After a time Skade sighed, and her shoulders hunched in defeat.
Finally, Arenadd moved. His hand lashed out; grabbing her by the shoulder. He pulled her toward him, almost violently, his other hand reaching for her neck. But it clasped her other shoulder instead, and he pressed her against him and kissed her hard on the mouth. She started and tried to pull away for an instant, but Arenadd paid no attention. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, his mouth pressed against hers, and after a moment she had relaxed into him and was kissing him back, her hands in his hair.
But it only lasted for a moment. Quite suddenly, Arenadd had broken free and staggered away from her, his face contorting. He slammed into the trunk of the tree and stood there, his hands pressed into his chest, gasping in agony.
Cardock ran to him. “Arenadd!”
The others started toward Skade. “What have ye done to him?” Olwydd demanded.
Skade ignored him and ran to Arenadd. “Arenadd!”
Arenadd was making a strange sound, half gasping, half sobbing. He raised his head and stared straight at Skade. “What did you do?” he whispered. “What did you do to me?”
“I did nothing,” she said, “Arenadd, what—?”
His hand was still pressed into his chest. “My heart. My heart, I felt it …”
Skade took him by the arm. “What do you mean? Did it … ?”
Arenadd’s eyes met hers. “Yes,” he said softly. “Yes. I felt it. Not any more, but just then, when you kissed me.”
“Arenadd.” Cardock clasped his son by the shoulder. “Are you all right?”
Arenadd stood up straight. He was breathing heavily. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Olwydd—” The Northerner had reached out to grab hold of Skade. Arenadd met his eye and shook his head. “Don’t touch her. Leave her alone.”
Olwydd backed off. “Who is she, sir?”
Arenadd stepped away from the tree. “She’s Skade. Skade of Withypool.” He looked at her. “Lady Skade.”
“Lady, sir?” Olwydd said doubtfully.
“Yes, Olwydd,” he told him more sharply. “This is the Lady Skade, and no-one is to harm her. She is my—she’s with me.”
Skade had moved closer to him. “I am?”
Arenadd took her hand. “Yes, Skade.” He looked at the others. “She comes with us,” he said. “That is”—he looked at Skade—“if you want to.”
“I do,” she said firmly. “Where you go, I go.”
He looked at the others again. “Is that understood?”
Dafydd was the first to speak. “Yes, sir. If she’s with ye, then yes, sir.”
An awkward silence had fallen. Most of the slaves were staring at Skade, some with fascination, others with deep distrust, but all with fear. She ignored them.
Cardock grabbed Arenadd by the arm. “Arenadd, what happened?” He could feel his son shuddering slightly under his hand.
Arenadd shook himself. “I’m fine. It’s just my chest.” He touched it. “That old wound where the guards shot me. It hurts sometimes. Skade accidentally put pressure on it.”
Cardock gave him a suspicious look, but he finally shrugged and let the matter drop.
“Who are you?” he said, turning to Skade. “How do you know my son?”
“Oh,” Arenadd interrupted. “Skade, this is my father, Cardock.”
Skade looked at him, expressionless. “He looks like you.” To Cardock she said, “I am pleased to meet you, Cardock of Idun.” She paused. “I am Skade, and I am from Withypool. Arenadd and I met in the wilds, and he and Skandar brought me here. I owe him my life.”
“And I owe her mine,” said Arenadd.
“Well, if ye trust her, sir, so do I,” Olwydd broke in. He bowed to Skade. “I’m sorry, my lady. If I’d known …” He looked at Prydwen. “Give her back her things, would ye?”
Prydwen started. “Oh. Right, yes.” He hurried over and made an awkward bow to Skade as he held two objects out to her, a sword and a dagger. “Yer things, milady.”
“That’s my sword!” said Arenadd.
Skade smiled and gave it to him. “I kept it safe for you.” She put the dagger into her belt.
He took the sword and turned it over in his hands. The blade was slightly rusty, but other than that it was as good as new. “I thought I’d lost it.”
“You did,” said Skade. “I found it.”
“Here,” he said, taking the short sword from his belt and offering it to her. “I don’t need this now, but I think you might. I can teach you how to use it, if you want.”
Skade examined the sword and then looked up at him. “Yes. I think I should learn.”
Arenadd nodded. “Yes.” He looked at the others. “I think we should all learn.” He raised his voice. “We’re going to stay here for a while. I have a few things to teach you. All of you. I don’t claim to be a weapons master or a general, but I know how to handle a sword and a few other things about fighting, and very soon I think we’ll be called upon to know those things.” He paused and glanced up.
“For what?” said Cardock.
Arenadd wasn’t listening. There was a swoosh of air and a sudden movement from overhead, and Skandar appeared from out of the night sky, landing neatly beside his partner. The others scattered, but Skade stayed where she was.
Skandar appeared tired and a little ragged as he took up his accustomed place behind Arenadd. He looked at Skade and dipped his head briefly to her.
She bowed back. “Hello, Skandar. I am glad to see you again.” She looked at Arenadd. “I am curious. Why do you want these … men to know how to fight? I would have thought that your time would be better spent moving further north. Staying in one place for too long would only increase the risk of being found.”
“Yes, I know,” said Arenadd. “But it’s a necessary risk. They need to rest, and I have to try and do something to organise them properly. They’re not an army, but—”
“But why fighting?” said Skade.
Arenadd scratched Skandar under the beak and smiled a very small, enigmatic smile. “For Guard’s Post,” he said.
21
A Place in the World
D
ays passed, and Erian began to settle into his new life. He and Senneck had been given quarters in the Eyrie: a pair of rooms in one of the outer towers, which were spacious if not luxurious. Senneck took possession of the larger one, which opened onto a small balcony she could take flight from, and Erian took the other. There was straw in one chamber and a bed and desk in the other, and both were supplied with food from the kitchens two levels below.
The day after their arrival they were both introduced to Lord Kerod, the Master of Farms, and his partner, the rather oddly named Eekrae. Lord Kerod proved to be an elderly man, whose stooped appearance was even more pronounced when he stood beside the young and spritely Eekrae. Kerod’s look toward Erian was friendly enough.
“A pleasure to meet you, young master,” he said, holding out a hand.
Erian reached out in return, and the two of them linked fingers and gave a brief tug, the traditional griffiners’ gesture of greeting.
“I’m honoured to meet you, my lord,” Erian said when this was done. “Lady Elkin told me you were one of her finest,” he added, lying.
Kerod gave a wrinkled smile. “I’m pleased to hear her ladyship hasn’t forgotten me. So, you have been sent to help me, have you?”
“We have, my lord,” said Erian. Senneck had already advised him not to reveal that this was his first official position, so he resisted that temptation and said, “I hope we can work well together.”
“Oh, no doubt we can,” said Kerod rather dismissively. “There’s very little to it, you’ll find. With two of us, there’ll be even less, I’m thinking.” He grinned again. “Leaves more time for the finer things in life.”
“Such as?” said Erian.
Kerod jabbed the air. “Hunting! This territory has some of the best hunting anywhere in Cymria, my boy, just you let me show you some time. I know a few choice spots. You and Senneck,” he said, bowing in her direction, “will probably find flying out there in search of deer and bear much more to your taste than staying here dealing with paperwork!” He nodded at Erian again. “Yes, Eekrae and I really must show you two. Soon. Remind me.”
Erian smiled. “We will, my lord.”
“Good!” said Kerod. “Now, we should go to my office, and I will show you the work we’ll be doing.”
“But you do not need to come, if you do not want,” Eekrae put in, speaking to Senneck. He clicked his beak cheerfully. “Let our humans wrestle with papers, and you and I can fly together. I shall show you the finest places to soar in the evenings and the places to perch at sunrise. And perhaps we shall race each other between the towers—it is dangerous, but the best of us love it!”
Senneck hesitated very briefly before she gave a dismissive flick of her tail. “I am sorry, but I would prefer to accompany my human. I should see what it is he will be doing here, so that I may advise him.” A gleam showed in her eye. “Not that I shall need to,” she added, with unaccustomed pride. “My human is most cunning and learned.”
Eekrae chirped. “Ah, but my human is old and wise.”
Senneck dipped her head. “Then he shall teach my human,” she said more humbly.
Erian blinked—it wasn’t like Senneck to boast about him—but he said nothing and followed Kerod. The two griffins fell in behind him. Eekrae seemed to want to be close to Senneck, and the two of them made little darting mock attacks at each other with their beaks as they walked. Erian could hear them talking, but they were speaking far more rapidly than usual. Few humans could understand griffish unless it was spoken slowly.
Kerod reached a door and opened it, leading them into his large, ramshackle office. Papers covered every surface.
“And here we are,” said the old man. “Apologies for the mess, but I don’t let the servants in to clean it up. Don’t want them seeing anything they shouldn’t, even if none of ’em could read it anyway.”
Erian shrugged. “I’m sure I can help tidy things up a little. If you’d like, my lord.”
Kerod cackled. “Griffiners, tidying up! That’s a fine joke. Come now, and I’ll show you how it works.”
Senneck and Eekrae stood on either side of the door, and Erian waited by the desk while Kerod unlocked a cabinet and brought out an enormous leather-bound book, which he dumped on the desk, disturbing a heap of paper.
“The Book of Farms,” he said, opening it. “Very important.”
Erian examined it. Every page was covered in endless rows of tiny runes. The one he was looking at now was headed with the word “Snowton” in larger runes. Underneath that were several columns saying things like “rufus, 500 head,” and “dairy, 200 head.”
“What does it mean?” he asked after a polite interval.
“Don’t let all the numbers scare you; it’s quite simple,” said Kerod. He tapped the word “Snowton.” “Every single town and village in the North is in here. This is Snowton’s page, with a list of everything they have there. How many cattle, how many sheep, how many fields, orchards, beehives, mills—everything. The Book of Farms is updated every ten years—lucky for us the last one was two years ago so we won’t have that hanging over our heads. Believe me, taking a census of a territory this big is more work than most people do in a lifetime.”
Erian examined the book, trying to look keen and intelligent and hide his true dismay. “I see.”
“This book is the most important thing you and I have to work with,” said Kerod. “See, every village is taxed according to its resources, and it’s our job to go through the book and work out the amounts, and then we submit that to the Master of Taxation. Meanwhile, we’ll be getting reports from the countryside, which we have to record. Fires, cattle disease, that sort of thing. And Lady Elkin has given the farmers permission to send us their ideas and complaints, gods help us.”
“So, we don’t have to visit them ourselves?” said Erian.
“Oh, gods no,” said Kerod. “Leave them to come to us if they want to; we have better things to do than fly around visiting every blasted darkman who thinks he knows more about how to fertilise corn.”
Erian frowned. “A ‘darkman’? What’s that?”
Kerod gave him a bemused look. “What?”
“Sorry, my lord. I don’t think I’ve heard that word before.”
“Good gods,” said Kerod. “
Northerners
, boy. Blackrobes, darkmen, moon-worshippers, whatever you want to call them. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that.”
“Oh.” Erian felt himself going red. “Yes, of course. I just haven’t heard them called that before.”
Kerod sniffed. “Well, in a manner of speaking, most of the ones living here aren’t really blackrobes. Only the slaves wear robes, see. Free Northerners hate slaves. Look down on ’em and such. They get very upset if you call ’em blackrobes to their faces. Not like I care. But it’s a bit less confusing if you call the free ones darkmen.”
Erian grinned to hide his embarrassment. “So, are we the lightmen or something?”