The twelfth of April dawned clear.

Sunlight glinted on the needles of Thiranu's pine trees, and cascaded through empty boughs of birch, oak, aspen, and maple. Under its heat the snow-drifts of winter thinned into the air, the vapor forming trailing white shrouds amid the quiet trees of the forest. As the light hit them, they glittered like the breath of dragons and unraveled slowly into weak, wisping strands that dissipated with silent sighs.

The houses of Ceristen stirred. Morning meals warmed over the fire; men fed their animals and walked the fields, gauging the days until the planting could begin. Around the village, news circulated that the yearly horse sale was on the move northward: it would arrive at Thiranu in less than a se'ennight.

Winds sailed over the little mountain, coming down cool and fresh from the high Elerien peaks to gently stir the lowlands that flanked the West-Gate road. In glades and valleys the first crocuses of spring pushed their pale leaves through the drying ground, and clinging vines showed sparks of green on bare grey trees.

But the quiet serenity of the morning was lost on the young man galloping grimly through the streets of Orden City. Sun-seared and disheveled, he pulled his horse up at the east end of the capital and looked up at the dark, gleaming pinnacle overshadowing the outer wall: Mitheren, Tower of Kings. A silent symbol of bygone austerity, a steadfast vigil pointed eastwards to the old threats. Its imposing make seemed to touch the rider for a moment even in his haste, and he stalled, the reins loose in one hand and his dark eyes wide. Then he swung off his mount, led it over to a nearby tree where he tied it securely, and exchanged some low, hurried words with the guard at the door. At their nod, he rushed within. He had a message for the king; he would not wait.

~*~

...that eight hundreds of the army should depart at the king's discretion to accompany and protect the embassy to Arahad. Also that with them should go Captain Keyes and the lords of Calen and Halingir, and many gifts besides, and it is hoped by this to renew the alliance, which has been uneasy these two generations past. All these proposals were approved and carried, and the embassy is to depart the fifth of April. (Further note appended at the request of the General Derek Winston: the embassy departed as designed.)

Lord Darethin protested sending so great a force into another country's territory, calling it "questionable policy". He was overruled by Captain Rhodes, Captain Keyes, and the representative from Grinaz Hall on the grounds that Arahad values display and opulence, and regards small embassies, especially from greater countries, as a disrespect and a potential threat; and that furthermore, they shall be passing through the territory of the barbarians. Lord Darethin requested his displeasure noted.

The next assembly was set for the fourteenth of April.

The council was dispersed.

Chronicle of the second council meeting in the season of Luenna, on the thirtieth day of March, by the hand of Culhas the secretary, complete.

Further note appended at the request of the General Derek Winston: That the state of the army is growing rapidly poor, due to the manifold skirmishes on the north border with Wild Men of late. Though at present we are surrounded by allies, it may nonetheless become a danger. Let not the time of peace be used as an excuse to lie in sloth. We must see to the strengthening of our defense, whether by a conscription or—

"My General?"

"Aye," the General answered, lifting his head from the papers he was reviewing. "Captain Rhodes?"

"My General." Captain Rhodes entered and bent his head in a swift bow. There was a darkness in his eyes like doubt or concern. "Below there is a man who has ridden here in great haste. He bears an urgent message, he says, for the king's ears."

"The king has ridden south to Lake Dracaman."

Captain Rhodes swept his hand dismissively. "So I told him. He says he will speak to you."

The General nodded. "Send him in."

Captain Rhodes returned shortly, a young man behind him of perhaps twenty-five. The stranger's bearing was wary, one leather-clad hand curled in a half-gesture as though reaching for the security of his sword. He met the General's eyes with a dark and fiercely determined gaze, and directed a swift glance at Captain Rhodes. "He can be trusted?" he asked, his voice rough and low.

The General held those piercing eyes searchingly. "I would trust him with my life," he answered. "But what do you bring, that it must be so secret?"

The man sent another quick glance around the room. "I bring tidings," he said, dropping his head in a courtesy to the General; "tidings of war."

Captain Rhodes drew in breath sharply; but the General looked at the young man intently with narrowed eyes. "What do you mean?" he said. "War where, and with whom? Explain this to me."

The man hesitated, uncertain as it were how to speak. "I am Grant Eagle, of Runnicor formerly, a wanderer by trade," he began at last. "Four months since, I was traveling through the Grey Lands to the north of Harotha and near the sea, and I came upon a place where there were many men encamped — I could not say how many, for they were interspersed among the trees and valleys, but it was a great host. Because I wondered at such a sight, I slipped among their tents. And the gist of the conversations I overheard between their leader and his lieutenants, my lord, is this: Runnicor in her envy of Orden has laid a plot for her utter and irretrievable overthrow.

"For years they have laid their plans, my lord. They have spared no expense of caution or mercilessness. I was nearly slain by their scouts; if my Runnicoran tongue had not spared me, I doubt any would have warned you before the crisis came. Even their march they plan to chart north of Edivernel and across the Great Waste, so as to avoid all eyes on their approach. And their spies are ever coming and going with word of Orden's military affairs — how many they employ I know not, but some of them correspond with informants in very high positions of state. For this reason, my lord, I was compelled to ask the loyalty of your captain."

He paused and looked pleadingly at the silent face of the General. "You believe me — do you not? I cannot have ridden across Legea to be disregarded. I beg you, my lord, heed me. They were already making sure to depart when I headed east; they cannot be more than ten days from your borders by now. Orden is on the brink of destruction."

The General stood quietly to his feet and held the man's eyes with his own. "There is no lie in your face," he said. And with a movement of swift passion he struck the table with his hand, sending the records fluttering down like a flock of frighted birds.

"My General," said Captain Rhodes softly, his voice trembling like a man touched with sickness. "What are we now to do?"

"What indeed?" murmured the General. He turned to Grant. "No word came to us before, and none surely would have come but for you. Though ten days of preparation be but little, it is more than none. And you surely risked your life to so warn us. What of their spies? Is there any that you have recognized or might recognize among this court?"

Grant shook his head. "Among their own men they are bidden to walk masked or otherwise concealed. There might be some that I could know again by their voices or walk, but it is hard to be certain. Nonetheless I will serve you how I may in that regard."

The General took a pace forward and laid his hand upon the young man's shoulder. "Know that you have my thanks," he said. "You say that you came from Runnicor, and yet you chose to warn us against an army of the same. That is not something done lightly."

Grant looked down in answer. "I was born in Runnicor," he said, "but I have not lived there for near twenty years. I have no country. When I met my father after a time of long separation, he had departed that land himself and was traveling north to Orden, for a life he thought might be better than the one he knew. But I spoke harsh words to him, for he would have called himself my father again, and I wanted to be alone; I did not want to be his son. I left him in anger.

"He never reached Orden. He died on the border of Rodron and I found him and buried him. It is for my father's sake that I came."

The General looked at the young, rugged face, still harsh with a grief that was not yet old. "Mari," he said gently, using the old tongue for son, "you have done well."

He turned to Captain Rhodes. "Send out a dragon to overtake the king. He must return at once. And make preparations to send another after those who went south towards Arahad — we must call off that costly embassy at once, and pray that they return in time. I need not tell you to use care in the men you select."

Captain Rhodes nodded and wheeled to the door.

"Captain Rhodes. Tell this news to no more than you must. If they can play at stealth, then so can we. They may find us more ready than they expected; and what little advantage we have we must use to the fullest."

He sat down and began to write quickly. "Send Captain Murray to me," he directed Captain Rhodes, and motioned him from the room. "And you, Grant, I will lodge you in Mitheren this night if you have no place as yet to go. Tomorrow I may have a thing to ask of you, if you are willing to undertake it."

"I will undertake whatever you ask, my lord," answered Grant.

The General gave him a smile of thanks.

But when Grant was gone, his pen faltered and slipped from his fingers. He dropped his arms onto the table, and his head sank down on them. Orden, a country proud and beautiful, suddenly cracked within and beset without. His people's confidence in him misplaced — their trust betrayed... a cruel darkness coming upon them, and nothing he could do to stop it.

~*~

The dragon banked steeply in the evening sky, wheeling about as it dove towards the small party which was preparing to set their camp for the night. The rider dismounted on the instant his mount settled and headed for the stoop-shouldered figure in the lead.

"My king, King Conrad!"

The king turned his long, worried face towards the comer; always solemn, it appeared pale and sad in the gathering gloom. "What is it?"

The man gave him a folded parchment. "From the General, my lord king."

A torch was lit and shone upon the letter as the king read it. The color left his face, and he looked at the messenger, whose somber countenance confirmed the letter's words.

He slipped the papers into his tunic with shaking hand. "Tomorrow we turn about. We are needed in Mitheren."

~*~

"Grant Eagle."

Grant bowed his head and shut the door. The General was evidently waiting for him; a sealed scroll rested in front of him on the table where the sea of papers had been the day before, ring and dark-hued wax beside it. The seated man's face was grave and composed as yesterday; but a deep sorrow throbbed beneath his eyes. Meeting those dark eyes, an impulse unbidden stirred in Grant — never had he owed a man fealty, but for an instant he felt that this man might ask him to enter the Cleft of Lynnel and he would gladly do it.

The sensation, unfamiliar to him, ebbed an instant later yet did not wholly fade. Such a man must Thireler the Conqueror have been, Grant thought, a man who could command with a word, a look—

"Yestereve the council met," the General said, rising. "Our situation appears desperate indeed. We have sent a rider to Fearnland in the north, who is our strong ally, but that will take a month or more to reach the king, and twice that time for him to muster his men and return to us. Whether we will even be able to hold out so long I do not know. But we have a nearer place to look for aid: our sister country, Dirion. She has never yet failed us, nor is the king Ahearn a man to withdraw from others in time of need. He will undoubtedly help in whatever way he can."

"You wish me to go to him?"

"If you are willing. You have done much already; naught compels you to do more."

"I am willing," said Grant simply, but at the compassion in the quiet face he quailed again and burned with that foreign zeal. Too great was the love in this man's eyes, too staggering in its measure, given too freely to one he scarcely knew. Grant could not meet that gaze.

"My lord," he said, his heart aching to burst out and express itself in broken words, "my General — I would serve you in any way you bid."

The General nodded. "So be it." He picked up the scroll from the table and handed it to Grant. "If he doubts you, give him this, but speak first; these matters are more urgent when heard from a man's own lips. How soon can you depart?"

"At once, my lord. I have no need to stay."

"That is well. And now, is there anything more you desire to say before you go?"

"Only a warning which I forgot to relay to you yesterday. In your caution, my lord, take care not only for disloyal men within your circles, but also watch for birds."

The General glanced to him, eyes narrowed in that intent, questioning way.

"The Runnicoran general employs the eraris, the soulless and masterless ones that bear the form of crows. They often bear messages, but they can also overhear words spoken between men who think nothing of a bird perched on the limb above their heads."

The General nodded, his brow clearing in comprehension, though his eyes grew heavier. "I have heard of the eraris-kind."

"In either case, it is better to intercept or slay one if you suspect its nature."

"We will surely take heed. Again, Grant Eagle, on behalf of the king and this land, I thank you." He came forward, gripping Grant by the shoulder. "Now, go with speed. Ride to Ederan. Ahearn must be reached."

Words never came easily from Grant's lips, and though he longed to prove himself with them they did not now. There was nothing he could say to give utterance to his new-found servitude. Instead he knelt and departed, his quick pace turning to a run through the dark stone halls, a commission branded behind his eyes.

Dirion — Ahearn — he must be reached... he is not a man to withdraw from others... he must be reached... he must be reached...

He saddled his mare with fumbling haste and leaped onto her back, trotting across the courtyard, urging her into a gallop as they left Mitheren behind.

He must be reached.

***

mari: Thiredanian (Old Ordenian) — "son"

Thoughts welcome! Any predictions? What do you think of Grant?