by Kate Diamond
“The summer council, at Hart’s Peak,” he said when they separated. “Will you be there?”
“I will.” They both knew it wasn’t a promise, that all too easily something might keep one or both of them from the fliers’ yearly gathering. But it was a chance.
“May we meet again with brighter news to share.” Arden climbed up onto the Brightblade’s deck, signaled to Minwe, and the cloudship lifted away into the mist.
“Come,” ney said to Belest, unnecessarily, for what else was he to do? Seres already longed to be off, fluttering against the sail and spiraling around the mast. They boarded the Dragonfly and headed toward the city walls.
By the time they reached the East Gate, it had begun raining in truth. Large drops spattered on the stones, soaking clothes and chilling skin where they landed. Miris scanned the wall - there, a flash of colorful feathers stood out against the endless grey. The Ruenwin pair waited before the Gate guardian, a massive statue of a faceless warrior wearing armor of an ancient style. It stood as a remnant of those days when the cities of the centerlands fought each other with weapons sharper than the insults and humor they parried today. Kirental didn’t seem to mind the downpour, but beside him little Amayla huddled under a dainty parasol, which was doing rather less to shield them from the rain than their father’s wing outstretched above their head.
Kirental waved in acknowledgement as Seres brought the cloudship close. He folded Amayla’s parasol and helped them climb into a large half-covered basket that latched onto his harness with strong straps. With a few strokes of his long wings, he rose to fly alongside the ship.
“Bright morning,” he greeted them.
“And to you,” Miris replied. “Not so bright today, though. Hopefully we’ll outpace this soon.”
Kirental shook drops from his crest. “The rain is no trial. The sky is as she is, after all, and all those who fly must adapt.”
Miris knew that adage well, at least. “Have you been waiting?”
“Not at all. I have been teaching Amayla the names of plants. She is naturally curious, and there is such a bounty growing here, I would be remiss not to make use of it!”
She - a woman already? She looked so young, barely more than an infant. And then Miris remembered that Ruenwin did not have Naming - their children were boys and girls from birth, and most often stayed that way, though of course there were those who felt their souls different from their feathers and “took the colors” of their true gender. Adults divided into two sorts of each, feather and claw, but Miris didn’t know quite what the signifiers meant or how to tell the difference between them. Ruenwin thirds, called duals, were so rare that they were honored when they existed. A curious way of living, surely, but no stranger than any other Miris had seen in nir travels. Likely the Ruenwin thought Naming strange.
“Who is your companion?” Kirental asked, turning to Belest, who stammered a greeting and introduced himself.
Miris tried not to hear yet another rebuke in the words. Did Kirental mean to sound so disapproving, or was Miris only imagining it? The Ruenwin had a way of speaking that could turn perfectly light and pleasant words into something… not unkind, not at all, but disappointed. As if he’d expected something different. Intentional or not, it stung. But whatever the case, they flew together now, and had to trust each other.
Belest was still staring at Kirental, watching every slow beat of his wings, peering into the basket to glimpse the child inside. Had he never seen Ruenwin before? Likely not, if he’d lived his entire life in the north. Amayla peeked out of her basket now and then, ducking raindrops, watching the cloudship and the Wind with wide-eyed fascination. Seres in turn took an interest in their new friends, sweeping through Amayla’s feathers and lifting Kirental’s wings, sending fans of raindrops sheeting off towards the ground as the spirit moved.
“It is a blessing to fly with a Wind,” Kirental said later. “That they allow us to be a part of their world, even if only for a short time… it is a great gift.”
That, at least, Miris wholeheartedly agreed with.
◆◆◆
By midmorning they had flown clear of the storm. Miris prepared tea for them both, something dark with a hint of spice. Belest sipped from his mug and watched the grey haze of rain recede into the distance. They had draped a cloth over the Star chest, but the shape of it still sat heavy on the deck, drawing Belest’s eye and dimming his thoughts every time his hopes threatened to rise.
Miris invited Kirental to join them on the Dragonfly, but after only a few cautious steps the Ruenwin declared that he would far rather fly on his own wings. Amayla, on the other hand, was delighted by the cloudship and had no problem walking on its deck. She spent much of the afternoon exploring under Miris’s watch, investigating the small ship inside and out, before Kirental finally coaxed her back into her basket for a nap.
“We should reach Pirren before dark,” Miris said, after another conference with Kirental. “We’ll stay with the governor for the night.” Ney hesitated. “If you believe that’ll be safe?”
“It’ll be good. Thank you.” Kela had made no secret of the fact that she thought the Governor of Pirren a fool. Unlike the Ansets, he had no reason to be aware of her affairs.
Belest at least knew something about Pirren, from schoolroom lessons and travelers’ books and Kela’s endless meetings with merchants. A land of waterwheels and vineyards, granaries and bountiful fields, Pirren shared a network of canals with its neighbors, Kelden and Mett, as well as several smaller surrounding states. This ancient system of waterways had knit the region somewhat closer together than the rest of the centerlands. Nobody wanted to go to war with their neighbors when their neighbors were responsible for the safe transit of lumbering barges loaded with casks of rich Pirrish wine.
The governor of Pirren was known as something of an eccentric. Dalen fin-Rebas was far more interested in farming than in politics; his library shelves overflowed with volumes of harvest records, breeding charts, almanacs local and foreign. His personal gardens were carefully divided into small plots blooming with the results of experiments in cross-pollination and fertilizer blends. Rumor was that he was so preoccupied with these experiments that his nephew and heir actually conducted most of the political business of the office. Others said that he was far more involved than he seemed to be, but wished to test his heir with more responsibility while still under supervision.
The choice of heir, at least, was not unusual, not at all. Childless governors, or those whose own children were unsuitable or unwilling, often raised relatives to the role. Several years ago the governor of Tilsa had announced that she had chosen a niece. The previous governor of Raset had left his seal and sash to a grandchild. There were even occasional stories, recent and ancient, of governors selecting promising orphans to train as heirs, to ward off political posturing from noble families hoping to insert their own children into power.
“I haven’t been to Pirren in years.” Miris sat beside Belest on the row of crates facing the Ruenwin. “It was harvest season when I visited last. You could see the fields shrinking right in front of you as they worked. The farmers hold a festival once the crop is all in, and then there’s one for the millers and bakers after that. I’ve visited Mett several times since then - the fliers’ council met there last year - but it’s not the same. They say it’s something about the soil that makes their harvest so much richer.”
“I’ve read a lot about it. Silverpeak does a lot of business with Pirren.”
Miris nodded. “It’s a major source of food for the north, especially when their own harvests are difficult. I don’t trade in grain and such, of course, but their wine and oil are very highly valued, especially outside the centerlands. And there’s a lot of weaving and pottery in Pirren.”
Kirental made a strange sound that Belest realized was laughter. “Your lands are all so different from one another!” he observed. The fact seemed to amuse him. “At the Northern Aerie, even though we are apart fr
om our southern brethren, we are very much alike. We travel more, perhaps, and are more open to sharing with the other races. But we’re nowhere near as different from them as Pirren is from Tilsa, or the mountains are from the islands. I admire you for remembering it all.”
Miris smiled. “I barely know a fraction of it. There’s entire lands out there I’ve never visited. And I couldn’t tell you the difference between most Kejan clans, never mind the mers or Forish or dragonfolk.”
“You wish to travel further?”
“Someday I hope to fly to Irenset, and maybe Ladd. I’ve read accounts from sailors, but I’d like to see it for myself.”
Belest wondered if Arden had ever been to Ladd. The island was months away by sea, further even than Corum or sacred Miren.
“Then I wish good fortune. May the winds guide you there.”
A most suitable prayer, Belest thought, but did not say.
They flew on, and arrived in Pirren in the early evening, drifting over newly ploughed fields toward the scattering of lights that marked the central crossroads. The streets below carried a bustling stream of people and carts returning home from a day’s work. On the canals, narrowboats took on supplies and moored for the night.
The governor’s estate sat on a low hill, bordered on the east side by a bend of the First Canal and on the other by a low stone wall. In the midst of green fields and stout trees stood a horseshoe-shaped collection of buildings arranged around a central courtyard. Tidy paths wound their way from the main house to the stables and to the greenhouses and gardeners’ huts that dotted the grounds.
Miris landed the Dragonfly in the courtyard. The Ruenwin followed, but did not join them at the doors.
“We will find our own lodging,” Kirental said. “It is our tradition. We will meet you here in the morning.”
He winged off towards the forest as Miris and Belest presented themselves at the great doors. A servant, a tall woman with long red hair and a sharp nose, met them promptly and showed them into a receiving hall comfortably furnished with plush armchairs. She left to fetch the governor. Belest looked around the room while they waited. Sketches of local animals and plants hung on the walls where he assumed most governors would place maps and portraits. Glass-fronted cabinets displayed antique surveyor’s tools and miniature models of farming equipment. Working models - Belest could tell at a glance that if they were taken down from their shelves, the wheels would spin on their axles and the gears would mesh and turn together.
He was still studying one such device when he heard a gruff voice just outside the door. “And you’re certain?”
Belest dropped into a chair and tried to look presentable.
“Yes, sir, I am.” The servant who’d brought them inside. The first speaker grumbled.
“I don’t see why this is any of my business, they could have just gone to the magistrate, but if you insist…”
Governor Dalen pushed open the doors and strode into the room. He looked much like the illustrations in the news-sheets: a tall, large man with a pale bald head, long greying beard and plump mustache, and bright curious eyes behind wire spectacles. He wore his sash of office thrown haphazardly over a stained mechanic’s smock; Belest guessed he had been in the middle of some project or other when he had been summoned.
“Welcome to Pirren, Windsworn,” he said, bowing to Miris, who returned the gesture. “I must admit, these are most unusual circumstances. You have done a good thing, certainly, but why bring him here? Did you expect a parade?”
Miris frowned. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”
“What do you mean? That’s why you came here, isn’t it?” At Miris’s incomprehension, he pointed to Belest, eyes gone cold and sharp. “Him! That’s the missing Rilar fellow. Wanted for abuse and theft. Governor Ralesh has told me everything.”
Belest went cold. Would Miris believe him, against the word of two governors? Ney had no reason to doubt Ralesh of Silverpeak. And it would be far easier for nem to travel on towards Dawning Crest without the burden of a clueless assistant.
“I’m certainly grateful to you for capturing him,” the governor went on, voice as light and cheerful as if he were discussing a particularly interesting play, “but I don’t see what I have to do with it.” The words were distant, meaningless. Belest wanted to run, but there was no point. Where would he go?
The governor shook his head. “Never mind all that. Guards!” They stormed into the room, a pair of them, blank-faced and carrying swords. Belest would have stood, would have given himself up, if only he were not frozen in place like a rusted hinge. The guards advanced on him. And then Miris moved to stand in their way. Protecting him.
“Don’t touch him! He flies with me.” The guards, unwilling to challenge a flier, paused and waited for orders.
“Why on earth…” The governor looked between them, brows knitted in puzzlement. “Don’t you want to be rid of him? I’ll make sure you get the reward, have no fear of that.”
Miris did not retreat. “There will be no reward. He’s not guilty of what you say.”
“Oh, he’s told you so, has he? You’re a pretty poor sort of bounty hunter, to believe what these brigands say.”
“I’m not- There’s been a misunderstanding. He’s my assistant. He’s done nothing wrong.”
Except that wasn’t true, and Miris knew it. He’d stolen money, fled his marriage…
The governor frowned. “You put me in a difficult position, Windsworn. Am I to simply disregard the word of a fellow governor? And that of the esteemable Rilar family?”
“Kela deb-Rilar is a liar.”
The governor blinked, and then his eyes narrowed. “Mind your words. Even a flier shouldn’t dabble in that sort of slander.”
Miris drew nemself up. “You will give me the courtesy I am due.”
“Not when you bring a criminal into my house,” the governor retorted, unfazed.
“Then let us depart together and we won’t trouble you any further.”
The governor stepped back and signaled for the guards to stand down. “Very well. You may leave, but you will not be welcome here again. And I will be making a report of this to Ralesh.”
“You’re welcome to do so, if you’re not interested in the truth.”
“So I shall. Out!” The guards advanced again, but Miris was already moving. Belest found himself on his feet, following nem from the chamber, down the hall, and out the doors towards the Dragonfly. There was light enough still for Miris to signal to Seres to take them away, and soon the governor’s estate was just a dark patch in the distance. They hung in the air above one of the vast tracts of forest that bordered Pirren, looking back on the city that had expelled them.
“Thank you,” Belest managed, unable to shake the guards’ stern faces from his mind.
“I’m sorry,” Miris said, to Belest’s surprise. “I shouldn’t have taken us there.” Ney cursed. “What a fool he is! Anybody else would have listened to me. We’d have been better off with an innkeeper, or the shipyard master, or-”
The sound of wings, and then Kirental appeared before them, bare of his carrying harness. Amayla clung to his neck, watching them with alarmed eyes. “You’ve returned so soon. Is something wrong?”
Miris scowled. “Yes. The governor took exception to Belest.”
Kirental tilted his beak and looked to Belest, confused. “For what reason?”
Belest swallowed. He did not want that whole wretched story laid out before the Ruenwin. But he owed them an explanation. And this time he would not make Miris speak for him.
“The governor recognized me,” Belest began. “Because I…” Before he could say more, Kirental shook his head.
“No, there is no need. I see now that it is something private, and not for me to know.”
“He was falsely accused of a crime,” Miris supplied, and Belest silently thanked nem for speaking when he could not. “The governor assumed I wanted him arrested.”
“Ho
w strange! And how unfortunate. Well, you are certainly welcome to stay with us, but I have hung my hammock in the trees, and I do not believe you will find it comfortable.”
“I have my ship,” Miris reassured him. “We’ll be fine.”
Once Kirental left, Miris lit the little stove and prepared them a soup of mushrooms, carrots, and bacon from the ship’s store of ingredients, pushing Belest away when he tried to help.
The sun set as they ate, and the air grew colder. Belest looked out at the stars above, far away and safe. If not for him, Miris would even now be enjoying Governor Dalen’s warm hearth and laden table. Instead, they would both be spending the night out here.
It was far, far preferable to a night locked in Pirren’s gaol. Or what would have followed after that. He ought to be content, but the unease that had followed him from Summertooth had only grown over the days. He owed the flier more than he could ever hope to repay. And all he had brought nem was troubles upon troubles. Because of him, Miris was forbidden Pirren’s bounty. A tremendous sacrifice, for a trader. Had ney not told him today how valuable Pirrish goods could be?
“This isn’t right,” he said suddenly, into the silence.
“What?” Miris, confused, turned to look at him.
“You’re doing so much for me and I’ve done nothing to earn it. If there was something useful I could do, to be worthwhile to you…”
He dared to look up, and with a sinking heart watched Miris’s expression turn to one of displeasure.
“Stop that,” ney demanded, stern. Belest fell silent. “You’re not an apprentice, and certainly not a servant, so stop acting like it. And I would never treat either that way in any case,” ney added in a mutter.
“I want to stay with you. You have no reason to keep-”
“I’m not in the business of abandoning people,” Miris snapped. Belest winced and turned away, this time in guilt far more than fear. To say that, after tonight, when Miris had defended him from the governor… What a fool he was, to imply Miris would be in the least unkind, after ney had provided him with shelter and aid and a chance to redeem himself.
