“You see, old friend? The reports were true. My Raiders found this tunnel last season,” Briola stated between swallows. “It was concealed behind a large dyme slab.”

Plecot peered up at the vaulted ceiling and down the abysmal passage beyond. “The local dirt clans surely placed the stone over the opening to hide its whereabouts, but I doubt they could have excavated all of this, do you?” he asked. He leapt to his feet. “Listen!”

Several raiders, who had earlier descended into the narrow passages, could be heard up ahead. Their gruff voices echoed eerily then faded as they moved deeper into the newly charted maze.

Briola slapped his skittish partner on the back, making him jump again. “You run like a hatchling and scare as easily as one too, but aren’t you glad now that you came with me?” He held out the ale and a box of assorted artifacts for the older male to take. “Those fossils were also found here. I’m told they are hundreds of seasons old. They’re clearly not the remains of any land beasts. My scholar, Hodel Si, claims that water once filled this entire region as far north as Mount Lepo and that the force of it carved the smooth walls of these tunnels. He insists that northern Theor was once part of the Myov Sea until its black waters receded. He’s really quite a story teller.”

Plecot slowed his breathing as he examined the fragments in the dim space. He sipped from the flask of refreshing ale to loosen the gravel caught in his throat. The fossils revealed shapes that had once been the jawbone, the fin, and the spinal column of some ancient aquatic creature. “I find it difficult to imagine that our desert was once a sea, or that this was once an underwater cave. The dirt clans must have carried these bits here from the coast. Are there other tunnels besides this one?”

Briola took Plecot a few falos down the passageway to where the fossils were carefully chiseled from the wall by Hodel Si. “There, you see, the dirt clans clearly did not deposit these here. They did, however, leave behind cracked bowls, empty oil jugs, ash mounds in fire pits, fruit rinds and feces. Their careless trail has been followed as far into this oversized rodent burrow as my Raiders have had time to map out since last season.”

“And how far in would that be?” Plecot asked. He rubbed the polished wall while waiting for a reply. The same anxiety he could not hide at Rensk was riveted across his brow once again.

“You would not believe me unless I offered you proof.” Briola hollered for one of his Raiders to bring him the map. “The first group reported finding several branches off of this main trunk. They measured the distances from the tunnel opening to the first, second and third left turns at 560, 840, and 1,220 falos. Then did the same thing for the right turns. They found also that the tunnels varied in height. After that the map makers split up into small groups and went in different directions, measuring the length and height of every passage.”

“A sensible approach, but how far in do the tunnels go?”

A Raider arrived with the scroll which contained the latest revised map. He unrolled it for Briola and Plecot to study. Before them lay a meshwork of lines that fanned out in six major directions for distances of forty to seventy-thousand falos. A steady decrease in the height of each branch as it trailed off from the main trunk acted as road signs for those who used the tunnels. The main trunk had the highest clearance while those furthest away from it had the lowest. The lines on the map were also marked with the locations of fossil finds and debris. But Plecot did not try to read these small notations. Instead, he noted the uniformity of the tunnels and outlined the overall shape of the maze with a shaky talon. Briola nodded in mute agreement. The tunnels plainly formed a pattern, and patterns like that were not made by natural forces such as pressurized water. Both rulers had to conclude that a highly intelligent culture carved out the labyrinth with sophisticated tools. That ruled out dirt clans, Plecot’s clan and Raiders alike.

Jillani did not sleep that first night her father was away. Instead, she paced the leisure deck alone, and stared out the southern windows wondering if the aging nobleman was well enough to make the journey to Kumil before sunset. She felt assured that despite the outward rivalry and obvious differences between the two leaders that Briola cared enough for Plecot not to let him come to any harm. The open desert was home to a Raider, after all, and none traveled it more freely than Briola.

The ale Jillani drank all evening was a sight-inducing substance she brewed from wild herbs and crushed dymes. She seldom used it on off occasions, preferring to save the precious draft to mark seasonal changes or to exploit the chaotic emotions brought on by her cycles to obtain her visions. But earlier that day she learned of her only brother’s death; Ray was gone forever. Later on, her father decided to take an unexpected trip for reasons he would not convey. She knew it took something serious to compel him to leave the security of Rensk. These, she felt, were sufficient circumstances to justify the consumption of drugs.

Her mind set to work first emptying itself of every detail regarding the day’s events, then the past week’s mundane tasks, then a month’s worth of daydreams. Gradually, it appeared quite hollow to her as if nothing had ever occupied it in all the eleven years she carried it aloft. The shift had taken place. She knew to skip over haphazard specks of free thought without examination until she landed firmly on a sandy beach. There she saw a sprawling raft of sea grass floating in the distance. Its entire surface was mobbed with birds, only their colors were not all alike. This intrigued Jillani. She studied their variations with wonder and found it odd that they did not squabble over space as if birds of differing flocks would actually share a territory. As the haze cleared, the sun’s glare broke her vision. The black sea turned bright white.

Her mind was abruptly sent back to the leisure deck with the sound of fidgeros fussing haughtily beneath the night coverlets on their cages. Annoyed by the racket Jillani wanted to remove them from the deck in order to concentrate on her visions. But as she approached the stands it occurred to her in a fiery flash that the birds had an urgent message for her. She flung off the coverlets only to find one of them dead from a broken neck while the other one sang a victory tune. Jillani gasped in horror. The significance of the message was unclear, since it was her father’s favorite pet that remained alive while his least favorite one was killed. She wondered how it had happened since the cages were separated by too wide a space for the birds to touch each other.

She was in no shape to cope with the fact that this event was more than a mere drug-induced vision. She turned away from the spectacle in alarm and confusion only to discover a trail of beach sand on the polished deck where she had just walked. Her talons were covered with it.

The idea of dream travel was known to her. A similar thing happened years earlier when she fell into a dry well. She dreamt of a green valley where many gentle beasts cloaked in yellow hair grazed beside a stream of sparkling water. Beyond these stretched a winding road overlaid with glistening dymes. It was then she realized she was standing on the fertile lands of Covera in Southern Theor. She saw it all as part of a dream until a young shepherd waved to her from under a fruit tree. Jillani instinctively knew his name was Gad and she called to him. He did not hear her, but one of his animals ran over to lick salt off her bare limbs. Her brothers called to her from above. When she returned to the bottom of the well there was spit and course yellow hairs on her claws.

She noted that nothing had died in that first dream journey. This time something was killed by unknown methods. The dead fidgero could have represented Briola as her father’s least favorite associate with Plecot being the victor, but Jillani felt it highly unlikely. And what of the beach, sea grass and mixed flock? She remained on the leisure deck all that night, swept sand and drank generous gulps of potion but to no avail. Her thoughts were far too unsettled to see anything past the broom and her own fears.

Dawn came with the painful crash of crockery coming from the royal kitchen. Jillani cursed the cook for thinking his early morning efforts would please her.

Ray was unsure where exactly to put in the rafts, except that the fleet would need to sail a full day past the Skiffers at Promise Point. They managed to quietly slip by that treacherous outpost at a safe distance from the shoreline thanks to a thick haze that hid them for most of the morning. Everyone breathed more easily once the crooked spit of sand jutting out from The Point was well behind them.

The rebel force was missing a few members who returned to Gulldune with a hatchling and its mother. Ray thought that incident would surely end the campaign in its tracks until Weann temporarily took command.

He and the others listened to her speak with spellbinding passion about the rewards that awaited them all once Briola and his “filthy animals” were destroyed. She used words like “abolish, exterminate, liberate and conquer” in order to stress to simple-minded refugees what it meant to be both ruthless and exalted. She asserted herself like a shimmering queen for all to heed, fear and admire. “Briola and the rest of his kind already smell the bitter stench of our victory on the wind,” she stated in a joyous and mystical manner. “This season will smolder with the rancid Jupe from atop Mount Lepo and with the tattooed flesh of Raiders in a relentless cloud of merciless chaos that our descendants will sing grateful songs about for seasons on end.”

Ray realized then that Weann had been orchestrating their gradual transformation from the start and with brilliant precision. She even manipulated him with the same finesse. He looked on as feathered headdresses rose high, neck bands turned blood red and tense talons clicked together in anticipation. Their once timid faces became brutally determined, doubtful glances melted into hungry excitement. It became terrifying for Ray to watch those he trained in the art of warfare to bury their crude spears deep within the chests of dummy targets, surreal to witness feuding clans put aside their differences and embrace as brothers at the promise Weann now made to them. “Ours will be a grand gathering that even Rensk could not compare with. A gathering like none other where all inhabitants live as equals regardless of their bloodlines. . . .”

This announcement came as a complete shock to Ray who remembered how disgusted Weann was by the sight of the mixed species occupying Gulldune. But her sharp mind matured quickly there. The repulsion she initially felt took only days to wear off. Ray remembered, too, the boundless ambitions she possessed. Weann plainly told him she would never settle for a mate who was not more important than the sun up in the sky. She wasn’t kidding. It only made sense that she would also want an unsurpassed kingdom for her mate to reign over and for her to shine within. He was both impressed and concerned by these fantasies she insisted on pursuing, since all he wanted was to return home to his father, Plecot, and to help keep Theor safe from Raiders if it was within his power. But it was clear that the rebels could be persuaded to follow Weann wherever her aspirations wished to take them. Their eyes were glazed over with a blind devotion to her that could ultimately spell disaster for all.

Ray knew he would have to keep a close eye on his self-appointed queen. For the time being, though, he was grateful to her for getting them back on the rafts and heading south again. His unsound sense of relief would soon disappear, though, for the day’s surprises would not end there. The Sea of Myov saw to that. Its wicked depths came up with a new test that was too cruel to imagine. No barbed fish or other Sea Raiders would attack the fleet here. They drifted over a volcanic rim of superheated gasses that caused scalding hot water to erupt all around them. The blessed haze that hid them had actually been steam. The larger rafts were all lashed together and proved strong enough to take the abuse, but the one-seater swift skiffs were instantly capsized. Their boiled occupants remained afloat on the frothy surface as grief struck relatives and rebels sailed on in speechless contrition.

Weann was perched dutifully behind Ray, the vision of regal perfection. Her back remained straight as a pike, both eyes forward. Ray sensed an odd disconcerted mask cover her face as she muttered, “It’s a small matter, my love. We will make this our day,” she said. “Who is that youngster on the beach? She’s beautiful.”

Ray wanted to pounce on Weann for making such a monstrous remark. Her followers would never forgive him, however, so he scanned the shoreline instead. If anyone spotted the fleet coming they may warn the local clans. He looked for the youngster, but saw no one. “Who?”

“She just vanished,” Weann said. “Shouldn’t we bring the fleet in here?”

Ray could not bear to think of sailing any further, although the trip across land would be no less perilous for them. He sensed the need to stop out of respect for the dead, so he ordered the rafts in for a communal service. Ray would have harsh words for Weann once he could get her alone.

At the Raider outpost in southern Theor, Briola and Plecot rested for the night. They ate a modest meal and discussed what was to be done about the tunnels beneath Kumil. Strong ale was served by one of the Raider’s own daughters. Briola fondled the pretty youth while her claws were full. Plecot cringed when her father laughed at the attention she attracted. He was the overseer of this second ranking Raider division. Clearly Briola was never denied anything.

“I may wish to move my base camp here rather than waste my time threatening those pathetic refugees in Gulldune. Besides, I should keep a close eye on the tunnel work.”

Plecot hissed and tossed back his plumage. “Do you hope to find a way through the Kumil mountain range, so trade with Huldergas would no longer require my Flyers or trainers?”

Briola nearly cuffed Plecot for raising his voice to him in front of another Raider. Instead, he used an intimate tone with his partner. “And what, old friend, do you suggest I trade with the Coverans for their omel? It is your clan’s slaves who dig for dymes, not mine.”

Plecot, grinned. “True, you have nothing to trade . . . and Raiders can’t dig either. But could I ever trust you to deal directly with Huldergas? I know your Raiders can’t be trusted. They’d run wild throughout Covera if they could. Your kind is bad for business.”

Briola was not surprised by these words. “You’re a selfish and suspicious partner, Plecot. Have I not allowed you to correspond freely with Huldergas all these seasons? Have I ever questioned your exchanges with him, demanded to read his letters to you, or yours to him? It’s true that I hope these tunnels cut through the mountain. I would very much like to see the green valley of Covera and to meet a great leader like Huldergas, but I have no treachery in mind. You know how much I want our two clans to remain allies. I have to agree with you, though, my Raiders would spoil that pristine land if they ever got the chance to do so. All the more reason for me to live here. We don’t even know how far the tunnels go, so all this talk may be unnecessary.”

The other Raider grumbled at the thought of Briola moving into his camp. His leader abruptly dismissed him before he could say another word about it.

Plecot finished his ale and asked the youth for another. They exchanged friendly smiles. He kept his claws to himself. “If we find out that the tunnels do not cut through Kumil, would you want them to?”

Briola stared at his partner with piqued interest and amusement.

A rare treat that Plecot took a moment to savor. “Your Raiders are not skilled at removing rock, but my miners are. Oh, they can’t produce vaulted ceilings or smooth walls like the ones we saw today, but they know how to blast a hole open without causing a cave in. And let me tell you something about the great Huldergas. He’s a conceded brat, who has nothing better to do than oil his plumage and cover the walls of his gathering with crushed dymes. Even the streets of his realm shimmer with dymes. It’s exceptionally pretty – Huldergas, his lands, his dwellings – all quite pretty. One big pretty ornament that has never been subjected to sand waves or Raiders.”

Briola chuckled at his friend’s light-headed remarks. He personally poured them both another measure of ale. “It would seem that someone wants a change of scenery.”

“I do. You should too. Well, aren’t you as tired as I am ruling over this vast heap of wind and grit? I say we expand our empire.” Plecot grabbed hold of Briola’s talons. “Our empire. Your Raiders are skilled invaders. Mine know how to dig holes and train Flyers, which incidently could prove useful in battle – ”

Briola appeared fit to burst.“You actually propose that we attack Covera . . . together?”

“Why-why not?” Plecot stammered. “The path has been cleared for us to migrate south and in large numbers– ”

“Stop right there. Sure, we could probably use the tunnels to get there, but we still don’t know who built them. What if there is another clan in the area? A secretive clan who’s kept to themselves all this time until we showed up. If they’re clever enough to gut out that labyrinth, then they may also have heavy defensive capabilities. The Raiders working the tunnels now are well-armed in case they meet with opposition. The path is not clear . . . not yet.”

“We’ll make it clear with black powder and spears,” Plecot stated plainly. “I want Covera.”

“Well, then we will do our best to see that you get it, my dear,” Briola asserted. “Tomorrow....” He then slipped into oblivion on the floor.

The youngster approached Plecot with a clean coverlet for his bed. She sat at his feet to brush off the sand from his lower limbs. He thanked her for her kindness. She stood then and removed her clothing. The old male quickly pulled her under the blanket. It had been a long time since he mated. She was eager to please him. He breathed rapidly and took her with drunken clumsiness.

Two days had past since Plecot left Rensk. Jillani smelt a faint scent on the air, something new on the wind. It grew stronger as the morning progressed. The guards were alerted. “Take the Flyers up to scout toward the west,” Jillani commanded. “I will go along to see for myself what is there.”

Bok, the head guard denied Plecot’s nobling the opportunity to fly. He agreed, however, to send three trainers up to search the area. The air on the rooftop was clear and calm, spared from the sand waves that scoured the foundation.

Jillani watched the Flyers and trainers depart before returning to her quarters. There she gathered her scrolls and moved them to a hidden volt. She then prepared travel clothes, water and weapons in case she needed to flee from Rensk.

By midday others complained of the odd smell on the wind. The scouts had not yet returned.

Ray and the rebels had made camp on the beach and a ceremony was held to honor the dead. He took Weann aside and reprimanded her for her earlier behavior. She apologized and they made love in the dunes. While the evening meal was served Weann announced to all that she would be Ray’s mate. Ray was filled with joy. He promised her a royal wedding once they were settled in Rensk. The meal became a pre-wedding feast with songs, dancing and laughter.

Eventually they would all need their rest. Before nightfall came, Ray reminded the rebels that they were not skilled fighters and should only try to gain a secure territory for themselves, no more. “Tomorrow we head inland toward Rensk. We may encounter Raiders on the way. You all know what to do if that happens. Stay together, fall back if you’re wounded or unarmed, so that another may take your place. Kill or injure as many Raiders as you can from a distance. Use your blow guns and barbs first. Raiders are better fighters than you are at close range, so form groups of three rebels for every Raider that reaches our flanks.

“We may also encounter local clans living in small gatherings. I will invite them to join us. If they chose not to, we shall move on. If they wish to come along they will need our help to pack. The elderly, sick, hatchlings and pregnant females will need your protection along the trail.

“Once we reach Rensk we shall greet Plecot as a respectable force under my command and not as an ugly mob bent on revenge. Plecot is a great leader; he is my father and would most likely welcome your added numbers to his flock, though not immediately. You are of mixed species, after all, and would have to build your gathering outside the walls of Rensk. Representatives from your clan would then join me, my father and his guards to discuss what to do with the Raiders. Eventually, you’ll be able to send for your families back in Gulldune, but be sure they have a safe gathering to come to first.”

The rebels agreed to follow his prudent direction.

Weann stood in quiet support behind Ray as he spoke to the rebels. Everyone knew when they left Gulldune that the path before them would be long and perilous. It would be awhile before they saw their families again. A new gathering would be built in the open without the constant threat of Raider attacks. Ray worked hard to train the refugees how to fight like Raiders. He promised them that Raiders never traveled in large numbers, that they could be defeated as long as they didn’t combine their forces. He knew where all ten divisions were located and would provide that knowledge to Plecot. Together, father and son would be able to form an offensive plan against the brutes rather than remain on the defensive. The winds of Theor were shifting direction. Weann would always face into the wind.

A Raider awoke Briola with urgent news from Hodel Si. He handed the groggy leader a scroll and left the room. Briola saw that Plecot was already up and eating his morning meal with the pretty female perched on his knee. “What did I miss?” he asked.

“Nothing I wish to relate to you,” Plecot replied. “What has your scholar discovered this time? Doesn’t he ever sleep?”

Briola had some difficulty carrying his bulky mass over to the table. He saw that the scroll contained symbols and translations. “He claims to know who built the tunnels. Where’s my food?”

The youth ran out to fetch Briola’s meal. She also returned with her father. “I, Gorz, who holds this division in your name, Briola, demands to see what is written on that scroll.”

Before Plecot could swallow a mouthful of bean meal the Raider was struck dead by an enraged Briola. The fool’s daughter knew better than to move a muscle or to cry out in protest.

“No one demands anything from Briola!” he bellowed. He flipped over the table of food which splattered the room. His perch was reduced to kindling. He then grabbed the stunned female by the feathers of her nape and was about to throttle her when Plecot’s sharp talons dug into his limbs.

“Leave her be, you brute. I’ve already claimed her for myself. Would you risk my anger as well as your own clan’s? Her father’s relatives will want retribution for this act.”

Blood poured down Briola’s limbs as he released the female. “No retribution against me is allowed. Leave us, whore. Tell your eldest uncle that he is now overseer of this division. I will meet with him later to offer my sober advise.”

The youngster backed out of the room where her father lay dead under shredded wood and splotches of bean meal.

Plecot stood up to Briola. He drew his blood and his gaze was without fear. “Clean your wounds and join me outside. I demand to know what is written on this.” He held up the scroll to Briola’s face before leaving the room with it.

Briola poured water over the deep puncture wounds and wrapped his limbs in a dry cloth. He laughed at the broadening red stains on the bandages.

The female was not outside for Plecot to check on. He knew she had come close to death. She would grieve for her father and most likely hide somewhere until Briola departed. He decided not to ask about her. Outside the dwelling he found a shady perch and waited for his partner.

It didn’t take long for Briola to catch up to him. “Sorry about the female. Is she well?”

“I don’t know. She probably delivered your message without delay.” Plecot kept his opinion of the murder and near murder to himself. “How are your wounds?”

Briola relaxed beside Plecot. “I’ll live. You have little strength, but your claws are as long as a pampered female’s. Well, what does the scroll say?”

“I don’t know that either. I decided to wait for you.”

“Damned decent of you. Let’s have a look.”

Plecot rolled open the scroll. They each held one end of Hodel Si’s urgent message.

Briola said, “He copied these symbols off the wall of the main tunnel. It forms a picture story–”

“Yes, and that picture right there is of the royal crest of Covera,” Plecot stated.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. It’s stamped on Huldergas’ letters. Let me read Hodel Si’s translation.

“Zari, leader of Covera commissioned these tunnels to be built eighty-three seasons ago. (Zari was Huldergas’ grandfather.) He wanted to discover what lay north of the Kumil mountains. The main tunnel was excavated first and came through the mountain twenty-five seasons after the work began. A group of scholarly explorers and five scouting parties were given permission by Zari to pass through the tunnel into Northern Theor. Within the first two seasons following the tunnel’s completion, however, only one scouting party returned to Covera with reports of harsh living conditions and savage clans. (They must have met up with your ancestral Raiders.) Also within that time, several individuals migrated north without Zari’s permission; those who attempted to return were killed. In the third season a large group of settlers were authorized by Zari to go north. They all returned within a few months to say that relentless sand waves kept them from building adequate shelters and that they were attacked by vicious local clans who could not be reasoned with. Zari waited six more months for the others to return before closing off his end of the tunnel. The unfinished side tunnels were also abandoned.”

“That’s beautiful. Maybe he was worried about an invasion, huh?” Briola was in a better mood after hearing that.

“Well, now we know who built the tunnels and that Coverans are expert diggers. Who knew? This also confirms our hopes that the tunnel does cut through the mountain. Removing loose debris won’t be half as hard as blasting new bedrock. We needn’t look for a third clan either. The articles found in the tunnels were most likely remnants of Zari’s diggers, scouts, or dirt clans who used the tunnels for shelter.”

Briola nodded. “I’m pleased by this discovery, too, but let’s go and see these markings for ourselves. Hodel Si is brilliant, but he sometimes indulges his imagination too much. Remember his tale of tunnels forged by the sea when all of Theor once lay underwater?”

“Oh yes.” Plecot studied the directions in the lower corner of the scroll. “He marked the path down here. It appears to be quite far within the mountain.”

“Do dark, confining spaces make you nervous?”

“Only graves,” Plecot replied. “Let’s find some water, food and torches to bring with us. I’m looking forward to meeting your scholar, Hodel Si.”

“I’m surprised you’re in no hurry to get back to Rensk,” Briola said.

“Do you want to leave now?”

“No, I want to see the markings in the tunnel.”

“Well, so do I. And besides, I demand that Briola and no other Raider escort me home.”

Briola laughed. “You really are a wonder, I swear. Frail and fearless at the same time. An old homebody who’s willing to travel and explore caves, but only if the cause is a worthy one. I should also mention that the first female you’ve had in ages was a Raider whore and not a prize from your own clan–”

“That’s enough from you. We have a tunnel to claim and a plan to work out for its grand reopening. Jillani won’t recognize this old bird when I tell her the news. She deserves a home like Covera.”

“I agree. And you deserve a comfortable retirement. We’ll discuss my portions later.”

Plecot stood to leave, then turned to say, “Why do you suppose Zari wanted that message carved in the wall? It practically reads like an invitation to kick in his door.”

Briola gave the question some thought. “I don’t think he ordered that carving done at all, since it’s on this side of the debris. Most likely a resentful Coveran did it after he was shut out of his cozy homeland forever.”

The rebels broke camp in the morning. Their crude rafts and skiffs were buried above the high tide line for future use. When the group headed southeast toward Rensk, a tight ranking system was developed for the march. The front line searched ahead for signs of gatherings, Raiders and the steep walls surrounding Rensk. The side lines would search their flanks for gatherings and movement of any kind. The rear was tasked with watching for ambushes in the places they past. Horns were given to all four sides of the rebel army. Each horn played a different note so all would know which direction danger came from. Two blasts signaled a safe sighting while one long blast meant Raiders were coming.

Everyone covered themselves from crest to talons for protection from the painful sand waves which were mild near the coastline compared to the enormous waves inland. Once the beach had disappeared far behind them, visibility at ground level decreased tremendously. Gulldune was the only place in all of Northern Theor where sand waves did not exist, since it was on the backside of Mount Lepo. The clans who had lived there a long time had forgotten how to cope with these storms. Howling winds and shifting dunes hissed in their ears with few pauses. Ray used every pause to talk to his army. He yelled orders back to them when the going became difficult. “Grab onto the cloak of the one in front of you,” he said at one point. “Look down. Shut your eyes. Let the waves pass overhead.” He got no replies but could tell by the group’s steady movement that they were doing fine.

Weann had seized Ray’s left limb and managed a kiss in between gulps of sand. There would be little relief from these conditions for most of the journey. A gathering could have been close enough for them to touch and they would have marched right by it.

Ray knew that fat rodents thrived in this region since hunting them was not easy. He took no chances and made sure his army was well fed before leaving the camp that morning. His growing hunger let him know it was approaching midday. Their trek was nearly halfway completed. Ray was pleased with the progress they had made.

Two horn blasts suddenly came from beside him. Someone in the front line spotted three objects circling above the army. The Flyers had woven saddles on their napes, but no cargo sacks beneath their wings. “Don’t worry,” Ray told the others. “These are not wild flyers. They carry trainers from Rensk on their necks. See?” Ray was both pleased and curious about this sighting. The trainers would be able to tell Plecot that his son has returned. But they were not known to head toward the sea unless food supplies were low and fishing was needed for survival. Flyers generally traveled south to Covera and back again with crops, or letters from Teshny, the leader of Southern Theor.

The order to halt was given. All eyes gazed up at the sky. The Flyers kept their distance and continued to circle the huge clan below. Ray realized they would never risk landing near an unknown flock, so he had to think fast. He pried Weann from his limb and began moving the rebels into a new pattern of his own design. “Stand here,” he said to them. You too. Now don’t move.” The sand waves blasted their knees, but stayed low for the time it took Ray to rearrange the entire group. Once he was finished reshaping the rebels, the Flyers moved off. Ray noted the direction they took. He ordered the rebels to quickly take their original positions and to follow those Flyers. Above ground targets were much easier to track from a distance.

In the morning, Jillani climbed to the stalls on the rooftop with a jug of relaxing potion strung from her hip. She found a young trainer feeding his beast and offered him a refreshing drink. Everyone in Theor had parched throats so it was not difficult to tempt him with her offer. “Have any Flyers returned recently?” she eventually asked him.

“Yes, the ones from Covera have just arrived,” he replied.

“Good. Fetch my father’s mail pouch.”

“As you wish,” he said and went directly over to the Flyer that carried the pouch marked ‘P’. No one stopped him as he took the satchel to the stalls. “Here it is.”

Jillani poured him another small measure of relaxing potion. “Thank you. Won’t you sit with me and enjoy your ale?” He did as she suggested. She opened the pouch and searched every scroll for the mark of Huldergas, but none apparently bore his royal crest. Too soon, she thought. Not yet. Disappointed, she instructed the youth to leave the pouch with the Receiver. He did this at once.

Flyers tugged at their tethers and stomped their huge talons as Jillani strolled by. She longed to befriend one of them and learn how to fly, but the powerful beasts frightened her. They could always detect her emotions no matter how hard she tried to suppress them. And her father had no intentions of letting his precious nobling waste time on such fantasies. Jillani was a scholar and an explorer at heart. She was determined to soar over all of Theor and beyond, but that day would have to wait. For now, there were other affairs that required her attention. She was about to look for Bok, since she had received no news of the scouts who flew west, when a stranger stopped her to ask for directions.

“Tell me where I can find Plecot?” he demanded.

The impertinent male was brushed aside by a wave of Jillani’s lethal claws. “No,” she replied and headed for the lower landings. “He’s not here. If you’re one of Huldergas’ auditors you’ll have to speak to the store house overseer.”

The male ran after her. “I am no auditor. Perhaps you can tell me where I could find Jillani.”

The nobling froze in mid stride and swung around to face him. She studied his features with a less impatient eye. He was tall and plainly dressed, but carried himself handsomely. His plumage was travel-worn but far too well-groomed to belong to a mere messenger or a scholar. “Who are you to inquire about the nobling, Jillani?” she asked.

The stranger approached her cautiously. She had already reached the third landing down from the rooftop before stopping. He pulled out a folded scroll from his shirt and opened it for her to examine. “I am Huldergas, ruler of Covera. Where can I find Jillani?” he asked again.

The nobling swallowed hard at the sight of her own sketch in the claws of Huldergas himself. The female depicted in the drawing was twice her age, tall and alluring. Jillani had sent it to him in hopes of getting his attention. Unfortunately, that was exactly what she accomplished, only the customary series of letters back and forth between rulers over a period of time was cut out of the process. She bowed low to him. “Forgive me. I am your servant. Won’t you come this way? You will want to rest after your long flight over the mountains. Plecot has a lovely leisure deck you could use. I will look into Jillani’s whereabouts. Oh, and fetch more servants.”

“I thought you were my servant,” he said. “I will require no others. And I see you carry a jug of ale with you. I wish to sample it.” He held out a claw and waited.

Jillani’s eyes widened as her stomach twisted into a chilled knot. She slowly untied the jug and handed it to Huldergas, unable to find a good reason for refusing him.

“So where has Plecot gone off to?” he asked after drinking a generous amount of relaxing potion straight from the jug.

“He had to leave on business with Briola,” she replied. Her dainty limbs remained outstretched until the jug was reluctantly returned to her. “They headed south to one of the Raider divisions. I expect him back tonight.”Actually, Jillani had no idea when her father would return to Rensk, but she was no longer looking forward to it.

“Oh, are you one of Plecot’s personal servants?” Huldergas asked. He followed the swift-legged youth down two more sets of landings and onto the spacious leisure deck.

Jillani claimed to be Plecot’s favorite servant. She quickly found the Coveran ruler a safer brand of ale to drink, a soft brush to clean his feathers with and a fresh loaf of fruit bread.

Huldergas chose a perch that was to his liking. He regarded the skittish female’s slender figure openly. He even stroked her cheek once as she set up a side table for him to eat at. “You must be a favorite pet to know so much about Plecot’s business. What is your name, pretty one?” He watched her every movement with keen interest. Jillani’s grace and beauty were noted by all males despite her age. His eyes turned deep blue as she did her best to make him more comfortable.

“I am Tira,” she replied. It was the name of her nanny. “I will find Jillani for you now.” She finished her servant duties and bowed low as she fled the room, managing to evade his intense stare. The jug of relaxing potion was opened the moment she reached the landing. By the time she arrived in her own quarters it was empty. Panic and embarrassment were new emotions she would now have to reckon with. The potion helped to take the edge off, but she knew she was in serious trouble. Huldergas came all the way from Covera to meet Jillani. He probably intended to discuss a mating contract with Plecot. Jillani was furious with this stranger, an arrogant ruler who only just arrived and already he was making advances toward her.

His words, Plecot’s favorite pet, reminded Jillani of the incident with the two fidgeros. Their message was still unclear to her. Now she would have to wait before invoking visions that could solve that riddle. Huldergas upset her conscious mind too greatly. He would be made to wait alone on the leisure deck until she could think of a safe way to approach him. This ruler was clearly contentious, much like Briola. Jillani thought his face and figure were handsome, still young and strong enough to interest any ambitious female. She had no doubts that his plumage would shine after a good cleaning and that its deep tones would show his purebred heritage. She anxiously paced the room, trying to formulate less problems and more answers. This servant act would only work until her father’s return. As a servant, she was expected to please her master in any way he desired. The truth was best, she knew, but it was not always the easiest road to take.

Just then a guard entered her chamber with news from the scouts.

“Well, what is it?” she snapped. Her curiosity about the stench coming from the west no longer concerned her. The day had turned foul without it.

“They sighted a large clan traveling this way,” he reported. “The scouts did not land or speak with them directly, but say the assembly stood in the shape of your father’s royal crest. Also, Bok wishes to speak with you at once.”

This peculiar news shook Jillani away from her immediate problems. She wondered where this clan could have possibly come from. Displaying her father’s insignia as identification was a clever tactic that dirt clans would never have thought to use. “Where is Bok now?” she asked.

“He is with Huldergas on the leisure deck,” replied the guard.

Jillani smiled uncontrollably. She even laughed out loud all the way back to the leisure deck, an unbecoming reaction to frayed nerves. The day had started out poorly and insisted on getting worse by the minute. Avoiding Huldergas and the truth was no longer an option.

...to be continued in Rensk Revealed Part 3...

View our Universe Images - Fiction - Poetry Science - Creator - Chronology

HOME