Blood of the Falcon, Volume 1 (The Falcons Saga)

by Ellyn, Court

  Kieryn asked, “Why would Bano’en care who’s fighting the Fierans, as long as the effrontery done his kin and country is avenged?”

  “Because the Fierans,” Erum answered, “are a legitimate foe. More worthy of honor and respect than an illegitimate friend. You see?”

  “Precisely!” Rorin declared.

  Rhoslyn glared icily at him, then asked Lord Erum, “But you have no reservations in joining your ships with the Aurion?”

  Despite Rilyth’s silent urging, Erum replied, “I’m inclined to agree with Kieryn. The offer has been made. We would only be practical in accepting, see where the tide takes us.”

  “Your thoughts, Lord Admiral.”

  Beryr stroked his silver side-whiskers thoughtfully. “I must do as His Grace commands, but, since you’ve asked, my lady, it abrades my conscience to sail with a man who uses a ship and her glorious highway as a means of gaining criminal wealth. Be that as it may, I’m sure Captain Rehaan’s outstanding knowledge of the brigantine will greatly benefit His Grace’s navy. I am eager to see the contribution he will make.”

  Rehaan rolled his eyes at the admiral’s sententiousness but said nothing.

  Resigned and subdued, Princess Rilyth asked, “Rhoslyn, what is Uncle Harac prepared to guarantee these men?”

  In an objective manner, she replied, “In addition to the silver already given them, His Grace will grant every sailor aboard the Aurion a full pardon, signed by him and myself, along with assurances that whatever merchant vessel they capture, they may have first choice of its cargo, so long as the crew and passengers remain unharmed.”

  Rilyth clucked her tongue.

  Lord Erum gave her a sidelong glare and said, “That’s fair enough. As long as civilians are not harmed, what complaint have we? Should Fieran merchants try to slip through our blockade, then, by rights, their cargo is contraband. When we take these goods aboard our own ships, we call them ‘supplies’ or ‘funds,’ because we consider ourselves within the law, and that’s the price the Fierans pay in war. But, in truth, it’s no different from what Captain Rehaan does for a living, only we call it ‘plunder’ in his case.”

  Rilyth regarded her lord husband incredulously. “And how much of our cargo has Captain Rehaan here ‘funded’ himself with?”

  Rehaan grinned. “You’re confident of my qualifications, then.” He crossed his arms across the back of the chair and regarded the highborns as he might rebellious men of his crew. “Now, if it’s finished y’are with this belly-aching, let me elaborate upon those qualifications. Your pirate patrols understand too well why capturing one of our ships occurs so rarely. Our ships, as I’ve explained to my lady cousin, are smaller, deeper in the keel, narrower in the hull. In other words, faster, more maneuverable, steady in the squall. What surprises me is that you never copied our design. You insist on your impressive gilded galleons, and your bulky, fat-hulled merchanters. If it’s an advantage you’re wanting over Shadryk’s ships, build yours smaller, faster, and, hence, more lethal. As the admiral stated, I have the know-how and the silver. You agree to His Grace’s plan, and I’ll give up my portion of the payment and see to the building of your ships. By next spring, you’ll have the capability to send Shadryk’s fleet to the seafloor. And won’t your king be pleased with you then.”

  “Until the brigs are ready,” Beryr put in, “we’ll rely on our old girls. Shadryk may well be led to believe that the old galleons are all we’ve got. But he’ll have quite a surprise when half a hundred brigs sail into Galdan Bay.”

  “Here, here,” lauded Erum, rapping sharply on the table.

  Vonmora’s castellan nodded approval. “If this is your final decision, Your Gr—, uh, m’ lady, Lord Davhin will be most pleased to hear it. I’ll write him immediately.”

  “Be careful how you write to him, Captain,” Rhoslyn said, “Lord Davhin is in enemy territory. Of course, I shall be writing His Majesty as well. Let us hope he doesn’t deem us all outlaws.”

  Princess Rilyth was not amused, nor was Lord Rorin, but Kieryn cast her a subtle wink. She had taken her vassals in hand today and accomplished something enormous, and she had done it on her own.

  She rose and concluded the audience. “Please allow Sadév to escort you to the dining hall, where you may argue the matter over salmon and wine. Captain Rehaan, I will have a word with you.”

  The highborns drifted from the Duke’s Hall, mumbling closely and rapidly; Kieryn and Zellel followed them, closing the great doors.

  “Secrets?” Rehaan asked, intrigued.

  “A condition.”

  “A bit late for that.”

  “A request, then.”

  “I find it oddly difficult to refuse you, cousin.”

  Rhoslyn put on a smile to charm. “Take one of my men aboard your ship.”

  Rehaan’s face fell. “To keep an eye on me? To spy for you?”

  “Will spying be necessary, Captain?”

  Rehaan heaved a sigh. “It’s west I shoulda sailed and fast, across the Sea to the spice-laden tropics of Ixaka. Damn you, cousin. Very well, you win. But,” he added, jabbing a finger at Rhoslyn’s face, “if this man proves a problem, sure I’ll pitch him overboard to the serpents.”

  Rhoslyn took hold of his tyrannical finger and lowered it. “I think that’s fair,” she said. “I’ll have Captain Drael summon Rygg.” She had promised to place the ferrymaster aboard one of her southbound ships, after all, though Rygg might be surprised to learn that she was asking him to take up with pirates.

  ~~~~

  That evening, Kieryn found Captain Rehaan high in the Beacon Tower, gazing westward at the moon-torn sea. The heat of the fire was nearly unbearable, and the tower’s dizzying height unsettled Kieryn’s belly, but Rehaan seemed perfectly at ease. He raised a shiny brass spyglass and aimed it toward the distant dot of light marking the lighthouse upon Westhead, then followed the slow course of a moonlit sail across Windy Coves. The fire’s bestial roar swallowed the sound of Kieryn’s approach. Rehaan turned suddenly, spyglass raised like a club. Kieryn lifted empty hands, but from an avedra the gesture might pose as great a threat as a raised dagger; he tucked his hands away quickly.

  Rehaan lowered the spyglass, looking sheepish. Without a word, he resumed his survey of the sea.

  Kieryn had watched the pirate-king closely over the few days he’d been a guest at Windhaven, and with every passing day Rehaan seemed to become more restless, circling like a fish in a pool too small.

  “You miss it?” Kieryn asked. “The sea.”

  After a while Rehaan decided to humor him and answered, “Land ain’t good for nothing but horses and whores. I can’t stand to ride the one, and the other can be just as useful aboard a ship.”

  The scarlet fire aptly concealed Kieryn’s blush. “I’ll take your word for it, Captain.”

  Rehaan collapsed the spyglass with three sharp clicks. “What do you want?” His gaze was as direct as his question.

  Very well, then. “How did you know I was avedra? Did Rhoslyn tell you?”

  “She told me nothing. My mother’s sister was avedra. The Old Blood flows in my veins as sure as in yours, man. Not that my aunt ever admitted it to anyone outside the family. No, she kept that secret hidden better than we pirates hide our treasures. But avedra she was, and I know one when I see one. Rather, I feel one. There’s an energy pouring off you. Makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise. This morning, now, you and the old man were present to root out subterfuge, aye? Reading our minds and all?”

  “From you I kept getting a desire for a shot of strong liquor.”

  Rehaan laughed.

  “Was that to cover thoughts of subterfuge?”

  “No cover, man. If the thoughts were there, you’d’ve found them. There’s no profit in betraying the duke.”

  “If the Fierans made an offer?”

  The question took Rehaan by surprise. “Did Rhoslyn send you to ask that?”

  “No. But I ask it for her sake.”

&nb
sp; “Listen,” the pirate demanded, leaning close. Kieryn noticed they almost stood eye to eye. “Whatever Harac’s relation to me, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t like him. True, there’s fortunes to be made in war, but not like that, not by me. The only reason I’ve been bought by either side is because I can’t seem to deny Harac much at all.”

  He was sincere; Kieryn didn’t need to read his mind to know it.

  Finding a breath of cooler southern wind, Kieryn leant an elbow on the railing and asked, “You’ve been to see His Grace?” He already knew the answer. He had followed Rehaan to Harac’s chamber and watched him come out again. Zellel had been teaching him to weave a Veil, and trailing the pirate made for good practice.

  “Just come from there, in fact,” Rehaan said gravely. “His master shipwright and I argued over design changes for an hour or two. Harac liked the debate, I think.” He let out a deep breath. “Just tie me to an anchor, I say, and let me be done with it.”

  “He holds out for Rhoslyn, I think.”

  A trace of mischief lifted one corner of Rehaan’s mouth. “You care for her.”

  As if the heat rising into Kieryn’s face weren’t uncomfortable enough, the man on Beacon watch arrived with a cartload of firewood. Kieryn stewed while the watchman tossed heaps of logs onto the embers. When at last the watchman left, Kieryn stammered for an answer, but Rehaan laughed and held up a hand. “Let it go, lad. Tell me, is everyone mad in love with her?”

  “No!” Kieryn bit, severity betraying his jealousy. He shrugged, trying to cover for it, and added, “My brother isn’t, for one.”

  “It’s daft he is, then. One day … well, she could command nations, that one. With but a glance.”

  Kieryn was glad he knew Rhoslyn better than this brigand did. He had never seen Rhoslyn cry as she confided her fears. “King Rhorek sees it in her, too. He named her second in line for the crown.”

  This seemed to amuse the pirate. “And who’s first?”

  Reluctantly Kieryn admitted, “My father.”

  “Well, damn me. One day you two could rule together.”

  Kieryn cast the pirate a caustic glare. Changing the subject, he said, “My ambitions are not so exalted. I mean to travel.”

  “You’ve sense after all, man. To which shore?”

  “The forbidden one. You know of the continent called Ashdyria?”

  “Whoa, mate, you call that a less exalted ambition? More power to you.”

  “You know of it, then?”

  “I know it. I’ve seen it. Sailed along its northern coast while bound for Dorél. And I tell you, Ashdyria is nothing but thousands of miles of sheer cliff. No harbors, no coves, nothing. Not a single soul I know ever set foot on her, lest to be dashed against her rocks in a storm. Sea legends say that long ago, Ashdyria just shuddered and lifted straight out of the sea, and all her ports are now stranded a quarter mile straight up.”

  Drinking this information like mead, Kieryn asked, “Do the legends say why?”

  Rehaan shrugged. “The elves, of course. Sure, it was their magic what done it. But, then, everything is blamed on the bloody elves.”

  That may be so, but Kieryn had learned that old legends contained more truth than anyone guessed.

  Rehaan clapped him on the back and added, “So I’m sorry to say, man, you might sooner be king.”

  ~~~~

  32

  One Thyrran Month Later

  Ravens circled overhead. They clustered briefly in the branches of broken andyr trees, then took flight again. Shouts of men startled them, and the trumpeting of injured horses. Whatever the outcome of the battle, the ravens would profit. They always did.

  Upon the command hill, Keth’s herald waved a banner bearing Lunélion’s white tower. Lady Maeret led her mother’s cavalry from the northern fields in a charge toward the Crossroads.

  For the third time, Keth had led his host from Ulmarr in an attempt to break through the Fieran defensive. Lord Degan’s infantry and Lady Drona’s knights had arrived from Athmar, united and cunning. From the south, men of Brengarra. What had once been rich green pasture was now a trodden waste. The Crossroads was no longer recognizable. The trees had been hacked down to forbid cover to either side, the grasses burnt or devoured by warhorses, the earth packed by blood, sweat, and thousands of feet pushing, pushing and making no headway.

  The first rains of autumn fell in soft, misty veils and stirred the bloody ground into stinking mud.

  On the highway, Lunélion’s warhorses smashed through the lines of Degan’s infantry. Maegeth urged them on, wailing like a banshee as she spun a morning star above her head.

  “Magnificent form,” lauded old Lord Kassen. The damp weather wreaked havoc on his lungs. He coughed and gagged into a silk kerchief, then added, “She’s the image of her mother, isn’t she, the Lady Maeret?”

  Keth had to agree. During the last war, Princess Mazél’s manic screams had inspired terror in the hearts of foe and friend alike. Unleashed upon the Fieran lines, she had fought with the savage fury of a rabid wildcat. Clearly, she had taught her eldest to do the same.

  Ulmarr’s infantry, however, was not prepared to break. Every time Maeret’s cavalry ripped through them, they valiantly reformed their line. At the foot of Keth’s command hill, the Thyrvael dwarves danced eagerly, like race horses waiting for the trumpet. “Ah, Commander, let us at ‘em,” said Brugge, a gruff and ruddy-faced dwarf. His long black beard was plaited with leather cord and hung with silver beads. At his belt he wore a pair of weapons that resembled pickaxes, though the hafts were shorter and the blades lightweight. The tines were honed to dagger-sharp points. In the dwarven tongue they were called khorzai, or “heart-rippers.”

  Lord Kassen quelled his foreman’s impatience. “You’ll have your time, Master Brugge.” Thyrvael’s regiments had been brought forward from Tírandon after Locmar’s host had been decimated among the Brambles. Independent of mind, the dwarves had the tendency to ignore Keth’s commands in the heat of battle. He was afraid to lose such a skilled fighting force to their lack of caution, so he found it prudent to hold the dwarves in reserve until the Fierans appeared to be tiring.

  “Dagni would collapse the mines in a rage,” Kassen was saying, “if I had to tell her you tossed your life away because of impatience.”

  “Aye,” Brugge grunted, “but I will go into a rage if I return to the mines with thirsty khorzai.”

  Keth couldn’t afford to listen to the banter. Athmar’s knights were advancing beneath their banner, a green boar on a white field lank with rain. Lord Degan’s infantry pulled back toward them, luring Maeret’s horse.

  On his right, Rhorek asked, “Keth, do you see?”

  “Yes, sire,” he replied, but before he could order forward the Ilswythe cavalry, Lord Kassen’s jibes were cut off mid-word. Brugge loosed a howl like a baying hound.

  An arrow had sprouted from Kassen’s throat and red foam bubbled at his mouth. A second arrow speared Keth’s horse. The animal reared and went down. Captain Jareg shouted orders, and the Falcon Guard tightened around King Rhorek, lifting their shields in a tortoise formation. Kicking free of the dead horse, Keth looked for the assailants. To the north, just visible over the lip of a hill, he made out shining round helms and the curved lines of taut bows. Another wave of arrows took flight.

  Young Laral leapt off his racer and tossed Keth a shield, then ducked behind his own. “Where the hell did they come from?” he shouted, voice cracking as it rose.

  Keth had no time to reply. The dwarves, clustered around Kassen’s body, were arming. “Brugge!” he called, but fury blazed in the foreman’s face. The dwarves bellowed and charged the archers’ hill, heedless of Keth’s orders. Their attack, however, drew the arrows from the command hill.

  Keth glimpsed a chance to seize the advantage and tossed up his hands. “All or nothing, then. Herald, proceed.” Ilswythe’s banner fluttered high. His knights swept in from the southern field. Kelyn surged to the fore with Leshan and Mo
rach close behind. They pelted into Degan’s infantry and the southern flank of Brengarra’s foot.

  Upon the northern hill, the Fieran archers gave ground before the onslaught of the dwarves.

  “Push them, Brugge,” Keth muttered.

  The dwarves responded as if they could hear him. Small, swift pickaxes cut through the archers. They routed, some even dropping their bows, as they raced toward the safety of Lady Drona’s banner. The dwarves pursued.

  Pinched between two fresh hosts at once, the Fieran foot began to crumble. Men fled in twos, then tens. A horn sounded, and Athmar’s knights turned their mounts northward and relinquished the field. Lady Drona rode at their head, her helm glimmering like an emerald.

  Her tactic was clear to Keth. She was beckoning him to pursue and engage Athmar. As tempting as the invitation might be, a long, dirty siege through the heart of winter would devastate the morale of his men. Besides, Athmar was not Keth’s goal.

  He permitted his warriors to give chase until the Fierans entered the hills and descended from view, then he gave the nod to the herald. The boy raised a curved silver horn and sounded fall-back.

  ~~~~

  From the red sandstone battlements of Ulmarr’s gatehouse, Keth watched the wagons of casualties trundling toward the walls. He wouldn’t be surprised to see a company of Athmar’s finest galloping up the road to surround the wagons and secure prisoners. Little, Keth had learned, was beneath Lord Degan and his twin sister.

  Shortly after taking Ulmarr, Keth had lost a handful of outriders to them. The day had been the hottest in his memory—or perhaps the ease with which Degan had surrendered his holding had simply made Keth uneasy and irritable. Laral had fetched him, saying there was something strange approaching on the roadway. A wagon, surrounded by a handful of Fierans, stopped on a rise within shouting distance. Lord Degan himself led them.