Falcon Lord — Book One

by D. A. Metrov

  Gretch gasped in disbelief. Am I really to meet my end this way? At the hands of a boy? Then another voice spoke in his head. The boy is son of Lord Aviamore whose death you caused nine years ago. What goes around comes around. Accept your fate. Die with dignity if you can.

  Gretch was so stunned by those words, he could not think another thought.

  Handower flew over the hole in the roof of the mountain. He let go of his prey. Gretch fell, his throat rattling death, into the gaping maw. Malgor saw him disappear. The bat squealed and flew down after him.

  Brighton drew in a chestful of air. He returned to his body and regained consciousness just in time to see them disappear. He let his head fall back in utter exhaustion. He clung to Handower’s leg and listened to the Magradore’s triumphant scream.

  Lady Aviamore had taken command deep inside the mountain. It was she who’d rallied soldiers from the central regions, and ordered them to the shipping portals. That’s why the devil-men had streamed out in a seemingly endless river.

  She’d commandeered Dredgemont’s flying machine. She’d made her way along the underworld corridor to the bottom of the great shaft. She maneuvered the craft out of the way just before another avalanche came roaring down from above. The dust cleared and the thunder settled. She screamed at the gorpe soldiers who were pulling themselves from the dirt, and fleeing back inside mountain.

  “Get out there. Attack, you cowards!” She looked up just in time to see Gretch’s dead body thunder to the ground. She heard Malgor’s screech as the bat chased after him.

  Another avalanche washed down the shaft. She was unable to maneuver the craft out of its way. The wall of stone struck the flying machine and knocked her out of its hull. She managed to cling to a ledge until the rock-flow rumbled to a halt. Gretch and Malgor were buried by a thousand tons of rock. Covered with dirt and dark as a devil, Lady Aviamore fled into a tributary tunnel. It caved in behind her, sealing her inside the mountain.

  Perpetua’s eastern peaks continued to collapse. One after another, undermined by years of tunneling. The gorpe warriors watched in disbelief as their kingdom crumbled into a shapeless mass. They’d witnessed Gretch and Malgor’s humiliating demise. They were already confused and disheartened. Most of them rushed into the remaining tunnels. They believed their only hope was to retreat into the deeper caverns. Perhaps Lady Aviamore was in the mountain requiring their aid. They knew she was the one who now held the key to Dredgemont’s operation. That she controlled the wealth and business contacts with the outside world.

  The army from Valkyrie was encouraged by the sight of the fleeing enemy. They pursued the stragglers. They either slew them or chased them back into the tenuous underworld. Or drove them into the sea where they drowned. Not one gorpe knew how to swim.

  It was late in the day. The clouds of dust and smoke that now filled the air turned the sunset a dirty red. The fighters from Valkyrie gradually assembled on the Drakton plateau. They were too tired to celebrate their victory. The sparrow fighters lit and dismounted to tend to their injured birds. The weary monkrats made their way back down the slopes, carrying their wounded and their bloodied swords.

  It was one of the Wolfstalks who saw Brighton and Handower land on the north side of the plateau. It was the sight of Handower collapsing to his belly—his wings floundering, Brighton pulling the hood off his head, and the young man clinging to the falcon’s neck—that made the giant bellow out in despair. The others followed the titan’s gaze, then made their way to the fallen heroes.

  The citizen fighters of Valkyrie gathered around the wounded Magradore and his anguished rider. They could see the falcon was dying. There was nothing to do but leave the two of them alone. So as the bloody sun dipped below the sea, the monkrats and dwarols and Wolfstalks began to disperse to set up camp for the night.

  Wark and Sharpeye waddled off together, wing in wing. They met Bill running toward them. She looked into their eyes. They could only shake their heads.

  She didn’t want to try to understand what they meant by their sad gesture, and ran past them. She saw Handower lying on his side, heaving for breath, and Brighton kneeling next to him. She stumbled up to them and stood there in disbelief.

  Brighton could barely meet her eyes. His own were swollen with grief. He felt her drop to her knees, and hug him from behind. And feeling her caress was the signal that he could release the horror he’d been holding inside. He turned and buried his face in her chest so Handower would not hear him wailing.

  The rest of the army huddled quietly around the little campfires that spotted the Drakton Plateau. They tended their wounds, and listened to the stars crying in the heavens above.

  Most of them heard the Magradore’s final gasp. Every one of them had known—Brighton had to put down his mount. There was not one who didn’t share the young man’s pain.

  Handower’s spirit soared skyward. And Brighton’s howl of dismay flew after him. Their specters entwined and vanished together into infinity. But back on earth, Brighton’s body spun and stumbled in the throes of total anguish. He hurled his bloody dagger into the darkness. He threw himself on the ground, sobbing so hard he thought he would sob out his heart.

  Bill could only hold him. And doing so, she, too, shared his agony. They stayed like that throughout the night. By the time the sun came up, both of them were wrung out of tears. Unable to cry another drop.

  The victors of the Battle of Drakton spent the day burying their dead in absolute silence.

  Chapter Thirty

  RESURRECTION

  Being stout-hearted and of buoyant nature, the citizens of Valkyrie did not spend long mourning the losses of war. The streets and walkways of the township were soon filled with salutations and chitchat. The monkrat males bickered about which type of kelp made the best tasting biscuits (which, of course, determined the price per bushel). The women chattered about upcoming bake-offs and dress-making contests.

  Even the normally reclusive dwarols spent more time in town being sociable and swapping war stories.

  Bill had spent so much time with Lady Sharpeye nursing the wounded back to health, the two of them had become inseparable.

  “Have you heard from Brighton?” Sharpeye asked her one day as they hung fresh laundry together in the sunlight.

  “I’ve been to visit him, as you know,” Bill sighed. “He wants to be alone. I suppose I understand.”

  “Hmmm,” Sharpeye said, then changed the subject. “Do you miss Meland?”

  “I miss Brighton.” Bill glanced at Sharpeye in a blush. They both shared a knowing gaze.

  Using her beak, Sharpeye raised the corner of a damp sheet over the laundry line. Bill fastened it with a clothespin. “You’re welcome to stay with us as long as you like,” Sharpeye said. “In fact, old Wark and I would miss you terribly if you were to leave our home.”

  “Thank you for your hospitality.”

  “Having said that, I suspect that someday...” Sharpeye had a mischievous twinkle in her eye. She didn’t need to finish. Bill knew what she meant. But neither of them dared speak of it more. It would have been bad luck.

  Out on the tiny islet of Meland, Brighton lived alone in his dark, silent cottage. He slept mostly, after the battle of Drakton. Once in awhile, he’d stare at the Teidalbaden and the rest of his falcon riding gear. He’d wonder if ever again he’d soar through the sky on the back of a Magradore. He wandered out now and then to gather a little food or just to smell the air. But the sight of Handower’s empty corral filled his heart with such weight, he quickly lost interest in anything outside his four thatched walls.

  He’d assumed he’d be able to return to his life of quiet isolation. Living happily on berries and tubers and the occasional smoked squirrel. And reprimanding the mischievous honey bears, Flack and Mustache. But as the weeks turned into months, he began to feel more and more like a stranger in his own home.

  A few times, he’d wandered to the stone hut where Lizard Bill used to live. He’d sat on t
he berm remembering her laughter as she chased her pet lizards through the salt grass. He missed her so much he wouldn’t allow himself to think about that either. It was too painful. First he had to complete his time of mourning. He was still young, after all. His healing would come soon enough.

  He spent more time on the shore staring across the channel at the Isle of Perpetua. He watched it floating like a jewel on a bed of glimmering light. He’d let his mind go blank, sitting on the beach like that. It had a soothing effect on his entire being.

  One day, gazing at the mystical isle, he pulled the parchment drawing out of his shirt. He’d begun carrying it with him as if it were some kind of legal document—a paper that proved his identity. He opened it. The crude image of the boy riding the falcon always made him feel good. It emanated some kind of childhood magic. He wondered if he should mount it on his wall.

  As if a band of cherubs had suddenly come down on a raid from heaven, a powerful gust of wind swept out of the sky. The parchment drawing blew from his hand, carried away by the wind. He shot to his feet and ran after it. He watched it twist and tumble as it headed toward the water, seeming to have wings of its own.

  He ran faster. The sun glared in his eyes. He stopped.

  As the drawing flew out over the sea he felt, for a moment, a terrible angst. Then he realized it was all right. A peace came over him. A peace he’d never known before. He watched the drawing grow smaller and smaller until it vanished from sight.

  Brighton Aviamore smiled to himself. He just stood there. He knew who he was. At last, he knew. He didn’t need the drawing to remind him.

  Three months after the war had ended, the township of Valkyrie staged its first celebration in years. The citizens had held council, headed by Wark. They’d decided to feast and dance in homage to the upcoming kelp harvesting season.

  It was dusk. A troupe of musicians played the traditional ditties. Monkrats danced with each other. With their mates. With their male friends. Or female with female. Didn’t matter to them. The dwarol sparrow riders and the little, wooden robots fluttered above the town square. Even the titan Wolfstalks joined in, waltzing together on the edge of the crowd.

  Bill was dressed in a new gown Sharpeye had helped her make. She felt nervous about dancing since she never had… well, not in public anyway. Mitor wheeled over and shyly asked her to dance. Next thing she knew, she and her mechanical friend were romping and rollicking with the rest of them.

  Bonfires, torches, and gas lamps burned around the township as night fell. So it was only the silhouette of a young man that Pello spotted. It stood in the middle of the street watching the affair from a distance. But the apparition was enough to bring the monkrat’s feet to a halt. Biffee saw that his brother had stopped dancing. And he, too, became still. The two of them were staring at the silhouette when Pello finally whispered, “Falcon Lord.”

  Slowly, the others saw, too. The music faded away and the dancers stood still as a forest. They heard the monkrat brothers as they said the words over and over, “Falcon Lord. Falcon Lord. Falcon Lord.”

  Soon the citizens were chanting in unison. And the square reverberated with the name: “Falcon Lord!”

  The silhouette moved toward them. As he came closer, the firelight revealed the nervous smile on his face. And the tender love in his eyes as he approached Bill.

  Brighton felt re-born. He knew, right that moment, he would never return to Meland.

  Bill stood there, watching, her eyes wide. Brighton could almost feel her heart pounding. She looked unsure what to do or say. She had to do neither. He came to her and took her hands. And the electricity that flowed between them was enough to light the night on its own. That light was so bright the citizens could no longer chant. They stood there in a communal gasp.

  He took her in his arms and kissed her on the lips. They kissed, and cried, and trembled. They held each other as if they would never let go.

  After a time that no one could measure, Brighton turned to the crowd. He was flush with embarrassment. “Hi, everyone. I, ah… Well, I thought we were here to dance.”

  The gawking stares turned into grins. The band struck up again. Brighton and Bill and the citizens of Valkyrie danced and kibitzed until dawn.

  The sun came up on Valkyrie Heights. The old Lizard King and his attendants sat up on a rocky ledge basking in its warmth. They watched the tired monkrats douse the torches and lamps and slowly disperse from the town square.

  The king gazed off then. He was content that Bill would be safe and cared for. He was fairly certain by now she was “The One.” The harbinger for whom he’d waited for so very long. There was nothing more to do at present but continue to wait. And watch for the time when he might again be of service to the deities who’d chosen her to play a still-secret role in the destiny of Perpetua. He smiled into the future. He saw Brighton Aviamore climb the rocks of a cloud-shrouded peak where he coaxed a Magradore chick from its nest. The young falcon that would become his new mount.

  He then saw something else. Something that drew a shadow over his bliss. His mind raced into the mountains. Through the tunnels that still connected the underworld. He followed the sound of shuffling footsteps. He found Lady Aviamore, wandering like a tattered ghost. She was filthy and emaciated. Her bugging eyes were filled with the torments of her own private hell. She stopped and peered into the darkness. She listened for some hint of redemption. She could only hear her own desperate breathing, which she countered by screaming out, “My son!” followed by a quivering whisper, “Forgive me.”

  Her words flew off like bats in the night. She chased after them. And somehow the Lizard King knew she was hoping. Hoping they might lead her to daylight.

  GLOSSARY OF CREATURES & TERMS

  Ambroglious—(Book II) an ancient dinosaur-like monster (related to the Tyrannosaurus rex and common lizard); twenty-five leapspans (200 feet) tall; dwells beneath the sea in a state of long-term hibernation unless awakened by divine powers to protect the Earth.

  apecats—(Book II) chimpanzee-like primates with the haunches and claws of Bengal tigers; bodies striped and powerful. Able to walk upright and move with tremendous speed.

  Aviamore—Brighton "Falcon Lord" Aviamore (human): Brighton's family name; from Old French avis meaning "bird" + amor (Latin equivalent) meaning "love" — "Lovers of Birds."

  blackaert—bastard.

  bloater—a gorpe airship; small, pirate-style, steam-driven dirigible.

  chibbit—(Book II) a small wafer of gold equal to about twenty, 18th century, American dollars.

  Chancellor Wark—a Gothhoven raven; elected town leader of Valkyrie; commander of the Valkyrian citizen army.

  decapods—ten limbed, steam-powered, mining devices; ten leapspans high; able to lift large masses of microal, feed them into internal crusher jaws, process them into dust, then shoot the dust out behind them. They can also be employed to move large equipment, as well as fight in battle, devouring soldiers and discharging their ground-up remains.

  Dredgemont, Seigneur—formerly the Seer of Buer; an entrepreneurial human trained in the Black Arts, i.e. possessing magical powers. He resurrected Perpetua's illegal microal mining operation to produce wheal, the most widely used, global fuel source thus making himself one of the wealthiest men on the planet.

  dwarol—a cross between the handsome tree dwarf and miniature mountain troll; forest dwellers who have domesticated Perpetua’s giant cliff sparrows for the purpose of transportation.

  "eee ochk"—command for a Magradore to take flight (equivalent to a cowboy's "Heyah!").

  Eleanor Sharpeye—a Gothhoven raven; wife of Chancellor Wark; the honorable First Lady of Valkyrie.

  Eugenic science—the application and nurturing of varied gene combinations for the purpose of creating new, experimental animal breeds as well as animal/plant/machine hybrids. Many of the unusual creatures of Perpetua were thusly created by humans who once populated the lost isle. Later, gorpes learned to employ eugenics to create mu
tant creatures for the purpose of warfare.

  Flying robots—small, steam propelled, machines (origin uncertain) capable of flight by means of three-tiered canvas wing systems; possessing clamp-like hands and duel wheels for ground transportation; constructed primarily from wood and copper; originally designed to mine microal underground. They were later re-engineered by Dredgemont who provided them with surprisingly sophisticated mental capacities, including the ability to speak and process thought.

  gorpes—mutant ghouls who were once men, mostly prisoners brought to Perpetua to labor in the mines; forced to live underground for so many generations, their skin turned gray and they are extremely sensitive to sunlight. Very hardy, but crude, ignorant, and vicious; able to climb as well as mountain goats and in bare feet, no less.

  Gothhoven raven—species derived from Common Raven (Corvus corax); just over a full leapspan tall (approximately ten feet) when standing upright.

  Gretch—a 137-year-old, Komodo troll; a full leapspan (eight feet) tall. So named after the Komodo Dragon, a large reptilian creature that kills its prey by infecting them with highly putrefied (or bacteria ridden) fangs, then devouring its rotten flesh.

  Lady Aviamore—Brighton Aviamore's mother; human; originally from the little-known European kingdom of Baldore.

  leapspan—a unit of measurement; approximately eight feet; the length the average monkrat can leap from a standing start.

  Lightning Giant—(Book II) titanic, fire-shooting, steam-driven robot created by gorpe engineers.