A Flight of Marewings

by Kristen S. Walker

  Seivon waved at his niece to sit back down. “Yes, dear, you were right.” He sighed and shook his head. “You must forgive me, Warlord, because I found it too coincidental that my niece had been mysteriously infected by a local parasite when she was in your city. You believe that your late duke was the true target?”

  Galenos nodded. “He was the first to get sick and die. Other members of his household were affected as well, including your niece, but my mage believes that this was not intentional.”

  The other mage, Omalia, cleared her throat for the first time. “That is not possible. This parasite does not breed or spread outside of its natural habitat. Everyone who was infected must have been targeted deliberately.”

  Ameyron frowned. “Are you sure? Because the people who died were mostly low-ranking servants. And one local beggar girl, who had never even been in the house, inexplicably got sick as well. What reason would they have to kill those people?”

  Omalia shrugged. “Perhaps to confuse people and make it look like an unhappy accident, instead of a targeted assassination. It has been nearly eight months since the duke died. Any parasites he had on him would be dead by now, and they would not have the environmental attributes they need to breed.”

  Seivon held up his hand. “Regardless, if the duke died and my niece did not, then I think it is likely that he was the true target. Kalysta may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The important thing is whether you think that you can truly track down the people responsible for this attack, because I want to see them punished for her as well as for the duke.”

  Omalia smiled at Ameyron. “I think that with the two of us working together, we can find the truth.”

  Galenos looked at the man beside him. “What do you think?”

  Ameyron dug in the sleeves of his robes and pulled out his customary stack of notes. “Um, yes, of course. My research has already given me some promising leads, and certainly with the lady’s expertise, we could narrow down the possibilities.”

  Galenos gestured at Seivon. “Are you confident, then, that working together will help us achieve a mutual goal of seeing the ones responsible for this egregious act brought to justice?”

  “Hm.” Seivon stroked his bare chin—unlike many Seirenian nobles, he was clean-shaven. “I would like to catch these destructive councilors, that is certain. However, I am not sure that simply changing the leadership in Kyratia would satisfy my other concerns. You intend to take over as the next duke, then?”

  Galenos nodded. “It was Duke Basileos’s wish that I marry his daughter and become his heir. Unfortunately, his life was ended before he could see his wish fulfilled, but his daughter and many of his supporters still agree that this is the best course of action. He knew that I would continue his dream for Kyratia.”

  Seivon’s eyes narrowed. “And what dream is that? To see Kyratia continue to conquer her neighbors until she is the greatest city in Seirenia?”

  Galenos shook his head. “I know that many people fear me because of my military history. However, my hopes for Kyratia have always been peace, not war. I think that we have concentrated on taking things for too long, and not on what we can build when we work together with our neighbors.”

  “And would you return Kyratia to the guidance of the Temple of Deyos to assure this peace?”

  “Of course.” Galenos made the sign of devotion to Deyos, cupping his hand to his forehead. “I have always followed Deyos, and I feel that his priests do the most to serve the people. The Varulans are, as you named them, a fad cult for the wealthy elite of the city.”

  Seivon nodded in agreement as Galenos spoke, and the warlord could see the tension in his shoulders gradually relax. “Very well.” He looked at his councilors. “We will have to draw up an agreement for the two of us, so please give us until tomorrow to hammer out the terms. I can assure you that not only will your mage receive full access to all of the Academy’s research and resources, but we will also promise mutual cooperation with you in the future.”

  Galenos stood up and headed around the table. Seivon met him halfway and clasped both his hands.

  “I look forward to the continuance of a deep friendship between our cities,” Galenos said.

  “As do I.” Seivon smiled. “Of course, you realize that we cannot make our support public just yet. And if you somehow fail in your plan to wrest control away from your runaway Council, we have to deny our involvement.”

  Galenos nodded, feeling relieved that he finally had some kind of support beyond Diokles’s little conspiracy. “Of course. Thank you.”

  Seivon squeezed his hands a final time and let him go. “Thank you. Now, while we wait for the contract to be drawn up, can I persuade you to join my court for a smaller dinner function tonight? There are some noble families who have only now been able to travel to the capitol to meet with you, and I would hate for them to come this far for nothing.”

  Galenos tried to hide his displeasure at yet another social function. “I would be happy to meet them.”

  24

  The Council V

  Councilor Pelagia had summoned Warlord Galenos several times in order to meet with him about the Storm Petrels, yet each time one of his officers had begged off with some excuse. At last she began to grow suspicious and sent one of her spies to go ask a few discreet questions around the military complex.

  The young woman, a promising daughter of another merchant in her guild, came back with another apology. “It seems the Warlord has not been seen in several days. His brother, the Commander, has been running things in his absence.”

  Pelagia frowned. “It is not like him to be away from the city for so long.” Or to relinquish control to his younger brother, she added silently. “Could he be visiting one of the outlying forts?”

  The spy shook her head. “Not for this long, madam. It has been more than a week already, and the Commander does not seem to expect him back soon.” She looked down at the floor.

  Pelagia heard the spy take a deep breath, and knew that she was holding something back. “You have heard rumors of where he might be,” she guessed.

  “Nothing substantiated,” the spy was quick to say. “But it is possible that he could have left Kyratia’s territory entirely.”

  The old woman felt a twinge of pain at the thought and struggled to hide it on her face. Galenos could be colluding with one of their rival cities, perhaps even to attack them. She had to speed up her plans to take out the powerful warlord.

  But she could not let anyone else know of her fears. Collecting herself, she smiled and patted the young woman’s hand. “Thank you, my dear. And let’s make sure that no one else hears of this, yes? Perhaps help circulate a few counter-rumors that Galenos is holed up working on something—maybe caught up with that mage he had researching for him.”

  The young woman bowed her head. “Of course, madam.”

  25

  Ameyron III

  Ameyron spent nearly every waking hour in the Academy, poring over their research with excitement. This school had everything that he wanted: extensive libraries, state-of-the-art research facilities, access to many of the magical components that they needed for their spells. They specialized in local phenomena, which helped with that access. The mages looked for ways to make living underground in the caves more comfortable and convenient, while dealing with the hazards.

  The size and scope of the facilities would have been confusing but he had an excellent guide. Omalia, it turned out, was the head of Monster Studies under the Department of Zoology, despite her young age. She had done an extensive study of the local parasite known as the crystalbell bug, which caused the dancing mania.

  Omalia went through the research on the bugs in detail. She showed him preserved specimens, and at last Ameyron understood the reason for the foxfire spell: the crystalline structure of the bug refracted normal light so that they looked almost invisible, especially at their tiny size, but she demonstrated how one glowed under foxfire so it l
it up like a star.

  “They are virtually undetectable unless you know what you’re looking for, which is why they are favored by assassins.”

  Ameyron jotted down notes as she spoke. “So you have seen this before? What type of assassins? Who would have access to them?”

  Omalia shook her head. “The human element is not my department. I can tell you that they only seem to occur here in Petropouli, and that’s because they need a special mineral in order to reproduce. The other reason that assassins like them is the need for the mineral keeps them from spreading. A good assassin only needs one to target their victim.” She looked up at him from the research station. “How many people did you say got sick?”

  Ameyron flipped to the page with the relevant figures. “Sixteen total, over the course of several months. So then whoever released the bugs in the city was not able to target the duke closely enough, and had to infect his whole household in order to insure his death?”

  Omalia frowned. “Even still, that number seems very high. Perhaps they were trying to cover up his death with others, to make it look like a natural epidemic.” She shrugged. “But since there have been no more cases since then, the bugs must be gone. Their entire lifecycle is only four months long.”

  “Are you sure?” Ameyron leaned closer, peering at the bug again. “What mineral do they require for their reproduction?”

  Omalia moved out of his way. “Isopherenite. It’s a compound in some of the crystals in our local caves, and it’s only formed under extreme pressure and temperature conditions. They feed on it for nutrients necessary for the production of their eggs.”

  “Hm, yes, I see. That would not be present in Kyratia.” He wrote down the name of the mineral. “Do you have a sample that I could examine?”

  Omalia stood up and stretched. “Maybe tomorrow,” she said, covering a yawn with her hand. “It’s getting really late.”

  Ameyron looked up and blinked. “Is it really? Forgive me, I was wrapped up in this—” He pointed at the samples.

  The other mage laughed. “I know, I get caught up in my research sometimes, too.” She smiled and began to put her research away. “If you let me get some sleep first, tomorrow I could show you something even more fascinating.”

  He perked up. “Another tour of the libraries?”

  “No,” she said with another laugh. “Just meet me outside the city gates at first light.”

  “What could we possibly see outside of the Academy?” Ameyron held up his hands to take in the walls of the school.

  Omalia just smiled and shook her head. “You shall see when we get there.”

  Ameyron’s curiosity had piqued by the time he found Omalia outside the gate. For the first time, he saw her not in the practical robes of a scholar, but in a simple, homespun dress. He blinked in surprise, then realized he was staring and looked away with a blush.

  Omalia opened a pouch and handed him a handful of jerky. “I am not permitted to bring my flock inside the school.” She smirked at his puzzled expression. “Just hold your hand out with the meat and do not make any sudden moves.”

  Ameyron wanted to ask her what kind of flock she had, but she only shook her head the moment that he opened his mouth. So he shrugged, holding out the jerky as she instructed, and waited to see what would happen.

  Omalia held out jerky in each hand and let out a high, piercing whistle.

  Scaly wings beat the air. Ameyron ducked his head and looked up, expecting to see bats, but in the early light of sunrise he saw larger shapes swoop toward them and dive straight down out of the sky. They were brilliantly colored in all shades of the rainbow.

  Most of them went for Omalia, but two of the smaller ones, a red and a blue, veered toward him and fought over the pieces of jerky he held out. He almost yanked his hand back when he saw them up close—they were miniature dragons! But when he flinched, one nipped his hand sharply, and he forced himself to stay still.

  They quickly gobbled up the meat he offered and began to search his clothing for more, crawling up his arms and poking their noses into his pockets. He was dimly aware of Omalia shoving the pouch full of more meat into his hand, which was still outstretched.

  Ameyron, calculating every tiny movement to avoid aggravating the hungry predators, reached in and pulled out more food. He was surprised to discover that the little dragons accepted the morsels directly from his fingers. They clicked and chirped at him, turning their heads to look at him with their large, multi-faceted eyes, hopping on his shoulders like eager children.

  When the meat was gone, they nosed him a final time and took to the air again, wheeling overhead in a lazy spiral. Several found perches on the rocky face of the mountain beside them.

  Ameyron glanced over at the other mage and saw her with three dragonlings clinging to her shoulders. She cradled a fourth, the largest, in her arms, scratching its purple head. The dragonling responded by closing its eyes and leaning into her touch, as content as an overgrown lap cat.

  He looked up again and counted. “How many have you tamed? Eight?”

  “Nine,” she said with a smile. “They prefer to live in family groups, after all. This one here is the matriarch. Some of them are her children.”

  He shook his head. “And you just keep them as pets?”

  Omalia shooed most of them away, but the purple female climbed up out of her arms and nestled on her shoulders, wrapping her tail around the mage’s neck. “No. They’re part of my research. Dragonlings are the natural predators of the crystalbell bugs. Their specialized eyes allow them to see the bugs in any type of light. They mostly hunt for their own food, but if I give them a good meal beforehand, then they will sometimes bring their catches back to me for my specimens.” She looked up at the rest of the flock and smiled. “I also study their behavior. The social dynamics of the family flock are fascinating.”

  Ameyron stared at her in awe. “I wish that I had the resources to catch and study monsters in captivity. Starting with the smaller ones is one way to do that, I suppose. And the Academy funds your research?”

  “Of course.” Omalia frowned. “But I do not have a good place to keep them in the Academy. The other researchers complain that they are disruptive. I wish that they would let me build some kind of facility for the dragonlings. My apartment is not big enough to keep them, and my neighbors complain about their tendency to roost on the roof.”

  “Hmm.” Ameyron rummaged in his sleeves for a blank piece of paper to write another note to himself. “So how will they help me protect Kyratia? Are you going to let me borrow one or something?”

  Omalia laughed. “My flock would not obey you. You will need to get your own.”

  “How do I do that? Is there somewhere nearby that I can catch one?”

  She held up a second pouch like the one that held the jerky they’d fed to her flock. “The best way to tame them is to feed one right after they hatch. My girl here has a nest of eggs, and by my measurements they should be ready to hatch in the next few days. We are going to the nest to give you one of the eggs now.”

  “Now?” His voice squeaked on the word. His mind raced with the possibilities for his own firsthand observational research of the monsters. “Where is it?”

  She pointed up the mountain face. “This way. She found a little crevasse to hide them in.”

  Ameyron was afraid of having to climb up the rocks, since he still wore his bulky scholar robes, but Omalia led him to a hidden pathway that wound up the mountainside between the jagged rocks.

  The dragonlings followed them, continuing to circle overhead. When they got closer to the nest, they began to call out loud cries of warning. Omalia reassured the purple matriarch, still perched on her shoulder, and finally held up her hand.

  “Let me go on by myself,” she said. She pointed to a narrow outcrop above them. “I will bring the egg down to you. Stay here, or they may attack you.”

  He watched as she tucked up the skirts of her dress and scrambled up the sheer rock f
ace as nimbly as a mountain goat. She disappeared behind the bit of rock and he realized there must be more space up there than he could see from below.

  All of the dragonlings swooped in behind her, crying out. He recognized the typical pack behavior of their family unit: a single dominant female was the only breeder, and all of the rest of the individuals were devoted to protecting and caring for her young. They would work as a group to protect the eggs, unlike most types of birds he had observed, which seemed to only work in pairs and had fierce rivalries between the different nests of a colony. They were very different than true dragons, which were solitary creatures, each one requiring a large territory of their own for hunting prey. Fortunately for human settlements, dragon sightings were very rare.

  So many fascinating things to learn about these creatures. How would the behavior vary if he only had one alone? He would have to document his observations carefully. Perhaps Omalia could recommend some good books for him to take home and study.

  After just enough waiting to make him grow anxious, he saw Omalia reemerge and climb back down. Descending looked even trickier than going up, and he wanted to reach out and offer her a hand, but she shooed him away.

  When she was on the ground at last, she untied a knot in her dress and handed him an egg the size of his fist. He cradled it gently in both hands. The shell was hard, a pale gray color, and slightly mottled: at a glance, he could have mistaken it for a rock. But it was warm to the touch.

  He looked at the tiny egg and frowned. “How long do they take to mature after hatching?”

  “It’s a year before they reach their full growth, but they start learning to hunt after four or five weeks.” Omalia handed him one of the empty pouches from the jerky earlier. “In the meantime, handle it carefully and keep it warm. We need to let it hatch before we go back to Kyratia, because they do not travel well.”