On a warm evening like that day, the marewings would sleep outside together in the paddock, and could take shelter under one of the awnings if a late-season drizzle caught them out in the open, so there was no need for the riders to lead them into the more enclosed stables. Privates had already come to give them their evening measure of grain and check on their water. But for everything else, the riders had to come care for their mounts themselves, from the lowest ranking ones up to the Warlord himself. The marewings wouldn’t permit others to come near them, so it was the riders’ responsibility to see to their needs.
Galenos acknowledged the others’ presence but didn’t pay attention. It was Nightshade who sensed the intruder and lifted her head up suddenly, both ears back flat against her skull in displeasure.
The Warlord turned and saw Korinna peeking around the corner of a nearby building. She started at his gaze and ducked back out of sight.
Nightshade could still smell the girl’s presence, however, and stamped at the ground unhappily. She’d put up with the girl for his sake, her attitude told him, but once was enough. She wasn’t some domesticated beast who would haul around any old person that climbed onto her back.
Galenos put his hand out to soothe her. Touch reinforced their bond, giving him access to another layer of her emotions. He was surprised to realize that underneath her proud indignation, there was a vague recognition of the girl. She recalled that at least the girl had behaved herself on the long flight that morning, and she didn’t seem to mind that Galenos had kept her around after bringing her to the city.
He looked back over his shoulder to see Korinna watching them again. Nightshade rarely remembered any humans who weren’t bonded to her fellow marewings, and certainly not after just one meeting. Was she just picking up on his thoughts about the girl? He usually couldn’t influence her attitudes toward other people; she barely tolerated Varranor.
And yet, though Nightshade kept her ears back to show her displeasure, she looked back at Korinna with one red eye.
Beyond the girl, the duke’s shade stood, watching over his daughter. He saw her as more than a simple country farm owner, and he would stay to pressure Galenos into protecting her. For the first time, seeing his marewing’s reaction, Galenos himself wondered if there was some other potential in Korinna.
At dawn two days after the meeting with the council, Galenos finally received a summons to appear before them once again. They gave him less than an hour to prepare for the meeting, but he wasn’t ruffled by the short deadline. After years of field campaigns, he could bathe and dress himself quickly. He made sure that Korinna would also be prepared by sending an extra maid servant to attend her, with instructions to dress her more modestly this time. He didn’t want either of them to appear as if they were prematurely celebrating a victory.
The Council members weren’t smiling when Galenos and Korinna entered the meeting room, and several of them looked weary; his sources told him that the Council had been deliberating behind closed doors all through the previous night. Whatever decision they’d finally made, they hadn’t come to it easily. He didn’t know if that was a good sign.
Councilor Pelagia took the lead and nodded in greeting. “Warlord Galenos, Lady Korinna, thank you for attending us on such short notice. The Council has reached a decision regarding the matter of Kyratia’s future government, and we wanted to notify you as soon as possible.”
Galenos inclined his head in response but said nothing, and the girl wisely stayed silent.
Pelagia turned to Councilor Eutychon. “Please read aloud our decision.”
Eutychon lifted a sheet of paper and adjusted his reading glasses. His face was pale, which meant that for once he hadn’t been drinking—a sign of how serious the Council was. “It is the decision of this Council that henceforth, Kyratia shall cease to be a duchy and will not be ruled by any sole individual. Instead, the Council of elected officials shall serve to represent the interests of all of her people as a new republic, dedicated to our new patron deity, Varula.”
Galenos looked around the room, but he didn’t see a single priest present to pull the puppet strings. “Do you mean to say that Kyratia will become a theocracy?”
Pelagia shook her head. “Kyratia will be known as the Republic of Varula. All people will have equal representation under the law, but the Republic will be advised by the priests of Varula, to guide us into a new era of peace. Too long, our city has greedily tried to expand our borders by snatching land away from our neighbors in costly wars. We must show the other cities of the north that we are dedicated to a more gentle path.”
He stared her down. “And you mean to dismiss our claim entirely?”
Eutychon waved his stupid sheet of paper again. “The Republic has determined that Korinna may claim the Votsis name and all estates that were privately owned by Basileos. However, she cannot inherit his title because we are formally ending the reign of despotic dukes.”
He could see the girl’s face turn red with the effort of holding her tongue. Galenos felt her same rage, and he didn’t restrain himself. “You do not need to taint the death of Basileos’s passing by insulting his name in front of his daughter,” he snapped at Eutychon. He strode forward and leaned against the table. “You cannot discontinue the title because it was never granted by this Council. Only the Temple of Deyos can approve a change in government, and I will petition them personally if I do not have the Council’s support.”
Pelagia gave him a cold smile. “We no longer recognize the authority of the Temple of Deyos over this domain. Kyratia is seceding from the Free Cities of the North, and will become independent, answering only to the authority of Varula.”
He shook his head. “The Temple of Deyos has guided us for a thousand years. How can you simply choose to abandon it now?”
Eutychon shrugged. “Times change, and when an old god does not serve the needs of the people, he can be replaced with his son.”
He made the sign to avert evil at those heretical words. “You are a bunch of fools. Without Deyos’s protection, you become a sitting target for every other city in the north. The moment you announce this secession, your neighbors will send armies to bow you into submission or to take back the lands that they lost to Kyratia. You claim to avoid war, but your own arrogance invites it.” Galenos pushed away from the table and marched to the door. He paused long enough to shout back over his shoulder, “My army will be the first one outside your gates, to take back the title that you have stolen from my future wife!”
He stormed down the hallway, barely aware that Korinna was running behind to keep up with him.
To his surprise, Councilor Diokles met him at the front door.
“I am sorry about how things turned out,” he said in a low voice. He looked down the hallway and glanced behind him. “We were blind-sided in the vote. I had no idea that this Varulan cult was growing so powerful.”
Galenos stared at the door above Diokles’s head. “I don’t really care about the details of how this mad decision happened. If the Council is serious about secession, then I will go to the Temple of Deyos and demand that they stop it.”
Diokles pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat off his forehead. “You realize that if you do attack the city, then you are in breach of contract and the law that states no mercenary company may attack a city for two years after serving a contract with them.”
The Warlord stopped short and stared. “If Kyratia no longer chooses to follow the laws of Mount Deyos, why should I? Realize what you are abandoning.” He turned and began to walk out again.
Diokles called after him, “If you wish to rule, then you will have to answer to Mount Deyos! Do not throw away your future in anger!”
Galenos made a rude gesture at the Councilor before the door swung shut behind him.
5
Varranor I
Varranor would have stopped and laughed at the irony of him being the one to soothe his brother’s temper if he hadn’t been so b
usy trying to keep everything from falling apart. Galenos had come back from his meeting with the Council roaring orders to break up the camp, move out all nonessential personnel, and prepare for battle.
Varranor managed to sequester both of them alone in the war room where he couldn’t disrupt the rest of the company, but Galenos continued to rant against the Council. The story he revealed at last was devastating in the details.
Varranor shook his head. “You can’t attack the city.”
Galenos stooped to arrange small wooden figures on a map of Kyratia. “We’re already inside the city. We know every vulnerable spot in their defenses. They cannot hire another mercenary company and bring them here fast enough to stop me, and the city guards are next to useless. It will be the easiest campaign we have ever fought.”
Varranor reached out and swept the figures away. “Even if we take the city by force, then what? You will have the enmity of every single citizen and be forced to rule with martial law just to make anyone listen to you. Mount Deyos will have every other city out after you for breaching contract. Do you really want to throw away the work of the last ten years?”
“I’ll make up a loophole that says we were acting in the name of Deyos, and the Council breached their end of the contract first.” Galenos pounded his fist down onto the table. “If we do not conquer the city ourselves, then someone else will take it before the end of the Dry. This place is a ripe fruit waiting to be plucked from the tree if we do not defend it.”
“And why can’t we defend it?”
“Because those heretics want to set up their own temple and fly in the face of a thousand years of tradition, the only tradition that has kept this entire peninsula from tearing each other apart over the little bits of farm land, to defy the very gods who protect us—”
“Their traditions, their gods,” Varranor growled. “The same traditions that keep us from becoming full citizens and owning a little bit of that farm land, which you are so keen to do. You should put the gods of our fathers before theirs.”
Galenos glared at his brother over the old argument. “Our father dedicated himself to Deyos when he came to Seirenia.”
“But he never fully embraced the faith as you do.” Varranor pointed at the map of Kyratia. “Which god they follow only matters to them. As long as they offer good terms on the contract and can still afford to pay us, it doesn’t matter what we fight for.” He shrugged. “So you lost the gamble and don’t get to be duke, but we knew the odds weren’t good when Basileos never officially declared you his heir. We can still keep a good thing going here with you as their warlord.”
Galenos pulled out a second map—a larger one that showed the borders of the neighboring territories. “Sympaia, Petropouli, Karditsa—they won’t stand by when Kyratia secedes from the Temple’s auspices. They will all come to take back the land that we won from them and they won’t stop until there is nothing left of this city. Assuming we survive, who will hire what’s left of our company after we lose a battle on that scale?”
“We know the city’s weak points and its strengths. We can defend it.” Varranor picked up two wooden figures and placed them side-by-side in the center of the city. “Especially if we form a second company and put me in charge. Our recruitment is up so high since our last victory that we are turning away good talent right now. You promised that I would take command if you became duke, and you can still make good on your word without giving up your Storm Petrels.” He looked up at his brother and held his breath.
Galenos sank down into a chair and covered his face with his hands. “I don’t want to fight anymore. I cannot keep going on like this.”
Varranor was more accustomed to dealing with his brother’s depression than his anger. He sat down in the chair next to him and gripped Galenos’s shoulder. “Right now, all of the paths open to us involve fighting. We have to think carefully about which one is the right choice, not tear off blinded by our anger.”
Galenos looked up at him and laughed. “That’s usually what I tell you.”
“Then you should listen to your own advice.” Varranor stood up and rang the bell to call a servant. “Let’s take a little time to calm down and have a solid meal, because I know that you haven’t eaten anything yet today, and then we’ll call in the other officers to go over our options together.”
Galenos sighed. “We went over our options and strategies so many times already. I had no idea that the Council would make a decision like this.”
Varranor nodded. “Even our spies did not catch a whisper of this plan—which makes me worried about what else the Council has kept hidden from us. I will speak to Herokha later.”
Although Galenos eventually calmed down and apologized to the Council, he was still too angry to attend the duke’s funeral. He gave Varranor the task of escorting the girl to her father’s cremation.
Varranor grumbled at being stuck with his older brother’s dirty work once again. “I don’t see why we even still need the girl if you cannot become the duke.”
“She is still the duke’s heir as far as all of his lands are concerned, and I am still promised to marry her,” Galenos pointed out.
He shook his head in disbelief. “So you’re just going to settle down as a married man and manage farms? And when do you plan on this retirement? I thought you were working on a new defense contract from the Council.”
“I am not retiring from the company,” Galenos said, once again dashing his brother’s dreams of becoming the new leader. “I am still negotiating the defense contract. But depending on how things work out with this new Republic, having a contingency plan to take care of our family is a good idea.” He looked down at the table, full of terrain maps and scout reports. “War may not always be our only option.”
Varranor rolled his eyes. “If playing farmer family man makes you happy, then I can always find somewhere else to fight.” He pushed himself to his feet. “But I will take your contingency plan to the funeral and give her your condolences for missing the ceremony.”
So Varranor found himself dressed in smothering ceremonial robes in the midst of a procession through the winding streets of Kyratia. He kept one hand on Korinna’s arm, just under her elbow, for fear of losing her in the crowd. Around them were all of the most prominent officials, merchants, and guild members in their finest robes, making sure that they could be seen honoring the late duke. Musicians wailed in discordant cacophony from every direction.
The early summer sun beat down on the entire crowd, and in their heavy robes, everyone was sweating. The place stunk like a gymnasium during the Games.
Varranor tried not to breathe too deeply as the procession made its slow, ponderous way through the streets. He kept one eye on the crowds in front of him so he wouldn’t trip over a short dignitary and one eye on the fringes of the streets to assess potential threats.
When he scanned the crowd, he could see several of his fellow mercenaries nearby. Some of them wore the ceremonial mourning robes and some of them were in uniform, bearing their weapons openly. He felt more comfortable knowing they were around than merely relying on the city guards. The people that he didn’t recognize were the scouts and spies in disguise, even the ones that he knew personally. Try as he might, he could never spot Herokha or her team when they were working.
By his side, Korinna kept her eyes on the ground. Every so often, she wiped her face with the corner of her robe. Her eyes were red and puffy. He wondered how well she even knew her father when the duke rarely made any trips out of the city.
The procession eventually left through one of the western gates and out into the fields. Law required that they travel a certain distance away from the city so the smoke from the funeral pyre wouldn’t disturb the residents. The pyre had already been erected from seasoned wood on the marble platform reserved for the purpose, away from the crop fields. Before the servants placed the body on top, each mourner in the procession placed a symbolic olive branch on the pile. Thankfully the musicians sto
pped playing and left.
The duke’s servants arranged the body with several bundles of personal items, and then a priest in the blood-red robes of Deyos stepped forward. He spoke traditional prayers in an archaic form of Meresto, invoking the gods to guide Basileos’s soul through the Dry Lands and into the kingdom of Meyrissa, the Goddess of Death.
Varranor averted his eyes when the priest performed the spell to set the fire. When he looked to his right, he saw Korinna staring with the first sign of interest he had seen all day, and her rapt expression sent shivers up his spine. Her eyes locked on the pyre and she murmured the same prayer over and over.
When the fire was burning well, most of the crowd turned and headed back to the city. Only the priest and those closest to the deceased would remain to watch the cremation and pour the remaining ashes into the river. Most of the people who had shown up just to be seen were now content to leave.
He looked down at Korinna again, who was still watching the fire burn. “Would you like to go?”
She shook her head. “I want to stay until the end.”
He wiped sweat from his brow with the corner of the heavy robe. “Forgive me for saying it, but you don’t seem that upset about it, and no one else expects you to stand here the whole time. This will take hours.”
She set her jaw in the same stubborn look her father used to make. “I need to make sure that he is gone.” Her sharp tone made him draw back.
“If you hate him so much, then why do you waste your time on this?”
She turned her head up to meet his eyes. “I never said that I hated my father. When I was a child, I loved him—he visited often, always bringing presents, always making my mother happy. He sent me books and tutors.” She looked back to the fire, and the fascinated stare returned. She clutched a token at her neck. “When his first wife died, we hoped he’d marry her. He promised to bring me to the city and prepare me to be his heir. But when my mother got sick, he said he couldn’t help and stopped visiting. This is the first time I’ve seen my father in five years and I don’t want to leave until he is gone.”
A Flight of Marewings Page 5