The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy) (56 page)

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Authors: K. J. Taylor

BOOK: The Griffin's War (Fallen Moon Trilogy)
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But only for an instant.
As they rose in a great untidy flock, now utterly disorganised, something huge and dark and horrible appeared directly above them.
Skandar hovered in place for a moment, his body strangely rigid. Then his beak opened, and light came forth. Black light.
It shot straight downward, spreading out in a great cloud when it hit the enemy griffins. It did not seem to do anything to them; in fact, it looked as if it was simply passing straight through them as it made its way down to the tower-top, touching every single one.
Skandar kept his beak wide open, belching his magic forth in an endless wave, apparently completely unaffected by all the energy he was expending. But on his back, Arenadd could feel the griffin trembling.
After a moment that felt as if it lasted an eternity, Skandar’s beak snapped shut and the light vanished.
Moments later, they began to fall.
Every single griffin the light had touched dropped out of the sky, limp and unresisting. Dozens of them, all at once, falling like rain, not one of them trying to stop themselves. All of them stone dead.
Here and there the odd griffin who had escaped by pure luck flew away from the tower at full speed, panic-stricken. The unpartnered chased them and killed most of them, but one or two managed to evade their talons and escaped from the city.
In the eerie silence that followed, Skandar descended slowly back toward the tower. He was sluggish in the air, as if he was drunk—or exhausted to the point of near-death. He landed clumsily, stumbling a short distance before he collapsed in a swoon.
Arenadd was thrown from his back, but landed on the body of a dead griffin and picked himself up unharmed.
He paused to dust himself down, and hurried to Skandar’s side, checking for a pulse. It was there, though abnormally slow, and Arenadd sighed in relief. He would be all right by the time he woke up. And there would be plenty of meat ready for him when he did.
Arenadd gently pulled his partner’s limp wings onto his back, folding them neatly, and smoothed down his feathers. “Rest now,” he murmured, as Skandar stirred. “You’ve earnt it.”
He looked up, and felt a dull shock when he saw how empty the sky looked.
There were no enemy griffins left—only the unpartnered, circling slowly overhead. The battle was over, and they had survived. Just.
33
 
Waiting
 
T
he day when Erian finally left the Island of the Sun was an emotional one for him, and more painful than he had expected. It had taken him another two weeks, with Senneck’s help, first to find a safe and easy way for her to tow
The Pride of Gryphus
from the air, and second to reinforce the entire craft and add even more plant fibres between the planks. He still had a suspicion that it might leak once they were out on the open water, but he had a pair of crude buckets he had made during his stay on the island.
He had also packed the tiny craft with food, the goatskin blanket he had made, and meat for Rannagon and his sister. Senneck was ready to leave. Everything was done.
Erian walked through the ruined village that had been his home for so long, suddenly unable to reconcile himself with the idea that he would, in all likelihood, never see it again.
It gave him a strange feeling: partly sadness, but also an odd sense of fear, as if in leaving the island he would also be leaving something else.
Home
.
No. More than home. Sanctuary. The Island of the Sun had been a haven for him ever since he and Senneck had nearly killed themselves to reach it. And even though he had thought he would go mad from loneliness and his longing to see Elkin again, he had finally accepted it as a new home.
He wandered into his old hut and ran his fingers over the walls, which he had carved with patterns and sunwheels during an idle moment.
I love this place,
he thought suddenly.
It feels more like home than my rooms at Malvern. How can I leave it?
But he knew he had to. With a heavy heart, he turned and walked away, out of the village and back to the beach, where Senneck was waiting with the chicks.
“Are you ready?” the brown griffin asked tersely.
Erian nodded. “Let’s go.”
He lifted the chicks into the boat, and pushed it down the sand and into the waters of the lagoon before they could climb out. Once he was ankle-deep in water, he got in with them and sat down on the folded blanket.
Senneck, still on the beach, picked up the thick piece of wood Erian had tied to the end of the rope. “Are you certain that you are ready?” she asked. “Is there nothing more to be done . . . nothing you have forgotten?”
Erian grabbed Rannagon to stop him leaping over the side. “Yes, Senneck. Food, water, blanket, sword and chicks—everything. It’s time to go.”
She clicked her beak and took off, hampered a little by the rope trailing behind her. They had practised this many times, but Erian still braced himself nervously.
Once Senneck was well into the sky, the rope went taut, and a moment later they were off. Erian, still restraining the chicks, felt a sudden thrill as
The Pride of Gryphus
skimmed through the lagoon and then out into the open sea.
The chicks, too, seemed excited. Rannagon, escaping from his guardian’s grasp, scampered to the front of the boat and looked out at the water, cooing to himself.
Erian, deciding it was safe to do so, let the female go and watched her explore the boat with her brother. The chicks were both the sizes of dogs by now, and difficult to restrain, and Erian hoped they wouldn’t try to leap overboard. Fortunately, neither of them looked inclined to do so at the moment, and he relaxed and sat back while the boat sped on.
But he was out of luck if he expected the journey to be easy. The boat began to take on water when they were barely away from the island, and though he ignored it for as long as he could, it quickly rose until it was lapping around his feet. Sighing, he picked up a bucket and began to bail.
And that was what he spent most of the journey back to the mainland doing, in between keeping an eye on the chicks and making sure they didn’t eat all the food.
Eventually, bored and irritated, he started to talk to himself again, a habit he would never lose for the rest of his life.
“. . . cursed thing, useless boat, why didn’t I take any extra palm fibres with me? Damn you, Senneck, why did you have to have chicks? I should have thought of this months ago, so we could go back to Malvern and Elkin . . . Gryphus curse it . . . ”
The chicks were lively at first, running back and forth along the length of the boat, wrestling with each other and keeping up a high-pitched squabbling the entire time. Eventually, growing bored with that, they started to pick at the gaps in the planks, pulling out the waterproofing fibres. When Erian tried to put a stop to it, this instantly became their new favourite game. By midday he was wet, cut and bruised in several places, and utterly exhausted and frustrated.
Unfortunately, though this method of travel was safer than trying to ride on Senneck’s back, it was also slower. The island had faded to a dot on the horizon, but there was no sign of the mainland ahead, and the boat’s progress had slowed since they had set out, as Senneck began to pace herself.
Fortunately for the sake of Erian’s sanity, the chicks eventually became bored of their new pastime and curled up in the prow to sleep. Erian, now thoroughly frazzled, chewed on a dried mushroom while he stuffed the fibres back into place, and then he resumed his bailing as quickly as he could. Fortunately, though the leakage was bad, it wasn’t fast enough to overwhelm the boat.
Once it was as dry inside the little vessel as he could make it, he dared to sit back and rest. Gods, he was tired.
Above, Senneck continued to fly tirelessly westward. Not for the first time, Erian marvelled at her fortitude. He was tired, but Senneck probably was, too, and she would never complain.
He smiled to himself and slid into a doze.
Water touching his hand woke him up. He started and sat up, and was bailing again before his brain had even registered what was going on. The water had also woken up the chicks, who were huddled together in the prow and complaining loudly.
“It’s all right!” Erian told them, as he tossed a bucketful of water over the side. “You’re safe, just calm down . . . let me take care of this, and I’ll give you some food once I’ve finished . . . would you like that?”
Rannagon stared accusingly at him. “Wet! Wet!”
“Yes, I know. I’m wet, too!” said Erian. “It won’t kill you, all right? There.” He scooped up a last bucketful and tossed it away. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
The chicks did not look comforted.
“Want nest,” the female whined. “Want mother!”
“It’s all right,” Erian told her. “Look, up there! That’s your mother, there! She’s with us, see?”
The female did not look comforted. “Want home,” she said again.
Erian unwrapped the meat he had brought. “Here,” he said. “Eat. Your mother told me to make sure you didn’t starve.”
The chicks fell on the food the instant he gave it to them, tearing viciously at it. Erian, watching them, was suddenly struck by how savage they were when they ate and how easily their beaks cut through the crudely butchered goat meat. One day, they would be strong enough to cut through a human body just as easily.
Erian shivered.
Once the chicks had eaten, they came toward him, still demanding their mother. When Senneck failed to appear, Rannagon lay down with his head and foreclaws in Erian’s lap and stared miserably at him.
Erian stroked his head. “It’s all right, Rannagon. She hasn’t gone. She’ll be with you again by tonight, I’m sure.”
The female nibbled at his ragged trousers. “Tired,” she complained. “Wet. Want mother. Want home.”
Erian felt sad for her, suddenly remembering that he wasn’t the only one who had lost a home. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But you’ll find a new home. I’ll show you Malvern. There’s lots of other griffins there, and lots of nests to sleep in, and plenty of food . . .”
The female whimpered. She was smaller and slimmer than her brother, and unlike him she had something of Senneck’s elegance.
One day she’ll be as beautiful as her mother,
Erian thought fondly and petted her, too. She recoiled and nipped his finger, hissing.
Erian withdrew. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
The female showed no sign that she was listening. She walked to the prow and perched with her forepaws resting on the side, looking intently ahead.
Erian, following her line of sight, felt his heart leap.
The mainland!
It was barely visible—just a grey line on the horizon—but it was there. Unmistakeable.
“Look!” He touched Rannagon’s head. “Look there, Rannagon. D’you see it?”
The chick turned to look but didn’t register any surprise or interest; most likely he had no idea what the line actually was.
“That’s land,” Erian told him, wanting to share the excitement. “A new place. We’ll be there by tonight.”
Or so he hoped, anyway.
Inevitably, the boat began to leak again, and he resumed his bailing.
Despite his hardened muscles and the fortitude he had found on the island, the constant work finally began to wear him down. The sun beat down relentlessly, scorching his back; water soaked into his tunic and dried, leaving it crusted with salt. His hair stuck to his head, he was hungry and there were splinters in his fingers.
Erian’s excitement drained away, little by little, leaving him numbed by the endless repetition. Scoop, lift, tip, scoop, lift, tip . . .
The leaks were getting worse.
Erian risked taking a moment to unwrap some dried meat and stuff it into his mouth, and he resumed his bailing yet again while he ate it.
Gryphus help me, my arms are going to drop off—if I don’t drown first
.
Luckily, it wasn’t all doom and gloom. Above, Senneck had found an air current and was riding it, barely needing to flap her wings and so conserving valuable energy. The boat sped forward with her; unfortunately, this was why it was leaking more copiously than before.
Still, Erian thought, at least they would get there sooner . . . if they ever did.
The journey dragged on, always with the sun at their backs as the distant coast of Cymria came closer and closer. Eventually, as the afternoon drew in, Erian could see colours begin to emerge from out of the greyness. He leant forward eagerly to look, and as they crested another wave he was convinced he could see the shapes of cliffs and trees as well.
We’re going to make it!
He wanted to whoop aloud, but he forced himself to stay calm and keep on bailing.
Too early to celebrate
. . .
The land grew closer and closer, tantalisingly distinct now.
We’re going to make it . . .

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