The Bringer of War

Kira stroked the bird’s feathers as she held it cupped gently in her hands. It chirped merrily, its head swiveling about on its flexible neck. Her eyes were filled with wonder as she petted the creature, dark mirrors reflecting the bird back at itself.

“Kira!” she heard Hector shout, though she did not stir. She continued to sit on the solid old log, mesmerized by the avian.

“Kira,” said Hector, coming through the foliage to the girl’s side. “Everyone is worried! You cannot wander off every time we make camp, it is not safe!”

The girl eyed him sullenly, then looked back to her pet.

“What do you have there?” he said. Hector took a few steps towards her and peered intently at the feathered bundle in her hands. “Put that down, they can spread disease!”

“What’s a disease?” said the girl, speaking to him for the first time.

“It’s, well,” said Hector, unsure of how to explain “when you get really sick.”

“I don’t get sick, Hecker,” she said, rolling her dark eyes in exasperation.

“Don’t be silly, child,” said Hector, though he was a scant few years older “everyone gets sick now and then, even Sir Bruno.”

“I don’t like him,” said Kira with a frown “he yells all the time.”

“He does yell quite a bit,” said Hector with a chuckle. “Let the bird free, and let’s get back to camp.”

He tugged on her shoulder, and the girl casually released the bird to flap away. They turned and melted back into the wood. The bird flew about a dozen yards before it abruptly dropped out of the sky. Its tiny body made little sound as it flopped into the grass. When it came to rest, the bird appeared cuddly no longer. Its feathers were dingy and dull, its body shriveled like dried meat. Its eyes stared lifelessly into the forest canopy, beak open and a rotting smell exuding from its mouth.

The pair made their way through the forest until they were back at the camp. Bruno had decided that a fire was apropos for a change, and the smell of fish caught from a nearby tributary of the Raven Creek as they roasted on a spit made both their mouths water. Bruno looked up from his conversation with Guthrie the Lame and nodded appreciatively in Hector’s direction before turning back.

“You must understand, master Guthrie,” said Bruno “our path is fraught with danger. The king wants me dead, and any who are with me may draw his ire.”

“With all due respect, misser Templar sir,” said Guthrie “me an’ Toad both is used to danger. You saved our village, so we’re being in your debt.”

Toad crossed his arms and nodded, his lips pursed in determination.

“Then I welcome your aid,” said Bruno helplessly. A grin spread over his handsome face. “You two can start by gathering some herbs and spices to flavor our meal with.”

Toad nodded eagerly and offered a tiny bow to the knight. Guthrie chuckled a bit.

“What my brother from another mother be meanin’,” said the archer “is that no job be too big or be too small. We’re here to pull our weight, don’t you be doubtin’ that!”

The pair went off in search of their quarry. Crown snickered as soon as they were out of earshot and smiled at Bruno.

“Clever, Templar,” said the assassin “giving them a task that takes them away from us so we may discuss them openly.”

“I take it you don’t trust them,” said Bruno.

“My good man,” said Crown with a regal sweep of his arms “I trust but one person on this earth, and he stands here before you.”

“Hector?” said Aven, her dark gaze belying the jest.

“What?” said the squire, busy tending to the fire.

“Nothing,” said Aven. She grunted as Kira slammed into her side and hugged her tightly. “Not so hard, child!”

“Really, sir Knight,” said Crown “I had hope you would not be so naive. For all we know, the two of them may have planned the whole affair just to win your trust.”

“I doubt that,” said Bruno with a scowl “the Drogs were real enough.”

“Four hours of beating out the toothmarks on his armor proves that to me,” said Hector with a grin. Within his jerkin, he felt Midnight shift around. Yelping came from inside the garment, and Hector carefully extracted the cub and held him in his hand.

“Did I not tell you to be rid of that cur?” said Bruno, scowling fiercely at the squire.

“I cannot,” said Hector “for the fourth duty of the Templar is to build hard walls around the soft. They don’t come much softer than Midnight.”

“You named it?” said Bruno, rolling his brown eyes. “And you are not to become a Templar any longer, you are to become king!”

“Then consider this my first royal decree,” said Hector with a grin “the cub Midnight may stay.”

“Aven thinks it may be a cross breed with the Drogs,” warned Bruno, his nose twitching.

“Ridiculous,” said Hector, chuckling as Midnight lapped at his face. He took out more jerky and chewed it for a moment before taking the soggy mass out of his mouth and offering it to the cub.

“Soft hearted fool,” said Bruno “if you cannot even dispose of a hindrance such as that, what makes you think you can make the hard decisions that being monarch will require?”

“I thought I was to be a different sort of King than Drakken,” said Hector “less cruel, more compassionate.”

“Let him keep the dog, beloved,” said Aven, stroking her fingers through Kira’s sable mane. “It’s not as if it slows us any.”

“Very well,” said Bruno, his gaze softening as it fell upon the faerie maid.

“Cuckold,” said Crown, trying to disguise it as a cough. Hector met the assassin’s eyes and grinned, the fading sunlight tinging him with a nimbus of red.

“We are nearing the capital,” said Aven “what are our plans once we get there?”

“Firstly,” said Bruno “we must use the secret passages our geased killer knows of to ascertain if Davros spoke truly.”

“I suppose we shall have to enter the city in secret,” said Aven. “If it turns out that Davros was right, what then?”

“I...” said Bruno. His eyes appeared distant as he mulled it over. “I do not know. I am grateful to Duncan for whatever aid he can provide, but his band is too small, too ill equipped to deal with the royal army. Drakken has too many men.”

“Then what?” said Crown, drawing all their eyes. “If I may make a humble suggestion?”

“Speak, killer,” said Aven.

“Why are you so committed to using force of arms against Drakken?” he said, spreading his arms wide. “There are other ways to depose monarchs, far more tidy and with a lot less bloodshed than open battle. Tell me, why is Drakken king?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions, killer,” said Bruno “you know he was born into the role, as the previous six generations of Drakken were.”

“Incorrect,” said Crown, drawing silent ire from the knight “Drakken is king because the people allow him to be king.”

“Ridiculous,” said Hector “the king is despised throughout the land.”

“Yes,” said Crown “but he has not proven himself so terrible a tyrant that more than sporadic resistance has risen. If the news of his heinous alliance with this monster, this Dragon Queen, where to become public knowledge, his web of power would collapse all around him.”

“So what do you propose?” said Bruno with a frown. “That we pay the town crier to spread the news?”

“My dear Bruno,” said Crown “you underestimate your influence. You are well respected and liked by the populace at large. Your common heritage and noble behavior has made you something of a hero. That is political capital we can exploit.”

“Drakken will simply have Bruno killed,” said Aven.

“Not so,” said Crown “if it were that simple, why would I have been involved? Why would he wish for Bruno’s death to be blamed upon the resistance? He hoped to use the death of a popular hero as a lightning rod to galvanize his subjects against the rebels.”

His companions grew silent as they mulled the assassin’s words over. In time, Bruno nodded and even managed to smile at Crown.

“Very well,” he said “we shall try it your way.”

“This is a mistake,” said Aven “the man was paid to kill you, beloved, and only my magics keep him at bay.”

“It is a risk we must take,” said Bruno.

“And if diplomacy fails?” said Hector.

“We need a contingency,” said Crown “I will admit.”

“Then once we reach the capital,” said Aven “I shall away to Still Ho- to the Blood Wood and see if I cannot muster my folk.”

“Do you think they will come?” said Bruno.

“I don’t know,” said Aven, shaking her head “it has been a long time since I have been...home.”

“Years?” said Crown.

“Decades,” said Aven.

“How old are you, faerie?” said the assassin, his eyes going wide.

“Never ask a lady her age,” said Aven with a knowing smile.

** *

The silver fish flashed in the muted sunlight beneath the waters of the creek, darting after a tadpole. The scaled piscine denizen of the little stream just managed to snap up the morsel, which disappeared down its throat without ceremony. The predator had little time to bask in its victory, as it became the prey when Roikza’s clawed feet stabbed down into the water and snatched it in their hooked grasp.

The feathered dragon tore away from the creek, bearing its prize in its talons. The fish was as long and twice as heavy as the little beast, but it managed to bear it aloft. Nevertheless, her flight was much lower to the ground than normal, her movements less graceful and fluid. The dragon zigzagged between the trunks of the Raven wood trees, coming upon Seamus and his companions as they rested in the shade of a towering elm. Roikza flapped over the dirt road and dropped the fish nearly in Seamus’s lap. She then landed a few feet away and began making an excited, raspy chirping sound.

Seamus’s eye opened up as he was roused from his slumber. He saw the fish and grinned, offering his arm to Roikza. The little dragon leaped up onto the proffered limb and began to nuzzle the big man in the face.

“Good job, love,” he said “good job!”

“Why is your stupid bird making so much noise?” said Stella, sitting up and putting on her broken glasses. Roikza turned her head and hissed at the wizard with narrowed eyes.

“Roikza isn’t a bird, Stella,” said Lobo, sitting up and stretching “she’s a dragon.”

“And I’m the Queen of the Jindi,” said Stella.

“Jindi?” said Seamus, frowning.

′ “Dark skinned people from the far east,” said Lobo “they have a particularly complicated religious practice, in which they believe that every person lives more than one life. In fact, once I was entertaining these-”

“Quit prattling, fool,” said Stella.

“Stella!” said Seamus. He turned his eye on Lobo and cleared his throat. “She’s right, though, you are prattling.”

“No one appreciates a good story anymore,” said Lobo, heaving a sigh.

“I’m going to gather wood for a fire,” said Seamus, rising stiffly to his feet. Sleeping on the hard deck of a ship, first at sea and then in the air, had done little to make his back feel well. “Then we’ll eat.”

“There’s not enough meat on that spindly minnow to fed a squirrel,” said Stella. Roikza hissed her, then flapped off into the woods towards the brook once more.

“You hurt her feelings,” said Lobo.

“Shut up, cretin,” said Stella with a withering sneer.

“You say that often,” said Lobo, tilting his curly head to the side “perhaps we should make that your epitaph.”

“Are you threatening me, minstrel?” said Stella, her eyes narrowing to slits.

“Of course not,” said Lobo, holding up his palms restrainingly “But you have to admit, it would be amusing to see ‘Shut up Cretin’ engraved upon a headstone.”

Seamus heard their voices fading in the distance as he sought good dry wood. There had not been rain in some time, but the humidity of the summer heat made finding decent tinder a challenge. He crouched low and scooped up those sticks he found that were suitable, but after ranging so far he no longer heard his companions he had but a handful.

“How can I slay a dragon when I can’t even find wood for a fire?” he said loudly to the forest. Not getting a response, and not really expecting one, the big man continued his search, albeit with some grumbling.

He stopped, crouched low to the ground, when he heard a rustling in the brush. Though he believed it was probably a rabbit gone bounding away from his intrusion, he also believed in being cautious. The last time he had been incautious he had lost an eye. His brow furrowed in confusion when he heard a feeble voice crying out.

“Is someone there?” it cried, raspy with dryness. “Help, please, in the Allfather’s name...”

Seamus recognized the dialect, quite similar to the tongue used in Port Gar. He pulled aside a verdant branch and spied a shabby heap lying in a dense thicket. It was an older man, dressed in a long robe or gown. The big man recognized the symbol of the open eye on the man’s chest as belonging to the Church of the Allfather. The apparent priest looked miserable, his face streaked with dirt from sobbing and his bare feet torn and bleeding. Thin, wispy hair adorned his crown, and he had a narrow nose with eyes that might have been hawkish if not for his bedraggled state.

“Here,” said Seamus, squatting down beside the man and offering him a pull from the leather water skin at his side. The priest tried to drink, but could not swallow.

“Take some water and moisten your lips and tongue, man,” said Seamus “I’ve gone stretch without water myself.”

The priest did as he was bidden and was soon draining the skin. Seamus reclaimed it after the man had had his fill.

“Thank you, my good man,” said the priest, rising into a sitting position. “The Allfather has answered my prayers.”

“So it would seem,” said Seamus dryly “you’re a priest, yes? How did you end up this far in the wilderness?”

“They wiped them out,” said the priest, his face grown haunted. His bottom lip quivered and his eyes filled with tears as he recalled some traumatic event.

“Wiped them out?” said Seamus. “Wiped who out?”

“The Old Tower Brigade,” said the priest, smiling ruefully through his tears “more a bedraggled bunch of peasants and retired soldiers than a brigade, really. We thought the only thing we had to fear was running into Drakken’s men...”

“Come,” said Seamus, offering the man a hand up “I have a camp not far from here, you can tell your tale on a full stomach, eh?”

He tried to drag the priest to his feet, but his wounds would not permit him to stand on them. Seamus ended up turning around and allowing the man to climb aboard his broad back.

“How are you called, kind stranger?” said the priest.

“Seamus,” he said back, grinning “Seamus Dragonsbane.”

“A colorful name,” said the priest, his chest rumbling against Seamus’s back “well met, Seamus Dragonsbane! I am called Hal, though I was never given a surname.”

“You were an orphan?” said Seamus as he bore the man back towards their camp.

“Aye,” said Hal “adopted by the church at the age of eight. I suppose I never got around to leaving.”

“I was an orphan as well,” said Seamus “as was my brother.”

“Does your brother await us at your camp?” said Hal.

“No,” said Seamus after a pause, his voice tinged with pain “he is lost to me forever.”

“He awaits you in paradise,” said Hal “I take it his death was recent?”

“Yes,” said Seamus “how could you tell?”

“Grief is a funny thing,” said Hal “I can tell by the tightness of your voice, the way your shoulders have tensed up, that you are still burdened by his passing.”

“I see,” said Seamus, though he did not know if he believed the man’s reasoning.

“How did your brother meet his end, if I may be so bold?” said Hal.

“Let us hear your tale,” said Seamus as he returned to the road and his companions “then I shall tell you mine.”

“Fair enough,” said Hal.

Within the hour, a fire had been built and the fish laid on rocks near it to roast. Lobo had found large green fronds which he used to wrap the fish in. He added bits of cheese to the fish before enclosing it, slicing off chunks from the block taken from his pack. The smell was starting to make Seamus salivate as they sat and listened to Hal’s story.

“We were marching towards the capital,” said Hal “to join with a hero named Bruno Cromwell, knight of the Templar order.”

“The black knight!” said Lobo with joy. “I had thought him only a legend! Is it true he can kill a dozen men with a single swing of his blade?”

“I never really met the man,” said Hal, clearing his throat “but only saw him at a distance when he spoke to our leader, Davros. Davros...”

Hal’s eyes welled up with tears once more.

“He is likely dead as well. Allfather take his soul to your breast.”

“Wait a minute,” said Stella with a frown “from what I understand, the king of these lands, Dragon-”

“Drakken,” said Hal.

“That’s what I said. The king of these lands is the head of your church, right? Isn’t joining a band of rebels going to get you exorcised?”

“Excommunicated,” said Hal with a grin “and the church is not so enamored of the king. It is we who have to tend to the poor and wretched, and Drakken makes sure there are more than enough of those for us to handle.”

“Getting back to the attack,” said Seamus, drawing the man’s piercing blue eyes to his own “you said it was not the king’s men who ambushed you?”

“No,” said Hal grimly “say what you will of the king, but his men would have faced us in open battle. No, those who slew us attacked while we were bivouac-ed for the night. Our sentries fell without making a sound.”

“How many numbered these cowards?” said Lobo with a frown.

“I know not,” said the priest, shaking his head as if he could fling the memory from his mind “I escaped when I heard the shouting. I only saw flashes of them as they seemed to spring up from the shadows like smoke from a flame. Their blades flashed like lightning and were just as deadly. One by one, I saw our men fall, and not a single attacker was so much as nicked by their blades. There must have been hundreds of those, those devils!”

“Shadow warriors,” said Lobo, his blue eyes going wide “I have heard tales of assassins from the east who are said to have many abilities, some considered unnatural.”

“Hogwash,” said Stella with a sneer. She put her arms akimbo and fixed Hal with an incredulous stare. “He probably was caught with his hand down an altar boy’s pants, and had to flee.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Hal, frowning at Stella.

“Be silent, woman,” said Seamus with a growl “have you forgotten that you owe me your life?”

“No,” said Stella, actually seeming abashed “of course not, but should we just trust this man and his, his preposterous tale?”

“I have no reason not to believe him,” said Seamus with a shrug. “Besides, how could he have known we would even find him? We have only been traveling on the land for a half a day.”

“On the land,” said Hal, his brow furrowing “I don’t follow. The sea is many miles from here.”

“As I said, finish your own tale before I begin my own,” said Seamus.

“But it is over,” said Hal despondently “it’s all over. Good men were slaughtered, while I cowered in the forest. I have much to ask the Allfather’s succor for.”

“Sucker is a good word, all right,” said Stella with a chuckle.

“Why are you so belligerent?” said Lobo, his delicate brows coming low over his blue eyes.

“Because clergy are all the same,” said Stella “they claim to have all the answers, but when you press them on something hard, like why does the sun rise, and they just smile and tell you you aren’t meant to know! Imagine, a god who wants ignorant followers.”

“I can see it,” said Lobo “ignorance makes for folk who are easy to control.”

“You don’t have to respect his religion,” said Seamus sternly “but you do have to respect the man. Hal, you are welcome to travel with us. Stella can use magic to heal your feet-”

“Magic?” said Hal, rising onto his bloody extremities. “You would have me sin against the Allfather and employ the language of the Adversary?”

“Oh, stop,” said Stella.

“Hal,” said Seamus “you must let her heal you. Our mission is urgent, and we can’t be wasting time. You’ll never keep up with your feet like that.”

“The Allfather shall give me all the strength I need,” said Hal, drawing himself up proudly. “Besides, they feel much better now that they are cleaned and treated with your poultice.”

“You’re welcome,” said Lobo to Seamus darkly, though the big man missed it.

“Where are your shoes, anyway?” said Stella.

“Think you I had a single thought of such things as I fled for my life?” said Hal crossly.

“The fish smells about ready,” said Lobo “why do we not enjoy a meal? Breaking bread together has brought many disparate souls into a fast friendship.”

After making the fish disappear into their respective gullets, Seamus told Hal of his tale, aided at times by Stella and Lobo. Hal was an excellent listener, not interrupting Seamus as he spun the long story. Seamus ended the tale by displaying his new spear, forged by the smith Daveed.

“Will such a spindly stick be enough against such a fearsome foe?” said Hal with tight lips.

“It will have to be,” said Seamus with a shrug.

“I’ll help you,” said Stella eagerly. She took down the leather tome from her back and laid it on the grass before her. “There must be a good incantation for making dragon heads explode...”

She tried the cover, but it stayed shut as if nailed fast.

“Again?” she wailed. “I thought we were over this!”

“I think your grimoire does not care for the way you have spoken to Hal this day,” said Lobo with a snicker.

“I’m thinking,” said Seamus “that we should try and find this black knight. If there is truth in what you say, that King Drakken has somehow summoned the beast I wounded to his side, then he will make a formidable ally.”

“A chance to meet the famous Black Knight, the hero who ended the Amber Wars?” said Lobo. “Count me in! I wonder if he is as handsome as they say...”

Stella looked up from her tome and frowned at the minstrel, though not as harshly as Hal and Seamus.

“I don’t care to hear such things,” said the big man.

“Then you probably really don’t care to know,” said Lobo with a smile “what they say about the...anatomical advantages that the Sun people have over us.”

“You are correct in assuming that,” said Seamus dryly. He turned back to Hal. “How far is the nearest settlement? We would procure horses to speed our journey.”

“A small village named Ravensford,” said Hal “I hear that the potato cakes at one Hammer’s Head are a little slice of heaven.”

“Then to Ravensford we head,” said Seamus, rising to his feet. Without ceremony he turned his back and fumbled with his trousers. Soon a golden stream was dousing the flames.

“Disgusting,” said Stella, nearly retching when the smell hit her.

“We cannot leave a fire burning,” said Seamus. He turned to look at Lobo and arched an eyebrow “want to lend me a hand with this? I’m nearly empty and you’ve been drinking like a fish.”

“I,” said Lobo, looking uncharacteristically self conscious “I do not wish to do something so vulgar.”

“Aye,” said Stella “you go off in the woods by yourself, unlike this cretin who thinks we all need to be party to his bodily functions.”

“It’s a man’s right to piss where he will,” said Hal “the Allfather set him up that way. Women must be humble and sit to relieve themselves.”

“Are there actually rules about pissing in your religion?” said Stella. “This Allfather of yours spends a lot of time worrying about what people do with their willies.”

Seamus laughed in spite of himself, and even Hal was forced to grin.