The falconet

Malav had loathed the staff. Yet in the hours since its return, he hadn’t let it out of his hands. He saw now had been too hasty to judge its worth, and he listened to the soft whisper far more intently than he had ever listened to any priest. And to his pleasant surprise, he found that when he placed his hands just where she had, he could hear the songs she had sung as if she sang them standing next to him.

Her voice wasn’t the most beautiful he had ever heard, but her songs were stirring. And as he listened again and again, he wanted to hear more. He knew she had sung to the Light Bringer, that she had beaten and robbed the Light Bringer. His wife was not helpless. Malav enjoyed that thought.

What he required was information. The Light Bringer would likely catch her first, but if he knew where, he could take her back. With or without bloodshed. There would be rivers of blood and an army of the damned if they forced his hand. He would see to it.

Malav had the master of his servants summoned. The man was grey, but not bent. He was slim and solemn, and useful beyond measure.

“Cerik, I require information.” The older man watched the Prince’s hands moving over the staff. “I need to know where my wife is going, and anything at all about her that they have told the Light Bringer.”

“I had assumed as much, my Prince.” Cerik bowed his head, he had anticipated that Malav would want to hunt her down and had made his inquiries already. That the Prince referred to her as his wife was a surprise but he kept it from his face. “It is believed she heads toward the Oryr Road, a message was dispatched to Lallareth Heights to have her intercepted. Beyond that, no one knows much of her. She is of poor provenance, a thief, but she has been blessed more greatly than any in hundred years or more. The Keam would have her returned, and the Light Bringer intends to do so, once she has delivered her dire message to the Holy Father.” He paused and looked at the hands gripping the staff and the Prince’s covered face, “The Light Bringer called her a falconet that had been blessed with song.”

Malav’s mind flew to the tale of Eldoln and Charyic. The pale Prince of Alaimel in the south of the Minasmer Mountains who had trained a falconet and been mocked, until the bird proved its worth in test after test, and died from exhaustion. The bird’s name had been Charyic. He murmured the name, “Charyic.” And felt the staff warm in his hands. He could feel her. She was tired and sore, and afraid to be caught. She was pushing her horse harder than she should and would be nearing the open Oryr Road before midday the next day. The feeling faded.

He looked at Cerik and nodded approvingly. “Thank you. As always you exceed my expectations.” Malav stood and began issuing orders. They would not reach her before she was intercepted, but they would go through Gaelel on the way to Isemalrocath. They wouldn’t dare take her through the wilderness, they would keep her on safe roads.

They would be met at Gaelel. When it had been returned to his hands the staff whispered that the cost of her was war. Malav had already chosen.