felt humbled. “What do you want from me?”
Arddryn gave him a look. “What d’ye mean, what do I want? Ye’ve given me what I want; ye’ve given all of us what we want.”
“Look, killing Lord Rannagon wasn’t about—”
“We’ve been waitin’ for ye,” Arddryn interrupted.
“That we have,” said Saeddryn. “We all have.”
Arddryn nodded. “We take in fugitives here,” she said. “Thieves, murderers, runaway slaves—any darkman who wants shelter an’ protection, we take. But they’re no army. We can’t fight against Malvern unless somethin’ unites every village and town in Tara. Somethin’—or someone.”
“What,
me
?” said Arenadd. He tried to laugh. “Look, you’ve got the wrong idea. If you think I’ve come here to unite the tribes and fight Malvern and be a big hero, think again. I’m not a rebel; for gods’ sakes, I wasn’t even born here.”
Arddryn looked steadily at him. “Ye’re a leader, an’ ye’re a rebel, whether ye call yerself one or not. Didn’t ye set the slaves free? Didn’t ye destroy Eagleholm an’ kill Lord Rannagon with yer own hands? Didn’t ye lead a bunch of slaves against trained soldiers an’ win? Didn’t ye come here t’find us?”
Arenadd stopped. “Now listen,” he said. “I didn’t do those things for you, understand? I did those things for myself. I’m not a hero. I’m a selfish bastard. I killed Lord Rannagon in front of his son and daughter, and I did it to avenge myself, not you. I set the Eyrie on fire to help my own escape. I stole the slaves from Herbstitt out of spite, and I captured Guard’s Post so I could steal the supplies I needed. I set the slaves free because I didn’t want to take responsibility for them. And I came here because I wanted to hide. I was looking out for myself. I didn’t even know you were here. Understand? I’m not here to help you. I’m here because I’m a criminal. That’s all.”
Saeddryn looked shocked. Arddryn only gave him a steady look. “But ye want to stay here?”
“If I can, yes. If you want me to leave, I will. But I’m not interested in fighting.”
“An’ ye want to be one of us?” said Arddryn.
“I already am,” said Arenadd.
“Ye ain’t,” said Arddryn. “Ye’re Northern by blood, but that’s all. Ye never passed into manhood our way, did ye—never offered yerself to the Night God?”
“No.”
“An’ do ye want to?”
Arenadd hesitated. “I don’t know. What would I have to do?”
Arddryn began to walk again. “In three months, it’ll be the time of the Blood Moon. A sacred time. Some of us will go to the circle for the ceremony. The Blood Moon is a time t’honour the dead, and for initiation. If ye come an’ take part ye’ll be made one of us, through an’ through. The moon’ll touch ye, give ye protection an’ insight an’ blessing.”
Arenadd reached into his robe to touch the urn. “So my father—”
“Aye, ye could bring yer father’s ashes t’be honoured. An’ ye would pass into manhood as well. It’d make yer father proud.”
“In three months, you say?”
Arddryn nodded. “Three months an’ three days.”
“I’ll do it,” said Arenadd.
“Good. Thank ye, Arenadd. We’d be honoured t’have ye there.”
They had climbed down the side of the plateau while they talked, following a path so narrow it looked like nothing more than an animal trail. Arddryn walked it without faltering, only intermittently relying on Saeddryn to help her. Arenadd, following them both, was impressed. The old warrior had to be at least seventy—probably older—but she carried herself like someone much younger. He realised that he was glad to have met her, and humbled as well. Even if she wanted things from him that he wasn’t prepared to give, he would be happy to stay here in her land and learn what she had to teach.
The trail led through a narrow valley for a while, then descended and passed through a maze of tumbled stones, into a canyon that was nearly round. Trees and ferns had sprouted from the cliff sides, and the floor was covered with what looked like large boulders or heaps of dead branches. From the air they would be barely visible and far from noteworthy, but when Arenadd entered the canyon and looked closer he realised what they were: dozens of hide-covered lean-tos erected among the rocks and then disguised with branches and snow.
People began to appear almost as soon as Arddryn arrived: men and women emerging as if by magic from the undergrowth, all tough and weather-beaten, clad in skins, their faces tattooed with spirals and their hair decorated with bones and copper beads. Most of them had weapons, and all of them looked lean and wild and wary.
They crowded toward their leader, calling out to her in the Northern language, some calling her “my lady,” others addressing her with a title he’d never heard before, something that sounded like “holy woman.”
Arddryn nodded briefly to them and gestured for Arenadd to come forward. “Let them see ye,” she said, speaking the Northern tongue.
Arenadd came to stand by her left side, leaving Saeddryn on the right. His palms were sweaty, and he wiped them on his robe before bowing to the tribe. “Hello,” he said, speaking their language as well as he could, but wincing inwardly at how slow and clumsy it sounded. “I’m honoured to be here,” he added.
They cast scornful looks at him.
“Who are ye?” said one, making an aggressive move toward him. “Slave, are ye?”
Arenadd straightened up. “I am Arenadd Taranisäii of the Wolf Tribe.”
They faltered at that, and a muttering arose from them as they looked at Arddryn.
She nodded. “Aye, this is Arenadd Taranisäii. My nephew, an’ a brave warrior. He’s to become one of us, so make him welcome.”
“Taranisäii?” said one. “How? Where’d he come from?”
“My mother’s womb,” Arenadd shot back. “Why, where did
you
come from?”
Several of them laughed, and some of the tension went out of the atmosphere.
“Good,” said Arddryn. “Now get back to where ye were before. Arenadd must come with me, an’ ye can talk to him later.” They dispersed, albeit reluctantly, and Arddryn paid no further attention to them. “Ye should be goin’ too, Saeddryn, if ye want t’be home before dark.”
Saeddryn looked unhappy. “Yes, Mother. Is there anythin’ ye’d like me to tell the village?”
Arddryn shook her head. “The less they know the better. Ye ain’t told anybody about who’s come here t’join us, have ye?”
“No. Some of them saw the griffin, though; there was nothin’ I could do about that.”
Arddryn looked annoyed. “Damn ye, boy, did ye have t’fly straight into the village for all t’see? I thought ye had more sense.”
“I didn’t,” said Arenadd. “Saeddryn brought me into the village and Skandar followed. How was I supposed to stop him? Smuggling a griffin through a village isn’t something I’ve ever had to do before.”
“Can’t be helped,” said Arddryn. “Swear ’em t’secrecy, Saeddryn; find out who knows, an’ keep ’em quiet. Give ’em whatever they ask. There’s not much chance they’ll ever be questioned, but it pays t’be cautious.”
“Yes, Mother.” Saeddryn hugged her quickly and took Arenadd by surprise by pausing to hug him, too.
She kissed him on the cheek, on the scar. “I’m glad ye came, Arenadd,” she whispered in his ear, then she let go and walked away.
Arddryn looked after her and smiled a twisted kind of smile. “She’s a good girl, my Saeddryn.”
Arenadd touched the spot on his cheek where she’d kissed him. “She’s not weak, I’ll give her that. She certainly watches over that village carefully; I got about seven paces into it before she kicked me over and shoved a sword into my neck.”
“She knows how t’deal with intruders,” said Arddryn. “We all do. Now come with me.”
She led him through the settlement to the far end of the canyon and pulled some bushes aside to reveal a tiny passageway leading out of it.
“We don’t use this much,” she said. “It leads t’my camp, an’ normally Hyrenna an’ I fly in.”
If anything this path was even more narrow and disused than the last one. Arenadd waded through shoulder-high bracken encrusted with snow, which quickly soaked through his robe and left cuts and scratches on his hands.
“Is it much further?” he asked eventually, reverting to Cymrian.
“Ye’ll speak yer own language while ye’re in my camp, or I’ll pretend ye never spoke at all,” said Arddryn, without looking back at him.
Arenadd swore as he stumbled on a hidden stone. “I don’t speak it very well.”
“So I noticed. I’ll teach ye. Come, hurry up, it’s not far.”
Arenadd quickly decided she had been underestimating: the trip through the wet branches seemed to go on forever before the path finally widened and they entered Arddryn’s camp. It would be difficult to call it a camp, however. It was simply a slightly wider spot in the pass the canyon had led into. A heap of charcoal inside a ring of stones served as a fireplace, but there was no sign of a shelter anywhere.
“This way,” said Arddryn, indicating a heap of rocks at the base of the cliff, behind the fireplace. At first glance it looked like nothing more than that, but when they had rounded it Arenadd saw a gap between it and the cliff, with darkness beyond.
“My home,” said Arddryn. “Come, see for yerself.”
She squeezed through the hole, and Arenadd followed. It led to a cave, its ceiling high enough for them to stand upright. Light filtered in through a hole in the roof, and the interior was surprisingly comfortable: the walls had been scrubbed clean and carved with odd symbols and spiral patterns, and the floor was covered in dry grass. A heap of skins lay against one wall to serve as a bed, and there were some pots and baskets of food stacked in a corner.
Arddryn sat down cross-legged on the bed. “It ain’t much, but it serves. Sit down, why don’t ye. D’ye want somethin’ t’eat?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“There’s dried meat in that basket,” said Arddryn. “Get some for me while ye’re at it.”
They sat together and chewed at the smoked venison.
“So,” said Arenadd. “You’ve lived here ever since the war?”
“Aye, more or less. This was a hidin’ place for me after I left Malvern. The griffiners defeated us at Tor Plain. There was a village there. Ain’t there now, not any more. Rannagon did this t’me face, an’ Hyrenna carried me away back here. I stayed in this cave a long time, half-dead, thinkin’ everyone else was gone. But they started comin’ back. Just a few who’d survived. Came to Eitheinn, then to the Throne, hopin’ t’find me. Found the cave in the end, too, an’ me inside it, an’ that’s when I found out my baby daughter was alive. I raised her here till she was old enough to go an’ live in the village. She wanted t’stay here, of course, but I wouldn’t hear of it. Why should she spend her life in some tiny cave? No-one knew her name or what she looked like, so she could live in a house an’ have proper food. It’s what she deserved.

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