The Shadowed Throne (37 page)

Saeddryn gave her a deathly look. “Senneck is the one who killed Arddryn. An' Rakek, an' Aenae as well. All in the same day. She's a survivor, an' all she cares about is revenge. That makes her deadly. Now.” She glanced at Caedmon. “That's all I know. Now ye must talk it over, an' decide what to do.” With that, she stepped off the platform and returned to her seat, leaving Caedmon to take over.

He retook his place, hiding his utter astonishment, and did his best to take the initiative. “Er . . . ahem. Yes. As you've heard, things are bad. With Iorwerth on the half-breed's side, the unpartnered will also be on—”

“With
Kaanee
, the unpartnered will be against us,” Shar interrupted. “They have not forgotten that it was he who led them to turn against the Mighty Kraal and so gave them great power. He has their respect, and seems likely to keep it.”

“Exactly,” Caedmon said smoothly. “And with the unpartnered against us, as well as Malvern's army—and whatever's left of Warwick's, if they can take control of it—that gives them an advantage. And, unfortunately, we have the weaker stronghold. Everyone knows that Warwick is the most-well-fortified city in Tara. But with the enemy occupying it—and you can bet Iorwerth will have left some unpartnered there—we just don't have the numbers to take it back. But we can't afford to stay here. Fruitsheart might have plenty of pears, but it doesn't have good walls. It'll be far too easy to overrun. And if that happened, it would be all over for us. We have to leave, and soon, and I know exactly where we should go.”

“Where?” asked Myfina.

“Skenfrith.”

“No,” said Garnoc. “It's too close t'Malvern.”

“That's the whole point,” said Caedmon. “We establish ourselves in Skenfrith, and from there we can launch an assault on Malvern itself. We strike hard, and we strike fast, and we do it without any warning. If we can take Malvern and kill the half-breed, we win the war—and we win it by killing as few Northerners as possible.” He gave Garnoc a look. “Remember, this isn't like the war you fought. This isn't against Southerners. It's against
our own people
. If I'm going to become King as I should, then my first duty is to my people. I refuse to go to Tara's throne by wading through Northern blood. The longer this war drags on, the more of us are killed, and I won't let that happen.” Caedmon sighed. “You know, we keep some Southerner-written books in our libraries. King Arenadd insisted that we keep them, so we wouldn't forget what they were like. What
Tara
was like back then. I read some of the things they wrote about us.” His expression became distant as he remembered the exact words. “‘Left unattended, the Northerner quickly reverts to his natural state. An ungoverned piece of land, left in his hands, soon breaks down into anarchy . . . left to rule themselves, Northerners at once turn on each other and will fight until not one of them is left alive.'”

Several of the listeners actually growled at this.

Caedmon's face had darkened, too. “That's what they believed about us. Now we
have
been left to rule ourselves at last, just as they feared. Should we do what that sun-worshipping scum suggested, and fight until none of us are left? Or will we show the world that we can be better than that? Will we show our people and our country that we can be worthy to own Tara and all its beautiful cities?” He looked penetratingly at them all. “I, for one, intend to do everything in my power to lead and fight like a griffiner and not a barbarian. The only question is, are you with me?”

The councillors cheered. Even Hafwen looked impressed. Shar, fired up by her human's speech, crouched low and snarled, tail lashing. The other griffins there responded with snarls and hisses of their own, and aggressive calls directed at the enemy they would soon fight. Every griffin loved a fight. They were made for it.

“I agree with Caedmon,” Lord Rees said once the excitement had died down.

“And I,” said Cadan.

“So do I,” said Lady Kaefan.

Lady Myfina gave Caedmon a smile that made him blush. “Nobody could say no to you now!”

“Go for it!” Hafwen interrupted, thumping the floor with her stick. “The boy's right. Nothin' good's gonna come of fightin' our own, so the sooner we end this the better. The half-breed's the only one we really need dead, so let's get to it!”

The councillors laughed and nodded their agreement. Even Garnoc grinned.

“Right, then!” said Caedmon, taking charge. “Time to go to work! Start preparing. Pass the news on to the city, see to it that everyone here who supports us comes along. Men, women—anyone who can use a weapon. I don't care if they're carrying chair-legs and rocks, I want them in Skenfrith with us. Empty the armoury, leave the treasury, and let that twit of a governor out of his cell and tell him he can take charge again once we've gone. No sense leaving one of our own behind to get killed. Organise supplies, pack clean underwear—you can figure out the rest!”

The council broke up in a mood of purposeful excitement, leaving Caedmon and Shar behind. Aside from them, only Saeddryn stayed.

Only Saeddryn hadn't laughed, or smiled, or said anything at all once Caedmon had begun. Nor had she left her seat.

Caedmon turned to her now, suddenly awkward. She was looking at him, and though her face was expressionless, he felt judged. “Er . . . how did I do?”

Saeddryn continued to fix him with that impenetrable stare. Then, at last, she smiled. “For a while I thought I was seein' Arenadd there in front of me. Not as he was when ye knew him, but as he was back when we were young.” Her smile saddened. “I wish ye could have seen him back then. How he was. Full of fire an' passion, full of rage. A Northern warrior through an' through. All he cared about was winning Tara back in the Night God's name. That an' that woman of his. But after the war was done, he never was the same. Maybe he never could be unless he was fightin' someone. Without him . . .”

“You don't wish we had him back now, do you?”

Saeddryn shook herself. “What? No. No, not now. His time was done. This is our time now. Yer own time, Caedmon.” She stood up and came toward him, reaching for his hands. “Arenadd's time is over, an' so is mine. This is your war, Caedmon. Yer own rebellion. Ye must win it, not me. Ye an'—” She nodded at Shar. “Ye an' Shar.”

“You mean—?” Caedmon glanced at Shar.

Saeddryn nodded slowly. “I'm not a griffiner any more. Not without Aenae, Night God bless him. I can't lead now I've lost him, an' I don't want to, either. The throne's meant for ye, Caedmon, an' I'll do whatever I can t'guide ye there. Look on me as a useful servant, to use how ye choose. I'll let ye do the judging yerself.”

Caedmon was surprised. “You'll still be on the council—”

“No.” Saeddryn grimaced. “I've been on enough councils. I'll advise ye if ye want, but it's down to ye an' the offsiders ye choose. Garnoc an' Hafwen can be a great help too—make sure ye listen to them. I'm just . . . a helper. Use me however ye see fit.”

Caedmon said nothing. He held her hands in his, and he could feel the coldness.

Saeddryn didn't let go. “It's been a long road,” she murmured, apparently to herself. “I thought it ended long ago. But I'm glad t'have this chance, this last chance t'set things right . . .”

“You're like him, aren't you?” Caedmon said softly. “You've become like him.”

Saeddryn nodded jerkily.

“You came back, like he did. That's why you've got those scars. That's how you got away. You're . . .” Caedmon reached out, and she didn't resist when he touched her neck. He let go and moved away sharply a moment later, his face turning pale. “My gods. It's true. You're—”

“Yes,” said Saeddryn. She touched his face, holding it between her hands. “Ye look like yer father, ye know. I know people say ye're like Arenadd, but I see yer father in ye. Poor Torc. He was the sweetest man I ever knew. He deserved a better wife than me.”

Caedmon said nothing. He could feel her hands, her cool, dead hands touching his face. It made his heart flutter.

“I'm not back,” Saeddryn told him quietly. “Not really. I can't be a real part of the living world again. Before, I didn't understand why Arenadd became like he did—why he hid away, why he seemed so distant even when he was right there in front of ye. He was a dead man among the living, an' he was more alone than any living man could ever be. Ye can't imagine what that feels like, Caedmon. I couldn't either, when I was alive. Now I wish I could've understood, that I could've been kinder . . . but how could I? He was in a different world than me. Than all of us. Now I know. Now the Night God's made me see for myself.”

“You don't look so different,” said Caedmon, trying to smile.

“But I am, an' I know it,” said Saeddryn. “Still, I won't complain. I'm grateful that the Night God gave me this chance t'be here with ye, t'see this whole thing through an' know I didn't die in vain.”

“Won't you live forever, though?” said Caedmon.

“No. The Night God made me a promise. When this is over, I can go t'my rest at last. After all . . . by then I'll have nothing more t'keep me here.”

Caedmon let out a sob and pulled her into his arms. “Mother—”

Saeddryn held him in return. “There, there, Caddy, no need t'be sad. This is a gift. The Night God's gift.”

Caedmon almost sobbed again at the sound of his childhood nickname, but he pulled himself together and only let himself hold her a moment longer.

“I have the power now,” Saeddryn murmured. “Use it. Use me. Send me after whoever ye choose, an' I'll kill them for ye. Ask me t'get somethin', I'll steal it. Whatever ye need. But ye are the one who must decide.”

Shar had been listening to all this in silence. “
Kraeaina kran ae
is right,” she said. “We have a powerful follower in her. Think quickly, and decide. We can have her kill whomever we choose.”

Caedmon's bright-eyed look faded, and he scowled as the look of a leader returned. “I know just the one.”

Saeddryn smiled savagely. “I thought so.”

K
ullervo woke up feeling cold. Fear gripped him briefly, and he groped around until his hand touched warm feathers. He slid back over toward Senneck and relaxed against her flank, his heartbeat slowing again.

She stirred in the gloom. “I did not mean to wake you.”

He turned his head a little, her feathers tickling his face. “I thought you were gone.”

“Do not be afraid,” Senneck rumbled. “I am here, as I always will be.”

“Yes,” he sighed. “I know. Don't worry about it.” The last few words were mumbled, and his breathing deepened as he slipped back into sleep.

It was a shallow sleep this time, though, and dreams came with it—half-formed dreams whose vagueness only made them more unsettling. He dreamed of bars, pressing in against his face and arms, and a room that grew smaller and smaller, until he couldn't breathe. Those were old dreams, from a past he had barely described to his new friends. But other dreams came, too.

He dreamed of flying in his griffin shape, but his feathers moulted away, and he fell, turning over and over to a ground that rushed toward him without ever getting any closer. As he struggled to save himself, it became a face—one-eyed, terrible, the mouth opening wide to swallow him whole.

He woke up shivering and sweating, and light touched his eyes.
Dawn,
he thought confusedly.

When he sat up, the real world made a welcome return. Morning had come, and Senneck was there, placidly grooming her feathers. The yellowish light touched her grey beak and tinged her sandy brown feathers with gold. Kullervo stayed still and watched her with a secret joy in his heart, noting how her sky-blue eyes half-closed when the light touched them. He could smell her feathers and fur, that warm, rich scent that every griffin's coat had but which was never so sweet except when it came from her. Her head moved in quick, sure strokes, dragging her beak over her wing feathers with a soft, rasping sound. There was something so certain about her, Kullervo thought—it was in everything she did. Even though he had only known her a few months, she had become the most solid and constant thing in his life, and he had come to accept that she always knew what to do, was always strong, always resolute. That must be why she made him feel so safe.

A smile lit up Kullervo's face, and his broken teeth made it no less sweet or gentle.

Senneck's head turned sharply toward him, making him freeze, but she only said, “You are awake. Come now, groom and make yourself ready. We leave today.”

“Of course!” Kullervo stood up, still a little unsteady on his legs, and rubbed a hand through his hair. “I suppose I should make the change now, then,” he said reluctantly.

“No,” said Senneck. “You are much too weak to risk using magic now.”

“But I have to fly to—”

“
I
shall fly,” said Senneck. “Am I not your griffin now? It is expected of me to carry you with me when we have business far away.”

“Oh. Yes.” Kullervo fidgeted, obviously still unused to their newly made partnership.

Senneck nudged him gently with her beak. “It is no burden to me, Kullervo. Even in human shape, you have the light bones of a griffin. You are easy to carry. But I would carry you even if you were the fattest human in this Eyrie because you are
my
human.”

“If I were fat, I'd lose weight.” Kullervo grinned.

“I would force you to,” said Senneck. “I will carry
you
, not you and every meal you have eaten!”

“But you said—”

“That is not important. Groom now and eat.”