Each Raider bowed slightly to her in greeting, for she was the daughter of Plecot, ruler of Rensk, and paying homage to her was required etiquette even for brutes such as these. As a delicate nobling at age eleven, Jillani’s superiority over the huge males made her giggle inside. She failed to hold back an undignified grin.

“Is your father at home?” Briola asked. His enormity hovered over her little figure like an invincible being. Old battle scars criss-crossed his swollen breast and flightless limbs. The deeper scars left bald patches where new feathers had not been able to grow back in.

Jillani appeared unimpressed by him. She wondered why Briola always asked her the same question whenever they met at the gate, since her father was not known for roaming far from the gathering’s fortifications. “He is at home and would wish to see you at once,” came her reply.

Briola ordered his Raiders to split up and inspect the city in the way they always did during these visits. “Come along,” he said to Jillani, “for the news I bring is as much yours as your father’s.”

This was an unexpected request, and Jillani’s downy shoulders sagged in disbelief. The orange band about her neck changed to red with expectation. What news from the outside could a mere nobling possibly be privileged enough to hear? She quickly corrected her posture and became more thoughtful of her bearing as they walked side-by-side through the inner paths of Rensk and up the series of ramps that led to her father’s quarters. The residents all bowed low while clearing an approach for the large leader and his dainty escort.

Jillani’s father was busy instructing his guards to find the insolent servant who made off with his favorite pet fidgero when Jillani and Briola arrived on the leisure deck. Plecot acknowledged them both with an uneasy smile. “Greetings to you, Briola,” he stated, nearly forgetting to bow. “Have you traveled all this way to see me or my daughter?”

The guards left Plecot just then to see to their duties.

“First, tell me from which direction I have traveled, or how you could possibly know the length of my journey,” Briola insisted.

Plecot knew better than to guess the answer. He sat back on his usual perch and folded his greying limbs over his lap. The slim-breasted leader of Rensk gave all exchanges with Briola serious consideration. “It is well-known to every living thing in Theor that you come from all directions and from all distances without detection. You are like the silent flyers who swoop down from the cover of the clouds . . . bearing far-off treasures.”

The Raider glowed with pleasure. “True and elegant words, my old friend. Even your keen-eyed daughter can only spot me through the thick sand waves once I am practically standing at her feet. Still, I have yet to catch her by surprise in all the years she has appointed herself as your Gate Keeper.”

Plecot snickered at Jillani’s cleverness and at Briola’s mild annoyance with her.

The compliment made Jillani blush with an assortment of unseemly colors. She prided herself on her ability to spot, or rather to smell, Raiders before anyone else could. Their sour scent had an occasional tinge of sweet spiciness to it that seemed comically out of place. On this occasion she was barely able to detect the Raiders beforehand because of the putrid odor that hung in the air ever since the winds shifted direction in late Nu. It was now the month of Ly. The peculiar smell was keeping her from sleeping soundly at night, and she needed to run as fast as she could to the gate when the stench of Raiders first assaulted her nostrils. Jillani once vowed never to let Briola think that Rensk was unsecured as if he had anything to fear from a flower like her. Gate Keeper was not exactly how Jillani would have described her role there, but it was close enough.

Visitors to Rensk intrigued her more than any of its occupants, since they were often of mixed species and were able to leave for various unknown destinations. She would coyly spy upon them while from the moment they arrived to the time they left.

Traveling throughout Theor and beyond its boundaries had always been Jillani’s dream. Her hobby was keeping detailed records of all living things. Amassing an in-depth study of the life forms she discovered would be her life’s work if only she had the ability to move about more freely. Despite her age, she had compiled numerous scrolls on the subject, which earned her the respect of Plecot’s scholars. She knew there must be countless plants and creatures living beyond the confines of Rensk, and Jillani yearned to see them.

But for the time being, she sat dutifully beside her father as Briola revealed the reason for his visit. The Raider started by lowering his gaze and flattening the plumage on his thick nape in an unusual show of submission to Plecot. A gesture which made Jillani uncomfortable.

“I bear no treasures this morning, my old friend, but only grievous news of your son, Ray. He who served me loyally for the eight years we were together is now dead. It happened during a raid at a small northern objective called Fleet’s gathering. There we found much unlawfulness, and so we interrogated the inhabitants. Several oil sacks had been cut open as part of the inspection when a flash fire tore through the place. The oil spilled into a large cooking ring and the flames spread too quickly for us to smother. One of the dwellings collapsed on your son while he was searching it for concealed weapons. Please accept my deepest condolences.”

The sun deck fell silent save for one fidgero who sang a befitting war ballad, though off-key.

Plecot appeared tense, but not shrunken with sorrow. After a moment he said, “Ray knew the risks involved with becoming a Raider, did he not? That was his choice after all.” His tone was flat, merely factual.

Jillani was struck hard by the grim report, as well as her father’s unscathed reaction. She found it challenging to maintain her regal poise, but was obligated to respond to Briola, who had allowed her to stay. “We thank you for coming however far you needed to in order to report this unfortunate incident,” she stated with all the maturity of a full-fledged ruler. “May Ray’s ashes find comfort amid the desert sand waves he loved so well,” she added as a farewell tribute to the brother she had not seen since she was a nobling of three.

“Ah yes, Briola, it was good of you to bring us this news yourself. Our remorse for the loss of a son is mutual. And with no remains to dissolve in ceremony . . . well, my daughter said it best.”

Briola was not listening to Plecot. His eyes had turned deep blue as they stared admiringly at the tiny jewel anchored at her father’s feet. The purebred colors of Jillani’s well-groomed plumage were radiant. Such a lovely and gifted female would have made any leader feel fortunate to have at his side, he thought as a pang of jealousy nagged at his empty gut, having made him forgot his manners entirely. “I swear your Jillani is by far the most valuable treasure you have, Plecot. If she were any older I would be tempted to offer you many times what I own to possess her for myself–”

Plecot let out a sickened gasp.

These were repulsive words that Jillani as well was not prepared to hear. She reproached herself for speaking in too grand a fashion for her own sake, and decided to discourage Briola’s indecent behavior. “If I were any older, you would find me standing at the gate of another great leader. The one who resides on the other side of the Kumil mountain range.”

Both Briola and Plecot were shocked by the nobling’s suggestion that Huldergas would one day have Jillani as his mate. He was the richest ruler in all of Theor and reined over the vast southern territory of Covera. His clan traded many goods with the northern clan across the high peaks of Kumil with the aid of Plecot’s trained flyers.

“You do not choose your own mate, my daughter,” Plecot fumed. “And I will not hear another word about who will offer what to obtain you!”

Briola bowed low in apology for his ignorant remarks. “Won’t you both forgive me? My drab desert is a harsh and lonely place where no beauty can be found as far as these sand-blasted eyes can see. Jillani is right to find my attraction to her distasteful, for she is a young purebred, and I am a most unpleasant beast to gaze upon. This is after all a solemn time for your unlucky clan.”

He was alluding to the additional losses of Ert, Umber, and Frimmy: Plecot’s three oldest sons who had died at the same time that Ray departed from Rensk. The four male heirs had been patrolling the outskirts when they were ambushed by members of an unruly ‘dirt clan’. They dwelt in makeshift gatherings throughout the wilderness of Theor.

Jillani recalled how much she had wanted to go with her brothers that day. She could still see their smiling faces and hear the last words they spoke to her that morning. “Stand by the gate with your stones. We’ll drive the filthy savages into your trap to finish them off, brave Jillani.” But the savages never materialized from the thick sand waves. Neither did her four brothers.

The next morning, Plecot announced that there had been an attack outside Rensk, and that the patrol had nearly been wiped out trying to defend their gathering. Briola and his Raiders had arrived in time to slaughter the fiends before they could continue their invasion or attempt to escape. As repayment for saving Ray’s life, Plecot gave up his youngest and only surviving son to serve Briola, who had no offspring of his own. All the clan members of Rensk showed their appreciation for the courage shown and sacrifices made by Plecot and their Raider allies. Life soon resumed its usual course.

Jillani had been relieved to hear that Ray was alive and in good hands, but sad too for not having had the chance to say goodbye to him. She took comfort in the knowledge that no matter where he was, he surely felt grief for the deaths of their older brothers as she did. Years had passed and the void in her heart was never filled by more siblings. Plecot had lost all desire to mate despite the availability of suitable females.

“And now I think Jillani should leave us,” Briola stated.

“Yes, of course. Go, my dear, and I’ll visit with you later.”

As Jillani stood to leave, she took in a deep sniff of the Raider’s scent in order to keep her nostrils honed to his body’s chemistry. Animal scents were among the things she kept accurate records of for her studies. On several occasions she even examined samples of Raider droppings. Their diets consisted of many known sources of nutrition, as well as a few items that were not. They apparently ate anything that would fit into their mouths. She bowed to her father and to Briola and strode off the deck without saying another word.

Briola reclined on one of the overstuffed sacks of scented keru. He eyed Plecot thoughtfully. “Let us talk of other matters now. Ray is not a concern for either of us, true?”

“Actually, I am more concerned about my dearest fidgero. It took me months to train him how to pluck the feathers out of the crests of Huldergas’ auditors. I’m certain their flesh must sting all the way back to Covera,” Plecot retorted.

“That is a most amusing image, but the other matter we need to discuss is a serious one. I have been out of touch with my southern divisions ever since this foul wind began blowing through. Surely you have noticed it. I fear that none of my replies to last season’s messages were received through this stench. How can I organize raids without clear lines of communication?”

“That is of no concern to me–”

“Have you lost all sense of caution, Plecot?”

“No, not that I am aware of. Why should I care about your Raiders or your greedy ways?”

“If any of these dirt clan gatherings were to become large and well-fortified enough they could rival your dearest Rensk. Huldergas would wish to do business with them, which would reduce the amount of business he does with us. Is that what you want?”

“Gulldune is nearly the same size as Rensk, and Huldergas has never sent traders there to do business with its occupants–"

“Gulldune? That heap of garbage is nothing more than a perpetual refugee camp, a slum at best. Huldergas knows those pathetic clans have nothing to offer in exchange for his riches. How can you even compare the two? I’m talking about large productive gatherings–”

“Yes, I know the kind you mean. The kind that could cause trouble for Raiders all over Theor. Your sort make undesirable neighbors, you know? Yours is the sort that would need to be flushed out and crushed for the sake of peace and prosperity.”

Briola let that word ‘crushed’ churn in his mind for a moment. “You would relish the thought of me and my divisions being systematically crushed, would you not?”

“Come now, my friend, I meant to imply no such thing. You know my clan lacks aggression and trapping skills, while yours excels at both warfare and capturing flyers. My clan could never hope to defend Rensk without your help, or to catch the beasts whose wings make it possible for us to live so well. On the other hand, my clan alone knows how to train flyers. And without trained flyers there can be no trading between Huldergas and our northern clans. Other gatherings may spring up, my friend, but they would not steal business away from us. Why do you worry about such things? I can only continue to trade my clans goods for those of Covera if you continue your services as trappers and protectors. This city’s superiority is my greatest concern. All those ramshackle gatherings you pillage pose no real threat to us.”

Briola shook his ungroomed headdress in dismay. “How is it you understand so little of what is at stake here, Plecot? Everyone knows of the vast wealth that can be found in Covera. Do you think we are the only ones who seek to obtain it?”

Plecot was annoyed at Briola’s treatment of him. He shrugged his shoulders in protest.

“Listen to me. The Raiders are a perfect example of what ambition can get you. For years my father knew only how to raid gatherings, or to shoot down the handful of trained flyers you kept in order to steal their cargo. He even invaded Rensk on three occasions and nearly brought an end to all future trade with Huldergas. His remote divisions were unorganized and often fought amongst themselves over the spoils of raids. Several outposts were even allowed to parish by the imbalance of supplies. When I killed him and took over as leader I had no goods to exchange with Huldergas and no way to reach him without trained flyers, so I decided to offer my services to you. And now both our clans prosper. There is a mutual dependancy between us.”

Plecot held out his claws in frustration. “Are you suggesting that there is another way to reach Covera, or that the dirt clans seek to strike up a separate deal with me?”

Briola grinned warmly at Plecot for guessing the true nature of his visit. “If the scented messages I received last season from the southern division are true then there is an underground passage cutting through the Kumil range. A passage which was discovered long ago and is now being mapped by those harmless clans you would allow to grow in strength and numbers–”

“Can you be certain of this?” Plecot interrupted. Reality was encroaching on his daydreams of an uneventful summer. He jumped off his perch and sat closer to Briola.

A winded guard stepped up to the leisure deck just then with the missing fidgero tethered to a handheld perch. “I have retrieved your beloved pet, good Plecot,” he announced proudly.

The two leaders huddled together on the keru sacks ruffled their plumage in protest of this intrusion. “Just put the damned thing down and leave us,” Plecot spat without bothering to see if his pet was unharmed. He also neglected to ask which of his servants had taken the creature. His guard obeyed him without hesitation. Plecot and Briola went back to their discussion.

The space that Jillani was given to use as a study was off limits to all but her father who let his only nobling work there in private. She took a moment to survey the numerous cavities carved deeply into the far wall where her unfinished scrolls were stored. The lowermost hole to the left contained the self-portrait she had sketched months earlier, but put aside for knowing how absurd it was.

Somehow, the news of Ray’s death reopened the subject of what the future may yet hold for her, and how much she would be able to manipulate it, or not. She knew she would never simply take whatever mate agreement her father saw fit to arrange. His stern words infuriated her, “You do not choose your own mate, my daughter.”

She extracted the scroll and felt the fine quality of its fibers, for she had used a piece of her best fabric for the job. Hand carved weights shaped like various rodents were placed at each corner of the scroll to hold it open. The nobling gasped at the sight of her own masterful labors. A full-length figure graced the center of a windswept landscape in vivid colors. The rendering was not of Jillani as she was then, but of the mature female she would one day become. Her body in the sketch was tall and slender. The plumage in her thick headdress was as long as her upper limbs. She drew her claws as small but tense. Her eyes were deep blue. That was a mistake, she thought, since it made her appear too eager to get Huldergas’ attention.

But Jillani quickly shook off her twinges of hesitation and placed the folded sketch in one of her father’s personalized message pouches. She had stolen it from his quarters after a courier delivered packages to Plecot from Covera. The note that was already prepared to accompany the portrait was also stuffed into the pouch. It read: This is an image of my daughter, Jillani. It would please me if you accepted it as a gift, for if it does not return to Rensk by late Ke, I will take that to mean that you are interested in discussing a mate agreement with me. May countless blessings fill your dwellings. The note was signed by Plecot. Jillani’s talent for forgery was nearly as good as her natural abilities to draw.

The pouch would be added to the next bundle of parcels delivered to Covera. Jillani knew that any packages marked with Plecot’s insignia were never opened by anyone but Huldergas himself. With luck, he would send word of his intrigue at the proposal. Her father would be too embarrassed not to go through with the negotiations.

Jillani braced herself for the coming aftermath, knowing how her father would be furious by her boldness. She took comfort in the thought that he may yet realize how determined she was to settle for nothing short of the best Theor had to offer and that she was not as fearful as he was.

The fleet sailed south in Ly once conditions were right. Those who remained in Gulldune had either been too old or too young to make the hazardous journey to Rensk. Several guards were posted along the inland perimeters and sea walls to protect them from attacks by Raiders. The clans who had scaled the peak of Mount Lepo before the wind shift of Nu continued to burn mounds of putrid sea grass called Jupe. Its foul smoke billowed steadily over Theor, masking the scented messages of Briola’s northern Raiders who conspired with his southern divisions to ransack small gatherings before they could become fortified.

Every skiff that was not needed for fishing had been modified to tow broad rafts to carry the ‘army clan’ along the coastline. Their crude rafts, barely seaworthy, were constructed from material once used for dwellings. Gulldune was literally torn down overnight. Ray would lead an uprising against seasoned Raiders with these inexperienced fighters who numbered in the hundreds. He would solicit the help of his father, Plecot, once they reached Rensk. Ray promised his followers that never again would clans have to seek refuge from Raiders.

The fleet was built while the Jupe burned high above. Ray took that time to teach the clans how to fashion weapons like the ones Raiders used. He taught them about their fighting skills and battle tactics. The eight years he spent as Briola’s slave would finally pay off. Though these nonaggressive species were slow to learn such skills they knew that they must in order to gain their freedom. Their progress was helped by the steady encouragement that Ray gave them. Knowing that a well-fortified gathering like Rensk would support them was the greatest reason they had to keep working. The time had come to act. The time to fight back was now.

Rensk was a three day trip by sea if no problems arose along the way. The black depths of Myov did not always allow for safe passage, even near the shoreline. Once the fleet was back on land they would still need to walk inland for three thousand falos in order to reach Rensk, and Theor contained many dangers besides Raiders. Sand waves often grew to enormous heights that could bury a dwelling in a single breath. Wild flyers were known to carry off small rodents or offspring to their mountain rookeries. Poisonous plants often grew alongside edible ones. One taste could cause a high fever. To eat quantities of them would cause death.

Once at Rensk Ray would be reunited with his clan and entreat his father to help with his cause. Plecot would welcome his son back. He would hear of the abuse Ray suffered at the hands of Briola, as well as the gruesome details of how his brothers, Ert, Umber and Frimmy, were murdered by Raiders disguised as harmless beggars from a nearby dirt clan.

Ray stood at the front of the fleet in a skiff that towed twenty-seven rebels including his beloved Weann. Her colorful headdress was fully opened to show her enthusiasm. She sat proudly behind Ray with the others who listened to his words of praise for all the good things they had accomplished in the short time he knew them.

“Others have had their time in Theor, but their day is over. Never before have so many clans banded together as one community with a single purpose. Today we set out to rid this land of Raiders. We have cut off their communications. We will cut off their heads next. We don’t need to search for them, since I already know where their divisions are hiding. They are spread out over too large a territory to form a strong enough defense against us. It is vital that Briola be found as soon as possible. He must be killed, but his body kept intact as proof of our victory. Without him there will be no discipline or leadership. We will fight those Raiders we confront on the way to Rensk ourselves, but after my father joins his forces with ours this “army clan’ will defeat all who oppose us.”

The army cheered at the proposition, though they understand that some of them would die trying to make it a reality.

The day would soon come when Ray could avenge the deaths of his older brothers and take his rightful place within his clan. Rensk held his future. He knew only of a younger sister, Jillani, and wondered if there would be other siblings there to greet him.

The four Raiders, satisfied with their inspection of Rensk, met up at the storehouse where a fresh shipment of omel (sweet root) had been waiting for pick up. The root grew wild along the riverbanks in Covera and was what gave Raiders their ability to communicate over great distances.

Eight bundles of compressed omel were measured and sealed in airtight sacks that the Raiders could carry on their backs. The guards on duty at the storehouse allowed the huge males to pass without question. Each Raider hoisted two heavy parcels onto his broad shoulders and departed. Nothing was given in exchange for the shipment except the promise that Briola would not order them to burn Rensk to the ground and also that they would capture the flyers needed for the transport of goods.

Acquiring omel was well worth the trouble of snaring flyers and driving out squatters. A drink was prepared from the boiled remains of the root’s fibrous core along with an added ingredient that forced the liquid to secrete through the pores as it was ingested. The levels of saturation in the skin determined the type of message to be sent. An elaborate system was then developed whereby the Raiders emitted or retained the substance in alternate patterns to form coded messages. The sweet smelling signals would travel on the steady breezes without dissipating. Raiders could receive messages from as far away as ten thousand falos. But the wind only blew in one direction for half the year before turning in the opposite direction during the other half. The long gap between changes was the only setback to having divisions of Raiders spread out over a wide area of Northern Theor. The sweet root became invaluable to their livelihood.

Trainers loaded their flyers with goods for the next trip to Covera.

The Northern territory was nothing like the fertile valley on the other side of the Kumil mountain range, but it did contain an endless supply of salt and ‘dymes’ (mirror rocks) that came from the mine Rensk was built upon. Huldergas saw great potential for these reflective stones as ornamentations for dwellings and roadways. The Southern Leader adored the ornate and surrounded himself with lavish comforts and beauty. In exchange for the salt and dymes, Huldergas gladly traded grains, fresh water fish, fabric and omel – a useless root to all but Raiders.

Six flyers pulled at their tethers until they were taut, impatient to get underway. Their muzzled beaks could not contain an occasional whine. Broad slings pinned their wings to their sides. Their sharp talons were shackled and bolted to posts during the process. Trainers knew to speak softly to these great winged beasts while they secured the bundles to the side harnesses.

A mail satchel was tied around the neck of one creature. Jillani’s offer of marriage to Huldergas was among the parcels supposedly sent to Covera from Plecot.

In time the shipment and crew stood ready to leave. Trainers had mounted their flyers at the base of the necks in snug baskets woven from their own feathers. There was no steering involved. The flyers knew the eight hour flight path over the Kumil range by heart and that a reward awaited them once they reached their destination. Trust between trainer and beast was essential. The wing tarp were then removed along with the long ankle bolts. Once free of restraints, the pairs took to the sky and headed due south. The storehouse was closed for the night.

Plecot had insisted on seeing proof of these underground passages for himself. But when Briola eagerly offered to take his pampered business partner over the five thousand falos worth of blistering sand waves that led to their southern border Plecot immediately regretted his request as well as his lack of daring. He thought he had found a way out. “I could never leave Jillani here alone,” he stated. “Who would look after her and Rensk if there were any trouble–”

“Nonsense. Jillani has servants to attend her. Besides, I pity any dirt clanners that get in here far enough to face your daughter. She can hold this gathering against any threat all right. Raiders cause the only trouble around here.”

Plecot resented Briola’s remarks and held out his claws in protest. His daughter was vulnerable despite her keen intellect and sense of smell. Like it or not he would have to go with Briola. “I would need to inform the guards of my departure. How soon do you think we could be back?”

Briola grinned. “A few days, I figure, just as soon as we can either dismiss or confirm the reports of these tunnels cutting through Kumil. And if they are real, my Raiders to search them for inhabitants.”

Plecot nodded and asked Briola to wait for him by the gate while he spoke with Jillani and his guards. Delaying their departure would only make him ill.

The fleet sailed south along the coast at a strong and steady pace that first day. Ray was about to order the rafts onto the beach for the night when a large gathering of barb eels came up behind them and launched their sharp quills through the air. The calm and quiet armada suddenly burst into a panicked flock with much thrashing and shrieking. Rafts nearly capsized from the increased movement onboard.

Ray could not be heard over the shouts of wounded clan members until Weann stood up and let out an ear-piercing screech that got everyone’s attention. “Use your nets!” Ray hollered. “Haul them in with your nets and seize their barbs as weapons.” Ray was thinking like a Raider – always turn your enemy’s weapons against them, and stop to aid the injured only after you have won the fight.

His order was quickly relayed to each rafts. The rebels did as they were instructed, although at a great cost. Many more of them were hurt by the dying eels that were brought aboard the rafts until adequate shielding was provided for them. Their barbs were located along the eels’ vertebra, so they had to be clubbed over the head while held inside the nets. Over three hundred of the scaley pack hunters were brought ashore that evening for debarbing and for dinner.

Ray showed no sign of discouragement after the bloodshed of that ambush, but instead expressed his delight with their valor and with these new weapons. He ordered the hollow stalks of raft trimming cut to make short blowguns with. Once he demonstrated how effective and accurate they were against a clump of seaweed shaped into the likeness of a plump Raider, the rebels shared in his enthusiasm. They all took turns shooting barbs at the pile of weeds.

Weann and others watched them practice their new skill while they cleaned and bandaged the wounds of forty-seven rebels. None of their wounds were especially deep or life threatening. Spirits were high by the time dinner was served, when all took pleasure in eating every last one of those wretched sea raiders.

Plecot kept his back to Jillani and stared out the window of her study to hide his face, knowing that it showed his alarm.

“Won’t you tell me why you’re leaving, father, or why I can’t go with you?” She was packing a pouch with provisions. “Briola and his Raiders can protect us from harm, and the guards would be on hand here until our return–”

“No, Jillani, the open territory of Theor is no place for a nobling, even with a good escort. The winds and sand waves are harsh on your flesh. Dirt clans often assault travelers. And it is such a long way to Kumil.”

Jillani felt certain that her father had never traveled there before, but the map in the west hall clearly noted the distance at just under five hundred falos. “Then why don’t we use the flyers to get there? It would be so much faster and safer.”

Plecot spun around on tense talons then froze, feathers out straight, mortified at the thought of sharing the neck basket of a flyer with its trainer and soaring over the ground at an incredible height. “We don’t travel that way, my dear. We were given powerful legs for a reason. If we were meant to fly, we would have been born with wings.”

“But trainers and auditors don’t have wings and they’re allowed to ride on flyers, father.”

Plecot cleared his throat and softened his tone. “Trainers are highly respected here for their trade, but do not come from the same breeding stock as you and I. They have beaks that squawk rather than mouths that speak. Auditors are more like we are, true, but they fly because they also have a job to do.”

Jillani knew all that already, but had hoped to get his permission to fly. She had long desired such an opportunity, but forgot about her father’s severe cowardice. She said nothing in reply.

“I am going now. Briola is waiting for me. Be a dear one and mind the gate while I’m away,” Plecot said with a smirk.

But Jillani was not amused. She hated the idea of rotting in Rensk while her father got to see other regions of Theor, to see new things, and without one bit of interest in any of it. He and Briola had important business with the southern division of Raiders. That was all her father said. She wondered how long he would be away and what she should do in his absence. “Will I be in charge while you’re gone?” she asked earnestly. Perhaps this was not such a bad arrangement as she first thought. The opportunity to oversee affairs at Rensk could be more useful to her then a journey.

Plecot was on his way down to the guardhouse and could not bring himself to lecture Jillani about yet another one of her foolish ambitions. His guards would obviously oversee the needs of the gathering while he was elsewhere. He would put a special guard on his daughter besides.

Briola was surprised that Plecot caught up with him so quickly, and even more amazed to see what he had with him. The old one wore a traditional veil to shield his eyes from sand waves and a small water pouch around his neck. A fine white cloak covered his head, arms and back for added protection. The sharp blade at his side was polished but the handle was worn. Plecot had apparently traveled outside Rensk many times before. The items he carried bore the initial ‘P’.

“Let me have a look at you, old friend,” Briola said. “All ready to go, I see, and with the proper trappings of a desert ruler as well.”

Plecot noted that his tone was not malignant. “Let’s get started,” he said with swift resolve.

Day two of the fleet’s campaign was grey and cold. Ray had the rafts checked for damage before they were reloaded. He informed the clan members that they would need to sail far offshore in order to get past Promise Point unnoticed by the Skiffers who lived there. A confrontation with that pack of thieves was unnecessary and would only cause further injury. “This hazy weather will help to mask us if it doesn’t burn off too soon, but we must get underway as quickly and as quietly as possible.”

Weann would take her place directly behind where Ray sat on the lead raft. Her brilliant plumage was the only bright spot amid the drab morning and the feathered heads of the others, an odd collection of mixed breeds. The lack of sunlight made little difference to the way she glowed like a precious gem in a glistening sea.

All eyes were upon her as she swam out to Ray’s raft and beyond. “Where is she going,” several of them asked with alarm.

Ray stopped work on a repair to see what was wrong. The females started clucking wildly at Weann, who had reached black water and showed no signs of slowing down. For the first time, Ray was upset enough to panic. “Go after her!” he commanded.

Four swift sails each carrying a single male and a bundle of rope were dispatched to rescue Ray’s mate. Twenty small crafts were on hand in case any of the large rafts drifted away from the fleet, or if anyone fell overboard in heavy seas. These swift sails skirted the fleet on all sides when it was on the move.

The four skiffs converged on Weann’s position and pulled her out of the treacherous waters along with an unknown hatchling. Those ashore fell silent at the sight of its flailing limbs.

“Where did that little one come from?” everyone wondered aloud.

“How did it get out there?” someone asked.

Ray was relieved to see that Weann was safe. He realized then she must have seen or heard the hatchling struggling against the current and tried to save it. Her discovery immediately troubled him. He scanned the females in the flock and spotted a young female huddled alone on a rock behind the clan members who waded in the shallows. Ray soon stood face to face with her. She shrieked as he made her stand up. Pointing at the incoming skiffs, he hollered, “Is that your hatchling?”

The female did not answer him, but cried hysterically until an older male freed her from Ray’s claws. “My daughter carried no egg sacks with her, I swear it,” he vowed.

“Well then whose hatchling is that?” Ray demanded to know.

Weann leapt out of a skiff and marched past Ray and straight for another female who had been on the same raft as her the previous day. “You ignorant fool,” she blared. “I knew you were hiding something. Why didn’t you leave that egg back at Gulldune?”

The trembling female had climbed up the rocks to escape Weann’s outstretched talons. “Get away from me,” she cried. “I had to take it from my mate. He threatened to eat all the hatchlings that remained in Gulldune, including his own. It opened just after everyone fell asleep and held it all night, I swear, but it must have gotten loose and washed out to sea. I’ve been searching for it since before dawn. I promise you that is the truth.”

A loud gasp was heard throughout the flock at this disturbing news of a rogue male in Gulldune. As usual, they all spat on the ground and shook their plumage frantically in protest. The old ones spoke among themselves about the situation. Subgroups quickly formed for debates. Ray understood that things were now out of his control. The traditions regarding how to handle conflicts in overpopulated Gulldune plainly went wherever its inhabitants went. They would bicker over this as an angry mob, or peacefully discuss what to do about the matter as a civil gathering. It depended on how their collective emotions ran at any given moment.

The female on the rocks was ordered to come down and care for her hatchling, who would not stop bawling until it was returned to her. She waited until Ray said it would be safe then she dove back onto the sand, snatched up her offspring and hushed it with kisses and coos.

Ray left then to let the flock decide what to do, knowing they may want to return to Gulldune for the sake of their own hatchlings.

But Weann took Ray’s place at the head of the flock in hopes of discouraging the notion of abandoning their efforts. “Listen to me. Everyone is safe back at Gulldune. We left plenty of guards to watch over the gathering. Your hatchlings are especially looked after, housed in a single nursery under constant watch by females. I assure you they are all perfectly safe. If this male or anyone else breaks the codes while we’re away they will be dealt with accordingly.”

The clan members heard her out since she was Ray’s mate then resumed their muttering. A rogue was a serious threat to their clans. There was also the added question concerning the hatchling, who could not take part in a mobile assault force. Someone would have to escort the female and her offspring back to Gulldune overland. That was a risky mission which no one apparently wanted to take on.

Ray finished repairs on the last raft while awaiting the results of the meeting. He also watched the sky for signs of clearing. The low cover of haze and the group's enthusiasm would not last the day.

...to be continued in Rensk Revealed Part 2...

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