A Flight of Marewings

by Kristen S. Walker

  She wondered where the stables that housed the herds were. She couldn’t see any fields of grass for them to graze in—or fields for the soldiers to drill in, for that matter. There was the unforgiving rock and the thick forest. The fort was more enclosed than any building she had seen before, an edifice of rock, with no openings for even a single monster to fly inside

  As she watched, the marewings came flying in overhead. They circled the fort once and then flew up higher on the mountain, disappearing behind the peak.

  They were soon inside and settled. Sergeant Navera hadn’t appeared to give her new candidates any instructions; the quartermaster had assigned them rooms along with everyone else.

  Korinna and Herokha were both assigned to a small room with the only other woman, Itychia, who was a few years older than them. Korinna and Herokha frowned at each other and picked beds on opposite sides, with Korinna under the narrow window and Herokha next to the door. Itychia silently accepted the middle.

  The space was a luxury after six months of sleeping in the barracks with her entire unit. Nothing compared to the chambers she had all to herself in Anoberesovo after her mother died, but so much of her life had changed. Now she was content that her bed was one of only three in the small room, and they had a basin for washing and a real wardrobe to hang their clothes in so they wouldn’t wrinkle their uniforms with folding—and they wouldn’t have to dress in front of a dozen men in the morning.

  That evening, when the new soldiers were welcomed into the mess hall and met the units already stationed there, Korinna looked everywhere but didn’t see a single marewing rider. They hadn’t returned from wherever they had flown earlier.

  One of the other privates at the table, a young, fair northern man with a shock of red hair, saw her looking. “You won’t find the riders down here,” he said in a lilting voice. “They keep to themselves. Have their own quarters, up there.” He jerked his thumb upward.

  She looked up at the ceiling. “But why? At Fort Ropytos—”

  “They have their own quarters there, too,” the man insisted. “That fort’s bigger so they have the space. Here up on the mountain, we’re a smaller operation, so we had to make do with putting them somewhere else. Monsters don’t like being too close to strangers.”

  “It’s a bit like a roost,” the woman next to him added. “You wouldn’t put your hunting hawks in the same roost with the chickens.” She grinned and gestured at the meal: roasted capons with a spiced almond milk sauce. “Better for them, better for us. I wouldn’t feel comfortable knowing I was sleeping next door to a monster like that.”

  Korinna looked at Orivan with a puzzled frown. “How do we train with them, then?”

  The northern man exchanged a knowing glance with his companion. “You’re with the new candidates?” He smiled and pointed upward. “You climb, of course.”

  23

  Galenos V

  Galenos was at his desk reading reports when Varranor burst into his office. His brother strode in, face flushed with excitement, clutching a letter. Galenos glimpsed the mail in his hand and sighed.

  “What bad news do you bring me now?”

  Varranor shook his head. “When was the last time you heard from the mage?” Without waiting for an answer, he pushed the reports aside and dropped the letter onto the desk. “This came to me through the fort, but you need to read it.”

  Galenos raised his eyebrows and picked up the letter. He hadn’t heard from the mage since he left the city over three months ago, and it shouldn’t have taken news this long to reach him. “Why did he send it to you?”

  “He explains it all in the letter,” Varranor said, waving his hands. “Someone has been tampering with our communication here, and he wanted you to read this. It’s dated over two months ago, so I’m not sure why it was delayed, but—just read it.” He collapsed into a chair and stared at him.

  Galenos skimmed the letter’s contents and scowled. “I’d suspected that someone was interfering with my mail, but I couldn’t find proof. This makes sense.” He looked up at his brother. “Well? Do you really think that Petropouli is willing to deal with us?”

  Varranor nodded. “If Ameyron had a personal audience with Lord Seivon, that’s more than any headway we’ve been able to make on our own, because all the letters we get are written by advisers and councilors. So I think we should go talk to him directly. If we leave today and buy our food on the way, I think we can make it there in under a week. Shall I go tell your staff?”

  Galenos considered the options. Leaving the city in the middle of his work could be disastrous, but he wasn’t sure if he was accomplishing much here, anyway. He had never thought of going to another ruler directly and asking for help, but Ameyron had already all but secured him the invitation. This could be the key to finally solving their problems.

  He held up his hand. “Yes, but one thing. I need you to stay here and take over the work in my stead.”

  Varranor groaned. “But you said yourself that you’re not getting anywhere with the Council. What difference does it make if you stop bothering them for a little while? They’ll keep running the city into ruin with or without you.”

  Galenos shook his head. “The Council may be a lost cause, but we have allies here who still need help.” He hadn’t told his brother about his plans until now. He took a deep breath and launched into the explanation. “There are friendly parties who support my plans for a political coup. You’ll need to meet with them and assure them that we’re still making headway on that front. I can’t afford to lose them now.”

  Varranor’s eyes widened, and then he grinned. “What have you been up to, brother? Plotting intrigue and deception in dark alleys with political dissidents? That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

  Galenos scowled. “I was looking for a non-violent way to resolve the conflict. Councilor Diokles approached me with the idea, and I agreed to try his methods. So far, we’ve managed to buy the city guard, channeled money to keep the local Deyonist temple running without getting any families ostracized, and sustained a few trade agreements for emergency rations that the Council doesn’t know about. We may not be ready to take over just yet, but we can keep the city fed for a few more months, we’ve kept Sympaia from attacking, and we’re keeping the Council from controlling any kind of fighting force.”

  Varranor let out a low whistle. “The cloak and dagger approach may suit you better than I thought. What do I do to keep this cover operation running?”

  Galenos shook his head. “I don’t want you to try messing with anything, because your rash actions could upset the whole balance. Just meet with Diokles and the others if they contact you, reassure them that I still support their actions, and tell Myron to keep the money flowing into the right pockets.”

  “Myron?”

  “The regent for the Votsis estate.” Galenos unlocked a secret drawer in his desk and pulled out the pages of painstaking notes he’d taken on the whole operation. “I brought him into the city to manage the accounts directly. That way, we can fund our revolution without the money being traced back to the Storm Petrels.”

  He held out the information, but when Varranor reached out to take it, he pulled it back. He leaned closer to look his brother straight in the eye. “I’m trusting you with everything that we have to pin our hopes for the future on. Don’t screw this up.”

  His younger brother took the papers with a solemn nod. “Yes, sir. I won’t change your plans, I promise.”

  Galenos pushed his chair back from the desk with a squeak and stood up. “Very well, then. I’ll leave you some time to catch up, and I’ll be back within the hour to check on you if you have any questions.” He moved to the door. “I have to go make arrangements for the rest of my staff.”

  Varranor stepped around to the other side of the desk and sat down with a smile. “I won’t disappoint you. Trust me.”

  He gave Varranor a thin smile. “I’ve always tried to trust you, despite everything.” The warlord turne
d and left the room.

  Galenos made the flight to Petropouli in only seven days. By the end of it, he was tired, sore, and in dire need of a change of clothes; his marewing, Nightshade, also showed worse for wear. But he made it to the cave city’s entrance and held his head high when he was greeted by Lord Seivon’s delegation. He insisted that he care for his mount before he was received at the palace.

  Some hours later, after he had a bath, a meal of cold meats and bread, and had been outfitted in a locally styled doublet and breeches—a gift from the lord’s household—he met Ameyron in a small antechamber. A table was set for them with another spread of refreshments: dried fruits, creamy cheeses, honeycomb, and a hearty nut bread. Galenos had feared that the cave city would feel stuffy underground, but he was pleasantly surprised to find that there were grates fitted into the walls, apparently connected to tunnels that vented air from the outside. A fresh breeze slipped through them, filling the room with the faint scent of flowers. He wondered if they operated by mechanical means or magical.

  Ameyron stood up from the table and rushed to the warlord, wringing his hands. “I was afraid that you didn’t get my letter!”

  Galenos brushed off the mage. “I’m sorry for the delay, but I came as soon as I could. Why did you send it to Varranor? He’s been moving around a lot lately between different posts, and that probably led to some confusion that added to the delivery time.”

  Ameyron flapped his hands in a flustered way, causing the heavy sleeves of his robe to swing strangely. “I knew you were in the city and any letter I sent would probably be seen by unfriendly eyes. I had to send it to someone I could trust to give it to you. I don’t trust my own assistants right now.”

  Galenos shook his head. “We’ll have to get you in touch with my spy network so you know how to pass covert communications to me. There are better ways this could have been handled. But catch me up to speed. What has changed in the past two months? Have you made any progress in convincing the lord?”

  Ameyron sank back into a chair. “No, no. I have been treated as a guest—invited to functions—but told nothing. He bars my access to the Academy. I met with one mage who can help us, just once, and she hinted that she has much to tell me, but I have not been permitted to catch more than a glimpse of her since—” He sighed.

  Galenos raised his eyebrows as he detected a change of tone in the mage’s speech. “A woman? Is she beautiful?”

  The mage sat up straight as if pricked by a needle. “She is—intelligent. A respected colleague. I assure you that my interest is purely academic. And motivated by urgency—tell me, have there been any new cases since I left?”

  Galenos shook his head and sat in the other chair. “Your assistants continue your research, but they’ve reported no more patients in Kyratia. It may be that you are worried over nothing. The loss of life was grievous, but your cure worked to effect a full recovery, and no one else has fallen sick. You said that you could find no traces of the source when you looked at the house. I think that the danger has passed.”

  Ameyron slammed his fist into the table. “I cannot be satisfied with maybes and suppositions. I never understood the nature of the disease, why it happened, or why the cure worked. Until I know what Lord Seivon refuses to let me find out, I will fear that the city is not safe. And you—as a warlord, would you be satisfied that you had no enemies waiting to strike if you could not see one brandishing a weapon before you?”

  Galenos frowned. “I get your point. I, too, still feel uneasy about the nature of this illness—and the person who is responsible for the outbreak. We’ll see what we can do to persuade the lord.” He glanced over his shoulder at the door. “Did they tell you what time we could expect an audience?”

  Ameyron shrugged. “Your arrival caused something of a surprise for them. No doubt you have shocked them enough to rearrange their schedule, but bureaucracy is thick in this city. We may not see the lord today.”

  Galenos shifted in his seat, uncomfortably aware that underground, he had no way of telling what time it was. He had arrived at midmorning and been treated to a noon meal, but he hadn’t heard a single bell, and by now it could be any time in the afternoon. “Does Lord Seivon refuse to conduct court business in the evening?”

  The mage pulled out a page of notes. “I don’t know his schedule, but there are often feasts and revels in the evening. No doubt they are planning one at the last moment to honor your arrival. And even if you are granted a private audience, it will be full of courtesies and greetings. I think it will be some days before you can have a serious discussion with Lord Seivon about the real matter.”

  The Warlord gripped the arms of his chair. “You can’t be serious. I don’t have time to waste, playing at courtesies with this foreign fool. I must get back to Kyratia as soon as possible.”

  Ameyron sighed. “I understand your complaint. My research has been delayed by months—although I take small comfort in the fact that no one has died from illness in my absence. But I have better things to do with my time than sit and wait on the lord’s whim.”

  Galenos glowered at the gem-encrusted cup before him. He had taken a risk to come to Petropouli, and now he was convinced that it was a mistake. To spend months on delays could spell doom for Kyratia. Perhaps that was the lord’s plan: to detain the leader of Kyratia’s fighting force while he made some other move against the city. Coming alone had put him in a vulnerable position, and now he would pay for his hasty decision.

  Galenos tolerated a welcoming feast, a tour of Petropouli’s cavernous streets, a party where he was required to dance with virtually every eligible noble girl in the city, and a poetry reading. By the third day, he was losing patience. Lord Seivon was treating him as an esteemed guest, but he somehow always managed to dodge any discussion of serious matters, including the reason for the warlord’s visit.

  He saw a moment of downtime between events and grabbed Lord Seivon in a hallway. Guards immediately stepped in, but he ignored them. “We need to talk, your lordship,” he said in a low voice. “I cannot stay here any longer. We have to get down to business, or I will leave in a very, very bad mood.”

  Lord Seivon waved his body guards away. He peeled Galenos’s fingers off of his arm and smiled. “Give me half an hour to assemble my advisers, and we will meet in my office.”

  Galenos nodded and stepped back. “I will see you then.”

  As promised, Lord Seivon didn’t create any more artificial delays. Galenos met with him in a small chamber that was lavishly appointed with stone carvings and colorful gems, but it also had the working tools he was accustomed to: a desk full of papers, ink, and pens, a work table with scattered notes, and a detailed map of the region on the wall.

  Ameyron came with Galenos, and Lord Seivon had a small team of advisers with him. Most of them were older men, but two young women caught his eye. One was Kalysta, the niece who had started the whole incident when she got sick in Duke Basileos’s household, and whom Galenos had seen at every frivolous function since his arrival; the other woman wore a mage’s robes. Galenos compared her against Ameyron’s description: she wasn’t beautiful, but she did have the look of a serious scholar, with her hair drawn back severely from her face and tell-tale ink stains on her fingers. Seivon introduced her as Omalia.

  Galenos sat down at one end of the table, placing Ameyron on his right side. Lord Seivon sat on the other end and the advisers arranged themselves in between.

  Galenos pressed both his hands flat on the table and leaned forward. “My mage here needs access to research that your mages have in their school, but you have denied him. Why is this a difficult matter, and how can we resolve this problem to your satisfaction?”

  Lord Seivon gave him a smile that put the Warlord in mind of a hunting cat. “It is not the mage or the research that we are really concerned about. Perhaps I should explain our position to you a little. We find that relations between our two cities to currently be, shall we say, uncomfortable. Although we have enj
oyed mutual cooperation with Kyratia in the past, we now wonder if we should share any information openly given your recent change in government.”

  Galenos pursed his lips together. “How are we making you uncomfortable? Kyratia has issued no threats or made any move toward military action.”

  Seivon exchanged a glance with one of his advisers. “You seem to prefer straight talk, Warlord, so let me be frank with you. Your city has thrown out a thousand years of tradition and religious teachings for a fringe group of fanatics. Your council refused to allow anyone to inherit the duke’s title and set themselves up as some kind of ‘republic,’ but none of the council members changed. To be blunt, it looks like they have just taken away the one thing that kept them in check and seized power for themselves. What are they doing? We feel uneasy.”

  Galenos looked down for a moment and folded his hands together. “I don’t really know what they plan on doing, either. It scares me, too.” He looked up at the lord. “That’s why, frankly, I am trying to overthrow the council and take over for myself. The people support them for now, but I think I can win them back.”

  Seivon smiled again and leaned back in his chair. “How interesting. And you are looking for support in your coup?”

  Galenos gestured to Ameyron beside him. “I have not allowed this information to go public, but the disease that my mage is researching is the thing the cause of Duke Basileos’s death. If we can discover its true origin, which I suspect is one or several members of the council if not all of them, then I can convict them for conspiracy, treason and murder.”

  Kalysta stood up from her chair. “I told you that I wasn’t the target! You didn’t believe me.”