A Facet for the Gem (2 page)

Korindelf sat on the obscured horizon, and only tomorrow would tell its fate. He wished his own needed not be caught in the balance, but as resources were few, the city was his only haven. And if truly no warriors remained to defend it, he felt his loss today would soon appear minuscule.

As he rode farther, an unprecedented gust from high above drew his gaze, and thousands of immense, brown-feathered wings tore through the clouds. With his head tilted back, he discerned the silver gleam of armored legs astride each bird and broad red capes that billowed over every tail. The Eaglemasters were flying from their city nestled in the mountains, plunging toward the densely veiled South. And the sight of them in full force was more overwhelming than he ever could have anticipated.

He drank in one gulp after another of clean air that poured down from their soaring formation, having to shield his eyes against the burst of sunlight that flooded the rift they opened. Just as his vision adjusted, the last in their ranks passed by, leaving him in silence again to watch the radiant window stretch in their wake, and reseal.

Shrouded once more by unending gray, Morlen savored the picture, etching it into memory that none could rob. Then, with another prod to the horse, he continued on his way.

Chapter Two

The Eaglemasters

K
nightly warriors in
beaked helms, feathery silver armor, and regal capes of deep red, mounted above wide-spanning wings, the men of Veldere assembled to fly into battle. Each had a lengthy spear and full quiver strapped over his shoulder, with a longbow gripped in one hand, and a sword sheathed at his side.

Their dauntless birds puffed out broad chests under plumage interspersed with brown and white, and their golden beaks, below piercing bronze eyes, threatened worse than any blade. A line of trumpeters cracked the air with notes that were answered by ringing calls only the heartiest of beasts could muster, and lethal talons sprang off in flight. Soaring toward Korindelf’s lands, the Eaglemasters were three thousand strong, wreathed by the rising sun—a sight to fill even the most brutal foe’s heart with dread.

One man among them held a shining spear, its upper half and sharp head crafted of crystal, with a silver shaft and bone horn filed to a razor edge at its base. He was scarred and weary, yet had a sureness of direction that commanded great trust from all following behind. Peering into the distance, he grimaced as though to inspect a patch of sores that would never heal, since he could not look out upon his own kingdom without seeing the atrocities prowling at its edges.

Three who flew closest along his path watched him diligently, keeping a slight distance. “Father flies heavy today,” said one, loud enough to be heard over the wind at such altitude, though careful not to project past the two on either side of him.

“No heavier than you, big brother,” replied the one to his right. “Six years’ peace with nothing but a few dozen ferotaur skulls beneath your sword has made you fat.”

The first who’d spoken laughed at this. “Peace has never met the stomach of any Velderian, mine least of all, brother. A true Eaglemaster would vomit at the thought.”

“You think yourselves true Eaglemasters?” said the third and youngest. “Our little sister holds more sway over the birds than do the likes of you.” He spurred his carrier on to fly a deft loop around his two brothers. “Neither of you could beat me in flight even if I had four goblets in me.”

“No,” said Verald, the eldest, “we’d stay back and watch you fly boldly into the Wildlands, with a leg of lamb where your spear ought to be.”

“Besides,” added Ivrild, second eldest, “I was there when you took your very first flight, remember? Snatching Father’s eagle so brazenly, only to tread air like an infant before being flung down through the aviary.”

Young Ondrel lowered his head, pride slightly deflating as he raised his voice over their chuckling. “I still remember lying there at the bottom in a heap of feathers and cow bones, and—” he sighed, wiping some ill-remembered feeling from his hair. “Father came down to find me, and then he gave me a lashing I still can’t forget. The flat of his blade left its outline on my back for months.”

Suddenly the one they watched out in front slowed his eagle, gradually flying abreast with them. His presence was welcome, though all three instinctively straightened their posture when he approached.

He furrowed his brow at his youngest son, showing wrinkles made by laughter he dared not let anyone hear, and said, “I’ve never struck you before in your life.”

Confusion reddened the prince’s jovial expression as it turned between his father and brothers. “But,” he replied, “I remember, you said—”

“Oh right,” Ivrild blurted, “something to the effect of, ‘Son, this hurts me more than it hurts you.’ And what’d Verald say when it was his turn to have a go?” he snickered.

“You did all the talking as I recall,” Verald answered with a light smirk. “He was so delirious from the fall, he would’ve taken a naked drunk for Father.”

Ondrel held them both with a look of stubborn disbelief, which eventually broke under the strain of his own widening smile. And the three were glad to share a moment of levity with their father before he broke away again, flying in solitude out ahead.

As King Valdis led his army through the clouds, he uneasily took in what little he could past a net of smoke creeping northward from the Dead Plains—the very territory they flew to strike. They had not calculated the attack alone, though; it had been coordinated with Korindelf for months to be sprung on this night, and no sooner. Fire and thick plumes made them of little use to the plan now, and such a glaring deviation compelled him to ready his blade for their ally as much as for their foe.

“What disturbs you so much?” asked the eagle he rode, Clodion. “I suspect it’s neither arrow nor dripping fang you fear.”

Valdis ruffled every familiar contour beneath his longtime companion’s neck feathers with a seasoned hand, proud and grateful that, had any other man been within earshot, he would have merely heard the subtlest screech, and nothing else. An eagle’s words, like its wings, were won.

Trust, yielded openly and returned, forged the pairing that his people’s ancestors had sought out of sheer necessity with the colossal mountain birds, when pitted against hostile mouths on all sides. Now, that trust maintained the time-honored union that had elevated what once was a crumbling pocket of humanity into a thriving domain, though still its borders were under constant assault.

Theirs was a fighter’s kingdom, and any who grew too relaxed would be lost to the hungry wretches they had long struggled to keep at bay. True, his people lived contentedly enough, spread across five cities, but every keep in the realm had been born in blood. To this day, the four settlements beyond their well-nestled capital were bergs in perilous waters, held fast by beloved sons no older than his own. And many sons had been lost.

“Will you not say what worries you?” Clodion repeated, flying far out in front.

As if it weren’t taxing enough defending their own land from relentless masses, their spears were pledged to guard Korindelf always. This pact had led both kingdoms toward prosperity from the early days of tribulation, opening channels of trade and calling on Korindelf’s army to aid the West in times of dire threat. Friendship and fierce loyalty were etched into such a lasting alliance. But as of late, those ties had been strained indeed, and he would sooner stroll unarmed through the teeming Wildlands beyond his realm than allow one soldier of Korindelf safe entrance.

Glancing back at the thousands holding to his course, most of them younger than thirty, he wondered how many were still bound for death here, even above what looked to be the fresh ruins of a centuries-old enemy. “I cannot count the times we’ve flown to these parts, thwarting one advance after another,” he answered, turning forward again. “Or the gaps that always linger in our ranks on the journey home, like open wounds in our shadow as it passes along the ground. I fooled myself, hoping today we’d finish it, finally end all campaigns here and be free to focus solely on our own borders that crack every day, before it’s too late.”

Clodion was glad to hear him break his silence, which often could persist for hours on end. “I see no inch of space around the flames where any creature survives, even those whose screams are shriller than ours. And the men of Korindelf sit at ease atop their horses on the plains, as though no danger approaches, only awaiting us, it seems.”

“Are you past the days when you would regard us as danger to those below us?” Valdis asked.

“Of course not.” Clodion raised a stubborn beak. “But to the soldiers down there? Never have we had cause for that.”

“I suspect we have for a long while,” replied Valdis. “And only today will we begin to learn just how much. Something of this magnitude tells me he razed the tower itself, which both armies united never came close to capturing.”

“He?” asked Clodion, with a curious turn of his head.

Valdis sat up more rigidly, indignant at having to utter the name. “Felkoth,” he said. “The only man I’ve ever seen step among the shriekers and come out unscathed.”

Their faraway country shrank from view when the Eaglemasters finally passed over Korindelf’s outer territories, which appeared to be free of any intrusion, and they descended to the frontier bordering the Dead Plains. The king and three princes sat at the front ranks, and the banners of their realm flew high on either side, showing a silver eagle with a spear of crystal clasped to its chest, flying against a red sky.

The ground shook as Korindelf’s cavalry rode toward them, numbering over five thousand, clad in bronze, yet Korindelf’s flags were nowhere to be seen among their battalions. They halted opposite the Eaglemasters with mouths tightened in displeasure and noses wrinkled as though wading through manure.

Prince Felkoth, their commander, wore dark robes over sleek iron armor, forsaking the colors of his kingdom, and was quite pale, with long black hair that rested on broad shoulders. His eyes delivered a chill to Valdis that even the smothering heat of battle couldn’t stifle. No matter how quickly he met them, they always seemed to have been trained on him long before, and he felt them now like constricting coils.

“Where are your flags?” Valdis spoke calmly, trying to suppress his contempt at Felkoth’s lack of greeting. “Do you not wish to celebrate your kingdom in the ashes of its worst foe, so far ahead of schedule?”

Felkoth sneered at him. “The celebration has only just begun, Valdis. We’ve a great feast ahead of us, and though it is customary that uninvited guests pay tribute to warrant their presence, I’m afraid poultry was not on our list.”

Valdis jumped down from his eagle to stride with dwindling patience toward Felkoth, who remained on horseback, indifferent to his approach. “I assure you,” the king said, projecting his words for all to hear, “had I allegiance to you as I do your father, we would have come last night for fear that you might suffer drastic loss of life in such a rash advance. Instead we arrive now, flying to fulfill our pact with Korindelf like those before our time, against the enemy we share. But, if we intrude here, mark your line where I’ve overstepped, and see if I withdraw.”

Felkoth laughed, unthreatened. “You and my father,” he mocked, “both drawing your plans so long for this with trusted advisors, forgetting that we alone hold the ground you see each day on parchment. But, as I am sure your ever-watchful spies ascertained last night, victory has already been had, and your late attempt to claim a portion of it only makes us uneasy about what else you might try to take. And, when we grow uneasy, we may act even more rashly.”

Valdis’s pulse was steady, and he paced casually to observe Felkoth’s men. “Victory indeed,” he praised falsely. “Why, I can count no scratch on any of them, no limbs lost though I’ve seen many stronger and more tested torn clean, armor and all. Outnumbered at least three to one, you must have employed some ingenious strategy that none in nine centuries before you ever dreamed.

“Yet,” he continued, “my scouts report the army was encamped here when the smoke broke out, which I am more inclined to believe, as it surely would not be the first time you engaged the shriekers singlehandedly and came to no harm.”

Felkoth appeared pleased by the implication. “This preoccupation with my activities sounds quite consuming,” he replied. “It’s no wonder your realm lies stagnant within shrinking borders while mine is expanding. I’d almost think you expect my ailing father’s reign is near its end, and naturally you lie awake wondering what’s to become of the bond between our two kingdoms, now that you need us much more than we need you.”

Valdis’s fingers turned white around his spear, angling it for an upward thrust that he fought to restrain. “What I need,” he said through gritted teeth, “is for the cost paid dearly on this very grass over the years, in the mingled blood of our countrymen, to gain us more than nothing.”

Felkoth savored his choice of words. “I suspect it will gain you much. Certainly I am not one to withhold from others what they have long deserved, especially when they bring it to my attention day in and day out.”

“And I cannot begin to know what
you
deserve,” answered Valdis. “Pity, as we would gladly pay you in full. But I spoke only of need, as these times hardly afford us anything more than necessities. And today, after six years of wondering why our foes have been so lenient toward you, I am beginning to understand what you’ve needed all along.”

“Then tell me,” said Felkoth, “before I fall from my horse.”

Valdis grinned subtly this time, opening his stance a bit to show himself at ease. Though each man behind him kept silent, he knew they now looked sharply for any signal to strike, and all on Felkoth’s side made no attempt to disguise their eagerness for such an opportunity.

“I have heard tales of a sword,” began Valdis. “Forged in the black mists that shroud those mountains beyond the Dead Plains. None in recent generations has claimed to have ever seen it, but, those who did long ago called it the Dark Blade.

“They said it has a poison, a curse, woven through its metal, and any who is even slightly cut by it succumbs to agonizing death. It is what killed my ancestor, the first king of the Eaglemasters, at the Battle of Korindelf. And the one who wielded it controlled all the shriekers.”

“Such a weapon would be formidable indeed,” said Felkoth.

“I would assume as much. Its earliest keepers built their empire in the South, waging war on Korindelf. But, I have long believed that their bloodline spread past those boundaries. And if indeed an heir existed here who found himself embattled with the ghouls that often struck these lands, perhaps they’d scatter from him, smelling the blood of their rulers in his veins. It would stand to reason they might not deter him from traveling into the heart of their domain, where he could claim the instrument that would put them under his power.”

Felkoth’s spine remained rigid, legs tightening on either side of his horse, and he gave no response, only keeping the silence that veiled nothing.

Valdis held him with a look that needed no answer. “I am not saying I know what you’ve done, or what you plan to do. I’ve watched you strengthen your hold on this army, tainting its ranks with thieves and vicious outlaws who swore loyalty to keep their heads off the block. Your father has heard my worries many times over, and I could offer him nothing new. But, be certain that if I ever see that sword in your hand, that is the day you are my enemy.”