The Shadow's Heir (The Risen Sun) (33 page)

Laela landed and nearly slipped over. She clamped her hands under her arms and hugged herself tight; it was freezing. “What in the gods’ names are we doin’ here?”

Arenadd stood beside Skandar. His eyes were on the sky. “Laela, listen . . .”

“I ain’t gonna listen to nothin’ except the truth!” Laela blazed. “What’s goin’ on? Why’ve we come here? We’ve got t’go back, now, an’ stop Saeddryn!”

Arenadd finally turned his gaze on her. “She has followers, Laela. Plenty of them. And supporters in the city.”

“So?”

“The High Priestess is extremely powerful,” said Arenadd. “I rule the body, but she rules the soul. People believe that the Night God speaks through her. If I moved against her now, it would mean civil war.”

Laela couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “She’s a traitor! If people knew that . . . An’ what’s wrong with that, anyway? Since when were you scared of fightin’? I thought that’s what yeh wanted.”

“Human right!” Skandar interrupted. “Aenae enemy. Know it already. Fight enemy! Kill!”

“Not against Northerners!”
said Arenadd. “No. Skandar,
no
. I will not fight my own people. I will not fight my own cousin.”

“Then you fool!” said Skandar.

“Skandar’s right,” said Laela. “If yeh don’t fight Saeddryn, yeh’ll lose yer Kingdom. An’ if she gets t’be in charge, she’ll attack the South right away. I know it.”

Arenadd looked upward again. “The moon’s still bright,” he muttered. “She’s watching me. Watching me close now. She knows . . .”

“What’re yeh talkin’ about?” said Laela. “Who knows? Knows what?”

“I don’t have much time.” Arenadd came toward her. “Laela, I have to tell you something important.”

“What tell?” Skandar rasped. “Not time talk, time fight!” He leant to the side, offering his shoulder. “Come. Come now. Come fly. We fight, like before.”

“No.” Arenadd backed away from him. “Skandar, no. I won’t. My fighting days are done.”

Skandar stood up straight, furious now. “Then
I
fight!” he said, and with that he ran away and hurled himself into the sky.

“Hey!” Laela took a few steps toward the edge of the clearing, staring helplessly skyward as the dark griffin disappeared.

“He’ll be back,” Arenadd said wearily, from behind her.

Laela turned. “What was that all about? Now we’re stranded!”

“He’ll come back,” Arenadd repeated. “He always does. Laela, listen.
Please
listen.”

“Fine,” said Laela. “I’m listenin’. Why’re yeh so jumpy?”

“We’re being watched,” said Arenadd. “Look.”

Laela looked where he was pointing and saw the moon. It hung directly overhead now, and if it had looked huge before, it was massive now. It looked as if it could fall on them at any moment. “What the . . . ?”

“It’s my master,” said Arenadd. “She’s watching. She knows.”

“Knows what?” said Laela, not looking away from the moon.

“That I’ve betrayed her,” Arenadd said softly.

“Betrayed her?” said Laela. “How?”

“In everything,” said Arenadd. “I promised to invade the South, but I didn’t. I made a treaty with sun worshippers. I found you at last, but I didn’t kill you. And she knows.”

Laela began to feel frightened then, more than she ever had before. “But she can’t do anythin’ to us, can she?”

Arenadd laughed bitterly. “She can do anything she likes with me. I belong to her. You’ll see.” He stopped suddenly. His good fist clenched, and a cold shiver went through him.

Laela moved closer. “Arenadd? What’s wrong?”

He groped for her hand and held it. “I feel . . .”

The moonlight was wrong. It shone down on the snow, painfully bright at first, but then brighter and brighter, impossibly strong. The snow shone with it, like a million tiny mirrors, and before long, the entire clearing had turned pure white.

Laela looked upward, and horror filled her soul.

In the sky, the moon was fading. Its light dimmed as the clearing grew brighter, and it shrank, moving through all its phases in a heartbeat until it was gone altogether.

But it wasn’t gone. All of its light was in the clearing now.

Laela couldn’t see. She shut her eyes tightly, unable to look at the light, and held on to Arenadd’s hand.

The light faded, just a little. When Laela opened her eyes again, the clearing was full of mist, and it gathered itself up like the fog in the Temple. And like that fog, it made a shape.

The shape of a tall woman. A Northern woman. Her features were hard and cold, and sharp. She wore nothing but a light silver mantle that left most of her body bare, but she showed no sign of feeling the cold at all.

In one hand she held a sickle. In the other was the full moon, somehow no larger than the blank hole in her face, where her eye should have been.

The Night God held the moon, cupping her hand around it so that its light shone through her fingers. But her single pitch-black eye was on Arenadd.

The King of Tara let go of Laela’s hand, and fell to his knees. “Master,” he breathed.

The Night God stepped forward, leaving no tracks in the snow.
Arenadd,
she said, and her voice wasn’t so much loud as unbearable, so full of power it hurt to hear it.

Arenadd did not look up. “Master, I—”

The terrible eye turned toward Laela. She quailed and fell to her knees, unable to say anything.

Arenadd, why have you betrayed me?

He looked up now. “I did what was best for my people.”

What is best for my people is what I command,
said the Night God.
Are you a fool, Arenadd? Has drink rotted your mind so much?

Arenadd stood up slowly. “No, Master,” he said. “My mind is clear. What I did was for the best.”

The Night God’s light brightened again, searingly.
You dare place yourself above me, little shadow?

“I did what my heart told me.” Arenadd sneered at the irony.

You knew what the consequences were,
said the Night God.
You knew that you faced your doom if you did not obey.

“Yes, I knew.”

Yet you disobeyed me all the same.

“Yes.”

The Night God sighed.
Do you still wish to serve me?

“I serve my people,” said Arenadd.

Then serve them now,
said the Night God. The sickle rose, pointing straight at Laela.
Kill her.

Laela got up and tried to run, but the mist still filled the clearing, and she couldn’t escape from it. She was trapped. “
No!
Let me go!”

Arenadd turned to look at her. “Master . . .”

Do it,
said the Night God.
You know what she is. She must be killed.

Arenadd didn’t move. “But I—”

Kill her!
the Night God repeated.
Kill her, and your sins will be forgiven. Kill her, and you shall have your Kingdom back. Kill her, and all will be well.

Laela didn’t dare go closer, but she held out a hand to Arenadd. “Please,” she said. “Don’t kill me. Please, Arenadd.”

Do it,
said the Night God.
I command it.

Arenadd turned and looked her in the face. “I refuse.”

The Night God’s hand lashed out, hurling him across the clearing like a doll. He landed at Laela’s feet.

Laela knelt and helped him. “Arenadd! Please no—”

The Night God lifted the full moon and put it into the hole in her face, making a new and terrible eye.
You know the price for your failure,
she said, very calmly.

Arenadd raised his head. “Yes. I know it.”

Then obey me!
The Night God pointed at Laela.
She is the last of those I commanded you to kill. The last of the line of Baragher the Blessed. Her blue eyes are an insult and a blasphemy to me. She must die!

Arenadd struggled to get up. “Master, she’s only a child. She’s been a great help to me, and to my people. Without her—”

I warn you one last time, Arenadd,
said the Night God.
If she lives, she will take all you have. She will cost you everything, and you will be made nothing.

Arenadd got up and faced his master, one last time. “I don’t care what the cost is. I won’t kill her. Not now, not for anything.”

She is of the blood of Rannagon, who murdered you! She is—

“No!”
Arenadd stood tall, facing her with the last of his strength. “I know who she is now. You knew, and you never told me. You lied to me.”

Kill her!

“She’s Arren Cardockson’s daughter,” said Arenadd. He put a hand on Laela’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “She’s his daughter,” he said again, more quietly. “She looks just like him. Poor Arren.”

Laela’s shock was too much to make her stay silent. “My father? You knew my—”

The Night God’s anger faded, and a terrible calm came over her.
If you will not obey me, then I do not need you any more.

Arenadd pushed Laela aside and darted away from her. “Laela, get away—”

The Night God caught him, lifting him in one hand as if he weighed nothing, and plunged the point of her sickle into his chest. A deep hole opened over his heart, but no blood came out.

Instead, black mist poured out into the night. The Night God gathered it up in her hand and swallowed it, dropping Arenadd to the ground as if he were nothing but rubbish to be thrown away.

And then she was gone.

Laela rubbed her eyes, blinking in confusion. The clearing was full of nothing but snow and rocks—no mist, no light. It was as if nothing had happened. But she knew it had when she found Arenadd lying in the snow. There wasn’t a mark on him.

Laela touched his face. “Arenadd. Arenadd, wake up!”

His eyes opened slowly, and he peered at her. “Laela.”

She almost sobbed in relief. “Yer all right! I thought . . .”

“Laela.” His good hand reached into his robe, and dragged out a small scroll. He thrust it into her hand.

Laela took it. “What’s this?”

Arenadd’s hand dropped onto the snow. “Give . . . Saeddryn,” he whispered, and his eyes slid closed.

Laela stuffed the scroll into her clothes and shook him gently by the shoulder. “Arenadd. Arenadd! Wake up! Open yer eyes, damn it!”

He didn’t move. Laela ran her hands over him, searching for any sign of injuries.

There was a wet patch on the front of his robe. She pulled it open, and took her hands away at once. “What . . . ?”

The old wound left by Erian Rannagonson’s sword had opened once more and begun to bleed. And as Laela watched, it happened before her eyes: Slowly, one by one, every one of Arenadd’s old scars re-opened. Blood trickled down his arms and onto the snow, turning it red.

Laela pulled at the edge of her gown, trying to use it to stop the flow, but she may as well have tried to dam a river. The blood soaked into the cloth and kept on coming, more and more of it. Arenadd’s skin turned grey, and then as white as the snow that had begun to drift down from the sky.

A sickening crack broke the silence. And then another, and another. Arenadd jerked slightly and gasped. His eyes opened.

Laela touched his face. “Arenadd. Arenadd, can yeh hear me?”

His eyes rolled back into his head, and he jerked again as more awful cracks rifled through his body.

And then it was over.

Sobbing, Laela put a hand on his chest.

She screamed.

Arenadd’s eyes opened slightly. “Bran,” he whispered.

“Arenadd.” Laela sobbed harder. “Arenadd, I felt a heartbeat. I felt a—”

Arenadd stirred, but he could not move. His arms and legs were bent at horrible, unnatural angles. Barely audibly, he said, “Arren.”

Laela lifted him as gently as she could, cradling his head in her lap. “What is it? Arenadd, what is it? What should I do?”

Blood gurgled in his chest, and trickled out of his mouth. “I . . . am . . . Arren.”

It was the last thing he ever said.

Quietly, watched over by the moon and mourned by his daughter, Arren Cardockson died.

31

The Shadow Walks

N
early a month after Saeddryn’s cousin disappeared, when the people had finally accepted that he was not going to return, the day of Saeddryn’s coronation as Queen of Tara had finally arrived.

Few people protested. Arenadd had lost a lot of popularity after his refusal to invade the South, and even more after he’d gone away to Amoran, “abandoning” his Kingdom in the process. Saeddryn was what they wanted now, and she was happy to oblige.

A platform had been built, just outside the gates of the Eyrie, for the ceremony. Everyone in the city could come. Saeddryn had thought of that; she wanted her coronation to be for everyone, great or small.

She sat on the carved chair that had been brought out for her and felt just a hint of apprehension as she watched the excited crowd below.

She didn’t feel any guilt over Arenadd. The idea of killing him—or trying to—had been revolting to her. She’d wrestled with herself for years before she’d even begun to contemplate it.

And then Arenadd had solved her problem for her. He’d vanished, and that was far better than death. His story would become legend, and the name of Taranisäii would keep that grandeur for a long, long time. If he
did
return, and found her, Saeddryn, wearing the crown . . . well, what could he do? She was only doing her duty. The North
needed
her.

Aenae, standing beside her, stirred and sighed. With the Mighty Skandar gone, he was the strongest griffin in Malvern. Saeddryn knew he didn’t care about the Kingdom or its people. All he’d ever wanted was to prove that he was stronger than his father and take his status.

Iorwerth and Kaanee stood on her other side. Saeddryn had been afraid that they wouldn’t support her, but they had. Iorwerth was very unhappy about the King’s disappearance, but he’d agreed that if he wasn’t coming back, then Saeddryn was the logical choice to succeed him.

Saeddryn was pleased about that. Iorwerth was a useful man, and having him on her side was a great help.

The people had gathered. Lynedd, a senior member of the priesthood, had been chosen to perform the ceremony. They hadn’t been able to find the crown, so a replica had been made. Saeddryn kept her eyes on it as the ceremony began.

Finally, the moment came for the crowning. Saeddryn bowed her head, waiting for the crown to be lowered onto it.

That was when she heard the voice.

“I am the shadow that comes in the night . . .”

It came from somewhere behind her, where a false wall at the back of the platform supported long, black drapes.

Saeddryn froze.

“. . . I am the fear that lurks in your heart . . .”

Lynedd had heard the voice, too. She stopped and turned, glancing uncertainly at the guards.

Saeddryn stood up. “Who’s that? Who’s there?”

“I am the Shadow That Walks,” the voice whispered.

Saeddryn paused, uncertainly. “Arenadd?” She faltered. “Is that ye?”

A low laugh came from somewhere nearby, and a figure slipped out and onto the platform. A tall, thin shape, clad in a black robe. Long, curly black hair fell over its shoulders like a mane.

“Arenadd,” Saeddryn breathed.

The figure turned, and she saw the bright blue eyes, staring straight at her.

“Close.”

Laela stepped toward the High Priestess and held something out. “A gift for yeh,” she said. “From yer cousin. He told me to give it to yeh.”

Saeddryn took the scroll and unrolled it. She quickly scanned what was written on it, and her face went white. “What . . . ?”

“That’s right,” said Laela.

The crowd had reacted with great excitement when she’d appeared. More than a few of them started chanting Arenadd’s name.

“Read it,” said Laela. “Read it to them.”

The scroll had begun to tear in Saeddryn’s fingers. “It’s fake,” she whispered. “A forgery.”

“It isn’t,” said Iorwerth.

Laela nodded to him. “He left a copy for yeh, didn’t he?”

“He did,” said Iorwerth. “I didn’t know if ye were coming back, my lady. But now ye have, his orders must be carried out.”

Laela nodded at Saeddryn. “Read it, then. Let them know.”

Saeddryn looked up at her. “Where is he? What happened to him?”

Laela’s expression hardened. “He ain’t comin’ back. Read it.”

Saeddryn had no choice. She went to the front of the platform, where every one of the gathered people could see her.

“‘By royal decree,’” she read, “‘I, King Arenadd Taranisäii the First, name my daughter, Laela Taranisäii, as heir to my throne and all my property. I hereby command every griffin and griffiner in the Eyrie to serve her loyally through all the days of her reign.’”

Laela came forward, to stand by Saeddryn’s side. “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” she murmured. Without waiting for an answer, she raised her voice. “I am King Arenadd’s daughter!” she yelled, for all the crowd to hear. “I am his heir!”

The people went mad. Some shouted Saeddryn’s name, some Arenadd’s—and some Laela’s.

“I brought the slaves home!” Laela yelled. “I served the King. I was his friend. I am his heir. He decided it long ago.” She paused. “I am the rightful Queen.”

The crowd roared.

Laela turned to Saeddryn. “So what’s it t’be?” she asked quietly.

At that moment, a small brown griffin came flying down from a rooftop and landed by Laela’s side. Laela stroked her head, but kept her eyes on Saeddryn.

Saeddryn looked at the crowd.

Then she stepped aside. “If that’s what the King wanted,” she said softly, “then so be it.” She knelt and bowed her head. Iorwerth knelt, too. Aenae and Seerae started forward angrily, but Oeka hissed warningly at them, and they faltered and backed away.

Saeddryn looked up. “The realm is yours,” she said, through gritted teeth. “Queen Laela.”

Laela reached into her robe and brought out Arenadd’s crown.

It fitted perfectly.

•   •   •

F
ar away from Malvern, the Mighty Skandar lay silently in a clearing beside the cold body of his human. He had nearly gone home, nearly gone back alone, as he’d said he would.

But he had turned back well before he got there. He wanted to fight, wanted it more than anything else. But not like this. Not without his human.

So he’d turned around. Maybe if he talked to him again, he could make him come. Or if he said no again, he could force him to come. Arenadd couldn’t argue if Skandar just picked him up and carried him away.

So Skandar returned to the clearing and found him there, lying in the snow.

Arenadd’s body had already gone stiff. Dozens of wounds had opened on his chest and body, and from these wounds, blood had flowed and dried. The snow around him was red with it.

Skandar tried to wake him, but he wouldn’t get up, wouldn’t open his eyes. But Skandar had seen him like this before. He would wake again. He would come back. He was a magic human, after all.

So Skandar lay down beside him and waited.

He would wait for a long time.