Child of the Daystar (The Wings of War Book 1)

by Bryce O'Connor

  “You rang, Master Blaeth?” she asked, her sweet, clear voice cutting through the silence of the house.

  The woman was a miracle for her ability to get the Grandmother to eat and drink, but even if she hadn’t been, Adrion was fairly sure he would have kept her around if only to hear that voice at dinner every night. The one-sided conversation the old woman offered could get lonely, truth be told.

  “I did.” Adrion moved to the great timber desk in the corner of the room. The study was a spacious chamber, lined with shelves much like Sass’ office was, but Adrion rarely had the chance to peruse any of them. Most of his time was spent locked in his office upstairs, going over numbers till the earliest hours of the morning for his employer and the other šef.

  He really did need to invest in some oil lamps, considering how many candles he went through in a week…

  “Could you see to it that my Grandmother gets fed, Lazura?” he asked, easing himself into the heavy wooden chair behind his desk. He found that he got better results with a kind word rather than a heavy hand, considering the image he cut. “And have the handmaids come and change her, if you would.”

  “Those poor girls,” Lazura giggled, her laugh like a tinkling wind chime. “They won’t like that.”

  “I wouldn’t wish it on anyone,” Adrion agreed with a smile. “Least of all you or I.”

  Lazura gave a small curtsy, a motion Adrion had yet to get accustomed to despite the fact that he had five servants employed in his estate, all women with the exception of Bertran, the cook.

  The Grandmother required a lot of looking after.

  After Lazura took her leave, Adrion rubbed his forehead again, feeling the headache that had built up over the last week throb painfully behind his eyes.

  “Drink water. It works better.”

  Adrion didn’t even jump as he looked up. Sass was standing in front of his desk, examining the shelves with an interested eye, flashy orange and black shirt and pants standing out in the shaded room. The šef had appeared out of thin air too many times before to scare his confidant, but it didn’t help Adrion’s mood in the least.

  “You don’t ever knock, do you?”

  “Not if I can help it,” Sass replied without looking around at him, reaching out to pluck a book from its place. “Ah, The Merchant’s Trail. And a first edition at that! I’ve been looking for this. Where did you—?”

  “What are we going to do about Raz?” Adrion cut in, his temper flaring. “You’re standing there, drooling over books I keep for the effect they give the room, while he’s out there pulling our roots up one by one.”

  “A handful of guards and some dozen slaves are ‘our roots’?” Sass chuckled, putting the book back and turning to look at Adrion. “I must have missed that part of the meeting.”

  “He almost took out Gaorys, and would have if the man hadn’t been paranoid about going out in the first place. Even surrounded by sarydâ he barely got away with his life, and a half dozen more of our men are dead.”

  “Calm down, Adrion,” Sass said sternly, interlocking his fingers behind his head and leaning against the shelf. “I know he’s causing problems, and believe me I’m doing everything I can to fix it. We all are. But life goes on, and we have business as usual to deal with.” Slipping a hand into his shirt, he pulled out a thin roll of parchment. “I’ve brought you the figures for the last section’s earnings. I need you to launder the coinage and stack the numbers by the end of the week. Can you do that?”

  Adrion sighed. “Of course,” he replied, reaching to take the parchment. “But you really think this is the time to be focusing on details we can deal with later? Raz is going to be more than a thorn in your side soon, Sass. He—”

  “It. Will. Be. Handled.” Sass pressed every word in poignantly. “In the grand scheme of things, what can the lizard do to us? He’s a pain, I’ll admit, but everything he’s done and can do is mendable.”

  “Don’t underestimate him,” Adrion insisted. “You’ve hired him for more jobs than all the others put together! You should know what he’s capable of! And as for me, he was like a brother to me for over fifteen years. I saw him change, Sass, and while he used to be as human as the rest of us, he’s not anymore. The man is an animal in truth, pun and all. He won’t stop until he’s taken us all down. We should do something about it now.”

  “He’s not a man at all,” Sass retorted, turning on his heel and crossing his hands behind his back.

  “Fair enough, but he’s smarter than your prejudice allows you to see, and it’s going to cost you if you don’t listen to me!”

  Sass stilled for a moment, turning his head to look out the open doors that led to the balcony. The Grandmother still sat there, gazing out into emptiness, the wind ruffling her gray gown. For a second, Adrion thought he had gotten through.

  “Run the numbers,” Sass said over his shoulder before heading for the door. “I’ll be back at the end of the week for the sheets.”

  And then he was gone.

  “Idiot!” Adrion hissed, wincing as the headache throbbed again. Pushing himself up from the chair, he got to his feet, grabbing his crutch and the sealed roll of parchment Sass had brought him.

  He was making his way around the desk, turning to head up to his offices, when a shadow fell over the room like a cloud crossing the Sun outside. Before he could turn around, though, something thin and heavy collided with Adrion’s back, sending him crashing to the ground.

  “You’re the idiot, Mychal,” a harsh voice breathed while he struggled onto his good knee, winded and gasping. “These dealings of yours are going to get you killed.”

  ________________________

  Raz stood over his cousin, Ahna held in both hands. He’d used her shaft to knock his cousin to the ground, and now he watched Mychal—No, he conceded—Adrion, struggle to breathe.

  “You!” the man wheezed when he finally managed to turn around. “How did you get in here? Get out!”

  “Not yet.” Raz knelt down and reached for something on the ground. “Don’t get me wrong, I love these family visits, but this time I came for something more valuable than your silver tongue.” He held up the roll of parchment.

  Sass’ numbers.

  “Bastard!” Adrion spat, scooting forward and making to swipe it from his cousin’s armored fist. “Give it to me!”

  “No,” Raz replied simply, standing up and stepping back. “If I’m right—and I certainly pay people enough to be right—the Mahsadën only ever keep two financial records of any specific group of transactions. One for use by the šef and their underlings”—he said the word with a sneer—“and one for records keeping, locked away in some secret vault.”

  “Which means what you hold in your hand is worthless!” Adrion exploded, crawling to the nearest bookshelf and pulling himself up into a standing position. “Give it to me, Raz, or by the Moon I’ll—!”

  “It’s only worthless,” Raz interrupted, “if you don’t have both.”

  He pulled a small leather satchel from around his back and flicked it open. Inside were a half-dozen similar rolls of parchment, each sealed shut with a black circle of wax the size of a coin, embossed with a curvy M.

  Adrion was speechless.

  “Your messenger ran into a bit of trouble,” Raz explained, closing the bag and tucking it away again. “Don’t bother looking for him. I always found it shameful how little they feed the oasis crocodiles.”

  “NO!” Mychal screamed, throwing himself at Raz, who dodged out of the way. “Sun burn you, Raz! Lazura! LAZURA! CALL THE GUARD! HE’S HERE! TELL THEM HE’S…!”

  But Raz was already running, ducking his head and darting through the doors onto the balcony. Jumping up, he planted a foot on the balustrade and with a great shove leapt into the air. Spreading his wings, Ahna held in one hand and the satchel secure in the other, he soared.

 
The fall was magnificent, the air rushing around him like a storm. For the brief few seconds it lasted, Raz remembered the times years ago when he’d spent his nights leaping from roof to roof in every city his family traded in.

  Then the memories were gone, and he landed smoothly on the cobbled ground below, right in the middle of the crowded streets. There were gasps and screams as he rolled and leapt to his feet, but Raz ignored them, ducking and pulling his hood up before taking off. He’d never been good at blending in with a moving crowd. His size had its downsides, after all.

  Still, if he could stay low enough and not jostle too many people, he might just be able to get to safer roads without much of a—

  “STOP! AFTER HIM! STOP!”

  Or not, Raz thought, cursing.

  It had been a risky plan, breaking into Adrion’s house in the middle of the day. But when their messenger didn’t show up for records keeping, Raz was sure the Mahsadën would have gotten the second copies under lock and key within an hour. It left him only a small window of time in which to pull off the theft. Still, he’d managed it, and now he had the only two copies of Sass’ financial exchanges for the last three months, along with five or six other scrolls he was hoping might contain valuable information.

  Assuming he could make it out alive, this would be Raz’s most fruitful day yet.

  Forgoing his attempt at stealth, Raz ran, dodging through the crowd as best he could and shoving people aside as needed. Catching a break in the throng, he took it, making for the alley that headed south toward the market quarters. Before he took his first step onto the sidewalk, though, two uniformed men cut across his path, swords held high.

  Ahna’s pointed tip took one of them through the sternum, the other going down under Raz’s fist, the gauntlet colliding with his face, splitting his nose and shattering at least a half-dozen teeth.

  Bulling over the collapsing pair, Raz made it into the shade of the alley, halting to look left and right. It took a second to figure out exactly where he was, but it was all he needed, and he took off again just before another group of guards poured in behind him. He could take them. He had no doubt about that, but he would be wasting valuable time in which reinforcements would be called. Even he would get swamped if one against five suddenly turned into one against fifty.

  He was good, but he wasn’t that good.

  Left. Right. Right. Left. Right. It was a good thing he’d made it an essential part of his self-training in his first years as a sword-for-hire to memorize every inch of the city he could. Using all his speed and cunning, he put distance between himself and the guard, dodging through the maze of alleys and back roads that only in this district would be kept so clean. Another left and he was almost positive it would be… there! The narrow space, barely a foot wide, between the guesthouse of one of the estates and Miropa’s only bookstore.

  Making the corner, Raz turned his body and tucked his wings, shimmying through the opening. He was two-thirds of the way through when the guard caught up, most of them running right past the space before one of the stragglers noticed him.

  “OY!” he yelled to his compatriots, slipping in. “HERE! HE’S HERE!”

  He was halfway across when Raz’s dagger caught him in the throat, accurate as an arrow despite the awkward throw with no room to spare. Raz watched him gurgle and collapse, body held upright by the opposite wall that had been barely two or three inches away from his chest to start with. Smirking, Raz heard the other guards curse when they couldn’t get past the body, and he scooted the last few feet to freedom, popping out in a tiny square courtyard surrounded by walls on every side. The stones here had been torn up from the ground, leaving the sandy earth bare, and the careful care and delicate hand of the estate’s widowed heiress had turned the place into a tiny garden.

  There was even a small tree—oak, someone had told him once—growing in its center.

  Sadly, as this wasn’t the time to marvel at a rich old woman’s use of her crowns, Raz kept moving, aiming for the tree. When he was a few feet from it he jumped and grabbed the lowest branch with his free hand, using his momentum to swing and wrap his legs around the next one. Using his tail as an anchor, he pulled himself up, climbing branch by branch, tugging Ahna free when she got caught and checking every few seconds to make sure the stolen satchel was still closed and safe.

  In twenty seconds he was high enough and, gathering his courage, he crouched for one last leap.

  Then he jumped, flying through empty air, limbs flailing until he crashed onto the slanted roof of the bookstore.

  By the time the guard got through to the garden, Raz had disappeared, leaving nothing but a handful of mottled green leaves to float down around their perplexed heads.

  A quarter league away, an old woman caught a glimpse of a figure jumping across her field of vision, leaping from roof to roof, a great two-headed spear in one hand. For the briefest of instants something like a memory pricked at her mind, and the half smile widened the tiniest fraction before she found herself surrounded by limbo once again.

  XI

  “Since before written memory there were legends and stories of the dahgün, the mountain dragons of the old North. The Laorin claim that the creatures were the Lifegiver’s first children, his first Gift, but when Laor discovered that his creations were capable of nothing but chaos and destruction, he grew terribly angry and wiped them from the face of the world. Yet despite the tale, every so often one may come across those who will claim to have seen a great winged beast circling the skies far above the highest peaks of the Saragrias Ranges.”

  —exc. “Legends Beyond the Border,” by Zyryl Vahs

  Syrah crouched low to the ground, inching her staff down into the grass at her feet so gently her shoulder ached. She had to. Any sudden motion would scare off the doe standing not ten yards from her, ears flicking back and forth while it bent to graze between the trees.

  The Arocklen Woods stretched almost half-a-hundred leagues east, west, and south from the base of the wide, winding stairs that led up the mountains to Cyrugi Di’. During the winter it was a harsh place, the pine groves growing so thick and tall that when they were coated with snow the floor of the Woods was almost pitch black and all but impossible to navigate. Wolves hunted in packs in the forested hills, and snow leopards crept along the lowest branches. There was even the occasional news of the great white-and-brown ursalus bears mauling foolhardy travelers to death.

  All that, though, was during the freeze.

  Now, in high summer, the Arocklen was an utterly different place. Even as Syrah crept forward, careful to stay downwind of the deer, she had to skirt around bright patches of sunlight and be sure not to rustle the thick beds of white mornin’loves that patterned the ground. Birds sang in the eaves above her head, and it was warm enough that she’d finally been able to exchange her white robes for a thin sleeveless leather jerkin and comfortable cotton shorts.

  Off to her left, Syrah could barely hear Reyn moving on a parallel path forward, trying to catch the deer from two angles.

  It was the gathering time, the apex point of summer where the residents of the Citadel capable of doing so took turns making the trip down the mountain every other day to aid in stocking the temple’s stores for winter. Carro was somewhere nearby, partnered with Jerrom, Reyn’s former Priest-Mentor. Four score others were spread out in the first dozen acres from the base of the stairway, all heeding to their own tasks. Some were foraging, gathering roots and mushrooms and any other edibles they could find. Others were collecting kindling and chopping firewood from the fallen trees that succumbed to the weight of the snow and ice every year.

  And others were hunting for meat that would be salted and preserved, hopefully lasting long enough to get them through the ten months of freeze without having to resort to a staple diet of wheat porridge and dried berries.

  Ducking silently beneath a pair of low-hanging ev
ergreens, Syrah saw Reyn hunch behind on old stump. Catching his eye, she motioned that she was ready. The man nodded and returned the gesture. Exhaling slowly, Syrah lifted a hand and slowly curled her fingers into a loose fist.

  They had no bows and arrows, no slings and certainly no hunting spears. The Laorin had little use for them, and as far as Syrah knew the only weapons in the Citadel were dulled steel imitations Reyn taught with under the weapons master, Audus Brern. There was no need for such things, after all, when other tools could replace their uses…

  Feeling the flash and coolness in her palm, Syrah leapt up only seconds after Reyn. She watched as the man hurled a tiny white orb of light, throwing with the same motion he might a javelin. The doe, though, ever on the alert, darted away, leaping aside so that Reyn’s bolt zipped harmlessly through the air and hit the underbrush, fizzling out with a tiny pop.

  Syrah ignored her partner’s curses, studying the animal’s frantic path through the pines. She watched her target zigzag deeper into the Woods, disappearing behind one tree before appearing again for the briefest of moments on the other side.

  Then Syrah saw her chance, and she threw.

  The little ball of light shot through the air like an arrow, flying between the trunks. Guided with a skillful hand, it caught the doe in midair just as the animal leapt over a fallen log, striking the unfortunate beast squarely in the front shoulder.

  There was another flash of white light, and the deer tumbled to the ground, dead.

  “Praise Him for his goodness,” Syrah prayed quietly, touching the fingers of her throwing hand to her forehead before looking up again. Reyn was already crashing through the bushes toward their kill, whooping when he came to a stop over the animal.

  “That was incredible!” he yelled back to where Syrah was retrieving her staff before making her way through the trees toward him. “That’s the best shot I’ve seen you make yet! What are they feeding you out there in the world?”

  “Baby rabbits, clumps of dirt, and hard stones,” she teased with a laugh, hopping over a felled log. “And it was more luck than anything else.”