Sky Rider

by Terry Mancour

  “We took him out to the high meadows for a flight yesterday,” the apprentice acknowledged, “but he has yet to hunt in these mountains.”

  “It’s best for a bird to learn the landscape around a new mews,” Master Arcor explained as he returned Majesty to his perch. “It reduces the chance that he will fly off.”

  “I’d never thought of that,” Dara admitted. “How many birds did you bring from the Wilderlands?”

  “More than twenty, though we lost two along the way, my lady,” Arcor said, sadly. “But these are the finest hunters from Baron Edmarin’s mews,” he said, proudly, as he gestured to the long line of occupied perches. “He purchased scores from destitute Wilderlords as they fled the goblin invasion. I, myself, was Baron Alvadine’s chief falconer for nearly five years, before the troubles. In Vorone, I was accounted among the better men in the trade, my lady.” He wasn’t boasting as much as presenting his credentials, Dara realized. “I was surprised when I found employ with the Magelord. Tell me, is the Spellmonger an avid hawker?”

  “Not particularly,” Dara chuckled. “In fact, I’ve never seen him hawking.”

  That seemed to surprise Arcor. “I had the impression that a man who invests so heavily in hawks would be passionate for the sport,” he said, troubled.

  “The motives of wizards are oft obscure,” Dara said, diplomatically. She didn’t really want to admit that Minalan likely purchased the birds – and hired the two falconers – on a whim as a present to her. “But he has taken an interest, since I became his apprentice.” Dara felt that was the best way to put it.

  It did little to ease the falconer’s mind. Or that of his apprentice.

  “So, just what will our duties be, my lady?” the girl asked, hesitantly.

  That was a good question. Dara had a sinking feeling that if she presented it to her master, the wizard would likely tell her that it was up to her. And she had very little idea what she was doing. About anything.

  “I suppose you will report directly to me,” she decided. “I’m the closest thing to a falconer the domain has. If you can call someone with one falcon a falconer.”

  “Your father told us of how you took the Silver Head fledgling,” Master Arcor said, approvingly. “Dangerous work for one who isn’t being supervised.”

  “If I’d been supervised, I never would have gotten away with it,” Dara admitted. “You’ve met Frightful?”

  “Aye,” the falconer nodded. “A right pretty little bird,” he praised. “You’ve tended her well.”

  Dara tried not to bristle at Frightful being called “little,” because compared to the big Minden’s raptors the falconers were used to working with, she was. Dara was grateful to hear from a professional that her bird was in good health, though. She did her best, but apart from her uncle’s brief experience as a youth, and a few casual conversations with other falconers, she really relied more on her bond with Frightful than craft to know how to take care of her.

  “I . . . I understand this might seem an odd posting, Master Arcor,” Dara sighed. “But I promise you that it is a secure one. There are plans for these birds, plans beyond mere hunting parties. But for now, our greatest priority is to establish a working mews. This shed, I take it, is a poor accommodation.”

  Dara saw at once that she had addressed the man’s deepest concern. The falconer cleared his throat and began speaking in his Wilderlands brawl in an apologetic tone.

  “I hate to complain of such things on such short acquaintance, my lady, but it is entirely inadequate, apart from keeping the rain off the birds. It’s too small. There is no ventilation. There is no place to weather the birds. There is no proper harness room. There are no proper perches. There . . . there are many problems. I fear it will cost greatly to repair them,” he warned.

  “Well, tell me what you’d like a mews to be,” Dara suggested. “I’ll have it done.”

  The falconer looked skeptical. “My lady, while I appreciate your enthusiasm, such a structure takes time and money – a lot of money – to build.”

  “I’m a wizard,” Dara boasted, feeling a little like her master as she said it. “Let me worry about that. You just tell me what you need. I’ll see it gets done.” Though she had no idea how to see it done, she said it with such confidence that Master Arcor was convinced.

  For the next two hours the falconer described what he needed in great detail, and Dara made a point of asking questions about the elements she was uncertain of. She learned more about falconry in those two hours than she’d known in her life. Master Arcor lectured about the need for cleanliness, good ventilation, and dark, quiet pens with a variety of perches for the individual birds; how to care for a bird during moulting and nesting; of having a secure yard in which to expose the birds to the weather, yet protect them from opportunistic predators.

  It was a lot to take in. Dara was fascinated, though, and eagerly seized every new bit of falconry lore like a starving girl. There was a lot of lore to falconry, she realized, beyond simple care and feeding of the birds. Even more than hunting. After two hours she had a much better idea of what she needed in the way of a mews, and a far greater appreciation in her ignorance of falconry. But if she was to see these birds transformed into magnificent steeds in the sky, she needed to know everything about falconry. And that began with a comfortable, proper mews to start from.

  “The important thing is that this is built before next winter,” Master Arcor concluded. “If we cannot properly shelter the birds, as many as half might die, even in these mild climes,” he warned. “Even more, if disease takes hold. This . . . shed is not clean enough, nor properly floored for falconry. We must have a real mews by next winter, or there may be no reason to, by next spring.”

  Her head buzzing with the details of the conversation, Dara thanked Master Arcor and his apprentice and immediately got to work. She borrowed a couple of sheets of parchment from the manor’s buttery along with a charcoal pencil. Then she sat in front of the Flame in the hall and sketched out a design for a building based on their discussion.

  Dara was gratified at how simple the process was, compared to the thaumaturgy she was learning. Simply turning an idea into a picture was easy, compared to de-constructing meaning and intent of a desire before re-constructing it thaumaturgically into a magical spell. Surprisingly, some of the discussions she’d had with Master Guri in Carneduin about architecture guided her hand as she drew. It also helped that she had a neat hand, when it came to writing and drawing, now. Master Minalan frequently tasked her with duties that took advantage of that skill.

  By the time the afternoon waned and the estate’s workers began returning to the manor hall for the evening meal, Dara had six neat sheets of parchment filled with as complete a design of the mews as she could manage.

  It was a long, low hall, narrow but tall, with several bays for particular aspects of falconry, some she had no idea they’d need at all. At one end she’d added a second story chamber with a large room for the Master Falconer and two smaller ones for his apprentice and their gear, along with a long weathering pen on the rooftop. She even sketched in a small kitchen building, near to the main hall.

  She had an idea for a site, too, based on her knowledge of the Westwood from the air: the nearly-barren shoulder of rock that jutted out into the manor from the south side of Rundeval, above where the kennels were. Once dark gray, the cliff was now blindingly white snowstone, like much of the Westwood. It was also nearly four acres wide, at the summit, and near to the manor hall. Nor was it particularly easy to reach, requiring a hike up a steep trail. The knob wasn’t much use for anything but drying green hides in the summer.

  With a little magic, a little money and some hard work, Dara reasoned, the site would allow her and her birds to train without intruding on (or being intruded upon) by the rest of the estate. There were meadows on the south face of Rundeval nearby, places where the birds could hunt or be hacked outdoors, and once the long, narrow path up to the rock was widened and s
trengthened for the mews, the remainder of the hill might have other uses, she thought. It was a productive use of a previously unuseful spot.

  At least, that’s how she explained it to her father and uncle, when they returned from the day’s work before supper.

  They both looked tired after spending all day inspecting the fields and nearby woods as various work crews set to their tasks of planting, cutting, gathering, or repairing. It was springtime, after all, the time of year when the productivity of the coming year was decided. Since Master Minalan had taken charge of Sevendor, the estate’s industry had increased dramatically, and that required a lot of supervision.

  Once, her eldest brother and her Uncle Keram would have accompanied Kamen on his rounds, but Kyre and a dozen other lads from the Westwood were on duty at Caolan’s Pass, now, under her Uncle Keram the Crafty’s guidance, guarding the less-used approach to Sevendor from Sashtalia and collecting tolls from those who used it. Her uncle Kamal was taking up some of the slack and helping her father out in his place. She waited until both had washed their hands and faces and dried them before the Flame before she presented her proposal.

  “Dara,” her father said, hesitantly, as he reviewed her detailed drawings after her proposal. “I appreciate how hard you have worked, but this is a major construction project,” he objected, shaking his head. “Just repairing and expanding the trail up to the knob would take a full work crew weeks to accomplish,” he observed.

  “And once you were able to get a wain up that hill,” her uncle Kamal pointed out, unhelpfully, “it would still take nearly fifty wagonloads of wood and materials to build it. That seems like a lot of trouble just for a pretty view,” he said, condescendingly.

  “The shed they are in should be sufficient, for now,” her father decided, dropping the main drawing on the table. “They may continue to stay in that guest-house, as well. Later this summer we can build them something in the lower gardens,” he suggested, reasonably. “That will be much easier to build on. But not this,” he said, dismissing his daughter’s proposal. “I’m afraid this is far too grand a place. And far too costly.” Her uncle nodded in agreement.

  “We have higher priorities than your hobby at the moment, Little Bird,” Kamal said, kindly. “But you did good work!” he praised.

  Dara was speechless, for a moment. Though she hadn’t arranged for Master Arcor and his assistant to come to Sevendor with all those birds, Master Minalan had. The Spellmonger had paid good money for them to make the dangerous journey. It was embarrassing enough that Sevendor wasn’t prepared for them, but to have her father and uncle dismiss a very reasonable plan to do so was unbearable.

  They are still treating me like a little girl! she realized, stunned. Their reaction to her proposal was telling, she knew. Her father and uncle had entertained it as an indulgence in her ‘hobby’, she realized not as a legitimate, reasonable request. They still thought of her as the little girl who’d gone off to live in the castle, last year, even after accompanying her into battle. And they were not extending her the respect she should command, in this situation.

  It was a difficult thing for Dara to manage – one part of her wanted to meekly accept her father’s assessment, collect her notes, and go back to explain to Master Arcor why his accommodations would not be changing. That seemed preferable to the alternative.

  But Dara had changed, since she’d moved into the castle and served the Spellmonger, full time. She’d not only been to battle, which her father and uncle should remember well, as they were also there – but she’d been to Castabriel, the capital of the Kingdom, and as far away as the amazing vale of Carneduin in the Kulines. She may just be a wizard’s apprentice, but she was the Spellmonger’s apprentice, and she was pursuing his policies in making this proposal. The fact that they did not realize that was galling.

  “Excuse me, Father,” she began, finding her words again after taking a deep breath. “I don’t think you quite understood me. This was not actually a request,” she said, as diplomatically as she could.

  “What?” her father asked, his eyebrows rising in surprise. Her uncle Kamal looked equally startled.

  “This proposal was not . . . optional,” she began. “I need a proper mews for those birds and Master Arcor. That knob isn’t doing anything more useful. I need to put it there,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Not out in the back garden, in the middle of all sorts of noise and bother. I want the mews on the knob over the kennels. This mews,” she emphasized, shaking the parchment in her hand.

  Her father looked pained, and her uncle looked amused. “Dara, you have to understand, a project that big would require dozens of men, working hundreds of hours to complete.”

  “I’m entirely aware of that,” Dara agreed, steadily.

  “I’d have to take people off of other work – work that’s valuable to the estate,” Kaman explained, carefully. And a little condescendingly, Dara realized. “We have a lot going on, right now, and this is a perfect time for us to make some improvements on the estate that could really benefit us all, in the future.”

  “I’m aware of that, too,” Dara nodded, evenly.

  “And then there is the cost of paying and feeding all those men,” he continued, as if she were still a child. “A project that size I would have to devote a lot of attention to. And for what?” he asked, with a snort. “It’s an over-large chicken coop, nothing more, and we can’t even eat the eggs or the birds. It would be one thing if the Magelord went in for hawks, the way some lords do,” he said, sympathetically. “But he doesn’t. I don’t know why he bought all those birds, but now we’re stuck with them. I’m not going to drop everything and devote the estate to some elaborate, expensive project that the Magelord isn’t even really interested in. I’m sorry, Dara.”

  Dara felt a heat wash over her that had nothing to do with the crackling Flame her little cousin Lanava was tending. She stood, but did not push away from the table. Instead she leaned forward, pushing her face within a handbreadth of her father’s.

  “Perhaps the Magelord does not go in for hawks, Yeoman Kamen,” she said, using his formal title as well as his name. “But the Hawkmaiden of Sevendor does. My lord has gifted me with a flight of hawks and a falconer. He has granted me right to build a mews anywhere I choose in the Westwood. I have made my choice. I selected a site that would not interfere with anyone else, that isn’t being used for anything else, and which is suited to my purposes.”

  Both her father and her uncle looked startled – and troubled.

  “Dara, be reasonable!” her uncle began. “I’m sure you think that we’re just being—”

  “You are being reluctant to even consider my proposal,” Dara interrupted, something she never thought she’d do to her favorite uncle. The slight was noticed.

  “Dara!” her father said, sharply, cutting his eyes to the ever-watchful Flame in the center of the hall. “Respect your elders!”

  “This is not merely a matter of respecting my elders, anymore, Father,” she said, angrily. “I am not speaking to you as your daughter, Dara. I am speaking to you as Lady Lenodara.”

  That was the first time she had ever used her rank in front of her father – against her father. She felt a deep sense of shame the moment she did it . . . but also a sense of excitement. Westwood children were always taught to be respectful of their elders, of course, but to disrespect one in front of the Flame was nearly as scandalous as telling a lie in its light.

  “Dara, the expense,” her uncle pleaded. “It will cost . . . hundreds of ounces of silver, to complete all this work!” he said, gesturing to her drawings.

  “Do I not have more than that, in the treasury I gave into your care, Father?” she asked.

  “Much more,” he conceded. “But Dara, that money is for your future!” he pleaded.

  “And what future would that be?” she demanded.

  “Someday you’re going to meet some nice boy,” her father reasoned. “And when you get married, some of that mone
y can act as your dowry. You can buy a nice farm and set you up—”

  “My what?” Dara nearly screeched.

  “Your dowry,” her uncle Kamal continued, partially to distract Dara’s ire from her father. “It’s to look after your future,” he tried to explain.

  “Gentlemen, my future is as a falconer and a wizard,” she said icily. “Not as a farmer’s wife. I don’t know where you got the idea that I would wake up one day and trade all of my hard work and achievement for the joy of spinning and cooking, but I assure you that is unlikely to happen. Nor is it for you to decide. That money is mine,” she insisted, “given to you in trust. And mine to spend as I choose.”

  “You are not being reasonable, Dara,” her father warned, pushing back a little. “This project will disrupt the work of the estate, even if you do pay for it.”

  “I am not as concerned with disrupting the estate as I am seeing my wishes done!” Dara snarled. “Not just mine, but the Magelord’s, too!”

  “Master Minalan can be reasoned with,” her father dismissed, sternly. “The nobility always give us impossible demands. That doesn’t mean we do them.”

  “As I am part of the nobility, now, I will shoulder that burden,” she said, angrily. “And if you do not do as I request, then I will have no recourse but to bring it to the attention of my liege,” she added, darkly. “He will probably ask you these very same questions. I have provided plans and funds along with my very reasonable request, enough funds to see the job complete. Soon,” she added. “He will want to know why you resist.”

  “Because my people have better things to do than to cater to the whims of a wizard’s apprentice who’s head has gotten too big for her shoulders!” Kamen exploded.

  “I will return in three days, Yeoman,” she said, as she gathered up her notes and handed them to her father. “I expect to see work begun on the path,” she said, angrily. “And I expect to see construction begun before Midsummer.”