Sky Rider

by Terry Mancour

  “I would consider it a boon, my lady,” Nattia said, gratefully. “For I read books and scrolls the way other girls spin and sew, and I would rather pass an hour so enthralled than do nearly anything else,” she confessed. “I’ve read as many books as I’ve been able to,” she said, proudly. “On all manner of subjects. Falconry, of course,” she counted off. “But also agriculture, herbalism, history, law, science, fable, even a text on seamanship,” the Kasari girl boasted. “And I’ve never even seen the sea!”

  “That’s incredible!” Dara said, blinking. Why by the Flame in whose light she sat would anyone want to read . . . for fun? “Is that a Kasari rite, too?”

  “More of a custom,” Nattia explained. “The Kasari always encourage you to learn new things and add to your skills. We are awarded for such explorations. That’s how I found an affinity for falconry. But I . . . I tend to read more than is normal, even for my folk. Or is healthy, if you ask my parents,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  “Yes, parents are always . . . challenging,” Dara sighed, after glancing at the Flame. “Tell me, how would a Kasari family handle a situation like mine?” she asked, suddenly.

  The question took Nattia by surprise, and made her a bit uncomfortable. But after she mumbled a few words in her native language and wiped her lips with a napkin, she gave the question her full attention.

  “My lady, the Kasari are a very well-ordered people, compared to Narasi society,” she said, carefully. “In my land, the decision to build a mews would be made communally, with much discussion of the need, the cost, and the design, before it would be approved. And then the entire community would lend their aid until it was built, for drawing out construction, once the decision and plan has been made, is un-thrifty,” she said, as she thought about the situation. “If there was a conflict then it would be discussed and debated long before it came to this point. You Narasi do things . . .”

  “Sloppy?” Dara supplied. “I agree, even though I’m not quite Narasi. What if there was a conflict between a child and a parent?”

  “A council would be called to arbitrate the dispute,” Nattia explained.

  “Trial by combat?” Dara asked. She’d heard all sorts of tales about how the wild Wilderlands tribes did things.

  “Combat?” Nattia asked, scandalized. “We may be barbarians, according to your priests and lords, but the Kasari are not barbaric! No, the local council would name three unbiased jurists of sufficient rank to sit in impartial judgement. They would take a hearing of each side, individually, and then have them present again together, in the same room. The jurists would each ask questions of the parties, and see if each were adhering to our oath and law in the pursuit of their claim. They would then retire to make a decision by vote, after private counsel.”

  “That sounds . . . extremely orderly,” Dara conceded. “Better than taking this in front of Master Minalan. If I do that, I lose even if I win.”

  “How so, my lady?”

  “If I prevail in my suit, I have proven that I cannot lead and follow instructions without borrowing Minalan’s authority. And I have my family mad at me for the embarrassment of such an affair,” she admitted, guiltily. “If I lose, then I don’t have a proper mews when I need one the most, I am the subject of ridicule among my closest kin, and I’ve spent . . . a whole lot of silver on this adventure with nothing to show for it!”

  “There is surely a way between those alternatives,” Nattia said, hopefully.

  “If there is, I’ve yet to see it. Even from falcon back. So much for being the famous Hawkmaiden. I can fly, but I can’t build a mews.”

  Then she realized a way in which, perhaps, magic could aid her in her efforts once again.

  “That’s it!” Dara said, sitting straight up at the table. “I know how we can finish the mews!”

  “How, my lady?” Nattia asked. She’d been in the middle of sipping from her cup when Dara nearly shouted, and had nearly spit.

  “By playing to my strengths,” Dara sighed, envisioning the answer through her difficulties. Well, some of her difficulties. “I do have assets, after all, beyond mere coin. You finish up here, take care of the birds, and get a good night’s sleep,” she directed, as she gathered their notes.

  “Join me up at the mews in the morning. I’m going to take these plans into town. Master Andalnam should be about, and I’ll want to get him started on this equipment right away. And then I have a few more stops I need to make,” she said, her eyes narrowing as she made plans in her head. “If my father and uncle think they can keep me from doing this, they must have forgotten how determined a Little Bird can be!”

  ***

  It took Dara the rest of the day and far into the night to make arrangements. She’d sought out the enchanter Andalnam before anyone else. The Riverlands wizard had purchased a shop on the High Street from Banamor to bring him closer to the snowstone of the mountain and the customers who were flocking to Sevendor seeking magical wares. He had a second shop in Sendaria Port, Dara knew, where two of his four daughters, all magically Talented and all apprenticed to their father, sold the family’s famous enchantments.

  That’s where the mage had developed his specialty, Dara had learned from his chatty oldest daughter, Rael. Freshly a journeyman, Andalnam had helped a passing knight with his saddle on his way to a tournament, providing enchantments that helped secure him to the saddle and the saddle to horse well enough for him to take second place in the joust. He’d provided a wide variety of saddles, bridles, and other magically augmented gear to folk across the Bontal Vale ever since.

  But Master Andalnam’s business had become really prosperous once the Spellmonger had come to Sevendor. Now that the domain was the center of magic in the kingdom, the enchanter had a bounty of business, enough to occupy two shops and five enchanters. He’d even had assistants as well as apprentices to handle the workload.

  Yet he had time for her. The Hawkmaiden. Sometimes being the Spellmonger’s apprentice had advantages. The old mage was willing to see her at once. When she asked for his discretion, he was willing to keep the commission secret, once he realized what the purpose of the strange new saddle was.

  Andalnam looked over her drawings and specifications, and after praising their neatness and completeness, he quoted her a price for completing the task. Dara had no idea whether it was a good price or not – she’d never purchased a saddle, much less a magical saddle for a magical bird, but she knew Master Andalnam was well-respected in Sevendor as both an enchanter and an artisan, and he was a friend to her master. You didn’t get that kind of reputation by cheating your customers. Dara agreed to the steep price, and paid a few ounces of silver as a down payment before departing his shop.

  She was about to embark on the long walk to Brestal when she recalled that she owned a donkey, Lumpy. Indeed, the beast was stabled in town, since the castle stable was reserved for rouncies and warhorses, and Minalan owned a partial interest in one of the stables in Sevendor. Dara almost felt lordly when the stableboy brought the donkey to her and helped her mount the borrowed saddle.

  Ten minutes later, she felt much less lordly as the fat little donkey bounced her down the road to Brestal. Compared to riding on falcon back, it was punishing and undignified. But the little beast was grateful to be doing some actual work, Dara knew from her connection to her, and nearly galloped her stubby little legs all the way to the distant village.

  There she met with the men who manned Brestal’s abundant clay pit and described what she wanted them to do. They were confused, but a few pennies from the Hawkmaiden soothed them. The agreed to do what she bid and assured her it would be done at the specified time.

  Next, she rode all the way back down the Sevendor Road, past the new village of Boval and to Gurisham, where she found the villeins she’d hired to cut hazel strips for wattling the walls of the mews. They, too, were confused, but as her instructions meant less work for them, they happily agreed to follow them.

  That was the easy pa
rt, Dara reflected as she rode her fat little donkey back to the stable. With Lumpy’s help, she had spent half the time in travel than she would have afoot – otherwise, she would have not completed her errand until long after dark. It was merely dusk, now, according to the new temple bells ringing in the town. After saying goodbye to her beast and tipping the stable boy to curry her well, she realized that it was dinner time. Both the castle and Westwood Hall would be done serving long after she was able to return.

  So she decided to get dinner on her own, for a change. In a way, that was almost as heady an experience of freedom as riding a falcon. All her life, Dara had been dependent on other people for her meals and ate what was set before her. Now, as an apprentice – not to mention a noblewoman – she had the freedom and the coin to dine as she pleased. And there were options to choose from.

  Sevendor Town had grown suddenly and expansively, since the arrival of the Spellmonger. Where once there was a measly and destitute collection of huts, there was now a paved High Street, with shops, stalls, and homes on both sides, all the way from the gate to the newly-flagged market square. Construction was under way all the time, but there were several places where her coin could buy dinner.

  After considering and discarding the Alembic as too expensive for her purse, and the Sevendor Inn as too common – she could get porridge, bread and cheese for dinner at home – she settled on a new alehouse toward the market end of the street called the Blue Duck. It was a tiny place, with only twenty feet of frontage on the High Street, but the wide-open door between the two wide windows was warm and inviting, and the aromas coming from their kitchen were enticing.

  It was a common sort of place, where peddlers, pack traders and farmers from outlying estates could grab a cheap meal near the market.

  Even better, the dish for the evening meal was a mutton and mushroom pie, with plenty of leeks and carrots – a Tal Alon dish. She sat at one of the better boards and ordered a bowl, some bread, and a flagon of cider, when the tavernkeeper came by. She was half-way through it when she was unexpectedly joined by Sir Festaran.

  “A Hawkmaiden among the ducks,” he chuckled, as he looked around at the travelers and artisans who were filling the alehouse. “What business brings such a noble bird to such common meadows?”

  “I’m just tending to a few details about the construction of the mews,” she explained, suddenly self-conscious of how she was eating. And how she looked, after a long day traveling. And how she smelled, after spending so much time with a donkey. “Clay pits in Brestal, hazel wands from Gurisham – there’s a lot to this,” she explained.

  “I’ve heard a rumor that perhaps things have not gone as smoothly as they could,” Sir Festaran said, diplomatically, as he sat down across from her. “Some difficulty with the manor authorities,” he suggested.

  Dara felt her shoulders sag. “You heard? Does everyone know?”

  “It’s a castellan’s job to know what transpires in the domain with which he has been entrusted,” Sir Festaran told her. “Not to gossip. What seems to be the trouble?”

  “Nothing I wish to trouble the castellan with,” Dara said, sipping her cider. “I’ve had some challenges. With persistence and magic, I’m overcoming them.”

  “I have no doubt,” Festaran said, as he flagged down the proprietor and ordered an ale and a pie like Dara’s. “But such challenges present problems for the entire domain, if left unattended.”

  “There is nothing to attend!” Dara insisted. “I need no assistance with this matter.”

  “I didn’t suggest that you did,” he reminded her. “My concern is not for your mews, my lady, but for the stability of the domain.”

  “Has anyone complained to you?” she asked, suddenly irritated at the line of conversation. She didn’t think her uncle would raise an estate matter with the castle – it reflected poorly on a yeoman if he couldn’t control his own estate.

  “No,” Festaran assured her, as a pie and a mug were set in front of him. “No complaints. Officially,” he conceded. “Unofficially, it’s known among the market hens that you and your father are in a row over the mews.”

  “They should stop their clucking, lest a falcon hear them,” Dara frowned. The Westwoodmen hated market gossip. They participated in it, often enough, but they hated it. Too often, the Westwood had been the butt of the gossip.

  “That’s what I’m trying to do,” Festaran pointed out, before taking a healthy bite of the steaming pie. “By talking to one of the people involved. What’s going on, Dara?” he prodded.

  Dara set her knife down, as she allowed her emotions to rise. “The only thing that is happening is that my father and uncle are not convinced that the mews is an appropriate use of estate resources. So I’m overseeing the construction and financing it, myself,” she said, her fists clenching. “Even though it’s something Master Minalan wants.”

  “He did spend quite the sum on the birds, and for their transport with the falconer,” Festaran agreed.

  “Exactly!” Dara nodded, thankful that the assistant castellan saw her perspective.

  “Yet a yeoman is master of the manor, unless there’s a seated lord,” Festaran continued. “Noble you may be, but you have no charge over the Westwood. You should not be building there without his leave.”

  “Fes!” Dara protested, her jaw slack. “I thought you were on my side!”

  “A good castellan never takes a side,” Sir Festaran told her. “He seeks a solution. How are the new birds, by the way?” he asked conversationally, as if he hadn’t just argued in her father’s favor.

  “They are cramped, they are restless, and they require a real mews,” Dara reported, trying to bring her emotions under control around the young knight. “As do the falconers. My father’s solution to the problem was inadequate. I am finding an alternative,” she said, defiantly.

  “And defying the established authority of the estate in doing so,” Festaran pointed out. “It is a difficult situation,” he continued, before Dara could object. “But I’m certain some resolution can be found that can satisfy all parties. You know, I think the Tal Alon have some magic associated with pies,” he sighed, as he finished the last bite. “Of course, it could be the company. I rarely see you around the castle, any more.”

  “I’ve been busy with the mews,” she explained, irritated that the young knight would not take her side out of friendship. “With Master Minalan gone touring his estates and doing wizard’s business I’ve had time to attend to this business.”

  “I understand,” Festaran nodded. “I, myself, have to traverse Caolan’s Pass soon, to investigate some disturbing reports. Your brother has sent word that there may be bandits frequenting the roads of Sashtalia, waylaying merchants bound for Sevendor.”

  “I’ve heard the rumors. Isn’t Sashtalia enemy territory?” Dara asked, frowning.

  “There is a concord, since the Warbird’s fall,” Festaran reminded her. “My men and I should have safe passage through their lands, if we’re on an honest errand. We’re investigating bandits. No one will object to that.”

  “Good luck in your hunting, Sir Festaran,” Dara said coolly, raising her mug to the knight in a toast. No doubt he and his men would have a grand time, cantering up and down Sashtalia’s roads with their lances and warhorses . . . while any self-respecting bandit would be well-hidden from their investigations. She’d learned as much from Sir Ryff. “I assure you, by your return the matter of the mews in the Westwood will be settled.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The Request Of A Favor

  That night just after dusk, Dara carried Frightful back behind the castle, near to the Karshak encampment against the mountain. Few save the dwarves came here during the day, and none after dusk. She could sometimes hear their rough singing from her tower window.

  As a member of Minalan’s household, she had leave to go wherever she wished, as long as she didn’t violate her absent master’s wishes. As he couldn’t forbid something he didn’t know
about, she reasoned, this fell within the bounds.

  Quietly she set Frightful down on a big block of snowstone and took out the wand Ithalia gave her. In moments, Frightful was once again the largest bird in the world. Dara gave her a few moments to preen her gigantic feathers before proceeding.

  Getting into a comfortable position, Dara relaxed and invoked the spells that allowed her to slip behind Frightful’s eyes. In a moment the giant falcon took to the air and flew over the castle northward, with Dara accompanying and guiding her magically. In the space of a hundred heartbeats, Frightful landed near the wattlers in Gurisham and grasped the thick bundles of hazel wands and oaken staves they’d prepared in her huge talons, as if she was carrying a rabbit. A few moments later, Dara directed her to drop the bundles on the clearing next to the framework of the mews.

  Though it was getting dark, Frightful’s eyes were still sharp, and she had no problem flying all the way to Brestal’s clay pits. Picking up the burlap-wrapped bundles was more of a burden, and she had to make a total of four trips betwixt Brestal and the Westwood . . . but in doing so she’d managed to bring half a wagonload of high-quality clay to the construction site by the time it was too dark to fly.

  Frightful was tired when she finally landed again at the snowstone block, but she was also exhilarated. She felt as if she’d proven herself, in her larger form. The falcon was also ravenous, when she was transformed back to her original size. As a reward, she fed the hungry bird almost half of a lamb’s liver she’d gotten from the castle kitchen. An entirely successful mission, Dara decided that night as she drifted off to sleep.

  The next morning the wattlers arrived at the site a few hours after dawn, amazed that their materials were already there, followed by the Malkas Alon carpenters, who would begin work on the second story. After that, the dwarves would just have the rafters to build before their part in the construction was complete. Dara elected to leave Frightful tacked out on the knob all day, after her night’s exertions. Besides, she had too much to do to keep an eye on the bird.