Floreskand_Wings

by Morton Faulkner

  Though his eyes streamed and his ring-scored face stung, the innman did not falter. Discarding his borrowed sword, he went for the alchemist.

  Blanching, Por-al Row withdrew from his sleeve a curved sacrificial knife. He slashed out but missed, offering an opening which Ulran grabbed.

  The innman’s fingers locked onto the alchemist’s thin wrist.

  Alomar fought an incredible holding action on the far side of the royal platform. Already he had thrown a couple of knives at the cages and severed the fastenings.

  Some red tellars had broken free and toppled the soldiers from their wobbling platforms, midst shrieks and howls. A few other red tellars helped Alomar surge against the soldiers at the doorways behind the dais. They pushed them back and back until only a couple could fight through each doorway at a time. Iayen had long since gone.

  Ulran’s eyes bored into the enchanter.

  Por-al Row felt the knife press against his stomach, cut into the folds of his black robe: there was nothing he could do, his eyes were transfixed, mesmerised by the innman’s; a swirling emptiness engulfed him, identical to the sensation that fleetingly overcame him in the mountains. As the blade sank deep into his belly Por-al Row smiled, at last appreciating the Overlord’s terrible irony. He was incapable of feeling the pain, the outrage, and the frustration.

  Ulran let go of the knife.

  The enchanter slumped to the dais and suddenly emerged from his entranced state. At the top of his voice he cried the Overlord’s name out loud and stared wide-eyed at the knife that protruded from his body.

  Alomar fought on, sneezing again and rubbing watery eyes. Ulran joined him after picking up another discarded sword on his way. Later, if possible, he would search for his own weapon.

  The odds were seemingly impossible. Then an uncanny lull occurred as a high-pitched continuous screech thrummed in everyone’s heads though not their ears. As one, the birds looked upon the crying form of Por-al Row, perpetrator of the red tellars’ plight.

  At least twenty of the great birds swooped down and back up again, curved beaks digging and biting into the alchemist. Eerily, the birds descended and rent him time and again without a sound. Only a low whisper, from the doomed man himself. Then the birds broke off and left the pulsing bloody whining shape upon the royal platform.

  And from the window ledge above swooped the largest bird in the salon, a white sekor emblazoned on its throat.

  Scalrin swooped down.

  ***

  Talons deep in the enchanter’s chest, Scalrin lifted the man, effortlessly, high above the dais, massive wings flapping and thrumming, dislodging torches onto the matting, setting the floor alight. As the man cried for release, Scalrin’s beak jerked forward and down, once, and penetrated the skull, silencing Por-al Row forever.

  The body was discarded at once and landed with a dull thud amidst the burning matting, and this seemed to be a signal to the other red tellars. There was little fight left in the onlooking soldiers as the birds lined the window-ledges, flickering yellow eyes cast upon the soldiers, waiting.

  One by one, the soldiers dropped their weapons.

  Alomar nodded his approval. “Very wise, very wise indeed,” he said. “Perhaps there is hope for your people, after all.”

  More royal guards burst into the salon through the broken double doors.

  “We have no quarrel with Arisa!” Ulran called. He strode through the flaming dais and looked down at Yip-nef Dom who lay sprawled upon the ruins of terracotta bowls and spilt blood.

  He knelt down.

  All eyes were on him as he retrieved his own sword from under the king’s head. “Look,” he said, pointing. The chains on his wrists rattled but were forgotten. “See for yourselves! The king died by accident, by the Overlord’s hand, not ours.”

  The sergeant-at-arms knelt down and nodded agreement.

  Clearly, the sword’s pommel had struck the king’s chin, breaking his neck with the upward force as the sword hit the floor.

  Still kneeling, Ulran kissed the hilt and felt whole again.

  At that moment, a cheering and bedraggled mob charged in, led by Bindar. The royal guards backed to the right, wary, swords still unsheathed.

  Ulran held up his hand. “No more killing, Bindar! The day is yours!”

  The crowd cheered and abruptly broke into two, forming an aisle.

  Along this limped the ragged figure of Yip-dor Fla, bruised and battered, his eyes blinking in the light. “Royal guards, soldiers of the king – the people’s uprising has vanquished Yip-nef Dom’s lackeys!”

  A loud cheer broke out.

  Alomar stood by Ulran’s side and surveyed the carnage they had wrought. “This day would have made Fhord proud,” he said quietly.

  “Yes,” said Ulran, saddened.

  “The king is dead! Long live the king!” It was a cliché, but none the less heartfelt for all that.

  One by one the red tellars clustered at the shattered windows. Some shared the task of carrying their dead brethren. No red tellar corpses would be left behind. They edged their way out, to fly off to freedom.

  Scalrin was the last to depart.

  Ulran watched, waved, and the great bird was gone.

  EPILOGUE

  FIRST SAPIN-SAPINMA OF LAMOUS

  “... or else I’ll send for the Black Hat!”

  – Mother’s threat to naughty child

  Alomar sneezed and hissed an imprecation upon the deceased king and the infamous Tower of Ash that – according to Yip-dor Fla – would shortly be destroyed.

  The coronation banquet was fitting, with Ulran on the king’s right, Alomar on his left; near Alomar sat the returned Essalar and his wife and Bindar who had been newly installed in his beer-hall.

  The feast had gone well with much merriment and wine.

  Now Yip-dor Fla stood with goblet raised.

  The murmur of voices dwindled and the returned king spoke: “I declare Ulran of the Red Tellar and Courdour Alomar innocent of killing your late king! There shall be harboured no grudge against these men, through whose suffering we have all seen a fresh new day, the dawning of a renaissance in Arisa!”

  Cheers rose like a wave and moisture was upon the king’s eyelids. “All plans for the conquest of Lornwater have been dismantled. Let it be understood, this city has no quarrel with any other.

  “Once Arisa was great, leading Floreskand in every way. It is my vow to make Arisa a good and memorable city, one to which all enlightened people will want to flock!”

  More cheers, banging of flagons and goblets.

  “The black days are finished, my people!”

  ***

  Later, replete, Ulran and Alomar had a private audience with Yip-dor Fla.

  “It sorrows me that you must leave so soon, my friends,” said the king.

  “Lornwater’s civil war is still raging, sire,” Ulran explained. “I must join my son. My place is by his side.”

  Yip-dor Fla looked to Alomar. “And you, warrior?”

  “Adventure beckons. Always to find a new quest, a new trail. I am impatient to feel Borsalac’s withers between my legs again!”

  “I am sorry that Yip-nef and Iayen saw fit to deprive you of your eyelids, Alomar. Surely, my surgeons can help – they’d–”

  “No, sire.” Shaking his shaggy black head, the immortal warrior grinned and successfully held back an incipient sneeze. “It bothers me little – I don’t sleep.”

  Alomar’s mischievous grin puzzled Yip-dor Fla but the king refrained from delving deeper.

  At this exposal Ulran wondered if Lorgen were more than mere legend.

  “Besides, Edu-seren’s done enough to recompense, by treating my arm,” and Alomar patted the heavily bandaged limb.

  “What of Iayen?” asked Ulran

  The king’s face turned grave. “That troubles me that she should have fled without trace. And if as you say she is with child by Yip-nef, then, perhaps I have not heard the last of her.” He sighed, settled
back into his chair. “But that is my problem, not yours. You’ve done more than enough for me and Arisa!”

  “Your provisions and horses are waiting in the courtyard,” said First-Captain Dab-su Hruma. “The city almost went to battle stations when the Kellan-Mesqa rode up to the Varteron Gate!”

  “The Hansenand are here?” queried Ulran.

  Dab-su shook his head. “No, they would not linger, saying only that they must ride on, but had heard of your quest’s success and left your horses. I must say, they are fine beasts. The palfrey, she is–”

  “Sarolee – Fhord’s horse. Would you like to keep her?”

  “But – I have plenty still to learn, Ulran, yes, I accept your gift, knowing how much Sarolee must mean to you.”

  ***

  While the festivities progressed and dusk approached, Ulran and Alomar rode through Arisa’s Varteron Gate and down the winding track to the plains.

  Though unsaid between them, each brooded over the sense of loss they experienced as their horses cantered over the grassland.

  “It feels strange,” said Alomar, finally shaping their feelings into words. “Without her, without Fhord...”

  “Yes, it does,” Ulran replied softly.

  They rode to the varteron in silence.

  ***

  Dusk fell. Still in sight of the flashing white and coloured lights of Arisa’s celebrations, the pair halted. Ulran was painfully reminded of Fhord’s glorious departure from this mortal coil.

  “I hope your city is not too troubled, Ulran – but alas I cannot abide city life of any sort.” Alomar shrugged. “And besides, I know you won’t need any help from me!”

  “You’ll continue to seek the Navel of the World?”

  “Aye, I’ll do that – I may look upon the black-white again, see if it has anything to tell me.” He swerved Borsalac round and rode, cloak flurrying, down the grassy rise, to the ranvarron.

  Ulran swung Versayr towards his beloved Lornwater, many launmarks to the ranmeron. He had decided not to stop this first night, if his wounds could stand up to the riding. He was anxious to be alongside Ranell again. His thoughts about his son were interrupted, a familiar voice impinged: a soft, gentle, almost jovial voice.

  He reined in Versayr and shook his head: he knew there was nobody within a launmark.

  “Now I know I was right about you,” said the voice, quite clearly.

  Still nothing, no-one.

  “Where are you?” he asked and felt a little foolish, talking to thin air! He shook his head, annoyed with what he thought was his mind playing tricks: could it be the wound? That had definitely been Fhord’s voice. But it couldn’t be, no matter how real it seemed.

  “Look above you.”

  Ulran did so, and gazed upon the bloodiest of setting suns.

  He comprehended.

  Fhord was home.

  The innman smiled to himself, eyes afire with the red sunset.

  As Ulran turned Versayr for Lornwater again, a final parting shot reached him, as soft-spoken as the last: “No need to hurry, Ulran. Ranell is handling the situation well.”

  Drawn once more, Ulran looked up at the setting orb.

  A shooting star crossed the sky and the voice said, “It is only to be expected from the son of a Kormish Warrior.”

  She had been to Sianlar. “Farewell, Friend Fhord.”

  ***

  The blazing sunset was now on Ulran’s right and seemed to linger. Then he espied a silhouette upon a brow ahead, the rider’s distinctive floppy hat quite unmistakable.

  As the innman reined in beside the immortal warrior, they both turned in their creaking saddles and eyed the last of the setting sun.

  Ulran felt sure he glimpsed Fhord’s face in the dying orb and superimposed over her image was that of a man, perhaps Slane.

  And then the sun’s orb sank, leaving the orange afterglow that seemed strangely warming.

  AFTERWORD

  For five terrible years did the Three Cities’ Civil War rage...

  – Tsukcoldol Almanack

  The end of WINGS

  KING, the the beginning of the history of the Three Cities’ Civil War of 2050-2055, including the involvement of Ulran, Courdour Alomar and Ranell, will be released from the Royal Institute of Records shortly. Other histories include MADURAVA and PROPHECY.

  Morton Faulkner

  GLOSSARY A

  Names, places and meanings

  AC

  Arisan Calendar. Recorded history began 0001AC. Originated and introduced during the fifth year of King Zal-aba Men’s reign. The Calendar was backdated to his first year on the throne. (See Glossary D).

  Altohey

  One of four Manderranmeron Fault volcanoes.

  angkorite

  Hermit of religious leanings

  anjis newt

  Most common of the two newt species. Feeds on worms, crustaceans and insects.

  Arion

  Arable land within the Sonalume Mountains, accessible through the Arion Gap which is guarded by Arisa, and also through the hazardous Astrey Caron Pass.

  Arisa

  Oldest city, founded 001AC. Also referred to as the Prime City

  Astle

  One of four Manderranmeron Fault volcanoes.

  Astrey Caron

  Discoverer of a dangerous pass through the Sonalume Mountains, linking the dunsaron plains of Floreskand with Arion. Discovered in 86BAC

  BAC

  Before Arisan Calendar

  Below

  Hell, colloquially the Underworld

  biter

  Vicious icy wind usually coming from the ranmeron, found in the Sonalume Mountains.

  Book of the Dead

  Floreskand has two versions: Manderon and Ranmeron

  cawcaw

  bird

  carst

  Monetary value. 10 carst = 1 sphand.

  cherese

  Gecko

  city

  Large populated towns of over one launmark square; must be walled to be classified as cities.

  cycle

  Comprising 20 orms: one day. Virtually archaic.

  dahal-nasqed

  Cicada-like insects remarkable for their chirping sound; common throughout Floreskand; also known as night-devil.

  Danumne

  One of the four Manderranmeron Fault volcanoes.

  Daqsekor

  The Overlord; name seldom uttered aloud due to its assumed potency.

  dates

  Unless stated otherwise, all dates are AC.

  day

  Used in preference to archaic cycle.

  dead money

  A pento, given to every person at birth and retained until death; used symbolically as payment for last rites and funeral. No self-respecting thief would steal Dead Money.

  Devastators

  Nomadic tribesmen, also known as Kellan-Mesqa. Original aborigines of Floreskand; the names of rivers, lakes, mountains etc derive in the main from these people. Comprise six separate hordes: Hansenand, Baronculer, Selveleaf, Aquileja, and Mussoreal; the sixth horde, the Tramaloma, have ceased their nomadic way of life and inhabit Taalland. Each horde is also sub-divided into montars, each administered quite separately.

  dacorm

  Time measurement. 100 dacorms in 1 orm. (1 dacorm = 43 seconds)

  devil

  Unnamed malicious spirit; night creatures generally.

  dogs

  Apart from the domesticated canine, there are wild-dogs: forest-dogs, small, fast and vicious; plains-dogs: larger and hunt in packs; and their larger relative, the wolves, who inhabit the foothills of mountains and rarely tread the lowlands.

  Doltra Complex

  Prestige building in Lornwater’s Second City, named after its architect.

  Drop, the

  Colloquial name for the Varteron Edge (q.v.).

  ebon-diamond

  Largest diamond found in Floreskand, held in the palace of Arisa. The only known black diamond in existence.


  Edge, the

  The moment between life and death.

  Endawn

  Manderon city founded in 56AC.

  fane

  Temple.

  Floreskand

  Land contained between the manderon range of Tanalume Mountains, the Varteron Edge, the dunsaron range of Sonalume Mountains and ranmeron Shomshurakand Barrier.

  Floreskandian symbol

  Mark of the Royal Institute of Records, Lornwater (q.v.), whose archives have been used for this odyssey.

  Forshnorer Forest

  Where tree-dwellers live

  Free Cities

  Cities of Floreskand, referred to as such by the Ranmeron Empire.

  galnear

  Century.

  gamen

  Hundred soldiers plus one officer.

  garrotmen

  Guardians of the Forests of Ironwood; also known as garrotters. Poachers are usually garrotted. The Fourth Toumen.

  gild

  Guild. The vast majority of common people belong to some kind of gild, be it religious, merchant, or craft. Most infamous illegal gild is the assassins’ Gild. Merchant Gilds regulate trade monopoly. Gildsmen form the greater part of the militia. Gildsmen also take up vendettas on behalf of members’ families.

  glo-moths

  Caged insects used for illumination in places where shagunblend fumes may be overpowering.

  Goldalese

  City founded in 995AC.

  haemoleaf

  Leaf possessing healing ability for raw wounds. Only found outside Floreskand, thus extremely rare, if not mythical.