A Blight of Blackwings

by Kevin Hearne

  “Good evening, everyone,” I said. “I know you’re all anxious to eat. But before you do, please allow me to give you something to discuss. It’s something we should figure out together before we reach our destination. We are not going to have either a viceroy or a hearthfire, so we need to agree on some other method of governance. I’d like to propose one, in hopes of sparking discussion and perhaps concord.” I paused to take a swallow of mead before continuing.

  “It seems to me that a single leader can be efficient on the one hand, but dangerous on the other if that leader has a head full of shrieking bats. And it seems to me that elected councils can be slow and unwieldy on the one hand, but more easily replaced and accountable to the populace than single rulers. I’d like to propose a system in which we have a single leader checked by a council, and that council can also make laws checked by the single leader. The idea is that each would act as a foil against excesses. I think such foils are necessary because of my lived experience. I hope you will bear with me while I share this and that you will think of your own experience living under various rulers.”

  I paused for a moment and saw encouragement from the faces around my campfire. I heard calls and whoops from other fires as well.

  “My father, Winthir Kanek, and Gorin Mogen were both remarkable hearthfires. They accomplished much and brought prosperity to Narvik, Tharsif, and Harthrad. They were strong leaders who more often than not led their people well. But they also had no check on their worst impulses. They both thought more of their own desires and pride than of the well-being and prosperity of their people—and if any of you Hathrim wish to disagree with me on that point, please seek me out and we will have a polite but spirited argument. I state flatly to you now that I am not my father or Gorin Mogen, nor do I wish to be. My only thought is that I want us all to prosper. And I do not think that I can make that happen on my own. I do not think any single person can.

  “Our future city—a city to be named by our Nentian citizens, since it will be within the borders of Ghurana Nent—should be ruled by a steward and a council both. All should be elected by the general populace for terms to be decided.” I spoke for a while about how the steward and council would check each other but emphasized that my ideas were merely a starting point.

  “This is not my decree. It is the opening of discussion. Let us think on it tonight and on the trail tomorrow and come back tomorrow night to either approve it, make adjustments, or propose other methods of governance. If you would like to be heard tomorrow evening and speak on this matter, please see either me, La Mastik, or the Raelech bard. Thank you and good evening.”

  I made a throat-slashing motion to the bard and he nodded at me, ceasing to project my voice. I exhaled and let my shoulders slump. I squatted by the fire and shook my head. “Why would anyone want to do that every day?” I asked rhetorically. It was more exhausting than battle in one sense. I felt like I might understand why hearthfires would rather operate on the principle that the strongest shall lead; it was simple and eliminated questions. My questions began with Did I do that right? and proceeded to What if I didn’t? and continued on to What should I do next? If my father was ever afflicted with such self-doubt, I never saw it.

  But soon after that—an hour or so after dinner—people started appearing at our fire, wishing to talk to me, La Mastik, or the Raelech bard. They all had ideas to build off mine, and I learned that all one has to do to get people involved is not ask for their ideas but put one out there and ask them to respond to it.

  “Okay, that was instructive,” I said, after everyone had cleared off to call it a night. “Ask people to come up with something and you get nothing. Come up with something and they can’t wait to tear it up.”

  “Welcome to leadership,” La Mastik said.

  “I don’t want to be in leadership.”

  “Neither does anyone else who’s sane. They’ll let you do it, Olet. They just want to yell at you while you do it.”

  “Why doesn’t someone else do it and let me yell at them?”

  La Mastik raised an eyebrow at me. “Do you want a genuine answer to that?”

  “Of course I do.”

  The priestess passed a hand over her scalp and snuffed the flames there. “Then let’s step aside and talk softly.”

  The Raelech bard waved up at us from below and did one of those loud whispers. “Can I listen in?” he asked. “I promise not to say anything. I’m just really interested in this.”

  We both shrugged and the bard trailed after us as we stepped a few paces away from the fire into the darkness.

  “My suggestion boils down to one thing,” La Mastik said. “Stow the armor.”

  “What? Why?”

  “As long as you wear it, you look like a military leader. You look like you have a plan and you know what you’re doing. And, not incidentally, you look like you will slay anyone who disagrees with you.”

  “Those aren’t all good things?”

  La Mastik snorted. “Not when you want someone else to step up into a leadership role. We’re not at war anymore, Olet. We’re not invaders. We’re not defending anyone except ourselves. Let that armor rest awhile.”

  “Okay, I hear you and I totally agree,” I said. “That’s very perceptive and I should do it.”

  “Except?”

  “Except I don’t have much else to wear. I mean, if I take off the armor, I’m pretty much in my undies.”

  “Are you kidding me right now?”

  “No, I’m not. Have you seen me without my armor since Mount Thayil erupted?”

  “…I guess I haven’t.”

  “That’s because the eruption of a volcano leaves you very little time to pack your wardrobe. And have you noticed how many merchants in Ghurana Nent stock clothing in Hathrim sizes?”

  “I haven’t seen any.”

  “There you go. You’re all caught up on my situation.”

  “Shit.”

  “Nentians don’t make tunics in my size.”

  “No, no, I get it now.”

  I smiled. “Fortunately, we have a Nentian seamstress among our group and she’s making me something. So I will do as you suggest.”

  “Ah. I knew you had to be lighting my candle.”

  Debate the next night was spirited, and we heard from people, both Hathrim and Nentian, that would almost certainly be part of the new government. Halsten Durik, the former houndmaster of Gorin Mogen, spoke rousingly about the potential for greatness in a forest like this. He had silver threads in his beard and mustache, and together with a surplus of muscle he cut an impressive figure. But his words were largely aimed at Hathrim ears, and I overheard one Nentian say to another, “He knows we’re here, right?”

  A Nentian man from Ar Balesh offered some very smart suggestions about sanitation and infrastructure and the sorts of incredibly boring things that save people’s lives—or imperil them if they’re ignored. If he didn’t get elected, I’d seek him out for advice.

  And at the end of that night’s discussions, all I had to do was say, “That was great! Precisely the sort of thing I was hoping for. Let’s continue to talk and be excited about governing ourselves.”

  Despite how tiring it was, I vastly preferred this to running everything myself. But I heard about it the next evening from many Hathrim who didn’t prefer it at all—or, rather, from one Hathrim, who claimed he spoke for many others. They wanted me to end this “interminable discussion” and just make a decision. His name was Lanner Burgan. He had been a houndsman at the Battle of the Godsteeth, serving under Halsten, and the only reason he was still alive was because Abhi had driven the hounds to the sea and Lanner’s company had been surrounded by Fornish thornhands.

  He had red hair a bit darker than mine, and his beard fell down to his chest with a single braid in the middle, bound wit
h a gold bangle at the bottom. He had shaven the right side of his head to allow someone to tattoo a stylized depiction of Mount Thayil erupting. I had seen several such tattoos appear recently, including on the side of Halsten’s head; it seemed like it was something of a fad among the men, and I wondered if it was confined to former houndsmen. He was shorter than me by at least a foot, but he was much broader, his body put together in huge beefy slabs.

  “How was it interminable?” I asked him. “It lasted a couple of hours, and you could tune out anytime if I understand the bard correctly. His kenning doesn’t work without your consent. You only hear the discussion if you want to.”

  “I simply mean I’d rather hear what we’re going to do and then do it.”

  “So you want to be reliably informed of governmental decisions.”

  “Yes. As long as they’re your decisions.” His lip curled. “Not some nebbishy Nentian.”

  “Oh,” I said, and his words reminded me that I had heard of Lanner from somewhere else. La Mastik had reported a disturbing event she’d witnessed back in Baghra Khek. Early in the occupation, a party of Nentians sent by the viceroy of Hashan Khek arrived and Gorin Mogen invited them to his hearth, which would normally be a sign of goodwill and safe passage, but then he killed them all. Lanner Burgan had participated in that slaughter. “You want me to be hearthfire.”

  “Yes.”

  “That is never going to happen, Lanner. That’s a title I’m actively shunning, and you’ve heard me say that on multiple occasions. But I will promise you this much: Whatever is decided regarding the government’s structure, I will run for office in it, to be elected or not as the people see fit.”

  “But what if the Nentians run everything?”

  I blinked at him. “Is that a concern?”

  “Yes!”

  “Okay. Are you worried that Nentians would make bad decisions regarding our survival?”

  “No, though they probably would. I’m worried that they’ll make laws that favor them and put Hathrim at a disadvantage.”

  “I see. But if I was hearthfire, then might not the Nentians have the same fear regarding me? That I would make laws that favor Hathrim?”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “I’d hope not. But I could. And if I did, would you be okay with that? If I was being unfair to Nentians, would you speak up and point that out to me?”

  He looked uncomfortable. “I’m not sure.”

  “Would you even notice if laws disadvantaged others?”

  “I don’t know. That’s impossible to know.”

  “I’m trying to understand the nature of your worry here. Are you worried about equality for all, or are you worried that Hathrim will be disadvantaged?”

  Lanner’s lip curled again, and he pointed a thick finger at me. “I can tell by the way you asked me that you think the right answer’s equality for all, but it isn’t. Looking after your own is always the right answer. This system you’re proposing is going to put the Nentians in charge of us, and that’s not why I followed you.”

  “That’s a good question: Why did you follow me?”

  “I thought you’d be tough. Daughter of Winthir Kanek and marrying into the Mogens? Thought you’d have some sand.”

  “Sand melts at high temperatures. I don’t.”

  Lanner’s teeth flashed dull red in the firelight. “Ah, see there? That’s more like it. We’re a strong people. We won’t allow ourselves to be led by weakness.”

  “Trying to find a better way to live is not weakness. It’s bold. If I were clinging to old ideas and not trying to improve on what came before me, that would be weakness.”

  “The way we’ve always done things in Hathrir has worked out just fine.”

  “Maybe it worked in Hathrir for some people. But I think recent evidence suggests what worked in Hathrir does not work in Ghurana Nent. And we’re in Ghurana Nent.”

  “Are you slagging Gorin Mogen right now? Because Gorin Mogen was the kind of bold you were just talking about. He was trying something new.”

  “Trying to steal something from people who are smaller and weaker than you isn’t new, Lanner. It’s probably one of the oldest ideas there is. But you have options. First, you can leave anytime. Barring that, you can vote for someone else when it comes time for us to hold an election. And, of course, you can run for office yourself.”

  “You don’t run for office. You take it.”

  “In Hathrir, that is absolutely what you do. Not here.”

  “Because you say so?”

  “Yes, because I say so.”

  “I think our people will have something else to say.”

  “Everyone will. That’s what an election is. But maybe you and your friends can help the Hathrim come out on top.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Pretend that the election goes the way you think it will and we are ruled entirely by Nentians. What laws or policies should be in effect to prevent them from discriminating against Hathrim or any other group of people? What policies or structures would need to be in place, in other words, to make you feel comfortable with Nentians running things?”

  “I’ll never be comfortable with that.”

  “Maybe comfortable isn’t the right word. But regardless of who’s in charge, what can we do to make sure they can’t discriminate against the Hathrim?”

  “It wouldn’t be an issue if you’d just stand up and do what’s right.”

  I almost rolled my eyes.

  “That’s precisely what I am doing, so I guess we don’t have an issue. Thanks for bringing this up. Please come find me before tomorrow night’s fire and share your ideas to prevent discrimination.”

  “Maybe I’ll come up with someone else who’s willing to rule the Hathrim properly.”

  “Maybe,” I agreed, and then pointedly turned to a Nentian waiting behind Lanner to speak with me. I said hello, and Lanner got the hint that our discussion was over.

  I had many more conversations with people who were by turns excited and scared, and I fell asleep utterly exhausted. Being a citizen was harder work, in some ways, than hammering at the forge. And I was sure I hadn’t heard the last of Lanner Burgan. I’d been thinking that the Hathrim were going along with this much too easily and wondering when fear of the new and different would blaze up. Apparently, it was as soon as I stated concretely that doing things like we’d always done was no longer an option.

  I’d have to be careful. I was fairly certain that the primary method of problem solving in Lanner’s arsenal was the use of violence.

  Gerstad Nara du Fesset fetched me before dawn and grinned at me as I answered the door, bleary-eyed, with a candle wavering in my hand.

  “Hi, Dervan! Get dressed. Breakfast at the palace this morning. Then maybe you and I will get to cuss at somebody who deserves it.” She waggled her eyebrows at me.

  My jaw dropped. “The Wraith?” I whispered, though I couldn’t imagine who else would be awake at this hour to overhear.

  “Uh-huh. Come on.”

  I pivoted and tried to hurry, forgot my knee didn’t like that, and fell down. That happens sometimes. I cussed plenty as I tracked down the candle and snuffed it before it could ignite my house.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “Oh, don’t worry. Take your time, you know. But hurry up.”

  I did my best, and the sun was peeking over the horizon as we entered the palace. Mariners led us to the pelenaut’s dining room, where Rölly and Föstyr were waiting. A plate piled high with toast and a selection of preserves made me smile, and there was a pot of tea as well.

  “Sorry about the hour,” Rölly said, “but I doubt my duties in the Wellspring will let me get away later. This is the best time to do this.”

  I assured him it was no trouble and
reached for the strawberry preserves.

  “I also wanted to thank you for letting me know about Gondel Vedd, Dervan. Gerstad, I’m sending you to Fornyd after this to seek him out and bring him back if you can. Otherwise, I’ll ask you to have him translate something for us on the spot. I’d send Tallynd to do it, but you’ll understand shortly why I need to keep her here. Let’s cram in some fuel and we’ll get going.”

  I will always remember the four of us crunching toast together before departing to confront evil. I mean, it’s what I did every morning, but now I was doing it with friends. This, I thought, is how it should be.

  On the way to the special holding cell underneath the palace, Rölly explained that an actual conversation would be impossible. We’d have to write a bunch of questions down and hope that the Wraith chose to answer them. There was no way to force compliance, though they were giving him the very worst food and promising better fare if he cooperated.

  The cell was as described—a double wall of glass all around, filled with water and even a few fish, and in the middle of it, an air pocket with two occupants. We entered an observation area off to one side; the entrance to the cell was to our right. The residents were a little distorted because of the water, but they didn’t look like nightmares. Approval Smile was not smiling, but she remained the efficient-looking professional, her skin tone edging toward the dark-brown Kaurian range. She had no smile for me now. When she saw me, she lowered her chin and snarled or hissed or something. A proper glower, it was. I returned it as best I could but probably wasn’t that intimidating.

  The Wraith had no malevolent glare to send my way. If anything, he looked faintly amused. Which I absolutely hated, and which was probably why he looked that way. It was difficult for me to feel triumphant when he looked so pleased with himself.

  His appearance surprised me. I’d only spoken with him in darkness as he wheezed and coughed moistly, and I’d erroneously assumed he was overweight to the point of near immobility. But no, he was stick-boned, his face a long cylinder, his muscles atrophied, and he sagged in a chair with wheels on it. But I saw him move both his arms and legs, so he wasn’t paralyzed; something else was wrong. His eyes, however, were focused, sharp, and laughing at me. He chucked his chin in my direction and grinned. The teeth were not in good shape.