by CK Dawn
“And,” she said. “If there’s nothing wrong, I’ll make trouble for you.”
Kantees climbed to her feet now that her eyes were adjusted to the dark. She could see the mounds of straw and the dark shadow that was the path through them. The hole in the floor to the lower level was a black pit. She picked up the gauntlets and slipped her fingers into the soft leather, then donned the protective hat. Sheesha had never pecked at her but it was better to be safe than sorry. The zirichak had never woken her in the night either—well, not since he was a fledgling taken from his mother.
Before he had learnt to fly, Sheesha had been very demanding and very annoying. Kantees was glad those days were long past and, what with Sheesha and Jelamie, had decided she was never going to have any children. Even if the master chose someone for her to marry.
Not bothering with the stairs, Kantees grabbed the rope, swung out, wrapped her legs around it and slid to the next level. After all these years she barely noticed the smell—she would be mucking out in the morning—but was almost knocked over when Sheesha rattled over and nudged her in the shoulder. He was almost twice her height
Automatically Kantees reached up and scratched beneath the feathers in the place Sheesha liked the most.
Sheesha pulled back. In the dim light the zirichak waddled back—he was far more elegant in the air—brought his hook-beaked head down to Kantees and, with one eye, stared at her.
Kantees had no idea what he wanted. This behaviour was completely new.
“What?” hissed Kantees, as if Sheesha could understand, which was ridiculous because ziri were just animals, to be ridden by the masters.
Her train of thought was interrupted by the distant sound of an arrow. It was only a momentary sound but it did not fade out, it ended with a thump.
Sheesha turned her head and lifted it as if she were looking out of the window.
Taking care not to trip on the chain to the hobble that prevented Sheesha from trying to fly inside, Kantees hurried across to the opening. She stuck her head out into a freezing breeze. Squinting, she tried to see.
With only Colimar in the sky, and its sphere being low, the shadows were long and deep. But at least the sky was clear—if it hadn’t been she would have been able to see nothing. As it was she could make out the shapes of the buildings—she was familiar with them, anyway—but hanging in the air near the wall was something huge.
She shook her head and looked again. Was she still dreaming? A great bulbous shape, where the light caught it there were bumps and lines that looked, for all the world, like leaves. But leaves as big as a house. It couldn’t be a tekrak; they never grew that big. But her eyes said it was.
And hanging beneath it, some sort of construction that was hard to make out. And from that, shadowy human shapes were jumping onto the main curtain wall.
An attack?
Sheesha bumped her in the middle of back, knocking her forwards onto the deep windowsill.
Kantees turned and stroked the huge head, and made settling noises. “It’s all right, nothing to worry about.”
Nothing for us to worry about. They were heading into the main building. It was nothing to do with her. If the masters wanted to fight, why should she care?
She stared out once more at the massive tekrak poised above the wall. No family she knew of had such things. Even now she could scarce believe what she was seeing. Could the Slissac have returned to put all the Taymalin and the Kadralin to the sword?
The master and mistress, Lord and Lady Jakalain, were decent people even if they had no idea how to bring up children. They did not treat the slaves badly. Every one of the Kadralin knew how lucky they were, they had heard the stories about families that punished their slaves for the slightest crime, and even killed them for pleasure. Kantees enjoyed her life looking after Sheesha and some of the other zirichasa. If the Jakalain were killed, what would happen to her? What would happen to Sheesha?
Perhaps the castle would be taken over by another family who would not be decent.
Mother’s milk.
But what could she do? She was here in the zirichasa eyrie, and by the time she got to the other side it would all be over.
Sheesha prodded her in the back again.
Kantees turned round slowly. She knew Sheesha was intelligent, at least for a zirichak, but he couldn’t possibly understand what was happening. Surely he did not want Kantees to ride him? For a start, that was a hanging offence and Kantees was quite fond of her life. That also meant Kantees had never flown, although she knew all the equipment and had sat in the saddle holding the reins. Never mind she was a slave. Women didn’t fly anyway.
She looked out of the window again to see more men on the wall now.
But she dared not—it could mean her life. She had never been so torn. It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t someone else make the decision? Why hadn’t any of the other zirichasa noticed? Why hadn’t any armsmen seen what was happening? That was their job.
Because they’re dead.
Kantees let out a cry of angry frustration. She turned and pushed Sheesha’s head out of the way as she half ran to the tack room. It was too dark to see anything but she had everything in its correct place and knew where to find the lightest practice saddle.
Sheesha was crouched and waiting with his head down for her to slip the bridle over.
It took a couple of minutes to get the saddle in position and strapped firmly. What a laugh it would be if she took off and then slipped and fell to smash her head open on the rocks. Ha.
The one thing she didn’t have was a flying suit. Why would she? There would be almost nothing between her and the freezing air. If she didn’t fall, she would probably die of the cold. At least the protective hat would help keep her head warm.
Pulling the last strap tight, she paused. Sheesha dipped his chest so his wings were folded high above them, his claws scratching on the boards. Kantees went to the wall and unhooked the chain that ran from there through the metal collar to the cuffs on his feet. She was a little nervous. He was acting so strangely. There were tales of zirichak killing their keepers, but that had never happened here was far as she knew. Those keepers probably had mistreated their charges.
The chain rattled as it went through the cuff. There still hadn’t been any noise from outside. What was she going to do when she got out there? She had never been in the main parts of the castle—except the kitchens. She did not know her way around.
For the hundredth time, it seemed, she wondered what she was doing.
Then it occurred to her. Why hadn’t the warning bell sounded? It was mounted on one of the side towers and would wake everyone. She opened the great doors that were big enough to let Sheesha fly, then went back to him. She could see by the way he kept dipping his head he was impatient.
She was about to commit a terrible crime. She would be hanged for it, unless she saved somebody important.
Sheesha squawked and shuffled in his crouched, cramped position. Perhaps she could claim, in her defence, that Sheesha had demanded she ride him. Somehow she did not think that would be very convincing.
She slipped her right foot into the stirrup and brought her left leg up and over. The straps were too long so she shortened them so she could rest her feet firmly. She sat awkwardly and grabbed for the belt that held the rider in position. Sheesha edged towards the door, his great wings moving forwards to hold up his body. Kantees grabbed the reins and pulled them back, not too tight but just taking up the slack along Sheesha’s sinuous, feathered neck.
It was then she remembered he always gave a loud trumpet whenever he launched himself into the air from the air. Announcing his emergence into the world, like a challenge.
The attackers would know and they would shoot their arrows, at the very least they would hit Sheesha and that would be enough to kill him.
Sheesha reached the edge and raised his clawed wings to hook them into the frame above the opening. His head poked out and she could see him surveying t
he air.
Then she was flung back. She tried not to yank on the reins, which were only for guidance. A zirichak knew how to fly; the rider only needed to direct the creature left and right, up and down.
Sheesha’s wings flicked out but he was diving. All she could see was the small courtyard between the Zirichak Tower and the main building. There was a man standing there. He carried an unsheathed sword but she could only see the top of his head.
Could Sheesha tell friends from enemies? Kantees knew he had a sense of smell but how good was it? And another thing, she had been given to understand that zirichasa did not fly at night. That was the wisdom passed to her from old Romain. Perhaps he was wrong.
The freezing air shot through her clothes as if they were not even there.
The ground was coming at them. She knew he would pull up. She prayed to the Mother he would pull up. Perhaps they didn’t fly at night because they crashed into the ground.
Something changed and her weight was forced into the saddle. The world tilted up slightly and Sheesha passed across the outside wall, still going down but now at a flatter angle. All right, he could fly at night.
They were in shadow now. The castle was built atop of one of the foothills that encircled the great mountains that made up the heart of Esternes.
Sheesha was flying level now, the wall of the castle beside them. Every now and then she saw the light of a torch or lamp in the interior through the arrow slits. Then they were past it and out into moonlight again, flashing across the scrub land that was only useful for grazing animals.
Where was he going? They needed to do something at the castle … but what?
Gingerly she pulled on the right rein. The response from Sheesha was instantaneous as he banked giddily and the world turned. And there was the rear of the castle, with its walls as high and impregnable as the rest.
Walls easily breached by men aboard a tekrak of such enormous size it could carry them in a basket beneath. She shook her head. She had never heard of such a thing.
She focused on the towers. They had already passed the bell tower once on the flight out. It was not as high as the main tower, and it was narrow. With gentle tugs she steered Sheesha to ensure he would fly back the way he had come. She did not want to be on the other side, where the tekrak hung.
How could she make him gain height? They were flying only a few feet above the ground. She pulled the reins again and leaned back. Up to now Sheesha had barely flapped his wings. She knew from Romain the wild zirichasa soared on the air currents in the mountains and could glide all day without a single beat of their wings if the winds were with them.
But now Sheesha’s powerful wings stroked hard and with each downbeat he rose and she was pushed down into the saddle. She was not sure of the best way to approach the tower. It would be best if she was not seen, since she had no desire to become a pin-cushion for arrows. But the tower itself went high above the level of the walls and Sheesha could not climb vertically. She pulled on his right rein again and leaned forwards. He banked right and flew directly away from the castle.
Kantees looked back over her shoulder. The dark silhouette of the castle with the tekrak like a bulbous growth was highlighted against the dull red light of Colimar. She was desperately cold but had to keep going.
She pulled hard on the left rein and Sheesha almost turned over as he banked left. The ground was a long way away. Kantees urged him forwards goading him with her heels and words. He beat faster and they sped up, she pulled back and he climbed. She judged they were on exactly the right course for the top of the tower.
Kantees reached with her numb fingers for the belt buckle.
They came up over the top of the bell tower from below. Kantees threw her weight forwards and Sheesha almost fell out of the sky to land on the roof, hind legs first, and then pulling in his wings to act as his front legs.
Then someone said “Oi!”
Two
Kantees almost fell out of the saddle and ended up on her hands and knees. She had not realised how cold she was—or how much warmth she had been taking from Sheesha’s body. The muscles in her legs ached from the unaccustomed strain, and her inner thighs were rubbed raw.
She hadn’t even noticed while they’d been in the air.
“Who are you?”
She lifted her head and, looking under Sheesha’s neck, could see a man’s legs. He was only a short distance away but probably nervous of the zirichak. The first time Kantees had been close to one, she had been terrified. They were huge and she had only been ten turns old when she had been sold into the Jakalain household.
“You with the Dunor?”
She wasn’t going to say she wasn’t. She reached out, grabbed a handful of Sheesha’s feathers and pulled herself to her feet. It was dark, and as long as she stayed on this side of Sheesha’s neck the man wouldn’t be able to tell who she was.
The bell stood in its frame only a short distance away. Next to it lay a body. The longer she delayed the more likely people would be killed.
“Of course.” She tried to give her voice a deeper sound, as if she were a messenger. Not that messengers rode fine beasts like Sheesha, but perhaps he wasn’t an expert. No, he’d been relegated to guarding the bell tower. No use for anything else. Though she was not sure how he could have got up here undetected.
That he had done so was enough for her. She took hold of the reins and walked across the roof, keeping Sheesha between them.
“What’s the message then, boy?”
“The message?”
She had covered a third of the distance. Sheesha’s wings scraped the roof as he moved beside her, taking much smaller strides than he was used to.
“Stop,” he said.
She stopped. What could she do? She was no fighter and even if she was she had no weapon. And no armour—barely any clothes at all. Her teeth were chattering. Trying to be clever was just not working and the cold was biting through her skin. Her very dark skin.
“Kadralin slave!”
She dropped the reins and ran for the bell. She did not know how long it would take him to react, or whether he had any throwing weapons. Or worse, a bow.
There had been no rain for a few days but there was plenty of frost on the roof. She was only a couple of paces from the bell when her left foot flew out from under her and she pitched forwards.
The thudding of his heavy feet pounded closer. She turned to see him with his sword raised above his head. It came down. Instinctively she rolled towards him. The blow landed where she had been as she impacted with his legs. His metal-shod boots against her ribs knocked the wind from her and she cried out in pain. He went flying as he tripped over her—
And his head smashed into the bell. It rang out with a sonorous gong that bounced off the towers and echoed through the courtyard below. Ignoring her screaming ribs, she got to her feet and found the metal striker in a bucket at the side.
She hit the bell again and again.
The soldier pushed himself up, so she hit him as well, whacking his temple with the striker’s bulbous head. He let out a groan of pain and slumped back. She trod on his hand and returned to bashing the bell with all her strength.
Sheesha snapped his beak in displeasure at the noise.
“Big strong ziri like you? It’s only a bit of noise!” shouted Kantees with a laugh. She moved the striker further down the bell and the noise became deeper and louder. She turned to look at the main tower. Lights were being lit and showing at the window. Silhouetted figures stood for a moment looking out and then disappeared fast back inside. She hoped they were readying themselves for battle.
The tekrak was big—no, it was huge—but she guessed its complement of soldiers could not be more than thirty at most. And there were many times that number of armsmen in the castle. The attackers could only prevail by stealth, and they no longer had that advantage.
A horn winded from the far side of the castle walls. Torches were being lit inside the huge basket han
ging from the tekrak. It had windows just like the castle. Somewhere in the front must be a place for the patterner who controlled the monster.
Men streamed back along the walls. They were retreating.
The one at her feet tried to crawl away.
“Sheesha! Come!” she called and the zirichak thumped and scraped his way over. Long ago, Romain had drawn the bones of the creature for her so she could learn them by heart. Their wings were like hands but with one less finger and much bigger and spread out. When they walked it was as if they were on their elbows with their forearms and fingers pointing upwards. It wasn’t elegant.
They had back legs, of course, and sometimes they went up on those alone—usually when threatening or mating.
“If you try to run away, I will let Sheesha eat you,” she said and he froze on the ground. She stopped banging the bell, having succeeded in what she was attempting, and went to Sheesha, walking him closer to the prone guard.
“Throw your sword away,” she commanded.
He gripped it tighter.
“Sheesha, speak!”
And the zirichak let out an intense squawk, which was a version of the sound he used when complaining but the guard didn’t know that. It wasn’t her fault that despite being told not to teach Sheesha tricks, he learnt things very quickly.
The sword skittered across the roof.
“And your knife.”
It went in the other direction.
There was a thunderous roar from across the castle and the Zirichak Tower was lit almost like daylight. The tekrak had started its burn. Of course she had seen the swarms of tekrasa crossing the skies in spring and fall. Usually they were mere dots, so high did they float, but at night they descended to earth and their roots dug into the soil so they could feed.
In places where crops grew, the farmers and villagers would come out into the fields to destroy the destructive plants. Each tekrak had a tube at one end, effectively the rear, and they propelled themselves by generating a fire that shot out. It was their magic. They had to be killed because their fire could destroy the crops.