Arenadd and the White Child

Plague had come to Malvern.

It was in the middle of the summer of the fifth year of the reign of King Arenadd Taranisäii the First, when a merchant down in the city suddenly fell ill with a violent fever and died a few days later. By then the victim's family had all become sick as well, and several of his employees, and then their own families. Within a week every house on that street had been touched by it.

The news was not slow to reach the Eyrie. By the end of the second week one of the Master of Healing's underlings in the city had sent a report back to her superior, and having read it the Master of Healing took it with him to that day's Council meeting. The other members of the thirteen strong Council arrived in ones and twos, most of them coming straight from their offices, and many of them carrying papers of their own. The Master of Building, the Master of Trade, the Master of Law, the Master of Gold, the High Priestess, each of them accompanied by their griffin partner and some with an apprentice or two in tow. A pair of scribes discreetly took up position off to one side, ready to record everything that was said.

Last to arrive was the King, who as usual managed to catch everyone unaware. He entered the Council Chamber by some side door or other, moving in absolute silence the way he always did, and no-one noticed him until he entered the ring of seats and stepped up onto the central platform. A few people watching from up in the gallery cheered at the sight of him.

Arenadd did not acknowledge the sound. He was closer to thirty than twenty, but didn't look it. In fact he looked as if he was barely out of his teens, long-limbed and perhaps a touch on the gangly side, his face unlined and youthful. But for all that he had the weariness of a much older man, and as usual wore a gloomy, haunted expression. Some people said it had been six years since anyone had seen him smile even for a moment. At least he appeared to be sober this time.

Even so the Master of Healing was glad to see him. Arenadd might be in a constant state of frequently drunken melancholy these days, but the people loved him for all he had done for them during what was now known as the Northern Uprising, and no-one was ever likely to forget that he was something more than human. As long as a divinity like him was their leader, they were safe and blessed, and the Master of Healing trusted him absolutely.

The Councillors bowed to their ruler, and Arenadd acknowledged it with a polite nod. As usual he was wearing a finely tailored black robe over black leggings, with a pair of sturdy leather boots. No-one had ever seen him wear anything else. But with that went a fine golden torc around his neck, and a silver crown set with a single beautifully cut sapphire the size of a baby's hand.

'This meeting is now in session,' Arenadd said formally, breaking the silence that had fallen with his arrival. 'Welcome.'

The griffins were stirring and looking around the chamber, and Saeddryn, the High Priestess, spoke up. 'Sire, where is yer partner-?'

A sudden loud thump cut her off, and as heads turned to look the last of the griffins entered. Even now the Master of Healing was struck by his sheer size – the entrance he used had been made oversized to accommodate griffins, which were large creatures to begin with, but even then his head brushed the top of the archway.

Immediately the griffins of the Council bowed their heads low to their superior, who loped over to the platform, carelessly shoving them out of his way, and jumped up beside his human. The Mighty Skandar, just as legendary as Arenadd himself, had black and silver feathers and black fur on his hindquarters, and wings mottled with black, white and silver whose span was wide enough to blot out the sun. He glowered at them all, saying nothing.

Arenadd seemed faintly amused. 'Very well, now this meeting is in session,' he said. 'Now, to begin with, does anyone have anything to report which the Council must hear of without delay?' Unlike the other members of the Council he had the accents of someone from the far South, rounded and haughty.