The Fall of Belvedere

by B Cameron Lee

  The route they were following was old and the way overgrown and in parts difficult to see. Since Empress Martine had carved out the Dominion, subjugating Tarkent and the Broken Lands in the process, there was little or no communication or trade between the two lands as there was of old. The Way between the Broken Lands and Tarkent had fallen into disuse.

  Arwhon was inquisitive, curious to glean and retain all the information he could. After the evening meal he sought out Chalc, always a reliable source.

  “What is this road Chalc, just a shortcut between Tarkent and The Broken Lands? It seems very old, I’ve noticed some very weathered construction here and there and the resting spots seem to be well placed.”

  Chalc stirred the fire with a stick, looking into the flames. Not good for night vision but excellent for thought.

  “Once this road was a trade route from Cheshwon. It ran through Tarkent and ended at Crossroads. Goods were brought to sell and other wares taken back. Cheshwon prizes steel from Mehgrin’s Wall and some of the colourful leatherwork the Barsoomi make. They also like the wool from the sheep up the Grand Valley but all that changed during the time of my father’s father. There was some sort of power struggle in Cheshwon and the caravans dwindled in number. Then thieves and brigands started preying on those few caravans which still came by this route. Eventually they stopped altogether.”

  Arwhon was eager for more.

  “You mean, if we kept following this road, we would end up in Cheshwon?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean Arwhon. Remember too, although Martine took over Debrishar there is still the odd brigand to be found up here, hiding in this little used part of the Dominion. Not all went happily under the yoke.”

  Climbing, ever climbing. The vegetation changing with altitude, woods turning to thicker, older forest, the girth of the trees mute testimony to uninterrupted growth. Soon the green leafed deciduous trees would give way to pines and the scent in the air would change. Far behind them, the patchworked land became a map, and off in the far distance on the horizon, a tiny blackened area could be seen. The edge of the Barsoom Plains, burnt out as a tactic of war by the Empress Martine.

  The days and nights became much cooler at altitude and signs of other travellers far less common. A cold autumn drizzle set in, clouds low and grey, obscuring the mountains and limiting visibility. Cloaks were worn by all now and the damp wool steamed as the party made its way ever upwards. Soon they would come to a pass through the peaks. On the other side lay Tarkent. Arwhon had never seen Chalc as excited as he was now, the man was fair buzzing with suppressed anticipation.

  The horses picked their way through the last of the thinning pine trees, their tread soft on the carpet of needles as the gentle drizzle dripped endlessly upon them. The members of the little group rode silently, huddled in their cloaks against the chill, caught up in the majesty of an unspoiled piece of the country. Ahead of them, across a clear area of short alpine vegetation, scree slopes ran along the base of the highest peaks, some still capped with snow just visible through the swirling cloud above. Chalc paused, turning in the saddle.

  “We ride south from here, keeping the peaks on our left until we come to the pass. It’s not far, maybe a day or two.”

  A slight movement in the vegetation caught Arwhon’s eye and he concentrated on the spot. There. He turned Duran and rode closer to it. In amongst the heathers and alpine grasses was a small creature about the size of a dog. It was only when one wing beat and the other flapped uselessly that Arwhon recognised a very young gryffon, a minute version of the beast he’d seen accompanying Escarion.

  Duran reared with instinctual fear as he recognised the animal for what it was but Arwhon brought him under control, sending reassuring thoughts to him. Duran relaxed somewhat and Arwhon dismounted. The others had ridden over to see what Arwhon had discovered. As he approached the beast on the ground, Chalc recognised it and as he anxiously scanned the cliffs above them, he spoke urgently to Arwhon.

  “Be careful, its mother may be around. Very large and extremely dangerous. There, to the left of the sharp crag, see her?”

  Arwhon lifted his head to follow Chalc’s gaze. He saw a mature gryffon of immense size with two little ones beside her. The beaked head was pointed toward them and he could see the two large eyes and lashing tail clearly. Undeterred, he bent toward the little one and was rewarded with a slash on the arm from one of its front talons. The young gryffon was skin and bone although some rotten pieces of meat were scattered among the vegetation around it.

  Arwhon went to Duran and lifted down the water bottle. Unstrapping his helm from the saddle and returning to the young damaged gryffon; he poured water into the helm and very slowly and carefully pushed his gift toward the terrified young animal. Thirst overcame fear and with many trepiditious blinks at Arwhon, the gryffon drank all the water from the helm. Arwhon poured more and this time the strange creature allowed him to place the helm closer to it.

  The rest of the company had remained tense in their saddles with one eye on the mother and the other on the events occurring before them.

  “What do we do with it?” Arwhon asked them.

  “Kill it, it’s wounded and I was once told they sometimes take young horses from us.” One of the Barsoomi Riders, Conda, advised.

  “It’ll not survive on its own with a damaged wing. Death may be the most humane answer,” was Chalc’s opinion.

  Finally, Arwhon set his eyes on Sihron’del. She held his gaze, her beautiful face uncertain. Her reply was measured.

  “All things have their place in this world. Some good and some bad. What harm has this little one done?”

  Arwhon turned back to the little gryffon which lay quiescent on the heather, as if surrendering its future to the man before it. He reached out a hand to gently touch it on the head and the little bundle did not move. At the instant of contact he felt the quivering fear within it and also an older, wiser presence. His wonder increased as the young gryffon looked up at him and he felt the same sort of bonding with it as he had with Duran. His horse snorted, also feeling the little gryffon through their bond and Arwhon looked to the top of the cliff where the large female and two young lifted off into the breeze and lazily flew north.

  “Chalc, look. The mother is leaving. These animals are sentient like the Barsoomi horses. What a wonder. This one has trusted me with a bond and the mother has left us. I cannot kill it. We’ll just have to find a way to help it and perhaps release it when it’s healthy.”

  “Is that wise Arwhon? We have much to do and many places to go. The wellbeing of a country may depend on us.”

  Chalc frowned as he spoke, thinking on all the problems this addition to their responsibilities could engender.

  Arwhon’s hand stroked down the back of the young animal and he sat and gently lifted it onto his lap.

  Shiri was concerned.

  “Is that wise my love?”

  There was no reply. Arwhon was lost in pictures of wheeling over crags during flying lessons and the fateful updraft, unanticipated, which flipped the youngling upside down, crashing it into the cliff and resulting in a broken wing. Pain for four days and no water available, only that licked off the grass and heather. It hurt to walk with the wing dragging and catching on tussocks of grass. Gently feeling along each wing, Arwhon came to the break. The bone had not protruded through the skin but he could feel the ends grate together. It was in the equivalent place to his upper arm, the big bone. He’d seen this bone mended before by bandaging with a splint but how to do it on a feathered limb?

  Arwhon made a decision.

  “We’ll camp around here for the rest of the day Chalc. Could you find us a spot please?”

  Chalc merely nodded, his concern now diminished to a small smile of rueful acceptance. He loved the lad but sometimes Arwhon did the oddest things. Still, he was the one who had to bear the responsibility of the Ring and he’d seemed, somehow, to have managed so far.

  Shiri dismounted from
Rancid and joined Arwhon where he sat on the heathers. Feathers rose along the young gryffon’s crest and it spat at her, like a displeased cat. Arwhon smiled and sent a picture of himself and Shiri with an arm around each other and the youngling relaxed and allowed Shiri’s touch. She lightly instilled a pain blocking spell and Arwhon felt the mental equivalent of a sigh.

  Narrow strips of fabric were cut from a bedroll and with Shiri’s assistance, Arwhon drew the damaged wing toward the gryffon’s body in a naturally furled position and bandaged it. First around the upper and lower wing only, a natural splint, then, with padding underneath, the bandaged wing was bound into place against the gryffon’s body itself. Arwhon drew the other wing in also and put a light restraint around it for comfort and balance. When he’d finished, the young gryffon was placed on the ground where it immediately ran to the pieces of rotting meat left by its parent and ate them. With its wings bound the little gryffon could easily have been mistaken for a medium sized dog but for the eagle like head with tufted ear feathers and taloned forelegs.

  As Arwhon and Shiri, leading their mounts, walked back to the camp Chalc had set up among the trees, the scrawny dog-like creature followed them. The travellers shared their meal with the youngling and it gradually lost its fear of the group. Overnight, the bony creature slept by Arwhon’s side, tucked against him on the opposite side from Shiri. Before dropping off to sleep, Chalc looked over to where Arwhon lay. All True things seemed to love the lad and he was totally unaware of it.

  Their travel over the next week was idyllic, the rain lifted and the sun shone brightly, cool at altitude. It almost felt like a holiday but for their thoughts returning to those in Belvedere. Arwhon’s mind dwelt upon his Grandmother, sister and Kuiran and what could be happening to them. He shuddered at the thought of war, people dying at the end of a blade, never to be again.

  The little gryffon travelled in front of Arwhon for the most part, lying quietly across his lap. Soon they were safely through the pass and according to Chalc, descending down into Tarkent through the alpine meadows. Arwhon named the little gryffon Krissi which she seemed to like and responded to. Once they saw the mother wheeling far above and he picked up some of the images and sensations passing between the young one and its mother. Apparently Krissi was happy. They never saw the parent again. After two more days resting, Krissi wanted down and ran happily beside Duran, darting off now and again to catch some unfortunate little creature for food. Her appetite was phenomenal.

  Once more they entered forest as they rode down into the treeline. It was pleasant being under trees again, although they were different from those on the other side of the mountains. These trees had leaves turning yellow, orange and brown, getting ready to fall for the winter. The colours were wondrous and complemented Shiri’s armour well. Small deer were seen flickering in the shadows of the glades and early one afternoon, one of the Riders managed to get a clean shot at one with his bow. They camped close to the place where it was killed as there was water nearby. As the carcass was dressed, every piece of offal, scrap of meat and any bones thrown her way were consumed by Krissi. Her belly was swollen out of all proportion to her size and Arwhon feared she may have overdone it but Shiri, wise in the ways of wild things, told him not to worry.

  Later in the evening Krissi came to him and Arwhon felt her in his mind. The bandages were too tight. He took them off gently and felt along the bone which had been broken. It had a lumpy callous at the site of the break but the bone was firm and starting to mend. He gently massaged the wing and extended it out fully a few times before flexing it back in. Out and in, out and in, slowly, to get the tendons used to movement again. Krissi purred with enjoyment, her huge rumbling belly distended with all the food she had eaten. After a while, the bandage was replaced but not as tightly as before.

  In the morning, Krissi’s belly was normal sized again and Arwhon could have sworn she had grown larger overnight. This was confirmed by one of the Riders, Breeta, casually commenting on the increase in Krissi’s size from the day before.

  “I wish our horses could develop that fast. It would make life easier to be able to grow them so quickly.”

  They took enough from the deer carcass to last them for a couple of days and Krissi wolfed down the remainder, bones, hide and all. She left nothing and trotted along happily with a full belly. In another few days or so Arwhon figured the bandages could come off permanently.

  The first village the travellers encountered was most strange to all but Chalc’s eyes. Shiri quickly threw a glamour over them all as they entered it, even Krissi would look like an ordinary large dog. The buildings were solidly built with overhanging, wood shingled roofs and wide verandas but instead of windows and doors, there were sliding panels which could be opened to let air into every room. Each house was the same, a large main room with two wings, built around a small garden. It seemed peaceful enough but here and there the gutted remains of a burned-out building stood in silent testimony to war.

  Even here, high up in the mountains of Tarkent, the destructive hand of the Dominion was evident.

  The place seemed deserted until Chalc called out in a language Arwhon had never heard before. Soon people appeared from among the surrounding trees, at first cautiously then with more confidence. Chalc conversed with a man about the same age as himself and residents came to stand quietly, staring at them. Krissi was nervous and stayed close beside Duran who was growing accustomed to the unusual creature.

  Chalc paused in his conversation with the villager and turned to speak to the travellers.

  “The Dominion hasn’t been up here for a while. The villagers just send their tithe down the mountain and are left alone. Apparently things are different lower down on the plateau. There, Dominion soldiers are still camped. We’ve all been invited to stay for the night and I’ve already accepted for us.”

  They dismounted and Chalc assured the rest of their group it was alright for the villagers to lead away their horses.

  “Hospitality is almost a religion here in Tarkent. Once you’re invited to something, you become the responsibility of the host. Both the safety of you, your animals and your possessions is assured.”

  Krissi wasn’t going to be led anywhere however and glued herself to Arwhon’s leg everywhere he went. He, Shiri and Chalc were shown to a larger dwelling where they found their gear already stacked, marking their rooms. The Barsoomi Riders were reluctant to be separated from their charges but after repeated reassurance from Chalc, they accepted the offered rooms in a nearby building.

  Through Chalc, the host offered his guests the opportunity to bathe and pointed out a separate small building in the backyard housing a large wooden tub already filled with steaming hot water. While Chalc continued his long conversation with their host, Arwhon and Shiri, following the directions Chalc had given them, ladled water out of the tub and washed each other down before stepping in for a soak. Krissi was unsettled, at first running around the hot bath mewling before she found a stool to sit on, hooking her talons over the edge of the tub, her eyes fixed on her master.

  The evening meal was enjoyed sitting on the floor around a low table. The Riders were eating with them and their hosts, an old man and his family. Besides the seven in the group of travellers, a further five people were also seated around the table. The food was unusual for people from the western lands but Chalc was tucking in with great gusto in a manner unseen by Arwhon before. Eating with two small sticks caused merriment for all and the Riders went to get their wooden spoons. Krissi sat to one side mewling for scraps every so often, tolerated by their host after it was explained their ‘dog’ had been injured.

  “Chalc, are these people trustworthy enough to tell them of our goals?” Arwhon asked around yet another tasty morsel.

  “All in Tarkent are trustworthy Master. They hate the Dominion with a passion but are subjugated harshly.”

  “Please tell our host of Empress Martine’s war against Southland and Barsoom. While you’re at it, t
ry to gauge the possibility of raising the whole of Tarkent against the Dominion while Martine’s attention is elsewhere. Remind him it could be a bloody war but now is possibly the best chance Tarkent will have to free itself from the Dominion’s shackles.”

  Chalc turned to the old man and a long conversation ensued. At times voices were raised and at others, smiles and nods. Eventually Chalc turned back to Arwhon.

  “His name is Faral and he is the head of this village. None in Tarkent like to be under rule by round-eyed outsiders but the country has lost a lot of its population at Martine’s hand and can ill afford to lose more. Faral thinks it could be a good time to rebel but first he has to ask the people in the village what they think. If the answer is yes, surrounding villages can then be approached and their opinions sought. Once the word spreads, this area could be ready for rebellion in three to four weeks. Not all the weapons they own have been discovered and fighting styles exist which expertly utilise farming tools. We could spare a couple of days to gauge the response of the surrounding villages and find out what their thinking is on the matter. We’ll be quite safe here.”

  Arwhon sat back and smiled at their host as he replied.

  “Excellent Chalc. No point in hurrying forward and leaving our back exposed. Tell me. Where’s your home town? We have to go there.”

  “Far to the east Arwhon, over towards the border with Cheshwon. It’s well out of our way if you just want to travel south through Tarkent.” Chalc paused. “Although I would like to see my home again.”

  “So you shall Chalc but I’m afraid with Barsoomi Riders along it will not be as Master and Servant. It would be difficult to pass them off as guards. What say we skirt around the eastern side of the Tarkent plateau, at least until we’ve been to your village. There shouldn’t be as many Dominion soldiers in those outlying areas and we can try to raise an armed response as we go. If we could lead a small army into the capital, we may be able to take it. Holding it may be another thing altogether. Especially if Martine comes with her entire army but I think that possibility unlikely.”