Burd stopped at the foot of the stairs, dumbfounded. The slaves were standing together in a large group, nervously watching the guards. There were more than a hundred by his count, all robed and collared, but they had a ragged, travel-stained look about them, as if they had walked a long way. He looked at the nearest one to him but couldn’t read anything in his face other than a kind of steady, controlled fear, the kind of dumb animal look he had seen in all slaves. Pathetic, really.
Burd made his way to the head of the group at the northernmost gate. The griffin had been easy enough to spot: it was male, with silver feathers and black fur, and was the biggest griffin he’d seen since that day in Malvern when he had caught a brief glimpse of the Mighty Kraal himself.
The beast’s partner stood beside him, and if she was a griffiner then she was the grubbiest one he’d ever seen. She looked just as ragged and desperate as her slaves: the grey dress she wore was torn and filthy, and her extraordinary long silvery hair was tangled. But her demeanour was full of cool pride and reserve, and she looked straight at him without hesitation.
“My … lady.” Burd gave her a slightly hesitant bow. “I’m Captain Burd, and I’m in command here.”
She watched him for a moment, shifting slightly so he could see the long sword slung on her back. “Greetings, captain,” she said. Her tone was formal and a little flat, somehow lacking in emotion, as if she were reciting her words from a piece of paper. “I am Lady Skade, of Withypool,” she told him distantly. “And I command you to open the gate and allow me and my slaves to pass through.”
“Yes, my lady,” said Burd, eyeing the griffin. He bowed again. “I would happily do that, but it’s my duty to search you first.”
She fixed him with a dreadful stare. “Search?”
“Yes, my lady,” Burd said again. “In order … to … be certain …” He felt himself beginning to sweat. “We must search every traveller who comes this way,” he said, pulling himself together. “If any of them are smuggling illegal items into Malvern’s territory, then we’re obliged to arrest them.”
Skade’s look did not waver. “Are slaves illegal, captain?”
“In some circumstances, yes, my lady,” said Burd. “Slaves can only be sold by slave-traders licensed and authorised by an Eyrie.”
“But I am not going to sell them,” said Skade. “These slaves are my property, and I am taking them with me.”
“May I ask where you’re taking them, my lady?” said Burd.
“That is not your concern,” said Skade. “I am taking them north, to my new home.”
“And you say you’re from Withypool, my lady?”
“I do. I purchased these slaves there, and I have documents to prove it. Is there anything else you want from me?”
“I’m sorry, my lady, but yes,” said Burd. “If you’ll just wait a moment, my commander is coming—a griffiner, who’ll want to talk to you.”
Skade sighed. “Very well, then we shall wait.”
Fortunately, Wiln arrived only a short time later. Lord Rine was with him, his griffin walking slightly ahead of them both.
The instant the dark beast by Skade’s side saw the other griffin, he began to hiss and lash his tail. Skade laid a hand on his shoulder to restrain him, and inclined her head toward Lord Rine. “Greetings,” she said, speaking griffish now. “I am Skade, and this is Skandar.”
Rine gave her a slightly shocked look but said nothing. He stood back and allowed his partner to come forward instead, toward Skandar, to greet him and size him up.
Skandar’s reaction was immediate, and violent. He stood up and screeched, his wings opening, aggression vibrating in every hair and feather. The other griffin backed off, screeching in return and positioning himself to protect his partner.
For a moment it looked as if the two would come to blows, but Skade hurried forward and put herself in the way. “Enough!” she snapped, turning to face Skandar. “Skandar, no.
No
.”
Skandar hissed and moved to push her out of the way, but she made eye contact and shook her head very slightly. “No,” she said again. “Do not move. It is not time.”
They challenged each other with a glare for a few moments, before Skandar sulkily sat back on his haunches.
“My apologies,” said Skade, apparently unaware that the griffin still looked more than inclined to attack. “Skandar has not seen another griffin in many months.”
“So I see,” said Lord Rine, appearing beside his partner. “Then perhaps we can dispense with the formalities.” He bowed very slightly. “I am Lord Rine of Malvern.”
“I am pleased to meet you,” Skade said stiffly. “I am the Lady Skade of Withypool, and my partner, as you have heard, is Skandar.”
“Now,” said Rine, seeing his own partner was still busy glaring at Skandar. “What brings you here, my lady?”
“I am travelling to the North,” said Skade. “And these are my slaves, which I am bringing with me.”
“Those are all yours?” said Rine.
“They are.”
“And why are you going north?” said Rine.
Skade hesitated very briefly. “I plan to begin a new life. I have purchased land there, and I am taking my slaves with me to build a home for me. If you are wondering why I am travelling this way, it is because I spent the last of my money on the slaves. The trader asked for an outrageous sum—my family told me he had robbed me, but I did not care, for I wished to leave Withypool quickly.”
“Why?” said Rine.
“My father intended to force me into a marriage I did not want,” said Skade. “The only way to escape it was to leave as soon as I could, and so I made arrangements and left home at speed.” She smiled for the first time. “Perhaps it was reckless, but I have always been reckless. I am chasing a dream, my lord, and we both of us know the power of dreams to disrupt our lives.”
Rine still looked hesitant. “Forgive me, my lady, but we were given no forewarning that you were coming.”
“I did not send word,” said Skade. “I did not know that I should.”
“I see,” said Rine. “Well …” He glanced at Burd. “Well, then,” he said, looking at Skade again and appearing to relax, “I see no harm in letting you through.”
Skade’s smile returned, more warmly than before. “Thank you, my lord.”
Burd darted forward and whispered urgently in Rine’s ear. The young griffiner nodded.
“However, we’re still required to quickly examine your slaves, my lady.”
Her smile vanished. “Why?”
“Because—I’m sorry, my lady, and please don’t take this as an accusation—we have been warned that a very dangerous criminal is trying to enter the North. A darkman. He committed a series of murders; no doubt you’ve heard?”
Skade’s eyes narrowed. “Are you suggesting that I am trying to smuggle criminals into Malvern’s lands?”
“Not at all, my lady, but we have to observe the formalities. We’ll want to see the documents proving that you bought these slaves legitimately, and after that the guards will check their brands.”
Skade nodded. “Understood. I will search for the documents in my bag, and perhaps while I am doing that you can begin to inspect the brands.”
“We should—” Rine began.
“Excellent,” said Skade. She turned around. “You,” she said, grabbing a slave at random and shoving him forward. “Show Lord Rine your brand, and be quick about it.”
The slave, a thin young man with a scar on his face, stumbled toward Rine. “Yes, my lady.” He bowed. “My lord.”
Rine opened his mouth to complain, but stopped. “Where is your collar, blackrobe?”
The man shrugged. “Lost it. But I have a brand, see?” He held out his hand. “See? There.”
Rine grabbed it by the wrist. “This isn’t a Withypool brand,” he said. “This looks like—I don’t recognise it. Where is this brand from?”
“I’ll let you see it a little closer,” said the slave, and punched him hard in the face.
Rine toppled backward, stars exploding in his vision. As he hit the ground, he heard the shout.
“Attack!”
It happened in an instant. Rine’s partner lashed out at the scarred slave, and as he dodged it the huge dark griffin rushed forward, slamming into Rine’s griffin and bowling her over. In the same moment, every single one of the slaves pulled a weapon out of his robe and hurled himself at the guards.
Arenadd was almost completely unaware of the chaos breaking out around him. Even as he avoided the attack from the griffin, he ran straight at Rine. The griffiner was struggling to his feet, wide-eyed, mouth opening to shout something, but before he could speak Arenadd had reached him and attacked. His boot lashed out, striking Rine under the chin and knocking him backward, and Arenadd leapt at him, pinning him down.
The two of them struggled together, each one wrestling for control for a few breathless moments. Rine snatched at the dagger in his belt, but Arenadd struck his hand away and began to hit him, punching him in the head with all his strength.
Rine landed a few blows on him in return, but Arenadd didn’t feel them. He continued to strike, again and again, until the griffiner slumped, half-conscious. Arenadd pulled the dagger from his own belt and pressed it into Rine’s neck, and for a moment there was stillness.
Rine said nothing, but Arenadd heard him groan. Blood was coming from his mouth and nose, and his fingers curled, grasping at nothing. From somewhere far away came the sound of two griffins screeching and tearing at each other. Fighting to kill.
Rine groaned again and stirred, and for an instant their eyes met. Rine’s eyes were green, and dim with pain. There was fear there, too. He knew he was about to die.
I am the man without a heart,
Arenadd thought. “Join me,” he whispered, and pulled the dagger hard over the man’s throat, tearing it wide open. Blood gushed out, staining his hands and soaking into his robe.
Rine died almost instantly, and Arenadd straightened up, looking down at him. It was so strange how different people looked when they were dead.
A hand grabbed his shoulder. Instantly his senses snapped back and he whirled around, raising the dagger.
“Stop! Arenadd, it is me!”
“Skade.”
“Yes. Are you hurt?”
“No.”
Arenadd looked around. The slaves had overwhelmed the guards, leaving them dead or wounded, and were already pouring up the staircases and into the building. Skandar was over by the other gate, tearing at the griffin, which had fallen and was still lashing out at him. But the fight was already won; even as Arenadd ran to help, Skandar struck the other griffin a blow that broke her neck.
“Skandar!”
Skandar turned away from the griffin’s twitching body. His sides were heaving, his face and chest were bloodied, and one front talon was broken. “Win,” he snarled. “Kill.”
Arenadd wiped his hands over his face, staining it with blood. “Yes. Are you hurt, Skandar?”
The griffin either did not understand the question or didn’t consider it worth an answer. He came to Arenadd and nudged him roughly. “You kill?”
“Yes. He’s dead.”
“Good,” Skade broke in. “Here.” She held out his sword. “Take this, and go.”
Arenadd took it. “Look after yourself, Skade,” he said, and ran.
The slaves had entered the fort, and by the time Arenadd arrived a savage fight had already broken out. Most of the guards had still been in bed, but they were quick to appear when the slaves flooded into the rooms and corridors they called home. Captain Burd had escaped and run to wake up his men, and he and his officers were leading a counterattack.
Even though they were outnumbered, the guards were doing far better than Arenadd had expected. The slaves, unused to fighting, were often unwilling to kill, and some surrendered or tried to run away.
They died.
All the same, he could see that the training he had given them had worked. They were sticking together rather than letting themselves be split up and picked off and were using furniture as temporary barricades. Many of the guards were unarmoured, most were tired, and all were bewildered and ill-prepared.
Arenadd ran through several chambers and corridors, passing scenes of carnage and violence all the while. From time to time he caught a glimpse of someone he knew. There were Olwydd and Prydwen, fighting side by side. Garnoc was defending a group of slaves who had thrown down their weapons, one brawny arm raising his axe to bring it down on a guard’s shoulder. He saw other things, too. Saw Nolan take a sword cut to the stomach. Saw Annan die, stabbed through the throat.
But he ran on, intent on finding the other griffiner and especially the griffin. The guards who saw him tried to stop him, and he swung Lord Rannagon’s sword, thrusting and slashing, blocking other weapons and striking out at unprotected flesh wherever he saw it. Skandar ran ahead, uncontrollable, a raging demon, ripping into any man—friend or foe—who stood in his way. And still Arenadd ran, killing left and right, his body thrumming with the same dark thrill he had felt that night at Herbstitt.