The Hawk and the Falcon

by Benjamin Corman

  Reinas Rovin, Captain of the royal guard, stepped forward then, a torch in his hand. The crowd suddenly started to grow very quiet, and very still. Rovin put the flame to the pyre, and within moments the wood was alight. He tossed the torch onto the pile of logs and took a step backward.

  Word seemed to spread through the crowding people as quickly as the flames did over the cedar, for soon everyone was silent even beyond the square, the only sound the whispers from this man or that woman, to the person behind them. Smoke began to billow upward in thick, black clouds, like the angry breath of some fiery demon.

  As he stared at the licking flames Will saw a shadow dart ahead, toward the pyre. Within seconds, the person was climbing amidst the flaming logs. It only took Will a moment to recognize it was Byron, as the man moved toward the body of the king. “What is that crazy fool doing?” he breathed, not believing.

  Was he riddled with grief? Throwing himself onto to the pyre to join his father in the hereafter? Was that it? Everyone seemed to be transfixed on the image before them, but surely, surely someone would intercede, pull him down… a guardsmen, a noble… but no one was moving, everyone was frozen in shock at the sight of the man in the flames.

  After a moment Will broke free of his own stupor and started to push forward. He shouldered past a noble, pushed aside a guard, who came to his senses long enough to scoff, and made for the dais. He grabbed at Byron’ ankles, trying like hell to avoid the flames, seeing that his friend’s robes were already alight.

  “I forgot it,” he heard Byron whimpering. “I have to get it.”

  Will pulled at Byron, but he was heavy, his full weight on top of the pyre, his hands already to his father’s side.

  “Help me!” Will yelled, looking back. “Grab him.”

  Two of the royal guardsmen shook to life, and ran forward, helping him pull Byron down. They pushed him to the ground, and one of them threw his blue cloak onto the Prince Regent, stamping out the flames. When the cloak was drawn back again, Byron was chuckling softly, his hands clutching a ring bearing the falcon crest of Lyle. “I’ve got it,” he was saying. “I’ve got it.”

  “Yes,” said Will, still patting at his friend’s arms with an edge of the cloak. “You’ve got it.”

  Behind them, the funeral pyre was raging now, entirely consumed by bright orange flames, licking high into the sky.

  The Lyle castle was quiet when Will returned. The sky outside was darkening, the sun having fallen behind the western mountains. No one seemed to be around, even the servants having been given the day off to enjoy the festivities in the King’s honor.

  Will took a seat on a plush chair in the large sitting room, his feet worn and tired from walking the streets all day. After WIll had been certain Byron was safe, Lord Lewin Laswick materialized from somewhere, and had taken charge. Ordering the Prince Regent surrounded, put into a litter, and carried away. At the time, Will could only assume they had brought him back to the castle but knew he would not be needed amongst all of the nobles who had suddenly taken interest in his friend’s wellbeing.

  The longer he thought about it though, he felt he should make sure everything was truly alright. So, with a sigh he pushed himself up and made his way back toward Byron’s chambers. When he got there though, no one was inside. Off down the hall he heard voices and turned. Of course, Byron was in the king’s old chambers now, and those that he formerly inhabited. Old habits…

  As he made to step toward the king’s chambers, the voices grew louder, as if they were moving toward him. Will took a step back, moving against the cool, stone wall. He had no interest in running into any of the men who might have come back with Byron, no interest in suffering any of their inevitable questions, with no one else available to pester.

  Lord Laswick passed by the doorway, flanked by Siral Rove, an elder merchant, well known in Lyle. Siral was thin where Lord Laswick was wide, and he was easily sixty years of age, slouched, his thin arms dangling at his sides. Just a fringe of white hair remained about the crown of his head. “I’m unsure, m’lord,” the merchant was saying. “That course seems rash.”

  “Nonsense, Rove, nonsense,” said Lord Laswick. “I am well regarded as a cautious man, you know that.”

  “Of course, m’lord, but can you ensure the south will follow?”

  “I can guarantee it,” said Lord Laswick, his heavy cheeks drawn up in a grin.

  Siral shook his head, as they continued into the sitting room. “How can you possibly – even Novak?”

  Lewin Laswick took one of the merchant’s thin arms in hand. “Especially Novak.”

  “But the Earl of Novak is loyal to Lyle, has always been, since days of old. The only House in the east with such longstanding devotion...”

  “Siral, my friend, do not worry. You have my word. When Byron becomes king, I assure you, he will propose my choice for Duke of Lyle, now that no male heir remains. Who that will be, well,” and at that Lord Laswick winked to Siral, “I cannot yet say, but I assure you, it will be a someone well-disposed to your efforts.”

  Will moved out from the wall, making his way to the entryway of the sitting room. He could just see the backs of the two men as they made their way toward the castle’s southern staircase. He couldn’t believe what he had heard. Lord Laswick practically telling the merchant he himself would be made Duke of Lyle. From middling noble to duke. Will shook his head.

  He thought to follow them, to learn more of their treacherous talk, but instead he headed down the hall, away from them, intent on finding out how Byron fared, and warning him of what he had heard.

  When he entered the chamber, his friend was asleep, lying on a large, four-poster bed, beneath a massive blue quilt. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. He is alright. I can rest easy. He’d talk to him later. But as Will turned to leave, Byron stirred.

  “Lewin, is that you?” Byron was craning his neck above the sheets, squinting into the gloom.

  “No, Byron, it’s me.”

  “Ah, Will. Good, good. The last thing I need is more of Lewin Laswick’s squawking.” Then he suddenly looked afraid, glancing around the room. “He’s not here, is he?”

  “No,” said Will. “I saw him leave. In fact, Byron,” Will moved toward the bed, and sat down, “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  Byron pushed himself up in the bed, resting his back against the multitude of over-stuffed pillows behind him. Will winced as his friend moved, revealing white bandages wrapped about his hands, and arms, with a larger one covering a swath of his stomach. “Of course, my friend. Go ahead.”

  The last thing Byron needed was more things to worry over, but Will felt as if he had to tell him. What kind of friend would he be if he didn’t? “I overheard Lord Laswick as he left, he and the merchant Siral Rove. I didn’t like their talk.”

  “What were they saying?” Byron asked, suddenly concerned.

  “They spoke of Hyrel. Of who would be made Duke of Lyle. Lord Laswick talked as if it would be his decision. Their tone was… inappropriate.”

  Byron furrowed his brow, and then he started laughing. “Will, ah, Will, do not worry on such things. Lewin, well, he wants his way, and perhaps many things he will get, but he is loyal to me, as is Siral. I have spoken to both of them, and they will not take action against me. They advised my father for years. They petition yes, and enjoy a certain favor, but they will fall in line as they always have.”

  Will shook his head. “Byron, I’m not so certain. Your father was well established, now, well, things are very tenuous. You must–”

  Byron swatted the air. “Honestly, my friend. Do not worry on such things. I have a host of advisors to do that for me. But listen, this is precisely why I need you by my side. Someone I know, someone I can trust. I realize you have not been enthused by my recent requests of you, but I need your help, your council, more than the rest of them.”

  Will stood and turned away. He walked toward a window, taking a large, corded rope attached to a vel
vet curtain in his fist. Why was he put to such things? He had always followed Byron, done what he asked, but this was too much. He wanted nothing to do with these people and their pomp, their schemes. “Byron… I, I want to, but… I can’t. These people, this life… it’s not for me.”

  “You’ll grow accustomed to it. I promise. Do you think I was ready for all of this?”

  “But you were raised among these men, in this life. They’re your… kind. They will show me no respect. I hold no land, no title, no position.”

  “I’ve given that some thought,” Byron said. Will turned about and saw a grin forming on his friend’s face that he did not entirely like. “I think that’s something we can remedy.”

  Will studied his friend’s eyes, and knew his resolve, but more importantly, knew his need, whether real or imagined. And damn the scheming nobles and councilors, if Byron wouldn’t listen, then he’d find a way to show him the truth of their ways. How could he leave him exposed amongst those who only wanted what piece of him they could grab?

  Will’s own words almost frightened him as he said, “What did you have in mind?”

  Chapter Seven

  ALAINA

  The old man was retching over the side of the ship again. His pale hands only loosely holding onto the wide, wet, wooden rail, with what little strength remained. Alaina did her best to hold the stray strands of Halster Brighton’s white hair away from his face, all the while trying not to focus too much on the sounds and sites of his sick, clinging with her other hand to the sodden wool cloak covering her head from the torrent of rain being unleashed from the gray sky above.

  The storms had raged nearly from the moment they left the docks at Lyle and had continued to turn and toss their triple-masted vessel near the entire time they worked their way across the Kaspen Sea, toward the east, to Kyres, to the Casterlin stronghold that awaited. The ship taking its time was originally a small blessing that played well to the fear of facing her brother’s killers that was still in her heart, but right now she’d stand face to face with the entire Casterlin clan, if that’s what it took to be away from the sick and wet that surrounded her. Some of the men were weathered, seasoned, had likely spent much of their lives at sea – but the green boys among them, those that had started the trip flashing the most winning smiles they could manage her way, were right there with the old man each day, heads over the railing. The same could be said of most of her retinue, excited when they had begun their journey, now retching and moaning on the deck or below it, none of them accustomed to such travel. At first all of the noises and sights had made the bile in her own stomach rise, but she had quickly grown used to it.

  When he was done losing what little remained in his stomach into the sea, Halster Brighton fell down sharply onto the deck, his back now against the rail, yellow bile dribbling from his mouth, down his soiled tunic. He was getting on in years, but he had still always had plumpness to his face, and stomach. Now he looked pale, gaunt, his eyes and cheeks sunken, his arms thin, with no hint of a belly beneath his clothes. “The gods are angry,” he managed, in a rasp. “Not a good omen for our journey. And the weather, too foul for any birdsign to change our prospects.”

  Alaina only quieted him, put an arm under his, and helped him up and across the deck, the two of them stumbling the whole way, and then down into the dank and darkness below. There she saw him to her small cabin. It was grand for a sea-faring vessel, but in reality, nothing more than a thin down mattress pushed between four planked walls. The ceiling was comprised of thick beams that dripped trails of water along them, before coming to a downward slope, and falling to the floor, or the bed, or the person who occupied it.

  On the first few nights of the journey she had supped in the comparatively spacious dining hall of the ship’s captain, Vasrel Estercas. A smiling, entertaining, man of dark hair, thin mustache, bright colors, and wide flourishes of hand, who had had no time for her in the days since, as he battled the sea, using every bit of the strength in his lean, sinewy form, to keep the ship from falling to pieces – barking orders to his men above the thunder and sea spray, securing loosed boards with the swing of an iron hammer, pulling ropes so hard and taut the drops of water riding down them flew back into the air, to join their wayward brethren. Yes, the respite of glasses of dark wine in Captain Estercas’ candle-lit rooms had ended when the storms came, and that was when she had been left with only Halster for company.

  When Alaina managed to get the old man up onto her bed again, and he was snoring softly in slumber, she left the cabin and went back out into the dark, low-ceilinged hall adjoining it. She looked into the gloom and saw no one about, and so quickly shed her sodden cloak and the crème dress that was slicked to her skin. She then fetched a now only moderately dampened green dress from where it was hanging on one of the rusty iron nails she had put into the post outside the cabin door. When she had left home, she thought she had brought plenty of enough dresses and gowns, shifts and stockings, and hair ribbons, to last her across the sea, and into her first few weeks at her destination. But in a desire to be free of the cold, clinging, dampness of her attire, she had changed frequently, now moving from one damp, salt-soaked, dress to the next, hanging those she was not wearing on the nails in vain hope that they would find some semblance of dryness before the clothes she was wearing were soaked through again. So too did she no longer fear someone happening upon her standing naked in the darkness, as her cabin was too small for such activities with an old man resting within, and a trip anywhere else on the ship would assuredly mean getting drenched all over again. No, she was past caring, and so quickly went to her work as a matter of course.

  When the storms did finally break the crew and passengers all came out onto deck, most sitting awkwardly, their clothes disheveled, hair at odd angles, looking worn and thin. Alaina joined them, herself looking affright she was certain, and fell down against a crate. The sky was a stark white, cloudless, featureless. Halster Brighton limped up from below, the blanket from her bed pulled about his shoulders, his hair floating in the wind, and several days white growth on his face. He managed a smile and then looked upward and pointed. A seagull floated through the air, flapped its wings, wheeled around, and dove into the water, before coming up with a fish in its beak.

  “The tide is turning,” said Halster, falling down beside her.

  Alaina favored him with as much a smile as she could muster, and all around everyone seemed to relax a bit, more smiles formed on faces here and there in succession.

  Captain Estercas appeared then, his hair slicked back, mustache oiled, adorned in fresh shirt and trousers of reds and greens and blues. His mouth was a thin line as he looked about the deck, appearing to give everyone a moment before saying, “What are you all doing? There’s work to be done.”

  Crew and passengers alike nodded and lumbered to weary feet. But there was determination on their faces, his words a call to order, permission to return to the lives they had before the decimation of the storms. They rose and then went to work at once.

  It was still a week hence before the ship, tattered white sails mended and showing the scars of their triumph in black thread, boards haphazardly nailed in place to cover holes, and ropes rigged together with hooks and twine and whatever the crew could find, finally sailed into the eastern port city of Kasport. The sun was already setting in the sky, and torches were lit amongst the square-cut buildings of brown clay that crowded the docks. Even from a distance Alaina could see the well-worn cart ruts in the dirt roads and smell the cookfires of folk preparing their dinners. The aroma was welcome after days of salted cod and oaten mush, and yet her stomach initially recoiled despite this.

  When she came down the gangplank, setting foot on solid ground for the first time in near a month, she lurched unexpectedly, feeling as if the ground was still moving beneath her. It was Halster Brighton who caught her arm this time, smiling again, seeming now to have nearly recovered his spirits and his health. “Thank you,” she managed, tr
ying to calm the dizziness in her head.

  Halster caught the ear of a small boy wandering by, shirtless and bare-foot, tossed him a copper birdpenny and called for carts. The boy caught the coin deftly in hand, and turned it over, no doubt inspecting the visage of her father on one side, his face in profile, a crown upon his head, and on the reverse, a falcon chick, similarly looking off. Hem scratched at its edge then put it into his trouser pocket. “There’s a tenspiece in it for you, if you’re quick,” Halster added. The boy nodded and ran off.

  Alaina took a coin from her own pocket, a gold crown, and turned it over as well, inspecting the ornate crown depicted on one side and the spread-winged falcon on the other. She felt the weight in her hands, the smooth sides, and her mind drifted. This coin, a thing of value, something that people worked for, scrimped and saved for, fought for – and why? Just a piece of gold, just molten ore from the earth. So small and insignificant. Almost nothing really in grand scheme of things…

  Moments later the carts arrived, and more coins were exchanged. Chests were brought down from the ship and loaded. Her retinue, serving men and women, boy pages, and scullery maids, followed, all looking the worse for wear, but better now that they were on solid ground again.

  Though the sky was already darkening, after Halster conferred with the drivers and exchanged a few more coins, the group decided to get underway. The drivers said they knew the roads well, and everyone was anxious to be under a dry roof. They had not originally planned to arrive at night, and Alaina had purposely requested not to send word ahead of their exact travel plans, lest that alert give away too much information to the Casterlins. Instead of trying to find a local inn to bed down at, hot meals were brought to them as they sat in the cart beds, and the last of the baggage was loaded.

  There was stewed mutton and roasted turnip, washed down with a thick ale, as there was a want for wine nearby according to another boy who fetched the fare. It was quite possibly the most delicious food Alaina had ever tasted, and she fell back in the bed of her cart when she was done, head resting on her folded cloak, her mind swimming lightly from the drink. Soon the cart she lay in was moving, and trees branches were passing overhead against the dark sky of night. It was no time before her eyelids grew heavy and all was dark.