Sky, Sword and Song

There weren’t always dragons in the valley

That was how the saying went. A reminder to the people of the Ravell, Even now she could hear Etred’s lips curling around those syllables his low voice, calm and understanding. He had been fond of his sayings, he had had so many to share.

Even now if she concentrated she could hear him say it, in that dammed charming way he did. She could hear him, though the wind was coursing around her, causing her hair to swirl and the banners to whip and crack. Though she could feel the heavy presence of the big headsman beside her, his hand tight on the iron he held, leather handle creaking softly. Even though a thousand or more people looked up at her, eyes narrowed with hatred or confusion, their silence more terrible than any damnation.

It had meaning that saying. Though age had stripped it much of its origin. As far as Sybella knew there had once been peace in the valley until the dragons had appeared from nowhere. These dragons were enormous wingless lizards, large as elephants and with the same pondering gandmotherly grace. And yet they proved to be monstrous beasts with voracious appetites. The stories spoke of whole villages being decimated with hardly any of the bodies consumed by more than a mouthful. Like a fox in a hen house the dragons went wild with blood lust when it came upon them. The dragons had eventually been pushed out of the valley, but the duality of these beasts had left its mark on the people of the Ravell.

“There weren’t always dragons in the valley” a father might say to his daughter when she first began courting. “There weren’t always dragons in the valley” a mother would warn her child before they went out to play.

It was a reminder, a careful caution that not everything is how it seems. That something seemingly harmless can be truly destructive, and something peaceful can always be destroyed.

Oh Etred. Sybella thought to herself sadly. how did you know? and why did I not listen?

Her eyes rose and met Winter’s in the crowd. She was watching from afar, buttefly-wing-pattern fan splayed open, despite the wind, and held in a loose grip. Her mouth was pursed tightly, and her black insect eyes portrayed some terrible duality. Regret… fear, pity? matched with something else… was it triumph?

Oh Etred… save my children.

“For the crime of treason and murder, for betraying the oaths of song, sword and sky, and for the crime of Malsononet… the council has condemned Sybella Boreiallus to death.”

The wind surged and the banners around her cracked and groaned. There was a muttering in the people the smallest of exchanged words. Some of them had heard it, the slightest cord of a note in the air, like the last note on a bards lyre, the final musical cry to beset the coming silence. The magister who was reading from the scroll shifted uncomfortably. Then he motioned the headsman forwards with a jerk of his hand.

The big man stepped before Sybella and with deliberate slowness placed the heavy metal cylinder before her. He clasped it with both hands as two aids ran forward and attached ropes to loops on his back. A precaution should he not step back in time.

The death for Sybella was a special one after all, she was to pass through the eye of the Last Singer, Mistress of Sword, Sky and Song. She was to fall through the air and face the final judgment of the earth. The big man’s muscles bulged as he twisted the cylinder. There was a groan then a thud and blue veins of light snaked over the metal. The headsman leapt back with a scramble as a second later the ground where he stood vanished. There was now only a gaping hole in the earth and empty air beyond. The portal had opened to a spot hundreds of miles above where they now stood. Wind rushed out of it in great gusts and Sybella could see far below the tiny shape of the Rook rest, the rocky graveyard where those sentenced to a sky death found their rest. Right on the edge of it Sybella felt the call of the void, the strange compulsion to step forward. She was struck by the absurdity of that feeling, the closeness of emptiness pulling at her guts.

Behind her the headsman had moved to her back, ready to push her through when the order was given.

“Do you have anything more to say before the sentence is passed?” the Magister asked. His high voice just barely audible over the wind. At once Sybella saw the butterfly-wing fan quiver. He had not meant to ask that, they were not meant to give her any last words, the magister must have slipped up and he would no doubt pay for it. Sybella was not about to waste this chance. Before it could be taken back, she opened her mouth and called out. Speaking directly to the woman with the fan, directly to her that would destroy all she loved.

“There weren’t always dragons in the valley.” Sybella said and was surprised to find her voice clam and cool. The power residing in her song resonating in her words and cutting through the wind so all present heard. “Remember that and turn to those you trust. See what they hide behind and reveal it. There weren’t always dragons in the valley, but they are here now, and just as our ancestors did… we will drive them out.” then without warning, she stepped forwards, leaping into the open portal. She was not a creature to face the darkness with a hand at her back, she would face her death as her ancestors had, as all Swordsingers should. The last thing she heard was a collective gasp from the crowd, then she was tumbling down through the empty air. As she fell, she began to sing, her voice almost lost in the wind, almost,

But not quite.

She sang with all her heart and soul.

Sang for the son and daughter still alive, sang that they might survive.

Sybella sang, and she fell.

I will have that bloody magisters head for that Winter thought coldly as her wafted her fan and strode down the wide marble hall of the Gilded Hawk. Yaran walked behind her, their cool eyes watching everything, their sword loose in it sheathe. The bodyguard was an enormous thick necked beast of a person, all muscle and simmering violence. They were like some great a terrible hunting cat lithe, deadly and elegant all in one. They were also the best bodyguard Winter had ever had, and the only reason she was still alive. Winter touched the scar on her waist and remembered the sword that struck there. Yes, Sybella had been a fierce warrior, but it seemed she was no orator. Thank the lady of song and sky that the Swordsinger captain had little if anything to say before the end. It was always the case with her sort, they jumped to high minded rhetoric that rarely if ever was understood by the masses. Such a romantic notion, that Winter was some great evil to be destroyed. She knew better. There was no such thing as evil, and the dragons? Well they were just big ugly lizards that liked to eat heads more than the rest of the body, nothing evil about that, just nature. Winter smirked, at least she had finally gotten rid of one of her greatest enemies. Her next moves would have to be quick. Her butterfly wing fan flittered in her grasp, and she snapped it closed. She could not show her excitement, not now while it was all so close.

She passed by a set of guards and stepped into the council chamber beyond. Yaran waited there, watching the other guards like a lion sizing up its prey, they withered under their glare and Yaran smirked to themself.

The seven other members of the council were already present when Winter walked in. Each one sat around the grand centre table where their marks of office were laid out. There was the keeper of coin the demure bespectacled Ebros Gourd. The keeper of justice, Scholar Arthur Lagan, with his firm jaw and haughty good looks. Then there was Sabban Roth keeper of masks beside his sister Hellia Roth keeper of words. Beyond them sat Telia Grey the quiet and unreadable keeper of timbers.

Finally there was the elderly Master of song, Callia Krestbon, and not to far from her the quick to grin Master of sword, Davish Rush. The final seat was for Winter herself. It was the seat of the Master of sky.

These three seats were the highest of all the eight and were the true power in the council. Winter slid into her seat and tried to hide her satisfaction. She always felt that wonderous surge when she sat here, the possibilities at her fingertips. The change to be implemented. It was all so exciting.

“What a bloody mess that was” Hemva said shifting in her colourful robes and making her many piercings jangle.

“A regrettable mess but a necessary one. The captain was a good woman but misguided and in her position of power that was dangerous indeed. After what she did, was capable of doing, there was simply no alternative,” Said Winter. Several of the council members nodded in agreement and Winter noted which, just as she noted which did not. The arrogant smirking Master of war was one, as was that Grey woman. She was new to the council and Winter had yet to judge her alliance.

“Aye, a terrible but necessary affair” said Callian in her whispery voice. Her wrinkled face was fixed in a pained expression “Sybella had long been warned about her overstepping her boundaries, but it seems she was not willing to listen to reason.”

“Well she was hardly given a trial to argue for herself was she?” Davish said with a grin. His voice mocking, his twinkling eyes meeting Winters. “And she had such a fine voice too. I heard her sing at Gedion many years back. Who knows what song she might have sung us today had she been given the chance?”

Callian looked confused but Winter moved fast “indeed you are correct Master Rush. It is a pity that her crimes were so vile. Had she not committed Malsonnet I am sure a full trial would have of course been provided, however with the circumstances as they are I am sure you will agree that the necessary actions were taken.”

“But of course” said Rush with that irritating smile that never left his face. “You are much more versed in that kind of thing than me Master Winter. I don’t have a mind like yours, so familiar with the complexities of treason and subterfuge, I am afraid my wits lie with the blade and not much more than that. Anything more than two edges gets complicated for me. No I will leave the finding of traitors to you madam.”

Sabban Roth smirked and quicky hid it, for a keeper of spies the man was a poor concealer of his own emotions. No matter thought Winter coldly to herself, there would be time to deal with all the malcontents in their proper time. For now.

“Master Rush makes a good point, though he takes his time getting there, and choses strange paths.” Winter said, flicking open her fan and wafting herself a little as she thought of the best way to phrase this. “We have no knowledge of how deep Sybella’s treason ran. For the moment we have time, but that time is quickly running out. What happens, I ask you, when word reaches the rest of the Swordsingers that their captain is dead? and after an attempt on my life no less. It is well known they harbour no love for me. I would not be wrong to suggest that a full uprising may be imminent.”

“T-t- this problem.” stuttered Ebros Gourd “would not be facing us if Sybella had been but allowed a t-t-trial. It s-seems… like this could have easily been avoided.”

“Everything has been done to the manner of the law” said Arthur Lagan coldly, his voice a rumbling authority. “Sybella committed Malsonnet, immediate execution was necessary.”

“I suppose then you have a solution to this problem Master Sky” said Hemva looking to Winter expectantly, a puppy waiting for a treat. Winter allowed herself a small grin behind her fan.

“I do” she let that hang in the air for a moment before proceeding “my fellows we have faced many dangers from beyond the boarders of our valley but nothing so dangerous as what now brews within. The traitor Sybella is dead, and rightly so, as our law keeper points out. However this is not a death that will be ignored. Even if a small handful of Swordsinging captains rise up we would be facing a great internal threat, the likes which we cannot deal with. Especially not while King Suljus sits at our southern boarder like a hungry wolf, and her eminency The White Snake of Rougario prowls the western sea. No this is not the time for half measures. What I propose instead is something drastic.”

“Drastic” said Callian nervously.

“Yes, Master Song. What I propose is a full restructuring of the Swordsinging guild. They will no longer have the rights and free reign they currently abuse. The captains should all be taken into custody and questioned lengthily to discover their loyalties. They will be freed when they have signed and agreed to their new role. We shall also need to take several family members as wards” Winter shrugged to show this course of action was regrettable but necessary. “Should any decide they are feeling less favourable in the future.”

“This is madness” said Ebros his face white with shock. The others sat in silence each looking from one to the other to gauge their response. Callian’s grey eyebrows knitted together in thought. Arthur, calm faced like a slab of rock, the unreadable Grey woman, the Roth twins eager and agitated, and then Davish, his smile reduced to a smirk.

“And what would you do with these wards, these precious few who carry the music?” said Callian thoughtfully.

Winter had been prepared for this, of course she was always prepared for everything “Say they were to be taken in to a new programme,” she said, speaking like this was just occurring to her now. “where their abilities might be honed towards a more productive purpose. We could train them into a loyal regiment within the army. The Swordsingers are an outdated concept my friends. Useful in the days of dragons and champions of war but not today. Today we need devotion, constraints, control. We need a group we can trust when we send to war. Not one that acts on its own autonomy.”

“T-t-this is insanity” Ebros stuttered “the Swordsingers have been a part of our culture. F-f-for generations. T-t-to do this w-wwould b-be…be…” but Ebros did not get to say what it would be for his stutter seemed to overcome him. In the silence that followed Sabban piped up, a grin on his face though his eyes were nervous. “Well I think it makes complete sense Master Winter. Seems like this is a problem that has been brewing for a long time, recent events only hammer down its severity.”

Winter nodded to him coolly. Good but don’t go overboard you dammed fool.

There came a husky melodic voice from the other side of the table, the Grey woman, her voice and eyes betraying nothing “It is all well and good to say this, but can it be done?”

“Indeed it can” said Winter proudly “I have been preparing for this eventuality for a long time. I saw the Swordsingers as a threat many years ago and began to fabricate certain measures just for this. My bodyguard Yaran is quite capable. Over the last few years they have been reaching out to various mercenary groups and positioning them close to Swordsinger guildhouses. This paired with our regiments already stationed around the valley I see a successful operation with only minor casualties. I can even get Sybella’s young heir within our custody tonight, should the order be placed.”

“Her name is Tysha.” Said Davish and there was no humour in his voice now.

“Did she not have a son as well” asked Callian worriedly.

“She did” said Winter “to her first husband, but the child did not inherit his mothers’ gifts, so she remarried. The father is ill and dying and the boy is mundane. Neither are of any importance I assure you.”

“Very well just the daughter then” said Arthur and his voice carried a clarity with it, a firmness that seemed to declare the ending of the matter. It was that tone that seemed to shift it. The reality of the next move was all of a sudden so solid to them, ready to be grasped.

Tonight after so long. After so much planning. Winter could now offer it to them.

“We need only vote, council members.” Said Winter “I hold the key to this problem right in my hand. We need only be ready to take it. Consider it, the most powerful warriors in the valley finally mastered and functioning as a component of the army, our army. Our enemies facing a coherent and organised force to be reckoned with. Or we can let this play out and face a civil war.” She stopped there. The best of speakers knew when to stop. She had them now, she knew.

Davish and Ebros were lost causes and the Grey woman was unreadable, but the others. She could see now the hunger in their eyes. They were finally starting to see the possibilities. Winter felt a shiver of delight at the knowledge that they finally saw what she had seen for so long. What had brewed in her mind for years now, unable to share until this very moment. The butterfly fan shuddered slightly.

“Well… shall we vote?”

Dervish sealed the letter and slipped it into his coat. Sabban Roth was stammering away behind him the two of them in the Guilded Hawk latrines, bent over a small sewer grate hidden beneath one of the wooden benches

“I had to vote for her” Sabban was saying, more to himself than anyone else “… even if I didn’t she still would have won on that draw, having two Masters to one and all that. There was nothing I could do.” His voice was winging and irritating.

“No you are right, there was nothing you could have done. Now tell me which passage it is again?”

“Yess you see. I knew you would see it clearly. Its not my fault!”

“Sabban, the passage.”

“Oh, yes sorry.” He licked his lips nervously “it’s the third one on the left. Do you really think you can get to them before they do?”

Davish grinned slyly “Of course not, but a bird might. I need only get to my rookery.”

“And you can trust this to no one else? Working against Winter now would be a dangerous move. Teason even.” Davish looked up and smiled at his old friend saying nothing. “no, what a silly thing to say, of course you can’t. You know she will try to kill you.”

“I do, but unless she manages to get that deadly pet of hers on me then I should be fine. I have my ways don’t you worry.” He slapped Sabban on the shoulder. Sabban seemed to brighten a bit, though his eyes betrayed that terrible pitying look.

oh my friend Davish thought to himself sadly you really are exceptionally easy to read, how long have you been one of her creatures?

“Wish me luck.” And he clambered down into the dark, letting Sabban close the grate behind him.

In the pitch black and rancid stench he drew his knife, his father’s knife that was, and held it up to his lips. He sang a single note into the cold steel and immediately it sprang to life. The old runes coursing with the power of the music. A warm orange light filled the space around him revealing a less than pleasant décor of feaces smeared walls and a low dark tunnel. Davish set off, doing his best to ignore the smell.

He had never told anyone of his Swordsinger skills. His father had been a disavowed member working on the family estate. He had seduced Dervish’s mother, a young nobleman’s wife, and she had never told her husband of Dervish’s true heritage. That he had learnt from his real dad many years later when he left him this knife and taught him what small scraps of magic he could. Dervish knew that the best way to win any battle was though deception. Let Winter think him harmless, a grinning fool to be disposed of, he would show her.

He ignored the route given to him by Sabban and instead pushed on. That route would end in a collection of Winters men, no doubt waiting to stick him with their spears as he climbed up. Then push his carcass back into the sewers to be eaten by the rats.

No instead he followed the route he had memorised many days earlier, when Sybella had first told him of her plan… and of its risks.

He emerged several hours later in the dark of the lower town, the Fallows Road. The stretch of dirt road filled with drunks, whores and sailors alike. The moon was high and clear and though there was much revelry in the area it was tainted by a feeling in the air, a weightiness that seemed to fortell of the coming of something. Dervish began to make his way to the safe house, hurrying as fast as he dared.

Scoto opened the door for him at the hidden knock and together they went upstairs to the second rookery that Dervish had kept hidden there. Scoto reached into the cage and drew out a dark winged magpie, its intelligent eyes watching the two men curiously. Dervish pulled the note from his coat and attached it to the birds leg. Then with extreme care he carried it to the window, singing to it softly the whole while. Scoto watched silently, the old servant knowing not to interrupt music, music was power.

Dervish reached the window and released the bird, watching it disappear into the night in a flurry of wingbeats.

“What now my lord?” said Scoto

Dervish said nothing for a long time, just watched the bird climb higher, its silhouette a tiny dot in the blue of the moon. “Honestly… I am not sure I know. It all depends.”

“On what my lord?”

“Mostly on luck. But hopefully on something a little more solid”

Scoto nodded as Davish reached out and pulled the window shut.

Far out in the darkness a magpie flew through the night, the words attached to its leg a desperate warning that may not even matter. The song in its ears the last lament of an age that was dying. It flew over the city, spread beneath and blue in the light of the moon, like some wide impressionist painting. It few over the jagged rocks where a hundred traitors’ spirits had been joined by one more. The magpie flew,

and vanished into the dark.