Land of Salvania

  Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Ritter almost jumped out of his skin as the long dagger clattered to the floor. "We're here," Farsinger croaked, landing on Ritter's chest and gripping his nose with her beak to rouse him. "I brought help, too." Ritter, heart pounding, sat up from the tower's cold stone floor. His muscles ached, and his head was fuzzy from days of fitful sleep and gnawing uncertainty. He blinked crusty eyes; a recessed window sent a single shaft of vivid light across the empty room. His raven friend hopped to his shoulder then his hand, nipping at his dirty clothes, her excitement palpable. "His name is Pavia." She nodded toward the large vulture standing nervously in the shadows. "He was strong enough to lift the dagger all by himself." Ritter smiled at the vulture. "Impressive, Pavia. Thank you." Pavia nodded and said nothing. Ritter heard the echo of boots on the spiral stairs leading up to his

  Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Wellorg felt Droth's spirit before she ever smelled him. He felt like a lonely wolf call in the night, full of sadness and purpose. He felt like the consort she never had, so unlike the dozens of other man-kin she had been knighted to over the swirl of centuries. She stirred in her rocky nest, opening one red eye to watch the steep pathway up her mountain. Maybe she would fly down to meet him, snatch him up in gentle talons and feel his tiny spirit flame up with bright fear and excitement. No, that would not do. She would not come running to him after this long apart. Still, her black heart beat just a little faster when she saw Droth walking up the path. He waved and she snorted, sending a fine mist of acid to sizzle the nearby moss. "My lady," Droth said with a short bow. "You are lovely, as usual." "I greet you, Sir Droth." There. That would set the tone. Cold and distant until he had groveled sufficiently. He

  Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 The Jirrah named Ritter was a tough one to read. He seemed to be both truthful and deceptive at the same time. "I tell you," Morgan said. "I'm sure he is lying about this." He held out the golden dragon scale. The flickering lamp on his table reflected in a dozen directions off the angles and facets. "Looks real to me," Evie purred as she regarded him with the utter disdain mastered by all cats. She was resting on a pile of wrinkled vellum covered in some kind of meaningless scribble. "Only one way to know for sure." She was right. When it came to the unusual or arcane, she was always right. "I hate to ruin it." "Then don't. I don't care." Morgan went over it again. They had come back to the dragon keep after a botched raid, and here was this Ritter character standing in the middle of their courtyard like he owned the place. He had seemed friendly enough, asking for help from Morgan

  Part 1 Part 2 The company of twenty Jirrah warriors moved through the night-clad forest, their way lit by blazing stars and a few dim lamps scattered along the line of march. For being so heavily armed and armored, they moved with minimal noise across the dewy land, a mark of their expertise that never failed to impress Droth. They made a hasty camp with bedrolls, woolen cloaks, and sleeping furs. Talk was hushed and professional. Ritter, one of their own, was in trouble, and the mood was somber. Droth simply sat with his back against a tree and, wrapped in his cloak and hood against the early Spring chill, nibbled jerky and sipped water. The digestion would keep him warmer; it was an old woodsman trick. Well before sunrise, Droth tapped Briar, the company commander for this adventure. "I'm heading out earlier than we discussed. The more I think about it, the more I think I'll need extra time to convince her to help us." "Good luck. I'll see you ther

  Part 1 Farsinger was exhausted from flying all night, and the heavy fog near the outpost only added to her confusion and anxiety. When she finally found her landmarks in the mist, she winged through the village to Flint's cottage. He was the only one who knew Ravenspeech, and he could carry her urgent message to his flock. He wasn't there. "Fek, fek, fek," she burst out in dismay, using her mispronunciation of Ritter's favorite swearing word. "What shall I do?" "What ails you, sister blackbird?" The voice came from a nearby branch. It was Suncatcher! "Ah, sister bluebird, I must find your Flint. My errand is urgent. My Ritter is in trouble!" "Follow me." Suncatcher sped through the narrow lanes between cottages with Farsinger close behind. Soon, they emerged over farmland showing early spring growth. But Suncatcher kept going back into the misty forest. She landed near a fox. "Hello brother fox," Suncatch

  "I told you the map was worth it," Farsinger had declared as the hilltop castle had come into view. "It will only be worth it if we find the chest." Ritter and Farsinger explored outside the ruins for most of two days. Strangely, there was no village or ruins of a village in the area. Most castles had a town nearby for farmers and craftsmen to raise a family. Most disturbing of all, there seemed to be no way into the fortress. Farsinger had flown all around and through the ancient castle. "There are no gates for those on two legs or four. But I think you can work your way up an old stairway on the other side." "How did they resupply the fortress without gates for the wagons?" he wondered out loud. Ritter had spent most of another day huddled in a partly-roofed guard shack as cold spring rain lashed the hilltop, sending rivulets down from a hundred drainages. He ate pemmican and drank captured rainwater. He mended his armor and took a nap.