Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) (25 page)

Beyond their enormous size, one other distinctive feature separated these birds from their smaller cousins: their innate intelligence. As Banlor understood it, the Rhodaekhann had a social pecking order that almost mirrored that of the humans who lived and worked with him. They had made their homes in the Winewood here in the bowl and enjoyed the rich hunting of large fish, before a human ever came to the island. Centuries ago, the first humans were only able to occupy the island by making common cause, and as he heard it told, friendships with the huge animals.

Manmade aeries had replaced the nests that must have preceded them. Dotted through the perimeter of the great Winewood, they were accessible primarily by winch-lifted baskets. Or, if one was bold, there were twisting stairs of wooden dowels that corkscrewed around the giant bole. No rails or ropes existed along these paths, but Banlor could even now spot several small figures making their steady way up and down.

Either path you took, just getting to the eagles was only for the bold or the passionate. Once you had attained the heights, the eagles themselves presented an additional challenge. He knew from personal experience that each bird had a definitive personality and would not tolerate a rider they did not care for.

Banlor fingered a deep scar that ran along one forearm. Scowling, he took another sip of his drink.

A loud knock caused him to turn from the window. He crossed the room and raised his hand to a particular portion of the decoration within the frame surrounding the door. The ornamentation itself was an intricate carving meant to echo the patterns of the wild rivers outside, but in this one, small place, there was a concealed portal. Banlor pressed his finger against a small, carved rock within the patterns, causing the hidden panel to pop open. He removed the small tuft of wool that had been placed inside to prevent sounds from intruding, or more importantly, giving conveniently hidden access to conversations held in the privacy of this room.

“Yes, Milliken.” Banlor knew the sounds passing through this portal would emanate from several subtly placed pinholes on the other side, giving the impression of a disembodied voice speaking from everywhere at once. He hadn’t seen the work completed, but he had been told the trick was likely done with a series of finely wrought bronze tubes.

“M’lord?” Milliken said. “Lord Popin is ready to meet with you.”

“Yes. Very well. Send him in.” Banlor replaced the wool and firmly but gently shut the panel, causing it to blend back in with the other carvings with only a hint of its outline visible to his eye. Turning from the door, he retreated back to the windows behind his desk and assumed an air of readiness.

The door opened, and thankfully, it opened on the visage of Walina. Before she could step forward, Lord Popin and his ridiculous hat promptly preceded her through the door. Milliken shut the door quickly behind the pair with an audible click.

“My Lord,” Popin began, “I thank you for your quick and decisive rendition of justice in this matter.” Popin’s gaze went to the neat stack of papers on the desk in front of Banlor. “The papers I must sign?” He hurried toward them.

“Don’t be more of an idiot than that hat makes you appear, Popin,” Banlor snarled. “It would be ridiculous to assume the official work could have been completed in the mere moments since I rendered the decision.” He watched as the steps Lord Popin had been taking faltered to a stop.

“But then, what did you—”

“You are here...” Banlor swept his free hand at the room. “So I can explain to you what it is you are going to do for me to uphold this decision.”

A look of doubt crossed Popin’s face and he took a hesitant step backward.

“We both know, as does Harrelfol, I imagine, this is a ridiculous contrivance that you have drummed up.
But
it is one I can see my way clear to upholding,
if
you do a number of things for me.”

Popin snatched the hat from his head with one hand and once again subjected the bedraggled thing to a crushing grip. His face reddened. “That is absurd, Lord Graves. I—”

Banlor cut him off once more. “
Absurd?
No, I think not. We are both aware, are we not, that your investment in the mining expedition along the Pelosian border has yielded nothing but dirt and fractured stone fit for naught.”

The blood drained from Popin’s face most satisfactorily. Walina, who had been listening to the interchange looked truly surprised.
Ah, he hadn’t told her, and most likely none of his other kin either
, Banlor thought.

Lord Popin tried to recover, shaking his head and looking surreptitiously at his daughter. “No... No, that’s not so. We have promising samples of ore that should lead us to the vein we are seeking.”

Banlor laughed and took a step to his desk, removing a slim key from his coat pocket. Pulling open one of the drawers, he took out a small box and lifted the lid. Inside were a dozen compartments, filled with various sorts of rock and rubble. The case was a twin to the one that had been delivered to Popin over a month ago. “Samples such as these, perhaps?” He turned the box so Popin and Walina could see. “Yes, I’ve seen the ‘promise.’”

“Where did…? How did you?” Popin trailed off and wrung the hat with both hands again.

Walina stepped forward and touched the box. “What is this, father?”

Banlor did not give Popin a chance to speak. “What it is, my dear, is a catastrophe dressed in colors of stone.”

Her liquid brown eyes met his gaze with apprehension, but more comprehension than he originally thought her capable of.

“Your father has invested heavily in this venture. Very heavily. I would say that it is perhaps a matter of weeks, maybe even days, before the”

Popin stepped to the table’s edge and cut in hastily. “What is it that you want?”

No “Lord” this time, eh?
Banlor let a mirthless smile twitch his lips and stepped back from the desk to gaze out the window. He looked across the city toward the balcony of his home, and a flicker of black wings caught his eye. Not a rare bird by any means, but intelligent and reliable. He watched it disappear into one of his many cotes. He breathed a sigh of relief, releasing tension he had not been aware of, only to have it replaced by a sense of urgency.

“What I
want
,” Banlor said, “is simple.” He stepped back to the desk and reached into the same drawer from which he had pulled the samples, extracting a piece of paper. “I will take on the burden of your fiasco and arrange for you to receive the monies from the land you have so
artfully
acquired.” Banlor set the document on his desk and turned it so the royal emblem and signature line faced Lord Popin.

The nobleman flinched back from it, as if it were a thing alive.

“In return for my gracious leniency as Presiding Justice, and my willingness to take on your foolish debt, I will require your
complete
support with regard to the relationship and trade agreements dealing with Pelos. I will also require your support in any other ruling in which your voting weight will be of consequence.”

Lord Popin’s eyes had been on the parchment, but at the mention of Pelos, they snapped up to Banlor, wide as tangerines. “What could you possibly want with—”

Banlor tsked with exasperation and began to draw the paper back to himself. “I had thought we understood each other, but perhaps Harrelfol’s case was the more complete, and I was in error. I shall have the royal surveyor make another—”

Popin lunged for the paper as if it were the last tuft of grass on a crumbling cliff. He scribbled with the quill, spilling more than a little ink in his haste to sign at the indicated line.

Extracting the now slightly crumpled document from the more-than-crumpled Lord Popin, Banlor calmly poured fine sand over the signature, then examined it for legibility in the light streaming through the window. Once satisfied, he placed the document in his desk drawer and locked it.

Banlor straightened from the desk and began to make his way around it, but then paused and said, almost as if though were an afterthought, “Of course, it will also please me to take Walina into my service. I have been in need of a new personal assistant.” He turned his eyes from the bowed countenance of Popin, who had not risen from his position before the desk, to Walina, who seemed to be made of stronger material. “Arrange for your personal things to be sent to my home. Alicia, my head maid, will see that you understand your new position and responsibilities. You will begin immediately.”

“As you will, My Lord,” the young woman said with a curtsy.

Excellent
. Banlor crossed the room and opened the door to the hall, calling out to the guard. “Milliken, please see that the Lord and Lady are escorted to their carriage. I am certain they are ready to relax before they celebrate their victorious day in court.”

Milliken appeared quickly, and if the guard found it odd that Lord Popin still knelt before the desk, he gave no indication. “Lord,” he said, “Lady. If you will come with me.” With his broad arm, swathed in a blend of light mail and sleeves of layered emerald green and gold, he gestured to the open door and hall.

Popin’s legs trembled as he got to his feet, supported by Walina, and the pair made their way to the door. As they did, Banlor gathered his cloak, satchel, and walking staff. In the hall, he gave them a slight bow and a true smile. Locking the door to his office, he headed out of the building to see what news awaited him at his home.

The shadows of the forest had begun to clothe the streets of Waterfall Citadel in deep shadows by the time Banlor had made his way home. Several times, he had been forced to stop and speak to people along the way. Each interruption resulted in a progressively ruder and more hasty response, until finally, he simply glared at anyone foolhardy enough to be in his path. One look was enough to motivate all but the most obtuse to clear his path, and those who did not move quickly enough became the next object lesson for those further along the way.

Banlor veritably stormed the few steps to his front door, which was standing open beside the guard who had witnessed his coming. Rigidly at attention, spear clasped before him in both hands, the guard said not a word but maintained his gaze on the passersby. In his haste, Banlor disregarded the sentry’s presence as he would have a piece of furniture. The open door was simply one less distraction between himself and the news that awaited him.

Alicia met him at the stair that led to his private study. She was a stately woman who had had a hard time learning her place in Banlor’s household, but now was amongst his most valued and, if he could use the word “trust,” trusted servants. Her dark eyes were carefully held downward, avoiding Banlor’s direct gaze, and she held a silver tray for his review. Upon the polished surface were a number of fine, folded parchments. He swept them up, barely pausing, and spoke loudly over one shoulder as he ascended the stairs. “Walina Popin will be joining the household as my personal assistant. When she gets here, help her understand her role. I will require her to be ready for her first duties by tonight.”

“Aye, M’lord,” came Alicia’s reply as Banlor rounded a landing and briefly glanced at his servant. Her eyes were still fixed on a point that would have been his chin level, but she had lowered the tray.

Gaining the second floor, he entered a short hall that branched in two different directions. There was a finely crafted door at the end of each. One door would lead to his private study where his message awaited. The other door would open to his bedchambers.

His thoughts lingered on Walina as he looked down the hall to his bedroom.
Of the things that were once yours, Popin, I will enjoy your daughter the most
. With a shake of his head, Banlor wrenched himself from thoughts of pleasurable diversions and turned to his private study.
Enough, there is work to be done
. He fished out the key from a hidden pocket inside his cloak that had been specifically fashioned for the purpose. Taking the ornately wrought piece of bronze, he opened the door to his private sanctum.

The room was simple, but in its own way, much finer than that of his study at the trade ministry. As with his other office, the framing, floor, walls, and ceiling were all crafted of locally harvested winewood. The room at the ministry spoke of duty, service, and a hint of power. This room spoke only of power.

The rug was small and fitting for the room, but finely made of a blend of silk and wool with thousands of small patterns that indicated the many hours of artisan labor. It had come from an estate belonging to one of Banlor’s first rivals. Only a few pieces of the finest artwork available were displayed, and each of them represented adversaries that had fallen before him.

No sculpture adorned the room, but one piece of what looked to be rubble sat upon the carved desk under a blown glass dome and caught one’s eye almost by virtue of its plainness. A closer inspection of the chunk of stone would show the fine script chiseled into the face. The letters and symbols were laced with blue veins of colored rock inside of the marble surface. The language was known to but few, and its significance to even fewer.

One wall was dedicated almost entirely to the doors leading to the balcony, which was visible from his vantage point at the ministry, and the many bird cotes. A faint rustle of a bird cleaning its plumage was audible through the pierced screen that concealed the cages from view.