Erian stumbled backward, raising his good hand to shield himself. “No!”
And then, the impossible happened. Arenadd ran through the doorway, and stopped. He staggered forward a few more steps, but came no further. Erian, staring in terror, saw him double over in pain. A soft groan came from him.
Erian backed off further, searching for a weapon, but he kept watching.
Arenadd looked up. His face had turned grey, the mouth stretched into a grimace. The one eye narrowed and he came on again, but there was no strength in him. He took every step as if it was a massive struggle.
Erian snatched an unlit torch off the wall and held it up like a club. “Don’t come near me!” His voice sounded high-pitched and strangled.
Arenadd didn’t look like a rampaging predator any more. His back was hunched, as if some huge weight pressed down on him. He looked like an old, sick man. “Come—back—here, you little rat,” he gritted out.
Erian’s courage rose. “Come and get me yourself, blackrobe!”
Arenadd let out a yell of frustration. Abruptly, he turned away and ran out, leaving Erian to collapse against the wall, overwhelmed by exhaustion and fright, thanking Gryphus for his strange salvation.
A
renadd stumbled out into the open, swearing. The pain still burned in him; he retched a few times, but there was nothing in his stomach to bring up. He leant on a post to try to catch his breath, looking back now at the building his enemy had escaped into. He didn’t really need to look. Only one thing could do this to him.
A shout made him turn back sharply.
The guards had found him. At least ten of them stood there in a line, armoured in leather. They carried swords and spears. And chains.
Arenadd straightened up. “Oh no.”
“Get him!” a voice yelled from behind him. “Kill him!”
Arenadd glanced back and saw the Bastard watching him from the doorway that had saved him.
The guards advanced. “Hold up yer hands,” one said. “Come quietly.”
Arenadd could feel the sweat running down his back. “No,” he said. “You won’t take me. Never again.”
He searched for a way to escape. But there was nothing. They had him surrounded. His new strength had gone. The chains . . .
An awful calm came over him.
Use the shadows,
the Night God’s voice whispered.
Use the shadows, Dark Lord
.
He stood tall, snarling defiance. “You’ll never catch me. Nobody will ever catch Arenadd Taranisäii again.” He turned quickly, edging along the wall. He could feel the shadows at its base, could almost smell them. They beckoned to him, promising safety. They were his now. Before he let them take him, he saw Erian one last time, appearing through the door to see him go. “Remember my face, Bastard!” Arenadd shouted to him. “It’s the last thing you’ll ever see.”
Then the shadows swallowed him.
4
Reunion
A
t first, it seemed ridiculous to think that the shadows could possibly hide him. But they did. Acting on instinct, he flattened himself to the ground, tucking himself into the dark patch by the base of the wall. The moment he did, a wonderful sense of strength and calm came over him. He looked up at the guards and saw them through a dark veil. They didn’t seem to be able to see him at all. He saw several of them staring straight at him, blank faced with confusion.
Snickering softly, he wriggled along through the shadow, turned a corner and ran silently off into the city.
After that, his escape was easy. Wall to wall, shadow to shadow, slipping past people, both Northerner and Southerner alike, unseen. Dark and terrible joy went with him. At last! He was free, and he was safe. They would never catch him now.
Mentally, he gave thanks and praise to the Night God. She had told him the truth. Accepting her had been so simple, and the rewards were already so great. If only he had seen it before. If only he had let her into his heart all those long months ago when his troubles had begun. But now he knew what her blessing could do, he vowed that he would never doubt her again. And he would never disobey. She was his master now, and he was glad.
As he passed through the market district, he took the opportunity to steal a knife from a butcher’s belt. The weapon felt good in his uninjured hand.
He reached the city’s outer wall and followed it, searching for a way out. The huge main gates were no use: they were closed and guarded. He paused by them, hidden in a shadow, and considered his options. There had to be other entrances, smaller side doors for emergencies. No doubt they would be guarded as well. But he could handle a few guards, surely. If they never saw him coming, they wouldn’t stand a chance.
Only one way to be sure. He continued on, all senses alert. Once a roaming guard wandered too close to his hiding spot. Without even thinking, Arenadd grabbed him from behind and slit his throat. The man fell with scarcely a sound.
Arenadd moved on before anybody even noticed the death. A short while later he found what he was after: a door set into the outer wall, watched by two alert guards.
He killed them both. The first one he struck from behind, reaching out of a shadow to slash his throat. When the other ran over to help his comrade, Arenadd pounced on him and finished him with a quick stab.
He stepped over the bodies and went to the door. It was locked, but he hadn’t spent years mixing with the seedier side of Eagleholm’s city life for nothing. He picked the lock with the point of the knife, lifted away the bar that held the door in place, kicked it open and ran through to freedom.
A
t the moment Erian saw Arenadd vanish, his terror finally bubbled over. He ran back and forth along the wall, searching in vain, and when he found nothing, he started to shout. “Where are you?
Where are you?
Come back here, you coward! Come back!”
The guards who had cornered Arenadd—or thought they had—were just as bewildered. They searched the wall in disarray, the most senior of them trying to give orders and failing because he didn’t have any more idea what to do than the others.
“Spread out!” he yelled eventually. “Search the area! Don’t let him get out of the city!”
Erian heard him through a kind of mist. The back of his neck prickled. The murderer could be anywhere.
Watching
.
Panicking, he darted back into the building that had seemed to protect him. Once inside he felt safer, and it finally occurred to him to wonder exactly what this place was.
Just beyond the entrance hall, the space opened up into a huge round room—a room full of pure sunlight. The air glittered golden, and threads of incense smoke twisted and glowed between vases full of fresh flowers.
A temple! Of course!
Erian stepped into the main room, and a new feeling of peace soothed his fears. Ahead he could see the stone altar, decorated with gold-inlaid griffins grouped around a sunwheel. At the centre of the wheel stood a carved man, bearded and crowned, with a long sword in his hand. That was how Gryphus was usually portrayed, but to Erian the great sun god had always looked like his father.
He knelt to the altar. “Thank you, Gryphus. Thank you for your protection.”
Sounds from behind him made him turn, groping for a sword that wasn’t there. But there was no danger. Senneck came charging into the temple, all flailing wings and lashing tail. “Erian!”
He ran to her. “Senneck!”
She covered him with her wing. “You are not hurt?”
“No, but listen, something awful’s happened! It’s—” Shouts interrupted him. Shouts, and running feet. He pulled away from Senneck, and there she was. Lady Elkin herself, coming into the temple with the Mighty Kraal close behind.
“Elkin!” Erian exclaimed.
The Eyrie Mistress’ reserve and control were utterly gone. She ran straight to him and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Erian, for Gryphus’ sake, are you hurt? Where did he go? What happened?”
Not caring about the consequences any more, he put his good arm around her and gave her a hug. “I’m all right. I—are you
crying
?”
Elkin pulled away from him and rubbed her eyes. “Never mind about that,” she said, with just the slightest quaver to her voice. “What happened?”
The Mighty Kraal appeared at that moment, looming over them both. “You must tell us at once,” he said.
All of Erian’s fear returned. “He came back.”
“What is this?” Senneck demanded. “Who came back?”
“
He
did,” Erian exclaimed. “The—the—
Arenadd
. He came back from the dead!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Elkin. “The execution was obviously botched.” She didn’t sound very certain.
“His heart,” Kraal interrupted. “Tell me at once, human, if he had a heartbeat.”
“No,” said Erian. “They checked. After the hanging was done they checked for a pulse. They checked
everything
. He was dead. I came to see, and . . .
and he got up
.”
“I don’t understand this,” said Elkin. “It makes no sense! Even if he survived the hanging, there is no way he could have—his neck should have been broken!”
“It
was
broken,” said Erian. “I heard it myself. I’m telling you, he was dead.”
“Then how?” said Elkin, turning to look at Kraal. “How could this happen?”
Kraal’s golden eyes looked dim. “Then I was right.
Kraeai kran ae
has come.”
“What foolery is this?” Senneck demanded. “
Kraeai kran ae
cannot be real.”
“What
is
that?” said Elkin. “What does it mean, Kraal?”
The massive white griffin regarded her for a moment, and walked away. He went to stand behind the altar, rising to rest his forepaws on the golden inlay. A shaft of sunlight shone across his face, making the pale feathers turn bright. “
Kraeai kran ae
is the living dead. A human whose life has run its course but who is brought back by magic.”
“Like a ghost?” said Erian.
“A ghost of flesh,” said Kraal. “Dark magic drives the blood through his veins. He has no soul. Ordinary weapons cannot kill him.”
“How could this happen?” said Senneck. “A human cannot have magic.”
“He is not human any more,” said Kraal. “And the magic is not his. Only one griffin could create it. A dark griffin.”
“Darkheart!”
Erian exclaimed. “Of course!”
“Tell me,” said Kraal, looking at him now. “How did this human come to meet this one—this dark heart?”
“Darkheart’s a wild griffin,” said Erian. “A man-eater from the Coppertops down south. The—the
blackrobe
caught him and brought him to Eagleholm and sold him to the Arena. After the blackrobe was locked up for his crimes, he escaped. Before he ran away, he set Darkheart free. Nobody knows why, but they became partners after that.”
Kraal made a booming noise deep in his chest. “There is no way to know when the human died. But Darkheart must have chosen him. In gratitude for his freedom, maybe. What did the human do once he had awoken?”
“He tried to kill me,” said Erian. “He chased me here. He kept saying horrible things about how he was going to catch me and kill me. He was so fast.”
“But he did not catch you,” said Senneck.
“He nearly did,” said Erian. “He caught me here. But when I went inside, somehow he couldn’t come in after me. It was strange—it looked like it was
hurting
him somehow. He kept trying, but he couldn’t do it. He gave up and ran out again. And then he just disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” said Elkin. “You mean hid somewhere?”
“No, I mean he
disappeared
,” said Erian. “Vanished. I saw it happen. He stepped into a shadow, and then he was just . . . gone.”
“Then that is all I need to know,” said Kraal, with finality. “He fears holy places and uses the shadows to hide. He is
Kraeai kran ae
.”
Silence fell. Even Senneck looked as if she didn’t know what to say.
“What do we do?” said Erian. “How can we stop him?”
“It is simple,” said Senneck. “If he is driven by magic, then magic is what we will need.”
“But what kind?” said Elkin. “Kraal, do you know?”
The massive griffin looked away for a time, apparently thinking. “There is only one thing I know that we can do. Erian, listen closely to me.”
Erian glanced at the others. “I’m listening, Mighty Kraal.”
Kraal brought his head down close to his three listeners, but his eyes were on Erian’s face and nothing else. “Out to sea off the eastern coast of Cymria, there is an island. No human or griffin lives there. It is called the Island of the Sun. Many long years ago, one of your race found enlightenment on that island. It is where our civilisation truly began. You must go to that island. If there is an answer, it waits for you there.”