The Shadow's Heir (The Risen Sun) (10 page)

Laela gaped. “It what?”

“Summons the Night God.” Arenadd nodded unsteadily. “The blood brings her. I’d been . . . been planning for it a long time. I wanted to ask her things, and I knew when the Blood Moon came, I could do it. When she came, she told me . . . told me . . .”

“What did she tell yeh, S—Arenadd?”

Arenadd rubbed his eyes. “She told me she wants me to invade the South.”

Laela bit her lip. “She wants . . .”

“Invade the South,” Arenadd repeated. “She . . . she’s my master. She always knows what I should do. And Saeddryn wants me to do it, too. It’s not enough to take back the North. If we attack while they’re in disarray, take advantage of it, we could take the whole of Cymria for ourselves. For the Night God. My power—and Skandar’s—could do it.”

Laela felt sick. Images flooded her mind, images of Northern warriors in Sturrick, burning the houses and slaughtering everyone in the village. She thought of the Dark Lord’s armies, carrying destruction into all the city-states until there wasn’t a single Southerner left in the country. And she thought of the Dark Lord himself, riding Skandar into battle—the dark griffin unleashing his magic and visiting death on anyone in his way.

“Yeh can’t do it!” she burst out, unable to stop herself. “The people—all them ordinary people—in the country, just tryin’ to keep their farms goin’—what’d happen to ’em? An’ everyone else, too . . .”

Arenadd grimaced. “Yes. But . . . sweet shadows, to fight again . . . I haven’t gone into battle in such a long time, and gods I miss it. I haven’t felt so alive since then.”

“But yeh’ve got yeh Kingdom here, ain’t yeh?” said Laela. “Ain’t it enough?”

“It’s not as simple as that,” said Arenadd. “Laela, the Night God is my master. I
must
do what she tells me. If I don’t, she could do terrible things to me. You don’t know how powerful she is. She has my soul. She owns me. Without her, I wouldn’t exist. How can I disobey her?”

“I . . . I dunno,” Laela stammered.

“And besides . . .” Arenadd turned back to look at the tomb. “I know what happens when I hesitate. When I falter. If I had killed the Bastard’s sister as the Night God told me to, instead of holding back, then Skade would still be alive. She killed her, you see.”

“Who?” said Laela.

“I was ordered to kill her,” said Arenadd. “The Night God told me that there were three people I must kill. One was the Bastard—Erian Rannagonson. I killed him in the Sun Temple, the poor fool. After that, I had to kill his sister as well . . . Flell, her name was. But when I found her, she was trying to defend her child from me—a child I was also ordered to kill. I didn’t want to do it. I hesitated. Skade attacked her instead, and she killed her. Killed her in the same room you’re staying in now.” He looked up. “But that was my punishment, you see. The price I paid. If I hadn’t held back, if I’d only obeyed the Night God, then Skade would be here with me now.”

The sick feeling in Laela’s stomach increased. “What’ll happen if yeh don’t invade the South?”

Arenadd looked her in the eye. “The Night God will take away my powers,” he said.

“Do yeh need them, though?” said Laela. “If yer only runnin’ a Kingdom . . .”

He gave a hollow laugh. “I need them. And my Kingdom needs them.”

“Then . . . are yeh gonna do it?” Laela asked in defeated tones.

Arenadd looked away. “I met with the council today and Saeddryn petitioned me to invade. So did Iorwerth. The entire damn Kingdom wants me to do it.”

“What did yeh tell ’em?” said Laela.

He looked at her again. “I told them no.”

Laela stopped. “‘No’?”

“I refused the petition,” said Arenadd. “The gods alone know why. Maybe I’ve turned into a coward over the years, but going to war again . . .” He shook his head. “I can’t do it. I won’t do it. It isn’t what the Kingdom needs. It isn’t what
I
need. Truth be told, I’d rather try and engage in trade negotiations with the South. Not that I’ve got the spine to say
that
in front of the council.”

Laela hid a grin. “Yeh ain’t gonna do it, then.”

“No.” Arenadd touched the statue again. “Ah, what would Skade say if she were here? She’d say I’d lost my nerve.”

“No, she wouldn’t,” said Laela.

“Oh, she would have,” said Arenadd. “She always chose fighting, Skade did.” He smiled wistfully.

“She’d be proud of yeh,” said Laela.

Arenadd gave her a look that was almost pitiful. “Would she?”

“Yeah,” said Laela.

He became serious. “Listen, Laela. An ambassador from Amoran is coming here soon. I haven’t told anyone yet, but he’s coming here to talk to me about my going to Amoran to speak with the Emperor himself.”

“Yer goin’ to Amoran?” said Laela. “Ye gods, isn’t that over the sea?”

“Yes. Skandar and I will both be going. Do you want to come with us?”

Laela stared at him. “What? Go to
Amoran
?”

“Yes.”

There was a long silence.

“Why?”
Laela said at last.

He smiled that crooked, joyless smile. “I’ll be a long way from home. I wouldn’t mind having a friend with me.”

Laela backed away from him. “We ain’t friends.”

He started as if she had slapped him, and then his eyes narrowed. “But we could be. D’you . . .” He lurched and grabbed onto the tomb to support himself. “Don’t you know why I saved you? Why I looked after you? Why I like spending time with you?”

She wanted to run away. “Why?”

He grinned manically. “You remind me of myself. That’s why. And the more time I spend with you, the more I feel it.”

Laela snapped. “I ain’t like you. I ain’t
nothing
like you.”

He turned his back on her. “Hah. Who’d want to be like me, anyway? Of course you don’t. Go, Laela. Just go. Leave me.”

Laela stared at him a moment longer and stumbled away.

10

A Price

B
ack in her room, Laela slumped onto the bed. She couldn’t stop herself from shuddering.

He was drunk,
she told herself.
He was talkin’ nonsense. I ain’t like him. And I ain’t goin’ to Amoran with him, either.

The dream came back to her, and she shivered again. Gods, but it had felt so real. And what if it
was
real?

No. The idea was ridiculous. Why would Gryphus want to talk to her, anyway?

An’ even if it was real, it’s still ridiculous,
she thought.
Me, kill the Dark Lord? How’d I even do it?

And she didn’t want to do it, either. She was afraid of him, true—horribly afraid. But she couldn’t bring herself to hate him. He was too . . . sad to hate. Deep down, she had long since realised that the man she was living with wasn’t the warrior of darkness people saw him as. Not any more. He was past his prime: weak and indecisive, full of regrets he was obviously trying to drown in wine—and failing. She couldn’t hate a man like that, and killing him felt like little more than cowardice.

Assuming it was even possible.

As she lay there, thinking it over, she remembered something Gryphus had said to her.

But you did pray to me once. A prayer offered up in terror and despair, but a true prayer nonetheless . . . You prayed to me for protection . . . and help came.

A slow smile spread over her face. “Yeah,” she said aloud. “I prayed to yeh for help, an’ help came. But not from you.”

•   •   •

A
fter Laela had fled, Arenadd staggered back to his private chambers. He felt sick and dizzy, and once or twice he nearly fell over, but he made it back and locked himself up in his room, where he sank into his chair and poured himself another cup of wine.

It made him feel a little better.

He sat forward, resting his forehead on his hand.

Why would she want to go to Amoran with him, anyway? There was no reason for her to want to. And there was
certainly
no reason for her to want to be his friend.

He picked up his cup and wandered into Skandar’s nest. It was empty, and he clambered over the nesting material and out onto the balcony.

Alone, he looked up into the sky and saw the half-moon glowing among the clouds.

“Damn you,” he growled. “Damn you. I served you, and you betrayed me. You took Skade. You sent me back. All I wanted was for you to let me die, but
you sent me back
. Sent me back here, trapped me in this hideous body again. You betrayed me.”

He hurled the cup away with all his strength, at the sky—at the moon.

“You betrayed me!”
he screamed.
“Damn you, let me die!”

There was no reply, but he clenched his fists and continued to shout, hurling his curses at the moon with all his strength until something in him snapped, and he simply screamed.

The scream went on for a long time, a primal sound, full of agony and hatred.

Afterward, the silence seemed deafening.

Arenadd fell to his knees, as if his exhaustion were forcing him to abase himself before his mistress once again.

“Damn . . . you,” he gasped. “I won’t do it. I won’t. I don’t care what I told you. I won’t invade the South. I won’t kill any more. I don’t care what you do to me.”

He fell silent, panting as he calmed down.

Then, without any warning, a slow and horrible grin appeared on his face.

“I’ll have my revenge on you,” he said softly. “Oh yes, I’ll make you pay. I can do it, and now I know how.”

The grin widened, and madness gleamed in his eyes as it all unfolded in his mind—as if it had been there all along, just waiting to show itself.

“Yes,” he hissed to himself. “Oh yes. Yeeesss . . .”

And he laughed.

“Oh I know what to do now. I know how . . . oh yes.
She’s
the key.”

He stood up and dusted himself down in a dignified fashion before returning inside.

There, he picked up the wine jug, took it out onto the balcony, and poured the contents off the edge.

After that, he took the wine-barrel from under the bed, rolled it out into the audience chamber, and left it there. The servants could remove it in the morning.

“No more wine,” he told himself. “No more drinking. No more trying to hide.”

Back in his room, he took off his boots, robe, and trousers and put them aside before opening a chest and bringing out a nightshirt.

He hadn’t worn it in months, and the cloth smelled stale, but he put it on anyway and snuffed out the lamp before climbing into his bed. It, too, was dusty and unused.

It felt more comfortable than he remembered its ever being in the past.

He snuggled down under the blankets, his mind exploding with ideas as it had not done in many long years. He even felt excited.

“You’ll come with me to Amoran, Laela,” he murmured to the darkness. “You’ll come because I’ll order you to come. And after we get back, you’ll stay with me. Every day, whether you like it or not. I’ll see to it that you learn all you need to know. And the Night God won’t be able to stop us, and neither will Saeddryn.”

He grinned wolfishly to himself and drifted off to sleep.

•   •   •

A
renadd’s new feeling of determination and purpose was still there when he woke up, and it made the day feel much brighter. He enjoyed his customary bath and gave his hair the usual thorough brushing and combing before neatening up his beard and dressing in his favourite robe. That done, he called some servants to remove the wine-barrel, and then went for breakfast. The servants looked openly surprised when he asked them for food, and again when he ate it.

After he’d eaten, he went to see Laela. The girl looked frightened and resentful at the sight of him, but he had rehearsed what he was going to say and wasted no time in saying it.

“Listen, I’m sorry about last night,” he said. “I haven’t been myself lately. And quite honestly, I drink too much. Now, about Amoran—”

She avoided his eyes. “Yes, Sire?”

“You’re coming with me,” he said. “And that is not a request. Also,” he went on, as she opened her mouth to protest, “I’m going to arrange for some more lessons for you. These won’t be as . . . cerebral as the ones you’re having now.”

“What are they, Sire?”

“You’re going to learn how to fight,” said Arenadd. “You mentioned that you already know how to use the short sword you brought with you, and that’s good, but if you’re going to become a Northerner, then you need to learn how to use one of
our
weapons. And you’ll find that the sickle handles quite differently. You’ll also learn how to use a bow, and how to fight hand to hand. I won’t have my new companion be helpless when there’s danger.”

Laela’s blue eyes gleamed. “That’s fine by me, Sire. I mean, I’d like to learn how t’fight, like.”

“And you will. I’ll assign someone to do that once we get back from Amoran.”

“Yes, Sire.” She paused. “Thanks, Sire. I’m grateful for that. An’ I’m sorry how I was last night. I was rude, an’ I shouldn’t have been.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” said Arenadd, waving her into silence. “How should I have expected you to react? You saw a side of me I wish you hadn’t, and for myself I’d rather not talk about it any more.”

“Yes, Sire,” said Laela.

“Good. And you can call me Arenadd. I’d prefer it, if it’s all the same to you.”

“All right . . . Arenadd.”

•   •   •

T
he conversation improved Arenadd’s mood even further, and that good mood persisted until well after he had shaken off the last of his hangover and enjoyed a hearty lunch.

After he’d eaten, he visited several of his officials whom he hadn’t spoken to in some time and enjoyed their obvious surprise when he called on them out of the blue to ask them about how their various duties were going and whether there were any problems.

Even when there was nothing significant to talk about, it still felt reassuring just to talk and refresh his memory.

After that, he managed to track down Skandar, and the two of them spent a lazy afternoon flying over the city together, just enjoying the feeling of being in the air.

Arenadd felt more alive than he could ever remember.

After dinner, he retired to his room to catch up on some paperwork, but that didn’t last long before he felt bored and put it aside.

His gaze drifted toward his sickle, resting on its pegs over the bed. He lifted it down and gripped the handle, thrilling at how perfectly it still fitted into his palm. How long had it been since he’d used it? Five years? Ten years?

He took up a fighting stance and flicked the weapon back and forth so that the blade flashed in the fire-light. It followed his every movement, almost dancing in the air, the wickedly sharp point curving back toward him in an imitation of the crescent moon.

Arenadd ran his broken fingers over the blade, with its etching of the triple spiral, and smiled to himself.

“By gods, I’ve missed you,” he said. “I’ve missed seeing you in battle . . . how the Southerners fell under you.”

He smiled, remembering. The sweet smell of blood and the sound of screams, like music in his ears. Oh, how he’d thrilled to it. How could anyone ever say that killing was wrong or evil, when it felt so good?

He realised he was standing very still, almost salivating at the thought of it.

If you went to war, you could feel it again,
an inner voice whispered.

He shut it out, and returned the weapon to its place. No. No matter how much he wanted it, he would not do the Night God’s bidding. There was nothing she could offer him that he wanted, not any more. Even killing wasn’t worth it.

He felt the familiar thirst for wine nagging at him. He hadn’t had so much as one cup all day . . . how long had it been since he’d gone an entire day without a drink?

Maybe I could have just one. Just a quick one . . .

“No!”

He grabbed his broken fingers with his other hand and twisted them until they cracked, and his eyes watered. The pain helped to bring him back to his senses, though, and he berated himself internally.
No more wine. You’re a King—act like one! You’re degrading yourself—making yourself look like a fool. You can live . . . you can exist . . . without drinking yourself to sleep every night.

The room had begun to feel like a prison. If he stayed in it much longer, he knew he would crack and call for the servants to bring him a jug.

But there was a solution to that.

He went to his clothes chest and lifted out the black tunic, the hood, and the cloth to wrap around his face. He’d visited his officials—now it was time to visit his people as well.

He put on the disguise of Wolf with practised speed and stuffed a money-bag and a long dagger into his belt before slipping through the concealed door into the secret passage and away, toward freedom.

•   •   •

T
he Blue Moon tavern was as quiet as it usually was. Arenadd slipped in via the back door and took his accustomed seat in a shadowy corner. There, carefully ignored by the other drinkers, he sipped at a mug of water and listened to the conversation around him.

“. . . going to join up,” one man was saying. “The instant it’s made official.”

“For sure? The money won’t be so good . . .”

“It ain’t for the money!” The first speaker sounded a little overexcited. “It’s for the glory! I was way too young when the war was on, but my dad always told me about the fightin’. He said how he went into battle once under the leadership of the King himself! An’ afterward, he picked up all sorts of loot. He’s still got a gold cup from a griffiner’s bedroom.”

“Who says we’re invadin’ the South, anyway?” someone else called out.

“Not me,” Arenadd muttered under his breath.

“’Course we will,” said the first man. “The King’ll lead us there. He’d never let the sun worshippers go.”

“I dunno,” said someone else. “If we were goin’ to invade the South, wouldn’t we have done it by now?”

“Well, obviously the King’s had other stuff on his mind,” the first said defensively. “Ye don’t build a Kingdom overnight, do ye?”

“
I
heard he’s gonna make more trade deals with Amoran,” said someone else.

The others made disgusted noises.

“I don’t believe that,” said the first speaker. “He wouldn’t do somethin’ like that.”

Arenadd groaned to himself.
Gods, listen to them whine. They all think they can read my mind.

He was interrupted in his listening at that point by something nudging his elbow. He started, reaching automatically for his knife, but it was only the barmaid.

She pushed a tankard toward him. “That’ll be four oblong.”

“I didn’t order that,” Arenadd snapped.

She gave him a condescending look. “No-one stays in ’ere unless they buy a drink. Four oblong.”

He growled and fished in his money-bag. She took the oblong and walked off.

Arenadd picked up the tankard and sniffed its contents. Beer. Well, maybe just one drink would do him some good. It would certainly be better than listening to this poor fool brag about joining the army to march off to a war that wasn’t going to happen.

He carefully lifted the cloth away from his mouth and sipped at his drink. It wasn’t bad, especially considering he didn’t like beer much.

The conversation around him continued, but it was fairly noisy in the tavern, and he let it wash over him without much effort, drinking his beer while he soaked in the atmosphere. Gods but it felt good to be surrounded by people who didn’t know who he was and didn’t stare at him. True, he attracted a few curious glances because of his shrouded face, but the regular drinkers at the Blue Moon were used to him by now—and all of them knew that he wasn’t a person to be interfered with.

It had taken him a while to establish himself at first—the owner had found his appearance unsettling and started to ask suspicious questions, but a bag of money and a few threats had made it clear to the man that
this
drinker preferred to be left alone. And at least the Lone Wolf (as people had started calling him) always paid for his drinks and never got into fights. It was enough to keep them quiet.