The Starfall Knight (14 page)

“So, you’ve known one another for ten years.”

“Has it been that long?” Rika asked with a smile creeping across her face.  “It feels like only yesterday that you two asked to copy the answers to my test.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Devan said.

“Me either,” Tayu added.

Alessa hid her smile behind a demure nod, as she thought a Sister of the Moons would do.  A pang of jealousy rippled through her gut for these Centarans who had fostered a lifelong friendship while her childhood had been filled with wondering where the next meal would come from – not to mention the unwanted attention when she began to grow into womanhood.

Biting into yet another appetiser, Alessa said, “Tell me about the rangers, Devan.  Do you learn to fight?”

“We do but it is not a true part of our duties,” Devan said.  He leaned back, gazing at the skies ahead.  “We keep watch on the land and patrol for bandits with the military or local sheriffs.  We maintain the cables, aercarriages and stations.  We hunt and track predators and keep our wildernesses safe, at least as safe as a wilderness can be.  Combat is only a part of what we learn because our responsibilities sometimes require it.  But we are not soldiers and our duty isn’t to kill.”

“Admirable,” Alessa said.  “What of these andonite rifles that Marshall Jarrell told me about?”

“He told you about them?” Devan said.  “He must’ve gotten deep into the ale last night.”

“He did seem quite festive.”

“What did you think of the feast?” Devan asked.  “I can’t remember the last time I attended such a thing.”

Tayu looked up from slicing cured meats and said, “What about the giant boar hunt last year?”

“That was incredible but a bonfire party doesn’t quite match up to a formal event at the Council Hall.”

Devan and Tayu continued their reminiscing about the giant roasted pig.  Alessa smiled and nodded but couldn’t rid herself of the annoying realisation that Devan had deflected the conversation away from the rifles with little more than a verbal feather.

A shriek echoed along the clearing and Alessa instinctively reached for her knife that was no longer in her pocket.  A chill ran down her nape – screams were a part of daily life on Sirinis so she feared what would warrant the same on Centara.  Alessa craned her neck around as Devan and his two friends rose, also searching for the disturbance.

A group of children raced out from sparse woodlands to the west, joining a group of Centarans, not much older than Alessa herself.

Devan approached them and asked, “Is everything all right?”

One of the fathers nodded at his son.  “What did you see, Natan?”

“Dead birds.”

“Lots of bones,” a young girl said.

“How many?” Devan asked.  “You can tell me.  My name is Devan.  I’m a ranger.”

The gaggle of children all piped up, pointing and yelling.  Alessa walked past the group and peered into the trees.  Above, a pair of longwings circled, riding the headwind one way and diving against the flow in the other.

After a few short moments, Devan said, “That’s enough.  Can you show me?”

The children darted away, followed by their parents and Devan.

“We’ll stay here,” Rika said.

“This food won’t eat itself,” Tayu added.

Alessa nodded and hiked after the group.  The curious stone slab disappeared under dirt and grass.  As she passed a loose copse of spruces, she found the Centarans gathered in a circle.

“What is it?” she asked.

Devan turned around, a scowl softening.  “Longwings.  Or the remains of them.”

“It’s yuck,” Natan proclaimed.  He scurried away and the other children followed.

“That’s nasty business,” Natan’s father said.  “Sure to bring dark luck on someone.  Maybe all of us.”  The Centarans returned to the Ledge, leaving Alessa with a clear view of the find.

A firepit had been dug into the ground and cold ashes drifted on the wind.  Longwing carcasses lay next to the pit, the bones stripped clean and darkened – they had been roasted and eaten.

Alessa did not think much of it.  So, someone had had a grand meal.  Longwings were extinct on Sirinis because they were delicious and now a Centaran had discovered this simple fact.

“This is grave,” Devan said.

“Is it a crime?” Alessa asked.

“Not that I know of,” Devan replied.  He knelt down and examined the bones.  The larger legs had been cracked open and the marrow extracted.  “There were at least two – both young, not full-grown.  I’d wager anything that the two circling above are the parents.”

“It is disturbing,” Alessa said.  She couldn’t remember how longwings tasted except that they were tougher than the quail from the Council feast.  She clucked her tongue in disapproval to hide her watering mouth.

Devan muttered, “First the knight, then Dwer, now this.”  He stood up and said out loud, “Apologies, Sister Alessa.  I can’t take you to Verovel today.”

“It’s fine, Devan,” Alessa said.  “You need to report this, I assume.”

“Yes.  Thank you for understanding.  How about tomorrow morning?”

Alessa smiled.  “Bright and early.”

“The Marshal will see you now.”  The page opened the door to the officers’ mess hall.

Marshal Romaine sat at the head of one of the trestle tables with her captains seated along either side, documents and scrolls scattered around.  Scribes sat at the next table while pages stood at attention behind each captain.

Heads turned as Devan approached the officers.  Some were armoured in leather while the rest wore simple tunics of off-duty squads.  All, however, were armed with swords and daggers leaning against their seats or across laps.

“Ranger Devan,” Romaine said, “you’re not on active duty.”

“No, Marshal,” Devan said.  He halted at the other end of the table and folded his hands behind his back.  “I need to make a report.”

“Out with it, then.”

The captains murmured amongst themselves.  Benton met Devan’s gaze but remained expressionless.

“This morning, I found a pair of dead longwing young outside the city, in the vicinity of the Ledge,” Devan said.  “They had been eaten, stripped to the bone.  Next to the carcasses was a smothered firepit.”

At this, the captains’ murmur turned to animated discussion.  Marshal Romaine rapped on the table with her knuckles and silence fell.  “You can prove this, Devan?” Romaine asked.

“Yes, Marshal.  There were witnesses.  One of them is at the site now, waiting for me to return with a squad.”

Captain Erlend leaned forward with an unconscious swipe of his bald pate.  “I will send a pair of my own to corroborate these claims.”

Romaine nodded and a page dashed out of the room.

“I have never heard of such a thing,” Captain Marsa said.  She crossed her thick arms, tapping her fingers over her sleeves.

“This is distressing news,” Captain Wynet said.  He was one of the younger ranger captains, along with Benton and Marsa.  “Do you know why we have never heard of butchered longwings?”

“Oh, here we go,” said another captain.

Wynet continued unabated, “It’s because of the immense bad luck.  If a person kills a longwing, they are killed in turn.”

“And exactly how does this happen?” asked a white-haired captain.  Kelun was his name, Devan thought.

“It simply is,” Wynet said.  “No more than we can explain the movement of the sun or the moons.”

“Perhaps we should turn to matters of the real,” Kelun said.  “Centarans do not hunt or eat longwings.  And Marsa has the right of it – I’ve not heard of such a thing and I’ve lived a good fifty years on Centara.”

Benton cleared his throat.  He was one of the few wearing armour.  “Dwerians.”

The captains fell silent and all eyes turned to Romaine.  Devan found himself holding his breath and he relaxed, resting his hands against the table.

Romaine gestured to Captain Kelun, the most senior of her officers.  The captain stood up and said, “Scribes and pages.  Out!”

The staff jumped at his order and filed out of the mess hall, quills and documents left behind.  Kelun checked the door for eavesdroppers before closing it and returning to his seat.

“What I am about to say must remain amongst ourselves,” Romaine said.  “Is that understood?”

“Yes, Marshal!”

“Whatever portends the dead longwings bring, we cannot deny the coincidence with the arrival of aerock Dwer.”

“If we are to believe Ranger Devan,” Marsa said.

“If you doubt him, then you question me,” Benton replied.

Marsa snorted.  “Defending your brother?  How unexpected!”

“I am no liar,” Devan said.

“I didn’t say you were,” Marsa said.  “But it doesn’t take a liar to expose an entire aerock to raiders.”

Before Devan could retort, metal sang and Benton had a sword pointed at Captain Marsa.  The stout woman bared her teeth in a smile.

Romaine growled, staring at her two subordinates.  “Stand down, Benton.  Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Benton sniffed and sheathed his sword.  He sat down without a glance at Devan.

“Captain Marsa,” Romaine said, “your squad has earned midnight guard duties for the next week.”

“Yes, Marshal.”

“Marshal,” Erlend said, “you were telling us something?”

“Thank you, Erlend.”  Romaine leaned onto the table with her elbows.  “We have up to four Dwerians on Centara at any one time.  That is the official stance of the Council.  But if no Centaran would dare harm a longwing, then it only stands to reason that an outsider was responsible for this.”

“Between the army and the Council, the Dwerians are well under control,” Kelun said.  “I hear that Devan himself escorted Sister Alessa this morning.”

“Exactly,” Romaine said.  “If all of the Dwerians are accounted for, then –”

“We have unaccounted Dwerians,” Benton said.

“How?” Marsa asked.  “The aercarriage is the only way across.”

“No, it isn’t,” Benton said.

Devan nodded.  “We make crossings without aercarriages all the time.”

“But they are moon worshippers.”

The words hung in the air.  In the moment, Devan became briefly aware of the odour of fried eggs and pig snout from the morning’s breakfast.  He missed the barracks.

Romaine said, “Have we met all of the Dwerians?  Can we categorically say that all of them are as Sister Alessa and Brother Vantanis claim?”

“We need to inform the Council!” Wynet said.

“No,” Kelun replied.  “Romaine means not to.”

Dannal, another of the experienced captains, grunted and thumped the table with a bare fist.  “There’s no upsetting the trading.  Moons above, we do love the baubles that new aerocks bring.”

“Yes,” Romaine said.  “And all we have now are mere suspicions.”

“Marshal,” Dannal said, “we are protectors of this land.  We can increase our patrols and try to catch the intruding Dwerians, if they are here.  But if things come to a head, we will need arms.  We should tell Jarrell.”

“I will consider it.”

“And in the meantime?”

“Increase our patrols, stay vigilant.”  Romaine’s lips set into a hard line and Devan finally saw the vision and determination that made Romaine the Marshal of the Rangers.  “I want a complete lock-down on the area between Centara and Dwer.  If they are intruding, it is an act of war.”

Alessa took a firm grip on the metallic cable that stretched over the gap to aerock Verovel and peered over the edge of Centara.  The southern end of Centara did not suffer from the headwinds of the northern sector and grass, brush and vines grew over the side of the aerock like an unkempt beard.  The presence of the attached aerock shielded Centara even further; Alessa barely felt a breeze even as she stared into the endless sky below.

The pulley mechanism inside the way-station creaked and the cable jerked.  Alessa pulled her hand away as the aercarriage at the other end lurched towards Centara.  Alessa stepped back, her gaze drawn to the bundle of ropes and cables that protruded from the anchor-point on the ground, mirroring the cable that carried the carriage.  The main rope, as thick as Alessa’s waist, stretched from aerock to aerock.  Smaller cables intertwined with it, while another made of glass and metal pulsed blue, filled with andonite.

Alessa had heard of the ways the Centarans had mastered the mineral for their own comfort – heating air and water, creating quick sources of fire.  And here was another – controlling the flow of andonite as if it were a liquid or gas.

“Mind yourself, milady,” the young station-hand called out from inside the structure.  Alessa stepped back and rejoined Devan as the aercarriage’s wheels made contact with Centara and rolled into the way-station, which was simply a shelter for the gears and operators.

“Here we go, Ranger and milady.”  The young man blocked the wheels of the aercarriage with a wedge of timber and opened the doors.

“My thanks,” Devan said.

Alessa accepted his hand and stepped into the aercarriage.  Like the one that connected Sirinis, it was little more than an unhitched wagon with a canvas roof and wooden slats for seating.  Cobwebs tangled into Alessa’s fingers as she settled onto a seat and there was a faint musk of fungus.  Despite her misgivings about the wagon, the tension drained from her legs and hips.  Even riding on ponies, the trip from Centara city had been fatiguing.

Devan sat opposite Alessa and he smiled.  “Comfortable?”

“Yes, thank you.”

The aercarriage set off.  Devan sat back, his hands gripping the edge of the seat.  Alessa patted his knee – some people were never relaxed between aerocks, and perhaps with good sense – and she peered through the gaps in the canvas.  With nothing but sky and clouds all around, she could imagine that she was flying.  If only she had that freedom in reality.

The aercarriage bumped.  They had reached Verovel.

Devan exited and helped Alessa down.  As no one lived on Verovel, the way-station was unmanned, surrounded by chest-high wild grass.

“This way,” Devan said, setting off without hesitation.

Alessa felt no trepidation even though she was now truly alone with Devan, a man she had only known for a few days.  If things turned sour, Alessa was confident she could stick him with her knife even though Devan was a trained ranger.  Yet, in the back of her mind, she knew she wouldn’t have to.  They had travelled all morning to the southern edge of Centara with easy banter and enjoyable silences.  These Centarans were, by and large, much more agreeable than almost all Sirinese.