Fire and Fantasy: A Limited Edition Collection of Urban and Epic Fantasy

by CK Dawn

“Gally promises, Kantees.”

  She tried to delay going to the grand hall. Even though she knew it would be better to get it over with. It was like having a splinter, it was uncomfortable but the thought of taking it out was so much worse.

  So instead she went back to the eyrie and worked hard doing the chores that she had been putting off for weeks. Tidying the riding gear, putting aside those items that needed repair. Reorganising the hay bales—exhausting work that made her sweat despite the cold wind blowing through.

  But there came a point when it could not be delayed any longer—because otherwise it would be past midday instead of before, and then she would have disobeyed, and with that would come punishment. And, quite possibly, the assumption that she was either guilty or knew something.

  She gave Sheesha a pat on the neck and he offered the place under his chin for her to scratch. She gave it a little rub, just to show she cared, and then headed for the ladder. The eyrie itself, unlike her loft, had stone slabs for a floor. Zirichasa did not like wooden floors. Kantees guessed this was because they nested on the ground. They were big enough that they would have few enemies to worry about.

  The ladder went through a small hole in the stone. On the far side was a walled-off area with a wooden trapdoor through which the hay bales were lifted. She had heard the doors crashing shut as each bale went up to the higher eyrie where Romain and Gally worked.

  She reached the lower floor with the yearlings, where the ladder was replaced by stairs. The keepers were all at work. She could hear splashing—the yearlings did not get feathers until they were almost adult, so their keepers bathed them every couple of weeks during the warmer months. This would probably be the last bath of the season.

  She arrived at the kitchen level and set off towards the main part of the castle. She had been there so rarely it made her nervous. For her this was partially explored territory.

  The guards on the inner gate were more alert than usual, though it was clearly a case of closing the cage after the bird had flown. But they didn’t know that. She even heard people calling Jelamie’s name. And it looked as if they had sent someone down into the well. After all, it was possible he had just wandered off. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

  But as Kantees crossed the wide courtyard she glanced up at the wall where the tekrak had been tethered. Its fire had blackened the stone of the building with a great soot stain. She glanced up at the bell tower but there was nothing to be seen. They would have found the man with the five arrows in his body.

  Someone had rung the bell to warn the castle. One might think it was him and he had been silenced by the arrows. But then it would be realised that he was not a member of the household, and the real guard was there too. Perhaps they would attribute the bell ringing to the original guard, though that made little sense.

  No one would imagine that a slave had, in defiance of the law, ridden a zirichak to ring the bell and warn the castle.

  She started to go down some steps to a small door. Since she was no more than a slave, the idea of going through the main entrance did not even cross her mind.

  “Wait,” said an armsman. She did not recognise him, but there was no reason why she should. Her life was secluded.

  “Sir?”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Kantees, sir.” She gestured in the direction of the tower.

  “The keeper of Sheesha?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Come with me. You’re late.”

  She hesitated for a moment but returned to the courtyard. He waited for her and then headed in through the main door. She stopped before it.

  “Sir?”

  He turned. “Stop wasting my time and come along.”

  She swallowed, this was another rule. Not punishable by death but a whipping certainly. The fact that she had been told to do it by someone in authority did not make it any easier. Her early life had been a game of ensuring no rules were broken so that she was not punished. And of protecting others if she could, even if it meant she would be punished instead.

  Then again, she had broken so many rules now, what difference did this one make?

  She followed her escort. He did not go to the main hall, though she could see its massive grandeur of pillars and balconies through open doors as she passed. As far as she could tell they went the full length of a passage that ran along the hall and then turned right along another one where doors led off into smaller rooms.

  Finally the armsman deposited her in a room with huge windows that looked out towards the mountains. Jakalain was a lonely place on the edge of the wilderness. The heart of the island of Esternes was massive peaks and deep valleys where the wild zirichasa, as well as other creatures she knew nothing of, flew free.

  There was no one else in the room. Behind a table of dark wood stood three chairs, and on its surface lay writing implements—since she could neither read nor write, but she understood what writing was.

  There was another chair facing the table.

  “Sit there,” said the armsman.

  “Sit?”

  “When the lord enters, you stand up. After he and anyone else with him has sat down, you can sit.”

  “I’d rather stand.”

  “You will sit.”

  He sounded tired. But he had probably been up all night.

  “Is there any knowledge of the lordling?” she asked.

  His eyes narrowed. “What do you know of it?”

  She was terrified her guilt stood out on her face. “Nothing, just gossip in the kitchen.”

  “Keep your gossip to yourself.”

  With that he left her alone in the room with the chair that had both a padded seat and a padded back. It looked comfortable but she could not bring herself to sit in it. She had been working in the eyrie and had not cleaned herself up. She was probably soiling the rugs on which she stood; she certainly did not want to dirty the beautiful chair.

  Being alone and waiting was terrifying. She felt her heart pounding and she sweated—though that could have been from her earlier exertions. She probably stank, and cursed herself for being so stupid as to engage in hard manual labour before meeting with such important people. But perhaps they expected her to stink.

  The armsman had implied that Lord Jakalain himself would be here. It was true that she was often in close proximity to the lords, because she was usually in attendance with Sheesha. But they never spoke to her.

  She closed her eyes as a door in the wall beyond the table opened.

  Four

  She gripped the back of the chair as three men entered. She realised her other hand was shaking and shoved it behind her back. Her mouth went dry and she did not know whether she should look at them or down in respect. She chose down but kept flicking her gaze up, looking for any clues as to what she should do.

  She recognised Lord Jakalain. Dark circles ringed his eyes and he gave off an aura of exhaustion. The second man was a patterner, from his robes, while the third was Swordmaster Erang, the chief armsman of the castle.

  Folklore told her that the patterns of magic could not force a person to perform any act against their will. Did that mean they could not tell whether someone told the truth or not? She simply did not know. She simply prayed to the Mother that she would not be asked a question where she had to lie in response.

  They took their places. The patterner flicked through the papers in front of him and took up the stylus. She stared in fascination as he fiddled with the end of it then found a small pot. He opened it and dipped the stylus in.

  She glanced at the other men. Even the Lord Jakalain was watching the patterner, though whether he was impatient or simply waiting for him to be ready was impossible to tell. The swordmaster was watching her and she immediately cast her gaze back to the foot of the table where she could see them but not be looking at them.

  “Sit down, Kantees,” said Erang.

  She hesitated. “I am sorry, Swordmaster, but I have been in the eyrie a
ll morning and I do not wish to soil the chair. I beg your pardon.”

  “Kantees, is it?” said Lord Jakalain.

  She trembled, never having been addressed directly by the lord before. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Sheesha’s keeper.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  “Sit down, Kantees,” he said. And where she might question the swordmaster, she dared not go against the lord himself. She shuffled to the front of the chair and gingerly placed her behind on it. She clasped her hands on her lap so that the men would not see them shake.

  “What do you know of what happened last night, Kantees?” said Erang.

  Kantees glanced at the patterner. He was not looking at her but was writing. It made her feel a little better, that he might only be there to keep a record of what happened here, not to perform any magic to divine the truth of her words.

  “Kantees?”

  “I know very little, sire. I heard the gossip in the kitchen. That is all.”

  “Really?”

  She stared directly at the swordmaster. “I can tell you what I heard.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” said Lord Jakalain. “We have heard kitchen gossip a dozen times today.”

  She dropped her gaze to the floor again. “Yes, my lord.”

  “More than one person said they saw a zirichak flying in the night.”

  It seemed as if her heart stopped and she felt as if her very blood froze within her.

  “I saw—” She almost hesitated as her tongue tripped on the lie. “—nothing, sire. I was asleep.”

  “You were not awakened by the alarm bell?” said Lord Jakalain.

  “Sheesha was disturbed by the noise, sire, and upset. I did not go to see but tended to him.”

  Lies piled on lies. It was as if she were falling into a deep dark hole. But unless someone could claim they had seen Sheesha himself and recognised her on his back, there would be no more lies. She must keep it simple.

  But Lord Jakalain was not finished. “You did not see the tekrak?”

  “I heard stories in the kitchen, sire, but I did not believe them. How could there be a tekrak of such size?”

  “I saw it with my own eyes, Kantees.” He was angry. Lord Jakalain was angry with her.

  She threw herself off the chair and prostrated herself on the rugs. “Sire, I am sorry. Beat me for my foolish tongue.”

  There was a long pause. She heard a chair scrape back on the stone floor and boots walking first away and then growing closer until they went quiet on the rugs. She could sense the man standing above her and she tensed herself for the first blow. She jumped as he caught hold of her shoulder.

  “Get up, Kantees,” said the Lord Jakalain. His voice was no longer angry, just tired.

  She could not make her muscles obey her. His grip tightened and he pulled. She came up on to her knees but she kept her head down.

  “I told you to get up.” This time there was the iron command in his voice as if she were testing his patience. She stood but kept her eyes down. Even so, she could see he had withdrawn a short distance.

  “Many people saw the monstrous creature, Kantees, but there are many that did not and some remain as sceptical as you.”

  “I believe you, sire.”

  A short laugh from the swordmaster told her how inappropriate her comment was. That she, a mere slave, should give her approval to the words of her master. What her master said must be the truth.

  Lord Jakalain returned to his seat and murmured something to the patterner who nodded. She wondered what they might be saying. Was it possible she was wrong, and that the patterner was able to tell the truth from lies? But still they did not accuse her. And what in truth had she done wrong?

  Apart from fly.

  She had saved the castle, although she had not been quick enough to keep the lordling from being stolen away. She thought about how she had flown so far away from the castle; if she had spent less time enjoying the sensation perhaps Jelamie would still be with his family. If she had not wasted seconds with the raider on the tower, things might have been different.

  “I am sorry,” she said before she could stop herself.

  “What do you mean?” said the swordmaster.

  “I am sorry I cannot help, sire.”

  Swordmaster Erang shook his head, once more grimly amused by her presumption, but Lord Jakalain looked at her.

  “Thank you, Kantees,” he said. “And if you learn anything about the zirichak people claimed to see, you will speak to the swordmaster.”

  “Yes, sire,” she said.

  The men stood and filed out. The patterner took the papers with him. She must have been the last. They wouldn’t talk to Gally because he was a simpleton, so she should be safe. Though it bothered her that Jelamie was taken.

  She almost called them back. She almost admitted the truth because she knew a name: the Dunor. That was what the raider had said: Are you with the Dunor?

  But she had no idea who the Dunor were. Were they another family? Was it a title? Just one person? A race? She had been to many competitions and she had never come across the name.

  How could she not tell Lord Jakalain the truth?

  But she couldn’t. She had ridden Sheesha and the penalty was death. She did not want to die, but neither did she want the boy to suffer, no matter how unpleasant he was.

  But another thought ran through her mind, a rebellious thought. She was a slave. The Taymalin had come all those years ago and invaded her people’s island. They had become the masters and the Kadralin the enslaved. Why should she help them? What was the value of that stolen life against hers? Why was it more important?

  She knew the answer.

  It was because she had a choice. There were many things in her life over which she had no control; that was what being a slave meant. And even though her position as a keeper meant an easier life than most, it could be cut short in a moment.

  And it would be, if they discovered what she had done.

  Never mind she had saved others from death. She had dared to do what only a Taymalin was permitted.

  It was a different armsman that came to escort her back.

  He stared at her strangely and insisted on checking her to ensure she had not stolen anything. She did not complain as the man touched her. It was not that he had the right; it was that she had no right to object.

  She was the slave. He was one of the masters.

  So why should she even consider helping the child of Lord and Lady Jakalain when she herself was nothing more than a possession? Something that could be bought and sold, or discarded when they no longer required her?

  No, she thought as she suffered the indignities of a search that went on too long and investigated every part of her. Since I am nothing but an object to them, there is nothing I can give them.

  Five

  Over the next few days she tried to ignore what had happened. It wasn’t too hard. Since she spent most of her time in Sheesha’s eyrie, and the next race had been postponed, she saw no one. There was nothing she needed to do beyond feed and clean the zirichak.

  Sometimes, though, she would look out across the castle. Things had returned to normal on the surface and they had given up looking for Jelamie in the castle. He had not drowned in the well. There was now little doubt he had been taken. Speculation as to why roamed from ransom—though no ransom had been demanded—to being used in some terrible ritual.

  This was something Kantees also wondered. It seemed to her that it made no sense. Had the entire raid been mounted to capture a child of limited political value? But if that was the case, why send so many soldiers?

  Of course no one else knew what she knew. They had not seen the thirty or more armsmen that had retreated to the tekrak.

  Information about the monstrous flying plant was now common knowledge, though there were some among the staff who continued to disbelieve it. Romain being one of them, Kantees had to bite her tongue. She could not admit to having seen it.
/>   “Gally saw it,” said Galiko at breakfast on the third day after the raid.

  “Gally is stupid and doesn’t know what he’s saying,” said Romain unpleasantly. He was once more waiting for Gally to finish breakfast but this morning the youth seemed to be eating even slower.

  “Gally saw it,” he repeated. “Big as a wall, all fire and smoking and soldiers.”

  At that moment Daybian walked into the kitchen, flanked by his honour guard.

  The implementation of guards for all the nobility was not fooling anyone. The Jakalain were scared, and the lord had insisted armsmen accompany every member of his family at all times.

  The kitchen went silent in a wave as people realised he was there or noticed others had stopped talking and turned to see who had come in. Not that Daybian was an uncommon sight in the kitchens.

  “What’s Gally saying?” he said to Romain, and Kantees tensed.

  “Nothing, sire, just rambling like the fool he is.”

  If they questioned Gally he was bound to let something slip about Sheesha and her. She did not interrupt Romain’s reply, and hoped Daybian would find him convincing.

  Galiko, like everyone else, had stood as the lordling entered and was looking at the ground, but unfortunately he wanted to defend himself against Romain’s accusations.

  “Gally saw the fire plant,” said the boy.

  “Don’t listen, young master, you know he’s a half-wit. Shut up, Gally.”

  “Honestly, I don’t have time for this.” Daybian sounded petulant and irritable as ever. Kantees wondered if he considered his baby brother to be a threat, but with ten years between them she could not see how even he could think it.

  “Kantees?”

  “Sire?”

  “Is Sheesha ready to fly?”

  “Keen to, sire, he has been shut up so long.”

  “Let’s get to it then.”

  So she left her breakfast unfinished, though she had barely started it, and hurried up the tower ahead of Daybian’s more leisurely pace, though even he had to use the ladder to get into the eyrie. Sometimes Kantees wondered about that. If the castle eyries—most still unoccupied—had been designed for lords to fly their zirichasa, why did they not have separate ways in? In the castle there were special passages for the servants so the lords and ladies did not encounter slaves as they moved around the passages.