Talon the Black

by Melissa Mitchell

  She vigorously nodded, trying to commit the locations to memory.

  “Oh, and that direction will take you to the grand dining hall. All the nobles eat there when they wish to be social. And that way takes you to the outer courtyards. Someday I will show you the royal gardens. We are not supposed to go in them but…” Desaree pointed in many different directions. It was a lot to remember.

  At last, they reached the cookery. As suspected, they were too late for breakfast. The thought of missing the most important meal of the day was depressing.

  “If you are smart about it,” Desaree said, whispering into her ear, “you can sneak some bread from the ovens. It is better fresh, anyway.”

  The air smelled of sweet, spiced bread, warm apples, and roasting ham. She thought of bacon—what she wouldn’t give for a few slices of bacon. Desaree grabbed her hand and pulled her to the edge of the room. Large steaming loaves of bread were being sliced by a baker.

  “Good morning, Thomas.” Desaree greeted a balding man wearing a crisp white apron over his tunic. “This is Claire.” The man turned to them with a wide, crooked smile. He had hazel eyes, and reminded her a lot of her grandpa.

  “I am pleased to meet you, Claire. Are you hungry?”

  “Starving!”

  “Well now. We can’t have that, can we? Both of you have a long day ahead, eh?” He offered them generous slices of buttered bread and sent them on their way.

  “If you stay on Thomas’s good side, he is always that nice. Not so for some of the others. You will soon learn who to trust.” She liked the man already. “Only the nobles get fresh butter,” Desaree added as they dodged the cooks and made their way to the innermost chamber. “You had better eat fast. I hear Tess!”

  She followed Desaree’s advice. The warm bread nearly melted in her mouth. There were little apple chunks scattered throughout the cinnamon swirls. It was heaven.

  They found Tess in the dishwashing room. “There you are!” she screeched, waving a wooden spoon at them. “You are both late! Late, late, late! Not tomorrow, I dare say.”

  They shook their heads fervently. It was her fault for taking so long to get up. She felt a little guilty. Desaree did not appear resentful.

  Tess wasted no time going through their duties. In the morning, they would deliver breakfast trays to the nobles who wished to dine in their apartments. “Desaree can show you how it is done,” Tess added. Before the mid-day meal, they were to clean the ground floor apartments on the western side of the keep. “Each day will be different. Every apartment gets a deep clean once per week.” After a short break for their lunch, they were scheduled to report to the launders in the linen washrooms. “With so many visitors, those poor souls are behind on the washing. I have assigned extra helping hands today, including yours.”

  “Can’t we do something else, Tess?” Desaree asked. “The hot water makes my hands crack terribly.”

  “As it does for everyone!” Tess nipped at them. “But if you do a good job, I may concede. Now, off with you both.” She swatted at them with her spoon. They both giggled and scampered away to the food assembly room.

  Much to her surprise, she found herself excited to help Desaree. In just a short time, she learned more about Dragonwall than she’d bargained for. Perhaps Reyr was right all along. Like it or not, she would make the most of her new position and learn everything there was to know about the Great Keep of Kastali Dun. The tidbits of information she gained throughout the day were nothing important, just small details, like the location and purpose for various chambers, rooms, and corridors, the visitation reasons for nobles, the types of business they conducted, and which people and places to steer clear of.

  “See that woman over there,” Desaree pointed to a finely dressed lady basking in the afternoon sun. She was sitting in one of the many courtyards with several others, chatting and laughing. Her gown must have cost a fortune. It was orange like a sunset, with streaks of pink woven into the fabric—nothing like the ugly dresses she and Desaree wore.

  “Well, what about her?” she asked, studying the woman for clues.

  “Stay away from her,” Desaree warned. “Her name is Lady Caterina. She is an absolute coxcomb.”

  “A—a what?”

  “A coxcomb,” Desaree giggled, grabbing Claire’s arm as they backed away into the shadows. “You know? She is as vain as a cock in a hen house and looks down upon anyone in a lower position.”

  “So she’s mean?”

  “She is very cruel, yes. Best to avoid her.”

  For most of the day, Claire wrestled with the constant headache caused by the stream of Drengr voices in her mind. Sometimes it was a single voice, other times more than one. The contents of these messages were usually cryptic. Still, she had no choice but to hear them. A Drengr by the name of Fendrel was meeting his Rider Sasha in the marketplace. They were going to shop for a new coin purse. Another named Sarka was bored. He wanted to know if his Rider might go flying with him. She occasionally picked out the voices belonging to the Shields, and even King Talon’s. But just like the others, nothing important was discussed.

  Time passed quickly that day. Working on a farm taught her to be diligent. The most difficult task of the day was helping in the linen washrooms. These chambers had huge tubs with scalding hot water and sticky detergent. Bedding, curtains, table cloths, and clothing were all cleaned here. She and Desaree weren’t permitted to touch the beautiful gowns and doublets. Those were left to the experienced workers.

  Instead, they were given bedding. The linens were cleaned by plunging them into a tub with a large paddle used to mix everything around. Often times they had to get their hands wet to detangle the cloth. The hot water and harsh soap made her skin burn. She appreciated washing machines even more.

  The only enjoyable part of working in the linen washrooms was the singing. Like the women in the cookery, songs were used to make the work lively. It kept the tempo going and increased their productivity. They liked to sing about lost love, young lads chasing tavern wenches, and noble knights courting ladies. After a few hours, she learned some of the lyrics and even found herself singing and laughing along with Desaree.

  Most of the servants were humble. They had good spirits and were grateful for their positions in the keep, contrary to what she expected. Perhaps being a servant wasn’t nearly as miserable as she’d believed. Nearly all of the servants knew her identity but refrained from asking personal questions. She was glad. The only awkward moments were the whispers that followed her.

  “They are simply eager to discuss something new,” Desaree explained. “Our boring lives never offer much entertainment. The servants enjoy gossip.”

  Supper that night was entertaining. It took place after the nobles ate their own. A lot of wasted food returned from the dining hall, leaving plenty for the servants. She’d worked up a ravenous appetite.

  They ate in a large chamber down the hall from the cookery. There were big windows looking out into the cookery’s private herb garden. The room was lined with wooden tables and benches, a few dull tapestries, and a huge fireplace against its far wall. The grate was empty because of the summer heat.

  Buzzing voices permeated the air. Everyone was in a good mood. Jugs of cheap ale were passed around and she indulged. “The nobles get the better stuff,” Desaree said. “They love wine and brandywine. Ale is often considered a commoner’s drink.”

  “That don’t keep ‘em from drinking it though, does it?” another woman chuckled. Her name was Sarah. She was one of Desaree’s closest friends. The three of them sat at the farthest table, near the door.

  When the eating ended someone shouted, “My dear Tess! Give us a song!” Good natured roars responded as everyone began slamming their cups on the tables and calling out their requests. To her amazement, Tess climbed atop the bench of her trestle table, billowing kirtle and all. The room fell silent. Then she burst into song. The woman had a good set of vocals chords. Just a few words in, everyone picked up o
n the lyrics, joining their voices together:

  Women, women, oh thee women, finer none than ye,

  Some be lewd, and all be shrewd, but none be temptin’ me,

  Some be nice like cluck-house hens, and others be not so,

  Women, women, oh thee women, finer none than ye…

  A pretty thing so nice to love beneath the kirtle and above,

  Some be brown and some be white, but none be temptin’ me,

  Some be fickle as cluck-house hens, and others be not so,

  Women, women, oh thee women, finer none than ye…

  A purse or many she may empty if her man’s a ninny,

  Some be crude, and all be canny, but none be temptin’ me,

  Some be tame as cluck-house hens, and others be no so,

  Women, women, oh thee women, finer none than ye…

  A prize to win a prize to hold a woman’s hand be plenty

  Some be sweet, and all be sharp, but none be temptin’ me

  Some be shy as cluck-house hens, and others be not so,

  Women, women, oh thee women, finer none than ye…

  The song continued in much the same way, running through repetitive stanzas. The men in the room were especially rowdy as they sang along, laughing at the parts they related to. She didn’t know any of the words, so she just watched, fascinated by their antics.

  When it was time for bed, she retired to her room. The light of a single candle cast unfamiliar shadows upon the walls. She lay still, gazing at them, allowing her mind to wander.

  The keep was a busy place, full of life and excitement. So much work, so many tasks, not a moment to spare, not a second to think. Now she mulled through the past several days, considering her situation in full.

  Without the binding Promise, she was free, no longer enslaved to its will, no longer dragged along by invisible strings. Suffocated by its pressure, she was learning to breathe all over again, experiencing Dragonwall with a new perspective, able to appreciate its amazements in full. There was no denying the new pull she felt. She was drawn to this place, enamored by its existence, desperate to know more. It was like being caught up in the middle of a story with an uncertain ending.

  She spent her whole life traveling through books, captivated by impossible worlds, awed by impactful characters, characters who traveled with her through the pages, characters who always endured. The common theme never changed. Whether good or bad, all stories led to an end. From book to book one aspect prevailed: the plot was already laid out upon the pages.

  Where was her plot? What was her purpose? Which path was she supposed to follow?

  The questions pecked at her like angry birds, cawing, screeching, clawing at her brain. A decision was necessary, but which one? She could bide her time, wait for inevitable events to unfold. Like a reader, she could watch from a distance, helpless to do little more than turn pages. Or she could take matters into her own hands. But what matters? And how?

  The candle burned down to a nub and its light disappeared. Still, she was no further along in figuring out what to do. At last her exhaustion swept her away.

  The next morning began the same way as before, with Desaree pulling off her warm blankets, insisting she wake up. This time, she didn’t protest. And each morning thereafter became easier. With so many tasks, the days began to blend together with minimal excitement.

  A few times during her walks through the corridors she noticed Lady Saffra from afar. Each time their eyes met in silent understanding. They weren’t supposed to know each other, so they pretended not to. But Saffra’s gaze was encouraging, wise, and all knowing. Her friendship would come in handy before the end.

  She saw the king a few times too. It left her skin crawling with fear and hatred. Every glimpse brought back uncomfortable memories. He was always deep in conversation, always heavily surrounded by a posse of nobles, always too busy to notice her, the humble servant, dressed in drab gray. It was a good thing. She couldn’t stomach the thought of speaking to him, so she merely glared angrily at him.

  His Shields on the other hand, always noticed her. Jovari was the first she encountered in the corridors. He was parading through the keep with several ladies. Like the other nobles, his attire was rich and colorful, nothing compared to the bland travel clothes she remembered. The moment he saw her, he approached and bowed deeply. “My dearest, Claire.” The ladies exchanged looks of surprise and confusion.

  “Hello, Jovari. It’s nice to see you. This is my friend Desaree.” Jovari, being the suave gentlemen that he was, took up Desaree’s hand and planted a kiss on her knuckles. Her cheeks turned beet red. Several of the women gasped. If Jovari noticed their surprise, he pretended otherwise. “The ladies and I were taking a turn about the castle admiring the beautiful day. Will you not join us?”

  His innocent question earned appalled glares from his company. Their reactions were rather hysterical. She did her best not to laugh. “I do apologize, Jovari, but I am afraid Desaree and I have many important tasks ahead. This magnificent keep doesn’t run itself.” As she said this, she looked directly at each of the ladies.

  “Of course, of course.” Jovari nodded in agreement. “You are correct in that. Another time, perhaps?”

  Politely, she nodded. As the group departed, the ladies began chattering away, glad to be rid them. Desaree was just as shocked as they were. It must have been unheard of for a noble like Lord Jovari to approach someone of ill repute, someone as lowly as she. Clearly the gossip didn’t do the true story justice.

  Occasionally she encountered the other Shields too. They greeted her in much the same way, though none of them were as flamboyant as Jovari. It seemed he, being the youngest of the five, was often caught up in frivolous pursuits. The others were usually rushing to urgent matters wearing looks of fierce concentration, or frowns of frustration.

  On her third day, she and Desaree were walking through a courtyard when Desaree pointed towards the sky. “Look at the Drengr,” she gasped. “What are they doing?” Both of their faces turned upward.

  Above them, a mass of Drengr took part in what appeared to be an aerial display of fireworks. They dived and swooped, dodged and ducked, cartwheeled and spiraled, all the while with Riders strapped to their backs. With a measure of reluctance, she tried to process the many voices intruding into her mind. They were a constant nuisance, one she often pretended didn’t exist, although that didn’t help the headaches. Now they might come in handy.

  She relaxed her mind instead of fighting the voices, and attempted to separate them. The loud buzz died down into perceptible differences. The cries she heard were rushed and excited:

  “Make sure you dive when I am beneath you, and tuck your wings in.” “I cannot grab you with my talons. Pay attention!” “If you do not take hold of my neck, you have no hope of bringing me down.” “Is this the proper way to grapple with a wild dragon?”

  “Desaree, I think—” She paused to listen again. “I think they are training.”

  “Training? Above the keep? That is absurd.” The sun peeped from behind a cloud. Desaree lifted a hand to shield her gaze.

  “If they attack the keep, we need to be ready.” She recognized this voice. Scanning the colorful bodies, she spotted Reyr’s gold glimmer dodging in and out of the wrestling pairs.

  “I think they are preparing for an attack on the keep.”

  “An attack? Who could possibly attack the keep from the sky? Birds?” Desaree’s shock was well warranted. She didn’t know about the wild dragons. Few did. For a moment, she considered telling her and then thought better of it.

  “I—I don’t know. But look, there is Lord Reyr.” She pointed him out, steering the conversation in a new direction. Reyr’s flying was impressive. Longing filled her heart. She loved flying, all the joy it brought, the freedom of the sky. Now she realized how terribly she missed it, and how badly she wished she could be up in the sky with the other Riders.

  “How do you know it is Lord Reyr?” Desaree asked, h
er eyes following Reyr’s descent towards one of the battlements.

  “I would recognize his flying anywhere. He carried me across the kingdom, remember?”

  “Oh. Oh, yes. Of course.” Desaree looked at her. “What was it like? I mean, I know the act is frowned upon—to fly with a Drengr that is not your mate. The servants have whispered plenty. I certainly do not judge you,” she added, making her stance clear. “Was it wonderful?”

  “Yes,” she breathed. “Very few things in life come close.”

  Desaree spent the remainder of the day pestering her with questions. What did it feel like when the Drengr jumped into the air? Did she touch a cloud? Were they soft? How did the ground look from above? The woman asked so many questions, she could’ve written a book on the experience. But it wasn’t bothersome. She was more than happy to share her excitement with sweet Desaree.

  Reyr didn’t visit her until the fifth night. She was so glad to see him, that she went through every detail of the past five days. He was patient, listening intently during the serious parts, laughing when warranted. “It sounds like you have learned a great deal!”

  His praise left her beaming. She was quite proud of herself. “I have learned so much that my head aches!” Her head ached for a different reason, but she kept that a secret. They chatted for several minutes before she excitedly recalled seeing him above the keep. “What were the Drengr doing up there?”

  “Ah, you saw that did you? We were training.”

  “Training? For what?”

  He scooted his chair close enough to prop his boots upon the bed’s frame. “Well, we were training for the possibility of an aerial attack. Just in case wild dragons make it this far south, we need to be ready.” His words confirmed her theory. She listened eagerly to their plans. Just that morning, messages were sent to the other forts. They were advised to take the same precautions as Fort Kastali, the fort beside the city of Kastali Dun. Besides that, the Magoi were working on new magic to help defeat both dragons and the Vodar.