The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy) (18 page)

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Authors: K. J. Taylor

BOOK: The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy)
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Thwarted, Arenadd sat back. “Yes, but I’d like it if it felt, you know,
restful
,” he said bitterly. “Instead of being full of nightmares. Give me the damn jug, will you?”
When Skade didn’t, he stood up and grabbed it himself, and refilled his cup yet again.
“Being tortured once was bad enough,” he said, holding on to the table to steady himself and staring into the red depths of the wine. “Now I have to relive it every time I go to sleep. I’m tired of it, Skade. Tired, tired, tired. I want it out of my head, all of it. Instead of everything else that’s gone.”
Skade touched his arm. “Arenadd—”
He ignored her and downed the cup, too quickly for his own good. He retched. “Oh, yuck. I think I’m going to throw up.”
“Come,” said Skade. “We should go and check on Skandar now.”
Arenadd nodded vaguely and yawned. “All right.”
She helped him out of the hall as discreetly as she could, hoping he wouldn’t stumble too obviously. A few people waved or called out, and Arenadd grinned and waved back, which turned out to be a mistake; he promptly tottered sideways into the doorway, and Skade had to help him recover his balance. There were a few laughs, but fortunately most of the people in the hall were too busy eating or talking to notice.
Skade helped him out before anything else happened, and they headed upstairs.
Arenadd weaved slightly on the steps but managed to keep his balance. “Oooh, I’m going to regret this tomorrow,” he mumbled. “Didn’t realise how strong that stuff was.”
By the time they reached the door to Tynan’s chamber, he looked to have sobered up a little and managed to open it himself. It was dark inside, but there were still a few flames flickering in the fireplace.
“I’ll sort it out,” Arenadd said confidently. “I’ve got good night vision.”
He staggered over to a table and found a candlestick with a candle in it. He lit that from the fireplace and then went around the room, lighting the lamps.
“That’s better. Now . . .”
He stumbled off toward the archway, still carrying the candle. Skade, fearing he would set the straw on fire, hurried after him.
“Arenadd—”
He had stopped in the archway, and as she approached he turned to look at her with a wide smile. “Come and see this,” he said. “Be quiet, though.”
Skade came to his side, and he wordlessly held the candle out in front of him, casting light over the nest.
There was blood on the bedding. Retha’s body had been ripped limb from limb, and the entire chest and part of the haunches had been stripped to the bone. Tynan’s remains were nowhere to be seen. But neither of the two humans were particularly bothered by the carnage.
Skandar was curled up in the middle of it, close to Retha’s carcass. He was lying on his stomach now, with his legs folded beneath him and his head tucked under his wing. He had eaten so much that his flanks were bulging.
Arenadd grinned, his face ghostly in the gloom. “You old glutton,” he murmured.
Skade couldn’t help but smile, too. “He must have been hungry. It was kind of you to leave food for him.”
“Come on,” said Arenadd. “We’ll leave him to sleep.”
They returned to the bedchamber, and Arenadd put the candle down and took Skade in a crushing embrace.
“Yes, yes,
yes
!” he exalted. “We did it! We bloody did it! We won!”
Skade, returning the hug, couldn’t help but be the voice of caution. “You were lucky this time. Next time may be more difficult.”
Arenadd was too elated—and drunk—to care. “Let’s hope so. Skandar wants to fight next time. And he will. We’ll fight side by side at last, and
that’ll
be something to remember! I just wish I could still use a sword.” He kissed her on the lips. “Never had the training back at Eagleholm. I was meant to be an administrator, not a warrior. But”—he kissed her again—“I have other skills, don’t I?”
She kissed him back. “No sword can kill you, Arenadd.”
“No arrows, either,” he agreed. “But magic, maybe.”
They kissed again. This time, it lasted longer.
“Magic cannot kill you, either,” Skade said afterward. “You have come through every kind of danger and lived.”
Arenadd laughed and nuzzled the nape of her neck. “No. Not lived, Skade. Not
lived
.”
She pressed herself against him, tangling her fingers in his hair the way he liked her to. “Well, it is living to me,” she murmured. “You do not look dead, or feel dead.”
He didn’t hear her, but kissed her again and ran his hands down her body. “Gods,” he almost whispered. “I need you, Skade. I need you so badly. I need to be loved. I feel so empty sometimes, but you make it go away. You make me feel like I still have a heart, somewhere . . .”
She unfastened the front of his robe and reached inside, touching the bare skin of his back, feeling the marks of the lash there. “You have a heart,” she said.
Arenadd could feel himself trembling. “Yes. And it’s all yours, Skade. Protect it, and I’ll protect you.”
“I shall.”
He kissed her, harder this time. “If I can’t stop you from fighting, then promise me this.”
She drew back and looked him in the eyes. “Yes?”
He put his arms around her, holding her close. “Stay by me,” he said fiercely. “Stay behind me. Let me protect you; keep me between you and danger. Let me be a shield.”
“A shield does not feel pain,” said Skade.
“I don’t care. I don’t care. Stay behind me. Promise me you’ll do that, Skade.”
“I . . .”
“Promise,” he said fiercely.
“I shall,” she said.
Locked together, they staggered and fell onto the bed. They lay there, still clinging to each other, and laughed.
Arenadd found Skade’s arm. “Is this mine?” He tugged it. “Wait . . . no, that one’s yours.”
Skade grabbed on to one of his. “This one is yours, silly.” “Ow. Yes, definitely . . . whose leg is this? Wait, that one’s mine, too. The boot’s a dead giveaway . . . the sole’s coming off.” He pulled the boot off and tossed it aside.
“I think this leg is yours as well,” said Skade, tapping the other one on the knee.
“Yes, definitely.” He took the other boot off and turned it upside down, tipping out a handful of dirt. “Urgh, I had no idea that was in there.” He threw it away. “Now then . . .” He pretended to notice Skade’s own footwear for the first time, and did an exaggerated double take. “Hey! Take those off—d’you want to get dirt on the sheets?”
Skade pulled them off and put them aside. “Oh, I am sure someone will clean them for us.”
Arenadd tickled her toes. “Now, these toes are definitely yours.”
She giggled. “How can you tell?”
“Well . . .” He tapped them one after the other, as if counting them. “For one thing, mine are longer. And for another, they’re hairier. And they’re more flexible, too. See?” He flexed his own toes. “They match my fingers. And for
another
thing,
my
toes don’t have nails like
these
on them.” He tugged at one of Skade’s toenails, which were in fact not toenails at all but curved black claws. “By gods, I’d hate to be kicked by
you
with your shoes off.”
“Why, because of the scratches?” she said.
“No, the smell.”
She kicked him. “Smell! If you had
my
sense of smell, you would know how terrible
you
smell.”
Arenadd put on an exaggeratedly sinister leer and waggled his fingers at her. “Why, do I smell like
blood
?”
“No, like sweat,” she said, and pushed him off the bed.
He hit the floor with a thud, and waved an arm over the edge of the bed. “All right! I surrender!”
Skade leant over and pulled him back up. “Fine, come back up, then, but if you insult my toes again . . .”
Arenadd climbed up beside her. “No, the toes are safe. Trust me. But this ugly dress, on the other hand . . .”
Skade prodded him. “Indeed, I cannot for the life of me understand why you are still wearing it.”
Arenadd pouted. “Well, fine. I’ll let you see the ugly skin underneath, then.”
She helped him struggle out of the robe, and he dropped it on the floor.
“See?” he said. “Now I bet you’re sorry.”
She leant forward and touched his chest, smooth and white with a scattering of coarse black hair where it wasn’t broken up by scars and the tattoos that covered his shoulder.
“I would like you better if you had more feathers there,” she said.
“I’ll try to grow some. Promise.”
“What colour?” she asked seriously.
Arenadd grinned. “Black, to match my eyes.”
She fingered the little patch of hair around his belly button. “Ah, but you already have fur. Although not much of it.”
“I bet I have more than
you
do,” said Arenadd.
He helped her struggle out of her dress. Once she was naked, he examined her chest.
“Nope, no fur here,” he said. He felt her breast. “None here, either. Wait . . .” He reached into her armpit and found the patch of hair there. “Ah-ha! There we go. So that’s where you were hiding it!”
Skade laughed. “You talk far too much,” she said, and pounced on him.
Arenadd let her pin him down. “Actually—”
She silenced him with her lips.
12
 
The War Begins
 
E
rian and Senneck left Gwernyfed so early the sun had barely begun to rise. It meant they avoided the villagers, but doing so created a lump of unease in Erian’s stomach that stayed there for much of that day’s travelling. He tried to ignore it, but it wouldn’t leave him alone. He felt like a thief stealing away in the dead of night.
I didn’t do anything wrong,
he told himself dozens of times, but the feeling refused to be convinced and continued to nag at him until later that morning, when Senneck stopped to rest, touching down in a snowy field.
She curled up, apparently unbothered by the snow, yawned and rested her head on her talons. “Loosen up your legs,” she advised briefly. “I will not stop again soon.”
Erian drew his sword and walked back and forth, making experimental slashes at the air while he limbered up. “D’you think we’ll get to another village tonight?”
Senneck yawned again. “Unlikely. We shall probably have to camp.”
Erian stabbed the sword at nothing. “Good,” he said, almost angrily. “I’d rather freeze than entrust myself to those people again.”
“I doubt we will encounter the same people in the next village,” Senneck said acidly.
“You know what I mean.” Erian paced back and forth more rapidly. “By Gryphus, they harbour a criminal and then treat us as if
we
were the ones who’d committed a crime.” He put on a high-pitched whine. “‘What’ve ye done with our son, ye bastard, ye’ve killed him, haven’t ye?’ Hah!” He made another slash with the sword. “I’d have liked to take the brat’s head off. If that sister of his hadn’t seen us follow him . . .” The memory of the distraught faces of the miller and his wife rose up, and Erian struck at the air again, more violently. “It wasn’t my cursed fault,” he muttered. “I didn’t kill him, just scared him a bit . . . if he couldn’t find his way back, then that’s his fault. Anyway, they’ll find him on their own—how far could he have gone? The stupid little—”
Senneck sighed. “Erian, stop that at once.”
Erian glared at her. “I’m just tired, all right?”
“
Rest
, then,” said Senneck. “Or at the very least allow me to.”
“Fine.” He stalked off.
Erian found a half-rotted stump at the edge of the field and spent a good while hacking pieces off it, which helped to soothe his temper. When he had calmed down he wandered back to Senneck and found her busy grooming her wings.
“I am nearly ready,” she said.
Erian nodded and stood by until she crouched low to let him get on her back.
They travelled on for the rest of that day without incident, stopping a few more times to rest, before making camp shortly before sundown. Erian built a crude lean-to and got a fire going while Senneck flew off to hunt. She returned after dark with the carcass of a wild goat and allowed him to take one of the animal’s hind legs to cook while she ate the rest herself.
Erian cut up the meat and spitted it over the fire. While he waited for it to cook, he sat back and ate a dried apple.
“Senneck,” he said, once she had finished eating and settled down to gnaw on the bones.
She flicked her tail briefly to acknowledge him, and he plunged on. “I was thinking . . . well, wondering . . . could you tell me more about this place we’re going to? I mean, is it dangerous?”

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