A Flight of Marewings

by Kristen S. Walker

  Varranor sat up with a start. “I thought you were going to petition the Council for permission to start a second company. I was going to start choosing my officers—”

  Galenos held up a piece of paper marked with the Council’s seals. “I did, and the petition was denied. They don’t want to pay for any more soldiers, even though we’ll need them once the other cities decide to attack us for leaving the Temple’s purview. Keep busy until a neighboring army comes knocking at the gates, and then I’ll ask them again.”

  Varranor’s face fell with disappointment, but he only shook his head. “Thank you for trying, brother.”

  Galenos scanned his growing pile of tasks. “You could also try chasing down this mage who talked to the girl at the funeral. See what he has to say about the so-called curse on the duke.”

  Varranor perked up a little. “I did wonder when I read his note. I’ll go talk to him and report back to you.”

  He frowned at his brother’s interest. Better to keep him in check. “He probably just wants money now that the duke isn’t paying him anymore. Don’t give him anything unless he can prove he’s not just another charlatan looking for a handout.”

  His brother nodded. “Of course. I won’t disappoint you, brother.”

  Galenos had to bring guards with him when he ventured into the Temple District. Protesters still lined the streets, begging for the city Council to return their worship to Deyos instead of his son Varula. Although the Council had promised no resistance against the protests so long as they stayed peaceful, and reassured everyone that they would be free to follow the religion that they chose, their prediction that the angry crowd would soon dissipate was proving wrong. Instead, their numbers swelled as pilgrims came into the city from the outlying farmlands.

  And yet they stayed peaceful, as promised. Galenos found them sitting around the Temple of Varula: on the ground, spreading out in an ever-widening circle around the building that housed the Varulan worshipers. In a few short days, they had covered nearly half of the Temple District, blocking access to many of the other temples as well. Guards kept the main roads clear for traffic, but every side street and path was clogged with people simply sitting there. And as they sat, they sang the hymns of Deyos, the Allfather, praying for his return.

  Galenos took his guards with him into the Temple of Deyos. The three of them removed their shoes and weapons in the antechamber, then washed their hands and faces in the basins provided. He told both guards that they could participate in the worship, knowing that they would want to pay their respects, but signaled for them to stay close and be alert. He wasn’t sure what was waiting for them inside the temple.

  The main hall was packed with bodies so tightly that there was only room to stand. Galenos looked around in surprise—the building was one of the largest in Kyratia City, and the Temple only drew these kinds of numbers on the biggest festival days. Now he rubbed shoulders with farmers and merchants, guildsmen and sailors. Only the richest families, the leaders of the guilds and the trading companies, seemed to be absent from the scheduled gathering.

  He had thought to come seeking guidance for his problems, but it seemed that everyone else in the city wanted the same thing. There was no ritual being performed, no musicians leading the crowd in song—just a dais set up in the center of the room, and on that dais a man stood, projecting his voice so it carried throughout the domed hall.

  “Know that the Allfather has not forsaken us in our time of need.” His voice shook with fervor. “When we reach up our hands to the heavens and pray for his aid, he still hears our words and answers them as he sees fit. He will not judge us for the actions of our brothers and sisters. Although some have chosen to turn away from his love, he loves them still, and he knows that in the hearts of Kyratia, we love him back.”

  Galenos signaled for his guards to wait near the door and began to move forward through the crowd on his own. His size alone was enough to make people move out of the way, and a pair of guards wouldn’t be enough to protect him in a crowd this large.

  When he approached the dais, he was surprised to see that the man talking was a priest barely old enough to shave, in the robes of a lowly acolyte. He turned to the sailor next to him. “Who is he? Where is Father Borus?”

  “Father Borus has locked himself in his room.” The sailor thumbed his nose in disgust. “The lad is Loranos. He says Deyos came to him in a vision, and now he’s the only one of the clergy who will come out and talk to folk about what’s going on.”

  Galenos didn’t like the sound of that. The clergy should have been reassuring the people and backing up the Council to prevent unrest. This lad seemed set on encouraging just the opposite.

  Loranos bent down from the dais with a smile and touched the belly of a pregnant young woman. “See how Deyos continues to bless us all with the gift of life? And you continue to do his work. Through your love for your child, the love of the Allfather will shine through, like a lantern in the darkness.” He straightened up and gestured to the rest of the crowd. “You can all find ways to continue serving him and spread his love. If our city is not dedicated to Deyos, then let our hearts and our lives be dedicated to him.”

  Through the crowd, people called out their affirmation to what Loranos had said. Many made the sign of Deyonismos: cupping their hands, palms up, against their foreheads.

  Galenos made the sign as well and uttered a prayer to Deyos under his breath.

  Then Loranos turned and caught sight of him. “Ah! See, not all of those in power have forsaken our faith. Come forward, protector of the city.”

  The acolyte beckoned and the crowd parted before him.

  Galenos looked around, searching for a way to keep from making a public scene, but it was too late. The sailor nudged him forward. The warlord was forced to approach the dais, and the crowd closed in behind him, giving him nowhere to go.

  Loranos, standing on the dais, was barely a head taller than Galenos, but he beamed down at him with a beatific smile like a benevolent king on his throne. “For the past ten years, you have served Kyratia by taking back our stolen lands and defending us from outside attack. Tell me, Warlord Mrokin, do you also serve the city’s spiritual needs?”

  Galenos took a deep breath and projected his voice so that it would carry as far as the priest’s. “I have been a lifelong devotee of Deyos, and I am sworn to protect his children.”

  The crowd cheered.

  Loranos’s smile grew even wider. “And when one of Deyos’s children, a divine son, calls on you to serve in a new way? What shall you do now that Deyos’s children, the people of our city, are divided?”

  He thought about how he could phrase his response in a neutral way. “I exercise my right as a citizen to choose my faith freely, and I bow my head to Deyos. But I do not question the divinity of his son or the rights of others to choose differently.”

  The crowd cheered his words, but with less enthusiasm than before.

  Loranos stared down at him. “And do you think that putting the son before the father, in the name of the city, serves equally all of the people of the city and beyond?”

  Galenos stared back, not cowed into backing down before a boy nearly half his age, even one who claimed to speak for his god. “I do not make decisions for the city, and I do not speak for those who do. I keep the faith in my own heart. Let them do the same.”

  The priest gave a slight shake of his head and turned away. “I believe that there are those on the Council who still keep the faith of Deyos in their hearts, even though they cannot say it publicly now. And I say, to all of those who have turned their backs on Deyos, the Allfather has not turned his back on you. Let us pray that they see the error of their ways!”

  He lifted his arms and began to lead a traditional prayer.

  Galenos had seen enough. If the gods would give him guidance, he wouldn’t hear it in this crowded temple. He slipped back through the crowd to his guards and left.

  Galenos looked around the bakery,
assessing each of the other patrons for a potential spy. Most of them didn’t even give him a second glance. The place was a popular spot for students of the private school down the street, so nearly everyone there was younger than him, laughing with their friends and enjoying pastries in between classes.

  He took a table in the back of the room and angled his chair so he could see the front door and the doorway to the back of the shop. He noted that all of the shop’s windows were open, only partially covered with thin silk curtains, allowing the warm summer breeze to drift in from outside—and people on the street to catch glimpses of the interior. He made a mental note to himself not to let Councilor Diokles pick their meeting place again.

  Diokles, the representative for the House of Lords and Ladies on the Council and one of the few members that Duke Basileos had counted as truly loyal, arrived to the meeting late, with just enough time for Galenos to drink an over-priced glass of watered down juice and feel even more annoyed. The Councilor sat down at the table with a smile and waved to one of the young women who served refreshments.

  “I apologize for my tardiness,” he said. “Would you like a pastry? I recommend the cherry tarts. They are in season right now.”

  Galenos eyed the Councilor’s large stomach and wondered when was the last time he had climbed down an actual mine. “No, I am not interested in a pastry.”

  Diokles shook his head. “I will change your mind on that.” He turned to the waitress. “Bring us a sample platter with four or five of your favorites, dear, and a refill on my friend’s glass.”

  The girl smiled back and bobbed her head. “Can I get you a beverage as well, sir?”

  Diokles nodded. “I will have the same. Thank you, dear.”

  When the waitress was out of earshot, Galenos leveled a scowl at the Councilor. “I didn’t think that this place would be so public. Wasn’t there anywhere else we could have met?”

  Diokles shook his head. “If I went to your house, or you came to mine, that would have raised suspicions about what we were discussing in private. Here, we are just two friends sharing some pie.” He looked around the bakery with a smile. “My daughter loves to come here with her friends. Coming here makes me feel young again.”

  Galenos bit back his commentary. “So, as two friends, what do we have to talk about that will not raise suspicions?”

  “Why, your wedding, of course.”

  He looked at the older man in surprise. “I thought you already knew that my wedding has been canceled.”

  Diokles smiled. “I understand that you have had a set back, but it has only been delayed for a little while.” He winked. “Unless, of course, you no longer want that kind of commitment.”

  He caught on to the old man’s game. “I do. But circumstances have changed, so I’m not sure how things can work out.”

  Diokles nodded. “All you need is a few more friends to help you. And the girl? She is still willing, is she not?”

  “Well, let’s just say that I am keeping her safe for the time being.” He looked away, over the crowd of exuberant young people and their pastries. It was difficult to explain their new arrangement. “She says she’s willing but only if the, uh, dowry stays the same.”

  The councilor nodded, his double chin wagging. “Yes, yes, of course.” He turned at the approach of the waitress with a tray full of sweets and clapped his hands together. “Ah, here we are! Lovely!”

  The waitress gave each man a glass of juice and filled the table with almost a dozen small plates, each containing a different type of pastry. “Cherry tarts are the specialty of the day, so I brought you several. Here are three small pies and two of our signature cookies. Can I bring you anything else?”

  Diokles pressed a few coins into the girl’s hand. “No, thank you dear, I think this will be plenty.”

  She smiled even wider at his generous tip and bobbed her head again. “Thank you, sir. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need a refill.”

  Galenos looked at the table full of food and sighed. “I don’t really care for sweets.”

  “Just try something,” Diokles insisted, pushing a tart toward him. The fried dough had soaked up a honey glaze. “Consider it an investment, if you will. The family whose orchards produce these fruits are good friends of mine, and I intend to introduce them to you. You will want to tell them how good their berries are when you meet.”

  Galenos frowned. “Fruit orchards?”

  “Yes.” Diokles gave him a knowing look. “And there is another family that owns wheat farms, and a third that supplies the honey. They still appreciate the role of the Father, and they do not want to see grape vines overgrowing their crops just because that is where the money is right now.”

  Galenos puzzled over that cryptic statement until he realized that grape vines were the key. Varula, the god of the new Republic, was the deity of grapes and wine. Diokles was letting him know that unlike the rich merchant families of the city who favored the new cult, the landed nobility wanted the same thing as the peasant farmers: a return to the old worship of the Allfather. If he promised to put things back the way they had been, these people would give him their support for taking over the city.

  He was a military man and he’d never been very involved in politics. But if he could take the city without a fight, arranging a political coup in secret, he could beat the Council at their own game. And any plan that did not involve more bloodshed would be preferable.

  He picked up the tart and took a large bite, trying to suppress a grimace at the overwhelming sweetness. “Delicious. I would be happy to tell your family friends how delightful their fruits are.”

  Diokles beamed back at him. “And I am sure with the right compliments, these families would be glad to cater your wedding.” He lifted his glass of juice. “To our ongoing friendship.”

  “To friendship.” He downed the glass in an attempt to wash the sweetness from his mouth.

  9

  Herokha I

  Herokha found herself in between jobs when the city switched over to the new government. She’d worked as a courier for the late duke, carrying messages to the Council and the Warlord—and keeping an ear out for secrets that she could sell on the side. But without a new duke, and having earned a general distrust from the Council members that she’d spied on before, she had trouble finding a new position in the fledgling Republic.

  Fortunately, she still had a few friends left in the business. She appealed directly to Warlord Galenos, but it was his brother Varranor who contacted her back. The second-in-command was still powerful enough to give her a good job, so she arranged to meet him in one of the city parks that afternoon.

  Varranor arrived with a pleasant smile and an enthusiastic kiss on each of her cheeks. “It’s so lovely to see you again, Herokha.” He offered her his arm, and she accepted. They strolled together down a path kept private from the road by a stand of trees, as if they were two lovers meeting for a secret tryst.

  When they were alone, Herokha looked up at the Commander. “I’ve missed working with you. You said that you have a more permanent assignment for me?”

  Varranor brushed his free hand along her arm. “Yes. I’d love for you to be able to work with me a little more…” He met her eyes with veiled look. “Intimately.”

  She pretended to ignore the innuendo. “Where?”

  He gave her a sidelong grin. “At the main fort.”

  She raised one eyebrow. “You need to me to spy on your own people?”

  “Just one.” He pulled a small packet of folded papers out of his uniform and held it out to her. “This is all of our current information on the duke’s daughter, including your own report for the Council. I need someone to keep an eye on Galenos’s future bride. Who better to ask than the expert?”

  She took the packet and turned it over, skipping over her report and looking for new information. “Why will she be at the fort?”

  He grinned again. “She joined the company in order to help us conquer the city
when the time comes. I thought perhaps you could pose as another recruit, maybe develop a friendship with her.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Herokha tucked the papers into a hidden pocket of her dress. “Why would he agree to such a thing?”

  Varranor laughed. “He thinks she’ll give up before the end of the month, but I’d like to encourage her to do the opposite. It will keep her out of trouble and force my brother to concentrate on more important things, like how to take the city.”

  She tilted her head to one side and looked up at him. “So you think I can encourage this girl to stick with her training and keep Galenos from paying attention to her. Will I be a spy or a wet nurse?”

  He put his hand on her shoulder and leaned down to speak in low tones. “I wouldn’t come to you with anything trivial. I also need to know more about the girl. What’s her real agenda? I don’t trust that she joined on a whim.”

  Herokha moved closer until her body just brushed against his. “And what will I get out of this? Becoming a mercenary would take me away from my connections in the city.”

  Varranor sighed. “Well, it’s true, you would be tied to the Storm Petrels officially.” He mimicked her head tilt to the side. “But a spy for such a big mercenary company would never run out of work.”

  She let her lips part in a slow smile. “I’ll do it. You’ll have to meet me at the fort for my reports. I can’t come back here.”

  He nodded and dropped another kiss on her cheek. “Thanks. I can always rely on you.”

  Herokha kissed him back. “And I’m guessing that you don’t want your brother to know about this.”

  “At least not for now,” he said with a wink.

  Herokha held a tray of food and looked across the crowded mess hall. The unit of newest recruits, still waiting to leave the city, sat at the lowest tables, away from even the privates. Most of them had already formed bonds of companionship during the wait: the boys in several loose groups, and two girls sat close together, their heads bowed in a private conversation. The only one who sat alone was the short, slight form of a girl hunched over at the end of the table, so small that Herokha missed her the first time that she looked. Korinna was lost among the soldiers.