Hello All-
Several weeks ago I submitted a short story to Dragon Magazine. This week I received a personal letter from Stacie Fiorito, an assistant editor. Dragon Magazine has decided to no longer accept unsolicited short stories. This is disappointing. However, I understand their position – they have a small staff, not much time and a lot of submitted short stories. The fact that the magazines are being sold likely also plays a part in this decision. I am also grateful to Fiorito for taking the time to write a personal letter.
Be that as it may, I spent some time on this story. While it is by no-means a great story I am proud of it. So I am posting it here rather than simply forgetting about it.
You are – of course – under no compunctions to read this story. If you do and you have any comments, please send them to me personally at grumpycelt@hotmail.com.
Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
Robert Sullivan
***
Shadows at Sweetbones Tower
Word Count: 5,813
By Robert Sullivan
* * *
High Speaker Alustriel of the Silver Marches sat on the Crystal Throne. Sunlight streamed down on her and scattered rainbows through her throne. Naturally, she looked radiant.
The resident page announced the presence of Sir Mourner Deathrage, First Marshal of the Sky Defenses of the Silver Marches. (I – Cyrus – am his humble adjunct.)
“To what do I owe this meeting, Sir Deathrage?” the Speaker asked. Her tone was flirting. The first marshal is one of the few men not to fawn all over the High Speaker. I think she likes the novelty of his non-sycophantic behavior.
“I am afraid that I am the bearer of bad news,” Sir Deathrage said. “I have just received a report from scouts out of Citadel Adbar who have sighted a company of flying shadowy forms coming out of the Great Desert. They are skirting south around the Rauvin Mountains and headed east.”
“Towards Sundabar?” she asked.
“Yes, that is what it looks like now.” He said.
“What do you think is going on?” she asked.
“Too much speculation right now would be a mistake. We do not have enough information. However, I would say they are party of shadar mages out of their floating city come to attack and raid us. I am going to have my people look into the matter more closely. Once I know more, I will arrange to fly and out meet them, stop them and defeat them.”
Her eyebrows went up slightly at the sound of the resolve in his voice. “So, you're certain of their hostile intent.”
“After recent events in Cormyr, yes, I am.”
“Alright then. I leave you to handle the situation. You know what you’re doing,” she said. “Just keep me in the loop on what’s happening.”
Sir Deathrage nodded. The High Speaker asked the first marshal if I could replace the page before she dismissed him. This struck me as an odd request. He told me once before that the High Speaker is capricious. It appeared he spoke the truth.
First Marshal Deathrage agreed and departed. I announced visitors to the High Speaker’s court and ran messages around the palace for the next hour. This was not my usual job.
Halfway through the morning one of the petitioners asked the High Speaker to change the laws that regulated what was legal with a corpse. He wanted it permissible to exhume anyone who was not a noble and to have his (or her) spirit interrogated or even bound. This spirit would then serve the nobility. She flatly – but politely – turned him down.
Things took an interesting turn towards the end of the morning. I suspect the High Speaker knew the next visitor was going to make an appearance and that is why she wanted to keep me around.
“High Speaker Alustriel,” I was getting better at not stammering her name. She is intimidating even when she is just sitting there, “Tradelord Sot Traehyr is here to see you. He wishes to complain...”
“Surprise, surprise,” she muttered.
“He wishes to surprise, uh,” her interruption had thrown me. “He wishes to lodge a formal complaint about how First Marshal Deathrage turned down his proposal to eliminate the griffon cavalry and use indentured pteranodons servants. Your majesty he is out in the waiting chamber.”
“Alright, show him in – and don’t call me ‘your majesty’ again.”
I went to fetch Traehyr. He avoided looking me in the eye and made an impatient noise in his throat when I announced his presence in the Court.
“Adjunct Cyrus,” Alustriel said, indicating me, “tells me you wished to lodge a formal complaint. Is this true and if so what can I do about the situation?”
“Yes, as a mater of fact it is,” Traehyr adjusted his rumpled cream-colored tunic. “Mourner flatly turned down my bid to provide defense for the Silver Marches.”
“Yes, I know.” Alustriel said. “The first marshal filed a report with the lords’ council.” Alustrial referred to Sir Deathrage by his proper title. She is not normally one to stand on formalities. However, the first marshal prefers a moderate degree of formality. I think she respects his abilities enough to tolerate what she sees as his minor eccentricities. Besides, Traehyr’s constant use of Sir Deathrage’s given name was out of contempt and not a sign of a personal relationship between the men.
“So, you and the council know what Mourner did.” The tradelord attempted to sound smug.
“Yes, we do. His decision did not ruffle any feathers with the council,” she said. “If the issue is raised again, the council would probably side with the first marshal again.”
Traehyr’s mouth twisted bitterly to one side. “So your council is not concerned with the defense of the Silver Marches.” His statement was nearly a snarl.
“On the contrary,” she said, “a foremost concern of the council – and myself – is the defense of our nation.” She was as smooth and unflappable as ever. The merchant was not able to provoke her. “The first marshal’s decision was judged as sound.”
“The ‘first marshal,’ what’s that title supposed to mean?” Traehyr asked. He was defeated but did not have the grace to admit it. He looked to cast aspersions on the character of Sir Deathrage.
“It means that he commands the aerial defenses of the Silver Marches,” Alustriel said with an infinite patience in her tone. I have seen her use it to deflate the angry and the huffy. “In military terms it is more or less equivalent to the title of admiral or general. Second marshal is more or less the same as captain or colonel and so on.”
“Was this Mourner’s idea?” Traehyr asked. He was trying to be rude as he could. This was not much. He also seemed to find Alustriel intimidating.
“Yes. Sir Deathrage felt it that the aerial defenses should be given their own identity, distinct from that of the existing army. He said it would help morale.”
“He should do what he’s told,” the merchant grumbled.
“He does. He is fully accountable to the lords’ council,” she said. She had stressed the sentence in just such a subtle way as to make it clear where the first marshal’s loyalties lay. Where they did not lay was with a self-important merchant.
The merchant – not waiting for dismissal – turned and stomped towards the doors. Several of the High Speaker’s adjuncts frowned at the merchant’s rudeness and violation of etiquette. A guard even moved to intercept Traehyr, but Alustriel waved her away. Slamming the door behind him the pompous merchant exited the room.
Alustriel laughed softly to herself. Sir Deathrage has told me that the High Speaker’s (extremely) long life has produced a woman who finds displays of temper more amusing than insulting. He also said that she is a savvy enough politician to keep the laughter to herself.
Alustriel announced it was time for lunch and dismissed the members of her court. She invited me to lunch. I make it a habit to never pass up a free meal. We ate on a wide balcony over looking the city. She had only opened the barely wine when her sister Storm joined us.
The younger sister (they are both over six hundred years old, so ‘younger’ is relative term) sat. Storm peppered me with questions about what it is like to work with Sir Deathrage. She called him by his first name. She had more respect for the name than did Traehyr.
A page announced Sir Deathrage as the first marshal strode onto the balcony.
“I have gotten confirmation on the shadar group. Unfortunately, the situation has not improved. The group has circled north around Sundabar. They picked up perytons while they were in the Nether Mountains along the way. The party seems intent on heading to the pass.”
Alustriel absorbed this information. Then Storm asked, “What do you think the shades are going to do?” She watched him closely.
“When it appeared they were headed for Sundabar I thought they were just going to launch a raid. Just to shake up our moral and to test our defenses. Now that they are headed for Silverymoon pass I would say the shadar are actually going to try and take over or destroy Sweetbones Tower.” He pointedly ignored her correction of their name.
Sweetbones Tower guards the eastern entrance to the Silverymoon pass. The tower’s name comes from that of a legendary old orc shaman who lived in it for years. It is very old – probably Netherise – and built on a single great plinth of rock.
Storm looked at her sister and said, “If they destroy it, you will have a fiendish time keeping the orcs and monsters off your backs whenever you try to use the pass. If the shades take the tower, then they might as well own the pass.”
The first marshal nodded. “The shadar are likely just going to try to knock it off the mountain. Their force is not strong enough to hold it. I do not think their city will support them logistically. At least not yet.” They were sparring (mostly playfully) over the name.
Alustriel nodded. “Thank’s for keeping me appraised. I’ll tell the council. We’re going to plain the agenda for our next public meeting this afternoon anyway. What are you going to do?”
“They do not appear to be aware that we are on to them – they have been staying in the clouds the entire time and are relying heavily on anti-divination magic. I am going to pull up griffons units out of Sundabar and Silverymoon and a unit out of Everlund. I will wait until their force is with-in range of the tower's weapons and then use the griffons units to flank them. That should surprise them and pinch them between the towers weapons and the griffon cavalry. I do not believe we will require the use of the field.”
She nodded.
“I need my assistant back,” he said. There was a slight smile on his face.
She sighed playfully. “Oh, alright. You can have him back.”
As we were leaving, I heard Storm say, “Damn, but he’s macho.”
“You’re doing much better when he’s around,” Alustriel said. “You didn’t drool on yourself this time.”
Then I heard what sounded like someone kicking someone else under a table and the High Speaker say “ow.”
We were about to exit the palace when Traehyr rounded the corner. He had nearly plowed into us. He skidded to a stop on his heels at the sight of the first marshal.
Traehyr quickly gathered his wits and charged forwards with what he had to say.
“My people tell me that a group shadow things is heading towards Silverymoon.”
Sir Deathrage looked at Traehyr hard. The corners of his mouth twitched up slightly in a predatory smile. “I had no idea you worked with people so well informed, Tradelord Traehyr. My complements.”
“I came to tell you, Mourner, for the last time, you have to let my pteranodons defend the city,” Traehyr said. “That is what I brought them here to do. They are stronger, faster and deadlier than anyone working for the griffon cavalry.”
“And I am telling you, Tradelord Traehyr, for the last time, that your pteranodons have no place in the aerial defenses of the Silver Marches. They are violent to the point of being unreliable. You are keeping them in what amounts to slavery and I will not give even tactic approval to slavery,” Sir Deathrage growled.
He was (I believe) tired of having to tell he man “no.” Moving away from the first marshal’s intense reaction the merchant took several steps backwards.
“I will not waste my time and energy with them when it is far better spent working with the men and women who have signed up of their own accord. I will not insult the loyalty and integrity of those men and women by chasing down this sad scheme of yours for pteranodon super-soldiers.” The first marshal stalked forwards like a hunting cat. Traehyr kept backing-up until he hit the wall. Sir Deathrage moved forwards until he was practically in the merchants face. “There is no such thing as a super solider. Not in the way you think of them at any rate. Those women and men who work, bled, kill and die are the best defense for the Silver Marches. Not some chained-up, drugged-up – yes, I know about the thrallwine you have been feeding them – reptilian savages that can fly.
“You can protest to the council again. However, it will not do you any good. You are just going to have to find some other way of recouping your losses. I am not buying. And do not call me by my given name. You do not have the right.”
The first marshal then turned on his heels and marched down the hallway. I followed. I heard Traehyr say “pyrite elf” as I went through the doors. Sir Deathrage is a sun – what some call a “gold” – half-elf.
The first marshal had messages sent to the griffon cavalries stationed in Sundabar and Everlund instructing their commanders to dispatch one of their units to the Sweetbones Tower. Their units would use magic to instantly travel to the tower. I helped him saddle his griffon. Then he moved out with one of the Silverymoon units through the portal in the aviary that led to the tower.
That done I went to the first marshal’s office to finish paperwork from the day before and to await news of the battle.
I turned back to the desk – from putting signed papers away and rolling up maps – and saw a folded piece of parchment that had not been there before. I opened it and read it.
“Tradelord Traehyr has betrayed the first marshal to the invading force,” it read. “He has informed them that Sir Deathrage is planning to ambush them at the Sweetbones tower. Traehyr has added the strength of his pteranodons and his stockpiled scrolls of protection to their force.” It was block lettering. The parchment was of a common type that may be acquired anywhere in the city.
I opened a drawer and got out a silver coin. It’s a magic one that he keeps. Once a day it can be used to determine if something is a lie or not – heads for the truth, tails for a lie. I flipped the coin and asked it if the note was the truth.
It landed heads-up. The note was the truth.
I looked out the window at the water clock across the street. Sir Deathrage and the other griffon riders would be engaging the enemy – and now the pteranodons as well – any moment. There was not even time to go and warn the High Lady in person.
I had to go to the tower – there was no other way to contact Sir Deathrage and the griffon riders to tell them they were moving into a trap.
I ran to the aviary as fast as I could. All the griffon riders were out – and heading to an ambush. I looked at the portal setting. Every even use of it sends someone into the Sweetbones Tower. Every odd use of it sends someone a mile east – directly over the Silverymoon pass and a mile up. The last use of the portal had sent people to the tower. This meant the next use would send someone in the sky.
The only available griffon was a green-broke young stallion named Widow-Maker. He looked back at me through the bars and made a defiant chittering noise.
I grabbed a bridle. As I looked for a saddle I thought to myself – I had seen the griffon riders do this hundreds of times. Then I realized there were no saddles in sight and remembered Sir Deathrage complaining about there not being any to spare.
I yanked open the head-panel in the door to Widow-Maker’s stall. I grabbed what was left of a horse’s leg out of a bucket and waved it in front of the open panel. Window-Maker sniffed at the meat. He then stuck his head through the opening to get at it. I snapped the bar down that held his head in place. He began to thrash and bellow. It took a lot of work to get the bridle on but I managed. He opened the back of my hand from my knuckles to my wrist with one jerk of his beak.
That done I ran down and triggered the portal – the next living thing to touch it would be teleported.
I opened the stall door and moved in next to the griffon. As I approached Widow-Maker I began to appreciate why griffon riders normally did this in leathers and with a well broke griffon. He nearly gutted me with several near-miss kicks.
I made a flying leap because I did not have time to worry about it too much. I missed landing squarely. I did get him from the side. With Widow-Maker bucking and snorting the entire time I managed to grab hold of his feathery mane and leveraged myself up. I squeezed tight as I could with my heels and then worked a magic to animate a rope that I used to tie myself to Widow-Maker. With one hand I held the reins. With the other I reached over and undid the bar holding his head in place.
Like of bolt of lighting he reared up. I lunged forwards – face first into his feathery mane – to keep from being brained on one of the over-head beams. His wings smacking the sides of the stall door he lunged out into the hall.
I tightened my grip on the bridle and gave him a slight kick. He started galloping forwards. He slammed his shoulder into a wall and I felt something in my ankle give. I kept holding on to the reins tightly. He gave a great roar as he reared back to try to slam me into the wall again.
With all my might I yanked on the reins. This snatched his head around and jerked him off balance. We more or less fell into the portal and were teleported away from the warm aviary...
Several weeks ago I submitted a short story to Dragon Magazine. This week I received a personal letter from Stacie Fiorito, an assistant editor. Dragon Magazine has decided to no longer accept unsolicited short stories. This is disappointing. However, I understand their position – they have a small staff, not much time and a lot of submitted short stories. The fact that the magazines are being sold likely also plays a part in this decision. I am also grateful to Fiorito for taking the time to write a personal letter.
Be that as it may, I spent some time on this story. While it is by no-means a great story I am proud of it. So I am posting it here rather than simply forgetting about it.
You are – of course – under no compunctions to read this story. If you do and you have any comments, please send them to me personally at grumpycelt@hotmail.com.
Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
Robert Sullivan
***
Shadows at Sweetbones Tower
Word Count: 5,813
By Robert Sullivan
* * *
High Speaker Alustriel of the Silver Marches sat on the Crystal Throne. Sunlight streamed down on her and scattered rainbows through her throne. Naturally, she looked radiant.
The resident page announced the presence of Sir Mourner Deathrage, First Marshal of the Sky Defenses of the Silver Marches. (I – Cyrus – am his humble adjunct.)
“To what do I owe this meeting, Sir Deathrage?” the Speaker asked. Her tone was flirting. The first marshal is one of the few men not to fawn all over the High Speaker. I think she likes the novelty of his non-sycophantic behavior.
“I am afraid that I am the bearer of bad news,” Sir Deathrage said. “I have just received a report from scouts out of Citadel Adbar who have sighted a company of flying shadowy forms coming out of the Great Desert. They are skirting south around the Rauvin Mountains and headed east.”
“Towards Sundabar?” she asked.
“Yes, that is what it looks like now.” He said.
“What do you think is going on?” she asked.
“Too much speculation right now would be a mistake. We do not have enough information. However, I would say they are party of shadar mages out of their floating city come to attack and raid us. I am going to have my people look into the matter more closely. Once I know more, I will arrange to fly and out meet them, stop them and defeat them.”
Her eyebrows went up slightly at the sound of the resolve in his voice. “So, you're certain of their hostile intent.”
“After recent events in Cormyr, yes, I am.”
“Alright then. I leave you to handle the situation. You know what you’re doing,” she said. “Just keep me in the loop on what’s happening.”
Sir Deathrage nodded. The High Speaker asked the first marshal if I could replace the page before she dismissed him. This struck me as an odd request. He told me once before that the High Speaker is capricious. It appeared he spoke the truth.
First Marshal Deathrage agreed and departed. I announced visitors to the High Speaker’s court and ran messages around the palace for the next hour. This was not my usual job.
Halfway through the morning one of the petitioners asked the High Speaker to change the laws that regulated what was legal with a corpse. He wanted it permissible to exhume anyone who was not a noble and to have his (or her) spirit interrogated or even bound. This spirit would then serve the nobility. She flatly – but politely – turned him down.
Things took an interesting turn towards the end of the morning. I suspect the High Speaker knew the next visitor was going to make an appearance and that is why she wanted to keep me around.
“High Speaker Alustriel,” I was getting better at not stammering her name. She is intimidating even when she is just sitting there, “Tradelord Sot Traehyr is here to see you. He wishes to complain...”
“Surprise, surprise,” she muttered.
“He wishes to surprise, uh,” her interruption had thrown me. “He wishes to lodge a formal complaint about how First Marshal Deathrage turned down his proposal to eliminate the griffon cavalry and use indentured pteranodons servants. Your majesty he is out in the waiting chamber.”
“Alright, show him in – and don’t call me ‘your majesty’ again.”
I went to fetch Traehyr. He avoided looking me in the eye and made an impatient noise in his throat when I announced his presence in the Court.
“Adjunct Cyrus,” Alustriel said, indicating me, “tells me you wished to lodge a formal complaint. Is this true and if so what can I do about the situation?”
“Yes, as a mater of fact it is,” Traehyr adjusted his rumpled cream-colored tunic. “Mourner flatly turned down my bid to provide defense for the Silver Marches.”
“Yes, I know.” Alustriel said. “The first marshal filed a report with the lords’ council.” Alustrial referred to Sir Deathrage by his proper title. She is not normally one to stand on formalities. However, the first marshal prefers a moderate degree of formality. I think she respects his abilities enough to tolerate what she sees as his minor eccentricities. Besides, Traehyr’s constant use of Sir Deathrage’s given name was out of contempt and not a sign of a personal relationship between the men.
“So, you and the council know what Mourner did.” The tradelord attempted to sound smug.
“Yes, we do. His decision did not ruffle any feathers with the council,” she said. “If the issue is raised again, the council would probably side with the first marshal again.”
Traehyr’s mouth twisted bitterly to one side. “So your council is not concerned with the defense of the Silver Marches.” His statement was nearly a snarl.
“On the contrary,” she said, “a foremost concern of the council – and myself – is the defense of our nation.” She was as smooth and unflappable as ever. The merchant was not able to provoke her. “The first marshal’s decision was judged as sound.”
“The ‘first marshal,’ what’s that title supposed to mean?” Traehyr asked. He was defeated but did not have the grace to admit it. He looked to cast aspersions on the character of Sir Deathrage.
“It means that he commands the aerial defenses of the Silver Marches,” Alustriel said with an infinite patience in her tone. I have seen her use it to deflate the angry and the huffy. “In military terms it is more or less equivalent to the title of admiral or general. Second marshal is more or less the same as captain or colonel and so on.”
“Was this Mourner’s idea?” Traehyr asked. He was trying to be rude as he could. This was not much. He also seemed to find Alustriel intimidating.
“Yes. Sir Deathrage felt it that the aerial defenses should be given their own identity, distinct from that of the existing army. He said it would help morale.”
“He should do what he’s told,” the merchant grumbled.
“He does. He is fully accountable to the lords’ council,” she said. She had stressed the sentence in just such a subtle way as to make it clear where the first marshal’s loyalties lay. Where they did not lay was with a self-important merchant.
The merchant – not waiting for dismissal – turned and stomped towards the doors. Several of the High Speaker’s adjuncts frowned at the merchant’s rudeness and violation of etiquette. A guard even moved to intercept Traehyr, but Alustriel waved her away. Slamming the door behind him the pompous merchant exited the room.
Alustriel laughed softly to herself. Sir Deathrage has told me that the High Speaker’s (extremely) long life has produced a woman who finds displays of temper more amusing than insulting. He also said that she is a savvy enough politician to keep the laughter to herself.
Alustriel announced it was time for lunch and dismissed the members of her court. She invited me to lunch. I make it a habit to never pass up a free meal. We ate on a wide balcony over looking the city. She had only opened the barely wine when her sister Storm joined us.
The younger sister (they are both over six hundred years old, so ‘younger’ is relative term) sat. Storm peppered me with questions about what it is like to work with Sir Deathrage. She called him by his first name. She had more respect for the name than did Traehyr.
A page announced Sir Deathrage as the first marshal strode onto the balcony.
“I have gotten confirmation on the shadar group. Unfortunately, the situation has not improved. The group has circled north around Sundabar. They picked up perytons while they were in the Nether Mountains along the way. The party seems intent on heading to the pass.”
Alustriel absorbed this information. Then Storm asked, “What do you think the shades are going to do?” She watched him closely.
“When it appeared they were headed for Sundabar I thought they were just going to launch a raid. Just to shake up our moral and to test our defenses. Now that they are headed for Silverymoon pass I would say the shadar are actually going to try and take over or destroy Sweetbones Tower.” He pointedly ignored her correction of their name.
Sweetbones Tower guards the eastern entrance to the Silverymoon pass. The tower’s name comes from that of a legendary old orc shaman who lived in it for years. It is very old – probably Netherise – and built on a single great plinth of rock.
Storm looked at her sister and said, “If they destroy it, you will have a fiendish time keeping the orcs and monsters off your backs whenever you try to use the pass. If the shades take the tower, then they might as well own the pass.”
The first marshal nodded. “The shadar are likely just going to try to knock it off the mountain. Their force is not strong enough to hold it. I do not think their city will support them logistically. At least not yet.” They were sparring (mostly playfully) over the name.
Alustriel nodded. “Thank’s for keeping me appraised. I’ll tell the council. We’re going to plain the agenda for our next public meeting this afternoon anyway. What are you going to do?”
“They do not appear to be aware that we are on to them – they have been staying in the clouds the entire time and are relying heavily on anti-divination magic. I am going to pull up griffons units out of Sundabar and Silverymoon and a unit out of Everlund. I will wait until their force is with-in range of the tower's weapons and then use the griffons units to flank them. That should surprise them and pinch them between the towers weapons and the griffon cavalry. I do not believe we will require the use of the field.”
She nodded.
“I need my assistant back,” he said. There was a slight smile on his face.
She sighed playfully. “Oh, alright. You can have him back.”
As we were leaving, I heard Storm say, “Damn, but he’s macho.”
“You’re doing much better when he’s around,” Alustriel said. “You didn’t drool on yourself this time.”
Then I heard what sounded like someone kicking someone else under a table and the High Speaker say “ow.”
We were about to exit the palace when Traehyr rounded the corner. He had nearly plowed into us. He skidded to a stop on his heels at the sight of the first marshal.
Traehyr quickly gathered his wits and charged forwards with what he had to say.
“My people tell me that a group shadow things is heading towards Silverymoon.”
Sir Deathrage looked at Traehyr hard. The corners of his mouth twitched up slightly in a predatory smile. “I had no idea you worked with people so well informed, Tradelord Traehyr. My complements.”
“I came to tell you, Mourner, for the last time, you have to let my pteranodons defend the city,” Traehyr said. “That is what I brought them here to do. They are stronger, faster and deadlier than anyone working for the griffon cavalry.”
“And I am telling you, Tradelord Traehyr, for the last time, that your pteranodons have no place in the aerial defenses of the Silver Marches. They are violent to the point of being unreliable. You are keeping them in what amounts to slavery and I will not give even tactic approval to slavery,” Sir Deathrage growled.
He was (I believe) tired of having to tell he man “no.” Moving away from the first marshal’s intense reaction the merchant took several steps backwards.
“I will not waste my time and energy with them when it is far better spent working with the men and women who have signed up of their own accord. I will not insult the loyalty and integrity of those men and women by chasing down this sad scheme of yours for pteranodon super-soldiers.” The first marshal stalked forwards like a hunting cat. Traehyr kept backing-up until he hit the wall. Sir Deathrage moved forwards until he was practically in the merchants face. “There is no such thing as a super solider. Not in the way you think of them at any rate. Those women and men who work, bled, kill and die are the best defense for the Silver Marches. Not some chained-up, drugged-up – yes, I know about the thrallwine you have been feeding them – reptilian savages that can fly.
“You can protest to the council again. However, it will not do you any good. You are just going to have to find some other way of recouping your losses. I am not buying. And do not call me by my given name. You do not have the right.”
The first marshal then turned on his heels and marched down the hallway. I followed. I heard Traehyr say “pyrite elf” as I went through the doors. Sir Deathrage is a sun – what some call a “gold” – half-elf.
The first marshal had messages sent to the griffon cavalries stationed in Sundabar and Everlund instructing their commanders to dispatch one of their units to the Sweetbones Tower. Their units would use magic to instantly travel to the tower. I helped him saddle his griffon. Then he moved out with one of the Silverymoon units through the portal in the aviary that led to the tower.
That done I went to the first marshal’s office to finish paperwork from the day before and to await news of the battle.
I turned back to the desk – from putting signed papers away and rolling up maps – and saw a folded piece of parchment that had not been there before. I opened it and read it.
“Tradelord Traehyr has betrayed the first marshal to the invading force,” it read. “He has informed them that Sir Deathrage is planning to ambush them at the Sweetbones tower. Traehyr has added the strength of his pteranodons and his stockpiled scrolls of protection to their force.” It was block lettering. The parchment was of a common type that may be acquired anywhere in the city.
I opened a drawer and got out a silver coin. It’s a magic one that he keeps. Once a day it can be used to determine if something is a lie or not – heads for the truth, tails for a lie. I flipped the coin and asked it if the note was the truth.
It landed heads-up. The note was the truth.
I looked out the window at the water clock across the street. Sir Deathrage and the other griffon riders would be engaging the enemy – and now the pteranodons as well – any moment. There was not even time to go and warn the High Lady in person.
I had to go to the tower – there was no other way to contact Sir Deathrage and the griffon riders to tell them they were moving into a trap.
I ran to the aviary as fast as I could. All the griffon riders were out – and heading to an ambush. I looked at the portal setting. Every even use of it sends someone into the Sweetbones Tower. Every odd use of it sends someone a mile east – directly over the Silverymoon pass and a mile up. The last use of the portal had sent people to the tower. This meant the next use would send someone in the sky.
The only available griffon was a green-broke young stallion named Widow-Maker. He looked back at me through the bars and made a defiant chittering noise.
I grabbed a bridle. As I looked for a saddle I thought to myself – I had seen the griffon riders do this hundreds of times. Then I realized there were no saddles in sight and remembered Sir Deathrage complaining about there not being any to spare.
I yanked open the head-panel in the door to Widow-Maker’s stall. I grabbed what was left of a horse’s leg out of a bucket and waved it in front of the open panel. Window-Maker sniffed at the meat. He then stuck his head through the opening to get at it. I snapped the bar down that held his head in place. He began to thrash and bellow. It took a lot of work to get the bridle on but I managed. He opened the back of my hand from my knuckles to my wrist with one jerk of his beak.
That done I ran down and triggered the portal – the next living thing to touch it would be teleported.
I opened the stall door and moved in next to the griffon. As I approached Widow-Maker I began to appreciate why griffon riders normally did this in leathers and with a well broke griffon. He nearly gutted me with several near-miss kicks.
I made a flying leap because I did not have time to worry about it too much. I missed landing squarely. I did get him from the side. With Widow-Maker bucking and snorting the entire time I managed to grab hold of his feathery mane and leveraged myself up. I squeezed tight as I could with my heels and then worked a magic to animate a rope that I used to tie myself to Widow-Maker. With one hand I held the reins. With the other I reached over and undid the bar holding his head in place.
Like of bolt of lighting he reared up. I lunged forwards – face first into his feathery mane – to keep from being brained on one of the over-head beams. His wings smacking the sides of the stall door he lunged out into the hall.
I tightened my grip on the bridle and gave him a slight kick. He started galloping forwards. He slammed his shoulder into a wall and I felt something in my ankle give. I kept holding on to the reins tightly. He gave a great roar as he reared back to try to slam me into the wall again.
With all my might I yanked on the reins. This snatched his head around and jerked him off balance. We more or less fell into the portal and were teleported away from the warm aviary...
