Floreskand_Wings Read online

  By the fireplace was a row of trestle tables and ornately carved wooden chairs, where the only visible guest – a great hulk of a leather-clad man – was bent forward facing the hearth’s roaring flames. His back to them, he was eating and appeared to have paid no attention to their arrival.

  Floorboards creaked under the pressure of their feet; some creaked before they set foot upon them, as though other feet trod these boards – spectral feet...

  Firelight had always fascinated Cobrora Fhord, having a great affinity for that primal element; but this log fire held no thrall whatsoever. Cobrora strangled the little manikin of Honsor, the evil lord of fire, futilely, for fire paid homage to either Honsor or Osasor. Against better instincts, however, Cobrora believed this room’s atmosphere, palpable enough to rend with a blade, was neither good nor evil. Perhaps it was simply age, or something before either good or evil came into being.

  Over 700 years ago the Second City had been added only to one side of the Old City because of the superstitious fear of The Lake. Latterly, the buildings had encroached upon the forbidding expanse of water: but still latent in most Lornwater breasts was an inordinate dread of The Lake.

  As if in amplification of this, Cobrora’s heart had been hammering loudly since their arrival, and the presence of the establishment’s innman did nothing to dispel any trepidation.

  “Here, give me your cloaks,” the landlord said. “And sit you by the fire. Our friend here won’t mind, I’m sure.”

  Ulran slid his frame into a chair opposite the stranger who had just finished a plate of bean stew.

  Cobrora sat on Ulran’s left, unable to desist staring at the eyes of the stranger.

  Having given the landlord their order, Ulran said conversationally, “We’re heading towards the Sonalumes.”

  The stranger grunted. He wiped his lips and long, drooping black moustache with the back of a hairy hand. Great bushy eyebrows cast shadows over his eyes but they sparkled even so, almost ironically, light blue, worldly and penetrating. His skin, creased round eyes and mouth, looked a great deal older than the eyes. The black hair streaked with grey suggested old age too. Fancifully, Cobrora thought there was something ageless about this man, as, in a subtle way, there was with this hostelry’s landlord.

  When the stranger spoke, his voice was deep, climbing slowly, contemplatively, from the barrel of his chest: “Two men with some sense, I see,” he said, resting back. “But why should the owner of the Red Tellar be leaving the city just before the carnival?”

  At that moment the resident innman brought them both a bowl of hot steaming rabbit-stew and a dish of fresh fruit for the stranger.

  “You’re rather inquisitive, old man!” said Cobrora, perhaps emboldened by the companionship of Ulran.

  The Inn’s landlord paused by the table, face paling as tension mounted between Cobrora and the stranger.

  Picking up an apple, the stranger rubbed it vigorously against his sleeve and calmly waved the landlord away. “And you’re a rather foolish boy,” he menaced. “Your tongue could get you into trouble.”

  “It could, indeed,” added Ulran.

  Cobrora now wished common sense had stilled a foolish loose tongue: by the gods, I’m out of my sector here... Something in this stranger’s manner suggested he was no ordinary mortal.

  “But Ulran –”

  “Be quiet, Cobrora, while I explain the journey to our friend here–”

  “Friend–?”

  A glance from Ulran commanded silence.

  The innman of the Red Tellar addressed the stranger who at that moment discarded the apple core into the fire: “You heard of the flight of the red tellars this morning?”

  Large white teeth with yellowed edges chomped into a peach. Juice drooled over his jutting chin. He nodded.

  “We believe a great many more of them are in danger in Arion. Something to do with a magical rite–”

  “Yip-nef Dom!” exclaimed the stranger. “I wonder...”

  “Arisa’s king?” Cobrora interrupted, still inwardly seething. “How is he involved in this?”

  Looking askance at the pair, the stranger grinned and threw the sucked-dry stone into the flames where it hissed then cracked. “I have a very old score to settle with that pompous freak!”

  Ulran’s face remained unmoved, attentive.

  Cobrora glanced at the two warriors eyeing each other.

  “Quite a few years ago,” said the stranger, then murmured to himself, “I forget the years so easily...” He sighed, went on, “I was tracking a giant yak in the Sonalumes when I came across a snowed-in encampment. From the tattered standard I could see it was a troop of Arisa. Three soldiers and a young woman and her baby were alive – only just. The rest had perished. They were ill-provisioned to travel into snow-laden mountains. The leader of the troop had deserved to die!

  “I rigged a cart and piled it with tent-fabric and blankets and bundled the survivors inside, covered them up. Another died long before I arrived at Arisa’s gate.

  “But Yip-nef Dom wasn’t pleased to see me, not at all. I was treated with the barest civility and urged to leave the city.

  “I could tell when to take a hint and set out. Then – at the Palace Gate – I turned my horse Borsalac and saw Yip-nef Dom on his royal balcony with the infant raised in one hand, held upside down by its ankle. The gate doors were closing as I’d turned in my saddle so I think I hadn’t been meant to see that – but I had – and by all the hoary gods I saw red! Before the gate completely shut I whipped out an arrow and loosed it at the king.”

  Cobrora swallowed thickly. Clearly this man was more than other men, but to attack a city’s king so boldly amounted to madness!

  “I didn’t wait to see where the arrow hit but rode Borsalac as though the lord of whirlwinds were after me!”

  Cobrora looked troubled; Ulran simply nodded and said, “Cobrora, meet Courdour Alomar.”

  Cobrora gaped and stared, having heard of this man. Stories only. Consternation showed. The stories had been handed down from grandfather to grandson.

  “They were meant to perish in the mountains?” prompted Ulran.

  Courdour Alomar nodded. “Yes. It seems the baby had been a girl, unsuitable as an heir, so Yip-nef Dom sent his wife and babe out on an expedition, ostensibly to visit an Angkorite in the mountains concerning ways to conceive a male, but in truth so they would both succumb. He doesn’t want his cousin Yip-dor Fla as his successor when the time comes – he is obsessed with having a male heir of his own loins.”

  “I heard your arrow pierced his eye.”

  “If only it had, Ulran!” Courdour Alomar chuckled. “No, I believe the truth is more prosaic. The arrowhead simply glanced off the wall at his side. Some stone shards blinded him. My getaway was the more successful because nobody immediately associated my departure with the prostrate king. They managed to save one eye, by all accounts.”

  “But what of the child and her mother?” asked Cobrora.

  “I haven’t heard. Since my visit very few outsiders have been permitted within Arisa’s walls, and even less within the palace confines. Rumours trickle out, of course. They say he’s a veritable despot now. Has a harem, by the gods, just like the Ranmeron Emperor. But none of the bitches will give him his much-wanted heir! He has even risked civil unrest by jailing Yip-dor Fla, though even he dare not murder his cousin and rival – at least, not yet. But if his reason deteriorates any further...” Courdour shrugged meaningfully.

  The question of the Arisan king’s sanity hung on the air and the silence lengthened.

  Cobrora looked from Alomar to The Inn’s landlord who was returning with another bowl of fresh fruit. Cobwebs still persisted in appearing at the very edges of vision.

  “This magical rite – have you more to go on?” asked Courdour suddenly, breaking into Cobrora’s reverie.

  “No,” Ulran answered. “But the omens are bad.”

  Courdour shook his head. “Then if Yip-nef Dom is involved he
must be well and truly insane now. Only a madman would threaten the birds of the Overlord.”

  Ulran and Cobrora nodded in agreement.

  Rising from his bench and tucking his cotton shirt into his leather trouser waistband, Courdour grinned. “I’m heading in your direction, Ulran. Why don’t we go part of the way together?”

  “Agreed. I only hope Cobrora here doesn’t get bored with all our talk of fighting!”

  Cobrora forced a sheepish smile, more than ever feeling dwarfed by these two men.

  ***

  Por-al Row’s concentration strained over the cauldron of putrefying entrails that simmered around islands of fat. But the pictures that formed were hazy.

  He was perturbed: he could not perceive the visages of those two men set on coming to Arisa.

  He re-directed his spells, and was pleased to see that fogginess dissipated a little. He looked upon the royal court of Saurosen IV and liked the tenor of the happenings. Civil unrest was rife. Yes, Yip-nef Dom would be pleased, also.

  ***

  By daybreak all three had eaten a substantial breakfast because they planned to eat light through the day, in order to cover as much ground as possible.

  At the doorway, Courdour Alomar signalled farewell to the innman of Lornwater Inn. Even Courdour viewed The Lake with reverence, expressing no desire to go near. Cobrora was comforted by that.

  Shortly afterwards, the woods appeared in front of them, beginning on the next gentle slope and stretching as far as the eye could see: Oquar II Forest, named after the king in whose reign the afforestation project began, in 1376.

  By the roadside at the forest’s edge were two shrines, one on either side – Chasor and Amasor. They were pointedly ignored by Courdour Alomar, to Cobrora’s dismay.

  Fumbling among the many amulets and potions, the city-dweller produced an effigy resembling one of the gods, Chasor, the evil lesslord of woods. Fleetingly, Cobrora passed a palm over both eyes, signifying no recognition of Chasor. Then, turning, Cobrora rode over to Amasor, the good counter-part of Chasor, and touched eyebrow and lips with a finger, informing that white lesslord that recognition and obeisance were offered.

  Ulran nonchalantly acknowledged the presence of both gods; this upset Cobrora, as though the innman were merely going through the motions. Cobrora swore very quietly at the evil little figure of Chasor and looked up at Courdour Alomar with ill-concealed disdain.

  The warrior sat astride his stallion, urging Borsalac: “Come on, we haven’t time for this time-wasting cant!” But he wasn’t permitted to go further.

  A great black shadow descended out of the morning sun, impelling Courdour to draw his shortsword. Borsalac reared, alarmed.

  Soundless, not a crack of wing in the air, the huge red tellar landed upon the head of the shrine to Chasor and Cobrora would have sworn that the shrine visibly shrank under the power of the bird.

  “Scalrin!” exclaimed Ulran. He dismounted and ran to the shrine.

  Already, the figurine of the shrine had aged, its ironwood shrivelling.

  Intelligent eyes flashing, Scalrin jumped the small distance to the earthen track as Ulran knelt down.

  Courdour Alomar’s temper subsided. He had never seen one of these mystical birds land before. Everything about the giant creature seemed modelled by the gods – so big yet so serene. And the look of eyes was so human; it was as though the creature could talk.

  After a moment, Ulran rose, dusting his knees with a hand. “Cobrora, Scalrin has decided to accompany us to Arisa.”

  “It is a good sign, Ulran – the wings of the Overlord will protect us.”

  Casting a doubtful eye over Cobrora and the charms, Courdour Alomar asked, “Can you really commune with this Scalrin?”

  “Yes. It isn’t talking, it’s more like sense-impressions. All I pictured was Scalrin flying above us – along the way – he must wish to join us, then.”

  “I see.” Courdour sat without any intention of moving. As if the thought had just struck him, he added, “I had planned sojourning at my toran but this quest of yours, Ulran – it’s intriguing. I’ve a mind to join you all the way. Perhaps I could learn the fate of that woman and child as well.”

  Sliding his foot into a stirrup, Ulran leapt astride Versayr while Scalrin perched on the horse’s rump. From the angle Courdour viewed them, Ulran looked as though two great red wings flicked and sprouted from his shoulder blades. “We’d be glad of your company, Alomar.”

  Courdour nodded. “If you will, I suggest we go through Marron Marsh. My toran’s well stocked. A day’s rest would serve us well and, besides,” he added with a grin, raising the wide brim of his floppy hat, “I require my war accoutrements.”

  “Certainly. But – war –?”

  “I always travel prepared, Ulran. That’s how I’ve lived so long, alas!” He laughed, reared Borsalac round and raced into the dappled shadows of Oquar Forest.

  PART TWO

  FOURTH SABINMA OF JUVOUS - FIRST SABINMA OF FORNIOUS

  The Song of the Overlord – Part the Second:

  Sometimes a mote on the disc of the sun

  At others, the ripple on a taal’s surface

  Now He doth fly about on Sormakin and Madarkin

  Now He is a bird of the immutable world

  By the name of ice He doth style Himself

  Congealed in the winter season is He

  He hath enveloped Himself in the infinity

  He is the cloud on the face of the sky.

  CHAPTER THREE

  PORTENT

  In the Overlord’s all-seeing eyes, such men are like unto murderers and idolaters, less to Him than a mote.

  – The Tanlin, 241.14

  Dwarfing all others about them, ironwood trees stretched in uniform lines along the soft grassy track, refracting the sun’s rays into myriad narrow slanting lemon and emerald beams; tiny insects seemed to be trapped in the streaming light. Different varieties of tree bordered one side of the track, providing a strange contrast as the three riders and the trailing mule made good time through Oquar Forest.

  Ulran suggested they skirt round the usual road as a precaution, so they rode on through the undergrowth. Scalrin flew from Versayr’s rump and, winging high into the narrow slice of sky, was soon gone from sight. “He probably feels hemmed in – caged,” explained Ulran.

  The deeper they penetrated, the more tangled and treacherous this track became. Thorn twigs lashed unsuspectingly, lacerating cheek or tearing leggings.

  High aloft, where the taller pinewoods climbed into a heat-haze of wispy grey steam, the odd simian creature swung from fragile branch to liana, uttering a startling, thrilling screech. Multi-coloured parakeets cawed and flashed their plumage from high safe perches.

  But Cobrora hardly had eyes for anything but the almost continuous welter of backlashing branches, and greatly appreciated the heavier clothing Ulran had provided. They might make me sweat in this humid forest, Cobrora thought, but at least they afforded some protection.

  Courdour Alomar urged his horse Borsalac with a virtual obsession, his black hat all but concealing his eyes and nose, black cloak billowing in his wake. What madness drove that man?

  Ulran and the mule brought up the rear.

  Cobrora slowed to peer behind. The innman scoured each side of the track, seeming to take note of quite invisible features, then absently arrested a back-hacking branch before it could hit him. Nothing seems to disturb the innman, Cobrora Fhord thought not without envy. Urging the animal on, Cobrora was consoled with a prayer to Amasor.

  Eventually they returned to the proper trail again which, after some time, opened out into a clearing, where lots of trees had been felled in regimented files.

  To one side was a sleigh with two oxen for pulling and, upon the sleigh, defoliated trunks. Standing around the transport was a group of ten leather-clad people of both sexes and various ages, eating a snack.

  “Family fellers,” Ulran explained, drawing up beside Cobrora. “Each i
ronwood tree takes a long time for a single family to fell, hence its costliness. In fact, there is a rapport between the ironwood tree and the craftsman and through him to the fellers. You see, the trees are not felled indiscriminately – they’re cut as needed by the craftsman for specific workmanship dictated by the feel of the tree itself.”

  “I often wondered if its indestructible properties justified such expense. But, it’s obvious, really.” Cobrora waved briefly to the family then urged Sarolee on after the diminishing form of Courdour on the other side of the clearing.

  Later, Courdour called a halt. “We’ll camp here for the night.”

  Ulran nodded agreement, having quickly scanned the small clearing and undergrowth.

  While Ulran stood warming himself in front of the roaring fire, he remarked off-handedly, “I believe we’re being watched.”

  “Could be Garrotmen,” suggested Courdour.

  “No. If they belonged to the Fourth Toumen, we would never know they were there–“

  “Not even you would know?” queried Cobrora with an impish grin.

  “Their stealth is akin to the breeze through the undergrowth, the weeping of a forlorn leaf, Cobrora. No, I could not detect a garotter’s presence unless he wished me to.”

  “I find it hard to believe,” Cobrora declared, calmed by the casual way the two companions discussed the possibility.

  “Ulran is not mistaken, lad.” Courdour scowled. “I too have detected eyes other than of this forest’s natural denizens. Hostile eyes...”

  Back tingling unpleasantly, Cobrora edged closer to the warm fire, peering over hunched shoulders at the surrounding darkness. Red animal eyes stared back, much to Cobrora’s horror.

  “They’re only forest-dogs – a cowardly creature, have no fear,” Ulran said.

  Courdour Alomar shrugged. “Tomorrow night I think our watchers may show themselves.”

  Nerves in shreds due to their talk and the presence of cowardly forest-dogs with gleaming red eyes, Cobrora almost wept, “How can you talk so calmly – why – why should they wait till tomorrow night?”