A Warrant of Wyverns

by Michael Angel

  A Warrant of Wyverns

  Book Eight of ‘Fantasy & Forensics’

  By Michael Angel

  Copyright 2017

  Michael Angel

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  COLOR AND B&W MAPS OF ANDELUVIA

  A Warrant of Wyverns

  Book Eight of ‘Fantasy & Forensics’

  By Michael Angel

  Chapter One

  I could tell by sound alone that today was going to be one of those ‘does not play well with others’ kind of day.

  One might expect that noise from the Great Hall wouldn’t carry all that far. At least, not all the way out to one of the palace’s courtyard parapets. But then again, Andeluvia was one of those places that consistently defied all expectations.

  The grumbling sound of lords and knights gathering was matched by an ominous rumble from the palace grounds. The day was still bright and filled with the lavender-and-honeysuckle perfume of spring flowers. Yet off to the east, towards the Centaur Realm, a bank of storm clouds stalked the forest-dotted plains.

  I craned my neck, watching the growing thunderheads for a little longer. There was a distant flash as a tiny fork of lightning lit up the dark clouds. I counted off the seconds in my head as I waited for the accompanying thunder. It finally came, rumbling around in my ear like a grumpy giant being woken up from a nap.

  The sound and light show left the air charged, telling anyone with working eyes and ears that a massive storm was on the way and about to break.

  I decided not to get caught in the rain. So, with a grumble of my own, I gathered up the folds of my gray Andeluvian cloak. Then I took the short stone stairway from the battlements down into the palace proper.

  The now-familiar smells of cool stone and burning candle wax greeted my nose, and the distant scent of the palace bakeries at work made my mouth water. Otherwise, everything was profoundly different. Rather than heading for the throne room, I had to wind my way down a different set of passages towards the Great Hall.

  The wide-open spaces of the throne room were similar to that of a cathedral. Here, I had to turn sideways to shoulder my way through the Great Hall’s crowded entryway. It made me feel more than a little like a salmon swimming upstream.

  Courtiers, hangers-on, and lower-ranking knights in the service of various lords had chosen to make the area outside the door their impromptu campground. I suppose a few were there to provide moral support for their lord. The rest just seemed determined to turn the already cramped area into a space that would send a fire marshal into a nervous breakdown.

  After stepping on two feet and elbowing at least one person in the face, I finally got into the Hall proper. The gilt-edged table and chairs in the center of the hall took up most of the available room. Many of the attendees chose to sling their extra mantles or weapons across the backs of the chairs, reducing the space still further. So instead of the lonely journey up the aisle to the throne, I was again forced to slide-walk to my destination.

  King Magnus, ruler of the Centaur Realm and now Regent of the human Kingdom of Andeluvia, sat at the head of the table. Sir Jorvath stood at his side, hand resolutely near his sword hilt. Magnus had been in charge now for three whole days, and I still had to do a doubletake whenever I saw him or his friends standing in King Fitzwilliam’s place.

  The reason was that the centaurs had arrived and remained in human form, not the half-human, half-equine shape I was more familiar with. I suppose that it made sense. Aside from being a king, Magnus happened to be an astute politician. Staying in human form helped dampen objections to the ‘alien’ nature of Andeluvia’s current ruler.

  At least in public.

  I glanced around a bit to see who’d shown up today as I walked along the side of the table allotted to the Eastern Reach. It looked like the usual cast of snarky grumps, jerks, grandstanders, and miscreants were in attendance. I didn’t see any of the royal pages in evidence. Worse, I was already missing Galen’s steadying presence. Magnus had sent my wizard friend off to Bloodwine Holt on ‘official business’.

  I was greatly relieved to see two friendly faces there to greet me. Sir Ivor’s heavy jaw glistened from a fresh shave. He nudged his companion, the blond-mustachioed Sir Quinton. The two newly-minted members of my Order turned and bowed respectfully to me, though they hadn’t even spoken a word before an elderly voice rang in my ear from further down the table.

  “Fie, fie!” the elderly Lord Alvey said, as best he could through a set of carved wooden dentures. “It is against the rules for any mere knight to have two vassals at this table!”

  Lord Ghaznavi, who sat across from him, rolled his eyes. He was my third new knight, but he disliked Alvey already on principle. “Alvey, might we go through a single meeting without you trying to trip everyone up with the damned rulebook?”

  “And might we go one meeting without you trying to curry favor with her? She is only allowed one knight for her rank! I refuse to be slighted!”

  I gave him a frosty look. “If you want to play ‘follow the rule book’, then I am allowed two, Lord Alvey,” I said. “After all, I am the Head of a Knightly Order.”

  Alvey sputtered and coughed for a moment. His son, Sir Kagin, gave me a hateful glance as he steadied his father’s shoulder. The old man wiped the spittle from his lips as he spoke again.

  “Yes, that damned made-up knightly order of yours!”

  Now it was Lord Ivor’s turn to get frosty. “Would you refer to the order that my son belongs to?”

  “Hah!” Alvey cackled. “Your former son, you mean!”

  Magnus let out a deep sigh. He wore the exact same expression of mild boredom and less-than-mild irritation I often glimpsed on Fitzwilliam’s face. He called down to the end of the table, where I spotted Herald’s trademark harlequin-style outfit and eggplant colored hat.

  “Lord of the Pursuivant,” he called, in his rich bass voice, “since this is such a serious matter for serious men, kindly inform us how many vassals Dame Chrissie is allowed to have present.”

  The scarecrow-thin man quickly stood up and swallowed hard. “Oh my, oh my. Alas, Lord Alvey is correct. While Heads of Knightly Orders are normally allowed two vassals at a meeting, that is only whilst meeting in the throne room. Or, of course, if the Regent commands otherwise.”

  Magnus rubbed the side of his head in thought, ruffling the fiery red hair that was starting to come in. He still looked as if the local barber had given him an overly enthusiastic crew cut, but at least he wasn’t bald anymore. He considered for a moment, and then pronounced judgement.

  “Very well, I ‘command otherwise’. It is too hot and crowded in here for any sane person’s sake. No matter their seniority, I wish no more than one vassal per lord to be present from now on when a meeting begins.”

  No small amount of grumbling resulted from that judgement, but several knights from both sides of the table made their way grumpily to the exit. I considered my options for a moment. Sir Quinton was a fine fellow, and well known to everyone at the table. But I’d seen Sir Kagin’s hand resting awfully near his swor
d. I knew that only one of my knights was his equal or better in combat.

  “Sir Ivor,” I stated. “You shall remain with me.”

  Some tittering broke out around me as Quinton left. A couple of the minor lords grinned as if I’d committed a faux pas like using the salad fork to eat my steak. Lord Ivor leaned in my direction and spoke quietly, so I had to strain to hear him.

  “Before you arrived, I had just announced the disowning of my heir,” the elder Ivor explained. “This is not a personal slight, Dame Chrissie. You must understand. I have no choice but to protect our family should the Order of the Ermine not be up to its challenges.”

  His son came to stand at my side, adding, “To make this clear, I have changed my surname to that of my mother’s family. Thus, I remain in your service as Sir ‘Exton’ instead of Sir ‘Ivor’.”

  I nodded and turned back towards ‘Exton’s’ father.

  “Lord Ivor,” I acknowledged wearily, “I take no offense. I just appreciate your…well, your tolerance in allowing your son to join my Order.”

  “I do wish things were different,” Ivor said. “But my son and I both know what you are doing for Andeluvia. The truth is always right in front of us, if we choose to look.”

  Herald, who had remained standing, cleared his throat before making his next announcement. “The Regent now calls the Royal Court to begin today’s session.”

  I quickly took my seat. Lord Ivor and Alvey did the same on my side of the table. Lord Behnaz and Ghaznavi did the same on the other side. Slowly, the talking settled down until the room quieted.

  Magnus made a ‘get on with it’ gesture to Herald, who took the hint.

  “The Regent’s first order of business is to request a report from Dame Chrissie as to the status of King Fitzwilliam, currently en hospitam in the Land of the Angels.”

  Inwardly, I sighed. One of these days I would have to correct how the Andeluvians referred to ‘Los Angeles’.

  “The King’s recovery is proceeding slowly but steadily,” I said aloud. I did my best to sound upbeat and unconcerned. “He is completely out of immediate danger. However, his body still must metabolize the poison from the wyvern bite. As soon as he is strong enough, he shall return.”

  “Yet you refuse to tell us the most crucial point,” Lord Behnaz huffed. “That is, the ‘when’. When will we see our rightful king on the throne again?”

  “At the rate he’s progressing? I’m hopeful that will be within the next seven to ten days. He had several milliliters of some of the most potent venom in your world injected directly into his bloodstream. We’re lucky that he’s conscious and healing well.”

  Behnaz made a disgusted sound before looking away. Even though I knew he was trying to get a rise out of me, it still rankled. Herald stepped into the grim-sounding mutters from around the table to read off the next issue. I leaned back a little and let out a breath. Having something else to discuss besides the prickly matter of Fitzwilliam’s health and return would be a relief.

  “The next item on the list was specifically requested by several ‘interested parties’,” Herald announced, in his studiously official voice. He squinted at his scroll of parchment, blinking in astonishment. “Oh, my. Now we come to a rather delicate matter.”

  I looked up. That didn’t sound promising.

  “The assembled lords and knights of the Royal Court wish to challenge the recent name change of Dame Chrissie’s knightly order from the ‘Weasel’ to that of the ‘Ermine’. It is alleged that this is nothing more than an attempt to illegally shed a debt in a manner…” He paused, and then let out a gulp before he went on. “In a manner that is base, shameless, underhanded, knavish, fraudulent, spurious, farcical, suppositious, and ‘offensive to one and all’.”

  The Court was silent as Herald wound down. A few of the knights and lords present looked glum about the pronouncement. But about three-quarters of the assembled nobles were either grimly defiant or, in the case of Lord Behnaz and Sir Kagin, openly grinning ear to ear.

  “Well, now,” Magnus remarked, “this Royal Court has gotten a good deal blunter than I remember.”

  I rubbed a temple with one hand, trying to stave off another stress-related headache.

  Just another day in Andeluvia.

  Chapter Two

  I should have seen it coming.

  Of course the nobles on the Royal Court would be up in arms over my name change. And in a weird sort of way, it was hard to blame them. I was trying to rehabilitate my Order’s reputation. But that very same reputation was a tough thing to shake.

  Nevertheless, I had to try.

  “I realize that some people are skeptical,” I began, and that was as far as I got.

  Cries of ‘Welchers!’, ‘Cheaters!’ and ‘We won’t be fooled again!’ echoed down the narrow room. Lord Ivor and Ghaznavi argued with the nobles next to them, or across from them, making little headway. I felt the blood rushing to my head, and I did my best to count to ten before I said anything that I would regret later.

  Sir Exton nudged my shoulder. I looked up at him, and he nodded towards Magnus.

  Sure enough, Magnus had called Commander Yervan over and was speaking urgently to him in a muffled voice. Yervan, resplendent as ever in his gold-trimmed armor, bobbed his head in agreement. The Commander of the Palace Guard walked to the end of the table and motioned to the Lord of the Pursuivant. Together, the two men quickly left the room, shutting the double doors to the hall behind them.

  “Again,” I insisted doggedly, “I’m simply trying to update my Knightly Order.”

  “Ha!” This from Sir Kagin. “You’re trying to create a brand new one.”

  I ignored him and spoke to the rest of the table. “Surely, all the knights and lords present must know how a weasel grows into a new, white coat of fur? That’s all an ermine is!”

  “How poetic,” Lord Behnaz said sardonically. “Yet you still are an Order of Weasels, and you’re still trying to bankrupt this kingdom with your foolish schemes!”

  The Regent listened to all this with the air of someone fighting a bad case of heartburn. I debated whether I should stand, to see if I could verbally knock some sense into someone. It seemed close to a hopeless cause at this point.

  Right at that moment, the doors to the Great Hall flew open with a bang.

  Herald’s spindly, brightly-attired form stood in the doorway. His purple hat hung askew, and his chest heaved as if he’d just finished running a fifty-meter sprint. Once he’d gotten his breath back, he spoke in his familiar officious tones.

  “The Lord of the Pursuivant wishes to announce a special arrival,” he said. “May I present to the Royal Court the Head of Parliament, Albess Thea.”

  And with that, he stepped aside, allowing Yervan to walk past. Thea, ever the stately old owl, perched securely on the Commander’s shoulder. The Albess’ pastel orange plumage fairly glowed against the burnished gold of the man’s armor.

  For the first time today, Magnus looked less than completely bored.

  “We welcome your presence, Albess,” he said smoothly. “To what do we owe the honor of this rare visit?”

  “It seems that I am supposed to give you greetings, ‘Regent’,” Thea replied, with a dismissive clack of her beak. Though they’d never gotten into a physical fight, Magnus and the Albess had been antagonists from before I’d arrived in this world. “I am present because, as the leader of Parliament, I am also the overseer of the Exchequer. I am the Hoohan with ultimate authority as to the debts held by this kingdom and all the subjects within it.”

  Well, that got everyone’s attention.

  Magnus nodded respectfully. “So it has always been, to my knowledge. No one here has challenged that.”

  Thea let out a ‘hoo’ of acknowledgement and went on. “The debt of the Order of the Weasel has been tossed like a tasty little dormouse between Parliament and the Exchequer for far too long. Had it not been for my usurpation, the attacks on the throne, or Dame Chrissie’s hero
ism, this would have been addressed sooner.”

  “Heroism?” Lord Alvey sniggered. “For sending our knights to their deaths at the Oxine River? I shall never see that as ‘heroic’.”

  To my surprise, a strong chorus of ‘boos’ and hisses erupted from around the table. Lord Behnaz looked as if he’d swallowed a scrub brush, but remained silent. The Albess spoke again as soon as the last of the jeers had faded away.

  “The last ‘hero’ I met from House Alvey was your grandfather,” Thea said, in a voice that sounded wistful and yet still dripped acid. “He won the last of the ‘petty wars’ in the Eastern Reach and gained most of the land your family owns. He was a greedy glutton of a man, so I suppose that much has bred true. As I recall, he drowned when he threw himself into a vat of his favorite wine.”

  “My grandfather was a great drinker,” Alvey huffed. “But he fell into the vat by accident.”

  “Did he now? Then why were his last words, ‘The last one in gets to sip the dregs’?”

  That got the entire room roaring. Even Magnus and Jorvath couldn’t help but laugh. Given the exploits of the centaurs and their love of alcohol, this kind of story would tickle their funny bones.

  The Albess raised her wing until the room subsided to mere chuckles. “Your grandfather also died heavily in debt to the Exchequer,” she continued. “Rather than give up a single acre of his land to help pay it, he sold your father into indentured servitude for twenty years.”

  Alvey tried to say something, but only a raspy growl came out of the old man’s throat.

  “What is your point, wretched bird?” Sir Kagin spat, as he stood before his father.

  “That servitude was part of a deal to handle the long-term debts of House Alvey. We owls have long considered how to treat Dame Chrissie’s debts similarly. First off, the change from a ‘Weasel’ to an ‘Ermine’ is not an attempt to, as you put it, welch.”

  “Why not?”