A Flight of Marewings

by Kristen S. Walker

  She leveled her sharpest glare at him. “Are you telling me that Warlord Galenos managed to turn away the Sympaian mercenaries without any bloodshed whatsoever?”

  Eutychon shook his head. “N-no, not exactly. It appears that there was some fighting on the first day. But then, yes, he talked the other mercenary warlord into leaving. Reports indicate that it was only a short conversation and nothing of value appears to have been traded as a result. Could they have been in collusion all along?”

  Varula Soma folded his arms and shook his head. “Who knows what depths these warmongers will sink to? All they care about is making a profit off of the suffering of others.”

  Pelagia sighed. “This is what I fear, yes.” She pursed her lips. “I wonder what the duke of Sympaia’s reaction was when his hired thugs did not fulfill their contract.”

  “Our reports from Sympaia have not come back yet,” Eutychon said with a shake of his head. “But I cannot imagine that it will be good. Will he try to hire another company to attack? We don’t know yet.”

  She looked at the priest. “What is your advice in this matter?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I think the real problem is not what the duke will do, but the mercenaries. If Warlord Galenos has allies outside of Kyratia—” He shook his head. “I fear his intentions. And his miraculous victory on the battlefield will only help gain him support here.”

  She turned on Eutychon. “And what about the warlord’s disappearance? Where did he go? He can’t have gone so far to return so quickly. Do not tell me that you have no idea.”

  Eutychon hung his head. “He traveled so quickly that I could not track him. If one of my foreign agents spotted him somewhere else, they have not had time to get back to me yet. That beast of his—I did not think they could travel at such a range alone, but it seems that he did not stay with a ground supply team as they usually do, so he could have gone anywhere.”

  “If you fail me on this, then I will seek another master of spies,” she said coldly. “Perhaps Zeno can find the information for me, or a mage. He had to go somewhere on this world, and unless he was holed up in a cave alone for weeks on end, someone saw him. So it cannot be impossible to find out.”

  Eutychon ducked his head. “Yes, my lady.”

  The priest cleared his throat. “Wherever he was, it cannot be good for us. And the warlord is not the only one working against us. Someone is funneling money into the Temple of Deyos, despite the Council’s new laws that the tithes should go to my temple.” He jabbed at the air with one bony finger to make his point. “Someone with deep pockets.”

  Eutychon rolled his eyes. “So what does it matter if we have not run your rivals out of business yet? We all knew it was going to take time for Varula to take popularity away from the Allfather. You’re the one who said we should let both religions coexist for now so the peasants don’t have a reason to rebel.”

  Varula Soma shook his head. “But they have too many resources, and now they are actually growing in influence. Powerful families are backing them. And the head of their temple, Father Borus, seems to be stepping aside to let this young upstart run things. It’s not official, but Loranos’s sermons against decadence are growing in popularity again, especially now that the cost of food is rising.”

  “The cost of food always rises at the end of summer, and corrects itself when winter starts—” Eutychon began.

  “No.” Pelagia cut him off with a look. “We have a food shortage. Kyratia’s farms cannot support its people, and our trade agreements continue to fall through. We still have not found a solution.”

  Varula Soma said quietly, “And the Temple of Deyos is increasing its program to feed the poor with the extra funds. That alone could sway the people.”

  Pelagia gripped the edge of the table. Panic rose in her—her heart pounded and she struggled for breath. She fought against the growing dizziness. A moment later, the feeling passed, but it left her feeling exhausted and frightened. She resolved to make time to see the physician again that afternoon, because she could not afford to have her health fail now while everything else hung in the balance.

  She looked up at the others, who were watching her with concern, and held her head high. She would not show her weakness to them. “We must find a way to discredit all of them—the Deyonist priests, the cocky warlord, the families and Councilors who support them in the shadows. Find me a weakness that we can exploit.” She looked at Eutychon. “There is a plot somewhere, and money is part of it. Perhaps follow that trail to see where it is coming from.”

  He bowed his head again. “Yes.”

  Eutychon pored over the reports that his informant had handed him, looking for the pattern. “Money goes to the temple,” he muttered to himself. “Money goes to the city guards.” He looked up in surprise. “They are buying out the city guard?”

  The nervous old man bobbed his head. “I know, I was shocked when I realized it. They have been increasing the number of guards, too. We practically have another mercenary army sitting inside our very walls, and they have more than doubled the payroll that the Council is also giving them.”

  Eutychon balled up his hand into a fist and hit the table. He cursed at the sharp pain and took another gulp of his wine. “Why did we not see this before?”

  The accountant held up his hands helplessly. “We were not looking at the guards. They have not been acting suspiciously.”

  He cursed again. “How do we know it is even their money? I fail to see anything that traces back to a name that I know. It all says Myron Leventis.” He looked up at the accountant. “Who is that?”

  “T-turn to the last page.” The accountant pointed with a shaking finger.

  Eutychon flipped the pages over until he found the last. Instead of rows of enraging figures, this one had a brief report on a single man. “Regent supervisor for the Votsis estate? The old duke’s money?” He frowned. “I thought we gave all of that to his bastard daughter. She did not marry the warlord?”

  “Mercenaries cannot legally marry or hold property,” the accountant said.

  “I know that, you fool.” He glared and pointed to the empty chair. “And sit down. I can’t stand to hear your knees knocking together like that.”

  The accountant sat down, but that did not quell his shaking. He started twisting his hands together. “Galenos didn’t marry the daughter so he could keep control of his mercenary company. He had the girl join the company, so she couldn’t hold the land either, and she signed it over to Myron. He was one of the duke’s old property managers.”

  Eutychon frowned. “What good does that do them? The girl’s become a soldier?”

  The accountant shook his head. “More importantly, Myron is probably taking orders from Galenos for managing the estate. And look at the other reports. There’s more money being invested than all the duke’s lands could possibly be making. According to this, he’s set up leasing and trade agreements with a number of other wealthy families—all from farming estates—at exorbitant rates. It’s a shell to funnel their money so we don’t connect the donations to the temple and the payroll for the guards back to them. They could be using the money for other things, too, but I can’t trace money going out of Kyratia very easily.”

  “How did you find this?” Eutychon leafed through the reports, trying to peel back the layers of false names and ambiguous contracts that channeled the money. “How did you know it would trace back to the warlord?”

  The accountant cleared his throat. “I had a—a tip from a friend. Our mutual friend.”

  The councilor smiled. “Perhaps we should give her an extra bonus for this work.”

  “I would, except—” The accountant swallowed and looked down at the floor. “She has not reported in for some time. She’s just disappeared.”

  “Well, then I suppose we do not have to pay her. I shall have to find a replacement.” Eutychon skimmed the numbers, mouthing the words out loud to himself, and felt a headache coming on. He put down the repor
ts and drank more wine. “It is such a mess. Is any of this even legal?”

  For the first time, the accountant smiled. “They have found a number of legal loopholes for most of it, but not all.”

  Eutychon leaned closer. Perhaps there was a cure for his headache here after all. “Go on.”

  31

  Ameyron IV

  When Ameyron returned to the city, he found that Warlord Galenos and most of the Storm Petrels were off on some kind of military maneuver. He hadn’t noticed any soldiers on the road between Petropouli and Kyratia, so he concluded that the fighting must be somewhere else that didn’t affect him and went to return to his research.

  This was complicated by the Warlord’s absence. When he went to the military complex, few of the soldiers left on duty even recognized him, and no one seemed to know what had happened to his former assistants. Without any patients left to cure of the disease, the research had ceased and the rooms he’d been allowed to use were locked up. And no one seemed to have the key for opening them again.

  Fortunately, Ameyron had kept copies of all his vital notes with him, and he still had his own house. He and Omalia simply set up their studies there. The dragonlings found a roost in the patio garden, and other than pestering the neighbors in the mornings and evenings, they were content.

  Ameyron led Omalia to the former Votsis house. Once again, he found the house abandoned.

  Omalia looked up at the boarded-up mansion. “This was the source of the infestation?”

  Ameyron fumbled in his pockets, but he couldn’t remember where he had put the key. “Yes. Ah, give me a moment.” He had found his flint. He went up to the door and bent to examine the lock.

  The dragonling on his shoulder bobbed its head and reached out to scratch at the wood of the door. Omalia’s flock were content to stay and sun themselves on the roof of his house, but his young companion was curious and liked to tag along. Ameyron reached up and shoved it out of the way. “Shush, you thing, I’m trying to get inside.”

  Ameyron struck the flint to make a spark and blew it into the lock. Fire was the element he could manipulate the easiest, and within moments, the lock clicked open.

  He tucked the flint away and opened the door. He stepped aside for Omalia to precede him.

  The dragonling flew off of his shoulder and up to the ceiling. With a cry, it snatched something in its claws, then settled on a flying buttress and began to eat.

  Ameyron, who had just seen the dragonling make its first forays into hunting in the past week with only mild success, was surprised to see it make a kill so quickly. He strained to see what it held in the dim light, but whatever it was, the dragonling was too far away for him to see what it had in its claws.

  He heard the door close behind them. With the windows boarded up and no artificial source of light inside the house, they were plunged into nearly total darkness.

  Ameyron cast the spell for foxfire and held the glowing orb above his head. What he saw made him stop breathing.

  The entire ceiling was covered in sparkling dots of light, more numerous than the stars in the sky. Crystalbell bugs. So many more than he could have imagined.

  Omalia started backing up to the door. “We should go.”

  Ameyron stared up in wonder. “How could there be so many?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t have the equipment that we need to protect ourselves from them.” Omalia grabbed his sleeve and dragged him after her.

  The dragonling cried out eagerly and launched itself upward for another bug. He realized that he would not be able to call it away from the swarm.

  He checked that the door was locked behind them and slammed it shut. He stood outside on the top step, panting from the scare.

  Omalia shook her head. “I never guessed from your reports that there could have been so many. The whole city could be in danger. I only hope that the two of us are enough to stop them.”

  Ameyron turned to stare at her. “Do you think that they could spread outside of this house?”

  She looked warily up and down the street. “I think it’s highly probable that they already have. Without any hosts here—” She shuddered. “We’ll have to start making discreet inquiries in the neighborhood. Until the Warlord can return and handle the political situation, I don’t want to raise a panic.”

  He glanced at the door. “What about the dragonling? Will it be in danger in there?”

  She let out a nervous laugh. “No, I think it’s in for the feast of its life. I’ll bring my flock around later and let them join in.” Her face fell again. “But if the infestation has spread too far, it will take too long for a handful of dragonlings to track them down. We need to think of another way to find and destroy them.”

  He smiled at her hopefully. “Any idea what that could be?”

  She shook her head. “Time to get back to the drawing board.”

  The two mages began their canvass of the neighborhood the next day.

  Ameyron went up to the front door of the house next to the empty Votsis mansion, but Omalia shook her head and pulled him around the side to the servants’ entrance. “We’ll get more information from the help.”

  When he knocked, a young boy in nothing but a loincloth yanked the door open and frowned up at them. “Are you the musicians?” he demanded.

  “No, I just have a few questions to ask the head of your staff,” Ameyron said.

  “It’s not the musicians!” the boy called over his shoulder, and slammed the door in their faces.

  Omalia shook her head. “Let me try a different approach.”

  They went to the next mansion down the street. Omalia rang the bell at the servants’ entrance. When a middle-aged man opened the door, she held up her right hand to display the mages’ mark.

  “We are conducting a survey of the neighborhood in the interest of public safety,” she said in an even tone. “Have there been any incidents of poor health in your household?”

  The man frowned and scratched his head. “Uh, we already have a physician. We’re not hiring.” He started to close the door.

  “Wait!” Omalia stepped forward and blocked the door from closing with her foot. “We’re not asking for money or anything. We just need to know if anyone has been sick. This is important.”

  “Everyone is fine, thank you.” The man closed the door.

  Omalia turned away with a sigh. “Are people in this city always so rude?”

  Ameyron shrugged. “I would say that in this district, at least, they value their privacy.” He pointed to the high walls that separated the grounds of each estate from the road. “We need to find a better way to get information. Maybe we should involve the authorities.”

  She gave him a withering stare. “The authorities are the people who probably caused this outbreak in the first place, and we do not want to let them know that we are investigating. We have to keep this quiet.”

  “Oh. Right.” He pulled out his battered notebook and made a note to himself about their suspicions. He’d been so caught up in their research that he’d forgotten about the political implications. “What if we let the dragonlings fly up and down the street and see where they go? Will they be able to detect where the crystalbell bugs are from the outside?”

  “People will notice!” she hissed. “They don’t exactly hunt quietly.” She began walking down the street at a brisk pace, forcing him to scramble to keep up. “We really need to start working on alternate methods of detection. Perhaps we can develop something to contain the foxfire, like a lantern, then find a way to get them into people’s houses. If they caught on as a stylish fad—”

  Omalia stopped in the middle of her ramblings and cocked her head to one side. “Do you hear that?”

  Ameyron had been lost in thought about the problem and looked up with a dazed expression. “What?”

  “Music.” She turned and pointed to the house at the corner. “It sounds like a party.”

  He shrugged. “A lot of the houses seem to be throwi
ng parties today. They were expecting musicians at the first place we went to.”

  Omalia snapped her fingers. “Exactly. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

  “Rich people throw parties all of the time. It lets them show off their wealth to their friends.”

  “But in the middle of the week? It’s only Bere-di.” She marched up to the house with the party and went around the side to the garden wall. “Give me a boost up so I can see.”

  He had no idea what she was thinking, but he’d had his own strange theories in the past. He knelt on the ground and cupped his hands together for her.

  She put her foot in his hands and stepped up, grabbing the wall to brace herself. Her head didn’t quite reach the top. “A little higher!” she called in a strained whisper.

  He grunted and struggled to raise her up. Even after traveling back and forth across the countryside for the past two months, the mage was not strong.

  She placed her other foot on his shoulder and managed to hop up for just a moment. Then with a cry, they both lost their balance, and toppled onto the ground in a heap.

  Omalia got to her feet first and offered a hand to help Ameyron up. “Sorry.”

  “No matter.” He checked to be sure that he hadn’t dropped anything from his numerous pockets. “Did you see anything?”

  She brightened up. “Yes. They were all dancing.”

  He failed to see the significance of this observation. “People often dance at parties, especially when there is music.”

  She shook her head. “Not every single person, and not right at the start of the party. It isn’t fashionable to be the first one out on the dance floor.” She raised her eyebrows. “It’s almost as if something were compelling them to dance.”

  “Oh.” His eyes widened. “Oh, no. That means—”

  She nodded and grabbed his sleeve again, dragging him in the direction of his house. “We’ve just confirmed new victims. Time to get back to work!”