The Harpy's Song

by Logan Joss

They continued through the narrow alleyways and busy streets until they emerged into the open air in a parade quadrangle just outside the palace walls. Trevor was transfixed by the towering walls and the buildings beyond them, all glistening pure white in the sunshine. It looked as if the whole palace had been carved from one huge block of marble.

  Burtlùs quickened his pace excitedly as he led them to a thicket of trees close to the wall. A cut path led through the trees to a single brass gate, through which was a narrow view of a formal garden. Mèlli grabbed the gate and pulled vigorously. ‘It’s locked,’ he said indignantly.

  Burtlùs gave a knowing smile and sidled around to a small opening obscured from view by a drapery of climbing plants. He looked back and smiled. ‘It’s still here,’ he said and slipped through the gap, followed closely by the others.

  Inside was an immaculately kept garden. There was a central fountain with water trickling down elegantly over a statue of one of the Watchers. From there, a network of paths cut geometric patterns between colorful flowerbeds and high hedges. Burtlùs hurried them on and disappeared out of the other side of the garden through an open archway. Trevor stood, captivated by his unusual surroundings, and had to be coaxed along by Freya gently pulling at his arm.

  Beyond the garden, the landscape opened out into heathland speckled with low-lying shrubs and bushes and a smattering of rustic houses. They crossed over a small brook and followed a narrow path that ran alongside it for a while, the surrounding land rising slowly and the vegetation thickening until they heard the roaring of water. The brook had reached its confluence with a broad, fast-flowing river. Ahead of them was a stone hump-backed bridge from which a cobbled road meandered into the sparse woodland beyond. They crossed the bridge and, ignoring the road, Burtlùs led the group directly up the hill by a narrow path that was hidden to everyone’s eyes but his.

  As they crested the rise, the trees thinned out to reveal thin curlicues of smoke drifting languidly and dispersing in the clear air. The sweet smell of pear drops pervaded the clearing. At the far edge stood a modest stone dwelling with a thatched roof. It was like Burtlùs and Freya's house except for a horizontally turning windmill to one side, connected by a series of cogs and pulleys to a long shaft which protruded from inside the building. The group rejoined the cobbled road and followed it to the front door of the cottage.

  10

  The Sleeping Child

  THE KING SAT beside the alabaster child, her hand lost in his like a tiny snowflake. The winter had been long, cold and dark but had metamorphosed into the soft warmth of spring and those who had been dormant now roused. Except for the princess. For five moons she had lain motionless like a wax doll. Were it not for the steady rise and fall of her chest, she would have been thought dead.

  King Somúlùs’ consul and his chief physician entered the room without him noticing; he was too lost in sorrow.

  His consul spoke. ‘Your Highness, we must talk. Every spell, potion and charm has been tried and not one has made the slightest difference.’ He puffed out his chest and took a step closer to where the king sat. ‘It is time to take a new approach.’

  ‘Wait a moment. I have to disagree,’ the chief physician interrupted. ‘We’ve only just scratched the surface. We have many more options open to us, different routes to take.’ His tone was defiant. ‘Why, I have sent for five chanters from Nûnvl to come and perform a ritual. They’ve worked wonders before, you know.’

  The consul continued as if he hadn’t heard what the physician had just said. ‘As I was saying, it has been five moons and the princess Viöla’s condition has not changed. Send for Ormostrious your honor!’ He paused for a moment and took a deep breath. ‘His practices may be unorthodox but he has a deeper understanding of things. As you know, he is one of the few who has researched the magic of the ancients—the magic from which all others are derived. It is of the purest and most powerful kind. I’m sure he can help.’

  ‘Nonsense, Frèuitùs!’ Edùliph snorted. ‘That old fool is nothing but a cheap conjurer who has ideas above his placement. The ancients are just a fairytale. Make-believe. Stories that parents tell their children.’ The contempt that the two men held for each other filled the room.

  The king sighed deeply, staggered to his feet and walked to the window, his hands woven behind his back. He stared out across the city and his kingdom beyond, where the late afternoon light cast shadows from the city’s many buildings. ‘Gentlemen, your disagreement will make no difference now. You understand I would shed my own soul to bring her back. Of course I would. But my daughter is no longer my first priority. I have spent too long neglecting runia. My people. My country.’ He turned to face the two men. ‘I thought that saving Viöla would also save us from the grasp of Nirikö’s forces, but my love for her blinded me to all else. Before last summer, I met with King Cýrian of Xýrantè to discuss our two great countries coming together through the marriage of Prince Olùmas and Viöla. They met twice and had arranged to meet again, but then she fell sick.’ The King wiped a tear from his eye. Everything was coming crashing down around him and he was powerless to stop it.

  What had started as mutual respect between King Cýrian and King Somúlùs had developed into a strong friendship, cementing the bond between their two countries. But this hadn’t always been the case; Xýrantè had at one time been part of runia.

  Long ago, the first King of runia had three sons, triplets, who grew up to be not only brothers but also the best of friends. Until that is, their father died and left the rule of the kingdom to all three of them, as no brother was more deserving than another. At first, the brothers ruled in harmony: one found his place defending the country and became a great military leader; another found that day to day politics was his strength; the last loved his people and knew that to get the best from them, they, in turn, needed the best from their rulers.

  Yet, before long, each began to question the others’ judgment. The animosity grew and developed into hate. First, they separated the palace into three parts so they didn’t have to see or speak to each other. Soon afterward, the kingdom was divided in the same way, leaving each to rule their third as they saw fit. But still this didn’t satisfy them.

  Finally, after a generation had suffered through their continual squabbling, the three brothers brought their country to war. The end result was the death of one brother and runia being split in two. Each surviving brother controlled his half: the portion to the west became Xýrantè and the east remained runia. Centuries and then millennia passed and the troubles were forgotten. Whilst maintaining their independence, the two countries reconciled.

  But now, with war once more on the horizon, the bonds of friendship were being tested to their limits. Only time would tell if they were strong enough.

  Nirikö’s threat of invasion was very real. Should Somúlùs surrender and save the lives of his people as Nirikö had offered? Or should he make a stand, sending his ill-prepared men out to die? This time, not even runia’s wealth could save it from what lay ahead. It had been more than a millennium since the country had had to defend itself. runia was a peaceful country, ill-equipped for war.

  As Nirikö’s forces systematically took country after country, their dead swelling his army after each victory, an alliance with Xýrantè looked to be the only hope for runia. King Cýrian’s armies were the largest and most powerful in Mèssorós. An alliance with Xýrantè would at least have given runia a fighting chance.

  But King Somúlùs had left it too late. General Nirikö was advancing his armies south after taking Flûrdroùm several moons ago. There had been rumors of an invasion of Saphèa years ago, but no-one had taken them seriously, to their peril. Now Nirikö had given King Somúlùs until the passing of the moons to renounce his throne and surrender himself and his people. It would only be a matter of time now. With no alliance and no way of defending his country, was surrender the only option?

  Without warning, the door flew open and a man, short even by runian s
tandards, stood clutching a scroll of parchment to his velvet-clad chest.

  ‘My…my liege,’ he said, gasping for breath. ‘My…apol…apologies.’

  The three men in the room just stared. ‘I think he may be in need of your services as Royal Physician, Edùliph,’ Frèuitùs said.

  ‘Silence!’ snapped the king, darkly. ‘Let the man speak.’

  The man, who was one of the king’s messengers called Háliph, looked set to collapse. His chest raised and lowered quickly, each breath followed by a rasping sound. Háliph had first joined the royal corps of messengers when Somúlùs’ father, King Busolùs, was still on the throne, and now the many flights of steps up to the top of the northeast tower took their toll on the king’s loyal servant. Somúlùs had tried to persuade him to retire, but the proud old messenger insisted he would die performing his royal duties as he had promised so long ago.

  Finally, the man found the strength to speak. ‘My apologies for interrupting you, my liege.’ He took a few deep breaths. ‘But you have a visitor. He has just arrived. I came as fast as I could.’

  Frèuitùs pushed a chair from beside the princess’ bed to where Háliph leaned against the wall and helped him to sit.

  ‘Well? Out with it, man. Who has arrived?’ said Edùliph.

  ‘Let the man alone. Can’t you see he is in need of some assistance,’ Frèuitùs complained. ‘And you call yourself a man of healing.’ He made a disapproving noise and turned to the messenger.

  ‘I don’t think I require your services at the moment, Edùliph,’ King Somúlùs said to his physician, pushing him towards the door. ‘I’m sure we’ll be able to look after things here.’

  ‘But…but…’ Edùliph tried to turn back into the room.

  ‘No, I’m quite sure,’ the king insisted, ignoring his physician’s complaints.

  ‘Your majesty, you will think about what I said? With regards to the princess? We’ll talk later then.’ He was still talking as the king closed the door.

  The king sighed and turned back to his messenger. ‘Please continue,’ he said.

  Frèuitùs filled a glass with water from a jug on the bedside table and offered it to Háliph. The elderly messenger took a few sips and spoke again. ‘It’s King Cýrian, my liege. He’s here.’

  ‘Here?’ both Frèuitùs and Somúlùs said together.

  ‘What does he want? Did he say?’ the king asked, a hopeful expression spreading across his face. Perhaps King Cýrian brought good news?

  Somúlùs hurried out of the princess’ bedroom and along the dimly lit corridor to the staircase, whereupon he gathered his heavy robes and vaulted down the steps in a less than regal manner. He arrived, breathless, at the top of the last flight of stairs and paused to compose himself before descending with dignity. Frèuitùs caught up with the king and opened the door to the parlor ahead of him, allowing him to enter.

  King Somúlùs entered the parlor to find King Cýrian standing by the window, gazing out. ‘Cýrian, my dear friend, how good it is to see you,’ Somúlùs said, reaching out and grabbing Cýrian’s hand between his. His face looked tired and somber. Somúlùs opened his hands and let the one he was holding slip from them.

  ‘I’m afraid I have grave news, old friend,’ King Cýrian began, un-gloving a hand to wipe his gaunt face. ‘I have ridden for two days and two nights. I thought it only right that you hear it from me, in person.’

  King Somúlùs offered his weary friend a seat and then pulled a cord that hung from the ceiling. A moment later, there was a knock at the door and King Somúlùs opened it to a woman in servant’s dress. ‘Yes, my lord,’ said the woman.

  ‘Bring a pot of fresh láven and…food, Cýrian? Yes, yes of course. Bring some flûalbread,’ said Somúlùs, answering his own question.

  The exhausted visitor shook his head. ‘Forget the láven,’ he said somberly. ‘Something stronger.’

  ‘Bring some wine as well,’ Somúlùs instructed the servant, who curtseyed and left without a word.

  King Somúlùs sighed deeply, all thoughts of a reconciliation had left his troubled mind. It was apparent this wasn’t a goodwill visit.

  ‘This news…Nirikö…?’ Somúlùs asked with his back to his guest, fearing the inevitable answer.

  ‘I’ve just returned from Sivèo, where I’ve been in talks with the emperor about uniting an army capable of defeating this dark force of Nirikö’s.’

  ‘But we have no army, you know that. My soldiers are no more than ornaments. Living ornaments.’ Somúlùs broke off, anger surging through his veins. He couldn’t understand why Cýrian would come to ask for soldiers from him.

  ‘No, no, no,’ Cýrian said, ‘you misunderstand me.’ He sprang to his feet. ‘Nirikö is coming. He is marching twelve battalions and his entire fleet south as we speak.’

  ‘I already know that.’ Somúlùs was confused. ‘He won’t be near rus for another moon, maybe longer.’

  ‘No, Somúlùs, he’s lied to you. I had two spies among one of Nirikö’s front line regiments. One was found and killed; the other managed to reach me in Sivèo. For four days he had been seeking me. With his dying breath, he had just one message: “You’ve been deceived. Surrender was a ruse. Nirikö means to show you no mercy.”’ He paused, his eyes welling with tears. ‘He will be here within days. I’ve sent for reinforcements from Xýrantè, but I fear they will arrive too late to make a difference to you now.’

  A knock at the door broke the tension. The same nervous servant cowered in the doorway, carrying a silver tray with a tall crystal decanter of pale lilac liquid and a plate with slices of steaming bread. The servant crept across the parlor, placed the tray carefully on the desk, curtseyed and left as silently as she had entered.

  Whilst King Cýrian ate and drank, Somúlùs paced the floor. There was to be no surrender, no renouncing his throne to save his people as Nirikö had promised. All that could be done now in the little time that was left, was to prepare the battlements and defend the city for as long as possible.

  ‘Come back to Xýrantè with me,’ said King Cýrian, before taking another bite of flûalbread and washing it down with a swig of wine. ‘Bring those dearest to you and get yourselves out. Now.’

  Somúlùs glared at Cýrian in disbelief. ‘You’re surely not suggesting that I save myself while my people are left to perish?’

  ‘Give the order now,’ Cýrian said, softening his tone, ‘while there’s still enough time for your people to reach safety.’

  ‘Where? Where will they go?’

  ‘Listen, Somúlùs, my friend. What else can be done now? For the last few moons I have been meeting with leaders from eight countries, but I have secured the allegiance of just two: Bátrivi, our southern neighbor and Sivèo, from where I join you. All the rest either consider themselves impenetrable or have decided that a war on Mèssorós does not concern them. Why can’t they see this is everyone’s war? If Nirikö and his army succeed in taking the rest of Mèssorós, do these mindless oafs really believe he will stop at that?’ King Cýrian brought his goblet down hard, spilling wine all over the desk. ‘One of them will be next. Maybe Latriùs and its powerful aristocracy? Or maybe Bávla and its wealth? Who’s to know? Until it’s too late. Nirikö is dabbling with powerful magic. Ancient magic. This dead army that he is marching around—how do we even fight something like that? Nothing of this magnitude has been seen for millennia.’ King Cýrian slid down into his chair and covered his face with his hands.

  As Somúlùs watched his friend’s despair, he was engulfed by guilt. While he had been dwelling on his own personal tragedy, war was spreading across the continent and he had been content to leave others to deal with it. The hope of a marriage between Viöla and Prince Olùmas, and the protection it would afford from Xýrantè, had seemed the best solution. Or had it just been the easiest one?

  ‘Cýrian, please forgive my stupidity and my ignorance.’ Somúlùs walked over to where his weary friend sat and clamped a solemn hand on his shoulder.
‘I appreciate all that you have done for me and my kingdom, but I cannot leave, not now. I have been a coward for too long; leaving would only make me a bigger one.’

  ‘But you can’t defend yourselves. Nirikö will walk straight in and kill you all, and your people will become those hideous creatures. Is that what you want? By the Watchers, think about what you’re doing.’ Cýrian banged his fist on the desk.

  ‘You’ve given us a better warning than we could have hoped for,’ Somúlùs said. ‘I’ll give the order to evacuate the women and children in the morning. It will be dark soon; there’s no use starting a panic now. Every man and boy who can hold a weapon will stand and fight.’ Tears welled in the king’s eyes.

  ‘Somúlùs, it’s suicide,’ King Cýrian said, rising to his feet again. ‘It will be half a moon before we will have this army readied, by which time you will all be dead.’ Cýrian tried one last attempt at persuasion. ‘But if you come with me, at least you will be able to rebuild something from what is left of your country after all this is over.’

  ‘If that’s the only way I can keep my throne, I would sooner die defending it. That’s the least my people deserve.’ The two men exchanged a mournful look.

  ‘In that case, I bid you goodbye and good luck, dear friend,’ King Cýrian said. He marched to the door, pulled it open but then paused. ‘If by chance we meet again, in this life or the next, I hope we will still call ourselves friends.’ He turned and left King Somúlùs alone in the parlor.

  It was the chief physician who woke him.

  King Somúlùs had been sitting all alone in the parlor with only the swrenburl wine to vanquish the thoughts of impending doom which filled his mind.

  ‘Sire? Sire?’

  The king roused from a deep sleep. ‘What? What time is it?

  ‘Sire, it’s me, Edùliph. I have exciting news,’ the physician said.

  The king made it to his feet and staggered clumsily to the window. He opened it and let the cool night air sober him. ‘What is it Edùliph? I haven’t got time for this,’ he said impatiently.