The Shadow's heir

“Yeah. Well, of course he’s gone bats. He’s lost his human-do ye know how shameful that is for a griffin? If the King doesn’t come back soon, he could lose everything. The other griffins won’t respect him any more if he hasn’t got a human.”

Laela barely heard him. The King vanished, but Skandar didn’t. Why in the gods’ names would he run away an’ leave his griffin behind?

“Listen,” Yorath interrupted. “I’m so sorry about this, but I can’t let ye stay any longer. Here.” He pressed her sword into her hands. “I got this back for ye. An’ this.”

Laela took her bag of money and tied it to her belt. “Thanks, Yorath. This sword was Dad’s, y’know. He left it to me.”

“I know; ye told me. Now, go. Get out of here, Laela-an’ good luck.”

She smiled to hide her real feelings, and tapped the sword-hilt. “I don’t need luck when I got this.”

Yorath darted forward and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Go, Laela. An’ may the Night God watch over ye.”

She kissed him back. “I think she does,” she said, and walked out of the Eyrie.

Arenadd. Arenadd. .

The voice drifted toward him through the currents, and he struggled to reach it. His own voice felt weak, but he tried his hardest to call out to her. “Master. . help. .”

Arenadd.

“Help,” he whispered. “Help me. . please, Master. .”

My help. . is no help, she said.

He tried to speak, again, but his throat was full of something he couldn’t cough up. His mind was full of vague memories of a scarred and horrible face looking down at him with terrible malice and pain.

Skandar, he thought, I need Skandar. Need him to help me. I need. .

“Where’s. . Skandar. .?”

Arenadd, the Night God said again. You are weak, uncertain. . I sense it in you. Why is this? Why do you waver?

He said nothing but tried to drag himself toward her, wanting her comfort and strength.

I cannot sense you, she said, and for the first time, she sounded uncertain. You are weakening. . your faith in me is weak. . your devotion, weak. Why? What have you done to make this happen?

“Don’t,” he managed. “Don’t want. . Where’s Skandar? Make him come, send him to help, help. .”

BELIEVE! The Night God roared. Believe in me, Arenadd Taranisaii! You are my creature, you cannot turn away from me. Without me, you are nothing. You-are-nothing! Is that what you wish? Do you wish that? To be nothing, know nothing? Would you cast yourself into the void?

His voice was coming back. “No. Please, no. Not that.”

Then listen to me.

“I will.” He felt stronger now, more lucid.

The confusion and the greyness faded, and darkness came. And the Night God was there, as always, her face stern but sad. I know that it is difficult for you, Arenadd. You have been steadfast for so long.

He gritted his teeth, his insides almost boiling with rage and despair. “I-don’t-want to be steadfast! Understand? I’ve had enough! I’ve come so far-you’ve pushed me so far-and what do I have to show for it?”

Only power, only wealth. Only the immortality I promised. Only the loyalty and love of thousands. Only that, Arenadd. Only my favour.

He said nothing.

Behold, she whispered. I have brought something with me.

“What. .?”

She smiled. On the night of the Blood Moon, you asked me to tell you who you were. But when I told you, you did not seem content. Perhaps I did not give you what you truly wanted. Therefore. . see what you have forgotten.

As she spoke, she reached upward-upward to where stars shone in their millions. Her fingers closed around one star. Just a small star. It wasn’t particularly bright.

See it, she said, bringing her hand down toward him. See him.

Her fingers uncurled, and the star drifted away from her palm and toward him, to hover between them. Then the Night God leant forward, and blew softly on it. Her breath came out as silvery-white mist, and it gathered itself around the star, soaking up its light.

The mist spread out once again, but it didn’t drift away. The star lit it up from within, as it formed itself into a shape around it-a shape that grew larger and larger until it was man-sized.

And man-shaped.

Arenadd found himself looking into a pair of eyes-pale, transparent eyes.

The mist had taken on the shape of a boy. He looked no older than nineteen and had the same height and build as Arenadd did. He was silvery-white all over, but Arenadd could tell from his angular features that the mop of curly hair on his head must once have been black.

The boy was simply clad, and though he had a brash, self-confident smile on his face, his eyes were sad.

Arenadd reached out toward him. “Who are you?”

Don’t you know? The spirit’s voice was fainter than a whisper and echoed slightly.

“No. .”

The boy reached out in return, until his ghostly finger-tips almost touched Arenadd’s. This was what I looked like, when I was alive, he whispered. Before Eluna died. Before I met Darkheart. Before my face was torn by the griffin chick I stole.

“Who were you?” said Arenadd. “What was your name?”

The boy didn’t seem to hear him. A griffiner, I was. A Northern griffiner. So many people thought it was wrong, but they couldn’t stop it. I was so close! So close to having everything. They were going to put me on the council-make me truly one of them! They tried everything to stop us, but we wouldn’t go away, Eluna and me, and we were so clever and careful. . We worked hard and people liked us. . I was Master of Trade, I was.

“Master of Trade,” Arenadd muttered. “A Northerner, Master of Trade in a Southern city?”

Oh, I was, I was. The boy smiled beatifically. Eluna was so proud of me. He looked up abruptly, his smile fading. I was wrong. I was wrong! WRONG! Listen, listen-you’ve got to understand. Northerners can’t live in the South! We can’t be like them, understand? They hate us, hate us. . oh, gods, what did I do? All I wanted was to show I could be more than just a blackrobe, but Lord Rannagon betrayed me. Betrayed me! The dark griffin killed Eluna. I lost everything, everything! And then they killed me. Killed me! I was murdered. They shot me full of arrows, pushed me off the edge of the city. Oh, gods, not falling, not that, not that. . oh, gods save me, I fell. . fell so far. . oh, gods, the pain. All my bones, my whole body broken, and it hurt. .

The ghost was hysterical, his face a mask of horror. Arenadd thought he could see the marks of wounds appearing on his body as he screamed-a phantom arrow, protruding from his chest, and another from his leg. Blood ran down his face from just beneath his eye, as if he were weeping.

“I’m sorry-”

The ghost lurched toward him, wild-eyed. Who will avenge me? he demanded in a