The Shadow's Heir (The Risen Sun) (6 page)

Arenadd stared at her, apparently nonplussed. Then he burst out laughing. His laugh was a harsh, humourless thing—one that sounded like it hadn’t been used in a long time. “Ye gods!” he exclaimed. “What a find I picked up off the street last night! Traveller, fighter, master negotiator, political strategist, and now a tactician!” He laughed again. “Next I suppose you’ll tell me you’re a griffiner as well.”

Laela gaped at him. “I ain’t . . . well, it was just . . . I shouldn’t’ve . . .” Suddenly, his mocking laughter made anger flare in her. “I’ve given yeh all the information yeh wanted, Sire, so now yeh’ve been repaid for yer trouble. Can I go now?”

He stopped laughing. “I wasn’t making fun of you, Laela—I was laughing at myself. I wasn’t expecting payment, but it was kind of you to provide the information, and I appreciate the free advice. And of course I’ll let you go. But there’s just one last question I wanted to ask you.”

“Yes? Sire.”

Arenadd rubbed his broken fingers. “I just wanted to ask . . . does the name
Aeaei ran kae
mean anything to you?”

Laela stared. “What, Sire?”

“Aeaei ran kae,”
he repeated. “It’s griffish, in case you’re curious.”

“I, uh . . . no, Sire,” said Laela. “I don’t know any griffish.”

“Obviously. Well, then, have you ever heard tell of someone called the Sun’s Champion? Gryphus’ Warrior? The Chosen One?”

“Oh. Yeah,” said Laela. “Of course. Everyone knows about that, Sire.”

“
What
do they know?”

Laela hesitated. “Well . . .”

“Go on. I’m listening.”

“Well, uh . . .” she plunged on. “They say yer . . . that the Night God chose yeh, Sire. T’fight for her.”

Arenadd’s eyes were as cold as ice. “I was her assassin and her warlord, yes,” he intoned.

Laela drew back. “Yeah . . . yeah, that. Chosen. So they say Gryphus . . . the Day God . . . chose someone, too. A Southerner, t’fight for him against . . . well . . .”

“Against me,” Arenadd supplied. “Continue.”

“Gryphus’ Chosen was like a warrior meant t’fight yeh, Sire,” said Laela. “His name was Erian Rannagonson. Erian the Bastard. From Eagleholm. An’ he . . . they say Gryphus came t’him in a vision an’ gave him a special weapon what he was supposed t’use to kill yeh.”

“Hah. And then what?”

“Well . . .” Laela took a deep breath. “So he met yeh in the Sun Temple here at Malvern when yeh came here with yer followers. He fought yeh, an’ yeh killed him, an’ so the Night God won.” She stopped there, having left out the part of the story in which the Dark Lord Arenadd had stabbed the sun’s champion in the back.

Arenadd snorted. “I killed him, all right. He put a nice hole in me first, mind you. So that’s it, then, is it? The Chosen One found the magical weapon, fought me with it, and died for his trouble? That’s all they say?”

“Yes, Sire,” said Laela.

“Nothing else to the story?” Arenadd persisted. “Nothing about a
new
champion, or about how the sun shall rise again some day and banish the darkness forever and so on and so forth?”

In fact, there were several such stories, but Laela had recognised them as the wishful thinking they were and shook her head. “No, Sire.”

Arenadd stared at her for a long moment, silent and expressionless—as if he were waiting for something. Laela couldn’t meet his gaze and kept her eyes on the table instead.

“Well, then,” Arenadd said abruptly. “If that’s all you have to tell me . . .”

“It is, Sire,” said Laela, daring to look up. “I mean . . . I think it is.”

“It’s enough for one day, anyway,” he said. “And I’ve got other things to attend to, so I’ll let you go.”

She shivered with relief. “Thanks, Sire.”

Arenadd stood up. “I’ve made arrangements,” he said briskly. “There’ll be some new clothes waiting for you in your room, and one of the servants will fill a bath for you.”

Laela didn’t know what to say. “Thanks, Sire.”

“No need to thank me,” said Arenadd. “Consider this your reward. You can stay in my Eyrie for as long as you want, and I’ll see to it that you have everything you need.”

Laela opened her mouth to ask why, but all she ended up saying was, “Yes, Sire.”

Arenadd nodded formally to her and left the room.

Moments later, she found herself being escorted back to her quarters, where a bath was indeed being filled for her. The servants left soap and a bottle of something they said was for washing her hair, and left her to her own devices.

The sight of the hot, steaming water was more than enough to cheer Laela up, and she lost no time in stripping off her old clothes and getting in. The water embraced her, soaking warmth into her like a blanket that had just been dried in front of a fire.

She sighed, a long, blissful sigh that released all the tension that had been tying her stomach into sick knots, and finally let herself relax.

By the time she’d luxuriated in the water and washed herself as well as she could, she felt much better. And some fresh clothes had been laid out on the bed—a plain but well-made woollen dress, dyed pale blue, and even a new pair of shoes. She put the dress on very gratefully, and sat on the bed, absent-mindedly running her fingers through her wet hair.

So that’s it,
she thought.
That’s why he brought me here. For information. He just wanted t’ask me a lot of questions about what’s goin’ on in the South, because no-one he knows has been there in yonks. Mystery solved.

But she didn’t seriously believe that.

Still . . . looking around at her new home, and still enjoying the feeling of being clean and well-fed for the first time in months, Laela’s practical side took over. It didn’t matter why she was here—her host obviously had no interest in hurting her, and she had everything she needed. She could recover from her journey, take advantage of everything being offered to her, and consider her next move when she was ready. Simple.

As she got up and went in search of a comb, something else occurred to her.

Holy Gryphus, I just gave information to the Dark Lord Arenadd. I betrayed my own birthplace.

She snorted. As if anyone in the South would know, let alone care about what she did. It had never occurred to her to feel loyal toward her birth-nation, and she didn’t feel it now.
Anyway,
she added to herself,
I’m nobody. I’d never make a difference.

6

Living with Shadows

A
nd that was how Laela’s life in Malvern began.

She spent the first two days as she’d planned to—recovering from her journey. The Eyrie’s servants continued to look after her, bringing three solid meals every day and providing her with more new clothes and a bath whenever she asked for one. They were polite but distant with her—apparently interested in doing their jobs and nothing else—and brushed off her attempts at conversation. She saw nothing more of the King during that time, which at first made her feel relieved, but it didn’t take long for her to start feeling bored and lonely.

She didn’t know how much freedom she had in the Eyrie, so at first she stayed in her room and was careful not to stray any further than the corridor outside. But boredom quickly supplanted caution, and she decided that it wouldn’t hurt to wander around a little. With that vague plan in mind, she left her room on the third morning and set out.

She didn’t know exactly what she’d been expecting to find when she first left, but in any case, she was disappointed.

The tower’s interior looked like nothing but an endless corridor slowly spiralling downward, mostly because that was exactly what it was. Doors lined it at intervals, and every so often she came across an oversized, glassless window—obviously meant for griffins to enter by.

Before long, bored, she began tentatively exploring the rooms—poking her head through the doors that were open. Most of them led into griffiner lodgings, and some were occupied, but she managed to remain unnoticed. A few people did see her, but she avoided eye contact, and none of them paid her much attention.

Emboldened, and aware now that she was probably the only Southern-born woman able to see the interior of the greatest Northern stronghold in the world, she sped up, turned a corner, and walked straight into a very large griffin.

She halted, frozen in shock.

The griffin paused, too, one enormous forepaw still raised.

As Laela hesitated, a voice spoke in some harsh language, and a woman appeared, walking forward from the griffin’s side. She was middle-aged and one of her eyes was covered by a round leather patch. The other eye glared at Laela as she spoke again in that same language. It sounded like a command.

“I don’t understand,” said Laela, backing away.

The woman’s eye narrowed. “I said, get out of the way,” she snapped, using Cymrian this time. “Who are ye, anyway? What’re ye doin’ in here?”

Laela tried not to look at the griffin, which was hissing. “I’m, uh . . . Laela. I’m stayin’ here.”

The eye narrowed further. “Why would that be? Ye ain’t no griffiner.”

“I dunno,” Laela said honestly.

She had been going to say that the King himself had brought her here, but at that moment the griffin suddenly moved. It came close, brushing the one-eyed woman aside, and sniffed at Laela as the red griffin had done by her father’s grave.

Laela cringed away, ducking her head to protect herself. “Please, just let me go. I ain’t done nothin’. The King said—”

Without any warning, the griffin reared up violently, beak open. It made a horrible screeching, snarling sound, and at that Laela’s nerve broke, and she ran.

An almighty thud came from behind her, and as she ran she heard the rush of feathers and the thump of paws and knew that the griffin was chasing her.

Heart in her mouth, she put her head down and broke into a flat sprint. She had always been fast, and she managed to keep ahead of the griffin, but not far enough ahead to lose it or to duck through one of the doors. She could hear its talons tearing up the floor. And it was gaining on her.

Panic-stricken, she hurtled around another corner and straight into someone coming the other way. Her momentum bowled them both over, and she found herself sprawling on the floor on top of an unpleasantly bony shape. She lifted herself off, and found herself looking into the face of King Arenadd himself.

Laela screamed and rolled off him.

The King sat up, a little dazedly. “Ow. What the . . . ?”

The griffin had halted. Instinctively, Laela hid behind the King as he stood up.

He rubbed his head. “Laela, there you are. What in the gods’ names were you doing running around down here?”

The griffin hissed uncertainly but backed off when the King spoke to it in griffish.

A moment later, the woman appeared, huffing with the effort. She stopped when she saw the King, drawing herself up and eyeing him.

“Saeddryn.”

The woman stepped closer, gesturing at Laela and speaking rapidly in what she had to assume was the Northern tongue. He replied in the same language, and a brief, rapid conversation took place.

It ended when the woman backed away, wearing a look of complete disgust. She turned it on Laela. “Sometimes I have doubts about ye, Arenadd,” she said. “An’ ye—half-breed . . . if I were ye, I wouldn’t stay long. Ye may think ye’re different, but trust me—he’ll be the death of ye. Maybe not soon, but one day.”

That said, she turned on her heel and walked off. The griffin paused to stare balefully at Laela and followed with a swish of its tail.

Once they were gone, the King turned to Laela. “Oops.”

She cringed away from him. “Oh, gods, please, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean t’run into yeh like that, Sire, I . . .”

He smiled crookedly at her. “I’m sure I’ll live. What in the Night God’s name were you doing down here, anyway?”

“I dunno what happened,” Laela mumbled. “I was walkin’ along, like, an’ I met up with them two—that one-eyed hag an’ the griffin, an’ then the griffin just came at me, an’ I ran.”

Arenadd chuckled. “Yes, apparently he thought you were a spy. I told him you weren’t.”

“Who was that hag anyway, Sire?” said Laela, calming down.

Arenadd paused to smooth his hair. “The, uh, ‘one-eyed hag’ would be my cousin, Lady Saeddryn, the High Priestess of the Moon Temple here in Malvern.”

Laela blanched. “I . . . uh . . . I . . . didn’t know yeh had relatives, Sire . . .”

He chuckled again. “Not many, but Saeddryn and her family certainly count. Anyway . . . I was just going to lunch. Would you care to join me?”

Saying no after knocking him over felt like one rudeness too many, so she nodded.

Lunch turned out to be bread and cheese for Laela, and several cups of wine for the King.

“Aren’t yeh gonna have some, Sire?” Laela asked, as he was polishing off the third cup.

He put down his cup and refilled it. “I just need something to keep me going . . . I’m not hungry anyway.”

Watching him, Laela felt a sick, sad churning in her stomach. She pushed her plate toward him. “I’m done with this, Sire. If yeh want any.”

He stared at her, expressionless. His eyes were fathomless and had no brightness to them. Looking into them for a moment, Laela felt as if she were looking into an empty pit.

She did not look away.

Arenadd put his cup aside and picked up a piece of bread. “Thank you,” he said softly, and bit into it.

Laela couldn’t help but smile. “I reckoned yeh could do with some feedin’ up, Sire.”

He finished the bread. “Is that so?” He took another piece. “May as well have some more, then.”

She watched him eat. Gods, this was strange—too strange. To be here, with him, seeing him do something as normal as munch on a piece of rye bread. It didn’t have much to do with the cackling, blood-soaked lunatic of popular myth. But, then, popular myth had very little to do with real life.

“Sire?” she ventured. “I was wonderin’ . . .”

“Hmm?”

Laela stared at her lap. “I can’t help but wonder what yeh said to that lady—Saeddryn. Yeh don’t have t’tell me, Sire,” she added hastily.

The King shrugged. “I told her you were my new mistress.”

Laela choked. “
What?
I mean . . . what, Sire?”

He reached for another piece of bread. “I hope that didn’t offend you, but it felt like the simplest explanation. Why else would I have an attractive young woman staying with me?”

Why indeed,
Laela thought. “Uh . . . Sire . . . yeh don’t . . . want t’make it like . . . real, do yeh?”

He started. “What? No, Laela. I’ve had enough lovers over the years. I don’t need another one. But you do like staying here, don’t you?”

Laela scratched her ear. “I ain’t been here long, Sire, but I dunno where else I’d go. I ain’t got anyone who’d take care of me, an’ I ain’t got no money.”

Arenadd looked pleased. “Then I have an offer for you.”

“What is it, Sire?”

“Laela, would you like to live in the North forever?”

She looked him in the eye. “Yeah. I would, Sire.”

“Would you like to become a citizen of my Kingdom?”

Laela started. “Uh . . . what would I have t’do, Sire?”

“Oh, not much. You’d get everything every child of the North gets—you’ll be taught how to read and write, how to speak our language. And you’ll be taught about the Night God, of course. And once you were done with your education, you’d go through the womanhood ceremony in the Moon Temple.”

Outwardly, Laela was expressionless. Inside, she was thinking furiously.

Part of her was filled with fear and disgust.
Live here, forever? Worship the Night God—worship
darkness
? Let the Dark Lord be my ruler?

But another part—a secret part of her, the part filled with anger and bitterness, whispered a different kind of wisdom.
Do it,
it said.
Go along with it. You ain’t never had it so good as yeh do here, girl—see sense! He ain’t no Dark Lord—he’s just another man. He’s a drunk, obviously, an’ a nutter, too. He’s taken a likin’ to yeh for whatever reason—who cares why? He’s offerin’ yeh everythin’ yeh need . . . everythin’ yeh want. Who cares if yeh start worshippin’ the Night God? When did Gryphus ever answer any of yer prayers, anyway?

Very slowly, she nodded. “I’ll do it, Sire. If yeh want me to, I’ll live here an’ . . . be a darkwoman.”

She felt a secret thrill as she said those words.

Arenadd sat back. “I shall be proud to have you as one of my subjects, Laela.”

Laela smiled at him. “It’s nice t’be wanted, Sire.”

•   •   •

T
he next day, Laela was escorted to a large room in the tower, not too far from the spot where she had encountered Saeddryn. It was lined with bookshelves.

There was a young man waiting there for her.

Laela regarded him cautiously. “Hullo.”

The man stood up and smiled at her. “Ye’re Laela?”

“Yeah, I am. Who are yeh?”

The man was perhaps a little younger than her, his black hair cropped close to his skull. But he had a nice, easy smile. “I’d be Yorath, son of Yorath. Pleased t’meet ye, Laela.”

Laela smiled back at him. “Pleased t’meet you, too, Yorath Yorathson.”

Yorath grinned. “The King’s asked me t’be yer teacher in readin’ an’ writin’ an’ speakin’ our language. So if ye’d like t’sit down, we can get started.”

Laela sat down at a table with him. “I dunno if I can do it. I never studied other languages before, like, an’ I can’t even really read much in Cymrian.”

“Don’t worry, I can help ye,” said Yorath. “I’ve done this before. That’s why they asked me t’do it.”

“Really?” said Laela. “Who’d yeh teach before?”

“Children,” said Yorath. “I work in the Eyrie school. I help the teachers—one day, maybe I’ll be one of ’em. An’ I say, if five-year-old children can learn, so can ye!”

“I’ll do me best,” said Laela, liking him.

“I trust ye,” said Yorath. “Now then, let’s start with the basics . . .”

The first lesson began, and Laela paid careful attention as her new tutor showed her how to draw the sharp Northern runes, one by one. He started with just the first few, and made her copy them over and over again until she knew them by heart. After that, he taught her a few simple words in the Northern language—“The ‘dark tongue,’ some call it.”

Laela worked her hardest, and thanks to Yorath’s patience and good nature, it was easier than she had expected. She still felt like a child for not knowing it already, but her teacher didn’t criticise her, and she let herself relax.

“There!” he said, after a good chunk of time had passed. “Ye’re gettin’ the idea already.”

“They’re nice-lookin’, them runes,” said Laela, looking over the pages she had filled. “It’s sorta weird, though, t’think they can mean words.”

“It’s odd, yeah, when ye think about it,” Yorath conceded. “But it serves us well enough, eh?”

“I s’pose.”

“Well, it’s lunchtime now, an’ ye’ve probably done enough for one day,” said Yorath, sitting back. “Take some paper with ye an’ practise the runes I taught ye today. Tomorrow, ye can show me how well ye remember them.”

“I will,” said Laela. She paused. “How long d’yeh think it’ll take for me t’learn all this?”

“Hard to say,” said Yorath. “The basics shouldn’t take too long, but it’ll be years before ye’re really fluent in our language, an’ our writin’ . . . well, that’ll take a while, too.”

She sighed. “Yeh gotta start somewhere, I s’pose.”

“Ye’re not in a hurry t’go somewhere else, are ye?”

“Doubt it,” said Laela.

“There’s no hurry then, is there? Now, I’d better be goin’.”

He left the library, and she went, too, carrying her precious paper. She thought quickly of talking to him some more—finding some reason they could have lunch together—but he left before she could think of anything, and she went her own way, feeling very slightly depressed.

When she arrived at the dining hall, where she’d been told to go for lunch, she found Arenadd waiting for her.

“Sire.”

He got up from his seat and came toward her. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to stay too long. How did your first lesson go?”

“Good. I learned some runes. Some words, too.”

Arenadd nodded. “Good, good. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble learning. I came by here because I had some news for you.”

“What is it, Sire?”

“Your friend from the street,” said Arenadd. “You may remember him—his name is Aled.”

Laela tensed. “Yeah?”

“Last night my guards caught up with him. He’s been assaulting women all over the city, it seems. Last night, he made the mistake of trying it behind a tavern where someone saw him and called the guard. He’s in prison as we speak.”