Royal Falcon

by Chris Svartbeck

  “You will leave us today.”

  Tolioro didn’t think it was worth reacting to this statement. Fitor continued to whittle, raised the little piece of wood, looked at his work closely, then started a cutting a curved line. “My father gave me a gift for you.”

  Tolioro perked up.

  “Of course, we know the royal house of Karapak possesses great riches which make our pathetic coffers look like the toys of little children. Nonetheless, my father would be pleased if you would accept a humble contribution from him as a token of his esteem and friendship.”

  Tolioro appreciated an elegant bribe, provided the price was right. “I couldn’t possibly accept!” he said, amiably. “Unless, of course, your father would allow me to send him a small gift in return when the occasion arises.”

  Fitor lowered his whittling knife. “Such an exchange among friends requires no words.”

  They looked at each other and knew they were kindred souls.

  “My father would also like to ask your permission to offer a small gift as a symbol of his reverence for your honorable mother. Nothing big really, just a few lengths of a very simple Karnas worm silk fabric.”

  Tolioro held his breath. Karnas worm silk! The most valuable of all the fabrics in all the five kingdoms of the known world. That was a truly lavish gift. Now he knew what Count Chilikit was after. The Count had the silk trade to thank for his infamous wealth. This gift could only mean that he wanted customs privileges. Tolioro slowly exhaled. His thoughts were racing. Who did he know at the customs authority? Enough people in the right places. Yes, he should be able to lower the customs duties for Chilikit without being noticed.

  He smiled. “Tell your father, I will gladly pass his gift on to my honorable mother. I hope this means we will be in touch regularly.”

  Fitor nodded. He could always rely on Tolioro’s greed. The prince spent far more money than he had and couldn’t resist a pouch of gold. Regular contact meant regular gold. Not a problem as long as the earnings on silk were higher than the cost of Tolioro’s little extortion.

  The Karapakian heir to the throne had taken the bait. Unfortunately, Tolioro hadn’t even considered returning the camouflage cloak. Perhaps he could exploit that too. The past few days had cost him much more than that. Women no one would miss could only be purchased for a large amount of gold. The Karapakian was an expensive investment. He could only hope his father’s instincts about him were right and that this investment would pay off. “We will not always be able to contact you at the palace in Sawateenatari. Do you have the ability to go into the city without being noticed?”

  Tolioro nodded. “Thanks to your wonderful camouflage cloak, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Fitor smiled. Apparently, one of the gods had read his mind. He used his knife to saw at the center of the small rod he had covered in carvings and broke it in half. Then, he gave Tolioro one of the halves. “We often have messengers in Sawateenatari. They usually stay in the fabric merchants’ quarter at The Golden Stag. You can find them there. If we need to contact you, we will let you know by sending a letter asking about your honorable mother’s health. If you aren’t certain, My Prince, whether a message is from me or my father, ask for this rod. The messenger will be able to identify himself with the second half.”

  Tolioro silently stowed away the little piece of wood. They sat for a while and enjoyed the day. Fitor shared meaningless gossip, Tolioro nodded, spoke a few words here and there and appeared to be lost in thought. Finally, he excused himself to go the farewell banquet and stood up. He had to get ready and court his bride.

  *

  Fanfare opened the farewell banquet for the Karapakian ambassador and crown prince, Tolioro. Even though only the high nobility were invited, the three rows of tables nearly filled the entire hall. King Dacas was wearing his house’s rust-red tabard with the leaping mountain lion emblazoned in it. Crown Prince Pino walked beside him, also wearing his house tabard. The other members of the royal family also wore clothing in the house colors. Queen Mirsken and her two younger daughters, however, had also added scarves, embroidery and gemstones in every shade of green to the rust-red. Tolioro, who was led in directly after the royal family, looked resplendent in his aquamarine tabard. The golden falcon emblazoned on it was embroidered with tiger’s eye stones and gold thread. A servant led Tolioro to the spot directly to the right of King Dacas. Only one space at the head of the table was still empty.

  More fanfare announced Sirit’s arrival. The princess entered the hall with measured steps, wearing no makeup and as pale and serious as if she were going to a funeral. The top of her silk, rust-red dress was laced tightly, and the silk skirt flared from the hip and her hair was pinned up in a three-temple style. It wasn’t really necessary that all the ornamentation on her dress was aquamarine; only a bride wore this hairstyle. Tolioro rejoiced. She was going to accept his proposal! He had completed his mission. Kanata would be pleased.

  Sirit bowed slightly to her father and took her place at Tolioro’s side. As soon as Dacas opened the banquet and everyone was seated, the gossip started. Of course, it had been all over town for weeks that the two rulers were planning to unite their houses, but people had been placing bets up until the last minute on whether Sirit would really accept Tolioro’s proposal. Now it was clear. There would be a wedding.

  The servants put so many dishes on the tables, they sagged. There was wine soup and snails, tender liver, stuffed eggs and salads and all kinds of poultry, crowned with a roasted swan presented with its feathers still on. The second course was game, a juicy roast venison, spicy wild boar liver and rabbit fillet in honey. Tarts and little cakes were served as an intermediate course. Finally, the kitchen served oysters and fish, followed by fruit and ham on sweet bread. Truly a feast to suit the occasion and the wine flowed in rivers. Tolioro was pleasantly sated and content. The servants were clearing the tables and pouring new wine into the guests’ goblets. It was time for his proposal!

  Tolioro arose, his wine goblet in his hand. “I have experienced incomparable hospitality from the House of Dacas and have been treated with great honor,” he began. “As you all know, I will have to leave Tolor tomorrow. I would like to thank you all for everything I have experienced here and would like to raise a glass to my host, King Dacas. May he live long and may his reign be eternally remembered as a golden age in Tolor’s history!”

  With these words, he raised his goblet. As one, the guests jumped up from their seats. “Long live King Dacas!”

  Once they had quieted down, Tolioro continued. “Tolor is sending me home to Karapak with many wonderful memories and gifts. Still, my royal host, I hope an even greater gift from your land will follow. Your beautiful daughter!” He turned to Sirit. “Dearest Sirit, I ask that you accept my hand in marriage! I wish to do you the honor of elevating you to my first consort!”

  Sirit, who had been standing next to him the whole time, stiff and pale, raised her head and looked into her future husband’s eyes. She spoke, clearly and audibly, “For the good of Tolor, I will enter into this marriage our fathers so greatly desire.”

  Dead silence fell over the room! The guests held their breath. How would the Karapakian prince react?

  Tolioro’s eyes narrowed to slits. That little schemer! She may as well have slapped him in front of everyone. Everyone there knew Sirit was only marrying out of a sense of obligation. He slowly exhaled. What did his mother always say? Revenge is a dish best served cold. He would get his revenge for what Sirit had said today. Slowly, carefully and thoroughly. She would regret this day for the rest of her miserable life.

  For the moment, he put on a good face and pretended he hadn’t noticed. With a smile, he raised his glass to her. “Long live my beautiful bride!” He turned back to face the audience. “My friends, celebrate with me. On this day, the interests of Tolor and Karapak unite. Our children’s children will remember it with gratitude and joy!”

  Dacas also arose. “We will set the wedding
date with your father. I hope this day will come soon. Today, however, we have an engagement to celebrate.” He raised his goblet. “Let’s celebrate. Let’s celebrate the union between Karapak and Tolor, my daughter, Princess Sirit’s engagement, and the happiness and future of Tolor!”

  The music began to play as the guests cheered. The rest of the evening appeared to be unadulteratedly harmonious. Only a few people noticed that the bride and groom didn’t speak another word to each other.

  Mortal Enemies

  Ioro waited for the inevitable collision. Tolioro had returned to Sawateenatari the day before to the cheers of the people. After a brief meeting of the Privy Council, King Kanata had announced to the people the joyous news of his son’s engagement to the Toloran princess. The city was celebrating. Tolioro basked in the praise and attention and accepted well wishes and gifts for his engagement. The wine flowed in rivers.

  If he had correctly interpreted Tolioro’s behavior thus far, the stress of the day would drive his brother to seek a release tonight. Then, at the latest, Tolioro would realize that his most trusted servants were missing and all the young women in his service had been replaced by older, experienced women. Ioro didn’t need a particularly vivid imagination to know what Tolioro’s reaction would be. It was better he not go to bed at all.

  His prediction came to pass. In the early morning hours, he heard steps in the corridor; hurried, hard, slightly unsteady steps. The door flew open. Tolioro stood in the door, just a wavering silhouette against the light in the hall.

  “How... dare... you...!” Tolioro’s voice sounded slightly sluggish, but threatening.

  Ioro arose gracefully. “What did I dare, my royal brother?”

  Tolioro took a step into his room. The door fell shut behind him. It only took a few seconds for Ioro’s eyes to adjust to the darkness. It wasn’t completely dark in the room. His window was open, and a bit of moonlight shone through it. Tolioro stood before him, his legs apart, holding a knife in his right hand. The traces of revelry and carousing were clear on his robes. His eyes glowed feverishly in the moonlight; his face looked like a spirit mask. The way Ioro was standing, Tolioro would only be able to see him as a silhouette.

  “What did I dare?” Ioro repeated.

  Tolioro threw his head back. “You cheap son of a third-rate concubine! How dare you snoop around in my private life!”

  Ioro took a deep, focused breath. Don’t lose control now! “Unfortunately, your private life ended up a bit too deep in the gutter. The House of Mehme must not be connected to such filth.”

  “In the gutter?” Tolioro took another step closer. “Your blood will run in the gutters! Your ashes will swim in the gutters!” As quick as lightning, the hand holding the knife darted out.

  Ioro was faster. If Tolioro hadn’t been so drunk, he would have remembered that Ioro had always bested him in a fight. The knife harmlessly cut the air where Ioro had just been standing. Suddenly, Tolioro found himself lying on the floor with Ioro’s knee painfully pushing on his back, one hand around his neck and the other around the hand holding the knife.

  “If you weren’t my brother and the crown prince,” Ioro hissed, “I would crush you like a cockroach. You are a rabid dog that should be drowned for the good of the country!”

  Tolioro didn’t make a sound. Ioro slowly and carefully let him go.

  Tolioro wheezed and tried to stand up, supporting himself on both hands. His knife slid to the side, unnoticed. Minutes passed. Tolioro’s breathing grew calmer. Finally, still unsteady, he managed to get up.

  Ioro watched him coldly. “You will keep your hands off the servants from now on. This time, I made sure all traces of your atrocities were erased. If I find one more dead girl in your wake, I will hide nothing. Next time, I swear by the Flaming Goddess, the Privy Council will deal with your crimes!”

  Tolioro lowered his head and staggered clumsily toward the door. He turned around before he opened it. “Brother,” he growled, “before the Privy Council deals with my crimes, I will make sure it tears you apart! You will rue this day. I swear by all the demons of the dark mirror, I will make sure you bitterly regret this day!” Then he left the room.

  Ioro heard his steps moving away down the corridor. He raised Tolioro’s blade and held it before his face. He was barely able to make out a thin, green stripe on the blade in the moonlight. The blade was poisoned. The future king of Karapak had just declared his future first commander a mortal enemy.

  A History Lesson

  Jok was in higher spirits than he had been in a long time. Ioro had granted him a look into a world that was infinitely more dazzling, diverse and colorful than his dull daily life at Master Go’s house with the endlessly repetitive lessons and exercises. The falcon had expanded his view of the world and Ioro had expanded his knowledge of people. But he lacked the foundation. Wasn’t there something on the subject in his library? He threw himself into the books on the history of Karapak with great enthusiasm. He now understood that the stories he had heard from the wandering bards in his village as a child weren’t fairy tales, but colorfully embellished reports of a past during which the Karapakian kingdom was just starting to form. It was noticeable how few of those stories spoke of sorcerers. They inevitably appeared in every generation, but it was as though there were a shroud over their activities.

  At one point, he mustered the courage to ask Master Go.

  Master Go seemed quite pleased. “Well, well. You want to know more about us sorcerers?” He arose, walked over to a large stack of books on a table to the left of the fireplace and carefully drew a large, flat tome from the bottom of the stack. Then, he brought it to Jok and carefully placed it on the table. He ran his hand almost lovingly over the parchment on the cover. “Xi’s history of the Crystal Chamber. One of only six known copies. It covers the ancient period and the foundation of Karapak.” Then, he fished out a small, brown, rawhide book from under the table. “And this is on Karapak’s modern history, an original version. You will find that this book sufficiently takes into account the Crystal Chamber and thus, the history of Karapakian sorcery. These books are so rare, I never let them out of my sight, but you are welcome to study them in my presence whenever you choose. If you have more questions, feel free to ask.”

  Jok took the books, astounded. He had never known Master Go to act so affably. Apparently, he had hit on Go’s favorite subject.

  The next few days, Jok spent every free minute reading. It was a revelation. Xi began with records on the legendary origins of sorcery. Jok only scanned those pages. His mother had sung the legends of Mu and Ar to him in his crib. What was interesting was what Xi reported about the work of the first sorcerers, prior to the invention of the magic mirror. Apparently, every spell was based on a duel between two sorcerers. The defeated sorcerer would become the essence of the sorcerer’s power and the victor would perform the spell. Of course, that resulted in there only being a few sorcerers, and most of them didn’t live to be very old. Xi dedicated a whole chapter to the invention of the mirror. It seemed mirrors had existed long before that. However, they were only used as reflective, glass surfaces, similar to the bronze and silver mirrors women used today. Sorceress Ko Dreamsong created the first magic mirror. She loved her own image so much, she always carried a mirror with her and even slept with one. One day, Ko Dreamsong noticed her mirror was growing. Every time she meditated to focus her magical powers, the mirror grew.

  One day, the residents of T’sar asked Ko Dreamsong to help them defeat a dragon. No sorcerer far and wide was willing to face the dragon with her because Ko Dreamsong had already consumed the lives of seven other sorcerers. So, Ko took her mirror and tried to weave the spell with her own reflection. She was successful and defeated the dragon, but Ko Dreamsong paid the ultimate price for her victory. She melded with her mirror. Thus, the first soul mirror was created. Never again had anyone dared create a mirror for mundane purposes. Mirrors were the tools of sorcerers and off limits to the people.

/>   Dragons? Did they really exist?

  Go didn’t know. He was too young, he said, but the older sorcerers would sometimes speak of having encountered dragons in the mountains when they were young. The desert warriors also told tales of dragons on the other side of the desert. He wasn’t sure. The desert warriors were considered braggarts and boasters and often enough, their stories were lies.

  Jok focused on more recent history. Karapak had been established by a conglomerate of smaller kingdoms and duchies that had feuded ferociously with each other for several centuries. Ioro the Great was crowned the first Karapakian king after systematically conquering one small, nearby kingdom after the other in a war that lasted years. Aha, so that’s who his friend Ioro was named after! A great role model! Apparently, the historical Ioro had a sorcerer as an ally who had made a major contribution toward the military success of the once small Duchy of Karapak. A man named Kr. Kr trained a strictly organized school of young sorcerers from which, years later, the current training houses were formed with the Crystal Chamber as the highest council.

  Jok read every page of the little book. The Crystal Chamber had made and toppled kings. It had also ensured the House of Mehme came to power in Karapak. The reason initially surprised Jok. They had chosen the House of Mehme because it didn’t demonstrate a trace of magical talent.

  Go explained the facts to him.

  “It’s about a balance of powers. The Crystal Chamber has absolute power in the magical realm, the House of Mehme has absolute power over the mundane and the temples speak for the gods. Balance must be maintained between these three powers. Before the House of Mehme rose to power, there were several sorcerer kings. These periods are known as the Dark Ages. Having two of the powers in one hand almost always led to the power being abused and the oppression of the Karapakian people. Eight hundred and two monsoon seasons after the foundation of Karapak, Ur Tigereye drafted the guidelines, which still apply, during the era when the House of Mehme wore the crown for the first time. Since then, the following laws have applied: No king of Karapak may be capable of wielding magic. No king of Karapak may marry a woman who has magical blood flowing in her veins. Every heir to the throne of Karapak shall be publicly tested by the priests twice to ensure he is free of magic; once on his naming day and once on the day he is crowned. Only thus shall the balance be maintained.”