A Facet for the Gem

by C. L. Murray

  Nottleforf stayed rigid, refusing at first to acknowledge him, as though the two of them would stand forever to see who could outlast the other, until finally, he lowered his gray head, breathing out heavily before lifting it again.

  “I will help you find Morthadus,” Nottleforf said reluctantly, turning as Morlen’s spirits rose. “But, not tonight,” the wizard added stubbornly, leaving him in the clearing as he reopened the door at his feet.

  Descending the stairwell, Nottleforf said with finality, “You should get some sleep. There’s no telling what the next few days will bring.” The two doors shut behind him, and Morlen stood alone, looking to the sky above Veldere, where the Eaglemasters flew ready for Felkoth’s imminent arrival.

  Chapter Ten

  Roftome the Untamable

  ROFTOME BORE NO weight but his own. Never would he surrender his wings to the command of men, who sought only his submission, his servitude. And many had come, more than the feathers that covered his body and tail.

  For he was greatest of the mountain eagles, strongest, fastest, behind whom all other wild birds followed, and no prize shone brighter in the prideful minds of kings, princes, and heroes. All had sought him out, braving bitter cold and razor cliffs to gain his allegiance, and all were harshly cast away. And now war, the device of men, was coming to pollute the lands on which he gazed day after day. He could see them bracing for invasion, swelling like a red cloud above their high walls, those who called themselves masters.

  He splintered a boulder to dust at the very sight of them, and his unscratched beak billowed sedimentary powder that scattered in frosty winds. Most of the self-proclaimed masters had come to him before all others of his kind, swiftly recanting their title the very second they dared seat themselves upon him. And all were lucky to draw enough breath afterward to communicate with those who would be ridden. He pitied his brothers and sisters who’d bowed to such a station, whisking their keepers into battle while watching over the king’s domain, perching themselves within structures of wood to be groomed till they became as soft as those they carried.

  Peace had forever eluded those dwelling in the five cities below, and tonight might see it vanish altogether. As much as he despised their meddlesome efforts to gain his loyalty, far more troubling were the forces that sought their overthrow. Fouler men and creatures were coming, and they would feast on every flock if given the chance.

  Never before had he flown to war for any king. But, tonight, if his vantage point proved too distant to ascertain the stock of this conqueror who invaded his lands, he would have to fly in for a closer look.

  King Valdis sat atop his eagle as it treaded air above the empty capital, with the Crystal Spear clasped firmly in hand, imagining Felkoth’s ribcage to be a fitting sheath. Three thousand Eaglemasters swarmed around him in the night sky, ready to rain down a final greeting upon the treacherous masses they’d once served as allies.

  For a full year he’d wished to meet Felkoth in the field—longer than that, really, though duty had bound him to maintain a guise of civility. But no longer would he watch, powerless, while a once-bright haven for the free crumbled to a pen of torture and death. There would be no stalemate, not after this meeting.

  The glittering surface of the Speaking River drew his gaze, bringing hope to the forefront of his mind. He’d been just a prince, hungry for glory, when the eagle Roftome tossed him into its depths. But, even now, he remembered its message quite vividly, a message he’d never repeated, though it had emboldened him every time he flew to war:

  When the Crystal Blade meets the Crystal Spear

  And fire soars to rule the sky

  Your victory shall then be near

  And the eastern war shall finally die.

  His youth had slipped away, and countless battles had come and gone while he waited for the hero with the Crystal Blade to join him, dreaming that together they could cripple the hordes that oppressed so many. But, after decades without ever laying eyes on the elusive weapon or the warrior who wielded it, he suspected now he only waited in vain.

  “Did all three of you pursue Roftome, after you’d completed the Wildland Test?” he asked his sons, who were near his sides. “There seems to be hardly an Eaglemaster who didn’t.”

  “After what he did to this one?” joked Ivrild, gesturing at his older brother. “After hearing that the honorable heir boldly ventured into the mountains in search of the greatest pair of wings, only to wind up with two broken legs? No, I chose the most docile eagle I could find, just in case the responsibility to rule abruptly fell to me.”

  Verald was glad he could now laugh at his near-death experience, though the memory still jarred him. “Broken legs were a mercy. He spun me so fast I was a foot away from splattering my skull against the cliff before I finally let go. And when I lay there sprawled out in the snow, he perched over me just to show that he could peck out my liver if he had a mind to. I almost froze before the others I’d traveled with flew me to the infirmary.”

  Keen for chances to compete with his more seasoned brothers, Ondrel boasted, “I almost got him to let me mount. The first three paces of your approach are all that decide whether you hear any words in return, and if you mount without hearing, you’re as good as dead. When I came upon him, I looked him in the eyes before moving one inch closer, and I must’ve stood there for an hour waiting for his expression to change. But his eyes alone told me that nothing I did would convince him I was there for anything but my own gain, and all I’d gain from him was an extra orifice or two.

  “I tried to show that being able to protect him, care for him, would make me as happy as flaunting him to my brothers in arms. But I think he knew that was a lie before I did.” He restlessly surveyed the city’s vacant streets, disheartened to see a normally booming hub of activity lying so dormant now. “I wish Felkoth would come already. I’ve got women to visit downriver. All this fuss shipping them to the lower cities is a great inconvenience for me.”

  “Valeine will be just fine without her closest brother there to play swordfight for a day or two,” Ivrild replied, egged on by their older brother’s laughter. “I’d wager Veleseor’s the safest city in the realm, for once, under her watch.”

  “Though it couldn’t have been easy to keep her there,” added Verald. “I’m sure Father’s relieved the worst is over after incurring her wrath at being denied a place here tonight. She’s liable to skewer any ferotaur within five miles of her city, knowing one of us may let loose the arrow that nails Felkoth to the dirt.”

  Valdis turned to look south toward his farthest city. “I don’t want her here, not for this. She’s been raising a fine crop these past few months; her place is there, with them.”

  “Besides, should Felkoth surprise us all and show up there instead of here, she may give him a brutal fight,” Ivrild declared, making light of the grimmest prospect.

  Valdis shook his head, resenting the urge to laugh at the remark as he envisioned his daughter with only a handful of veterans and trainees. “Felkoth will not go there,” he said plainly. “With no way to hold the ferotaurs under his yoke as he does the shriekers, he’d only be fighting them too if Veleseor fell. He will come here.

  “And, with my head on a pike and the capital burnt, he’ll press the four lower cities into submission.” Valdis chuckled loudly now, concealing his worry as his sons joined in, each of them eager to see the look on Felkoth’s face, and on the faces of those with him, when he arrived.

  “How does a boy elude you, not once, but twice?” Felkoth’s voice carried strongly to every soldier as he stood looking out over the Isle’s lake.

  Each man quietly begged him not to turn, to forget his disappointment at their failure and simply lead them on to where others would suffer instead. “A little boy,” he said more softly, though even those at the very back could not escape his words. Then, every heart became synchronized in a growing collective pulse as he slowly pivoted around to approach them.

  “You
were a boy, once,” he uttered sharply to one in front, whose breathing pattern quickened. “But now you are a man,” he added, drawing the Dark Blade into sight, and the ground seemed to move as all troops shifted slightly, preparing to hastily step back.

  “What separates man from boy?” Felkoth asked, still studying the same soldier. “What is it that ought to have given all of you the advantage over this pest? I ask only because, since you failed, you obviously are not using it.”

  The soldier’s throat tensed through a frightened gulp as he blinked rapidly, face still forward, avoiding Felkoth’s examining stare at all costs as the Dark Blade came nearer.

  “How am I to trust any of you to deliver my rule upon the people of Veldere, upon countless children, women, and men, when you cannot even do this to one child when I ask it?”

  Another man in the frontlines fervently declared, “We will serve you faithfully always, my k—” He gagged, his last words choked by blood, body collapsing upon reddened snow after Felkoth’s swiftly delivered sword pulled away. All others fought to hide their notice, while the unlucky one who’d been scrutinized before this began to tremble visibly.

  “I cannot abide those who speak out of turn,” Felkoth continued, stepping closer to the clearly shaken soldier. “But, neither can I abide those insubordinate enough to keep silent when I ask very plain questions. What separates man from boy?” he hissed through a chill whisper, until the one he addressed barely opened a quivering mouth.

  “I…” he muttered, while Felkoth craned his head with intrigue. “I… don’t know, my lord.”

  Felkoth smiled crookedly. His tone bordered on the paternal as he patted the man’s shoulder. “No. Of course you don’t. What are we, anyway, besides what we want, and what we take? You wanted things, took things, when you were a boy, just as you do now.

  “But, the only distinction I can make is, when you were a boy, if you wanted something that another had, and you couldn’t take it from him, well, you would just storm away in a huff, I suppose. But now, if you want something, and someone prevents you from having it, why, you would just cut off his head, wouldn’t you?”

  The soldier’s knees bent weakly at this as he stammered again, believing Felkoth would act according to his answer. “N-no, my lord,” he whispered.

  Felkoth focused on him more sharply. “No?” he asked. “Then you will be of no use to me against the Eaglemasters, whose heads I expect to see piled higher than their towering walls, and the same for any of their people who refuse to kneel. Is that understood by the rest of you?”

  “Yes, my lord!” his army chanted in unison.

  Felkoth grinned again through the dancing shadows. “Good. Start with this one whose lack of stomach offends me.” He pointed at the distraught soldier, and the man cowered until his comrades’ swords stifled his wails, the small thud of his severed head against the ground preceding his body’s fall.

  Felkoth waded into the open lake, raising his sword for all to see. “We go now to taste the blood of Valdis and his men!” he yelled, and the loyal host cheered close behind, following their master down into the rippling water. The boy could not elude him forever. Once he seized Veldere, his vision would be doubled in scope, and he would cut down any who tried to block it from falling upon what was his.

  He’d bested the Eaglemasters when they first crossed him at Korindelf, forcing them to abandon their predictable maneuver of dropping indiscriminate volleys. He would employ that very same strategy now, as none would see them coming—pillage and trample the masses through the streets, in their very homes, bringing Valdis to fall upon his sword.

  He submerged with his scarred lieutenant Nefandyr while the others swam together toward the same luminous rift up ahead. Bogged down by armor and shields, they fought to move forward, concentrating diligently on their destination as the pocket inflated tenfold. It drew them in like a starving mouth until all had finally entered, finding themselves swallowed within the sealing doorway that swirled them about like beans in a cup, slamming each soldier down feet first to stand dry upon the paved roads of Veldere.

  Felkoth straightened tall while breathing deep, marveling that he could stand so easily in the very heart of Valdis’s realm. But, with swords already pointed to flay the unsuspecting townspeople, his men glanced at one another, crestfallen at finding no targets. There was not one soul in plain sight, nor any sound to be detected, not even the grind of wagon wheels against stone or distant calls of merchants from scattered shops.

  It couldn’t be—had Valdis truly anticipated this occupation? Charging through vacant snow-covered streets, they broke down door after door to no avail. Felkoth’s ire churned, and he confronted his lieutenant as the army overran a village square. “Nefandyr, you said the others would not divulge the secret of their transport here, that they thought it might lead Valdis to prevent any more from being sent over.”

  The scarred man’s brows lifted high around wide eyes as he stared back in shock. “My lord…” he mumbled, “they wouldn’t have told anyone openly… the king himself must have suspected them—”

  “The king?” Felkoth growled, raising his sword as Nefandyr backed away in fright.

  “No, my lord,” he begged. “I didn’t mean… please… pl—” An arrow suddenly struck Nefandyr like a lightning bolt, vertically through the chest, slamming his body hard to the ground.

  With his blade still reared back, Felkoth slowly tilted his head upward, and the others followed suit, seeing Prince Ivrild reset his bow as Valdis and the Eaglemasters swarmed above, far out of reach. Like beasts circling before a grisly fight, both armies watched one another quietly for a few slow-passing moments, the confounded invaders sizing up an amply prepared counter-offensive.

  “Come for blood, young prince?” Valdis’s unmistakable voice boomed from the dense red cluster, followed by a crashing silence like thunderclaps foreboding rain. “You came to the right place.” Then, he raised the Crystal Spear high in a blinding flash and swung it down to point directly at the army’s center, bringing a volley that poured down in torrents upon Felkoth and his men.

  “Take cover!” Felkoth shouted, scrambling to swing his round shield up for protection, his men doing the same though many were not quick enough. Their screams filled the air as the shower of arrows enveloped them.

  “Sons of Veldere!” Valdis’s words pounded the sky again. “The Tyrant Prince has traveled far to taste our fabled hospitality. Give him and his servants the rich welcome they deserve!” The Eaglemasters let out a collective guttural bellow that rattled the eaves of houses around Felkoth’s pinned army, soaring closer in a sweeping formation while dropping wave after wave of projectiles with each pass.

  Taking advantage of a brief gap between assaults, Felkoth rallied his archers frantically to load their bows, waiting for the next approach. “Fire!” he yelled with rage, the command sending up a thousand arrows that merely drooped in a pitiful arc as their intended targets responded with devastating precision.

  He was trapped, and his wary head darted around to see dozens of corpses strewn within a slowly crumbling legion, those who still lived crouching beneath heavily dimpled shields. He could inflict no damage like this, not while Valdis and his buzzing flies held such a superior position. But, suddenly aware of the tactical potential posed by the rows of structures along his perimeter, he grabbed hold of the nearest battalion leader. “Burn the houses!” he commanded. “Burn everything now!”

  Ducking low to avoid another volley, the soldier shook his head in confusion. “My lord, we dropped our torches before coming through, we’ve nothing to light—” but Felkoth snarled as he retrieved a bow from its fallen owner as well as his sling of oil pots. After hurling them through the doorway of a nearby house to smash all over its stone floor, he shot a steel-tipped arrow to scrape a trail of sparks through the combustible liquid until it burst into flame, tongues of hungry fire crawling up the wooden beams.

  “There’s your torch!” Felkoth fumed, sho
ving the battalion leader violently toward the engulfed hut. “I don’t care if your arms and legs get charred to stubs—I’ll light you myself if every house in this village isn’t a hill of smoke by my next breath!”

  Nodding to conceal his shaking, the captain collected his troops and ushered them to the growing blaze, though many fell prematurely as the Eaglemasters gleaned Felkoth’s strategy and took immediate action. All who dodged the relentless downpour ignited their own fire pots and cast them upon neighboring structures, until soon the occupied town square swam with smoke that jutted a swirling needle into Valdis’s ranks.

  “All of them! Burn all of them!” Felkoth shouted as adjacent buildings went up in flames, standing more at ease under the canopy that brought each hammering burst from the airborne fleet to a halt. Now they would have to fly through the blinding haze, well within range of his bows, to continue their onslaught. “Arrows ready!” he called out wrathfully, eager to confront those bold enough to breach the makeshift ceiling.

  His soldiers stared upward at the gray dome’s center with bowstrings drawn tight, waiting with bated breath to pierce any flesh that entered. Without warning, a turbulent wind swept through from behind them, driven by the wings of at least five hundred, and the accompanying riders promptly felled entire lines at a time with blankets of suppressing shots. But dozens of them were unseated by well-aimed arrows from below, plummeting dead as their departing comrades eviscerated the smoky curtain. It remained open just long enough to provide another opportunity for clear fire, which the Eaglemasters used to full advantage before the heavy plumes resealed.

  Felkoth seethed, his shield now riddled with arrow tips, hundreds of his swordsmen lying dead beside a meager handful taken from above. They thought he would be defeated? They thought he’d collapse soon enough under their heel? They knew nothing.