K. Taylor - The Shadow's heir

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?”