by Lela Markham
“I’ve heard the northerners might be buying horses from the Kin.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” Tamys assured him. It was clear that the conversation was over. He grew taciturn after that and Padraig subsided into singing softly to himself. He paid little attention to what he hummed under his breath and truly would have been surprised if Tamys had heard him.
The southern part of Blyan was narrow, so that they crossed it in a day. Dunmaden was separated from Blyan by a small stream where they camped for the night. Padraig remarked that the stream had been bought with a lot of blood two lifetimes ago. Tamys didn’t reply at first, just sat there staring at the stream as it went its way from north to south.
“Blyan and Dunmaden were once at war?” he asked.
“Blyan and Galornyn, aye! After the king died, it seemed likely we’d split into many separate kingdoms, each ruled by a provincial vyngretrix Nobody said that, mind, but it seemed likely. Dunmaden is a long way from Galornyn and the folk mayhap have more in common with Blyan than with the folk on the sea, so Blyan decided to press a claim.”
“Galornyn must have won,” Tamys noted.
“I suppose,” Padraig replied. “Two clans died out completely, killed each other off, for the winning of this stream. I think there weren’t many left to fight when Galornyn finally rode north and claimed it for themselves once again.”
Tamys watched the dirty stream roll past.
“Seems like that’s the way of it ever since the king died. Folk fight over that which is barely worth having and naught ever truly wins.”
“Aye,” Padraig agreed.
Tamys flipped the dregs of his tankard into the fire.
“Dark thoughts,” he said over the crackle and hiss. He turned to his blankets then and said no more.
Founding Year 1028
Dun Llyr
The trumpets’ blare shook Randodd from a reverie, gazing out over the bay where myriad ships bobbed at anchor. Across the room, Howedd fussed with his baldric. A tall blonde man with strong arms and sturdy legs, he was more at home in the saddle than standing before a mirror adjusting his clothing. He’d sent the pages away and now was regretting that decision.
“I don’t suppose you know how this is supposed to rest,” he asked his youngest brother. Randodd stared at the baldric, then shrugged, getting up from the window sill and approaching his brother.
“I’m afraid they didn’t teach about such in the brothel,” he admitted. “Mayhap you need those young boys more than you’re willing to admit.”
Howedd growled at him. Randodd laughed.
“I was a page once, you know,” Howedd retorted. “Admittedly, it was in a small dun in Fyrgal. I don’t recall the lord ever wearing a baldric.” He sighed. “I suppose I do need them.” Randodd turned toward the door. “Wait – wait a moment. I am not yet ready.”
“As you wish,” Randodd said. “What I wonder is … why am I here?”
“You are here so that I don’t forget who I am,” Howedd explained.
“You are the vyngretrix of Llyr,” Randodd reminded him.
“I am the son of our mother as well.”
“Seems a long time since you’ve been that. When Lord Bran came and took you away – you were – what – 10? I was just a babe in arms.”
“Aye. He recognized that with only one legitimate male heir, there was likelihood he would need his bastard. Truth be told, Rando, he was a decent man. Our mother’s house did well in part because of his patronage and he saw to my education and even to yours.”
“I believe you,” Randodd assured him. “Yet, you honor our mother on this day. Why?”
“I was born common and I never want to forget that. It gives me a fresh perspective on the world that the nobility does not know.”
“And I remind you of that?”
“Oh, aye, my brother, you do. You see, the world for the nobility is all ease and intrigue. I sleep on sheets and eat fine food. You know that the world isn’t really like that. For most, it’s sleeping on straw and eating what they can find. You remind me that I could as easily have been naught but the bastard son of a whore who’d never wear such fine baldrics.”
“What do you expect to do with that knowledge?” Randodd asked.
“Mayhap I will remember the common born in my rule. A man’s not less because he was born without pedigree.”
“Aye, I’d agree with that. Oh, I near forgot. Mam asked me to pass a message to you.”
“Do tell.”
“She wants you to know – and these are her words – that we’ve a fine line of bastards on our side and that when you’re the lord, you should check the archives for Gillian of Llyr. Seems she was a grand-grandmam of ours.”
“I’ve never heard of her,” Howedd admitted. “Hold that thought and remind me when all the excitement is over. I do owe our mother that respect. Though why some common-born lass from a century ago would be in the archives is a question. Oh, get those pages back in here. I’ve less than a watch to prepare for the most important moment of my life.”
Kin Cycle 24578 / FY 1028
The Dragon’s Back
Ryanna drew her coat closed against the chill mountain breeze, methodically working the leather thongs over the hooks, then shoved her hands deep into the pockets. Unlike the horse meadows where spring was in the air, the gathering ground beside the northern highway faced a mountain pass that still held the winter’s snow. A cold dry wind blasted across it, swirled around the gathering grounds and then continued up the ridge line that separated it from the horse meadows. It stung Ryanna’s nose and cheeks as she stood overlooking the caravanserai below, where the dwarven band was settling in a sheltered hollow. Soon Ovrstahl would wend his way up to the gathering ground just outside the highway portal, but for now, they waited. Ryanna’s brother Cai fidgeted with a knife and a bit of wood, carving some bit of statuary for the enjoyment of some of the holt’s children. Ryanna wondered if he’d eventually ask for Sybillina’s braid. She would say “yes”, Ryanna thought, but Cai was hesitant to ask. They’d been smiling at each other for more than five years now, though late she’d also seen him casting attention toward Sarala, who was much too young for him. The girl hadn’t noticed, but ….
Ryanna blinked as a scrying window opened in the mottled snow of the hanging valley. Padraig and a young man who was apparently traveling with him, squatting by a low fire built under a stone ledge. As this was violating her agreement with Gly, she dismissed the vision, but then found herself gazing into the dragon’s lair once more. This time, a large head covered in glittering scales turned toward her and an iridescent eye of gold stared at her.
“Hoy, girl, what are you about?” The thought caused Ryanna’s heart to thump with excitement. It felt like a Companion touch, but she already had a Companion. The vision slowly dissolved, until she found herself watching Ovrstahl wend his way up the pathway to the gathering grounds.
Ryanna was the squire of this caravan because she had been elected in Gil’s stead after his disappearance. Cai, the true merchant of the two, was merely a guard at the beginning of the five-cycle, his Dwarvish had been considerably less than hers, but he could conduct his own negotiations now. This would be the last time Ryanna would officially meet with Ovrstahl.
In keeping with Kin tradition, Ryanna wore leather trews and a linen tunic under her coat. What a Kin wore in his or her personal time was their choice, but when acting in the capacity of a leader, men and women wore similar clothes. This spoke to the dwarves as well, who believed that women were the true leaders, but men were merchants. By dressing in men’s clothing (from the dwarves’ perspective), Ryanna was showing that she was equal to the men of her band.
Ovrstahl was taller and less broad of shoulder than his countrymen, but had the same broad cheekbones, large dark eyes and thick black hair. Although a full beard was a symbol of manhood in his culture, he kept his face clean-shaven in deference to those for whom he was emissary – the Kin, who g
enerally grew only light beards which they shaved. Upon seeing Ryanna, he sketched a bow to her, then offered a shallower one to Cai. He clasped hands with each.
“How are you keeping, squire?” Ovrstahl asked Ryanna. “I trust your purse is full.”
“My purse has fine coins in it,” Ryanna assured him, though truth be told Kin society didn’t use coins often. “And, you, emissary? Have you been walking in tall grass?”
Dwarves cared for metals and ores, not grass, but Ovrstahl had been emissary to the elves long enough to know their traditions.
“The grass has been very rich for me and mine,” he assured her.
“Come, let us sit and drink a warm beverage,” Cai suggested. They’d built a fire and set out low camp benches that put the tall Kin on the same level as the short Mountain Folk. Cai filled mugs with hot tea and offered Ovrstahl a metal plate with seed cakes, goat’s cheese and dried berries in crème. Ovrstahl’s wife was with child. Ryanna’s studies were going well. Cai had led several caravans. Eventually Ovrstahl and Ryanna set aside their plates and faced one another. Elves had pelts, food and mine ponies. Dwarves had forged metal goods, jewelry and metal statuary. The desert folk did not like to trade with the elves because the Kin women were equal in authority, so the dwarven caravans kept the Kin supplied with rugs and Orental goods. Ryanna used her gifts to show Ovrstahl the inventory and to notify the warehouses what to bring to the gathering grounds tomorrow. They discussed the exchange rate. They negotiated a bit. Then they clasped hands to show that the negotiations were complete. The discussion had taken only part of the afternoon. Now they moved to the real reason Ryanna had agreed to the five-cycle.
“I appreciate all that you have done to try and find Gil,” she told Overstahl. The dwarven man’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled.
“It has been a great pleasure of mine. However, I must admit that I have nothing for you this time. In past years, there have been rumors of rumors that Gil might be here or there, but this year there has been no such. I am sorry.”
Ryanna sighed. She had expected this. If Gil were still alive, he didn’t want to be found and she suspected he was on the far side of the desert, not in dwarven territory.
“I understand, Ovrstahl, and I truly appreciate your care. You are released from any obligation to continue looking for Gil.”
“I never felt compelled,” Ovrstahl assured her. “I sent word to the Orental cities via several caravans. If I hear back, I will tell your brother.” Cai had been elected squire of the northern and western caravans for the next five-cycle. “I will not give up until we find out what became of Gil. You should know, so you can be free.” By this, Ryanna assumed Folk society did not have an abandonment statute. The Kin married for life, but recognized that sometimes spouses were not honorable or that they died without witnesses. Or worse, that they killed their companions and fled the crime.
“Thank you,” she said.
“If I were to disappear on a caravan, I would want other men to act as I have to assure my mate of closure.”
Just then Ovrstahl’s eyes widened and he pointed behind them. Ryanna and Cai slew around on their bench to see a huge black shape against the white-blue sky. Huge wings opened on the wind on either side of a slender body that ended with a switching tail. The dragon swooped low and then leveled off and flew on. A powerful downward pressure sent Ryanna’s braid twitching and coats flapped. The dragon banked and flew toward the north. Staring at it in shock, Ryanna felt her spirit move with it. She responded to the mind within the giant wyrm and the world of stone and cold dropped away as her mind took up position behind the dragon’s crest. She felt the powerful whomp-whomp of the wings as they propelled the dragon forward. Trees flowed below like a moving carpet, intermixed with snow and moraine materials. Mountains hove up on both sides. Never in Ryanna’s entire life had she moved so fast, so effortlessly. The mountains turned barren and grey, a brutal ring of teeth thrust up against the blue sky. Ryanna knew that somewhere her body lay entranced because she did not feel cold or wind and though her stomach twisted at the thought of the distance below, she felt no actual fear.
Whomp-whomp-whomp.
Now the mountains were passing behind as the world opened into a broad plain inclined toward a glittering sea. The dragon flew straight for the sea. Grey ocean with whitecaps fluttered below their passing shadow and Ryanna felt her ethereal fingers tighten in concern. The land disappeared from behind them and the dragon continued thrusting forward. Then an island hove up on the horizon; the dragon banked and slowed, circling the rocky cliffs. They rounded a headland and flew low over a sheltered harbor where row upon row of long boats bobbed at anchor. The dragon banked once more at the opposite headland and circled a high keep with red pennants flapping in the wind. Outside the main walls lay row upon row of barracks. The dragon banked again and they headed out to see where the same ships she’d seen before were now at sail, moving in a massive formation toward the great harbor on the northern coast where the Celdryans had first arrived before the Scourging. The image before her dissolved like soap bubbles and Ryanna tightened her hands to keep from falling.
Ryanna felt the cold of the stone bench beneath her thighs and realized that the trance, though it had seemed to last hours, had only lasted moments.
“We don’t see many wyrms these days,” Ovrstahl said. Cai murmured agreement. “Feels auspicious. Like one of those prophet stories you Kin like so much.”
Ryanna watched the tiny dot that was all they could now see of the dragon disappear around a mountain and felt cold dread. An immense army amassed within striking distance and appeared to be preparing for war. The council should be made aware of this, for truly, if dragonkind had concerned itself with the existence of the Kin once more, it was more than auspicious. Something was upon the wind that could sweep them all away.
Wolves
There is somewhat dark about a sect of druids in Dunmaden. I encountered one at a feast on Lughnadsa in the city of Galornyn. He seemed most interested in my work with the king, but noted that troubled times might upset this. I believe this druid was more than a druid, but sensed that he might be wielding magicks of a wicked sort. The High Priest discounts my worries.
Sarcan, Priest of Bel FY 693
Founding Year 931
Galconyn Mountains – Late Spring
Donyl had never seen stars so large in all his life. Lying on his back, hands behind his head, he stared at up at the White Road and located the constellations he knew. The Strider, the small and large Bears, the Hounds. All around him, the forests of Galconyn whispered with insect sounds and hinted at deer and rabbits. He wondered if there were any predators stalking them.
Nearby Pedyr sat with his back against a rock, eyes on the forest. A low fire illuminated the camp. Four of the 15 riders walked the perimeter while the rest slept. If Pedyr saw that Donyl lay awake, he’d chide him. Still, how could one resist such a beautiful night sky? His fingers itched for charcoal and sketch pad, though truly he didn’t know how he would express the scene if he tried.
The journey had been more or less uneventful so far. They’d come out of the bolt hole at a farm owned by Pedyr’s family, given to his father for service as a rider for the king. Donyl and his honor guard had set out the next morning, traveling northeastward toward the pass into the Galconyn mountains. They’d traveled as a merchant band with Donyl wearing stripped leggings and Pedyr allowing Branaff, one of the younger riders, to do all the talking when they stopped at taverns. Branaff’s father was a merchant back in Dublyn. Once they’d left Celdrya proper, they’d returned to being a noble band on a journey to Denygal by an unusual route. Perryn didn‘t trust the vyngretrix and so was sending Donyl through Galconyn, a mountainous region whose lords had rarely interacted with Celdrya proper since the Time of Troubles..
A screech in the forest split the silence and brought every rider bolt upright in an instant. Even Donyl reached for his sword as Pedyr rolled toward him while coming to his
feet, drawing his own sword. One of the riders, named Neff, also scrambled free of his blankets to crouch near Donyl.
“I said the dark of the moon favored her,” Neff muttered. Pedyr didn’t react as Donyl wondered what the rider meant by that.
The screech came again, rising on a light breeze like the cry of the banshee. The riders had closed the perimeter, some with swords drawn, others with war darts prepared. The horses whinnied and pulled at their tethers. Two of the riders were checking ropes and hooding horses as fast as possible. The cry reverberated off the mountainside, keening, setting the hair on end. Anxiety began to rise in Donyl’s chest as the sound washed over him from one direction and flowed back from another. He rose to a crouch himself.
“Stay down,” Pedyr whispered. “Don’t present a target.”
Donyl stayed low, his bad leg aching at the strain. He fished his shield, that which Pedyr had insisted he keep nearby, up onto his left arm. He might have poor skills with a sword, but he’d been taught how to protect himself.
Pedyr’s lips were moving soundlessly. On the journey, Donyl had learned that Pedyr was a Believer – an unusual sect known mainly in Denygal. Donyl suspected he was praying to his gods.
“…in Jesu’s name, amen,” Pedyr whispered aloud.
Eerie silence swept the mountain meadow. A few of the riders visibly relaxed.
“Hold, men,” Pedyr called. “Don’t let it fool you. Keep sharp.”
Nothing moved out in the forest. Donyl could hear Neff’s breathing. One of the riders at the perimeter whispered somewhat about “not natural”. Then a bird twilled out in the trees and an owl hooted and that which is normal resumed.
“Hold, men!” Pedyr insisted. “Be steady. Naren and Jasyn, build up the fires.”
Now Donyl understood why they’d gathered so much wood. It hadn’t made sense at the time, but now it did. The light brightened the meadow and drove the shadows far back. He moved to stand, felt Neff pull him down and then felt the swish of a war dart brush his hair. The camp exploded into noise, but all Donyl knew was the ground cloth pressed into his face. The riders cursed as wolves howled from all sides. Neff rolled off Donyl and dragged him back against the boulder where Pedyr had made his bed earlier.
