The Falcon and The Wolf

by Richard Baker

Madislav grimaced. “And where will your body be?”

  “Someplace safe, I assure you. A place where I keep many things of value to me. In fact, we’ll be going there soon.” Bannier gestured into the darkness, and Madislav heard a strange scraping and clicking sound. The air seemed stale and cold.

  Two skeletons lurched into the chamber, moving with a mechanical precision. At the wizard’s direction, the horrid things seized Madislav’s arms in their yellowed talons and lifted him easily, dragging him up the stairs. The warrior’s head lolled like a corpse, and his nerveless legs trailed behind him uselessly, but he did not utter a sound.

  Bannier turned to follow the skeletons and their burden, but at that moment he became aware of intruders approaching his chamber door. He scowled, but turned and headed back down into his sitting room. A moment later, a heavy sword-hilt thumped his door vigorously.

  “Bannier!” called a muffled voice. “Baron Tuorel wants to see you at once! Princess Ilwyn is missing!”

  “Tell Tuorel I took her, in accordance with the bargain we made,” Bannier responded. “Now, run back to your master!”

  He waited until the renewed pounding paused for a moment, and said, “I will return shortly, gentlemen, and I will speak to the baron then. In the meantime, I must warn you that there are magical wards of some power that guard my chambers. I guarantee the first man to set foot in here will die, instantly and horribly. The second and third men… well, it may be they will wish they had been first. Good day.” He trotted up the stairs behind the skeletons, savoring the thoughtful silence that fell outside his door.

  In the chamber upstairs, Ilwyn stood where he had left her, now with Madislav and his skeletal bearers a few paces behind.

  Bannier stepped in front of Ilwyn to face the disturbing column of darkness, and spoke the words of an ancient invocation.

  The room grew dark and cold as the shadow yawned deeper, waiting. “You will follow me, Ilwyn, remaining two paces behind at all times,” he said over his shoulder. The princess nodded again, her eyes on the floor.

  From behind her, Madislav somehow summoned up enough strength to raise his head and glare at Bannier.

  “Where are you taking us?” he rasped.

  Bannier smiled coldly. “There is a world that exists beside this one. I’ve studied it for years now. The roads are strange there, and I can cover a mile with a few steps on the other side. And there are powers in the darkness with which I have become familiar.” He returned his attention to the portal of darkness. “You may know it as the Shadow World.”

  What little color remained in Madislav’s face drained away.

  Then the wizard turned and stepped into the cold and the dark, the shadows enfolding him like umber-scaled serpents.

  Chapter Ten

  The weather took a turn for the worse as Gaelin, Erin, Boeric, and Niesa rode out of Beldwyn. The temperature began to drop toward the freezing mark, while a stiff westerly wind brought low, angry clouds and stinging cold rain to slow their travel. Gaelin ignored the needles of icy water pelting his face and the chilling gusts that raked him. He stared sightlessly at the road, grappling with the sea of betrayal and grief that surrounded him.

  A few miles west of Beldwyn, they overtook Piere and his kinsmen. The Sirilmeeters listened attentively as Erin recounted their visit to the count.

  “You must remember, my lord Mhor, we view ourselves as Mhoriens first and Dhalsielans second,” Piere said, when she was done. “I think most common folk feel that way, these days. It’s a shame the lords can’t see it the same.”

  Gaelin brooded silently. As far as he was concerned, the only reason to continue back to Sirilmeet was the fact that the road led in that direction. Toward nightfall, they found themselves approaching the village again. After hours of riding in the freezing rain, they were shivering and blue with cold. As Piere and his cousins took their leave of Gaelin, the stocky farmer looked him up and down and said, “My lord Mhor, can I ask where you’ll be staying this night?”

  Gaelin shook himself out of his reverie. “What?”

  “My lord, if you don’t have a place to go, you’re welcome to sleep under my roof. It’s a miserable night, and you shouldn’t have to spend it sleeping in the cold and the rain.”

  “Master Piere, I’m a marked man. If you put me up, I could bring the Ghoerans down on your head.”

  “It’s the least I can do, Mhor Gaelin. Come this way.” Piere led them to his home, a sturdy lodge of stone, turf, and timber.

  It was warm and crowded inside, and Gaelin was instantly set upon by a horde of Piere’s grandchildren. One lad of only four or five asked him over and over, “Are you really a prince?” After a filling dinner of warm bread and stew by the fire, Gaelin felt better.

  As the hour grew late and Piere’s youngsters dropped off one by one to sleep, Erin quietly drew Gaelin aside. “Where are we going next?” she asked.

  He laughed humorlessly. “I have no idea. There doesn’t seem to be a point in going anywhere.”

  She leaned forward, forcing him to look her in the eye.

  “Don’t you think you’ve spent enough time feeling sorry for yourself?”

  He glanced up, his face darkening.

  “Go ahead, Gaelin. Deny it if you want, but you know and I know you’ve been looking for excuses ever since you set foot in Mhoried again.” Her eyes blazed. “You make a poor victim, Gaelin Mhoried. Stop playing the part.”

  “That’s not fair,” he said, an edge in his voice. “You have no idea what I’ve been through in these past few days.”

  Erin sighed and sat back, changing her tactics. “Listen. Do you have a plan, a place you want to go next?”

  “Frankly, I don’t.”

  “Well, why not? Are you looking for someone to tell you what to do, a place to go and drop your burdens? Do you think that all of this will just go away once you find the right person to pick up where your father left off?”

  Gaelin stood up. “I don’t have to listen to this.” He stalked out into the black, cold night, slamming the door behind him.

  The air seared his nose. He noticed the clouds had cleared, and the sky was full of bright, clear stars. He stood in Piere’s farmyard, too angry to do anything but shiver and fume helplessly. After a time, the door creaked, and he heard light footfalls behind him. “Are you ready to continue?” Erin asked.

  “When I leave the room, it’s a good sign I consider the conversation at an end,” Gaelin replied.

  “Gaelin, I understand you’re hurt. All I’m saying is that you have to take control of events, instead of letting events control you. You can’t blow around Mhoried like a dead leaf in the wind forever. Sooner or later, you need to decide what you’re doing.”

  “Those are easy things to say, Erin.” He turned to face her, a twisted smile on his face. “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Do you want to fight Tuorel or give up?”

  Gaelin chewed on his tongue, biting back his response.

  After a moment, he said slowly, “I want to fight Tuorel. For my family, for the kingdom, for me – I want to fight him. I want to see he doesn’t get away with this.”

  Erin sighed. “Well, that’s the first step of the march.

  Clearly, you need to find some help, and quickly. What are your best options?”

  Gaelin thought. “We’re not too far from the Abbey of the Red Oak. High Prefect Iviena has always been an ally of my father’s, and the priests of Haelyn have money, lands, and a small army under their command.”

  “The Oak recognizes the Mhoried blood, doesn’t it?”

  “I’m not truly the Mhor until I stand before the Oak and swear the oaths of allegiance.”

  “We’ll want to visit the abbey soon, then. What next?”

  “Torien’s Watch. Lord Torien is loyal, and I know him personally – I wintered under his roof this year, finishing my training in the Knights Guardian. I could at least find refuge there for a time.”

  “And what
then?”

  “I don’t know. Try to build up an army to drive Tuorel out, I suppose. Although Torien is not the best place for that. It’s awful remote, and raising an army that far north would be hard. ”

  Erin wrapped her arms around her body, warding off the cold. “Any other options?”

  “I could leave Mhoried and try to raise help from Diemed or Alamie.”

  “You’d be a puppet, or an unwelcome guest. It would be difficult to win support if you had none at home.”

  “That occurred to me.” Gaelin glanced to the west. “My last option is trying to locate Baesil Ceried and the rest of Mhoried’s army. We know some of his forces escaped Cwlldon.

  And my father was always certain of his loyalty.” Gaelin considered the plan, thinking it through. “If we make for Castle Ceried, we’ll pass right by the abbey. Yes, that’s what we’ll do. We’ll ride for the abbey first thing tomorrow, and then continue on to Ceried.”

  “Good,” Erin said. Gaelin could just barely make her out in the darkness now, a slender silhouette with her thin cloak snapping and fluttering behind her in the bitter wind. “At least you know what you’re trying to do for the moment.”

  “You didn’t really care what I decided, as long as I decided something,” Gaelin said. Erin didn’t reply, but he thought he saw a shy smile on her face.

  Next morning they rose and saddled the horses in the gray, icy hour before sunrise. As the sun touched the horizon, Gaelin took his leave of Piere. “My thanks, Master Piere.

  That’s twice in two nights I’ve enjoyed your hospitality.”

  “The house is yours any time you wish, my lord Mhor. Or the barn, if you prefer.” Piere sent them off with the broadshouldered giant they had seen the previous day, to guide them to the abbey. He called himself Bull, and like almost everyone they had met in Sirilmeet, he was Piere’s kinsman – in this case, the husband of Piere’s youngest sister.

  Bull proved a capable guide. He led them away from Sirilmeet by old trails in the woods, staying away from the main roads. “No sense looking for trouble,” he said. “Ghoere’s horsemen are sweeping every road from here to Cwlldon, my lord.” They rode for several miles as the sun climbed into the sky. The air was still and clear, the winds of the previous night fading quickly. Sirilmeet was close to the old forests of Bevaldruor, and they skirted the northern eaves of the wood as they headed westward.

  Early in the afternoon, they came to a muddy road cutting through the woods. Gaelin recognized it as the Northrun. To avoid Ghoeran patrols, Bull led them to a cart track running between the freesteads and sheep farms. They could see the old highway from time to time, just over a low ridge or knoll, but for the most part they were well out of sight.

  After an hour or so, they found the fields taking on the neat, ordered appearance of carefully tended land, plowed and planted with grain just starting to break ground. The track led through a bare apple orchard, winding under the shining white branches, and then ended in a small square of green before a long, low wall of stone. The roofs and domes of the temple glinted in the sunlight, rising up behind the sturdy outer walls.

  Bull dismounted and ambled over to a door in the wall. He thumped one meaty fist on the wood. “Hey! Wake up in there! ”

  There was a brief delay, and then with a clatter a viewport in the door was drawn back. Gaelin could see the cold steel glint of a crossbow’s arms in the shadows of the doorway.

  From the door a voice called, “Go around the front, louts!”

  Bull hammered on the door again, doubtless ringing the ears of the fellow standing behind it. “I’m Bull from Sirilmeet, and this is the Mhor Gaelin! Now, open up! Ghoere’s men are all around us!”

  “The Mhor Gaelin?”

  Gaelin stepped forward, leading Blackbrand. “Prince Gaelin until I stand before the Red Oak,” he said. “I mean to speak with the high prefect as soon as possible.”

  After a moment, the door rattled with the working of bolts and locks and opened slowly. A round-faced monk in the militant garb of the Knights Templar appeared and leaned a large crossbow against the door. “I expect the lady’ll want to talk to you, too. Come inside, and quickly – Ghoerans have been about all day, asking after you.”

  Leading their horses, they followed the monk into the abbey. The monastery was really a small castle. The walls were capped with stone-faced battlements, and the courtyard presented the appearance of a parade ground. Across the bailey, Haelynite priests in plain brown cassocks practiced with staves and padded cudgels. The door warden bolted and locked the door behind them and then led them into a stable along the inside of the low wall. He ordered a pair of young aspirants to look after the horses and then led Gaelin and his companions to the abbey’s hospice.

  Like many monasteries, the Abbey of the Red Oak offered travelers shelter for the night and a hot meal. To his surprise, Gaelin noticed it was empty. He would have thought refugees would be clogging every available sanctuary.

  “Where is everyone?” he wondered aloud.

  The door warden shrugged. “With the war, most of the travelers and tradesmen have remained in one place,” he said. “After all, who wants to be dragged into one army or the other, or have his goods confiscated? Few roads in Mhoried have been safe for travel for more than a week now.”

  “Haven’t any refugees come this way?”

  The door warden shook his head. “We’ve been turning them away, on the lady’s orders.” He showed them into a barren dining hall, a long, low room with a roaring fire in the hearth at the far end. “Please have something to eat. I’ll be back soon.”

  He ambled off at a dignified pace. Several brothers manned the refectory, and they scraped together a warm haunch of meat and some dry bread for Gaelin and his friends, along with leather jacks of potent ale to wash it all down.

  “I’m surprised the prefect wouldn’t open the doors to those in need,” Erin said when they were left to themselves.

  “Can’t say I like it,” Bull agreed. “The folk around here have always looked to Haelyn’s priests for protection.”

  Gaelin frowned. “We’ll see what Iviena has to say,” he replied. He, too, found it disconcerting.

  A few minutes later, the round-faced monk returned, accompanied by a tall, bony man in elegant robes. His pate was shaved, but he wore a jeweled cap of office. With a slight bow, he said, “My apologies for your informal welcome, Prince Gaelin, but I’m sure you appreciate the circumstances. I am Brother Superior Huire, and you already have met Brother Maegus. The high prefect can see you now, my lord.”

  Gaelin rose and stepped away from the table. “Erin, will you please join me?”

  “Of course, my lord.” Staying a half-pace behind him, Erin followed Gaelin through the twisted, dark halls, limping slightly from her injury. Without Brother Huire to lead the way, they would have become lost in the abbey’s labyrinthine halls. The place was nearly the size of Shieldhaven, but it lacked the castle’s great halls and straight corridors. They passed many militant monks, wearing Haelyn’s robes over their armor.

  Brother Superior Huire led them to a reception room, near the main chapel. It was a splendid chamber, richly appointed with tapestries and arras of gold and white. The High Prefect Iviena waited by a table of gleaming maple, her hands folded in her lap. She wore a white robe, her gray hair concealed by a plain habit. Her face was lined with care, but her eyes still sparkled with keen intelligence. “Thank you, Brother Superior, ” she said to Huire. “Prince Gaelin, welcome.”

  Gaelin crossed the room and knelt beside the table, kissing her off e red hand. “Lady High Prefect,” he said, “Thank you for your hospitality. I won’t pretend the past few days have gone well for my family.” He stood and gestured to Erin. “This is the minstrel Erin Graysong, master bard of the White Hall.”

  Erin stepped forward, knelt, and repeated Gaelin’s greeting.

  “Please rise, child,” Iviena said. She looked up at Gaelin.

  “What has become of T
iery, then?”

  “Baron Tuorel hanged him three days ago,” Gaelin said.

  “He was trying to help my father to escape Shieldhaven.”

  Iviena’s face fell. “And the Mhor perished as well.”

  “You have heard of Shieldhaven’s fall, then?”

  “We’ve known for nearly a week now. Haelyn revealed to me the circumstances of your father’s death, Prince Gaelin.”

  Her voice softened. “You have my sincerest condolences. The Mhor Daeric was a good man and a fine Mhor. He rests now in Haelyn’s glory, I am certain.” She fell silent for a moment and bowed her head in prayer before lifting her eyes to meet Gaelin’s. “And what happened to you, Prince Gaelin? How did you learn of your father’s death?”

  “Lady Iviena, I saw the spirit of my father on the banks of the Stonebyrn four nights ago, as I returned to Mhoried from Endier. He told me Bannier had betrayed House Mhoried.” He found his voice growing thick, but continued. “He also said that Thendiere and Liesele were also dead at Tuorel’s hands.”

  “And after that?”

  “I… I felt the power of the land, my lady. The divine right passed to me, then and there. I felt my blood singing. I don’t know how else to explain it.” Gaelin gave up with a shrug.

  “We rode to Shieldhaven to see what had gone wrong, but Tuorel nearly trapped us there. I made for Dhalsiel to seek Cuille’s aid, but… he was unwilling to help.”

  Iviena measured Gaelin’s features, her eyes sharp as swords. Gaelin met her gaze without looking away. “So, as the surviving son of Mhor Daeric, you are a claimant to the throne,” she finally said. “Did you come here to swear the oaths before the Red Oak?”

  “I did, High Prefect, although that was not the only reason.

  I also hoped to convince you to stand with me against Ghoere.

  I will need your aid to drive Tuorel out of my father’s castle, and Haelyn’s temple has always been a staunch ally of Mhoried.”

  Iviena sighed, and stood up. She paced away from them, her hands behind her back. “I am not certain you understand what you are asking of me,” she said quietly. “As far as I can tell, House Mhoried is already defeated. If I support you against Ghoere, I place the faith itself in jeopardy. Tuorel is not a man to forgive those who stand against him.” She turned and faced him. “I am sorry, Prince Gaelin, but I will not take the field against Tuorel.”