Ravencaller

by David Dalglish

  “All right,” she said. “I’m here. Let us talk, starting with who you are.”

  Sweat trickled down Dierk’s neck and back. An immense need to confess everything constricted his throat. He wanted to tell her how he’d dreamt of her performing miracles every night since meeting her. He wanted to tell her how her dark hair was like obsidian silk, her pale skin was as pure as the stars, and that no one else in all the Cradle felt such intense love as he did toward her.

  “Can you take off your mask?” he asked instead.

  “It stays on,” she said. “Answer my question.”

  “My name, I’m, my name is Dierk. Dierk Becher. I’m the son of the Mayor.”

  Adria tilted her head to the side. Not much, just a slight shift, but the movement burned into his memory, just like everything else she did.

  “That’s… unexpected,” she said. “Why are you here? For that matter, how are you here? Low Dock’s streets are certainly not safe.”

  Dierk looked behind him, but just like the last time he spoke with Adria, Vaesalaum had abandoned him to his own devices. Shit. He was hoping to reveal the nisse’s presence to help explain why he could see the shining light of her soul, and why he was so perfect a complement to her divine radiance.

  “I had help,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve come to warn you. You’re in danger.”

  “Look around, Dierk. Of course I’m in danger.”

  Fuck, shit, damn it, why was he being so stupid? It was so hard to think in her presence. Her beauty shriveled him like a grape beneath a hot summer sun. His heart pounded in his chest like a startled rabbit.

  “You don’t understand,” he said. “There’s a meeting, with Ravencallers, and the leader of the dragon-sired. They’re going to attack in three days. They—they—they want to hang you from your church’s steeple.”

  That got her attention. Her spine straightened, and he heard her suck in a harsh breath.

  “Is that so? Let them try. I hold no fear of blasphemers and midnight creatures.”

  Of course she wasn’t scared, she was a living wonder, but he had to convince her. That’s why he was here!

  “They’re strong,” he insisted. “Maybe not as strong as you, but they’re so many, and they’ll have help. I came here to tell you that you have to leave now, while you still can!”

  “And abandon the people under my care?”

  Dierk hadn’t thought of that. Of course she wouldn’t turn tail and run when she had others to protect.

  “Bring them with you,” he said lamely, realizing even as the words left his lips how ridiculous an idea it was. If the people inside could safely leave, they most certainly would have already.

  “Leaving now only endangers them further,” she said. “My church has been granted sanctuary, and until they revoke it, I will trust these creatures to hold to their word.”

  She’d been granted sanctuary? By whom? Certainly not Logarius, for he wanted her dead. Dierk didn’t understand, and as he pondered, he realized she was still staring at him in silence.

  “Are—are you sure you won’t remove your mask?” he blurted out. It felt a cruel fate to have his heart so smitten and yet that Mindkeeper mask deny him the sight of her cheeks, her nose, her precious lips.

  “Yes, I am sure,” she said. “Thank you for your warning. It was very brave of you to come here to share that. Now please forgive me, but I have faithful to attend.”

  Panic gave him the strength his adoration could not. He grabbed her hand in his. Her fingers were cold, her bones thinner than he’d anticipated. His mind wanted to linger on every single facet of her touch, but he could not. There was no time.

  “Listen, I’ve told my father about the attack,” he said. “Soldiers and guards will invade Belvua to protect you. Is your church truly worth this bloodshed?”

  Her eyes would not leave his. They were unflinching, as powerful and vibrant as the gleaming diamond of her soul. At last he let go. The moment their fingers lost contact, he felt an immense desire fill his chest to confess.

  I can see your soul, he’d tell her. No one else in Londheim understands how special you are like I do. Your power, my station, our shared wisdom… we’re perfect for one another, Adria! Can’t you see that? Perfect!

  “Sorry,” he said instead. “I needed you to listen.”

  “It’s fine,” she said. Still her eyes held him prisoner. “And yes, this church, and the tired and frightened people within, are absolutely worth dying for. Tell your father we await his soldiers to come escort these people safely out of Low Dock.”

  “Belvua,” Dierk said. “Low Dock, it’s called Belvua now.”

  “Let the monsters rename it whatever they want,” Adria said. “This is Low Dock, this church is my home, and I’ll turn to ash anyone who tries to tear either from my arms.”

  Goddesses and dragons help him, she was so proud, so strong. He felt like a blade of grass before a towering oak. No wonder Vaesalaum had fled. Dierk doubted the nisse could withstand such a stare.

  “I understand,” Dierk said. “Stay safe, all right? You, you’re powerful. I know that, I can see that. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

  Dierk fled Belvua for home, his heart aflutter. Despite his awkwardness, she’d seen his bravery and thanked him for it. One memory in particular played on a permanent loop in his mind, exciting his every nerve and flooding blood down into his crotch.

  When he’d taken her hand in his, their fingers intertwining, their bare skin touching bare skin, she had not pulled away.

  CHAPTER 16

  Tommy focused his attention on the flamestone as the words of an ice spell echoed in his mind. It lay on the floor in the corner of the Wise tower’s cellar, while he himself knelt behind an overturned table for cover. He might have made seven such flamestones successfully, but he was messing with time-delayed arcane magic. Precaution, however flimsy, felt wise.

  “Aethos glaeis,” he whispered. “Chyron tryga. Aethos Chyron, Chyron Aethos…”

  He felt the magic pour out of him, followed by a visual representation in the form of blue mist that crossed the dark cellar and swirled into the flamestone, darkening it the same color. Tommy wiped sweat off his brow and sighed with relief.

  “One of these days I’m going to blow myself up doing this,” he said. “I hope you appreciate these, Devin.”

  Footsteps alerted him to Malik’s arrival. He turned to see his friend holding back a nervous frown.

  “We finally received word from the Overseer,” Malik said. “They’re ready to meet Cannac.”

  “That’s great,” Tommy said. He pocketed his newly created spellstone, which was icy to the touch. “Why such a glum face?”

  “Has it occurred to you that this meeting may go poorly?”

  Tommy smacked Malik across the shoulder as he passed him up the stairs.

  “You should try optimism sometime. It adds years to your life.”

  “Or ends it prematurely.”

  Cannac sat by the fireplace, slowly leafing through one of many books the two had brought the dyrandar to occupy his time. That the fireplace was twice the size it’d been a week ago should have bothered Tommy, but such things were commonplace to him now. Living with Cannac was like living inside a hazy dream.

  “You need not tell me,” Cannac said as he closed his book. “It is written as plain on your faces as it is on your minds. I am to meet with someone important?”

  “Royal Overseer Downing, to be precise,” Malik said.

  “The man you say rules the western lands of Orismund?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Tommy cinched his thick robe tighter about himself and grabbed a scarf and hat to help with the cold.

  “Let’s explain on the way,” he said. “But first… um. Maybe we should do something about… you.”

  Cannac sighed with a great huff through his wide deer nose.

  “You wish me to disguise myself on the journey there.”

  Tommy doubted any
thought-reading powers were needed for that observation.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Exactly that. Can you?”

  Cannac stood to his full height. Light flickered in the center of his horns.

  “I come to establish peace and friendship,” he said. “It is poor diplomacy that begins with deception and my existence hidden from the populace.”

  “It’s for your own safety, really,” Malik insisted. “After what’s happened in Low Dock, I’m not sure how the general populace will react to seeing you in the streets.”

  “I am not afraid of the populace,” the dyrandar said as his form began to shrink. “I am afraid of the rulers who guide and enable their fear.”

  The three exited the tower, with Cannac appearing nothing more than a tall man in a shoddy, old-fashioned suit.

  “This overseer, what is he like?” Cannac asked as they walked.

  “I’ve spoken with him a few times,” Malik said. “He is a good man, a rarity for a person in power. I believe he will hear whatever you wish to say with an open mind.”

  “And how did a good man come to such a position of power?”

  “Election,” Tommy said. “The result of the bicentennial celebration of West Orismund’s founding. Normally the Royal Overseer was just that, someone stationed in Londheim to oversee the west chosen by the Queen. A push for increased autonomy, coupled with a series of scandals by overseers who were, well, just terrible, led to an election every ten years. So long as you own land, you get to have your say.”

  “And what of those without land bearing their name?”

  “Those without an ownership of land do not deserve a say in what is done with that land,” Malik said. “It is a simple concept, really.”

  “Perhaps, if the decisions of the Royal Overseer affect only those who own land. Is that the case?”

  Malik looked upset and quickly deflected. “Is it any worse than a King chosen by birth?” he argued. “At least we have a say in who holds power over us, unlike those who live in East Orismund. Yes, the Queen or King can overrule our Overseer, but given the significant distance between us, it happens rarely.”

  Tommy winced. Malik was criticizing the concept of royalty to an actual king.

  “I wonder what your Goddesses think of this form of rule,” Cannac said, thankfully showing no sign of insult. “They wished for the Keeping Church to lord over your race in both heart and law.”

  “Trust me,” Malik said. “The church still holds plenty sway on both.”

  Highlighting that point, the three passed through a gate into Church District, where the overseer’s mansion was also located. It was a far cry from the majestic castle in Oris, or even the sprawling estate located in Nicus for South Orismund’s Royal Overseer, but that was just fine with Tommy. He personally preferred those who ruled in power to do so in the most modest of environs.

  Soldiers stood guard at the tall iron fence that surrounded the mansion. A massive oval stretch of grass surrounding the building marked it as unique in a city largely built of stone towers and cobbled roads. A line of traders, farmers, bankers, guild leaders, and the like stretched over one hundred people long from the mansion’s front doors, across the stone path, and out the opened gate. The three joined the tail end, much to Tommy’s disapproval.

  “We were explicitly invited,” he grumbled as he stomped back and forth, trying to generate some acceptable measure of warmth underneath his robe. “That we should wait in line feels preposterous.”

  A husband and wife wrapped in thick furs ahead of them glanced over their shoulders, the woman looking amused, the man annoyed.

  “You’ve not experienced much of Londheim politics,” Malik said, lowering his voice. “Half the people ahead of us have also been invited.”

  “And yet I am a king,” Cannac said. “Are they?”

  “They don’t know that.”

  The dyrandar shook his head, quickly fed up with the glacial progress of the line.

  “Then I will show them.”

  His disguise fell away from his body like a discarded cloth, revealing his enormous frame, his curled antlers, and his long, flowing robes. The first to notice was the couple ahead of them, who caught sight of Cannac from the corner of their eye, turned, and screamed.

  “Oh no,” Tommy said, and he hunched his head and shoulders and wished to disappear. Soldiers came running by the dozens, shouting a confusing mix of orders. Cannac remained perfectly still, waiting patiently for those in line to scatter and the soldiers to fully surround them with weapons drawn. The armed men looked like children compared to his enormous frame.

  “I am King Cannac of the dyrandar,” he said. His voice traveled like an avalanche. “Your Royal Overseer has invited me, and I come to speak matters of peace. Will you take me to him?”

  Several soldiers shared glances, and one in charge shouted repeatedly for all three to lie upon the ground. Cannac instead crossed his arms and waited. Tommy wished he could be so calm. He was half convinced he was about to die upon the blade of some frightened and confused soldier. Before the situation could escalate further, an older man came running out the front doors of the mansion, his white hair blowing in the wind and his arms flapping up and down like he were attempting to become airborne.

  “Weapons down, all of you, weapons down! He is our guest!”

  “Thank the Sisters,” Malik muttered. “Someone with a head on their shoulders.”

  The man may have looked old, but he moved with the energy of a spry youth as he pushed soldiers aside to greet Cannac.

  “Hello,” he said, first offering his hand in greeting and then changing his mind to bow instead. “I am Scotti Tharsus, Albert’s advisor.”

  “Albert Downing, the Royal Overseer?” Cannac asked.

  “Yes, that Albert. Might you please follow me? We’ve been watching for your arrival, and we did not expect you’d look, uh, how you looked when you first arrived.”

  “It is no matter. Lead the way, Advisor. We have much to discuss.”

  Scotti straightened the jacket of his suit and wiped a hand through his hair, accomplishing nothing. He turned his attention momentarily to Malik and Tommy.

  “And you two, please come as well,” he said. “An opinion from Londheim’s Wise would be much appreciated.”

  The mansion was divided into two wings. The left wing was where servants worked and Albert’s family lived, and it housed the bedrooms, kitchens, and servant quarters. The right wing was dedicated to politics. Scotti led them through multiple lounging rooms, and when Tommy glanced through open doorways, he saw tables full of documents, fireplaces surrounded by chairs, and bookshelves stacked with yellowing paper filed away with care that made Malik look sloppy.

  They also passed dozens of men and women waiting their turn to speak with the Royal Overseer. Tommy did his best not to laugh at their bug-eyed stares.

  There seemed nothing special about the final lounge they entered other than that Albert Downing stood waiting by its fireplace, his hands crossed behind his back and his tan suit freshly pressed. Two soldiers stood by the door, loaded rifles in hand. Three others waited along with Albert. One was a dark-haired man with a jaw strong enough to rival Malik’s, his apparent son sitting beside him on the couch. On the other couch, Tommy recognized the overseer’s cousin, Jarel, looking as annoying and bothered as ever.

  “Royal Overseer, Mayor,” Scotti said, splitting his attention between Albert and the man on the couch, “May I present King Cannac, the ruler of the dyrandar.”

  “The dyrandar?” asked Mayor Soren. “Who are they? Creatures like you, or is it a kingdom we must now acknowledge?”

  A look of annoyance flashed over Albert’s face toward Soren, clearly unhappy that he’d been denied speaking first. Tommy quickly found a wall to support with his back, glad to be away from the conversation. The others were much too focused on Cannac to notice him.

  “The dyrandar are my people,” Cannac said. “Beloved firstborn of the dragon, Gloam. I w
ould speak on important matters, if you would deign to listen.”

  “We have much to discuss, indeed,” Albert said. “Perhaps you might start with an explanation as to what happened in the Low Dock district, or what your kind are now calling Belvua.”

  Cannac’s ears lowered, a trait Tommy had learned meant the dyrandar was upset.

  “And what might I offer that you do not already know?”

  “A list of demands might be a good start,” Soren said. “So far we’re yet to receive any.”

  “Demands.” Cannac crossed his arms. His entire demeanor hardened. “You think I speak for the dragon-sired who attacked your city?”

  “Is that not what you’re here for?” Albert asked.

  The dyrandar stood to his full height. His antlers scraped the ceiling.

  “I am King of my people, and I speak for a growing coalition. The dyrandar, the lapinkin, the viridi, and the winged all accept my representation. We seek the peaceful creation of nations, Overseer. I have no interest in an insignificant portion of this city. The Forgotten Children are their own beast, and they neither accept my rule nor listen to my wisdom. Do not put their sins against you upon my head.”

  All humans there, even Tommy, trembled at the sudden force of his voice.

  “I told you, that’s what he showed me,” Jarel piped up for the first time when the silence dragged uncomfortably. “They’re building an army. I bet Low Dock is just the beginning.”

  “That’s not true,” Tommy interjected. “Cannac, he’s good, he’s kind, he’s—”

  “Enough.” The dyrandar held a hand before Tommy, silencing him. Golden light grew between his antlers. “I am tired of being interrupted, and tired of others interrupting the Royal Overseer. Let us truly speak.”

  The gold light washed over the entire room like a sunset. The two soldiers lifted their rifles, but they suddenly seemed confused as to how to use them. Tommy tried to speak, but his tongue felt made of lead.

  Another wave of gold and the walls of the room fell away, revealing an expansive darkness stretching to infinity. Cannac and Albert stood in its focal point, and their thoughts washed over Tommy clear as day.