The Shadowed Throne Read online

  Life in the Hatchery was competitive and often rough. Unpartnered griffins were given all their basic needs, but nothing else, and the only special privileges were got by being able to dominate the others. Normally, a youngster like Oeka would be at the bottom of the pecking order, but she was different.

  Other griffins became able to use their magic when they reached maturity, or sometimes even older than that.

  Not Oeka. Her powers had begun to emerge when she was scarcely a year old. They had been weak back then, but they were more than enough to win her respect and allow her to dominate the other hatchlings. As she grew, so did her gifts. Her talents were rare and special, and she knew it.

  She had always believed that she would have a human one day—and only the best would be enough. None of the ones she saw were enough, no matter how much potential they had or how much importance they had already earned. Oeka had ignored them all, and eventually her real ambition had emerged. The only human she would choose would be nothing less than the heir to Malvern’s throne. She had intended to choose one of Saeddryn’s two children, but both were claimed before Oeka’s chance came.

  And then Laela had come. On that day, even though Oeka hadn’t known the King’s secret plans, something had happened. The moment she saw her—this one, this half-breed companion to the King—the small griffin had sensed something. Some voice, some part of her magic that had been hidden until then, showed itself.

  Uncertain, Oeka had attacked the human to test her. Laela had impressed her by fighting back and so, almost on impulse, Oeka chose her.

  Now, she knew the inner voice had been right. She had waited a long time in the hopes that it would come again and bring new abilities with it, but it never had. And Laela was weakening.

  That was something Oeka would not accept.

  She flew on, pushing herself as hard as she dared. Ahead, the Northgate Mountains were easily visible. She had never seen them, but all griffins knew where they were. For a riderless griffin, they were less than two days’ flight away. And she had to reach them quickly.

  Every griffin in Malvern had heard the rumours about what was hidden just beyond them. The Mighty Skandar, who Oeka liked to think was her father, was said to have found something special on his way from the South. A cave. A magical cave, whose entrance was said to only reveal itself at certain times. The Spirit Cave.

  Oeka reached the Northgates and landed on a handy ledge to rest. Not far away, she could see Guard’s Post, the fortress built into a pass that humans used to travel into the North. Now-a-days, Guard’s Post was there mainly to keep watch for invaders from the South. The King had made a law that made it absolutely forbidden for anyone who wasn’t a Northerner to be allowed through Guard’s Post. Laela had only been admitted because she was a half-breed. And because she had bribed the guards.

  Griffins, though, were free to come and go as they liked. No human could stop them anyway.

  With that thought, Oeka made a side trip to Guard’s Post. She had always wanted to see it. She landed on one of its two towers and was immediately intercepted by another griffin. This one was male, and big—probably one of Skandar’s many husky sons.

  “Speak, youngster.”

  Oeka held her head up proudly, showing off the rings on her forelegs. “I am the Mighty Oeka, master of this territory, who chose the Queen of Malvern.”

  The other griffin moved away at once, lowering his head to her and saying nothing.

  “Go and bring your human,” Oeka demanded. “He must bring me food.”

  The griffiner in question came running, and in no time at all Oeka had been supplied with a haunch of fresh mutton. She ate it while paying no attention to the griffiner’s polite questions, or the other griffin’s plea to be allowed to mate with her. He was far too inferior to be a potential mate, and she was too young for it besides.

  Her stomach full, Oeka had a nap on the griffiner’s bed, then left the tower without having said another word to anyone in it.

  She flew away from Guard’s Post, keeping the pass below her, and, a few wing-beats later, she entered Southern territory.

  After that, it was just a question of finding the Spirit Cave.

  Griffins said that after the Mighty Skandar had visited it with his human, nobody had ever found the cave again. Oeka knew that the chances of seeing it from the sky were very poor.

  But she had a way of looking that no-one else did. She kept on flying, searching the area just beyond the mountains until she found the place the stories mentioned—a human place with a singing hill. That was easy. “Singing hill” was just a griffish term for a Sun Temple. Oeka had seen the ruins of one in Warwick, and she knew what to look for.

  The nearest human habitation to the mountains was quite close to them, built by a river as they generally were. Oeka saw the dome of the Temple without having to fly too close. Satisfied, she turned back toward the mountains, found a tree, and came in to land.

  Safely perched, she closed her eyes and let herself relax, breathing slowly and steadily until her heartbeat slowed too. She concentrated on shutting down all her senses—sight, hearing, scent, and touch. They were unimportant now. Not needed.

  When she was ready, she unleashed her other sense.

  Her beak opened. Every griffin worked magic by disgorging it from its throat, but while other powers were raw and savage, Oeka’s was different. What came out of her beak looked like a thin, swirling mist the colour of new grass. It spread out from her and faded out of sight without a sound, as though nothing had happened at all.

  But it had.

  Oeka felt it moving away over the land, drifting off in every direction. It spilled into hollows and holes, covering everything it came across, and all the while it sent back information about what it found. Minds. Everywhere, minds. Animal minds, almost like her own but so much simpler. Her magic soon found the human place she had seen, and a myriad of vague emotions wavered back toward her. She shut them out and pushed harder, feeding more energy into her search.

  Until, at last, she found what she was looking for. Faint signals began to reach her—faint, but insistent. Immediately she focused on them, pulling all her energy together and directing it toward what she had sensed. The signals became more powerful. Minds, she thought. But no minds she could identify.

  Slowly, a tingling began to build in her magic gland. In her mind, voices whispered so softly she could only just hear them. Come . . . come . . . come to me . . . Oekaaaaa . . .

  Oeka’s eyes snapped open. Without stopping to rouse herself or even to think, she took off and began to fly back toward the mountains. Toward the voices that pulled her on. She already knew that she had found the Spirit Cave.

  The cave was by the mountains, in a heap of tumbled rocks. It wasn’t much to look at; in fact it was disappointingly simple. No grand entrance, no yawning darkness, just a gap among the stones only big enough for a human. A full-grown griffin would never fit.

  Oeka landed on the dirt just in front of it and sat on her haunches to look speculatively at the hole. It might have looked unimpressive, but as a griffin, she could feel the immense power lurking just beyond.

  All magic came from the earth. Humans couldn’t sense it, couldn’t use it. They knew almost nothing about it. Of all the creatures in the world, only griffins had the ability to absorb it and use it for their own purposes. That was why they had become so much more intelligent than other animals. A big brain was needed to control and understand magic.

  But even though griffins could use magic, they were only a part of it. Magic would always belong to nature. Some places seemed to attract it and store it. And there were a few places—just a few—where it was even stronger. Magic had saturated those places, sometimes so much so that even humans had a vague sense of it. Sometimes it could even affect the physical world in unnatural ways. When that happened, places like the Spirit Cave came int
o being.

  Oeka only knew of one other place where magic was this powerful, and that was at the place known as Taranis’ Throne. But that was different magic—dark magic that no griffin could use.

  The Spirit Cave wasn’t like that.

  Oeka stood up and breathed in deeply, savouring the air. The magic was so thick here that she could scent it, without the use of any of her powers. It tasted of earth and stone, and blood, and ice.

  If a griffin came to a place like this, and knew what to do, then even something as unpredictable as the Spirit Cave was nothing more than power. Pure power, ready to be harnessed.

  She could still hear the voices, calling her name. Echoes of the dead, called out of the earth by magic. There were many different intelligences here. Old intelligences. Many of them tasted of anger.

  For the first time, Oeka was afraid.

  Oeeekaaaa . . . the voices whispered.

  Oeka hissed. They are powerful, she told herself. But so am I.

  She raised her wings and went forward, into freezing mist.

  Oeka couldn’t tell when she had passed through the cave entrance. Pure whiteness swallowed everything, blanking out the entire world around her as if she had gone blind. The entrance was invisible—if it even still existed. She had been expecting this. She pressed on, following the sound of the voices. At first they were indistinct, seeming to drift around somewhere ahead of her. But as she got closer, they became clearer and louder, until they had merged into one voice softly calling her name. Oeka kept on toward it, but no matter how far she went, it was always just ahead of her. Distant. Tantalising.

  She stopped and sat down. “Do not play with me, fool,” she said. “I am not a butterfly to be batted about. Show yourself to me.”

  Silence.

  “If you will not show yourself, then I shall force you,” Oeka warned. “Stop hiding.”

  I am not hiding, Oeka, the voice whispered, and as it spoke the whiteness faded away and was gone.

  Oeka looked around. She was standing in a perfectly ordinary sandy-floored cave, and there in front of her was another griffin. Female, much older than herself, and the deep green eyes called up memories that she had kept buried for nearly all her life.

  Oeka, my daughter, the other griffin said, in a voice like a sighing wind.

  Oeka stared. She stood up without thinking, and took a step toward her mother—but she stopped herself. She dipped her head, very coolly. “Greetings, spirits. I am the Mighty Oeka, ruler of Malvern. And you are an illusion, meant to confuse the weak-minded.”

  Clever Oeka, the illusion said. I knew that you would be powerful from the moment you came out of your egg.

  “All of Malvern knows of my power, spirits,” Oeka said.

  Coldness began to needle at her. But you are not content even with that, are you, daughter?

  Oeka felt her mind begin to numb and shook off the power trying to break in. “Do not waste my time with tricks. My mother has been dead since I was a hatchling.”

  The illusion came closer. It was warm. The fur smelt sharp and spicy with life. Real. I am your mother, Oeka, the voice insisted. The magic here calls back the spirits of the dead. In this place, I can speak with you again. Trust me.

  Oeka moved, subtly repositioning her back paws. “Very well. What do you want with me, Mother?”

  To comfort you, and to advise you. You are troubled.

  Oeka could feel the presence beginning to press in around her, smothering and cold. The illusion . . . her mother . . . seemed to be growing larger, the eyes filling her vision, the voice whispering insistently.

  “Lies!” she screamed, and leapt straight forward.

  Her outstretched talons hit her mother in the chest and throat. The impact was shocking. She fell backward with a thud and scrabbled upright to see the illusion dissolve into wisps of white.

  A huge, rumbling shook the cave. Oeka staggered as the floor began to move. Dirt fell from the ceiling, and cracks split the walls. Alarmed, the small griffin darted toward the nearest corner. Too late. The floor shook more violently, and she lost her footing and fell hard onto her belly. She clawed at the dirt, trying to get up, and an almighty crack split the air. A chunk broke out of the ceiling and fell straight toward her.

  There was no time to dodge. Oeka pressed herself to the ground and braced herself.

  The chunk hit her and disintegrated.

  Oeka dared to open her eyes. She wasn’t hurt. Amazed, she got up again. The whiteness had seeped back. Around her, the cave broke apart, each piece crumbling and changing back into the white wispy substance that had made it. In moments, she was surrounded by the spirits again, and this time they were not whispering.

  The mist flashed red and began to turn hot. Arrogant little chick. Power-hungry. You will destroy, destroy, destroy . . .

  Oeka faltered under the hatred that surrounded her. But as the voices grew louder and angrier, she reared up and screamed.

  “Enough!”

  The spirits closed in to attack, but she was ready. Despite her exhaustion, despite the danger, she unleashed her magic. Using a gift she had only just begun to discover, she hardened her mind, pushing away anything else that touched it. Her senses shut down. Deaf and blind, free of the accusing voices and confusing visions, she ran.

  The protection would only last so long. As soon as her magic faltered, the spirits would have her—and then she might never escape.

  The only sense left to her now was touch. She ran in circles that grew wider and wider, keeping her head low to the floor she could not see. The spirits had made it invisible to her before, but she was still in a physical place. The cave still existed around her, and somewhere in it was the thing she had come to find.

  Her mind began to falter. Her magic, already weakened by the search for the cave, ran low. Out there, the spirits were still trying to break in, and their own supplies of power were infinite. Soon, they would have her. Very soon.

  Where is it? WHERE?

  Her beak clinked on something. She stopped and turned clumsily, scrabbling around in the dirt for it. The object slipped out of her talons, but she trapped it against a wall and delicately scooped it up in her beak.

  The thing sat on her tongue. It was heavy and smooth, odd-shaped. A rock, maybe, or a bone?

  It didn’t matter.

  Oeka relaxed her magic, and her senses came back. Immediately, she cringed. Everywhere, what had been pale and still was swirling and rushing all around, dark like storm clouds. What had been soft and whispering was shrieking and howling. No, no, no, no! Fool, no!

  But no matter how loudly they screamed their protests, the spirits were powerless.

  With the object in her beak, Oeka couldn’t speak. But she spoke in her mind. One word, full of triumph. Mine.

  She threw her head back and swallowed the object.

  In that moment, the Spirit Cave was destroyed. The mist, the cold, the howling voices, everything was pulled away and inward. Out of the land, and into Oeka. For one long, agonising moment her mind was a confused mass of a thousand voices all screaming at once; and then they were silenced.

  When Oeka came to, she found herself standing under a tree, near the spot where the Spirit Cave’s entrance had been. But now there was nothing there but a heap of tumbled stones. The luring voices, and the white mist, were gone forever. The massive power she had sensed before had gone with them. But that didn’t matter. She had done what she had come to do.

  Now, the power of the Spirit Cave was hers.

  12

  Gwernyfed

  Kullervo never did remember what happened after his escape from Skandar. He flew out of the mountains with a speed he had never imagined was possible, but even after they were well behind him, he didn’t stop. He flew on, his mind lost in a haze of pain that grew worse. His rational, human mind was swallowed up by the
griffin’s maddened instincts. The griffin took control and dragged him on, unthinking, focused on nothing but escape.

  Eventually, a small part of his human mind managed to come through, and he could think a little. He was badly hurt, and he knew it. He needed a healer urgently, but where should he go? He didn’t know if any of the cities could shelter him. If he landed at one, he could be taken prisoner or even killed. He had never lived properly as a griffin and knew nothing about how these things happened. Especially in the North, when there was war in the air.

  But he had to have a healer. Without one, he would die.

  His mind began to fog up. With one last effort, he thrust the idea into the griffin mind. Find a city. Fly to a city. Human nest. Fly . . . human nest . . . help . . .

  The man-griffin flew on.

  Luck wasn’t on Kullervo’s side that day. He flew in what he thought was a southward direction, but it had begun to rain. His wounds hurt savagely; he was losing blood. His mind grew hazy and confused. Not knowing where he was going, he was buffeted about by the wind and eventually forced to land. Thinking vaguely that sleep would help, he crawled under what he thought was a rocky ledge and curled up, shivering in the wet.

  He woke up in the morning and found himself soaked through. Too tired to move, he lay with his head lolling on his talons and watched a swarm of little black specks prickle at the edge of the gaping wound in his leg.

  They were ants, feeding on his blood.

  Eventually, thirst made him move. He dragged himself out of his shelter, and thrust his beak into a handy puddle. Gulping down water made him feel stronger, and his mind began to work again. Had to fly on. Had to find help. He tested his wings—they were painful, but uninjured at least. They would do.

  He lurched into the air and flew on.

  That was how the next few days passed. Hopelessly lost, unable to hunt, unable to find humans who could help him, he wandered through Tara with little idea even of direction. His wounds reopened, and festered, until he was too weak to go any further.