The Blood Petal Wood teemed with Ghurr. Sir Andrell Laverium spied the approaching horde while scouting and raced back to Northforge to warn the town folk under his charge. Northforge was left almost defenseless as most of the forces of Anduir were occupied defending against the Ghurr raiders approaching through the Blue Cap Mountains to the west and south. Sir Andrell knew the people of Northforge would be slaughtered unless they fled to Southforge. He also knew they would be run down by the Ghurrish marauders unless they were given a considerable head start. As he spurred the people of Northforge to grab everything of value and flee for their lives, he wondered what he could do to stall the raiders. Then the Eagle’s insight arrived. He ordered the only two remaining Chrais warriors to take positions at the far ends of the tall crenelated wall at the north end of the small fort.
The Lady Milana of House Proctor had fallen madly in love with Sir Andrell during his time at Northforge, and when Lady Milana saw that Sir Andrell meant to stay behind, she wept and begged him to accompany them south. Sir Andrell knew that he could outride the Ghurr, but many of his people would die if he fled with Milana, and that he simply could not allow. He knelt gravely, kissed the back of Lady Milana’s hand, and made her promise to be brave on her journey south.
Like all Eagles of the Pales, Sir Andrell was taught to revere artistic beauty as well as swordplay. His talent lied with the drum, and it would serve him well this day! He hurried up the wall with three drums. He gave one to his warriors seated at each end of the north wall and kept one for himself. He sat in the center of the wall and bravely awaited the bloodthirsty attackers.
As the people of Northforge rode out the south gate in the dark of night, the Ghurr thundered through the Blood Petal Wood, intent on storming the keep under the cover of darkness. As the walls of Northforge became visible, however, they heard a great pounding of war drums. The pounding echoed from the great wall with such passion and ferocity, it sounded as if the wall thundered with hundreds of soldiers, ready for an attack. The Ghurr stopped their assault and stayed in the cover of woods so they could reevaluate their plans.
Sir Andrell played that drum without rest through the night, though his hands bloodied, and his arms felt as though they may fall off. Thoughts of the fair Lady Milana riding to safety buoyed his spirits and kept him drumming through the pain.
Eventually, the Ghurr emerged and swarmed Northforge. Sir Andrell Laverium and his two brave companions perished in the battle but managed to take three dozen of the Ghurr with them. It was his mighty drumming, and his dutiful sacrifice, that saved the people of Northforge…
Gram Heega always told Kora’s favorite story of the Eagles of the Pales with such awe and wonder. The tale struck a chord with Kora because she loved the idea of music being so powerful as to halt an approaching horde.
She couldn’t help but recall that story as Gram listened to her now. “He invited me to join him at the Lonely Cog. Then, well, he kissed my hand.”
“Is that what he said? I couldn’t hear,” Gram marveled.
“It was almost a whisper.” For a second, Kora thought the prince was going to kiss her on the lips, but he stopped close to her face and made the invitation before raising her hand to his lips. He then turned, insisted the revelers continue their lovely dance, and strode into The Cog. The band started up again, but the Festival of Crab was so aflutter at the appearance of the prince that some time passed before anyone took back up the dance.
Gram grabbed Kora’s hands in excitement. “Asar smiles on us, Booba. Prince Morvan will know what to do.”
She didn’t doubt it. He appeared to her a self-assured and generous young man (besides being remarkably good looking). Maybe if she were to ask, he would whisk her away to Chrais and offer protection and guidance? But then, the day Gram told the story of Sir Andrell Laverium for the last time, out in the ubu fields, came rushing back. Her father had been working nearby, listening.
Kora refocused on the present. “What about the White Owl Wood?”
Gram flinched at Kora’s hesitance. “Kora, that could have been the ramblings of a madman.”
“Father trusted him.”
“Yes, but… how long ago? The White Owl Wood! Have you a notion how far that is? If those things are chasing us, what chance have we to make it alive?”
“Then how could I put the prince in that kind of danger?”
Gram blinked in silence as she let that sink in. She flushed red. “I’ve never been prouder to know you, Kora Smythe. I’m ashamed.”
Kora took her hand. “Don’t be. I would love nothing more than to go in there and tell him everything that happened and accept his aid. But my… mistake cost my father his life, and I don’t intend to make matters worse. I must fix this myself. In fact, I think it best if you stay here. It’s too long a journey…”
Gram pulled away. “Don’t you even think about it! I am halfway to Gaeus’ immortal gardens already and happy to cross the threshold if it means helping you. I won’t have you leaving me, you hear?”
Inside, Kora sighed a huge sigh of relief. She knew it was selfish, but she wasn’t certain she could continue without Gram. She smiled and nodded. The two of them took one last long look at Lonely Fort, the Lonely Cog Inn, Mimm’s stables, and the festivities of the Festival of the Crab. Without a word, Kora grabbed Meg’s reins and started walking north, even though a part of her screamed to go running into the Lonely Cog and throw herself to the mercy of that beautiful prince.
She knew how to tell direction using the stars and knew enough about local geography that if they walked due north, they would eventually come upon the road from Bluefork to Glain. Unlike Lonely Fort, there was sure to be horses for sale in Glain, and they figured they had enough coin and goods to buy or trade for one that could carry the two of them to Fire Hollow and then to North Guard. They would never make it in time if they had to walk the entire journey on foot, so it was critical they get a horse at first opportunity.
If they should run into trouble, Gram would brandish the crossbow and Kora would draw her father’s longsword and hope that the mere sight of weapons might deter any less motivated bandits. Her father had taught her swordplay with wooden weapons many times, but she rarely held the real thing, and she had no desire to test whether she had retained any of her father’s lessons.
Farmlands sprawled north of Lonely Fort, allowing them to walk aside boundaries of one sort or another. A low, stone wall. A row of ubu beds. A line of wooden sticks connected only by rope. They weren’t on an established path, but it still comforted her to know that they were never that far from someone’s farmhouse. A warm summer wind blew scattered clouds across the sky, briefly blocking the moonlight from time to time and sending flash bugs pirouetting in the air. The farther north they walked, the thicker the trees, until soon, they were spending half their time walking through loosely clustered groups of sugar maples. The comforting farm boundaries becoming less frequent.
Kora led Meg through one of these clusters when they came upon a small, stone, waist-high obelisk. A carved hippogriff perched atop it, looking solemnly ahead. Asar the Vigilant often took the form of a hippogriff. A clump of picked yellow flowers that looked a few days old lay at its base.
Meg twitched and brayed in agitation.
“It’s alright, girl,” Kora assured her, “it’s only a grave. That’s all.”
Someone stepped out from behind a tree, a stone’s throw ahead. The trees blocked the light of the moons, shrouding the person in shadow. The figure stood very still, watching.
“Hello,” Gram called out, “is this your land?”
No answer.
Through the silence, Kora heard the rushing of footsteps on either side. She looked left and right but only caught the briefest of glimpses of shadows positioning themselves behind nearby trees. The figure in front walked a little closer. Gaunt. Dirty except for a new flat hat with a long plume that didn’t match the rest of his wardrobe.
He carried an axe. A rusty axe.
His gloves and boots appeared woefully inadequate, leaving digits exposed in both cases.
Gram raised her crossbow. “We don’t mean any trouble, sir.”
Someone came stumbling from the woods behind, panting with exertion. This man hauled an enormous belly that hung low enough to conceal his entire belt. A circle of too-black hair enclosed a wet, bald crown above a face dripping with sweat. A purple, velvet tunic emblazoned with the symbol of Nemi, the Fox, worshipped by those who revered her cunning hunting prowess, barely contained his belly.
Kora drew her father’s longsword from the sheath strapped to Meg’s side.
“Now, now…” the fat man put one hand on a nearby maple as he caught his breath. “There’s no need for any bloodshed here.” He seemed to be talking more to his three friends than to Kora. One of his feet rested upon an exposed root.
The sausage toes.
From Meg’s stable.
Yearning to burst free from the constricting sandal.
“Nemi smiles on you, little girl. We want neither gold nor mount, sword nor flesh.”
“Speak for yourself,” the man with the axe growled.
“Quiet!” the fat man demanded. “I want only one thing and we will leave you be. You have with you some worthless purple flowers. Give them to me and we’ll be on our way. And the sooner the better, I would say.”
Clearly, the man’s control of the situation was tenuous at best. Gram kept the crossbow leveled at the man with the rusty axe while Kora addressed who she assumed was the leader.
“We don’t have any purple flowers.”
“She tells the truth,” Gram insisted. “We have no flowers.”
“She best be lying,” rusty axe said to the fat man. “We’ve marched all damned night. I’ll have this girl’s flowers, one way or another.” With that, rusty axe crept forward.
“Hand over the damned flowers!” the fat man implored. He unhooked a cudgel from his belt and lifted it clumsily above his head as a threat. Kora doubted the man had ever struck anyone with it in his life.
“One more step and you’ll be joining whoever’s buried here,” Gram warned.
Rusty axe stopped and gave a short whistle. From either side of Gram and Kora a man crept out from behind the trees, equally as haggard as axe. One was hooded, with a crude club spiked with nails, while the other stooped very low, approaching like an arachnid, with one hand on the ground and the other wielding an oversized butcher’s knife. The smaller the target, the better, he must have thought.
“Fire that bolt, old woman, and you’ll wish ye hadn’t,” rusty axe said as he tapped his palm with his weapon.
Kora swiveled around, holding the longsword pointed out in front of her with both hands, a warning unheeded by the figures encroaching from all sides. Even if Gram hit one of them, she’d never reload before they were on her, and Kora would have no hope against three armed men. She wondered what she could possibly say to get them to spare Gram’s life.
Suddenly, a voice called out from deep in the woods behind the fat man. “Leave these women! That’s your only warning!”
Everyone around the hippogriff obelisk turned and looked back in that direction. Whoever called out stood too far back in the dark woods to be seen. But that voice! Steady and clear. Kora’s spirits soared with hope.
“Turn and run if ya know what’s good for ya! Or I’ll skin you alive once I’m done with this lot,” rusty axe, plumed hat atilt, yelled. He followed up with a nod to the arachnoid, and the stooped man with the knife skittered off into the brush in the direction of the voice.
“This matter doesn’t concern you!” the fat man squawked, clearly agitated that the situation was unraveling. “I am a Priest of Anduir and I’m simply reclaiming that which belongs to me!”
“You lie!” Kora was sure not to let that pass unchallenged.
“I won’t warn you again!” the savior called from the darkness. “Cease your approach!”
The ensuing pause seemed an eternity as rusty axe put up a finger to halt his hooded companion with the club, listening. A bloodcurdling scream echoed from the area of the unseen voice. Axe used that moment to hurl his weapon at Gram.
Instinctively, she pulled the crossbow up to deflect it.
Axe used the opportunity to rush her. He grabbed the crossbow before she could level it again and ripped it from her grasp.
Thump! An arrow plunged into the hooded man’s stomach, coming from the woods behind. He screamed in agony, dropping his club.
“Where are they?!” he grunted as he tore at her tunic. His breath reeked of onions. Whatever colored the man’s hair black had bled onto the tops of his ears. A tiny purse on a string dangled around his neck, just above her face.
“Where?!” He was begging now, desperate.
Kora gasped, “Stop!”
He stopped cold.
His attitude changed quickly, as if awakening from a bad dream. “Wait, what am I doing? I can’t… I can’t do this to you.”
Then, his chest jerked forward, and his eyes went wide. He shuddered twice as he reached up, clutching at his chest with those fingers tipped with glitter nails. He flopped forward, twitching and shuddering, smothering her.
Kora, panicked, pushed and clawed at the fat man. In her struggle, she ripped the small pouch necklace from his neck. Finally, she rolled the fat mass off her and saw the arrow protruding from his back. Gasping, she looked around to get her bearings. Gram knelt nearby with a hand up to her cheek, wincing in pain. The hooded man laid crumpled lifeless on the ground and rusty axe was gone.
From the darkness of the woods, he appeared in his white cloak.
An angel sent by Asar.
Prince Morvan Laverium.
He rushed to kneel next to Kora, dropping his long bow to the ground. His eyes the color of the ocean on a summer day. “Are you hurt?”
She still gasped for air.
“Here,” he said, as he gently reached out and touched her elbows. “Lift your arms up over your head, like this.” He stretched her arms up and smiled reassuringly with those dimples that must have made a thousand maids swoon. Remarkably, her breath came back to her almost immediately. “By the gods… your eyes…”
She looked down immediately.
“Are you hurt?” Morvan asked again. His hands still on her elbows, close enough that she had a hard time focusing.
“No. Winded is all.” She lowered her arms, the priest’s purse necklace still in her hand. She pocketed it. “Gram, what happened?”
“A punch, nothing more. I’ll recover.” Already, Gram was pulling herself to her feet, using Meg for support.
“Where are the others?” Kora asked.
Morvan stood and picked up his bow. “No need to worry about them.” He offered his hand, pulling her off the ground when she accepted. “I’m glad you’re alright.”
“Thanks to you,” Gram added. Gram’s face shined red below her right eye and Kora suspected the bruise would look much worse tomorrow.
“Yes, we were so lucky you… happened to be here,” Kora said, awkwardly.
Morvan simply smiled. “Not only luck. We were worried about you and headed out after you, soon after we realized you had turned down my offer to join us for dinner.”
“We?” But almost as soon as she said it, another figure came walking out of the dark woods pulling two fine riding horses by the reins. A boy, no older than ten. Clearly Morvan’s younger brother. Same pure blonde hair and blue eyes, but his face wasn’t as perfectly sculpted as Morvan’s. A bit narrower, with eyes a little closer together, as if someone took Morvan’s face and pinched it in a bit. He wore a steel helmet with wings carved into the sides. Hardened leather protected his arms and legs, and a breastplate covered his chest, which made walking clumsy. He carried the arachnid’s butcher knife with his free hand.
“Yes. This is my brother, Calandoe.”
Calandoe turned the knife from side to side. “This is such a clumsy weapon. Why would anybody use this?”
“Put it down, please. And say hello to our dancer friend,” Morvan requested.
“Hello. Why would he use this?” He ignored his brother’s request to drop the knife and in fact, swung it in the air in front of him.
“Hello,” Kora responded, before turning back to Morvan. “You were worried about me?”
“Very much.” Morvan stroked Meg’s nose, calming her. “Tell me, when these bandits demanded flowers from you, why did you not simply give them what they wanted?”
Kora glanced at Gram before answering. “Because we don’t have any flowers.”
Morvan’s eyes narrowed in concern, and he looked to his little brother. Calandoe stopped swinging the knife for a moment and nodded in assent.
“She doesn’t have them now?” Morvan asked.
“No,” Calandoe confirmed, “but… she’s connected to them, somehow…”
“Connected to them…?”
“Maybe she had them at one time, I’m not sure.” Calandoe dropped the knife as soon as he saw the purple priest’s body and bounded over for a closer look. “Whoa!”
Gram knelt before Morvan. “My liege…”
Morvan cut her off, “No ‘liege.’ Please, it’s Morvan.”
“If it please you,” Gram continued, “we owe you our lives, thank you. If I may ask, how has Asar granted you knowledge of the flowers?”
“Yes, yes, of course. Please stand, and I will explain all,” he assured them.
The sound of galloping preceded a huge brown destrier that came crashing into the clearing. Upon its back, a rider in chain mail wore a tunic stitched with the symbol of Asar, the Eagle. Clearly a warrior. Well-built, in his early twenties. A Roman nose matching his long black hair clinging to his shoulders. Epaulets crafted like talons covered those shoulders, while eagle and hippogriff themed details adorned his attire. Belt buckle. Greaves. Leather gloves. All of the finest quality, as far as Kora could tell. A rope tied to the back of his saddle dragged rusty axe along the ground behind him. The rope bound the bandit’s torso, and he clutched at the rope in a futile attempt to lessen the tightening. He grimaced in pain, being dragged over several rocks, until the horse reared up to a stop. The rider looked down at the fat priest. “Is he dead?”
“Yes.” Morvan answered.
The man exhaled, exasperated. “We said not to kill him!”
“Yes.” Again, Gram’s story of Andrell Laverium came bubbling up.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” the rider demanded, “You almost got yourself killed.”
“I think they’re quite aware of that,” Morvan replied crossly.
“His fingernails sparkle!” Calandoe pointed out with a jaunty grin, picking up the priest’s limp hand.
The rider dismounted in one smooth move. “Why would you go running off in the middle of the night? Have you lost your senses?”
“His manners notwithstanding, it is rather curious that you would shun dinner with us and steal off, straight away,” Morvan added. “Particularly with what I know now.”
“What do you know now?” the tall rider asked.
“She doesn’t have them.”
“What?” The rider shot a look at Calandoe. “What are we doing here then?”
Calandoe had pulled a small vial of sparkly varnish from the fat man’s pouch and was coloring his nails. “I’m tired. Can we go to sleep now?”
Morvan focused on Kora now. “Let’s slow down now, shall we? What’s your name?”
“Kora.”
“Kora, lovely. We were led to believe you might have some purple flowers. From the look of it, these men were led to believe the same thing. Do you know why?”
Kora looked at Gram.
“You’re nervous and scared, but you’re safe now. You can trust me, Kora,” Morvan reassured her.
“I… I saw some purple flowers, even touched them, but I don’t have them now,” Kora admitted.
“Tell us everything, please. Where did you see them?”
“No wait,” the tall rider with the dark hair said, “not with him here.” He grabbed rusty axe by the front of the shirt and rattled him hard. “Why were you out here?”
The man clearly had had enough. “Please sire, nothing but a hired hand, am I. It was the priest that promised gold if we fetched these flowers.”
“Why did he want the flowers? And how did he know she had them?”
The man winced with pain as he twisted against the rope. “I know not of that. He said it was none of our concern, and I agreed. Gold is gold is what I always say. But when I saw he meant the girl harm my stomach turned, and I promised myself I wouldn’t do it. The girl would come to no harm with me around, you can believe that.”
The tall rider scowled, and for a moment Kora thought he might strike the man. He pulled the man free of the rope as he continued, “Go back that way and find your friend, the one I cut down. I want you to dig a grave and put him in.”
“Yes…. Yes sire, thank you…” the man muttered and stumbled in that direction.
Gram pulled Kora close and whispered, “The prince is involved now. It’s clear we would be dead were it not for his being so. Let us out with the truth.”
“Morvan,” he implored.
“Morvan… I… I did find flowers, a whole bed of them.”
That made Morvan’s eyes go wide, and he looked at the tall rider.
Kora pushed on, “They were in the shape of a crescent moon, and I… well, I… fell into them. And as soon as I did… they all died.”
“They died? All of them? Or simply the ones you fell on?” Morvan asked.
“All of them. Immediately. I suspect… I suspect they somehow… went into me.”
Morvan stepped backward, as if struck in the face. Again, he looked at the rider with the long black hair. “It’s impossible…” But his voice betrayed his doubt.
Now that Kora had said that much, the rest came pouring out in a torrent, “And I don’t know what it is, or why it happened, but I know I’m in great danger, and there are these white-skinned Folke after me, and a six-legged dog, and this priest. And they all want the flowers. And I talked with a seer, and he told me I had to get to the White Owl Wood in a fortnight because there would be a chance for me to rid myself of this… whatever this is. I’m sorry I didn’t have dinner with you, I’m sure it would have been lovely, but I didn’t want to put you in danger. So we left. For the White Owl Wood. I’m sorry. I am.”
They all processed the story in long silence before the dark-haired rider finally spoke. “She didn’t want to put you in danger. This is a foul business.”
Morvan composed himself. “Well. What’s important now is we get you safe. There’s no place safer in the world than our palace.”
“We’ll camp first,” the rider cut in. “Calandoe is exhausted. He can’t ride.”
“Of course,” Morvan agreed. “And in the morning, my brothers and I will escort you to our home.”
“Your brothers?” Kora asked quickly.
“Yes, forgive me. This is my brother, Landor.”
Landor looked down over his hawk nose, stoically.
Three brothers, she thought. They are three brothers.
The Triad.
It had been her favorite story, the tale of Andrell Laverium. That is, until her father had ruined it last winter. This time, when Gram finished her story, her father looked up from his work and said, “His drums. Those people left of their own accord. That drunken fool Andrell gave the Ghurr pause with his drumming, aye, but didn’t know it at the time. Had he left with the others, and not stayed behind to drink and frolic with that band of minstrels, he’d have lived sure enough.”
Gram had challenged how he knew of such a thing, but her father had simply muttered that he knew.
“Kora, men are motivated by many things. Some by wealth. Some by power. Some by vanity and other baser urges. It is rare, very rare, that a man acts out of honor alone. Always remember that,” her father had imparted.
She looked at Landor Laverium, the eldest.
Beware the elder.
She decided she would stay awake this night, no matter how tired she may be.