The Shadowed Throne (28 page)

T
he fight for Warwick had lasted a long time. Half a day of fighting, in the streets and in the air, and in the tower itself. As the sun sank, a massive silence pressed down from the sky and filled the snow-covered city. The battle was over.

Above the buildings, a few griffins circled—very few. Most of the survivors were down in the city, wounded or too worn-out to fly. Every so often, a cry would break the silence, a death scream or a victory screech, but there were very few signs of celebration. Even the soldiers now picking through the city for any last resistance looked more tired than excited.

Up on the tower-top, Kaanee and Iorwerth stood together and watched. Both were wounded, and Kaanee's eyes were glazed with exhaustion.

“We've won,” Iorwerth murmured. “But ye know, Kaanee, I don't
feel
triumphant. Just tired and . . . tired.”

Kaanee said nothing.

“Why should I feel good about this, though?” Iorwerth said. “Those old battles were for a great cause. This was just a cruel joke.” He laughed humourlessly. “We fought for the right to rule ourselves, and now we're fighting each other. And for what? I tell ye, Kaanee, the Taranisäiis were a gift once, but now they're starting to feel like a curse.”

Kaanee blinked and shivered. “We are warriors, Iorwerth. We live to fight. You said that it was your way as a darkman to fight.”

“Yes, but against my own kind—!”

“Humans are your own kind,” Kaanee huffed. “Do not be like a female with chicks; you are male and must protect your territory.”

Iorwerth struggled briefly with the griffin's clumsy metaphor. “I suppose you're right.” He rubbed his wrist and sighed. “We should go and search the tower. If Saeddryn's still alive, then she'll be hiding there somewhere.”

“I saw Aenae in the city,” said Kaanee. “And I would have fought him if I had not been too far away.”

“Let's just hope they didn't get out of the city. I haven't had any reports, but it'd be hard to be sure . . .” Iorwerth limped down the opening and into the tower, where he had to climb over a dead griffin and three dead men. He muttered to himself as he pushed the bodies aside. What an ugly business war was.

He and Kaanee moved down the tower, hampered by corpses and other debris along the way. There were soldiers everywhere, ostensibly searching for survivors although most of them seemed to think they might find them in cupboards and jewellery boxes.

Iorwerth yelled at them to get back to work, rather half-heartedly. They'd go straight back to what they'd been doing the moment he was out of sight.

About halfway down the tower, a man came running to meet him. “Milord! Iorwerth!”

“What is it?”

The man was panting. “In the council chamber—ye should come see this, hurry.”

Iorwerth glanced at Kaanee and followed the man at a run.

His knees were trembling by the time they arrived. The soldier stopped at a broken doorway and gestured at him to go in.

Iorwerth entered, and pulled up short. “What the—?”

A life-sized stone griffin glowered down at him.

“Who put
that
there?” Iorwerth exclaimed. “I don't remember . . .” He trailed off.

Kaanee inspected the statue. “Human magic, to make a griffin from stone. I smell blood here, Iorwerth.”

Iorwerth said nothing and only walked away toward the bodies. Some of his followers were already there and had laid one of them out on a handy table. The other two were on the floor.

Iorwerth knew them both. “Arddryn. Rakek. What were they . . . ? Oh sweet shadows. I—”

“Sir?”

Iorwerth saw the soldier beckoning to him. “What?” he snapped. And then,
“No.”

Nerth lay on the table. His legs were bent at unnatural angles, and his head lay on its side.

Iorwerth touched the old man's hand. “Nerth. Not ye, too. What were ye doing here? Why didn't ye—?” He covered his eyes and groaned.

“Sir? Sir?
Sir!
”

Iorwerth finally realised that someone had been trying to get his attention. “What do ye want?”

The soldier who had called him over wrung her hands. “Sir, we want t'know what ye think we should do with him. I mean, he can't stay here . . . he needs a healer.”

Iorwerth stared. “What? He's—”

“His legs are broken, an' maybe his back, too,” the soldier said. “Takin' him outta here'd be a bad idea if ye ask me, sir. I dunno if there's a healer about.”

Alive! Iorwerth touched Nerth's neck, feeling for a pulse. It was there. “Don't move him, leave him here,” he rapped out. “Go find Lord Aeron, he's our healer. He should be in the tower somewhere.
Go!
”

They ran out.

Iorwerth knelt by Nerth's side and gave his hand a squeeze. “Don't worry, Nerth, we'll save ye. Yer going to make it.”

Nerth's lips moved, and he coughed and cried out.

Iorwerth put a hand on his forehead. “Lie still. It's going to be all right.”

“So ye say, Iorwerth,” Nerth croaked, without opening his eyes.

Iorwerth felt relieved. “Where does it hurt, can ye tell me?”

“Everywhere. They've done for me, boy, I'm all broke in pieces.”

“A healer's coming, don't be afraid.”

“I ain't scared, boy!” Nerth wheezed. “No need t'be scared. I was a faithful darkman all my life. It'll be the silver fields for me, with all my family what the Southerners killed.”

“I don't want to see ye go there yet, Nerth,” said Iorwerth.

“Ye won't, boy, ye won't. Sure I'll see ye there one day, though. When I'm gone, don't bury me here, understand?”

“Where do ye want to be?” Iorwerth asked.

“The Throne, Iorwerth, the Throne. It's where every darkman comes home, among those stones.”

“I know. I've always wanted to see them.”

“Now's yer chance.” Nerth gave a hacking laugh, and went quiet again.

Iorwerth glanced over his shoulder. “Where's Aeron, for gods' sakes?”

The soldiers still there looked uncomfortable. Kaanee had left.

Iorwerth looked at Nerth again and hated himself for what he had to do next. “I need to ask ye this, Nerth, and please just tell me. Where's Saeddryn? Did ye see her?”

Nerth's breath rattled in his chest. Very slowly and painfully, he said, “Ye won't find her here, Iorwerth. She's gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Gone where the Bastard's griffin sent her. Same place it's sendin' me.” Nerth winced. “I didn't know . . . no-one knew . . . still alive out there, waiting . . . came back, she did, that griffin. Came back for us. Killed me first, then Saeddryn's little girl. Then Aenae, then Saeddryn.”

The old man was rambling. “Listen,” said Iorwerth. “Can ye tell me where Saeddryn's body is? I'll take it back to Malvern and see it treated properly, I swear.”

Nerth's hand twitched, maybe trying to point. “Here. Door. Not far.”

Iorwerth left him and went to that spot. But there was no body. Only a huge bloodstain, splashed over the floor and onto that statue that stared at the open door and the trail that led through it.

S
enneck walked through the passageways under the tower, head up to scent the air. It was just as well that the space down here was so narrow for her; her wounded forepaw had stiffened, and if she hadn't had the walls to support her, she might have fallen. Her talons were caked with Saeddryn's blood, but she looked completely unflustered.

For her there was no sadness or regret, or dismay in the aftermath of the battle. Nor was there any particular sense of triumph. Saeddryn and Aenae were dead, and that goal was behind her. After the killing, she had taken Saeddryn's mutilated remains out of the tower and hidden them outside the city. No-one would steal her victory from her; the body would go back to Malvern with her. But first, she had one more thing to do in Warwick.

Find Kullervo.

If he was still alive, then he must be down here somewhere.

The prisons were very quiet—almost deserted. Senneck came across one or two humans, but they all ran from her. She found bodies, too, but nobody tried to stop her. She moved on without much caution; it was far too close down here for there to be another griffin about, and that was the only sort of opponent she was truly frightened of.

In the end, though, it wasn't a griffin or a human that defeated her. She kept on for as far as she could, until she reached a door. It hung partly open, but the frame around it made the passage narrower—just narrow enough that she couldn't fit through. She struggled mightily to get past it, but her wings caught and one wedged itself into a gap and wouldn't come out.

She backed up, scrabbling at the floor, and screeched when her trapped wing caught. For a few awful moments, she thought she wouldn't be able to free it, but when she flexed the joint it just managed to fit.

Senneck lay down, trembling slightly. No way through, no way around. In this place, even turning around would be a struggle. But she would not leave without Kullervo.

She began to call his name as loudly as she could. It echoed off the stone walls and off into the gloomy corridors, and she called again, hoping that perhaps it might reach Kullervo wherever he was.

She kept calling for what felt like a long time, stopping occasionally to rest.

During one of those rests, she heard something coming from beyond the doorway. A voice?

“Kullervo!” she called again.

The sound again. Not a voice. She heard a dragging noise, something slapping faintly on stone.

“Kullervo?” she stood up quietly, readying herself for a fight.

“. . . Senneck?” Kullervo's voice.

“Yes,” Senneck said. “It is Senneck. Come to me, quickly. I must take you out of here.”

The dragging sound again, and there he was, staggering toward her in his human form. He was thin and hurt, wearing clothes that didn't fit, but when he saw Senneck, he showed his old grin. Most of his teeth were broken or missing.

“Come!” Senneck said again. “Warwick has fallen, and the traitor is dead. Now you and I must return to Malvern and claim our reward.”

Kullervo didn't seem to hear her. He came straight to her, dropping the sword he had, and put his arms around her neck. “Senneck,” he said, mumbling a little through his shattered teeth. “I'm so happy you're here.” He pressed his face into her feathers.

Senneck didn't move. “They have hurt you.”

After a long pause, Kullervo lifted his head away from her. “I'll get better in a while. Just look at me, Senneck, they found a way to make me even uglier. Eheheheh.” He cackled pathetically.

Senneck rubbed her head against his swollen cheek. “I do not care how you look, Kullervo. I am only glad that you are alive. Come, now. Follow me, and we will leave this dead place and rest a while before we go back to our home.”

“Home,” Kullervo murmured. “That's Malvern, isn't it?”

“Yes. Come now.”

Senneck backed away along the corridor until it widened into a room, and she managed to turn around. Kullervo followed close behind. He moved clumsily, as if he had hurt his back or legs, but something in him held up, and he kept going without complaint.

Senneck kept on, looking back every so often to check on him. When they were out of the underground, and there was room, she stopped and lay down.

Kullervo joined her, blinking in the light. “You're hurt! Your paw—are you going to be all right?”

“I have been fighting, but I am well,” said Senneck. “You are much weaker. Climb on my back, and I shall carry you.”

Moving slowly and hesitantly, Kullervo sat on her shoulders, just between her neck and wings, the way he had seen griffiners do. She didn't have a harness on, of course, so he held on to her neck the best he could.

Senneck stood up with a lurch, and moved on.

Riding on her back while she walked was uncomfortable. With every step her shoulder-blades jabbed upward into his legs, and the motion made him rock alarmingly from side to side. Her limping made it worse. But Kullervo hardly cared. She was warm beneath him, and her feathers were soft, and the familiar scent and sight of her filled him with relief and a sense of joy that surprised him. All he wanted to do was talk to her, to try to express just how glad he was to be with her again, but he said nothing. It wouldn't mean anything to her. He held on to his happiness all the same, nursing it like a child with a doll.

Senneck didn't walk very far. She kept on until she reached the first level of the griffiner quarters, then stopped at the nearest opening in the wall. “I am going to fly now,” she told her passenger. “Hold on and do not panic.”

“I'm not afraid of flying.” Kullervo laughed. “Go!”

Senneck launched herself into the air with ease, and soared up over Warwick. On her back, Kullervo let go of her neck and held his arms out like wings, and let out a call.

“Kulleeeervooooo!”
It sounded more like a whoop than the challenge it should have been, but it excited Senneck, too. Without thinking, she flew in a wide circle and did something she hadn't done in far too many long years.

“Senneck! Senneck!”

Kullervo laughed wildly and called his own name again, until it rose and mingled with hers. For him, it was a declaration of freedom. For her, it was something much more. After such a long time, she was back at last, and all the North should know it. She had had her revenge at last. She put all of that into her call, and gloried in it.

Kullervo jerked alarmingly on her back, and quickly took hold of her neck again. She stopped calling when she felt his talons dig into her and flew away out of Warwick.

A little way away, outside the walls, she landed in a snowy clearing. Her wounded forepaw bent sideways, and she staggered to a halt against a tree, hissing.