Wings of Light Special Edition

by Lloyd Baron

  “It is possible,” the woman lowers her face, and a look of confusion drifts across it yet only for the briefest of moments. She looks up again, eyes sparkling with fever. “You will sign a treaty and your daughter will be wed to the son of—”

  “An Atlantian Prince? There isn’t one! Narmada Aft’s till Abenbeth has only one child. A daughter herself. Her husband is dead and she grieves so deeply that I think it unlikely she will remarry. So,” he chuckles to himself, real amusement entering his thoughts. “Unless my daughter marries a girl I cannot see how this treaty can be signed. Besides, neglected as we are here in Common I am not on bad terms with Narmada. She favors me with her company once or twice a season.”

  “Really?” The woman sneers. “Well, as you say, we are neglected here. She should do more to help us. This country comes close to starvation most winters and she does nothing to help.”

  “Enough!” Garnock bellows, anger flaring up within him. He stares down at the beautiful creature before him with disgust. “She will help us if and when we really need help. My country is not as weak as you will have me believe. Now if you cannot back up your claims with evidence then leave my sight!” His last words come out in a snarl. How dare she imply his country suffers under his guidance! He is a proud man, but not so proud that he would let his country wither and die before asking for help.

  “I need to research more into it of course.” The woman says, unfazed by his outburst. “You have books in your library which may help this process. If only you would allow me to read them.”

  Now the truth comes out. Garnock smiles bitterly, forcing his hate into the eyes of this bitch. He sighs and leans forwards. “You know full well that the library is out of bounds for one such as yourself. Only members of this castle are allowed admittance. This you knew before you came here on your first visit, is it not so?”

  “Bastard!” she screams, spittle frothing at the corners of her mouth. “I could kill you where you sit, you fat disgusting imbecile. You do not know who I am or what it is I am—.” She stops suddenly and loses her focus on the King. He gets to his feet and calls for the guards. She is still lost to them when they grab her arms and pull her from the room.

  The King sits back in his throne and stares at the large doors Katilena is dragged through until they close with a loud bang. She is clearly insane and maybe even a danger to herself or others. However, the signs have been pointing to a beginning, although he had believed it would still be outside of his and even of his children’s lifetimes. Now her ranting has gotten into him. Uncertainty flutters into his gut and he bites his bottom lip. He calls for his scribe, who hurries to his Kings side. “Write me a letter inviting the Queen of Atlant to join us here for the Feast of Forgiving. Make it sound urgent. Beg if you must. I think the Prophecy may have begun.”

  The scribe stares at him, mouth working but not making any sounds. Finally he speaks. “Grendel?”

  “No, not my daughter. I believe it to be hers.”

  Katilena Grei falls hard on the marble floor of the entrance hall in the Castle of King Garnock. She snaps her head up and screams fury at the locked double doors. She could smash them aside, but that would not do. She needs Garnock to allow her to read the Book of Prophecy, or the pages will be blank to her eye.

  Stupid magic book!

  She spits across the marble and sneers her frustration at the predicament she now finds herself in. She had almost been winning him over, she is sure of it. No man can withstand her for long, and he has been without his wife for a good many suns, although her return that morning had changed things. He is only a weak human after all. Suddenly another way crosses her mind and she grins broadly, the beginnings of a plan writing themselves in her mind. She will have the King’s head on a spike before the week is out.

  She stands and dusts off her dress. Prods her breasts back into the corset and flings her hair over her left shoulder. She glides away from the doors as if she had not just been thrown from them and turns into a narrow side street. The darkness covers her and she feels at home, her mood lifting greatly. It does not last long.

  Dark power surges through the Mana-fold and crashes into her. Coming in at first to the space between her spell and her mind, the balance there shifting and crashing down into her subconscious. It then spikes into her waking mind and through her body. She almost yells out as pain engulfs her. She loosens her grasp of the small spell she has been holding, and the pain disperses. She shudders violently and vomits into the grass under a window.

  Who is using the Mana-Fold?

  It cannot be any of the others, as they make sure not to summon when they feel a form cast, the spell she has been weaving around her to make her breasts look larger and her waist look smaller. She curses under her breath and stands up straight, coming face-to-face with a startled young man. His eyes move from her now flat chest to her face and then back to her chest.

  She sighs. Foolish man. As she turns she flicks her right hand up, a flash of red flickers across her stretched fingers and the window blossoms into an inferno, taking the face of the man with it.

  Baron Lokkie staggers to his feet from his chair by the window and only just manages to stop himself falling onto his face. The room tilts to the side and he tumbles over. His head catches the edge of his desk as he falls and knocks the sense from his mind.

  In his drifting consciousness he sees three men enter his office. Two of them are his personal guard and one is a short aging man. He is at his desk. They speak and then one of the guards moves in, a blade flashing before his eyes.

  The world comes back to him and he sits up, putting fingers to his sore neck and temple, rubbing them better. He tries to remember his dream but something snatches the memories from him.

  “What on earth was I doing today?” he asks himself. Then the answers slowly come to him, as if being put there by someone else. He frowns. He really cannot remember his own memories taking place, but they are his memories so they must have happened.

  He has to go to war. Yes that is right. This morning an important man had come and given him information regarding the village of Gressgs. Apparently they are flying their own flags and claiming that they have a new Baron. A man called Utsa. Darwin’t Utsa. The important man had said he should gather a force to ride to Gressgs and take down the new Baron before he can root himself into the land and gain true followers.

  Who was the man?

  He lifts himself back onto the chair and rests his head on the desk. A dull ache throbbing in his neck. He rubs at it, wondering if he somehow hurt it as he fell.

  His general enters almost as if he knew he was needed and stands to attention. He salutes. “The army is ready to ride, Baron Lokkie.”

  “It is ready? So soon?” He frowns but then dismisses his confusion. So many things forgotten due to his frail and aged mind. Not something like this though, how could he have forgotten something so important. Maybe war was not such a good idea. If he cannot even remember setting his army into motion then maybe he is too old to lead people and his three great towns. This new Baron could be the replacement he has been looking for. He has no children of his own. His mind clouds and he swoons in his seat. When the dizziness has cleared he can only remember his thoughts from when the general had entered. “Good,” he says in answer to the general’s statement. “Give me a second, would you? I need to change for riding.”

  “As you wish, my lord.” The man salutes before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

  Lokkie sits back down, still rubbing at his neck. “War,” he mutters. A frown creasing his brow. It just does not seem right.

  Razzork laughs into his hand as he watches the frail old fool stagger to his feet.

  The blood dry upon his clothes which he now strips to ready himself for riding. The ghoul who had entered becomes his general, giving him the news of an army, the once powerful Baron is nothing more than a marionette for him to control. He has to startle another laugh as the mind of the Baron drifts ba
ck to their meeting and he tightens his control. He curses the strong will of this man as he opens the Mana-Fold to summons more dark power, in the knowledge that by doing so his reappearance in the world will be revealed. He curses again before sending the Baron off to war. Something darker and more powerful will be needed to control this man. He gulps. Even he is not sure of what he knows must be done. He puts his hands together and focuses more power into the form he has cast around his ghouls. The Baron will ride with an army. Most of which will be dead before they even set off. He cannot help but smile.

  14

  NINE SWANS

  The hard-packed road widens as they draw closer to reaching the grand harbor, then the land around them begins to turn bleak. The sprawling meadows of wild flowers make way for tatty unkempt farmland, with more tall grass and weeds than crops. Few of the farms seem to be tended and many of the farmhouses and barns look run down and unlived in. That had earned a few worried looks to pass between Darwin’t and his friends. Riochald’s look was plainly angry. Farming was their livelihood and to see farms abandoned filled them with the dread that the same could happen to them.

  Few other travelers seemed to use the road; although it was not the main road towards Doeia they had expected more. A few wagons had passed with old-looking horses much like snowflake. One fellow; a traveling merchant; had offered them a few of his wares at a budget cost as he was trying to sell them quickly so that he could restock. Darwin’t had turned him down. However, Tarfleam wanted to purchase a wide-brimmed hat, muttering something about the rain, and the girls now wore brightly colored scarves. Riochald also was impressed by the herbs he had on offer but went so red with temper at the cost that she almost shoved the poor man back into his wagon and smacked his horses to set him to a gallop.

  The sun has just passed its zenith when the harbor itself comes into view. A sprawling mass of wooden buildings with no apparent pattern to their layout stretch from the mouth of the bay in all directions. There are no grand palaces or castles. A few large stone houses can be seen towards the centre of the hodgepodge of roads and buildings. One of these houses is set apart from the others and is also much larger—some wealthy lord, no doubt.

  However, it is not the buildings that cause them to stop, awe filling their eyes, but the ocean and the hundreds of ships bobbing on the waves. Riochald sniffs loudly after a moment and heels her horse to walk forwards. Canace brightens and even Tarfleam smiles, if only a little. Darwin’t can’t help but wonder what life on the sea must be like. Looking at how the ships and boats sway he can imagine it’s not very pleasant on the stomach. He had heard stories of a race of people in the far north of B’ret that live their entire lives on ships, only docking to get supplies, and then only rarely, but looking at these boats he can’t believe it could be true.

  He exchanges a smile with Canace who beams back at him before beginning to move down the hill after Riochald. The closer they get to the harbor the more the air begins to smell of the sea and of something else, something unpleasant. Darwin’t switches to breathing through his mouth but it doesn’t help much. He turns in his saddle to grimace at the others in time to see Tarfleam duck his nose into the neck of his shirt and Canace covering her mouth as if she is trying to stop herself being sick. Riochald simply sniffs and wrinkles her nose. “Fish,” she mutters in a matter of fact way as she rides on. As if they have never smelt fish before.

  “Why is it so strong?” Canace mutters as she too pulls her scarf around her face. “The fish back home do not smell so strong.” She puts a hand on her chest and takes a deep breath, but clenches her eyes tightly as if wishing she had not. The question is left unanswered as the road drops downward towards the large open gates of the harbor.

  To the surprise of everyone and apparent disgust of Riochald, all along the outside of the town walls there are small, badly built wooden shacks. Some lean against others, some have beams supporting them to make them rigid, while others just seem to be propped against the wall and could collapse at any time. Children run laughing and playing games, while mothers and older girls wash clothes or knit or cobble garments. One woman sits painting, her hair neatly tied up in a bun, but her easel is turned so they cannot see what she is painting. She glances up and narrows her eyes in their direction, then drops her head and continues with the brush. Older boys and fathers and elderly men all along the wall mend holes in the shacks with what looks like scraps of driftwood. Or wood perhaps taken from other shacks nearby. As they ride closer, Darwin’t notices that many of those here look different from him and his friends. They are shorter and most have a dark coppery tint to their hair. But it is their dark narrow, slightly tilted eyes that make him stare. He has never seen eyes like that before. Derry’n’s eyes are different from everyone else’s back home, but not that much. He glances at his friends and finds them studying the people as closely as he is.

  As they draw near to the gates a scrawny man in his middle suns jogs briskly over and makes a stiff bow, sweeping a strange square hat from his head. “Good day to you, my lady,” he says addressing Canace. “The scent of the ocean seems to be bothering you somewhat.” He gives the others a quick once over with those dark tilted eyes yet seems satisfied that he is talking to the head of the group. Riochald frowns openly but for now keeps quiet, although Darwin’t notices her lips tighten—a sign of her temper. “I am Spader Nillson and I offer tours of the grand harbor for a small fee. You will not find a better tour guide in the whole of Atlantia.” He licks his lips as he replaces the strange hat, a look of eagerness in those eyes.

  “We will not be needing a tour, though thank you for the kind offer,” Canace says pulling down the scarf. “We are here to meet friends, so perhaps you could point us in the direction of an inn.”

  Spader grins, revealing rows of broken teeth, and makes another bow. The strange hat falls from his head and he hastily snatches it up, his cheeks coloring with embarrassment. “Tell you, my fine lady, never. I will show you myself where the best inns can be found for a smaller fee than the tour indeed, yet a man must make a living.”

  Canace looks across at Darwin’t with wide eyes, clearly uncertain of what she should do or say. Darwin’t smiles back at her warmly. Her wide innocent eyes and slightly open mouth quickening his heart beat. He has to look away from her to resist leaning over to kiss her. Sometimes he forgets how beautiful she is until she looks at him with her wide green eyes like she is doing right this second. Movement draws his attention as Riochald moves her horse closer to the skinny man.

  “Make a living, yes indeed a man does need to do so. Selling tours from a dirty shack outside a harbor is not a living. There’s good farmland here that has been left to become overgrown. Farming. That!” she barks loudly enough to get stares from those close by. “That is making a living. Now move aside or I will ride over you.”

  Spader Nillson blinks at her, the grin gone from his face. He draws himself up to his full height and pulls his coat around him tighter. “As you wish,” he mutters sourly as he steps aside for the horses. Canace smiles at him sweetly before frowning at a small child watching from the shack from whence Spader came. She mutters a soft apology too quiet for Riochald to hear and heels her horse forwards. They are just about to pass through the gates when the scrawny man calls after them. “I have smelling salts.”

  Riochald stops her mare and twists in her saddle. “How much?”

  “They are free to a lady as fine as you,” Spader says, jogging to catch them up. “As part of the tour that is.”

  Riochald nods once and thrusts her hand out towards Spader, who places a small bottle of powder into it. Riochald tries to pull her hand back but Spader gently takes her by the wrist and asks for payment for the tour. Yanking free of the grasp Riochald glowers down at the man but fishes out some coin for him. He seems pleased with the amount and races off through the large gates waving them to follow him. With an angry glance over her shoulder Riochald heels her horse forwards. Darwin’t takes a deep breath
. He hopes Danlynn and Derry’n are here. Something is wrong with this place. The thought bubbles up in his mind. He shudders before setting off after his friends.

  They turn into a small narrow side street, free from the bustle of the grand market, a sight to marvel like that of feast days back in Gressgs. Spader stops suddenly and turns to face them, snatching the hat from his head. It is a scene they have begun to expect and one that Riochald is growing more impatient with. This must be at least the twentieth time he has stopped and removed his hat to tell them what is no more than a grizzly tale of murder. If he is to be believed, every lane, alley and road is home to scenes of slaughter. Only one of his stories had told of something different. Apparently in the old world this had been the location of a great healer’s grove. In the days before the Elves vanished from the world this was where they tried to find a cure for them. For some reason Riochald had quizzed the man for names and even dates, but none of his answers held any facts. Finally Spader admitted to reading a book of tales of the old world. Claiming no more knowledge of it then what he had already told. Riochald had listened to the next few tales with readiness yet once she realized they were all just about murderers and their bloody deeds she lost her temper, almost flying from her horse to grab the poor man by the throat.

  “If you insist on taking us into every nook and cranny of this town, then please could you refrain from telling these ridiculous tales! If you have anything of import to say then by all means tell it; but be warned, Master Spader, that one more story which begins with the line “the body was found” it will be your body found and turned into part of someone else’s tour.” The blood had drained from Spader’s cheeks, but he only paused a few times before continuing. A whisper from Canace brought a smile from Riochald, if only briefly.