The man looked him up and down. “You may as well come in,” he said gruffly.
“Thank you.” Cardock entered, looking around him for any sign of Arenadd, but he failed to spot him anywhere. “This
is
Taranis’ dormitory, isn’t it?” he asked.
“It was,” said the man.
“Where is he, then?”
The man nodded toward a small group of people sitting by the back wall. “Ask Nolan. He was his friend; he’ll tell yer.”
“Thank you.” Cardock made for the little group.
None of them looked up as he approached. They were sitting in a rough square, four of them, all looking grim and subdued.
“Excuse me,” said Cardock.
One of them glanced up. “What d’you want?” he said roughly.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” said Cardock. “Can I join you?”
“Now’s not the best time,” said one of the others.
“Sorry,” said Cardock, “but I’m looking for Nolan. Someone said he could help me.”
“That’s me,” said the first man. “What is it?”
“I’m told you know Taranis,” said Cardock.
Nolan looked away. “I knew him, yeah.”
“I’m looking for him,” said Cardock. “Do you know where he is?”
They all stared at him in silence.
Finally, Nolan shuffled aside. “Sit down.”
Cardock did. “Thanks. Crowded in here, isn’t it?”
“Since you lot came along,” the man sitting next to Nolan said unpleasantly. “Why are you looking for Taranis? Y’just got here.”
“Never mind why,” said Cardock. “I just want to know where he is.”
“Did yer know him?” said Nolan.
Cardock hesitated. “We’ve … talked. Look, I don’t want to keep annoying you; can you please just tell me where he is?”
Nolan sighed. “It’s not a problem. What’s yer name?”
“Cardock. Where’s Taranis?”
“He’s not here,” said Nolan.
“Why? Where did he go? Is he okay?”
But Nolan couldn’t seem to reply. The man beside him gripped his friend’s shoulder and looked accusingly at Cardock. “He’s dead, all right? Can you just leave us alone?”
Cardock only stared at him. “What?”
“He’s dead,” Nolan repeated. “Taranis died. This morning.”
Cardock felt as if his stomach had been torn out. “That’s not true,” he said flatly. “I don’t believe you.”
Nolan shook his head. “I was there. I saw it with me own eyes. He just dropped dead in front of us.” He shuddered. “It was horrible. He was acting funny. White and sweating. Muttering to himself. Said he felt wrong. An’ then he just … went mad. Ran away like there was wolves on his tail. Guards caught him, an’ he just started yelling.”
“Yelling what?” said his friend.
“ ‘They’re coming,’ ” said Nolan. “ ‘They’re coming, don’t let them get me.’ An’ after that it was all just babble. ‘Don’t let me fall.’ He kept sayin’ it over an’ over. ‘Don’t let me fall.’ An’ then he just … died. Guard thumped him; he fell over an’ never got up. They made me bury him. I checked him, tried to wake him up, but he was gone. Just like that. Dead.”
“No,” Cardock whispered. “No, no. Oh gods. No.”
Nolan had gone pale, his eyes red rimmed. “What’s wrong with you?” he snapped.
Cardock lurched forward and grabbed him by the front of his robe, shaking him violently. “Stop it!” he shouted. “Shut up! You’re lying! He’s not dead!”
Hands grabbed him and pulled him away, and he didn’t resist. He sagged limply in their grasp, sobbing hoarsely. “No,” he moaned. “No, this isn’t … can’t …”
Every man in the room had turned and was staring at him.
Nolan stood up. “Look at me,” he said softly. “Look me in the face.”
Cardock didn’t have the strength to resist as the two who had restrained him lifted him to his feet. He knew he had given himself away, but he didn’t care. What did it matter? What did anything matter now?
Nolan stooped to look at him, and squinted. “What in the gods’ names?” he breathed.
“What’s your name?” someone else said sharply. “What did you say your name was?”
“Cardock,” he mumbled. “Wolf Tribe. Son of Skandar.”
“You an’ Taranis,” said Nolan. “You—Annan, look at him. Look at his face.”
The one called Annan did. “By the Moon,” he muttered eventually. “It’s him. Taranis. The spitting image.”
“You were related, weren’t yeh?” said Nolan. “Y’were, weren’t yeh? You an’ Taranis.”
Cardock looked up. “I was his father.”
Absolute silence reigned in the chamber. Every slave there was looking uncertain.
“His father?” said Nolan. “Wait. Wait. Cardock? Did yer say yer name was Cardock?”
“Yes.”
“Cardock … Cardockson,” said Nolan.
“Cardockson.”
“No,” said Annan. “That ain’t possible. Stop it. Taranis was—”
“Taranis wasn’t his name,” Cardock burst forth, not caring any more. “His name was Arenadd. Arenadd Taranisäii. My son.”
“Arren Cardockson?”
someone shouted.
Nolan grabbed Cardock’s arm. “Are you sayin’—are you sayin’ that Taranis was
Arren Cardockson
?”
“Yes,” said Cardock.
“But that’s ridiculous!” said Annan. “You’re tellin’ me that Arren Cardockson was sleepin’ in the hammock next to mine?”
“But that explains it, doesn’t it?” said Nolan. “That explains
everything
. Why he never had no brand. Why he knew all that about griffins. Why he was so scared of griffiners comin’ back here.”
As suddenly as it had gone quiet, the room erupted into shouting. Cardock found himself being accosted by a dozen different people, all shouting questions and accusations at him. He backed away, frightened and bewildered, but he wasn’t left to face them alone. Nolan and Annan moved in front of him, shielding him from the mob. Cardock cowered behind them, panic-stricken.
“What in the gods’ names is going on in here?”
The voice lashed out like a whip. Most of the slaves went quiet instantly, and the rest were quick to follow suit as Caedmon limped into the room, his face a picture of fury.
The crowd parted to let him through, and he stumped toward the centre of the room, holding his stick menacingly and glaring at everyone as if daring them to challenge him.
“What’s goin’ on in here?” he said again, jabbing the stick at them all. “Own up. Who started this?”
As if acting on an unspoken agreement, Nolan and Annan took Cardock by the shoulders and led him straight to the old man.
Caedmon regarded them suspiciously. “Nolan. You ain’t the type t’stir up trouble. Can’t say the same for
you
, though,” he added, to Annan. “What’s this about? An’ who’s this?”
“We’re sorry, sir,” said Nolan. “It’s just that …”
“It’s this bugger’s fault,” said Annan, nodding at Cardock.
Caedmon squinted at him. “Who’re you? Tenderneck, obviously. You look … familiar.”
Nolan darted closer. “He’s Taranis’ father,” he hissed.
Caedmon blinked. “His father? Here?”
“Yes, he just came—”
“He was Arren Cardockson!” one of the other slaves shouted suddenly. “Tell him, you old bastard. That Taranis was lyin’ about his name. He was Arren Cardockson, and
you’re
Cardock, his father.”
Caedmon had become very still. “Is this true?” he said sharply. “Or are ye playin’ some prank? I warn ye, tenderneck, I am not to be trifled with, an’ I do not take kindly t’being lied to or played with. What’s this nonsense ye’re spewin’? Out with it.”
Cardock watched the older man as he spoke, his mind racing. But one look at Caedmon’s unbending expression told him there was no point in trying to lie. “It’s true,” he said, so quietly the others barely heard him. “I am Cardock Skandarson of Eagleholm. I was a freed slave and I lived in Idun with my wife, Annir. Arenadd was our only son. Our only child.” He shuddered, and tears started to trickle down his face.
Caedmon listened closely. “You’re admitting that?”
“He’s dead,” Cardock mumbled. “Why lie?”
“Why are ye here, then?” said Caedmon. “How’d ye get to be here?”
“We were captured,” said Cardock. “In Norton. Waiting for him to meet us. Erian the Bastard forced us to tell him what we knew, and then he sold us. I don’t know where Annir is.”
Caedmon said nothing. If he was shocked he hid it well; he stood very still, wearing a frown, apparently deep in thought.
“He’s got t’be tellin’ the truth,” Nolan put in. “Look at him. Taranis—
Arren
looked just like him. They got to be father an’ son. Anyway, why would he lie about somethin’ like that? It doesn’t make no sense.”
Finally Caedmon nodded. “Right. I believe you. Now listen”—he turned to look around at the others—“an’ I want
all
of you to listen.” He paused to make sure he had their full attention. “We’re tellin’ nobody about this, understand?
Nobody
. Not even the men in the other dorms. Nobody.”
“Why?” someone demanded.
“Because I say so,” Caedmon snapped. “Cardock’s one of ours now, an’ he’s had a hard time. How would ye feel if you’d lost yer only son an’ yer wife as well? So we’re gonna help him. It doesn’t matter if Taranis was Arren Cardockson or if he was the High Priestess of Amoran. He’s dead now. Cardock is one of us, an’ we stick together, so I expect ye to treat him like one of ye. If anyone even
talks
about going and ratting him out, I swear by the Night God’s eye that man will suffer for it. An’ believe me when I say I have the power to make that happen. Cross me, an’ ye’ll pay.” He glared at them. “That clear enough for yer?”
Nobody spoke.
“I said, is that clear?” said Caedmon.
“I reckon so, Caedmon,” said Nolan.
There was a general mumbling and nodding from the others.
“Right, then,” said Caedmon. He nodded to Cardock. “Ye’ve nothin’ to fear. They won’t lay a hand on ye. Not unless they want to lose it.”
Cardock smiled shakily as the others wandered off. “Thank you, Caedmon.”
“It’s nothin’,” said Caedmon. “Now you just sit down an’ try an’ rest. I’ll get someone t’bring ye some food. Y’need plenty to eat.”
In a kind of trance, Cardock allowed himself to be led to a comparatively private corner behind some hammocks and accepted the food he was given. He stirred it listlessly, feeling as if there were a huge void inside him, a hole where his son had been.
Nolan and Annan stayed with him, curious and concerned. Caedmon stayed, too. Others hovered close by, obviously wanting to come closer and ask questions but loath to do so while Caedmon was there.
“Eat,” the old man urged. “I know ye ain’t hungry, but ye’ve got t’eat. Wastin’ away won’t help nobody.”
Cardock managed a few spoonfuls. He sought for something to say, but nothing came. His mind was a blank.
“I still don’t believe this,” Annan said at last. “I mean,
Arren Cardockson
? Him? Here?”
“I always thought he was odd, y’know,” said Nolan. “I liked him, but I always thought there was something—”
“I know,” said Annan. “There was somethin’ not quite right about him. He always looked so … I dunno. Just not right somehow.”
“I heard him talkin’ in his sleep,” said Nolan. “Did you?”
“Of course I did,” said Annan. “Everyone did. Madog said he heard him speakin’ some different language once. All sorts of clicks an’ trills an’ things. I told him he was talkin’ out his nethereye, but—”
“Griffish?” said Nolan. “Y’think maybe it was griffish?”
“Maybe, who knows? It scared me, though,” Annan added. “What you said about the stuff he shouted before—” He broke off awkwardly. “I heard him say things like that in his sleep. ‘Help me, I’m falling,’ over an’ over again.”
“I knew about that,” said Nolan. “He was scared of heights. Whenever we was at the quarry an’ went over that bit where there’s that drop, he’d go all pale.”
“He was afraid of heights,” said Cardock. His voice sounded flat and distant, as if he had become detached from it somehow. “Ever since he was a boy. He loved to climb. All the time. But someone, someone, someone …” He could hear himself starting to wander now. “Someone pushed him off a roof. He was twelve. Broke his arm. I asked him over and over to tell me who did it, but he never said. After that he was always frightened. Even stairs made him nervous. He hated heights, and he lived right at the edge of the city. I kept telling him to move, but he wouldn’t; he said Eluna wouldn’t let him.”
Caedmon leant forward and touched him on the shoulder. “Hush. Calm down. Ye’re all right. Here, just have some water.”
Nolan and Annan exchanged glances.