War of the Misread Augury: Book One of the Black Griffin Rising Trilogy

by D. S. Halyard

  Sentinel grew restive under her scrutiny. He was eager to be off. He well knew that his span was perfect, that no feather was out of place. Didn’t he preen himself daily? Today's flight was to Zoric, to the duke's citadel there. It was a two-stop flight, and she knew that Sentinel would luxuriate in the chance to bathe in his favorite stream in the East Forest. The king's foresters patrolled the forest around the landing spot with great diligence, for the security of the king's eagles was more important than the life of however many soldiers it took to guard them. Without the eagles there would be no king, Bansher said, and Lanae was glad, because without the eagles she would never have known the joy of flight.

  Limme chose Wraith for her mount, and that golden bird, second only to Sentinel in size, spread his wings in the shadow of Sentinel's. Sentinel shrieked his dominance at the lesser bird, confident of his supreme might and size. Wraith bobbed his head half to the floor in acknowledgement of Sentinel's greater strength, even as he shrieked an angry reply. Lanae bid Sentinel to fold in his wings so she could mount and the bird did so eagerly, knowing that flight was only a few moments away.

  "Where are you bound, Limme?" Lanae laughed with the sheer anticipation of flight.

  "Flana." Limme wrinkled her nose in distaste. "More grain reports, I guess. How about you?"

  "Off to Zoric." Lanae responded, tucking her helmet straps into her jacket's collar. They would come out again once she was in flight, but Bansher's rules had to be followed, at least within sight of the eyrie. She waived her scroll case at Limme. "Letter from the king to his cousin. Fare thee well!"

  "Good flying!" Limme replied, yelling over the rising sound of huge wings moving and wind howling. With that, both girls urged their birds forward, to the edge of the high stone tower in which the eagles’ eyrie had been built.

  The King's City rose toward her as Sentinel launched into the dive that always preceded flight. For the briefest moment, Lanae felt the terror of falling, then came the thrill as Sentinel once again defied the certain death that a fall from this height would bring. Lanae whooped with delight as the great eagle's wings spread, caught air, and the great spires and bridges of the King's Town fell away beneath her.

  The tower had been built on the highest point of the city, atop the same high mound that supported the palace and held it aloft from the great city and the river that surrounded it. Nearby the Lighthill rose, tall and narrow, but the cathedral and holy seat of the High Prelate was not as tall as the eyrie. From four hundred feet up the city looked like a child's play town, the tiny figures below more like ants than people. The hundred boats on the broad river seemed like toys, and even the great ships in the harbor looked small.

  Then Sentinel responded to the pressure from Lanae's knees and turned into the wind, great dark wings beating, carrying them north and east. The orderly streets and tight squares of city blocks fell away, and Lanae could see the larger squares of farmer's fields. These too fell behind in a moment as the broad plain of the Dunwater River Valley swept beneath Sentinel's wings. Above her stretched the endless sky, and it was her domain.

  Far below, however, in the dockside portion of the city, eyes unseen from above marked the flight. Notes were taken, messages hastily dispatched. The flights and directions of Sentinel and Wraith were marked and noted by men who did not share Lanae's love of the king; men and half-men who had plans and ideas of their own.

  Eighty leagues lay between Mortentia City and Zoric, and Sentinel could cover that distance in four hours of uninterrupted flight. Such a flight would tire the great bird, however, leaving little energy for the return. While Lanae could have easily prevailed upon the Master of the Landing in Zoric to house her overnight, she little relished the thought of spending an evening in the fetid air of that swampy city. Instead, Lanae chose to rest Sentinel often, reserving the great eagle's strength so that she could return to the King's Town tonight.

  She came to ground less than an hour out of the city. The great eagle settled onto a broad field east of the small town of Liefin, still well within the bounds of the king's regency.

  In the Regency the rule of the king was undisputed and absolute. No soldier here was exempt from his command, from the town reeve to the magister, all were in the service of His Highness, Falante D'Cadmouth. The king's eagles were known and recognized, and the privileges given to their riders, known as king’s eyes, were little less than would have been accorded to the king himself. Things were not always so outside of the Regency, however, and Lanae had been in lands where the king's name was less revered than reviled. Lanae was mindful not to abuse the rights granted her as a king's eye.

  After she dismounted, she therefore permitted Sentinel to take only one spring lamb before whistling him back to her side. The eagle took the lamb easily, plucking it from a rich flock that could well spare the offering. He was sudden in his hunting, which avoided more than temporary panic among the flock. The cotholders and shepherds would not appreciate the eagle running the fat off their beasts. Sentinel settled with his kill into a fold in the land at the foot of the hillock where she had dismounted.

  When she whistled he lifted his head and protested her miserliness even as he tore into the sheep's vitals and drank deeply of the animal's blood. She smiled at his hunger, but whistled him back more firmly.

  "There will be more to eat when we get to Zoric." She promised.

  Still hungry, but with his need to hunt sated, Sentinel gracefully landed and folded his wings so that the girl could mount. She worked well with Sentinel, and sensed that the eagle liked her as a rider. She was taller and thinner than the others, stronger in the arms and better able to hold tight when he performed the aerial maneuvers that marked him superior to the other great eagles. She knew with a certain pride that he was the greatest eagle ever to have flown, and he liked a rider who allowed him to show it.

  Lanae climbed onto the light harness and tucked the front of her knees into the leather grooves at the back of her gloves. Taller than most of the king's eyes, although still a head shorter than an average girl, she had been required to have gear specially cut to fit her thin, longish frame. Once she was fully tucked up, knees touching elbows and back arched to cut the wind, she ducked her head and ordered the great bird aloft.

  Most of the lesser eagles would have had difficulty getting airborne from the small hill she had chosen to land on, especially while carrying a rider, but not Sentinel. He only swept down a moment before beating his mighty wings and gaining the air. Tight whorls of dust flared above the ground beneath his wing tips. Lanae clung tightly and thrilled at the sensation of power in his mighty body as the great dark bird shot forward, sped as if launched from a great bow by the Secret God of Vengeance himself.

  The long dark line of the East Forest approached as Sentinel continued on. In an hour she reached its borders, and many lesser eagles and hawks rose briefly to contest the great bird's right to trespass here. Sentinel ignored their raucous cries even as he sped above them. No tiny birds would dare to impede his flight, mightiest of eagles. The air above the forest was warmer now, and Lanae loosened her leathers a bit to allow some of the wind to cool her down. She was sweaty and feeling a bit cramped across the shoulders from clutching tight in the same position. By the time they reached the clearing that was her favorite stopping point on the trip to Zoric, Lanae was wishing Bansher had not forbidden riding straps.

  The straps made long flights much easier, taking the strain out of a rider's arms. The problem was that a strapped on rider who became disabled could encumber one of the great eagles, making its flight less sure. "Better that the rider fall off than that the king lose one of his eagles." Bansher had said, emphasizing the oft-told point that the riders were expendable, the eagles were not.

  She landed on a treeless hill adorned with a single old stone tower at the crest. As soon as she disembarked, a figure came forward, wearing the king's livery and raising one hand in salute. "Ah, Lanae." Captain Jaren Lioshelm called to her. He was a gr
izzled veteran of the royal army, and he treated Lanae like a daughter. "It is good to see you. Going to Zoric, are you?"

  "Yes, Captain. A letter for the duke from the king. I thought Sentinel and I could use a bath in your stream before lunchtime."

  "Certainly, Lanae, make yourself welcome. I promise there will be no gawkers this time." The last time Lanae had stopped to bathe in the cool waters of Brownton Creek two of Jaren's men had the cheek to try to eavesdrop on her. They had forgotten Sentinel, however, and the great bird had spotted them quickly and given them an earful. Being chased up a hill by a hopping mad eagle the size of a barn had certainly taught the young men a lesson, not that Lanae minded, really. Their attention was a little flattering to a farm girl of fourteen whom Gamma Irons had charitably called 'a little on the skinny side.’ Besides, she had grown up in a single room cottage sharing baths with her sister, parents and great grandmother, effectively eradicating any trace of the modesty her mother tried to instill in her.

  "Oh, really, Captain. I hope you weren't too hard on the boys."

  "You are far too kind, Lanae." The Captain sternly responded, crossing his burly arms in front of his still powerful chest. "You forget your position, as well. As soon as look in on the queen bathing as try to get a look at you. They were lucky I dinna have them flogged."

  "Well, they didn't see anything anyway. Sentinel made sure of that."

  Hearing his name, the great bird cawed at her, shaking his saddle. He wanted it off so that he could bathe, and his meaning was plain even to the Captain, who gave a laugh.

  "Better see to your eagle." He said, in a voice used to making suggestions into commands.

  "Aye, aye, sir." Lanae said, laughing also and raising one arm in mock salute.

  Naked, Lanae splashed Sentinel playfully in the waters of the broad stream. A line of tall poplars effectively screened the two from anyone who might have taken a notion to overlook them, but Sentinel's keen eyes remained ever alert, even as Lanae splashed water on his great beak to wash away the lamb's blood. Once she was satisfied with the eagle's spotless appearance, she scrubbed the sweat and grime from her own body and lay in the warm spring sunlight to dry and eat the light lunch Captain Jaren had provided.

  Despite the trees and the vigilance of the bird she was seen, however, by eyes that, although they appreciated her beauty, had no kindness behind them.

  In the hour and a half it took to complete the flight Lanae grew depressed. This was always the worst part of the journey. The closer she came to the City of Zoric, the thicker the air grew, heavy with mist that drifted in from the great Thimenian Channel off the coast. The mist occluded the trees below, merging them into a single solid mass of misty green. Lanae knew that beneath the trees the ground was swampy, laced with channels of muddy, brackish water that turned into a salty mire as she approached the city and the sea. Beneath her the grimy swamp rats of Zoric paddled small, flat-hulled boats up and down those river ways, hunting for baby kraken or the skins of the lizard kings that preyed on them.

  Zoric for its part was unimpressive, a dank, foul smelling city of eight thousand rising on stilts from the misty fen with a more heavily populated shanty town surrounding it. It lay along the base of a narrow inlet off of the Torth Island waterway. From the air the city hardly looked like it housed so many people, for most of the buildings lay under the canopy of the great swamp surrounding it. The city's true size could only be guessed by the great number of large stone piers jutting out into the inlet. Lanae knew that most of the piers were used by smugglers, for Zoric's distance from the capitol and its proximity to Torth Island made it ideal for the smuggler's craft. Even in the middle of the day Lanae could see several low-hulled vessels making their surreptitious way up the channel to the town.

  Duke Quelton Amor D'Cadmouth might publicly decry the smuggling, but Zoric would hardly exist without it, and it was rumored that the Duke owned a few swift, low-riding vessels himself. In the heavy fog that drifted into Zoric every evening from early spring to late autumn, even the king's eyes could hardly keep up with the hidden traffic.

  Lanae had been in the city twice when the Royal detachment actually caught smugglers, and in both cases they were publicly hanged. The rumor in the city was that those smugglers were outsiders trying to cut into the business of the duke and his cronies, however. Lanae was sure that most of the large, opulent three and four storied houses along the city's main boulevard had been built with smuggler's gold.

  For a girl so young, Lanae was remarkably well-informed about such things, thanks mostly to her duties.

  She landed on a bare hilltop just south of the city where a detachment of royal guardsmen kept a house called the eagle’s landing specifically for the use of the eagle riders. Sentinel was shown to a large hilltop eyrie where he could eat his full of raw beef while Lanae dismounted and selected a mare for her ride into the city. She was escorted by a score of mail-clad soldiers in the unmistakable scarlet livery of the Zoric Ducal Guard. While their livery and gear was impeccable, no doubt owing to the continuous maintenance of the half a dozen servants she saw wandering about, the horsemen rode lazily, as if infected by the heat and damp of the swamp around them. King's eye or not, nobody seemed to rush things in Zoric.

  Although she was a king's eye, she was not his hand or his ear, so it was not for her to speak directly to such an august personage as the Duke of Zoric. She had never actually met Quelton Amor D'Cadmouth. Instead she was shown to his personal squire, a slightly girlish young man foppishly dressed in the Duke's personal insignia, his tabard more purple than scarlet. He took the scroll from her and bid her wait in a well-furnished antechamber to see if there was to be a return message.

  For an hour she perused the book-lined shelves, noting with envy the gold leaf on the spines of the books and the finely upholstered and polished wood furnishings. The duke of Zoric certainly lived in high style, a distinct departure from the austere furnishings said to grace the royal palace in Mortentia. More smuggler's money, she thought. The heat, the smell and the damp made it impossible to appreciate the surroundings. She found herself impatient to be gone.

  "If you please, madam." A young voice interrupted her thoughts, and she turned to face the squire. "The Duke wished to inquire if there might be any way in which we might serve you prior to your leaving?"

  "I'm fine, thank you." Lanae replied. "Is there a return message?"

  "Yes, madam. Please give the king the kindest regards from Zoric."

  "I certainly shall, if ever I see him." Lanae responded, inwardly cringing at the dishonesty implicit in her reply. She had only met the king once, when she was sworn to duty, and that formal occasion had hardly been a time for idle chatter. She was flattered by the notion, which she often encountered in outlying towns and cities, that she had direct access to the ear of the king. The truth was that Falante D'Cadmouth hardly had the time to mingle with the likes of her.

  The duke’s men showed her to a horse and escorted her back to the eagle’s landing. She was disappointed to find Sentinel sleeping in the eyrie, both eyes fully lidded with his blood-spattered beak laying across his chest. He had killed and eaten his fill, which meant he would be too loggy to fly for at least an hour or more. She would need to bathe him again before she returned to the King's Town, and if he didn't wake soon she would have to spend the night in stinking Zoric.

  She hesitated even to eat near the city, for the last time she had done so she had been violently ill from drinking the water. She certainly was not going to drink wine and fly, chancing a broken tailbone like that idiot Vallia.

  Frustrated, she sat in a room off of the small kitchen and waited for the great eagle to wake.

  Captain Jaren Lioshelm sat at the table and poured himself a flagon of amber honeymead from a leather flask etched with the sign of the Hammer and Forge Inn of Arker. Ah, merry Arker. He liked the town, he liked the people, and he liked the mead.

  In forty years in the king's service he'd never seen the lik
e of Arker. Oh, he'd been in the King's Town, he'd been to Elderest, he'd even been so far north as Northcraven once, long ago. None of them compared to Arker for merriment and friendly folk. In six months he would draw the last of his pay and ride to Arker alone.

  He'd been alone for ten years, ever since his wife had died, childless and bitter after thirty years married to a soldier. He'd loved Gretti, despite or perhaps because of her constant complaints. Whether it was ague or sore bones or his own devotion to duty, Gretti had always had a complaint. When the complaints stopped, Jaren had known that Gretti was truly sick. The end came within a few short weeks.

  "She's just worn out with age and sickness." The physic had declared. "There's naught anyone can do for her but make her comfortable until the end."

  Jaren's only time out of service had been during the month before she passed.

  Ironically, it was six months after her death that he was promoted to Captain and finally began to earn the money she had always said they needed. Still, he'd always done the best he could by her, hadn't he? He'd not once been unfaithful, despite the long postings away from home and the occasional opportunity provided more by the king's livery than his own mediocre charms.

  Now she was gone and he faced a retirement alone. He might have taken another wife, he supposed, but no woman could ever be his Gretti. He sighed and took a cool drink. It was good mead.

  Soon Lanae would be returning. She never spent the night in Zoric if she could avoid it, even if it meant flying the eagle by starlight. Jaren could not blame her. The only time he'd been to Zoric he couldn't stand the place, what with the mucky air and the constant stench of the swamp. Jaren carefully concealed the flagon as he walked to the tower window to keep an eye out for her. It was scarcely midafternoon, much too early for her to be returning, but he remained hopeful.