Royal Falcon

by Chris Svartbeck

  A mirror under the overhanging roof on the side wing dulled slightly. The young man standing before it furrowed his brow. Things had progressed further than he thought. It seemed he would have to take a closer look at these students. Preferably, before the master noticed.

  *

  Ioro could feel Tolioro’s energy receding. He could no longer delay the end of the fight. The spectators had fallen silent. Everyone knew Tolioro would lose. Everyone knew Tolioro must not lose. The only sound in the training yard was the clatter of the practice swords. Ioro clenched his teeth. Goddess, he begged, help me, please! I don’t know how to get out of this! Of course, the gods remained silent, as always. Another attack, another parry. What did it matter? Either way, he had won the fight. So, he should just win honorably. His royal brother would hate him anyway. He would just have to be even more careful in the future. More than one royal offspring had fallen prey to Tolioro’s displeasure over the past few years, but that shouldn’t affect his decision. He was a soldier, and soldiers fought and died. Ioro raised his sword for a final, deciding blow. Tolioro’s defense came far too late and was far too weak, but at the exact moment Ioro’s sword swung down, a falcon screeched directly overhead. Ioro started. His sword hit a good hand’s width awry of its target. Tolioro’s sword connected painfully with his unprotected flank.

  Ioro froze. He looked up into the sky, confused. A falcon was flying over the courtyard; a large, gray royal falcon and its shadow passed over the brothers.

  Sword Master Askander was the first to regain his composure. He quickly walked toward Tolioro and fell to his knees before him. “The Goddess has decided, honorable Tolioromehme. You have won this fight as we have all witnessed. You are truly the heir to the Falcon Throne and the darling of the gods!”

  The spectators burst into a chorus of cheers. Tolioro was just as confused by what had happened as Ioro, but he was certain of one thing: He had finally defeated his despised older brother, and he enjoyed the undivided attention and reverence of everyone present. Glowing with pride, Tolioro allowed Askander to hoist him onto his shoulders and carry him into the house to celebrate.

  Ioro remained alone in the practice yard. Dazed, he picked up Tolioro’s discarded sword and went to the armory. The Goddess had heard him! Where did that leave him? Tolioro was the heir to the Falcon Throne, but it was his prayer the Goddess had answered. He mechanically cleared away the swords and equipment. When he turned around, he froze. The falcon was sitting in the window of the armory, looking at him. It couldn’t be clearer that he was not dealing with a normal falcon. Ioro stepped closer, reverently, and bowed before the falcon. “Noble emissary of the Goddess,” he began, “I want to thank you for your benevolent intervention.” He paused. What did one say to a falcon, or rather goddess, who had saved his life? He started again. “Had you not intervened, I believe my head would no longer be upon my shoulders. I owe you much. In fact, I owe you my life. Whatever you ask of me, whatever your plans for me, I will serve you with steadfast loyalty, so long as this service does not conflict with my oath to the kingdom!”

  The falcon looked at him as though he understood every word. Then, he screeched shrilly, spread his wings and flew away. Ioro bowed deeply. He watched the falcon for a long time.

  Grand Master Urgutan was also watching the falcon from the window of the colonnade on the first floor. A potential connection between the Crystal Chamber and the royal house? There was strong magic in the falcon. Ioro appeared to have powerful friends. He would have to be watched.

  *

  Master Go summoned Gavila to the tower. When she returned, she was wearing the red sash of an adept candidate and calling herself Gav. Both Nao and Master Go tutored her in private. Gav studied doggedly. Jokon only saw her from afar. It was as though an invisible wall had gone up between them. She only summoned the weaker Blues to her room.

  Jokon let off steam by flying with the falcons. Nothing helped relieve frustration quite as well as a long, fast flight across the countryside. He had discovered something new. He could take over falcons he had flown several times without direct physical contact. That expanded his range significantly. He sent his falcons to distant provinces on days-long flights and slowly familiarized himself with the entire kingdom. His particular favorite for long flights was the large, agile, gray falcon which, most importantly, was able to fly long distances.

  Today, the Blues didn’t have lessons. Master Go was practicing something with the Reds. Jokon decided to take a closer look at the foothills of the Celestial Mountains. His mirror transported him instantly from his room to the familiar falcon body. The falcon was hungry and hovering, trembling, above a harvested field. There! A little mouse scurrying through the stubble. The falcon swooped down. Jokon just watched for a while. Mice weren’t exactly his idea of a delicious meal, so he gladly left that to the falcon. A short time later, the falcon was circling on the thermal currents again. Jokon carefully steered him toward the north. A series of uninteresting villages. A narrow road which looked more like a collection of potholes and boulders than a proper road. A messenger riding toward the mountains. That piqued his interest. Where was the messenger riding to? Jokon flew up the road. At the end was a massive building complex, partly built into the side of a mountain.

  He could see a few young men watching a practice dual in the courtyard below. There was nothing more interesting to see far and wide. He spontaneously decided to fly closer.

  One of the fighters was half a head taller and clearly stronger. Even to Jokon’s untrained eye, it was clear he was also the far superior swordsman. The smaller fighter would surely lose at any moment. Both wore the falcon emblem of the royal house. That was odd. Jokon flew closer. The larger boy fell back. It looked as though he was going to let the smaller boy win. Something didn’t seem right; the spectators remained silent, their expressions serious, even concerned. The older man, who must have been the sword master, even slightly raised his arm for a moment as though he wanted to intervene but lowered it again and furrowed his brow. Then, the larger boy attacked again. The fight would be decided at any moment. Jokon suddenly felt a force emanating from the larger fighter; washing over him like a warm wave. For a moment, he forgot to flap his wings and dropped like a stone. Just over the fighters’ heads, the falcon’s instincts took over his body with a hoarse screech, and it turned the fall into an elegant arc. The brief distraction had been enough; the larger of the two combatants lost the fight almost immediately. Dismayed, Jokon flew the falcon a bit higher and waited.

  He had apparently solved a problem. The smaller of the fighters was carried triumphantly into the house by the cheering spectators. Not even the loser seemed unhappy about the result. He seemed relieved.

  That was worth a closer look. Jokon flew the falcon to the building the larger fighter had just entered. Apparently, it was the armory. The young man was putting his equipment away. When he turned around and saw Jokon sitting in the window, his expression grew serious and reverent. He bowed and swore he would always be grateful to him for saving his life. Saving his life? It hadn’t looked like the young man’s life had been in any danger. Moreover, hadn’t he lost the fight? This young, naive, nobleman apparently also thought he was a messenger of the Goddess. Jokon smiled; shrill screech issued from the falcon’s beak. Then, he raised his wings and flew back up to the freedom of the skies.

  What had the young swordsman meant? Jokon couldn’t stop thinking about it. The problem interested him, it challenged him. He had to find a way to contact the man. What an interesting afternoon!

  The Dark Seed

  Grand Master Urgutan consulted with the temple council. What could they tell the king without putting themselves in danger? The royal messenger had left no doubt that His Most Gracious Majesty expected a comprehensive report on the progress of the two princes.

  Master Straoto’s subjects were easy to assess. He praised anyone who learned diligently and recounted what they learned. Both princes did well in those subjects
. The crown prince’s general behavior, however, could hardly be assessed without embellishing the truth. It would be extremely unwise to tell a king his son and heir is snobbish, short-tempered, jealous and vain. The king might hold the temple responsible for this unfortunate development.

  Sword Master Askander was another reason to proceed diplomatically. The weapons trainer was an excellent fighter, an excellent trainer and, unfortunately, very devout. Whatever complaints he may have had regarding the crown prince’s performance, Askander had become a vehement admirer of Tolioro since the falcon had intervened. Sending his unfiltered assessment to the king may cause trouble for the temple in a number of ways. Should they inform the king that Prince Tolioro appeared to be blessed with the favor of the gods? Such intimations might lead to the crown prince suffering an unfortunate accident. King Kanatamehme was in the prime of his life and may think it easier to sire a new son than wrestle with a potential rebel.

  Urgutan kept to himself that it actually appeared to be the future commander whom the gods favored. It was his duty as grand master to always remain a step ahead of the others.

  Ultimately, the temple council decided to have Master Meechen, the rhetoric instructor, draft a very cautious, very diplomatic response. A response that highlighted the princes’ performance without making them seem unusual and which stated that, with all due respect, they would require several more monsoon seasons to complete their education; perhaps half a dozen. Urgutan was satisfied. If he knew the king, they would be granted half that time. Two to three monsoon seasons. That would be enough time to shape the princes in his image and lay the foundation for policies that would better benefit him in the future.

  Ioro shot up. Before he could scream, an iron-hard hand covered his mouth.

  “Shhh,” a voice hissed next to his ear. “You don’t want to draw attention!”

  Ioro didn’t feel a blade and the voice sounded familiar. The ambush appeared to be harmless. He slowly relaxed. The hands holding him reacted and let go. He turned around, curious to see who had so rudely awakened him from his slumber. Grand Master Urgutan was standing in his room.

  “Get dressed, My Prince, we have to walk a while and the night air is cold.”

  Ioro obeyed silently.

  A short time later, Urgutan was leading him through the corridors to a part of the temple he had never seen before. The stone corridor opened up into an area carved into the rock walls. Up, down, past several junctions. After a steep incline, the passage finally let out into the open. Ioro briefly looked back. Apparently, they were on the other side of the mountain. Interesting. That must be one of the passages via which the temple could be supplied or evacuated when under siege. Urgutan had quickly continued on ahead. Ioro hurried to catch up.

  After a long walk, Urgutan turned toward a cliff and led him into a cave. A comfortably furnished area with a small fire, spreading its welcome warmth, lay hidden behind a bend. Two men sat beside the fire; one very old man and one who was barely older than Ioro. The old man turned to look right at him. His eyes were strangely white. The old man was blind.

  “Take a seat, My Prince!” the old man said, his voice pleasantly soft, despite his old age. Ioro sat down at the fire. He felt Urgutan’s presence behind him like a safety blanket. The old man took a small, metal kettle from the fire and poured tea into two small, blue, glass cups. Then, he handed a cup to Ioro. “You look quite the future commander. I bet the women are already throwing themselves at you!”

  Ioro’s hand stopped halfway to his mouth. How could the old man know what he looked like?

  The old man smiled. “I may be blind, but there are other ways to see than with one’s own eyes.”

  Ioro glanced at the younger man. He was still staring at him, transfixed. Spittle dripped from the corner of his mouth. He didn’t seem to notice. Ioro understood. He was the old man’s eyes. “So, you are a sorcerer,” he said slowly as he carefully placed the cup on the ground before him. “Since when do sorcerers interfere in matters of throne and temple?”

  “You should be asking if there was ever a time when the Crystal Chamber didn’t interfere,” the old man said, amused.

  An emissary from the mysterious Crystal Chamber? Even the Crystal Chamber respected his royal father. “So, you want something from the royal house. Why are you coming to me? Wouldn’t the crown prince be the better candidate for you?” he asked.

  The old man laughed silently, reached into the fire and formed a small ball from the flames. With a quick gesture, he threw the ball to Ioro, who caught it instinctively. The next moment, he jumped up, white as ash, and threw the ball away from himself in a high arc, shattering it against the stone wall in a spray of fiery sparks. Shocked, he looked at the old man. He simply nodded.

  “My Prince, you see yourself that you appear to have magical powers. If not, the fireball would have burned your hand. Does that answer your question?”

  Ioro was appalled. “Does that mean I have to become a sorcerer now?” What would become of his dream of the glory of battle and being a hero?

  “No, you are more useful to us as a commander.”

  By the Goddess, what did that mean? “I swore an oath to my king and the kingdom. I will never break that oath!” Ioro felt Urgutan step closer.

  “Sit down, My Prince. We are not asking you to break your oath. We only want you to expand it a bit. The Crystal Chamber also has a legitimate interest in the well-being of the kingdom. As a future member of the Privy Council, you should simply have a sympathetic ear when we present our concerns. That is all we want of you.”

  Ioro sat back down on the blanket. “I make no promises,” he declared stiffly. “Give me time to think about it.”

  “Of course!” the old man assured him. “Consider this an informal, noncommittal meeting amongst friends.” He raised his cup.

  Ioro followed his example. The tea was sweet and smelled good. Ioro relaxed. He took a closer look at the cup. It was very valuable, he realized, amazed. A piece of work from the famous artist, Toosenatao from King Siamotonahne’s reign; more than three hundred monsoon seasons old. His admiring gaze slid along the scored, barely discernible, ornamental vine pattern. This little cup, as tiny as it was, formed a perfect universe. He couldn’t stop looking at it. The world melted away around him.

  Grand Master Urgutan sighed. “I would have preferred not to have used force.”

  The old man made a terse gesture. “The ends justify the means. You know perfectly well our goal is worth any sacrifice.”

  “And if Prince Ioro realizes we are manipulating him?”

  The old man’s mouth twisted into a savage smile. “He will notice as little as his mother did back then. She never would have become first concubine had we not enhanced her appeal a bit. That was the only way we could smuggle the latent gene into the palace. The protection spell cast over the palace won’t react to the prince any more than it did to that. His power is still dormant. We are merely amplifying an already existing predisposition. Moreover, do we not have the queen’s ear? Wouldn’t she do anything to protect the crown prince? No, I don’t think we are taking a risk. And if Ioro does, in fact, notice something... well, the young man is useful, but expendable if need be.”

  The old man arose. His young companion, who had been squatting motionless beside him the entire time, also arose, his eyes empty and drool dripping from his mouth. Moving stiffly, he collected the equipment and extinguished the fire. Then, they left.

  Urgutan pulled Ioro up from the ground. The prince was still in a trance and as docile as a lamb. Urgutan brought Ioro back to the temple and put him in his bed, gently laid a blanket over him and whispered, “My Prince, when you awaken tomorrow, you will think it was all just a dream. A pleasant, entertaining dream. Nothing of consequence. You will forget it soon.”

  He thought of the falcon. A darling of the gods. How often had he seen the gods forsake their wards? Things would be no different for this prince. Something resembling regret welled up withi
n him for a moment. This young life was so promising. If only the vote had been successful, Ioro would be the heir to the throne now. What a waste to sacrifice him for their purposes. But the old man was right. Karapak needed a sorcerer on the throne again. That was the only way to adequately protect the kingdom. The ends justified the means.

  For a brief moment, Urgutan’s lip curled. He happened to know, firsthand, that that was exactly what the Crystal Chamber thought. That was exactly why the sorcerers had tried to change the laws of succession. What an ironic twist of fate that, without knowing it, the Crystal Chamber was pursuing the same goal as its worst enemies and was playing directly into their hands.

  Tolioro squinted. It had been extraordinarily good luck that he had seen the two men returning to Ioro’s room. So, his brother shared secrets with Grand Master Urgutan? Whatever the two of them had done that night, they didn’t tell anyone about it. That alone was reason enough to remember this unusual event. You never knew when such information might be useful.

  *

  Master Go began thinning out the Blues again. Jokon felt the danger nearing with each Blue that disappeared. He tried talking to Gav. She gave him the cold shoulder. Jokon couldn’t find any opportunity to be alone with her. The Blues eyed each other suspiciously. Which of them would survive this round? Which two lucky souls would be elevated to adept candidates? Tevi sneered. “I think they’re rather unlucky. Come on, Jokon, which of us stands a chance of defeating one of the three Reds alone? They are experienced fighters and we are just novices. Nao has eight soul mirrors; Kai has eleven and Tur even has fourteen. And us? We have only created one power mirror. And you know how Kai and Tur are in the arena. I would almost prefer Master Go turn me into a mirror, quick and painless!”