Firebirds Soaring

by Sharyn November

  Balarec said, “Don’t speak that way.” But he didn’t reach for his weapon. “Together they’re leading us there to prevent Skandia from attacking us here.” He added quietly, “They say that even at the Althing, Skandia has considered attacking us.”

  “Vultures,” I said. If he thought I was speaking of Skandia, so much the better.

  He nodded, pleased. “To think of them hating us so much, hating our courage”—it was the official line—“so much that they would cross the Five Seas to attack the innocent. . . .” He was genuinely, deeply angry.

  I looked around the main room at the weapons, the scars, the piercings, and the tattoos. Evidently the innocent had checked in silently and gone to bed early.

  Gaanz said, “And there they are.”

  First came the Honor Guard, war-hardened men with eagle eyes and swords held at identical height. The cheering started immediately.

  In the middle came the Eminence, looking neither to right nor to left. His satin robes rippled around him, making him out of place among all these leather- and metal-clad men and women. He looked fatter and balder than his image on the coins, and much colder than the metal. One half of his face tried to smile. The other half didn’t bother.

  Behind him, waving to the cheering crowd, was the Pre-Eminence. His laurel wreath was slightly crooked, and he didn’t care. He grinned at every cheer, and he reached across his guards to touch the people who crowded around him worshipfully.

  Even with my brain addled and smeared with substances best left untouched, I felt vastly superior to these sweat-drenched products of constant oily, evil Praise and Encouragement. They were drowning in it, unaware.

  “Why’s the Pre-Eminence doing that?” Gaanz said.

  Balarec stared at him, astonished. “Because he’s leading us into Skandia. We’re attacking them before they attack us.”

  “He’s sailing with you?” I said, seriously impressed. In person, the Pre-Eminence looked like the kind of man who would lead people in a two-step after a bottle or three of wine, but not in an attack.

  “Well, no, not quite.” Balarec shifted uncomfortably. “He’s leading Kalchys, and that means he’ll lead us in the war.” He looked away from us, focusing suddenly on someone over our shoulders. “I should talk to some other people.”

  I said, “What are you doing?”

  He shrugged. “Welcoming people, especially the raw recruits.”

  “Why? Who told you to?”

  “Nobody.” His eyes were gentle again. “But they’re new here, and they’re not sure what comes next. And when we’re over the Five Seas and fighting, we need to know that we’re all brothers and sisters in arms.”

  He slapped our shoulders. “Including you. We’ll look after each other, you’ll see.” He strode away, saying over his shoulder, “Give my regards to Savage Henry.” And he winked.

  We hadn’t known he’d heard that discussion.

  Gaanz and I watched as he threw an arm around an anxious young woman with a longbow and a quiver of three dozen arrows. After a second, she smiled like sunlight. Balarec hugged her shoulders, hard, and moved on.

  “Dumbass,” Gaanz said bitterly, watching Balarec pat a nervous young man on the shoulder to calm him down.

  “True,” I said, “but we’ve found out the Truth. We know, out of all the useless screaming misbirths here, what a hero is.”

  Gaanz turned away. “It’s what we’re not, right? Good thing.”

  “Let’s go to the room,” I said. “You need to relax and get substance-free. And frankly, the lizards in this room are starting to bother me.”

  The room was sumptuous and imperial at the same time. The bed-clothes were purple with Tyrian dye. The countertops were marble. The walls had bronze bas-reliefs of ancient victories. The innkeeper was right: it was a place for a general and his consort.

  Gaanz threw his shirt over a sword sticking out of a bas-relief. “Can you feel the war in this room? As your senior advisor, I suggest we take some Pax, just to stay balanced.”

  I agreed. The atmosphere in here was depressing me.

  But the lobby had depressed Gaanz more. Why couldn’t we—on mead laced with Warre or Self-Glamoring like a courtesan splashing scent—have even the faintest sense that we had half the worth of Balarec, walking down the hall embracing brothers and amazons in the stupidest cause since the Laughing God embraced the Pitying Goddess?

  But I was more worried about tomorrow. “We’ve been young and irresponsible.” I held up three pellets full of liquid Forecaste. “It’s time we thought about our future.”

  Gaanz shrugged. “Forecaste isn’t much of a ride, unless your future is raving mad. We’ll probably see ourselves arguing our way out of the bill for the room.”

  Before I could stop him, he threw all three pellets straight into his mouth.

  He dropped to the floor, screaming like a slaughtered lamb and hugging himself. Tears were coursing down his cheeks.

  I forced two Pax lozenges and three Sleepers into his mouth before they even made a dent.

  Then he went to sleep in the fetal position. I sat up and thought about the future.

  II

  In the morning I woke on the floor. I looked at the doorway and saw that my bed was up against the door, wedged under the doorknob.

  The lock on the door was broken, and the bed had been moved in three inches. Heart’s-Oil is powerful enough on its own, and mixed with Thighwarme . . .

  I shuddered. We needed a different inn, and quickly.

  Gaanz woke up the third time I picked him up and dropped him. “G’way.”

  “That’s what we’re doing.” I snapped a Waker under his nose, opened one of his eyelids and tilted his face toward the door.

  Either the Waker or the view made him alert. “You slept on that last night? How did you stay off the floor?”

  “I was on the floor. I wedged the bed in place to fend off the innkeeper. Now she’ll fillet me on sight. We. Have. To. Go.”

  Surprisingly, he understood. “Gods, she’ll castrate you.” He looked appalled. “Maybe even me.”

  Things were going badly. The room looked like some disastrous alchemical project involving whiskey and were-wolves.

  We scampered in the ruins and packed. We abandoned our extra clothes and our bags, packing the potions and liquids on our bodies. Had we really started with enough to fill a wagon bed? Babbling God, where had it all gone, and so soon? Clearly, this place was evil and had sapped our will like a ghoul battening on an innocent.

  I said, “Do you remember what you saw under the Forecaste? ”

  He shook his head. “No.” He lowered his eyebrows and snapped, “Whatever you think I saw, probably you hallucinated the whole thing under a mix of Follies and brandy.”

  I denied it loudly, but then admitted that it was possible.

  But my cold, naked, briefly sober mind was afraid that it wasn’t probable.

  We cringed away from the innkeeper as we settled up. “You’ve missed the opening ceremonies,” she said coldly. “The Pre-Eminence will speak shortly in the Hall of Heroes. As I’ve told you, weapons are not permitted.” She turned her back on us, and we were glad.

  I was far too sober. As we moved away from the desk, I said to Gaanz, “I’ll be right back.” He seemed happy enough to be rid of me.

  I stepped behind a pillar, poured MisSpeak into my palm, and slapped it over my nose and lips, inhaling deeply. It wasn’t a problem yet. I would be coherent for several moments more.

  When I came back, Gaanz looked suspiciously at me. “What did you just do?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “How about you?”

  “Nothing. Nothing.” And he let the matter drop.

  The lobby was nearly empty. The Pre-Eminence was in a corner, reviewing a scroll. His laurel wreath was still crooked, and his lips were moving. He glanced up and waved happily to us. “Hel of a speech coming,” he said.

  Beyond him, the Eminence was moving from door to door of the Hall
of Heroes, turning a key in the locks.

  We followed him, unseen, to the last door.

  The figure in the niche behind him dwarfed Balarec or Graffin. He made Sigrid look puny and ineffectual. No matter whether or not he was trained, he had the raw power to overwhelm any of the heroes. He was all muscle and sinew, except for the hooves and razor-sharp horns. His fists were clenched, and his bull-nostrils were wide open and snorting with anger.

  It was the first time I had seen a Taur, or smelled the mix of sweat, frustration, and anger that clings to them their whole lives.

  The Eminence closed the door behind us, and I heard the lock snap into place.

  “A Taur?” Gaanz whispered to me. “The Eminence has a pet Taur?”

  “Not a pet. Charmed, is my guess. I wonder how much Pax it takes to keep him on a leash.” I looked around. “And when the charm wears off, the Eminence is going to let him loose in the hall, isn’t he?”

  “You’re completely fear driven,” Gaanz sneered at me.

  “Your nerves are whipped up by all the muck you’ve taken. This lot would like nothing better than to pick up a sword and challenge a Taur. . . .”

  He trailed off as we looked around. There were, of course, no weapons, just as the innkeeper had warned us.

  I went cold. “Blood God protect us, he’s planning a full Grendel.”

  Gaanz said, “We have to warn someone. Quickly.”

  I hissed, “What did you inhale, you deranged berserker? We need to leave this place, quickly.”

  “No.” Gaanz took a deep, frightened breath. “We need to go into the hall.”

  He stepped forward, toward the last unlocked door, and he entered the Hall of Heroes.

  What could I do? I followed him.

  The Eminence locked the door behind us. The Taur was outside, for now.

  I looked over the sweaty, muttering crowd that was waiting for the Pre-Eminence to come speak to them. “We need to find Balarec, fast. He’s the only one who will listen.” I could feel the MisSpeak nibbling at my mind like a small carnivore.

  “Absolutely,” Gaanz said quickly. He was on tiptoe, looking from table to table and bench to bench.

  We lost precious time as we ran through the hall, past men and women who were already impatient and didn’t much like nearly having their ale spilled.

  And my head was filling with a terrible clarity that told me I didn’t have much time to say anything to anyone.

  Suddenly there was Balarec, walking past. I grabbed his arm. “Ball. Air. Axe. Ohh, shift.”

  Thank god we only took Misspeak in shifts. I grabbed Gaanz’s arm. “Hue tale hem.”

  Gaanz looked stricken. “Eye fraught hit wads bye turd.”

  Balarec looked back and forth between us, unable to comprehend us and too polite to give us each the smack we deserved.

  The hall door behind us slammed into the wall, its handle chipping stone free. The Taur, loose at last, raised its arms and roared.

  Whatever he’d been given, it wasn’t Pax.

  The warriors around us shouted to each other, running back and forth uselessly. But there were no weapons in the hall, not so much as a short sword.

  Gaanz stared around the hall, then desperately at me.

  His face lit up and he reached inside his shirt.

  He pulled out a small pouch.

  He loosened the drawstrings and buried his face in it.

  When he came up for air, his eyes were wild and his teeth were clenched.

  He flung the open pouch in my face. A cascade of powder struck my nostrils—

  And I threw back my head and howled, my heart pounding and brain full of Warre.

  Together we charged the Taur, shouting the whole time. He looked down at us in confusion. I seriously do not believe he had ever been attacked by anything as small as us before.

  Gaanz dove at the Taur, striking him in the chest and bouncing off harmlessly. I followed immediately, bouncing harmlessly off Gaanz.

  The Taur shook his great head from side to side, staring from one of us to the other—probably wondering which one to kill first, and how painful it should be.

  Gaanz reached into his pants—a horrible and insulting gesture; the Taur widened his eyes—and pulled out a flask, throwing it immediately into the Taur’s face. The monster bellowed at us, but sounded rabid, furious, and strangely pleased with itself.

  Gaanz gestured to me. “Bye thyme!”

  It made a deranged sense. I grabbed at one of my hidden packets and threw powder on him, then grabbed another.

  By turns the Taur changed moods. MisSpeak made no initial change, of course. Eventually it changed his roar to another, different roar, which seemed to piss him off mightily.

  He waved his arms, snatching at us. Sooner or later, he would make contact, and our potions and charms would make no difference at all.

  A voice behind us shouted, “’Way!” We fell to either side as Balarec, carrying a bench, smashed it into the Taur’s chest.

  The Taur fell backward, but he was more startled than hurt. He rose up, beckoning toward his chest, angry and unafraid.

  Balarec said, “Charge again. We have to hold him.”

  Perhaps it was the drugs. For me it must have been. Gaanz was now fully committed.

  We launched the bench into the Taur’s chest. He collapsed again, but he laughed at us and stood, looking back and forth as he picked a victim to charge at.

  “Gods’ damn ’way!” a voice bellowed behind us.

  I pushed Balarec sideways. Gaanz and I fell over as Graffin, Sigrid, and four other large angry warriors launched past us with a table in their arms.

  The impact threw the Taur against a wall. The heroes carrying the table followed through. There was a crash and a series of crunches, and the broken Taur slid down the wall and crumpled inertly on the floor.

  Balarec waited half an instant before snatching up the bench and ramming his way out of the hall. A moment later he was tossing in weapons, and the Hall of Heroes was invincible again.

  III

  Well, we found out the Truth. Too bad it was no use to anyone.

  We were out in front of the inn, unarmed, and we had no potions, lotions, or charms left. We were becoming disagreeably sober. We desperately wanted to leave, but a number of people wanted to say good-bye to us.

  The Eminence was not one of them. He looked at us sideways, with a sideways-frowning mouth, and I knew he was weighing how to kill us, not whether. The sooner we were out of this city, the better.

  The Pre-Eminence insisted on shaking hands with us, saying that we would always be in the forefront of the fight against Skandia. The Eminence eyed us coldly from a distance, saluting. How I wanted to salute him, in my own way! But it wasn’t safe.

  As we turned away from them, someone grabbed our shoulders in a way that had nearly made me scream before, but that I now recognized.

  Graffin said, “You boys were all right back there. I thought your training story was dung, but I was wrong.”

  He grabbed us both in his arms and squeezed until shoulder dislocation was a possibility.

  Then he said huskily, “Thank Savage Henry for me. Band of brothers,” and walked away wiping his eyes.

  Gaanz whispered, “I hope there isn’t going to be much of this.”

  My eyes went wide watching Sigrid grab his shoulder, spin him around, and grab him with her other hand.

  She picked Gaanz up and held him off the floor, kissing him until I thought she would suck his lungs inside out.

  Then she set him down, smiling. “If I see you across the water, we might have a night together.”

  He stared after her.

  I hissed, “You are not risking your life to find out whether ‘if’ is ‘when.’”

  “I’m not.” But he said it tragically, and I was deeply grateful that he was only slightly sober. A fully sober man would have been doomed to follow her.

  Behind us, Balarec said, “You’ve met Sigrid again.”


  I said, “What the Eminences wanted all worked, didn’t it? She’s committed to going overseas, and so are a lot of the others.”

  Balarec reached into his pockets.

  We stared at the key and the pouches.

  “The key is to the Hall of Heroes,” Balarec said tiredly. “The pouches are Warre and Pax, respectively. I pulled them from the pockets of the Eminence, when he embraced me for stopping the Taur.”

  Gaanz snatched the pouch of Pax and lowered his nose and mouth in it, inhaling vigorously. “Oh, yes. That’s Pax.” He was visibly relaxed.

  “He was dosing the Taur,” I said.

  “I can’t prove it.” Balarec looked around the streets, where pumped-up heroes, survivors of an attack they were told was from Skandia, were babbling about future carnage. “But I know he did it.”

  I said, “Then you can stop all this.”

  He looked at me for a moment, than at the volunteers and zealots all around him.

  Then he smiled sadly. “After what happened here today, there will be galleys, and funds for smithies and crossbows and arquebuses, and men and women clamoring to serve across the Five Seas.”

  “But we’ve proved that’s a bloodstained farce,” Gaanz said plaintively. He raised his arm and put his hand on Balarec’s shoulder. “As your senior guide, I advise you to tell everyone to stay home. Or you’ll buy them a drink if they get back.”

  He smiled and shrugged. Gaanz’s arm fell off him. We waited.

  Finally he said, “I’m going with them.”

  I gaped at him. “Mad God.” We looked at him the way he had looked at the Taur.

  He blushed. Actually blushed, like a child learning a truth or receiving a kiss. He looked away from our eyes as he said, “Mad God, maybe, but I’m going with them.” He spread his hands. “They’re risking their lives. Maybe they believe in a lie, but they believe, and they’re my brothers and sisters in arms.” Balarec looked at us earnestly. “Don’t you think, if they are risking their lives for nothing, I need to be there to make sure as few of them as possible die in vain?”