Legend of the Ravenstone

by M. S. Verish

  Kariayla nodded. “Do you—do you ever sleep?”

  William laughed. “When confronted with the option of sleep or discovery, which would you prefer?” He continued his stroll down the hall without another word.

  She watched him disappear through a door, perplexed. Had he been speaking of himself, or was the question intended for her? And was it a rhetorical question or an invitation? The longer she stood there, the more she wondered if she was to take advantage of an opportunity. It was not like her to be nosy, but William had told them to make themselves comfortable in his home.

  Hesitantly she started in the direction William had taken. The door had been left open just a crack, and this gave her a sliver of assurance. She opened it enough to slip through and found she was standing on a balcony—a balcony that encircled a round room with a crystalline dome that exposed the entire night sky like a great, wide, open eye. Her mouth fell open as she gazed skyward—not because she had never looked at the stars, but because she had never done so from behind glass, inside a tower.

  Soft voices from below stole her attention. The room itself was sparsely furnished aside from a vast, decorated carpet and a strange tubular device propped on a tripod and angled toward the zenith. She glimpsed motion—saw William and Hawkwing step into view and take a seat upon the carpet. Kariayla moved back against the wall, suddenly feeling like an intruder. I shouldn’t be here.

  But she was there, and to use the door or make a sound by moving might lead to her discovery. I will wait until William starts to leave, and then I’ll slip out. It seemed like a good plan, but how long did the wizard intend to stay?

  Their voices drifted up to her like smoke—soft and hazy but undeniable. Instead of burning her eyes, it was her conscience that burned with guilt. The curse of being a good listener could often be confused with eavesdropping.

  *

  “This was your final run, lad,” William said. “No more trekking through the Plains, no more reports, no more urgent matters. How does it feel to retire?”

  The tall man did not answer immediately. Instead, he looked up at the sky as if he would find his words amongst the constellations. “Vast. Like an indeterminable stretch of time without a point of fixation.”

  “Is that desirable or dreadful?”

  Hawkwing’s gaze drifted downward to meet the wizard’s. “I look forward to it.”

  William smiled knowingly. “Meaning you do have plans.”

  “I do.”

  “Only you would attempt to be as mysterious as I am,” the wizard said. “So be it. But know that your company will be sorely missed. There are not many with whom I’ve forged a true and lasting friendship, but two such people share my home this night.” He reached and pulled closer a tray with a teapot and two cups that had not been there a moment ago.

  “Entirely of your doing,” Hawkwing said.

  William poured them each a cup. “Of course, though even I could not foresee the additional guests. And you say you did not find Arcturus in Mystland?”

  Hawkwing took a sip. “Ah. That is what he said, not me.”

  “Yes, yes.” William waved his hand impatiently. “He was doing research in Belorn. I will extract the truth of that from him later. How came to be this party of travelers?”

  “Kariayla was with him when we first met. Jinx and Ruby joined us in the Freelands.”

  “For a man who tells great tales, you are awfully lackluster tonight,” William said, disappointed. He set down his cup and tapped the rim anxiously. Each time he did, the beverage slowly refilled itself. “What bothers you?”

  Hawkwing shrugged. “I need to unlearn all I have practiced these past years. I need to learn not to see.”

  William chuckled. “You were this way before you joined the Watchers. How do you teach a Falquirian not to see? Do not be ridiculous.” Then his expression grew serious. “What was it you witnessed? Was it with our charismatic bunch?”

  “No. I parted company with Arcturus and Kariayla along the Link…after the attack on the Prophet’s thieves.”

  William stared. “You were attacked by the thieves?”

  “Initially, but I am quite certain this was an ambush for them. Duke Dinorthon was already dead when our caravan set out. The thieves were allowed to attack, and the blame was placed upon them. Some were left alive for the Crown to trace back to their hideout and deliver justice. One particular thief was taken elsewhere—not by the Crown, but by a group of Jornoans.”

  “Let me guess,” William said, rubbing his chin. “The White Demon.”

  “You heard of its capture,” Hawkwing inferred.

  “From time to time, word travels.” The wizard took another sip of his tea, but Hawkwing merely held onto his cup in trembling hands, his gaze distant. “You followed the Jornoans, didn’t you? You could not resist.”

  “I thought it was a curious situation. Something was amiss.”

  “In that you are correct,” William said.

  Hawkwing looked at him.

  “What do you know of the Priagent?”

  “Priagent Rashir Diemh,” the tracker murmured. “Not much.”

  “He is here in Northern Secramore. He is an outcast from his people, having stirred conflict amongst them.”

  Hawkwing shrugged again. “The Jornoans are a conflicted race.”

  “True, but only the Priagent has the grand ambition of gaining a foothold in Northern Secramore. He has been carefully making alliances. And now he has a demon in his possession. What are the odds that he has obtained the Prophet himself?”

  The tracker brought his cup to his lips but barely sipped it. “It would seem you’ve been nosy, Bill. Is Jumull so dull? Who is your contact?”

  “You may know him, as he was part of the Watchers. Othenis Strix and a couple others.”

  “He is a radical,” Hawkwing said, with some disapproval.

  “It often takes a radical to move our world. The Watchers have dissolved, and he is determined to stand against the corrupt. He has his eyes open, and they happened to settle upon the Priagent.”

  “Or did you turn his head?” Hawkwing shook his head. “You have already found another to replace me, so are you certain you want to ask me what you intend to ask me? Or will you merely wish me well in my retirement?”

  William grinned, ignoring the tracker’s wary frown. “Come now, lad! You know me too well. And you have proven you are also curious about this development.”

  “I do not want to get involved,” Hawkwing said.

  “This would be your last great adventure. Learn what the Priagent is about.”

  “I have a feeling you know what he is about, Bill. I cannot get involved. I have retrieved the Key, and that was risky enough. My last great adventure will be to see it lost to obscurity.” He set his cup down. “Please, do not ask this of me.”

  “I come to you because I trust you. Othenis is a radical, yes. You—you are dear friend, and you care too much to see any great wrong done after the dissolution of the Watchers.”

  “Now there is a ‘great wrong’ being committed,” Hawkwing said quietly. “Tell me, what of the group I have brought to you? Are they a part of your scheming?”

  “Only Arcturus,” William admitted easily.

  Hawkwing looked away.

  “Now there’s a telling gesture,” the wizard said, peering at the tracker through narrowed eyes.

  “If you do not hear it from me, you will hear it from him. There was an incident at the Plains.”

  William leaned forward, immediately snared. “Really? With him or with—”

  “Both.”

  William sat back, his brow furrowed.

  “I left the path.” Hawkwing glanced at the white hawk sleeping upon her perch nearby. “Snowfire was in trouble, and I went after her. I found myself trapped—unable to return to the group. The demons came, but not for me. Jinx had gone after Ruby, and he was trapped with me. I did not think we would escape, but Arcturus’s staff reacted to the threat, a
nd we were able to reach safety.”

  The wizard’s eyes were bulging. “Arcturus used the staff?”

  “Kariayla did.”

  “Kariayla?” William set down his cup, and it disappeared. “I will have to interrogate Arcturus later.”

  Hawkwing continued. “No one was injured, but there was damage of another sort. Differences in ideology aside, Master Prentishun has obviated his distrust in my character and in my motives.”

  William waved a dismissive hand. “He does not know you as I do.”

  “From his vantage point, his feelings may not be unjustified, but my tale is not for the telling,” Hawkwing said, looking the wizard in the eyes. “So matters will stand, and my role as an escort is at an end.”

  “It does not have to be,” William countered, wagging a finger.

  Hawkwing pushed his own cup aside and stood, towering over the wizard. “I have not forgotten all you have done for me. I think on it every day, but these days are fleeting, and it’s time for me to consider what is ahead of me. My journey won’t see me here again, Bill, and I would rather not have us part on sentiments less than what old friends deserve.” He waited for a response, and William slowly nodded.

  “I understand,” he said, rising. “For your part, you have humored this old wizard perhaps more than he deserves.” He reached up and patted the tracker on the arm.

  Hawkwing glanced at the balcony. “And I still humor you,” he said with a slight smile, “though I sometimes wonder why.”

  “Because you know these are all just pieces to the puzzle, lad. I fit them where I might.”

  The tracker’s smile fled. “I know,” he murmured and watched the wizard walk away, hearing the exit before William had reached the door.

  14

  Confessions

  Arcturus sipped his tea as they walked, grateful for a warm beverage. The morning had a bite to it—even for one as hardy as him. He wondered just how he had allowed William to coax him outside at such an hour, especially when his recent travels left him craving luxury and comfort. The two of them walked along the path in silence; plumes of their frozen breath were all that escaped their lips. William had not disclosed their destination this morning, but he had provided a full and delicious breakfast that awarded him Arcturus’s patience.

  They came upon a darkened shop labeled, “Antiquities,” and William produced a key and unlocked the door. When the two of them were inside, he snapped his fingers, and a fire ignited in the hearth.

  “That will take some time to heat the room,” Arcturus said, heading for a chair near the fire. As he did, he looked around to find the shop was fortified with many shelves—all of which were empty except for dust and spider webs. “You are in need of some upkeep.”

  “This place was not mine to maintain,” William said. He pulled another chair from the shadows and set it across from the Markanturian’s.

  Arcturus eyed him suspiciously. “I had wondered when my interrogation would come.”

  The wizard smirked. “Do you think I will torture you? Withhold your lunch until you answer my questions? Come, now, Arcturus. We are old friends set to chat.”

  “Very well.” Arcturus grunted as he bent to set his cup upon the floor. He folded his hands in his lap. “Why have we braved the cold to chat in an abandoned construct? Your dining hall was much more inviting.”

  “But not as significant,” William said. “You were not where I expected you to have been.”

  “I have the liberty of going where I please,” Arcturus said.

  “Of course,” the wizard returned impatiently, “but Belorn? For research? What did you hope to find that you could not find in Mystland?”

  Arcturus sighed. “Myself.”

  “Profound.”

  “Truly. For nearly two hundred years I dwelled in medori territory, studied cantalere, learned the secrets behind such items of power and curiosity. All of it was fascinating, but none of it was satisfying. The one question I yearned to answer did not rest upon a shelf in any cantalereum. In fact, I have yet to know where I would discover…” He trailed, lost to his thoughts. At last he looked at the wizard. “I am not Human, William. For a couple centuries, I tried to be one of them. My homeland beckons me. The truth behind my people’s past—it is the unanswered question. Where is Trinnad Markanturos’s final resting place? Where is The Forging, and how were his accounts lost to my kind? Were they purposely hidden because of some inconvenient truth, or is there doubt to the occurrence of the Great Welling?”

  William pointed a finger at him. “You quit your position, didn’t you?”

  “I was asked to leave,” Arcturus said, his tone flat. He pulled out his pipe and began to pack it.

  “You were always the radical.”

  “A tradition I must propel in heeding the summons of a reclusive wizard in a hidden city.”

  “How fortuitous for me that I had an expert tracker to find you,” William said. “I hope you did not give Hawkwing any trouble.”

  Arcturus snorted.

  “Ah, as I thought,” William said.

  The Markanturian wagged his pipe. “You are capable of much meddling, but never did I believe you would employ a personal spy.”

  “Spy!” William exclaimed. “Is that what you believe? Hawkwing is not a…well, if you define… He is not my spy. Though I can see how you would come to such a conclusion.”

  “Certainly,” Arcturus said. “False identities, mysterious comings and goings, evasive conversations, unknown destinations… You sent him to find me, and after all this time without so much as a letter, I would hope you have a sound reason for having me led across much of Northern Secramore. I have been robbed, forced to sit in a jail, given lodging in a Freeland cellar, and then hastily forced through some perilous grassland. Your spy is not very professional, either. He tells fantastical tales to scare my companions, ignores his own advice and abandons us to untold danger, lies about his identity—”

  “Which identity?” William interrupted.

  Arcturus narrowed his eyes.

  “I think you have misjudged him,” William said. “There is no one I trust more than him.”

  The Markanturian folded his arms, weighing the wizard’s words.

  “I have a story,” William continued. “A story that will explain Hawkwing, this city, and the shop in which we sit.”

  “But not the reason I am here.”

  “In time, Arcturus, in time.” William gestured toward the fire. “The story begins with what you call the ‘Great Welling.’ Believe what you will about the details of that fateful event, but know that the consequences of what happened are the most important truths.” The image of a journal appeared in the flames. “Trinnad Markanturos’s account does indeed exist, but even I cannot say where it rests. He was not the only one to document what happened.”

  The journal turned into the symbol of an eye. “There were those who believed that such significant events should be recorded and kept in a great archive of information, lest the truth be forgotten with time. So formed a group known as the Gray Watchers. Two ideals were crucial to them: anonymity and unbiased documentation. The Watchers would not interfere in what they witnessed, but they would report it to the keepers of the Archive, The Three. The Three would review the information and file it amongst years of careful observations.”

  Arcturus blew a ring of smoke. “To what avail, William? Knowledge kept hidden is as useful as a candle beneath a bucket.”

  “Very true,” the wizard said, “and the Watchers certainly did not intend to hoard this archive. But what they did not anticipate was deception amongst their ranks. As with any great tool, there are those who seek to exploit it for their own good. You may not have heard of the Seroko, but undoubtedly you know their front: the Merchants’ Guild.”

  “I should say so,” Arcturus said, intrigued. “The Merchants’ Guild is the most prevalent organization throughout Northern Secramore. You mean to say that it is a corrupt network of greedy malef
actors?”

  William rubbed his chin. “Not entirely. Much of the guild operates as a guild would, but there is a darker secret kept by those in more powerful positions. There are ill-intentioned ideas in the works, and if ever the Seroko should learn the location of the Watcher Archive, one could only imagine the influence they would have. They could rule this world.”

  “I fail to see how they do not know where the Archive is. If they were once Gray Watchers, then they had to report to The Three.”

  William gave him a slight smile. “Very attentive, Arcturus. Most Watchers reported to a regional agent, and that agent would report to one above him. Only a select few knew where The Three resided.”

  “A hierarchy of sorts, then,” Arcturus mused.

  “Exactly.”

  “Is it any wonder you know as much as you do, tucked away in the mountains?”

  William shook his head. “Do not get the idea that I am involved with the Watchers. I knew of them, I gave them a place to convene, but I have no access to their Archive.” He extended his arm. “This, by the way, was where The Three resided.”

  Arcturus studied the shop with renewed interest. “What happened, then?”

  “As the Seroko grew in power, the Gray Watchers decided to dissolve their organization for fear of discovery of the Archive. This happened rather recently, I might add.”

  “So all that knowledge will be left hidden and forgotten.” Arcturus took another puff from his pipe. “What a terrible waste.”

  “I prefer to view it as a treasure waiting to be discovered,” William said. “At any rate, this shop was the primary reason for a secret city.”

  Arcturus nodded thoughtfully. “Quite an interesting tale.”

  “Hawkwing is a Gray Watcher.”

  There was a moment of silence where the Markanturian moved the pipe from his lips. At last he spoke. “Of what relevance is this to me? It hardly explains his actions other than his secrecy of this destination.”