A Blight of Blackwings

by Kevin Hearne

  Once that was done, I returned to the spot where Tarrech had died, searching for pieces of him that were large enough for us to bury. I found some clods of dirt that kept together well enough to be carried out; he shouldn’t rest on salted earth, and I filled my courier’s satchel with his remains.

  We did suffer other casualties. The Bone Giants found occasional gaps between shields and exploited them or took advantage when a soldier got their spear stuck in a body and couldn’t yank it out in time to strike at the next one. Once we pushed them back from the open area near the gates, progress was slower, as we had to clear streets and buildings. They pulled off a few successful ambushes, but they were not ideally suited to urban warfare when the buildings weren’t scaled to their size. I ran messages between temblors and small scouting missions to find pockets of them hiding out, while the rest of the army hauled our dead to a field where they could be buried and a memorial erected later by a stonecutter. Temblor Priyit was among those who sought out the stragglers, continuing to put herself at risk even though she was covered in blood, some of it probably hers.

  Some of the Eculans escaped to the harbor and sailed a few boats to the east, which displeased the temblors, but the work was finished by midday: Möllerud was liberated and Rael safe from attack.

  We had to dig a mass grave by hand since we had no other blessed among us, but there were plenty of shovels and plenty of us to do the work. The Bone Giants, however, would not rest in the earth with us. Temblor Connagh had already ordered that their bodies would be rowed out to sea, using their own boats, and dumped into the ocean far enough away that they wouldn’t wash up onshore, an operation that would take days.

  When it was time, I emptied my satchel into the grave so that Tarrech could rest with the men and women who fought with him. He didn’t save them all, but he did wind up saving most. Not having to attack a wall or face archers and getting free access to the city made all the difference. I considered keeping a small piece of him but then thought that was selfish and unnecessary; I had perfect recall, after all, and required no reminders.

  Temblor Priyit didn’t join us at sunset in singing the Dirge for the Fallen, but that was easy to forgive. She spread her arms wide and looked up, mouthing some Nentian words to Kalaad in the sky as she wept for the dead, tears creating pink streaks through the blood on her face, and I appreciated it. My face looked the same, no doubt.

  I thought about what Tarrech would have done in such a situation and approached her afterward. I saw her tense when she spotted me, the tight nod of greeting, the lips pressed thin.

  “Temblor. You fought well today and you honored the fallen in your own fashion. Thank you. I just wanted to let you know that my grudge is buried in this field also.”

  She blinked a few times in surprise before replying, “Thank you, Master Courier.”

  “You can call me Tuala if you want.”

  * * *

  —

  The next morning, I ran to Killae to tell the Triune Council what had happened. And then I returned to Randulet to keep my oath and tell Tarrech’s family he wouldn’t be coming home.

  Aevyn’s eyes filled but she kept it together as I handed over his Jereh band, having known when I came to get him that he might never be back.

  “Rael has its victory, Tarrech has his honor, and everyone gets to return to their cozy lives,” she said. “Except for my kids and me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She looked down at the band and a tear escaped from her eye. “For seven years I had it all, you know? I mentioned it to him once. But he told me all we had was a single beautiful season that would eventually pass.”

  “Seven years is a goodly length for a season,” I ventured.

  “It is,” she agreed. “But it wasn’t enough. I wanted more.”

  I was morose in the morning, and after a quiet and meditative breakfast, I realized it was because I identified so strongly with Aevyn. Like her, I’d had it all for a little while. It was more than seven years, but still a little while, too little by far. It was better than many people ever enjoyed and I should be grateful. But I wished it had kept going, that Sarena was still with me. Just as so many other widows and widowers wished. Because it had not ended by natural causes, by getting old or falling sick or growing sick of each other. It had ended because someone chose to be violent, to kill for religion or patriotism or some other abstraction, and thereby rob someone else of their love.

  I toyed with the idea of sending Aevyn a gift basket but recalled that I didn’t appreciate such things when I was in mourning. They were just reminders of the enormity of my loss.

  I could offer her some vague wisdom on how to carry on afterward, but I didn’t think I was especially an expert on the subject. Apart from avoiding self-destructive behavior, I hadn’t accomplished anything of note and certainly hadn’t fallen in love again.

  Fintan picked up on my mood when we met. “What’s on your mind?” he asked.

  “Aevyn. Is she all right?”

  The bard shrugged. “I doubt it. She’s alone with a couple of kids and emotionally devastated. But if you mean does she have enough to eat and are her basic needs met, then yes. The families of juggernauts are always taken care of in that regard.”

  “Did you get that story from Tuala herself?”

  “Yes. I had occasion to speak with her before coming here.”

  “Will she be joining our forces heading to Ecula?”

  “Maybe. I have no idea where she is currently, but couriers can get here fast.” And then the bard ambushed me. “Tell me, Dervan, have you any news on that mysterious item of Clodagh’s that Brynlön supposedly has in its possession?”

  “No,” I said, perhaps too quickly. “I mean, we still don’t even know what we’re talking about. Unless you’ve since been informed what the mysterious item is?”

  “I haven’t.” He grinned at me. “So you never passed on the message?”

  I shook my head and shrugged, hoping these might distract from my expression, which I was sure was practically screaming, I’m lying right now! “There was nothing to pass on.”

  “Mmm, I see. Well, I’m fairly certain I’ll have to ask again next time a courier shows up. Clodagh is going to want an answer.”

  “She can get it from the pelenaut. I know nothing.”

  I felt hot and flushed for the rest of the session and actually began sweating. Why Rölly ever thought I’d be a good spy is beyond me.

  Later, Fintan told his audience that the day’s song would be a Kaurian homecoming hymn.

  I’m finally tacking into port

  Where all my treasures wait,

  No longer wishing to roam;

  My tunic’s flecked with salt spray and foam

  And I hope it’s not too late

  To take my ease at home.

  There’s a lady I wish to court

  And in fact we have a date,

  Going to dig out an old comb

  And run it over my dome,

  Try to calm my heart rate

  Before I see my bride at home.

  “When we last left Gondel Vedd, he’d just made a discovery during his journey home that the Eculan god is named Žalost. Let’s pick up with him as he returns to port in Linlauen.”

  Ponder Tann did me a great disservice by flying away early from the ship to inform Mistral Kira of my imminent arrival. As a result, Chamberlain Teela Parr was waiting for me as I debarked, together with an escort of liveried palace staff.

  “Scholar Vedd,” she greeted me, and then her eyes traveled down and back up to my face. “You look…as you normally do.”

  “What?” I looked down at my tunic. It was perhaps a bit rumpled, but it wasn’t soiled with anything new, just a few old spots I could never get out. “I should allow you a bath a
nd a change of clothes first, but the mistral wants you immediately.”

  “Immediately? But I have a cabin full of gift baskets with very important mus—”

  “It’ll be seen to carefully, you have my word,” she said, and nodded once to the man on her left, who nodded back, understanding that this was now his responsibility. “Now, come along.”

  I really did not want to go with her. I wanted to see my husband first. But I didn’t see much choice before me, so I sighed in resignation and followed her on wobbly knees. She went too fast at first and I made no effort to keep up, allowing her to remember that my top speed was slow. There was a carriage waiting at the end of the docks, but there were teahouses and restaurants and souvenir shops in between, the sorts of establishments designed to separate tourists from their money, and therein awaited my opportunity.

  “Chamberlain…” I clutched my gut as we approached Mugg’s Chowder House. “I must ask that we stop here momentarily. I must avail myself of their facilities.”

  “We can do that at Windsong.”

  “I really must insist. I won’t last the carriage ride.” Still cradling my gut, I waddled toward the entrance without waiting for her permission. This was the “old man’s bladder trick,” which Maron had taught me a couple of years ago, except I was doing a slight variation of it called “whoops, I’m incontinent!” Teela Parr growled her frustration behind me but grudgingly commanded me to make haste, and I stifled a grin. She sent her other lackey after me to “make sure I didn’t get lost.”

  Still, losing him was easy enough.

  Mugg’s Chowder House was designed to serve a lot of people, because its appeal was universal to both locals and visitors. Locals loved the proprietor—whose actual name was Fuller Mugg—for his stories about visitors. And visitors loved that the chowder was always served in a Mugg’s mug instead of a bowl, a spectacularly inconvenient length to go for a pun, because it made as much sense as eating a sandwich out of a champagne flute to me. But, of course, Mugg had put his mug on his mugs, a very clever illustration in which he was holding one of the self-same mugs as in a toast to the patron; it was all very meta, and he sold as many Mugg’s Mug mugs as he did sides of soda bread. He served an extraordinary number of people, so he required extraordinary facilities. I was counting on Teela’s picked man not to know this. People who worked at Windsong Palace tended to frequent the fancier places up on the cliffside, where the wind could be felt more strongly and they could feel in turn as if Reinei was blessing them and so on. Mugg’s Chowder House was a place for the common man, like me.

  We brushed past the hostess stand and headed straight for the washrooms. I paused briefly in front of the door and turned to scowl at the youngster, who looked like he was ready to follow me in. “I’ll be quick as I can,” I said, my disapproval clear, and his face fell as he realized he’d been about to invade my privacy.

  “Right. I’ll wait here,” the young man said. I entered alone, walked the length of the expansive washroom, and exited out the other side, for there was a whole other wing of Mugg’s over there, together with a door leading outside. I used it and turned left, heading up a different aisle of the docks but ultimately leading right past the carriage that Teela Parr had waiting for me. Beyond it there were rickshaws for hire, and I grabbed the first one in the queue and gave the driver my address. Teela had no doubt figured out by then that I’d ditched her, and I’d never be able to pull that trick on her again, but if I got to see Maron before work consumed me, it’d be worth it.

  I paid the driver and burst into our humble cottage, all excited, shouting, “Maron! I’m home!” But I could tell instantly he wasn’t there. We had a very small place together and the air was still, even though the windows were open.

  It was disappointing but not completely unexpected. I used the opportunity to change into a clean tunic, look into a glass, and think briefly about how much I could do to make myself look presentable if only I had ever bothered to learn the procedures. To compensate I had learned to say, “Sorry, I’m a mess,” in seven languages.

  I almost left Zanata Sedam behind but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I picked it up and held it underneath an arm as I left our cottage to seek out Maron at his favorite haunt, a café not two blocks away with a patio open to the breeze and a view of the ocean. I thought the seagulls could be annoying there, but he enjoyed defending his meal from airborne thieves. “I wouldn’t punch anything in the world but a seagull,” he told me once. “They are supremely punchable creatures. I’m at peace with that particular violence, and I like to think Reinei understands.”

  He was, as I expected, sitting on the patio. However, he was not alone, and I did not recognize the man sitting across from him. I was about to call out and wave, but something made me pause, uncertain. It was their expressions, the way they were smiling at each other—but especially Maron. That expression on his face was rarely shared with anyone but me.

  A cold swirl of fear circled in my gut. Was Maron…having an affair? Considering how often I’d been absent, I supposed I couldn’t blame him if he was. I could feel devastated, though.

  But they weren’t touching in any way. Perhaps I shouldn’t jump to conclusions.

  I needed to tell him I’d returned, if nothing else, so I gulped down a ball of worry and uncertainty and stepped forward into his view.

  “Hello, Maron. I’m home.”

  When his eyes locked on mine, his mouth dropped open in surprise, then his face transformed into joy. “What! Gondel!” He leapt out of his chair to crush me in his arms, and that cold knot of fear loosened somewhat. It dissolved completely when he spoke in my ear, “Welcome back, my love.”

  I was home indeed.

  A quick kiss, and he introduced the man sitting across from him. “Gondel, you’ve heard me speak of him but never met before: This is my cousin Nevel Tibb, from Teibell.”

  I shook his hand with shuddering relief and wished him peace.

  “Come, please, sit,” Maron said, gesturing to an empty chair. “Put down whatever you have there. I’d just received your letter that you’d be staying in Brynlön, and Nevel was trying to cheer me up.”

  “Ah! Two days after I sent the letter, I was summoned back by the mistral,” I told him, “and I’m supposed to be at Windsong already. But I ditched the chamberlain at the docks to see you first.”

  “What?” He grinned at me, assuming I was joking. “You did not!”

  Before I could sit, two priests of the gale appeared at the patio entrance and clapped their hands four times before shouting my name. They had the mistral’s osprey embroidered on their shoulders. There would be no ditching them.

  “Okay,” Maron said, “I guess you did.”

  “They really want to see me about something,” I explained. “I don’t know when I’ll get home, Maron, but it will be as soon as I can. I just wanted you to know I am back, I am safe, and I’m thinking of you.”

  “You are wonderful. Thank you.” Maron kissed me longer this time, a farewell and a promise. “Go and be brilliant, Gondel. I’ll be waiting.”

  Yes, ditching Teela Parr had definitely been worth it.

  I presented myself to the priests and they wished me peace but said I must accompany them to the Calm, where the mistral awaited my arrival. I gave them no grief, for I had my peace now. Since I’d had no time to sit down and eat, I would even be able to appear in a tunic that only carried the ghosts of old stains instead of fresh ones.

  As soon as I entered the Calm and the mistral spotted me, she ordered the room cleared for a private audience with the two priests and me. Teela Parr was there, and her hooded glare as she exited was enough to tell me I’d lost her good opinion.

  “Welcome back, Scholar. You were ordered to report here immediately upon arrival, but you chose to go home first, embarrassing my chamberlain in the proces
s.” She stated these facts plainly, without anger or hurt.

  “Yes, Mistral. I have no regrets.”

  “Do you believe, Scholar Vedd, that your personal desires supersede the needs of the state?”

  “I wouldn’t wish to make a blanket judgment, but in this case, yes, I do believe they did.”

  “Interesting. How so?”

  “I did not know what you wanted of me, but I did know it would have been cruel and inconsiderate of me to return home from a war zone and not let my husband know I was safe and thinking of him. I could not have worked for the state in peace with that burden on my conscience. I can now devote my time to your problem in serenity, because I have shown my husband how devoted I am to him. And I would add that while some people are capable of fighting for abstractions, many are not.”

  “Abstractions such as?”

  “Such as nations. Or words like freedom or peace. But everyone is capable of fighting or working for the benefit of someone they love and is motivated far more strongly by them than by an abstraction. I want to help forge a peace with the Eculans, for sure, for the sake of everyone, but especially for Maron. His safety is foremost in my mind as I work. Allowing me the time to reconnect with him was not a waste, for now I am content to focus on what you will. We have not lost a full hour. How may I help?”

  The mistral ignored my question and shifted her gaze to the priests. “What say you?”

  The first priest smiled serenely. “The scholar’s breath blows true, Mistral. Love is the rock of peace that stands against stormy seas. He did not have enough information to weigh your needs against his, and even if he had, his still may have borne more weight. I believe he behaved morally.”

  Mistral Kira nodded once and shifted her gaze to the other priest, who merely said he agreed. Then the mistral dropped her eyes and nodded some more.

  “You teach me well, Scholar.”

  “I do?”