“I am fine,” said Skade. “Arenadd—”
Annir was already rushing toward them. “Arren!
Arren!
”
“Mum!” Arenadd grabbed her and kissed her on both cheeks. “Thank gods, thank gods, thank gods. I thought I’d never see you again! And this—” He touched the collar. “Damn them. You’ll get it off, though, don’t worry. Skade knows how to take them off, don’t you, Skade?”
“Yes—”
Annir grabbed her son’s arm. “Arren, you have to get out of here,” she said. “For gods’ sakes, run! They’re here—guards, a griffiner—”
He pulled away gently. “I know. I was expecting them. Don’t worry; it’s fine. It’s all been arranged.”
“But—”
Arenadd looked past her and raised a hand in greeting. “Good afternoon!”
It was Erian he was waving to. The boy had entered the clearing and was coming toward them, Senneck close beside him.
“Arenadd, what’s going on?” Saeddryn demanded. “Why are ye here?”
He looked back at her. “Exchange of prisoners.”
“Exchange of—?”
Arenadd walked toward Erian. “Hello, Bastard. I take it you got my message.”
Erian stopped to look at him. “Arren.” His face was twitching with hatred.
Arenadd grinned widely. “What’s the matter? Is your arm hurting?” Without any warning, he started to laugh. “I think it must be! Arrows hurt!”
“I’ve kept my part of the bargain,” said Erian. “Now give me what you promised, murderer.”
“Oh, you’ll get it!” said Arenadd. His voice was high and manic. “You’ve got it! All of it! Everything you need!” He giggled. “See?” He reached over his shoulder. “See here? See? I’ve got a present for you!”
The sword gleamed as he pulled it out of its sheath on his back. Erian and Senneck both tensed, but Arenadd didn’t try to use it. He held it out, blade pointing at the ground.
“Ever seen this before?” he said. “I have! It’s—” He giggled again. “It’s your father’s sword. I took it from him after—” He stopped again, laughing so hard he was bent double and nearly staggered over. “After I killed him! Hahahah! Because I killed him! Yes, that’s right! And you saw me! Did you see the blood, Bastard? Wasn’t it pretty?”
Skade stepped toward him. “Arenadd!”
Arenadd turned sharply. “Back off!” he yelled. “Keep away from me, slut, or I’ll kill you, too!”
Saeddryn grabbed Skade by the shoulder and dragged her away. “Keep away from him.”
Skade didn’t hear her. She had seen Arenadd’s eyes. They were wide and staring, full of a light she had never seen before, not even during his worst moments.
Arenadd paid no further attention to her. He turned back to Erian and threw down the sword. “There! Take it! I don’t need it any more; I can kill people with just my hands. D’you want to see? I’ll show you!”
Senneck started forward. “Enough! Where is your partner? Where is Darkheart?”
Arenadd stared at her for a moment, and then started to laugh again. He laughed so hard he couldn’t speak, and everyone there stared at him, either angry or bewildered.
“Answer me!” Senneck screeched.
“He’s—” Arenadd breathed deeply and managed to control himself. “He’s dead!” he yelled at last, and broke into a fresh wave of mad giggling. “You wanna know why? Because I killed him! One griffin, two griffins, what’s the difference? I wanted to see him die, so I waited until he was asleep, and then I cut his throat.” Another giggle. “You should’ve seen the blood, Bastard, it was beautiful, like rubies. I drank some of it—oh, it tasted so good!” He gestured at Senneck. “You should kill her, see what it’s like! You’ll never want to stop. It’s better than wine.”
Senneck looked skyward. “I saw no griffin in the sky,” she said to Erian. “I think he is telling the truth. And I cannot smell anyone else in the trees. He is alone.”
“
Are
you alone?” said Erian.
“Oh yes!” said Arenadd.
Skade finally shook herself free of Saeddryn and ran forward. She grabbed Arenadd by the arm and dragged him sideways. “Arenadd! Stop it!
Stop it!
”
Arenadd snarled and grabbed her by the throat. “I said keep away from me!” He dragged her toward him, squeezing tightly with both hands. But he didn’t squeeze so tightly that she couldn’t breathe. He turned slightly, so that his back was to Erian, and looked her in the face. “Run, Skade,” he said, his voice low and suddenly normal. “You can’t help me. Get them out of here.” He let go abruptly and shoved her aside, so that she staggered and fell.
In the trees to his left, one guard raised his crossbow. Arenadd saw him and waved wildly at him. “You shouldn’t do that!” he said, his voice mad once again. “If I die, you don’t get the rest of what I promised!” He stepped closer to Erian. “Which is everything! I can tell you everything. I know where the rebels are, I can tell you where to find them and I can tell you who their leader is. Everything.”
“No!” Saeddryn screamed. “Arenadd, don’t!”
But Arenadd only laughed. “The leader’s a griffiner! A rogue griffiner, that’s right!” he cackled.
“That’s enough,” Erian snapped. “Come here or the guards will shoot.”
Arenadd nodded and began to walk toward him, holding out his hands. “See? See? I’m not going to fight. Just like I promised. You let them go, you get me and everything I know. See?”
Erian approached him cautiously, holding a pair of manacles in his good hand. Arenadd came to him and stood there placidly, holding out his arms. He put up no resistance at all when Erian snapped one manacle shut around his wrist, and stood there as he opened the second and brought it down to close around the other.
And then, in the instant before the manacle snapped home, he made his move. His hand jerked sideways so the manacle closed around nothing. His knee came up, catching Erian hard in the groin, and as he fell, Arenadd rammed into him, knocking him over. His free hand came up, holding a long dagger, and he brought it down, point first, straight at Erian’s throat.
He wasn’t fast enough. Senneck leapt. Her beak lashed out, catching him hard on the wrist and sending the dagger flying. But Arenadd wasn’t done yet. Heedless of the guards running out of the trees, he lurched forward and wrapped his fingers around Erian’s throat, squeezing as hard as he could.
Moments later the guards were on him. They grabbed him by the arms and shoulders, trying to pry his hands away, but he held on grimly, teeth bared, snarling and berserk. Erian’s face began to turn blue, and his mouth gaped wide as he gasped for breath.
Finally, a guard hit Arenadd hard in the face and he reeled backward. His hands relaxed their grip, and Erian struggled free. The guards dragged him away and threw him down, shackling his wrists together behind his back.
Arenadd, lying on his front, looked straight at Skade. “Skade!” he yelled. “I have to tell you something!
Skade!
”
The guards grabbed his legs, intending to chain his ankles as well. He rolled onto his back and began to kick out at them, knocking several over before they closed in and began to hit him, aiming for his gut and groin.
Skade screamed and tried to run to him, but Saeddryn grabbed her. “No! There’s nothin’ ye can do!”
Skade struggled. “No! Arenadd! Let him go! Let him go!
Arenadd!
”
Arenadd was still struggling. “Skade!” he yelled back, his voice broken up by cries of pain. “Listen!
Skade!
” They finally managed to subdue him and chained his legs together. “Skade!” he shouted, as they hauled him to his feet. “I have a heart! I have a heart! Take care of it! Please, Skade!”
Skade broke free of Saeddryn and ran, but Rhodri and another Northerner stopped her, and the three of them pulled her away; she fought at every step, screaming Arenadd’s name. But Saeddryn had been right. There was nothing she could do. They had him now, and they would not let him go. This was the way it had to be.
Saeddryn took charge now. The other Northerners followed her command and ran away through the trees as fast as they could, and Skade went with them, tears streaming down her face. No-one tried to go after them. The Southerners had kept their word.
Arenadd, hanging from the grip of the guards, saw them go and felt some relief shine through the haze of pain that had taken hold of his mind and body. They were free, all of them. He had kept his promise.
His moment of triumph didn’t last long. He kept his gaze on the fleeing prisoners for as long as he could, but his view of them was blocked by two pairs of eyes. Blue eyes, one pair griffish, one pair human, both staring at him with utter hatred and contempt.
This time, Erian didn’t glance at Senneck for approval. He stepped forward and grabbed his enemy by the hair, lifting his head and forcing him to look him in the eye. “Arren Cardockson, I have you now.”
36
The Seed
“K
raeiai kra, ae ee oa ae ka ee,”
said Kraeya, forming every syllable slowly and carefully.
Bran cleared his throat. “Uh,
kraeiai kra ae ee oh … ka ei?
”
Kraeya chirped at him.
“Ee ae!”
Bran sighed and kicked a chunk of wood out of his path. “I know, I know. I’m tryin’. I’m a slow learner.”
“Try again,” said Kraeya.
Bran nodded. “Sure.”
She repeated the sentence for him. This time he was closer to the mark, but they had to do it several more times before the red griffin was satisfied.
The two of them walked along Tongue Street side by side, enjoying a few moments’ relative peace, and time alone together. It had been a long while since they had had much of either.
After the destruction of the Eyrie, matters in the once-proud griffiner city had rapidly gone downhill. More than half the griffiners had left, never to return, and the hatchery had been all but emptied. Its occupants had flown the coop, some choosing humans to take with them and others going alone. Only a handful—the sick, the crippled and the very old or young—were left, still looked after by Roland and Keth.
The remaining griffiners had been joined by young, ambitious fighting men and women who had come from Canran, Wylam and Withypool, all after their share of the pickings. As far as Bran knew, almost half of Eagleholm’s lands were gone now, taken over by its neighbours on both sides. As for the rest, it was still running, though without an Eyrie Master or Mistress the structure was quickly falling apart. Not that there weren’t plenty of candidates trying to take that particular honour for themselves.
Since Lady Riona’s death there had been six different Eyrie Masters or Mistresses. Few had lasted more than several weeks and at least two of them had claimed the position at the same time. Both newcomers and Eagleholmian griffiners had fought each other for the post, but with loyalties constantly shifting and nobody holding enough support to last long before being assassinated, it was little better than a farce. More than once, the fighting had spread into the city and the population at large had joined in. Entire blocks of houses and public buildings had burned down, and on the last occasion the fire had taken a large chunk of the platform with it. With the old Master of Building dead and no-one there to appoint a replacement, almost nothing had been done to repair the damage, and these areas were now home to dozens of scavengers. Little by little, piece by piece, the city was tearing itself to bits.
Bran had kept well out of it. Having not sworn loyalty to Lady Riona—or to anyone else for that matter—he was free to choose whatever side he liked, and had chosen none of them. He had continued to fulfil his duties as captain of the city guard as well as he could; with the Master of Law dead he had to sentence most of the criminals he arrested himself. Several of the temporary Eyrie Masters had tried to win his support, but he had avoided them or made excuses, secure in the knowledge that they wouldn’t last long enough to make much trouble for him. Few did.
In the meantime, he continued to try to learn griffish as well as he could, and to get used to Kraeya’s constant companionship and how it had changed his life. The language was harder than he had expected, though.
“Good,” said Kraeya after his fourth attempt.
Bran tried it again, and grinned. “I got it.”
The street became rougher underfoot, and the two of them slowed. Bran put his hand on the hilt of his sword, and Kraeya raised her wings slightly. They had entered one of the burned patches near the centre of the city. Up ahead, the wreck of the Eyrie was silhouetted against the late afternoon sun. As they walked toward it, shapes lurched at them out of the ruins, holding their hands out and muttering.
“Sir, spare an oblong? Sir, please …”
“Just one, sir, please …”
“Spare an oblong, sir?”
Bran put his head down and ignored them, knowing that if he gave money to one of them the others would be encouraged and harass him until he threw them the entire contents of his money pouch. Kraeya walked with dignity, pretending not to see them, but hissed when they came too close. They backed off, but not as far as they might have done once. They were getting more desperate, and that made them bolder.