Laela buried her father in a makeshift grave in the wood outside the house, where he had liked to spend time alone every day. Thinking of her mother, maybe-Laela had never asked.
It took most of the morning to dig the hole, but she was used to hard work and kept at it, using the strain to stop herself from thinking about what had happened.
When it was done, she lifted her father’s body into the hole as gently as she could. She folded his arms over his chest and tried to smooth down his hair and beard.
“There yeh go,” she said huskily. “I hope. . hope yeh like it. I did me best. It ain’t much, I know, but it’s the best I could do. I’m sorry.”
She found herself choking on a sob.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” she said again. “Sorry. .”
This time, there was no way to hold back the tears. She slumped beside the grave and cried-not beautifully, or elegantly, or dramatically like people in stories, but in a harsh and untidy way that made her chest hurt. The sobs sounded ugly, and she hated them, but they went on, and she felt as if something had crumbled inside her.
“Oh, Gryphus,” she moaned. “Oh, Gryphus, help me. What am I gonna do? What. .? Oh, Gryphus. . Dad. .”
And she sobbed harder.
A noise disturbed her mourning, and she looked up, tear-streaked, and froze.
Something huge was emerging from the trees, coming forward. It looked like. .
Laela’s mind raced, but she sat very still, remembering the advice her father had given her. With a wild animal, sit very still. They go for movement. .
The thing came closer, moving slowly. Its huge head reared high above her-if she had been standing, she guessed she would barely come up to its shoulder.
At first, it looked like a bird-the head was beaked, and the neck and chest were covered in thick, rusty-red feathers. The legs were thick and muscular, scaled like a bird’s, with long, grasping toes the size of her arm. The talons at their tips made them longer.
But as the creature came closer, Laela saw other things, beyond the wings folded on its back. The other legs-furred and shaped like those of a giant cat. The long, lashing tail, partly covered by a fan of red and yellow feathers.
Laela’s heart had leapt into her mouth. She started to crawl away from the grave, backward, not taking her eyes away from the beast.
The animal ignored her. It stepped over to the grave and inspected it, huffing through its beak and sending up little puffs of dirt.
The word came to Laela through a haze of terror. Griffin.
The griffin paused by the grave, and then clumsily bent its forelegs and put its head down into the hole. Laela could have run then, but the horrible thought crossed her mind that it was going to eat her father’s body, and that pushed her over the edge.
Like a lunatic, she wrapped her fingers around the handle of the shovel and stood up, holding it like a spear.
“Get away!” she shouted. “Leave him alone, damn yeh!”
The griffin pulled its head out of the hole and stared at her. Its eyes were yellow, and to her intense dismay, Laela saw the last thing she had been expecting to see in them: intelligence.
She hefted the shovel, trying to look braver than she felt. “Go on, clear off!” she said, and her voice came out weak and wavery.
The griffin only stared at her. Then, moving slowly and deliberately, it stepped over the grave and came straight for her. Laela stood her ground for a few moments, and then backed away.
The griffin came closer.
Laela’s mind screamed at her to run, but her legs felt weaker than a couple of twigs. She continued to back away, not knowing what to do, until she hit a tree. The griffin cornered her in an instant, its head outstretched toward her.
Laela pressed herself into the bark, sobbing in fear. The griffin brought its beak down to her face, and she closed her eyes tightly and braced herself, ready to die.
She felt the animal’s hot, stale-smelling breath on her face. The beak rubbed against her skin-smooth and hard and rounded, almost like the top of a skull.
Laela dared to open her eyes again and found the griffin’s big yellow ones looking back. It blinked, and then took a step back. For a moment it stood and stared at her, and then it turned and walked away with a swish of its tail.
The instant its back was turned, Laela pulled away from the tree and ran straight back to the house.
She ran, expecting to be struck from behind at any moment, but the blow never came, and she threw herself through the back door of the house and slammed it behind her before collapsing on her father’s bed, shaking violently.
She was convinced the griffin would come looking for her and spent a good portion of that day hiding before she even had the courage to peer out of the window. But the griffin had gone, and it didn’t return.
That afternoon, screwing up her courage, she left the house for the village marketplace. There, she sold everything the house had contained, down to the last stick of furniture. She didn’t care if she was being given what they were worth; all she wanted to do was get it over with and empty the building, which had now become a mausoleum, full of memories of her foster father that she didn’t want to stay.
By nightfall, the house was empty but for her old straw pallet, a couple of blankets, and some food. She had even sold the cook-pots and spoons.
She spent that night lying awake in front of the cold fire-place, staring at the ceiling.
From time to time she cried, but never for long. She felt. . numb.
When morning came, she bundled her few remaining belongings together in a blanket-food, spare clothes, the leather bag that contained all the oblong she had earned in the marketplace, and. .
She crouched at the spot where her father’s bed had once stood and lifted up a few loose floor-boards. He’d thought she didn’t know about them, but she had seen him move them one morning while she pretended to be asleep. By now she already knew what was in there.
She pulled out a wooden box. It was full of oblong, and she tipped them into her money-bag. There were also several bottles of strong barley wine-she hesitated for a long moment before stuffing two of them in her makeshift bag. And, hidden under that. .
Laela brought out a long object wrapped in cloth.
She pulled away the wrappings, and uncovered a short sword. It was a well-made thing with an oiled-steel blade and a plain bronze hilt, and it had been stored with a red leather sheath.
Laela tied the sheath to her belt and replaced the boards before she stood up. The sword’s weight felt reassuring at her hip.
Once that was done, she paused to take one last look around at her former home.
“I’d stay,” she mumbled aloud, in answer to the feeling of longing that hung in the air. “I would, honest. But I can’t. Not any more. But I hope whoever lives here next remembers I was here. An’ Dad. Him, too.”
She left the house via the back door and locked it before walking slowly and warily back toward Bran’s grave.
There was no sign of the griffin. She hastily snatched up the shovel and filled in the grave without looking into it, muttering the ritual prayers as well as she remembered them.
When that was done, she walked away without a backward glance.
Out in the village streets, people openly stared at her as she passed. Some of them called out to her, but she ignored them-whether they were insults or friendly greetings, she didn’t care.
She made straight for the centre of the village, for the modest building that was home to, not the governor of this piece of land, but one of his officials, who had been given the unrewarding job of living in the village and handling its official matters.
Laela nodded curtly to the guard by the door. “I want t’see Kendrick.”
“That’d be Lord Kendrick to you, girl,” the guard snapped.
Laela straightened up. “He ain’t no lord an’ everyone knows it, Gower, so let me through.”
“You got a fine tongue on yer for a peasant,” the guard muttered, but he knew better than to pick a fight, and went on more moderately. “What’s it regardin’?”
“I’m here t’talk to him about the rent,” said Laela. “Dad sent me.”
Gower nodded. “Right then,” he said. “May as well let yer in. How’s yer dad, by the way?”
“Much better today,” Laela mumbled, and went in.
She had been in this building before, when Bran went there on official business, and she found Kendrick’s office easily enough. She knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
Laela obeyed.
Kendrick, a pasty-faced middle-aged man, squinted at her. “Oh, it’s you,” he said. “What d’you want? Why are you carrying all that, may I ask?”
Laela dumped her possessions on the floor but kept the sword. “Just wanted a quick word with yeh, sir.”
“If it’s quick,” he said, in rather ungracious tones. “What’s the problem? How’s your father, by the way?”
“He’s dead, sir,” said Laela.
He started at that. “Oh. I didn’t. . uh, I’m sorry to hear it.”
Laela knew he wasn’t. “I’m leavin’, sir,” she said. “Dad’s dead, so I’m gettin’ out of this bloody place while I can an’ before people know about it.”
“I see. So why are you telling me this?”
“I won’t need my Dad’s house no more,” said Laela. “So I’m sellin’ it back to yeh.”
Kendrick gave her a look. “I’m afraid it’s not as simple as-”
“I ain’t interested in no arguin’,” said Laela. “I know how much my dad paid yeh in rent, an’ I know what the property’s worth. So I want two hundred oblong.”
“You want-” Kendrick controlled himself. “You don’t seem to understand,” he said in patronising tones, as if he were speaking to a small child. “Your father didn’t own the house, he rented it from me. Therefore, you can’t sell it.”
“Fine,” said Laela. “But my dad paid rent in advance for this whole month comin’, an’ this whole month just started today. So give me the money back, an’ I’ll get goin’.”
“Well.” He softened. “There’s no need to be so hasty-”
“Yeah, there is,” Laela snapped. “An’ I don’t need any of yer blather about paperwork an’ all the rest of that nonsense. Yeh don’t want no stinkin’ half-breed hangin’ about the place, so just give me the damn money, an’ I’ll be out of yer hair.”
“I’ll give you a hundred and fifty oblong,” said Kendrick.
“Two hundred.”
“Young lady, this is not marketplace bartering,” said Kendrick. “I’m offering you a hundred and fifty oblong, and that’s final.”
“Two hundred,” Laela repeated in a flat voice. “Two hundred, an’ I’m gone.”
He threw up his hands. “Why should I be giving you money at all? You weren’t the one who paid the rent. It’s not even your money to take.”
“My dad didn’t have no other family,” said Laela. “Just me. An’ I was here when he told yeh I’d get everythin’ he owned after he died, see? I inherit everythin’. So hand it over.”
He glared at her.
She glared back.
Finally, Kendrick threw up his hands. “All right, fine. It’s not as if it’s my money anyway. Show this piece of paper to the treasurer, and she’ll give you what you’re after. I suggest you take it and go.”
Laela waited until he had finished scribbling down the order and calmly took it from him. “See yeh.”
“Laela?”
She paused in the doorway and looked back. “What?”
Kendrick had stood up. “Where are you going to go?” he asked, almost gently.
Laela stared coldly at him. “I’m gonna take the advice people’ve bin yellin’ at me in the street for years. I’m goin’ North.”
Kendrick stared at her. “What? Laela Redguard, you can’t be serious! The North. .?”
“I am serious,” she said. She sneered at him. “Where else is a half-breed gonna go?”
He paused briefly, and then sat down again. “You’ll be killed,” he said bluntly. “The instant you set foot in darkman territory. .”
“What, they’ll treat me worse than you would’ve?” said Laela. She spat. “I ain’t known nothin’ but prejudice from anyone here ’cept Dad. Maybe a blackrobe would understand that. It’s a hope, an’ I’m takin’ it.”
She walked out of the office.
At noon that day, she left the village, too, with a bag of gold oblong, her sword, supplies for a few days, and faint hope wavering in her chest.
Laela had never left the village before in her life, and she did so very nervously now. She followed the main road on foot until she managed to beg a ride on a vegetable cart heading for the next village. It arrived after nightfall, and once she had disembarked, she snuck into a barn and slept hidden behind a pile of hay.
She woke up at dawn and slipped out before anyone found her.
In the marketplace, she bought some food, careful to keep her hair covered by a hood as she had since leaving home, and went on her way.
And that was how she travelled: sometimes on foot, sometimes on a cart or with a group of other travellers, never exchanging more than a few words with anyone. She kept her money well hidden and her sword not so well hidden, and most of the time, people left her alone. It was a hard life, and lonely, but she held up well enough, and after a few days, she began to feel a sense of freedom, and even excitement, through the cloud of misery that had been hanging over her head ever since her father’s death.
Toward the end of her second week on the road, she had fallen in with a group of traders who had let her ride on the back of a cart in exchange for a few oblong. One of them, walking behind it, had been watching her curiously, and now he took a few long strides to catch up with the cart.
“Hullo,” he said.
Laela woke up from her daydream and looked at him. “Yeah?”
“Just wanted someone t’talk to,” said the man.
Laela yawned. “All right.”
“So, where are yer goin’? I got to say, it’s not that often yer find a woman travelling alone.”
“I ain’t goin’ anywhere in particular,” said Laela.
“Well,” said the man, “yer gonna have to pick a destination soon, ’cause we’re gonna be enterin’ the Northgates pretty soon.”
Laela started at that. “How soon?”
He squinted ahead. “I’d say the next day or so by my reckonin’. But y’wanna be on yer way before that happens.”
“Why would yeh be goin’ into the Northgates?” said Laela. “Yeh ain’t goin’ into the North, are yeh?”
“’Course not,” said the traveller. “Use yer brain, girl. There’s not a Southerner in Cymria would go there, not for love or money.”
Laela sat back and thought. It had been a long time since any Southerner had gone North, that was very true. Once upon a time, the North had been Cymrian territory-ruled over by griffiners. The lords of the land, given power by their partnership with griffins. They had conquered the North centuries ago, and its inhabitants had become either slaves or vassals.
But that was before what was now referred to as the Dark War, or the War of the Darkmen. That had been before Lord Arenadd Taranisaii, a renegade Northerner, had allied himself with an extremely powerful griffin and led a rebellion against the griffiners. Together, the man Southerners called the Dark Lord Arenadd and the griffin, simply called “the dark griffin,” had ruthlessly slaughtered and burned their way through the griffiner cities in the North. Any Southerner living there had been killed or driven out, and in the end, the rebels had captured Malvern, the capital city, and massacred its inhabitants.
Today, the North was its own country, and Arenadd Taranisaii was its King. And no Southerner would ever enter it unless he was stupid, or insane.
Still.
“So why are yeh goin’ into the mountains if yeh ain’t gonna go through ’em?” Laela asked. “What’s the point?”
“We’re goin’ to Guard’s Post,” the traveller explained. “The men livin’ there don’t get much in the way of supplies, so they’re happy to buy them off us.”
Laela nodded to herself. In that case, she would stay with this cart until it got to Guard’s Post, and when it arrived she would do whatever she had to to pass beyond it and into the North. And if the men living in it resisted, well. .
She reached into her bundle of possessions and fingered the bag of oblong, which was still nearly full. Her father had taught her that a sword was the best persuasion, but Laela had always thought money worked far better.
With that in mind, she stayed with the cart for the next two days, ignoring her new acquaintance’s suggestions for her to leave before they reached Guard’s Post.
By midmorning of the second day, the Northgates loomed ahead. She had never seen mountains before, and these looked enormous to her. She watched them as the cart trundled on, marvelling at their sheer, rocky slopes and wondering why and how anyone would ever climb them.
Fortunately-of course-the cart and its owners weren’t going to try. The road led them to a wide pass that led through the mountains, and they entered it at around midday and then trundled along it, walled in by cliffs on either side.
Laela shivered and pulled her dress over her legs. The cliffs were high, and it was cold and dark between them. For a moment she had the irrational feeling that they had gone underground, but after a while, the pass opened up a little, and the sun warmed her face.
She looked ahead, her heart thudding now in anticipation. They were nearly there.
They reached Guard’s Post by evening. Laela, standing up on the back of the cart to look ahead, had seen it some time ago, and she watched it come closer.
Guard’s Post had been partly carved out of the walls of the pass and consisted mostly of a huge archway. Below it was an enormous iron gate that had to be raised and lowered by chains. Above it there were towers, built on the cliff-tops. Laela thought they looked familiar, but it took a while for her to decide why.
She remembered a drawing she had seen once, in a book. A tower, tall but solid, its sides full of strange, arched openings, each one with a platform jutting out from it. A griffiner tower, her father had explained. The platforms were for the griffins to land on, and the openings led into nesting chambers.
The towers at Guard’s Post had openings just like that.
Laela hugged her knees and shivered with excitement. Griffiner towers! She had always wanted to see one, and now she was seeing two.
There didn’t seem to be any griffins around them, though. Privately, she was relieved. Griffins were notoriously dangerous and temperamental creatures-not even a griffiner could really control one, or so her father had told her. They had magic. They also had beaks and talons meant for tearing flesh, and they were carnivores. That last part bothered Laela far more than magic.
The cart reached the gate before the driver pulled the oxen to a halt and waved to a small figure standing on the crenulated wall above. The figure waved back.
The driver sat down.
“An’ now we wait,” one of his companions muttered.
Laela got off the back of the cart, suddenly nervous.
At first it seemed nothing was happening; she kept expecting the huge gate to open, but it never did. Were they going to have to turn back?
The driver tensed in his seat. “Here they come,” he said. “Throw yer weapons down.”
Laela pulled her sword around to the back of her belt and took her blanket-roll down off the cart and slung it over her shoulder, hoping it would hide the weapon. Nothing would make her part with the sword unless it was a matter of life and death.
A few tense moments passed, while the travellers laid their weapons down at their feet in plain sight, and the driver got down off the cart. Laela stood tall to look past them, and her heart beat fast as she saw a group of men come toward them.
“Who are ye an’ what d’ye want, Southerner?” a harshly accented voice demanded of the driver.
He bowed nervously. “I’m here to trade, sir. I’ve brought plenty of goods.”
Laela, keeping well back, clenched her fists with nervous impatience. She desperately wanted to see the Northerners, but the bulky forms of her fellow travellers were in her way, and she didn’t want to draw attention to herself.
“Out of the way,” the first voice said, and the travellers obligingly moved away from the cart.
The Northerners-six in all-surrounded the cart, while two of their number climbed up on it and began to search through its contents.
Laela, seeing them at last, felt her breath catch in her throat. No.
The Northerners were tall and long-limbed-lightly built, but sinewy. Their hair was black as coal, and they had pale skin, and when one of them turned toward her Laela saw his eyes-glittering black, impassive.
Oh, Gryphus, she thought, suddenly trembling.
One of the Northerners lifted up a box. “What’s in this?”
“Melon seeds, sir,” said the driver.
The Northerner grunted and prised the box open. Laela saw his fingers, long, elegant fingers. . his face, sharp-featured and cunning. .
Without thinking, she ran a hand over her own face. Was that what she looked like? Was she one of them? A darkwoman?
But she was. She knew she was. Everything about them matched her own looks, everything but the eyes. .
“We’ll take it,” said the leader, his sharp voice breaking into her thoughts. “Ye can bring it in through the gate-only ye, mind. The rest can stay here. We don’t need no bloody Southerners stinkin’ up the place.”
“Yes, sir,” the driver nodded, and climbed back onto his seat.
The Northerners seemed to find something very amusing about this, and they sniggered among themselves as the cart moved forward again.
Laela darted forward. “Hey!”
One of the Northerners turned sharply. “What d’ye want, girl?”
Laela faced him. “I’m goin’ through, too.”
He planted a hand on her chest and shoved her backward so hard she nearly fell over. “Ye’re goin’ nowhere, Southerner. We’re only lettin’ this one through under sufferance. An’ we don’t buy whores.”
Laela felt ice-cold rage burning in her chest. “Yeh’ll let me through, Northerner,” she said. “I’ve come ’ere because I want t’go into the North.”
The Northerner laughed at that-a rough, cruel laugh. “Ye, go North? That’s a nice ’un. Listen t’this, lads-we got a Southerner wantin’ to come into the King’s lands!”
“I can pay yeh-” Laela began.
The Northerner had had his fun. “Sod off, Southerner,” he said.
Laela ran after him. “I ain’t no bloody Southerner, understand?” she roared. “I’m one of you, damn it!”
The man turned. “Look-”
She reached up to the hood she had kept in place for weeks and tore it off. The long, jet-black hair she hated tumbled free in greasy curls around her face, and she glared defiantly at the Northerners.
Everyone there started in shock.
“There,” Laela said loudly. “Yeh see that?” She held up a hand. “See these, yeh bastard? I’m a Northerner, an’ I want t’go home.”
The leader of the Northerners pushed past his comrades to look at her. His black eyes narrowed. “Ye ain’t no Northerner. Look at them eyes. Ye’re a Night-cursed half-breed, ain’t ye?”
“Me father was a Northerner,” Laela said steadily.
“But not yer mother,” the man finished. “Go away, girl. We don’t need yer Southern blood on our soil.”
Laela took a deep breath-this was her last chance. “Fine, so I’m a half-breed. But I’m a half-breed what’s carryin’ five hundred gold oblong.”
The commander stopped at that. “Five hundred-don’t try an’ play games, half-blood, or I’ll carve yer throat out.”
Laela swung her bundle down off her shoulders and pulled out the bag of money. She opened it and pulled out a single oblong, holding it so it flashed in the light. “I’ll give it to yeh,” she said. “If yeh let me through.”
The man fingered the hilt of the wicked-looking sickle in his belt. “An’ what’s t’stop me takin’ it anyway, girl?”
Laela reached behind her back and freed her sword. “This is,” she snarled, and pointed it directly at his throat.
The man stared at her. Then he glanced at his companions, who were looking on, unreadable.
Then, suddenly, he burst out laughing. “Hahahah! Hark at that half-breed, would ye? Thinks she’s gonna walk straight through here with her trusty sword an’ her bag of oblong.”
“I’ll walk through with the sword,” said Laela. “The oblong’re yours.”
The commander became serious. “What’s yer name, girl?”
She lifted her chin. “Laela Redguard of Sturrick.”
“An’ why are ye tryin’ t’go North, Laela Redguard of Sturrick?”
“’Cause. .” Laela hesitated. “’Cause once all Northerners. . once darkmen like you din’t have no place to call home. Yeh were all slaves, in the North or anywhere else, an’ nobody thought yeh were anythin’ but worthless. Now yeh’ve shown the world yeh ain’t that, an’ yeh’ve got Southerners callin’ you ‘sir.’ Well, I ain’t no Southerner, an’ I ain’t no Northerner, an’ I got no home an’ no respect neither. But I thought if I went North an’ found my father’s people, then maybe I’d find somewhere, ’cause you people’d understand. Or maybe I’m wrong,” she added more softly.
The commander watched her in silence while she spoke. When she had finished, he looked her up and down and then turned away.
“Right,” he said to his companions, as if nothing had happened. “Let’s get goin’. Ye, run back an’ tell ’em t’open the gate. Ye there-Southerner-get them ox movin’. I want that cart inside before the Night God wakes. C’mon, hurry it up!”
The men sprang into action. Laela, for her part, stayed where she was, still holding the sword and the bag of money. Nobody went near her, and the commander, busy ordering his men around, paid her no more attention.
Slowly, laboriously, the gate rose on its chains. When it was high enough and the signal had been given, the cart moved forward again.
Laela followed it. Nobody tried to stop her.
They passed through the gateway and into a big open area with curving stone walls on two sides and another gate in front. There the cart came to a stop, and a group of Northerners-including some women-began to unload its contents while the commander argued with the driver over prices.
Laela stood to one side, expecting to be attacked at any moment. Nobody paid her any attention.
Finally, when the cart was all but empty and the driver had collected his money, the gate opened again, and the oxen did a clumsy turn and began to walk back out the way they had come. Laela watched, not knowing if she should stay or follow.
“Where d’ye think yer goin’, girl?” said the commander’s voice from behind her.
Laela turned and silently offered him the bag of money.
He ignored it and ushered her toward the other gate. It stayed closed, but there was another, far smaller door set into the stonework beside it. The commander opened it.
“Go,” he said, gesturing to the landscape on the other side.
Laela tried to put the bag into his hands. “Here,” she said. “Payment, like I promised.”
He pushed it back toward her. “Keep it,” he said. “I get paid plenty.”
Laela looked suspiciously at him. “Why are yeh lettin’ me through then, if yeh ain’t takin’ the money?”
He straightened up. “The North’s a home for warriors, girl, not traders. I dunno if ye’ll find a home there, but ye’ll need that money. An’ maybe ye’ve got Southern blood in ye, but ye’ve acted like a darkwoman, an’ that’s enough for me.”
Very slowly, Laela refastened the string around the neck of the bag and stowed it away again. “Thanks.”
The commander smiled very slightly at her. “Go on,” he said. “An’ good luck, Laela.”
Laela glanced at him and stepped through the door. Into the North.