Ravencaller

by David Dalglish

  Tommy nodded as fervently as possible.

  The windleaper cut the rope tying each of them to the stake, starting with Jarel. Once both were free, he tugged them to their feet and gave them a shove in the direction from which he’d come. They crossed the field, their destination a particularly large bonfire. A log lay atop the grass some space away, and after a gesture, the two took a seat.

  Warrenchief Naiser waited beside the fire, his arms crossed over his chest and a dour frown on his face. Tommy could not help but notice his fingers drumming the long hilt of his spear. Impatient. Eager.

  “Remove their bindings,” Naiser said. “I need them to talk.”

  Their escort used a knife to cut the ropes and gags. Tommy gladly spat out the rough cloth and stretched his sore jaw.

  “Thank you,” he said, though it didn’t look like the lapinkin wanted to hear it. Jarel looked disgusted but thankfully kept his mouth shut. Tommy did not trust the dour man to handle any meeting gracefully unless the other party was busy kissing his ass. Once they were freed, the lapinkin bowed and left. Naiser glared at them, clearly displeased about something.

  “You both are to receive an honor clearly undeserving of you,” he said. “It is rare for a human to meet with the King of the dyrandar. Be respectful, or I will have him explode your mind into jelly.”

  Jarel scoffed while Tommy’s mind had to go over the previous sentence twice before he might respond.

  “He might what?”

  Naiser gave no answer. A figure approached from the darkness, and the Warrenchief dipped his head low in respect.

  At nearly eight feet tall, the humanoid deer towered over Naiser, and that didn’t count the additional three feet of antlers growing from the sides of his skull. Those antlers curled inward to form a complete circle, their sharpened tips halting inches away from their opposite. Strips of cloth hung like ribbons from the dark bone, matching his loose robe, whose stripes were the colors of autumn. His upper half was very much like a muscular human’s, albeit giant and layered with chestnut-colored fur. The legs of his lower half were reversed at the knee like a deer’s, and they ended with giant hooves instead of feet.

  “Welcome to our grasslands, King Cannac,” Naiser said. “I trust your journey here was uneventful?”

  “Not uneventful, but it was peaceful,” Cannac said. His voice was deeper than the night was dark. He turned to Tommy, and it seemed his ashen, unblinking eyes stared right through him. “Come forth, onyx one. You need not hide from us.”

  Onyx one?

  Tommy glanced about, confused, until Tesmarie flew out from behind the log he sat atop. He hadn’t known she was there, she was so swift and quiet, but somehow Cannac had known. The faery hovered before the two dragon-sired with her arms behind her back and her head respectfully bowed.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Tommy is my friend. Please don’t hurt him, that’s all I ask.”

  “Friend?” Naiser said, the word never before spoken with such ugliness and contempt in all the world.

  “Friendship among our kind was never rare before our imprisonment,” Cannac said, and he dipped his head to the faery. “And I pray it stays so now. Stay with us, little one. In this gathering of royalty, you may represent your fae.”

  Tommy’s jaw dropped open. Tesmarie… royalty?

  “It’s—it’s true,” she said, looking embarrassed. “I’m the matriarch’s daughter.”

  “A pointless connection,” Naiser said, unimpressed. “Will the fae listen to her? Will they help us fight for our lands?”

  “She stays,” Cannac said again. Just like that, the matter was settled. Tommy felt in awe of the respect the giant deer-man commanded. Tesmarie’s wings buzzed. She zipped over to Tommy’s knee and sat. Cannac sat as well, his elbows on his knees and his palms facing the night sky.

  “Well then, let’s get this over with,” Naiser said. He pointed at Jarel, who had remained pale-faced and perfectly still the whole time. “You said you speak for the human’s ruler. That’s good enough for us. We need you to listen to our demands, and then if you value your life, agree to them.”

  Jarel was clearly unhappy being forced to participate. Whatever bluster he’d shown earlier was long gone.

  “I—I don’t think you understand how things work in Orismund,” he said. “The Royal Overseer isn’t the ruler of all humans, just those here in West Orismund.”

  “And you are of his blood,” Naiser said. “Which makes you royalty. You may still speak for him.”

  “But the Royal Overseer isn’t royalty,” Jarel insisted. “He’s elected by our land owners to serve as official proxy for the Queen in Oris. I have no authority, none, I just… I just, I’m close to my uncle. He listens to me. He’ll accept what I say.”

  “Oris is hundreds of miles to the east, if it is the same Oris that existed in our time,” Cannac said. “We cannot wait for word from there. Too many will die. The Royal Overseer rules in the Queen’s stead?”

  “Y-yes,” Jarel stammered. “It might seem a little complicated, but it’s because of the Three-Year Secession. Originally the King or Queen would choose their Overseer, but then—”

  “Enough,” Naiser interrupted. “Your uncle rules West Orismund. That’s all that matters at this point. You can convey our message, and you can make him listen.”

  “Sure, of course,” Jarel said. “Tell it, and I’ll bring it to Albert, I promise.”

  Cannac brought his hands together so his fingertips touched, but not his thumbs, which he kept pointed skyward.

  “It will not be told,” he said. “It will be shown.”

  Tommy’s eyes darted about, curious as to what the dyrandar meant. His bones vibrated from the deep hum emanating from Cannac’s throat. The space between his hands shimmered as if the dyrandar held a captive rainbow. The circle of space in the heart of his antlers swelled with light. What began as smaller than a star bloomed to a full sun burning above the dyrandar’s head. Tommy stared in wonder, for despite its brightness, it did not hurt his eyes.

  “Thanks be to Gloam,” Cannac said. “Let our thoughts be one.”

  Light rolled from the sun in five distinct rivers, each one traveling to a person seated about the bonfire. It flowed like water but looked like a white wave of fire. When it struck Tommy in the chest, he felt light-headed and dizzy, and he clutched his seat to steady himself. New colors rolled back out of him, as if Tommy were a mixture of paints spilling into this clean, pure river. He need not ask, for somehow he knew what they represented. A pale white for his fear. Cerulean for his curiosity. Olive for his confusion. Pink for his love. His entire being retold in color that swirled and blended without ever losing an individual shade.

  Similar rivers of color rolled from the others. He saw Naiser’s pride in deep violet. He saw Jarel’s fear in a sickly green. Tesmarie’s hopeful optimism swirled with cerulean and sunlight yellow. For Cannac, every shade was overwhelmed with the brilliant, calm white of peace. These rivers flowed to the bonfire, where they collected in a great, chaotic sphere.

  Cannac spoke without moving his lips, his voice emanating from the sun burning between his antlers.

  Naiser, reveal your strength.

  The sphere unfolded. Tommy felt his mind pulled toward the lapinkin, as if it had left his body and traveled elsewhere. The colors of the sphere re-formed into shimmering valleys dotted with farms and villages. Instinctively Tommy knew he gazed upon the grasslands southwest of Londheim, viewing them as if from the eye of a soaring hawk. The vision shifted westward, to the Triona River. Thousands of lapinkin leapt over its surface with ease. Those who’d come to Coyote Crossing were merely the far-reaching scouts, Tommy realized, not their true power. The pull toward Naiser weakened, and the sphere folded back in on itself.

  Queen Viera of the Viridi, do you hear my voice?

  A woman of grass appeared to hover in the heart of the sphere. Every inch of her body rippled in the cool night air, the grass blades overlaid much like the s
cales of a reptile. Instead of eyes, she had pure black crevices that repelled even the light of the stars. The way she moved and shifted, it was as if there were no bones or muscles in her body, just flowing grass growing from some unseen center deep within.

  “I hear you,” Viera said. There was a playfulness to her voice, like a deeper-toned version of Tesmarie. Cannac bowed his antlers.

  Then reveal your strength.

  The sphere unfolded. The flatlands even farther south greeted him, hundreds of miles of rocky soil and fading grass occupying the space between the Triona River and the Oakblack Woods. Cities of viridi rose among them, building spires of twig, vine, and grass that rivaled the tallest buildings of Londheim. Walls of thorns thirty feet high surrounded these cities, adorned with roses that bloomed in streams like blood. Viera’s dominance of the vision sphere weakened, and it folded back in on itself. As quickly as she had appeared, the Queen was gone.

  Arondel, Queen of the Winged, do you hear me?

  A white-feathered owl appeared in the heart of the sphere. Tommy held back a gasp. It was the same snow-white owl that had accosted him and Devin on his lone attempt accompanying the Soulkeeper on his nightly patrols.

  “I hear you, dyrandar,” the owl said.

  Then reveal your strength.

  The sphere unfolded. Countless birds of all sizes flew the skies over the Helwoads to the northwest. Tommy sensed but did not see their nests in the tall branches. Lord over these flocks were the mighty owls. They soared down from Alma’s Crown, commanding the others with deep shrieks and hoots. Deer, coyotes, and even cattle fell to the iron grip of their claws. Anger mixed with fear inside Tommy’s stomach as he watched a force of thirty such owls slam their way into a village along the Helwoads’ border, ripping off rooftops and knocking over walls as they chased its inhabitants out.

  The owl vanished from the sphere, and another took her place. A parade of various creatures, bearing names and titles Tommy struggled to remember. Creatures made of stone and silver, with arms like a mantis, faces like carved masks, or skin like flowing clouds. One by one they revealed their people awakening throughout the western reaches of West Orismund, restablishing their homes, warrens, nests, and crypts. Last was the dyrandar king, and it seemed the sphere struggled to contain his presence.

  I am Cannac, and I reveal my strength.

  The sphere unfolded. Dozens of dyrandar men, women, and children marched with their belongings tied into heavy sacks on their backs. They traversed the southern tip of Alma’s Crown, passing through areas forever scarred by the flow of the black water. Their caravan halted near where Tommy believed was Pathok, one of the mountainous villages built near the start of the Septen River. Pathok looked empty, the black water no doubt to blame, and the dyrandar began tearing down buildings. Time slipped by as easily as water, the dyrandar building new homes with their carried supplies of wood and fur, replacing squat, square structures with tall tents and huts. Tommy’s vision pulled outward, and he saw a similar story playing out again and again in abandoned towns all across the mountain’s southern curl.

  Cannac’s calm, peaceful white washed away everything. Tommy felt his nerves cease. His mind was calm as a pool of water on a clear day, and he never wanted it to end.

  “Thanks be to Gloam, and the power granted,” Cannac said. He clapped his hands together. “This meld is at its end.”

  The sun blinked out of existence. The connecting rivers and colors of emotions faded away like the morning dew beneath a warm summer sun. Lingering effects of Cannac’s peace settled on Tommy’s mind, and he stared at the dyrandar with unabashed admiration.

  “Do you understand now?” Cannac said, this time with a voice born from his physical form. “These lands were ours upon our forced slumber, and they are ours again. We are united in our vision, and if we must, we shall march as one army, I as its general, and Naiser as my left hand. Please, listen to our words. Respect our ways. Honor our claims. If you do so, then you may spare us from bloodshed. In its absence, we may grow as neighbors and not as rivals.”

  Jarel nodded, his eyes glazed over as if he were still inside a dream.

  “So you want me to tell Albert all… that,” Jarel said.

  “Is it really that complicated?” Naiser answered. “Tell him of our claims, or simpler yet, that everything west of Londheim belongs to us. Other than that, tell him of what you saw, our armies, our numbers. Tell him how easily we could crush you if you tried to challenge us.”

  “I—I can try. This is, this vision, it’s…” Jarel shrugged. “I don’t know if I could ever have the words to convey what I just saw.”

  “So you’re saying your uncle won’t believe you?” Cannac asked.

  The answer Jarel gave looked like it physically hurt him to speak.

  “No,” he said. “I fear he won’t.”

  Naiser let out a derogatory sigh.

  “I warned you this was pointless, Cannac,” he said. “Humans spread like roaches. History proves war inevitable.”

  “Nothing is inevitable,” Cannac insisted. He rose to his full height. “I will go with these two to Londheim. I will share my wisdom with their ruler. I will give him two visions so he may choose. Let him see a world of peace and prosperity, with the dragon-sired trading and building a life as their neighbors. Let him see a land bathed in fire and his people slain by the thousands by our combined might. Only a fool would choose the death and suffering over happiness and equality.”

  Naiser frowned and shook his head. The rings in his ears rattled against one another.

  “We’re repeating all our old mistakes,” he told Cannac. “We should treat their presence like a full-scale invasion. Meet strength with strength. My lapinkin are eager to shed blood in the name of our freedom.”

  “We did that once,” the dyrandar said. “And we paid dearly for it.”

  The lapinkin had no retort. He glared at the two humans still remaining.

  “I’ll leave you to deal with them,” he said. A single leap, an accompanying blast of air, and he was gone. Cannac watched him go with an unreadable gaze. After a long moment he turned his attention back to the other three.

  “I must inform my people of my plans,” he said. “Follow me to my camp. It will be safer for you there than with the lapinkin, I fear.”

  Both Tommy and Jarel quickly nodded. Tesmarie fluttered to the giant’s side, and he dipped his head the slightest amount.

  “Yes, Tesmarie?” he asked. “I sense a question in you. Have no fear. Speak it.”

  The faery rubbed her elbows, her face etched with worry.

  “Is Naiser correct?” she asked. “Will the dragon-sired wage war on humans?”

  The wise dyrandar offered the faery his gentlest smile.

  “We fear only what history taught us time and time again. It is not we who war against humanity, onyx one. Humanity wars against us, and our very existence.”

  He lifted an arm as thick as a tree branch, his hand clenched into a fist. Tommy envisioned it carrying a sword or axe and shivered with unease.

  “This time,” Cannac said, “in this age that we have newly awakened, we will sacrifice everything to ensure we are not the ones who lose.”

  CHAPTER 6

  You still with me there, old man?” Lyssa asked, stirring Devin from his thoughts. The two walked a night patrol through the streets of Low Dock, and his mind had wandered off while staring at the sky. Focusing on anything other than Gerag’s disappearance had proven difficult.

  “Old man?” he asked. “Do you see any gray hairs? I think not.”

  She stood on her tiptoes and pushed his tricorn hat to one side to check.

  “None yet. Give it time. You have a habit of worrying yourself to death even in the best of circumstances.”

  Devin fixed his hat and jostled hers off in return.

  “You’re only a year younger than I. Does that make you an old woman?”

  “I like to think of age in terms of life lived. Given what w
e’ve all gone through since the black water came, I think we’re both older than dirt.”

  She bent at the waist to scoop up her fallen hat. He noticed she avoided using her arm injured a week prior.

  “Are you sure you’ll be fine for tonight?” he asked. “No lingering effects?”

  “None that I’m aware of,” Lyssa said. She pulled the hat low over her face and straightened its five crow feathers. “Though if magical healing has a catch, I’m sure I’ll be the unlucky sod to discover it.”

  “When did Adria heal your arm?” This was Lyssa’s first patrol since breaking it in a battle against two gargoyles. He’d only found out she’d be accompanying him minutes before his patrol started. She’d announced her health by using that previously injured arm to punch him square in the chest and then laugh.

  “It wasn’t your sister, actually,” she said. She squinted, something in the sky not seeming right to her, but after a moment it passed and she looked back. “Faithkeeper Gruneir did. He’s actually the seventh keeper I know of that’s started praying over the sick and injured at the Cathedral of the Sacred Mother. Have you not been by recently? People line up in droves at Alma’s Greeting each morning waiting for the doors to open. Novices let people in at sunup, and they’ll go until the entire courtyard is overflowing. It’s a madhouse, really.” Lyssa seemed to realize something and grunted. “That’s funny. I think your sister is the only one not healing the sick at the cathedral.”

  Not exactly a surprise to Devin. The whole ordeal with Janus, as well as whatever change had come over her from the otherworldly machinery buried beneath Londheim, had taken its toll. When she did heal others, she made sure she did so from her church in Low Dock.

  “Adria’s always been one to shy away from attention,” he said. “So long as she’s helping people, I think she’ll be happy.”

  The pair paused at a corner and carefully examined each direction. Gargoyles had long vanished from the rooftops, but they could always be hiding. They scanned the stars for the shadowy outlines of owls, and they searched the ground for a suspicious character that might be Janus in disguise. It was exhausting being so careful all the time. Devin longed for the peace and quiet of a campfire far from civilization. It wasn’t until his travels had ceased that he realized just how much he missed the days and nights journeying the wildlands of the west.