A Perjury of Owls

by Michael Angel

  Thanks for Reading!

  Hello, and I hope you enjoyed reading A Perjury of Owls. It was immense fun to speculate how a culture of tax-code writing owls might work, and if you’re like me, it was good to see Dayna get a little ahead in Andeluvia. Even if she did get the worst chair in the kingdom in the process. We’ll be seeing how ‘Dame Chrissie’ continues to fare in Book Five, Forgery of the Phoenix.

  I enjoy feedback, and you’re the one who keeps me coming back to the keyboard to turn inspiration and perspiration into stories.

  So can I ask you a favor once more?

  If you liked this book, I’d truly appreciate a review on Amazon. These days, readers like you have tremendous influence in making (or un-making) a book, even if it’s further along in a series.

  If you wish, you can also drop me a line at michaelangelwriter@gmail.com.

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  Thank you for reading A Perjury of Owls and for spending time with me and the newest addition to King Fitzwilliam’s royal court!

  Michael Angel

  And now, a sneak preview of

  the fifth fantasy novel in the

  ‘Fantasy & Forensics’ series,

  Forgery of the Phoenix,

  also by Michael Angel.

  C.S. Lewis continues to meet CSI…when Amazon Bestselling author Michael Angel presents the fifth installment in his series, ‘Fantasy & Forensics’.

  Andeluvia needs Dayna’s talents again. When a fiery phoenix appears in throne room, Dayna’s called to save the species before their flames gutter out. She must heed Albess Thea’s warnings of treachery even as she travels to the mysterious Vale of the Seraphine with her centaur, Fayleene, and griffin companions!

  And Dame Chrissie’s life just got even more complicated. Dayna finds out that she’s been joined to the pitiful knightly organization, the ‘Order of the Weasel.’ Worse, she’s now liable for their mountain of unpaid debts. To top it off, she’s blamed for setting knights against one another in combats to the death.

  A trail of dark magic leads her back to Los Angeles. Revelations about the role of the phoenix – as well as one of Dayna’s supposed allies – threatens to upend all of her assumptions about the Old War. And just as everything hits rock bottom, newly elected Police Chief Robert McClatchy begins his campaign to destroy all that Dayna holds dear!

  Dayna must triumph against her enemies in both worlds before the Creatures of the Dark strike another devastating blow!

  Chapter One

  Sometimes, what looks like a knight in shining armor turns out to be an idiot wrapped in aluminum foil.

  And that’s just what happened when I crossed the palace courtyard during one especially frigid morning. Actually, the knights in question were in fact wearing armor instead of tinfoil. The ‘idiot’ part still applied, though.

  My feet crunched through the ankle-deep snow that had fallen last night. I pulled my fur-trimmed cloak close about me as I made my way towards the entry leading back to my demesne. I found it hard to explain, but my heart glowed a little whenever I heard people referring to it as ‘The Dame’s Tower’.

  The clink of armor and the sound of booted feet on the stone path resolved itself into the form of a tall armored knight. Encountering a person dressed like this in Andeluvia was about as commonplace as bumping into someone wearing spandex in Los Angeles. But the fact that the man intentionally blocked the walkway made me stop in my tracks.

  This knight had curly locks of straw-blond hair and a decidedly fervent look in his dark brown eyes. I didn’t recognize him off the bat, but that didn’t surprise me. Like many of the knights at court, he wore a steel helm with a nose-guard and a long-sleeved hauberk made of chain mail. His sword hung in a scabbard at one hip, while the natty red-and-black cloak that draped his shoulders snapped in the cold breeze.

  “Dame Chrissie, I must speak with you!” he declared in a firm voice.

  “Okay,” I said, after a pause. “King Fitzwilliam’s holding court in another hour, maybe we can talk then?”

  “Unacceptable! I shall speak with you now!”

  With that, he drew his sword from his scabbard with the whispery sound of steel on leather. My hand reflexively slipped under my cloak and grasped the handle of my semiautomatic. I don’t normally act like a western gunfighter spoiling for a shoot-em-up. But Andeluvia could be a dicey place for someone who wasn’t prepared to defend herself.

  “I am Sir Strickland,” the knight announced grandly. He knelt while balancing the flat side of the sword across both of his palms. Then he presented the weapon to me as if preparing to propose. “I ask, nay, I demand that I be granted the opportunity to fight in the Spring Tournament as your favored champion.”

  Well, this was unexpected.

  “Uh…” I said intelligently, “I’m not sure how this is supposed to–”

  “You fobbing lout!” came a cry, and two more knights came jogging up, their chain mail clinking in time with their steps. The pair’s heavy breaths steamed in the frosty air. One was broader-chested than Sir Strickland and sported russet-colored mutton chop sideburns. The other was shorter, with a badly scarred chin that was only partly hidden by a hastily grown black goatee.

  “Who dares call me a lout?” Strickland shot back, though he did not rise from his kneeling position.

  Mutton chop glowered at him. “I, Sir Odell, dares! I dare whenever you leave your post to ‘make the royal squat’ at the privies, only to slip away dishonorably!”

  “Ignore these two miscreants, Dame Chrissie,” the black-goateed one said smoothly. He then drew his sword and also presented it as he knelt before me. “I am Sir Ghaznavi, and only I am worthy of fighting in the Spring Tournament as your favored champion.”

  “A man who serves her worst nemesis, Lord Behnaz? She would sooner kiss a pig’s tail!” Odell sneered. Then Odell drew his sword and knelt in turn. “A true Dame must have a knight unsullied by serving with her enemies. Allow me to fight in the Spring Tournament as your favored champion, and I shall smite all challengers.”

  My brain was still playing catch up. Most of the knights I’d dealt with up until now had treated me like something to be scraped off the bottom of their shoes. This sudden change of attitude caught me totally and utterly off balance.

  “Look,” I said quickly, “I’m not familiar with this whole ‘Spring Tournament’ thing. How about you let me jot your names down and I can decide later. Like in the…um…spring?”

  “And who might you be ‘smiting’?” Sir Ghaznavi growled, as he got up and gripped his sword menacingly. “Dame Chrissie should at least get someone who knows how to fight!”

  “You think either of you can lecture me about fighting?” Odell flared. “A pissant little man and an over-tall boy whose father bought him a toy sword?”

  Now both Odell and Strickland got up in turn. The tall blond knight then said, “Both of you should tuck tail and slink back to the post, before I am forced to deal you some hurt.”

  “You or your father, knave? That post is yours as well, or did that slip your mind?”

  I tried to interject one last time. “Guys, come on! Can’t we settle this like–”

  That was about as far as I got before the first clang of sword-on-sword started. I shook my head and gave the trio as wide a berth as I could as they began their combat. There was a crunch and a grunt of pain as someone landed a blow, but I didn’t bother turning to look. Instead, I made my way into the castle proper and let the door swing close behind me. The heavy wood muffled the sounds of battle from the courtyard, and that was about all the blessing I could hope for at this point.

  My eyes adjusted to the dim interior lighting as I made my way up two flights of stairs and finally a
rrived at my quarters. The shield-shaped picture of my recently selected heraldry adorned the door’s surface. A faint mineral-oil essence of the fresh paint tickled both my nose and tongue. The colors of burgundy, bright gold, dark green, and black still gleamed wetly from the surface. In fact, the artist had even given a three-dimensional curve to the gray tower that sat in the center of the design.

  Yet more changes greeted my eyes when I pushed through the door, all the while taking care not to touch the fresh paint. Similar four-toned shields had been painted on or sewn into the furniture, the window shutters, over the hearth, even on my seat cushion. I wasn’t sure what statement that last decoration was supposed to make, but it was still better than the chair I had at court, so I let it slide.

  The lengths of bright purple rope still hung from a hole cut into the ceiling so I could summon pages as needed. Only the ceiling holes had been joined by a much larger hole in the floor towards the back of the circular room. The castle masons were building a stone stairway up from below to link the two floors, so I could make use of both levels.

  The work was progressing slowly, but I expected that. I’d asked for work to be done for only one or two days per week, when I expected to be away from Andeluvia. Not only did this spare me the noise and dust, but it also kept a measure of privacy for me. Only my three closest friends, the small group of royal pages – and the King, who had the authority to go anywhere he wanted – were allowed access through the magical wards at any time.

  Speaking of my aforementioned closest friends, the two with the most fur and feathers lay out by the blazing hearth. They both had their eyes closed in expressions of serene satisfaction as they soaked up the warmth. But they still verbally sparred with each other as they did so.

  “Thou couldst pay off thy debts to me in food instead of gold,” Shaw was saying. “I am partial to raw meat, though I know thy species lacks the ability to cook with any real expertise.”

  “I still say that I never formally placed those bets with you,” Liam countered, though in a decidedly mellow manner. He cracked open an eye – his green one, as a matter of fact – and smiled as he caught sight of me. “It seems we’re in the presence of the newly raised.”

  “Newly raised by the King, and newly fought over,” I grumbled. “Liam, if you have a moment?”

  He got up on his long stag’s legs, sleepily flexing each in turn. “Surely, I always do for a friend. Even if they are a griffin.”

  “Especially if thy friend is a griffin,” Shaw put in, as he got up and out-flexed Liam by arching his back and stretching out his leonine forepaws like a giant golden-furred cat. “Spare a thought to thy other words, Dayna. Why art thou newly fought over?”

  “Three of Fitzwilliam’s finest asked to be my favored champion when they fight in the Spring Tournament,” I explained. “Apparently it’s some kind of big deal.”

  “Aye, ‘tis quite a big deal! Among thy species, fighting and winning as a favored champion puts a knight in the ideal position to court his lady.”

  “Wait, what?” I stared at the griffin incredulously as he turned to preen a stray wing feather. “I never asked for – I mean, I already have a boyfriend as it is. This is ridiculous!”

  “Thou speakest true. Drakes only fight for the right of being first in line.”

  Shaw had me there. Griffins not only looked like felines from below the head and wings, they also mated like them. A single female typically took multiple lovers, except in very special circumstances that still brought a twinge of pain for me to recall.

  “Well,” I admitted, “at least the two of us are in agreement over how ridiculous it is.”

  “Make that all of us,” Liam said. “Males fighting over a single female is unseemly! If you recall from your time among the Fayleene, males fight for dominance because there are multiple females at the core of the issue.”

  “Regardless,” I pressed on stubbornly as I sat at the table, “my point was that it was ridiculous to draw swords over someone’s favor at some future contest. They’re still at it!”

  “They are?”

  Liam and Shaw leapt eagerly to the window. The griffin tugged the shutters open so that he and the Fayleene Protector of the Forest could peer out. The clash of sword on sword still echoed up from the courtyard.

  “Now’s my chance to win back this supposed bet,” Liam chuckled. “The one with those tufts of red-brown facial fur looks tough.”

  “Nay, not tough enough! ‘Tis the black-haired one that I shall back.”

  “Then I shall pick the gold-haired fellow. Why would you pick the darker-haired one? The other is taller and has more reach.”

  “‘Tis not the size of the drake in the fight,” Shaw said sagely, “‘Tis the size of fight in the drake.”

  I sighed and put my head in my hands. Just another typical day in Andeluvia. One that was broken up by either evil magic, monster attack, court treachery, or swordplay.

  But it did beat sitting in the weekly staff meetings back in Los Angeles.

  Chapter Two

  Normally, I didn’t care in the slightest how my friends entertained themselves. If anything, I had to call the end to a late game night or try and smooth out any harsh feelings that might crop up, usually after a bout with Grimshaw winning most of the matches. The drake wasn’t only reflexively competitive, he was simply damned good at everything from board games to memory tests and physical contests.

  But I really did need to speak with the Protector of the Forest, so I decided to break up the fun.

  “Liam,” I called, “This is kind of important.”

  “Right,” Liam replied, as he reluctantly turned away from the window. Shaw nudged his shoulder with a wingtip.

  “Never fear,” the griffin assured him. “I shall keep thee apprised of the contest.”

  Liam joined me at the table. I noted yet again as he drew near that the table came to an even lower point on his chest. The former Fayleene princeling was still growing at close to an inch per month.

  I even noticed a couple of spots on his antlers that threatened to ‘bud’ into an additional pair of points. All this, without so much as a spot of acne, either. Being a super-enhanced magical deer apparently came without too many drawbacks.

  “First off,” I began, “I need to thank you for helping me get my firearm back.”

  I patted the holster at the side of my chest. While I’d been able to get to the spare in my garage, I was still more comfortable with the weapon that I’d lost outside the Sepulcher of the Eight Talons. A loose firearm could wreak havoc in a world like Andeluvia.

  Liam bowed his head. “Think nothing of it.”

  “The blond and dark-haired knights have turned on the one with the face tufts,” Shaw reported from the window. “‘Tis quite a beating that they are handing out!”

  “In that same fight,” I continued doggedly, “Xandra and her friends from the Roost of the Star Child managed to smash Wyeth’s replacement antler. It looked like crystal. Did Galen ever get a chance to run tests on it?”

  “Our wizard friend confirmed that it was magically charged crystal,” Liam said. “And to answer your next question, yes, I was able to get a trace of the magical ‘spoor’ off the remains.”

  A clang from far below. “Tuft-face is on his knees,” Shaw said excitedly. “Now back on his feet. Here comes the next blow… Ouch! It doth seem that facial hair provides but little cushioning. He’s out of the running and face-down in the snow.”

  “Any luck in tracking our rogue Fayleene?” I asked.

  “Ardan and my other rangers were able to follow, at least for a while,” Liam said. “Both his magic spoor and a blood trail.”

  “Aye, give it to him!” Shaw shouted from the window. “‘Twas a good block there, sirrah!”

  “Wyeth had been wounded by the Hoohan,” I mused. “I was hoping that he’d be hurt badly. But scalp wounds are minor, even if they bleed a lot.”

  “Evidently he was still healthy enough to trave
l at speed for a good quarter-league. After that…the trail just stopped. Vanished. Just like with the stone dragon, Sirrahon.”

  I stared at him. Liam’s guileless eyes met mine, and he nodded mutely.

  “Fie!” Shaw cried. “‘Tis a piece of knavery to hit a fellow below the codpiece!”

  “Grimshaw!” I said crossly, “Can we please hold off on the reportage for a moment?”

  “Oh, aye, the contest is over now.” The drake made his way to stand next to Liam. He looked smug as he spoke to his friend. “Thy champion fell in battle. Thou hast another debt to pay me now.”

  Liam made a delicate deer snort. “As Dayna would say, put it on my tab.”

  “We were discussing the whereabouts of the mad Fayleene prince,” I pointed out sternly. “He came within an ace of choking me to death and finishing off the Albess back at the entryway of the Noctua’s sepulcher.”

  “I too wish I knew thy foe’s location,” Shaw agreed. “Yet there is one fact that I feel sure of in mine own gut: that Wyeth is wherever Sirrahon has chosen to conceal his demesne.”

  That made me look up in surprise. “How do you figure that?”

  “As I have said before, even a simple warrior as I sees a hand of darkness moving the pieces on the board. Wyeth and Sirrahon’s disappearances doth strike me as similar. They were magically performed and very convenient. If I were to venture a guess, the two are employed by a third person, this ‘him’ thou hast spoken of. Perhaps he is a magical creature who can both rescue and heal others. We saw a demon, the one called ‘Rocky’ transport Wyeth before.”

  “And the healing?”

  “Having shared labor and combat with Protector Liam, I have learned two things. First, that Fayleene magic doth affect energy and living things. It hath little power over stone and crystal. Wyeth did not craft that replacement antler on his own. A different kind of being must have done it for him. A being with enough power to create magical artifacts could surely transport and heal Wyeth with relative ease.”