A Flight of Marewings

by Kristen S. Walker

  Varranor bowed his head. “I apologize. My brother should have taken you to the wake sometime in the last few days. We didn’t realize you were grieving.”

  Korinna rubbed the heel of her palm against her chest. “I did not ask to go. If there is animosity toward my father’s reign, then I am not safe to wander the city right now.”

  Out of guilt, Varranor resigned himself to waiting out the rest of the ceremony. The flames slowly began to burn down and the sun sank in the sky, promising relief from the heat before much longer. He watched the rest of the mourners with casual interest. Not one of them shed a tear for the departed duke. There were only a few people left: Diokles from the Council, a few other political allies, the head servant of the duke’s household, and the sister of the duke’s second wife.

  To Varranor’s surprise, when the fire went out and the priest’s assistants collected the ashes, the other mourners came by and offered their condolences to Korinna. She accepted them graciously, thanking each one.

  A middle-aged man in heavy green robes lingered longer than was customary, which made Varranor suspicious. He looked around with a wary eye and waited until the other mourners had moved away again. Then he leaned in closer to Korinna and spoke in a low tone that Varranor had to strain to hear.

  “I worked for your father as one of his advisers. He entrusted me with a certain sensitive matter.” The man reached into his robes and pulled out a packet of papers, and Varranor saw the mark of a mage on his right hand. “I cannot talk to you here, but this will give you the basic information and how to contact me.”

  Korinna accepted the papers with a puzzled look. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t had the opportunity to look into my father’s estates yet. I will need all the help that I can get to manage what he has passed on to me.”

  The mage shook his head. “This is not related to his land, but something much more urgent. I need to meet with you soon—without your body guard.” He glared at Varranor.

  Varranor fought the urge to glare back at the impudent man. He crossed his arms and tensed so that his muscles stood out, looking down on the mage who was a full head shorter than him. An intimidating body guard, at least.

  Korinna’s frown of confusion deepened. “I will have to see what I can do. Thank you for giving this to me.” She tucked the packet of papers into her own robe.

  Varranor let her hold on to the information for now, but he knew that the moment they returned from the funeral, he would have to get that from her and find out what it said. They couldn’t afford to let anyone pass secret messages to Korinna, let alone a strange mage. He loomed closer to the girl until the mage turned and left.

  Varranor escorted Korinna back from her father’s funeral without any further incident. When they arrived at the house, servants were already waiting to bathe and dress them, but he waved them away. He led Korinna into a private meeting room alone and closed the door.

  He held out his hand. “I’m going to need to see those papers that the mage gave you.”

  She gaped at him. “He was a mage?”

  “He had the mark on his right hand,” Varranor said with a shake of his head. “The papers.”

  The girl put her hand inside the folds of her robe and clutched the papers tighter. “It’s personal.”

  “Even if he gave you the most intimate of love letters, I need to see what he gave you. We cannot trust random strangers on the street.”

  Korinna frowned. “He said that he worked with my father.”

  Varranor sighed with exasperation. “I will have someone check out his story when I get the chance, but for your immediate safety, I cannot let you hold on to that packet. Give it to me.”

  She took out the packet and handed it to him. He glanced at the runes along the top and gave it back to her. “You open it first.”

  She glared at him. “Why, is it going to blow up or something?”

  “Only if someone other than you attempts to open it. For good measure, you had better just hold up the papers so I can read them.” He gestured for her to continue.

  “How do you know all of this? Are you a mage?”

  He pointed to the runes. “It’s a common spell. Some of our own spies use it with sensitive communication.”

  “You use mages as spies—”

  “I do not have the time to explain everything to you right now,” he said through gritted teeth.

  She looked at him, held up the packet and ripped the top off. As he expected, nothing happened. Inside, there were only two small pieces of paper, written on both sides with a cramped, sloppy hand.

  Varranor muttered something under his breath about the despicable handwriting of mages and moved to stand right next to Korinna, so that he could read over her shoulder.

  The mage introduced himself as Ameyron Niketos, a new adviser on Basileos’s staff. He gave a rambling account of how the late duke had long suspected that there was a curse on his family responsible for killing his relatives and probably himself in the end. No one had been able to find the source of the long-standing misfortune. There was a list of names and dates of people who had died: Basileos’s father, his older brother, his brother’s wife and children, the duke’s infant son, his second wife. According to the note, each had exhibited similar symptoms before their deaths.

  There were numerous other mages and their own theories about what had happened to cause these deaths, but none had been able to stop the curse. Ameyron was the newest mage and he had found new evidence with the death of the duke himself that led him to formulate a different theory. He wanted to meet with Korinna to discuss his theory.

  Varranor finished reading the letter and took a step back. “So your father’s latest researcher for his conspiracy theories is looking to you to keep funding his work. Unless he keeps harassing you, we can safely ignore him.”

  Korinna held up the letter. “It sounds like there is something to this. Shouldn’t I at least go and listen to what he has to say?”

  He sank down in a chair and shook his head. “Look, you haven’t seen your father in a while, so let me advise you that he was not the most stable in his last days. He grew increasingly paranoid, convinced that someone was out to get him, especially after the boy died. He would pay any mage and hedge witch that promised to end the ‘curse,’ but none of them ever found anything. This man is just trying to take advantage of you because he thinks you’re young and wracked with grief for your dead father.”

  She lifted her head and set her jaw. “I don’t believe that my father was just a paranoid fool. Did he not conduct his business and rule his city with a level head until the day he died?”

  Varranor sighed. He felt sorry for the girl, especially just after the funeral. It wouldn’t help to upset her with a lot of stories about her father’s bad choices as a man and a leader. “Well, if this mage did figure out the source of the curse, it’s too late now. Basileos is already dead.”

  Korinna pointed to the list of deaths. “The curse targets the whole family. If everyone else is dead, that means I’m going to be the next victim.”

  “So you are going to pursue this crazy idea because you are afraid for your own life.”

  “You and your brother have both been very clear to me that my father was not loved by everyone and I could become a target for their animosity.”

  Well, maybe chasing after outrageous theories would keep the girl busy for a time while Galenos negotiated with the Council and figured out what to do with her, he thought.

  Aloud, he said, “If it will help you sleep better at night, we can set up a meeting with the mage to hear what he has to say. You won’t be alone, of course, but I can find you a less conspicuous body guard than myself.”

  Her face lit up for a moment, but then she looked up at him warily. “Do you have to tell Galenos about this?”

  He smiled. “No, it can be our secret,” he lied.

  6

  The Council I

  Councilor Eutychon Drakon lay back in the hot b
ath with a sigh. He had attended the late duke’s funeral and marched through the procession. As soon as the funeral pyre was lit, he’d returned to the city and made straight for the public bath house. Of course he could afford to have his servants bathe him at home, but the facilities at the bath house were more luxurious. They also offered the chance to mingle with the other elites as they also came back to change out of their heavy mourning robes and wash off the dust of the streets.

  Before long, eight other men joined him in the pool: seven of them from the Council and one the head priest of the Varulan temple. Bath house servants—hired by his own Moneylenders Guild for their loyalty—kept anyone else from entering the room, so they could talk freely.

  Eutychon turned to the priest, who had no name but only the title Varula Soma, the Embodiment of the God Varula. “Deyonist funerals are such a long, dull affair,” he complained. “I missed your wine. Do you think that we should have Deyonist ceremonies outlawed, at least in the city?”

  Several of the other councilors laughed, but the priest shook his head. “We cannot challenge the faith of Deyos too directly, or that will only fuel resentment and even spark a rebellion. We must show the people why Varula is the modern god who responds to the needs of today. Only when they are convinced that the Son has surpassed the Allfather will they stop clinging to the dusty traditions of the past.”

  Eutychon nodded. “That is a good point, avoiding a rebellion. I heard that the lower classes were unhappy after our announcement about the change in government yesterday.”

  The priest raised his hands to say: just so. “The city guards arrested a small mob that attempted to vandalize our temple last night, but I instructed the guards to let them all go. If we use force, they will only fight back. Varula is merciful.”

  “Varula is merciful,” they all echoed, and several mimed the gesture of Varula’s worshipers: closing their fists and raising them to their lips.

  “And Varula shares his bounty.” The priest gestured to a servant waiting next to the pool.

  The servant left the room and returned carrying a bottle of red wine. Behind him, another servant followed with a tray of glasses. They poured a glass for each of the men in the bath.

  After the ritual toast, Eutychon copied the others’ gestures for smelling and sipping the wine, but he didn’t pay attention to the details. What he cared most about the wine was that it got him drunk. If he wasn’t worried about offending the priest, he would have downed the tiny glass at once and asked for more. He was sure that the priest wouldn’t skimp on treating them. After all, his temple took tithes from every vineyard in all of Kyratia.

  He looked around at his fellow conspirators and smiled. “So, who managed to convince our irritable warlord not to attack us? I thought after his outburst yesterday that we were going to have to neutralize him, but his apology this morning seemed most sincere.”

  Zeno Democritus, a thin, frail man who looked like he had never held a hammer in his life but nevertheless represented the Shipwrights Guild, chuckled. “According to my sources in his household, it was actually his brother. The two were holed up together in his study all day after our meeting.”

  The other councilors looked pleased, but Eutychon frowned. “That does not match what we know about the brother. The younger Mrokin is known to be quick to anger and love fighting. Why would he convince Galenos not to attack us?”

  Zeno shrugged. “Maybe he prefers a guaranteed paycheck for his fighting.”

  The priest shook his head. “But it should have appeared to him that taking the city was an easy prize.” He looked around the pool. “None of you had a hand in convincing him otherwise?”

  They shook their heads one by one.

  Eutychon shifted on the marble bench of the pool, uncomfortable with the news. “Could they have found out that it was a trap?”

  “I do not know who could have told them,” Zeno said, a whine of annoyance creeping into his voice. “I made sure to identify all of Galenos’s spies so that I could feed them false information. You have been limiting his influence. He has no other friends in the city who could be helping him.”

  Eutychon stifled the urge to slap Zeno. He hardly trusted the ability of the spindly man to keep track of every spy, which was why he employed his own to track Zeno and Galenos both. Reports told him that Zeno had missed at least three of the warlord’s men. But he wasn’t going to reveal that now. “Even if he did not know what we were plotting, the warlord could still have decided to apologize as part of his own ploy. He may still be planning to attack the city when we are more vulnerable later.”

  Varula Soma lifted his hands again. “Those who follow the path of war often believe that one should keep one’s enemies even closer than one’s friends.”

  Sometimes Eutychon felt like he needed a translator for the priest’s rambling speeches, but the idea he proposed was one that he himself had already considered. “So we shall accept the warlord’s offer of a defense contract and play nice with him for the time being. We can continue to keep an eye on him.” He looked at Zeno. “Maybe you can get someone close to the brother. Whether it is money or the warlord’s safety that motivates him, he may have a price that we can use to turn him to our side.”

  Zeno smiled at him across the water. “Is it not the foundation of your guild’s business that everyone has a price?”

  Eutychon raised his hands. “Just so. I look forward to finding out what the brother’s is.”

  7

  Korinna III

  Korinna stared at Galenos across the breakfast table. Two days ago, the last time she had seen him, he threatened to attack the Council and take over the city by force. But that morning saw him a changed man, calmly describing how the so-called Republic had signed a new defense contract for the city with the Storm Petrels.

  “So I’ll continue on as the Warlord for Kyratia,” he concluded, looking at her across the breakfast table. “I’m afraid that as a mercenary, I’m not free to marry you.”

  She busied her hands with picking apart the twisted outer crust of a peach crostata while her mind raced to absorb this turn of events. Without a husband, how long could she hold the lands on her own? Her father’s relatives would come out of the woodwork to challenge her claim.

  “Of course you would have no interest in marrying me if all you would gain is a few farms.” She smiled up at him. “But you made a promise to my father.”

  Galenos frowned. “The circumstances have changed. If he had declared me his heir legally, then I would be contractually bound to marry you. But his neglect to formalize any of this is the source of our current problem.”

  She raised her chin. “My father’s ashes are still drifting on the winds of the city,” she said. She hadn’t seen him again since the funeral, but Galenos didn’t need to know that. “Will you risk going back on your word to him?”

  Tendons stood out on the Warlord’s arms and neck as he gripped the arms of his chair. “What do you want?” he said in a low voice.

  So he was still afraid of the ghost. Korinna could use that fear, but there was no sense in forcing him to marry her now. “You’re a mercenary right now, but you can’t stay one forever. I need you to put it into writing that you will marry me at some point in the future.”

  “Very well.” His grip relaxed, but he still looked tense. “You’ll return to your father’s estate, then, and seek no other husband until I’m available, not knowing when that might be?”

  That left her still vulnerable, and if he took the city by force, he still wouldn’t need her for anything but a housewife. If only she had a way to show him that she could be his partner, with the power to fight and rule…

  A wild idea began to take shape in her mind. She dropped the crumbs of her pastry and pushed her plate away. “Or I could stay here and become a mercenary as well.”

  His jaw dropped. “What?”

  She stood up and walked around the table to face him—with him seated, she faced him at eye level. �
��You have women in your company, even on marewings. Let me stay and be a rider. I think you must be using this defense contract to bide your time, and you plan on conquering Kyratia sooner or later. If I stay, then I can take the city with you, and we can marry as duke and duchess once we are victorious.”

  He ran his hands over his short hair and stared at her in disbelief. “You have no training or experience as a fighter. You don’t know the first thing about a marewing. And you have no idea what my plans are or what chance they have of succeeding. Why would you throw away your father’s inheritance for that?”

  Her heart skipped a beat. She’d forgotten momentarily that a mercenary wasn’t permitted by law to own any land. Somehow she hadn’t considered that the estate wouldn’t just wait for her as a backup plan if things didn’t work out. But that didn’t make a difference now, because if she wanted to start a new life, it wasn’t hard to give up the old one. “I don’t want to be a country farmer. I’ll grant my land back to the people who live there, because they are the ones who do the work.” She leaned closer to him. “You do have a plan to conquer the city.”

  He broke into a laugh. “Of course I do. I don’t want to be a mercenary any more than you want to be a farmer. But that doesn’t mean I have any room in my plan for a little stripling of a girl to play at being a warrior. If you want to marry me after I’ve conquered the city—”

  “No. If I don’t conquer the city with you, then you’ll never respect me as an equal.”

  He folded his arms and shook his head. “You cannot start as my equal in the ranks of my company. You’ll have to start the same as any new recruit, six months of basic training with an infantry unit. If you gain my officers’ approval, it’s another two months of specialized training before you may get the opportunity to capture and tame your own marewing. Whether you succeed depends on both your skill and sheer luck. There are few who can ride a marewing, and it’s a long and dangerous road to get there.”