“He released them,” Silveo continued, addressing the Priestess. “I picked up a faun off the street who seemed likely to provide me with information. The Police appeared to have finished with him. It has never been Police policy to let traitors escape. I have killed several ‘released’ shelts for other Police captains.” By the end, he was almost pleading.
Gerard glanced sideways at him. It was strange to see Silveo neither laughing nor sneering.
Morchella steepled her long fingers before her face. “We are getting off the point. The gods inform me that you threw a knife at my officer.”
Silveo dropped his gaze. “I might have.”
“Admiral Lamire, perhaps you are unfamiliar with my policy on such things, as we have not had this problem before. Let me enlighten you. As my admiral, you are free to discipline shelts whom you appoint and administer. If you find them insubordinate or incompetent, you are free to execute them. However, you are not free to either discipline or execute officers whom I appoint and administer. The Police fall into this category. If you kill one of my officers, you will lose more than your station. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“And you.” She turned to Gerard. “I am told that you arrived on the Fang and drew a sword on your superior officer. Is that correct?”
“It is,” said Gerard. He drew a deep breath. Silveo’s explanation made more sense than he had expected. The smuggler was right; I am new at this. “But,” he continued, “it wasn’t the sword that provoked the incident. It was what I said.” He turned to Silveo. “I apologize for my…comment. It was dishonorable and insubordinate.”
Silveo shot him an expression of loathing, conveying the general sentiment that the only apology he would accept from Gerard was one written in arterial blood.
“However,” continued Gerard to Morchella, “my point stands: any organization which you put in my care will be not only feared, but respected. How can the Police be respected if they fail to keep their promises? How can I bargain or parley with an enemy if I am considered untrustworthy, if every shelt I release is killed in an alley?”
“Bargain with them?” echoed Morchella. “A curious notion. The Admiral is right about the traditional treatment of prisoners by the Police. Those who escape warn their comrades of what they’ve seen, heard, and told. For this reason, they are not normally allowed to leave alive. However, I trust your judgment enough to let you play out this experiment. In the future, your wishes will be honored, so far as they pertain to the province of the Police.”
And there’s the problem, thought Gerard, because the province of the Police and the Sea Watch overlap.
Silveo was glaring down at his bright yellow boots. Morchella rose and walked down from her dais to stand between them. “My fox and my lion…you will compliment each other’s strengths if you will only work together.”
Her voice grew harder as she turned to Silveo. “In the future, if you have a problem with one of my officers, you will bring it to me. Now go back to your ship.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Gerard expected to be dismissed as well, but she spoke before he could move. “Stay a moment, Captain.” When Silveo was gone, she continued, “How do you find your new command?”
Gerard hesitated. “I hardly know how to answer that yet, Mistress. I have had less than two days with them.”
“I told you on your last visit that you have permission to use my name.”
He inclined his head stiffly. She was standing very close, and Gerard wished suddenly that Silveo were back in the room. He caught a faint scent of salt and sandalwood. Was it only incense, or was it her perfume?
“If I have put you in an untenable situation, you may tell me so,” she continued. “I have other positions to fill with capable shelts. You may serve me elsewhere.”
Gerard felt his fur bristle uncomfortably against his clothes. “I do not quit that easily, Mistress Morchella. It is true that the Police are in a pitiful state. They have been leaderless for a red month, and it does not seem to me that they have had firm leadership for some time before that. Their captains have been yearly assassinated, as have many of their officers. They are hated by the citizenry of Wefrivain, both grishnard and non-grishnard. They are distrusted. In addition, I find it difficult to work with Admiral Lamire. This is my own problem, and I will deal with it.”
Morchella nodded. “I’m sure you will. However, the Police will never be a gentle organization. This would undermine their function. Can you do what I’m asking, Gerard? If you can’t, now is the time to tell me.”
“You mean, can I torture and kill if necessary?”
Her aquamarine eyes bored into him. “Can you? Will your honor let you?”
“I can.” Firebird forgive me. “I can be cruel when I must, but not to no purpose.” He told her about his treatment of the prisoners, the reasons he had killed the leaders at once, the things that the youngster and the smuggler had told him.
Morchella folded her arms. She thought for a moment. “You’ve impressed me. This is unconventional behavior for the Police. I have no doubt that torturing the prisoners would have produced more information, but not of the same quality. I think you’re right: what they told you is probably true and the best they had to tell.”
Feeling a little bolder, Gerard said, “I’m certain that youngster knew no more than he told me. The smuggler, on the other hand, was an unscrupulous bastard—”
“Exactly the sort of morals desirable in an informer,” interrupted Morchella.
Gerard shrugged. “Perhaps. However, he was the sort of faun who would highly resent being made to die for a cause. I would treat any information he gave under duress as suspicious.”
Morchella nodded. “You have a point. Please present it to Admiral Lamire when you sail with him to Sern.” She watched Gerard grimace. “You were planning on going with him, weren’t you?”
Gerard said nothing.
“The Police have no ships,” said Morchella softly. “The Sea Watch administers the ships. A journey to Maijha Minor or any other place you wish to investigate must to be coordinated with the Sea Watch. I expect you to work together.”
Gerard shut his eyes. He had not thought that far ahead. He felt suddenly tired.
“Try to get along with Silveo,” said Morchella. “I realize that you find him distasteful, but he has his uses. Learn to exploit them. Silveo can be made to do almost anything once you know how to steer him. You, on the other hand, are a delightful enigma.” And she leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him. Gerard thought for one panicked moment that she was going to kiss him on the mouth, but she only touched her lips to his forehead in a vaguely maternal gesture.
Then she brought her lips down to his ear in a way that was not maternal at all, tickling his skin with her breath. “Now, you need to go home and love your minstrel girl and sleep. You lost your temper this evening because you are exhausted. Go home, Gerard. I’ll be watching over you.”
Chapter 9. Mine
The High Priestess of Wefrivain is a mysterious, but stable figure for most of her subjects. She is ageless—as beautiful and terrible as their grandfathers remembered her. Some believe that there have been a long line of High Priestesses, each chosen in great secrecy. They point to the fact that she does not often appear in public, and some say that her appearance has differed over time. Others claim that she is deathless—a personification of the will of the gods, not a true person at all. A few claim that she is a wyvern shelt, although those who have worked with her closely swear she is a grishnard. Her life and work are surrounded by secrecy, and while her Sea Watch or Police may perpetrate atrocities, these acts are rarely attributed to the Priestess, who is supposed to spend most of her time in communion with the gods. The minstrels of the old school (of whom very few remain) call her a servant of the Firebird. This is curious, as the wyvern-gods of Wefrivain have completely eradicated all monuments to that ancient deity.
—Gwain, The Truth About W
yverns
Alsair met Gerard on the Temple steps. “I’ve never seen a wyvern pick up a shelt that way. I thought perhaps they’d sacrificed you.” He nosed Gerard this way and that, as though to make sure he was all in one piece. “Lamire came out looking like he’d just eaten a live eel, which gave me a bit of hope.”
Gerard sighed. “Silveo probably hates me more than ever for earning him a reprimand from the Priestess.”
“Oh? Does our silver tadpole fear something, then?”
“Loves and fears, I think,” said Gerard. “But neither will stop him from trying to kill me after what I said on the deck of the Fang in front of his officers and crew. I should not have lost my temper.”
Alsair shrugged. “I wish I’d said it for you. Don’t worry; I’ll kill him before he gets another shot.”
Gerard took a fistful of Alsair’s ruff. “No, you won’t. You’ll stay out of it. Please, this is already too complicated.” He was feeling more and more confused by the Priestess’s behavior, and he hated feeling confused. Perhaps I am just tired. He’d slept less than a watch last night, and it was already late. Thessalyn would be worried.
Gerard told Alsair the gist of what had happened in the Temple as they flew back to the inn. He did not say anything about Morchella’s kiss.
“We have to go to Sern?” whined Alsair. “With those conniving sea rats?”
“You don’t have to go,” said Gerard. “In fact, I’d be pleased if you’d stay and help Thessalyn settle into the house.”
“Oh, no. No offense to your lady, but my place is with you—now more than ever.”
“I don’t need you to protect me, Alsair.”
The griffin made a mock whimper. “You wound me!”
Gerard refused to be drawn. “Silveo has an order not to kill me. He has no such order about you.” Or, he thought with a chill, about Thessalyn. “Can we go any faster?”
When they reached the inn, Gerard tore up the stairs three at a time and unlocked the door to his room. “Thess!”
She sat up in bed, her golden hair tousled and gleaming faintly in the stream of light from the hall. “Gerard? What’s wrong?”
He sagged against the doorframe. Everything. “Nothing.”
“Yes, it is,” she insisted. “Are you hurt? Please come here.”
He shut the door and came to her in the dark (it made no difference to her). “Your heart’s beating like a bird’s,” she whispered. “What happened today? Did someone hurt you?” Her hands were running all over him in a very distracting way.
“No one hurt me. I had a fight with Silveo. We almost attacked each other. The Priestess interfered. I thought Silveo might think of hurting you to get at me.”
“No one has bothered me, unless you count asking me to sing “The Tale of the Maiden’s Pearl” eleven times. I suppose that could count as harassment.” Gerard smiled. Thessalyn was undressing him with expert speed. “What were you and Silveo fighting about?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he said, and then growled in her ear, which had the usual effect of making her try to crawl inside his shirt.
* * * *
Gerard dreamed that night that he stood on the shores of a starless sea, with only a fingernail of yellow moon shining through the clouds. He was lost and alone and very cold. He was looking for something, but he did not know what.
Then light exploded in front of him. It struck him like a hammer, so that he sank to his knees. Squinting into the heavy brilliance, he saw a huge eagle with feathers so bright they looked like flame. Gerard struggled to his feet. He did not want to appear afraid.
The Firebird looked at him with warm, golden eyes, and Gerard knew that he could hide nothing from this creature. He also knew that the Firebird saw his courage in the face of his fear and loved him for it. The huge eagle bent his head until his beak brushed Gerard’s forehead and uttered one word. “Mine.”
Then the light went out, except for one tiny spark on the sand. Gerard picked it up—a golden feather, warm and glowing. He saw a trail, then, leading away into the caves beside the beach. He followed the trail, carrying the golden feather. The darkness seemed to press against him. Darker and deeper he went, until he could see nothing except the feather. He clutched it in both hands, terrified that he would lose it, that he would lose himself in the darkness.
* * * *
“Thess, how does the Priestess know things?”
Thessalyn stopped her tactile exploration of their new home. “What do you mean?”
“Her wyvern probably saved my life last night.” Gerard had already told Thessalyn about the fight. “It happened so fast, yet she seemed to have sent the wyvern.”
“Perhaps the gods have been watching over you,” suggested Thessalyn.
Gerard had thought of that. It made his skin crawl. “But,” he persisted, “she knew things about the fight when we arrived in her Sanctum. I don’t see how even a wyvern could have gotten there ahead of us.” He hesitated. “And yet, she doesn’t know everything. She didn’t know what I’d done with the prisoners or what they’d said to me.”
“She is a goddess, love,” said Thessalyn, “a servant of the Firebird. She may have once been a grishnard like you or me, but now she is something more, something different. Perhaps the Firebird himself speaks to her. Who can say?”
The Firebird. That reminded him of something. “I dreamed of him last night.”
Thessalyn looked interested. She believed in dreams. “Did he speak to you?”
“Yes…” The details were coming back. “He came to me on a beach on a dark night. He said…” What did he say? That I was brave? That he loved me? No, he didn’t actually say any of that. “‘Mine.’ He touched my forehead with his beak and said, ‘Mine.’”
Thessalyn smiled. “I told you, Gerard: you are good. The light claims you.”
Gerard shook his head. It was the darkness, he thought. The darkness was trying to claim me. Who won? Did I keep that golden feather? He couldn’t remember.
Chapter 10. Silveo Gives Advice
The islands of Wefrivain were once home to a rich variety of shelts and creatures, and there is evidence that they once lived and worked (and sometimes fought) on equal terms. However, grishnards eventually subjugated all the other races. They believe that panauns (shelts with paws) are the natural rulers of fauns (shelts with hooves) and nauns (shelts with neither hooves nor paws). Grishnards believe that fauns are fit food for panauns. However, grishnards were not the only panauns in old Wefrivain. Wolflings once inhabited the islands, too, and the grishnards slowly eradicated them as competitors. Foxlings were more circumspect, more willing to serve and work with the grishnards, so they were allowed to survive, though viewed as a lesser species. Their animal counterparts did not fare so well and have been largely exterminated from all but the deepest jungle. A few pockets of other rare panauns still exist on some islands, such as the ocelons of Sern.
—Gwain, The Non-grishnards of Wefrivain
The traditional residence of the Captain of Police was, indeed, a humble place compared to the homes of most government officials in Dragon’s Eye, but there was a small griffin nest house and a garden. Thessalyn began at once to memorize the layout of the rooms, and Gerard knew that by the time he returned, she would be navigating the house as though she could see. He asked Marlo Snale to look in on her daily and buy anything she required. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised.
Gerard debated over whether he should take any Police with him to Sern and if so, how many. He was appalled to learn from Marlo that the Police presently consisted of only fifty-five individuals. In the past, their numbers had ranged from five hundred to more than four thousand, with offices on several islands. Gerard’s fears of inheriting a bloodthirsty army of thugs were replaced by fears of inheriting a tiny band of ineffectual cowards. It seemed to him that the only Police to survive their service in recent years were the lazy, the young, and the incompetent. Those the Resistance didn’t think worth killing.
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His officers consisted of three wardens, who presently commanded less than twenty shelts each. I had better get to know them, he decided. Now is as good a time as any. So, very early that morning, he sent a messenger to each of their homes with orders to report to the dock prepared for a journey to Sern by the first watch of the day.
He left Marlo Snale in charge of the Police on Lecklock, in spite of his ardent protests. (“I have never wanted to be an officer, sir.” “With all respect, I am too inexperienced for this, sir.” “Sir will please note that I take this position under protest.”)
“I’ll be gone for a red month at most,” said Gerard. “As far as I can tell, you’ve been in the Police longer than anyone and, you know how they work. Besides, there are no prisoners in the dungeon and virtually nothing to do. You’ll spend more time running errands for Thessalyn than managing the Police.” As an afterthought, he add, “Should you become bored, you have my permission to do some recruiting.”
“Yes, sir,” said Marlo miserably.
Gerard kissed Thessalyn good-bye and left his new house about mid-morning. He did not think Silveo could possibly sail before noon on such short notice, and if he had somehow gotten away earlier, Gerard would catch up on Alsair.
“I wonder what our dear admiral thinks about going to Sern,” said the griffin as they flew low over the rooftops of Dragon’s Eye. “Home sweet home, eh? Shall we ask him the way to the best restaurants?”
“Only if we want our throats cut,” said Gerard. In the time he’d been sailing with Silveo, they’d visited every one of the great island kingdoms except Sern. A small, mean part of his mind hoped Silveo was uncomfortable. If he’d left my prisoner alone, we wouldn’t have to go there now.
When he reached the dock with his three bleary-eyed wardens, he found that only the Fang was intended to sail to Sern. This meant that he would have no choice but to sail with Silveo and Farell.
Farell was the lieutenant who commanded that ship, and one of Silveo’s sycophants. Gerard suspected they were sleeping together, though he had never cared enough to puzzle it out. Silveo was sexually omnivorous and as restless as the sea, the only common denominator in his relationships being that they always involved shelts over whom he had complete control. This disgusted Gerard.
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