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 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.

Farsinger dropped lightly onto the waist-high stone wall, almost landing on Ritter's hand. The wall overlooked a stream valley and the town's water spring. Beyond was the edge of the Dream Wood, the source of many troubles these days. "I have news," she said to the man as she cocked her head sideways. "I have ears," Ritter said. He knew that Farsinger's notion of "news" was usually about some shiny thing she had spotted in the town market. "I saw five brigands just now. They had a Biata with them. It was all tied up like a goose on Yule Day." Ritter was astounded. This was the most lucid, succinct report he had ever gotten from his friend. He waited for her to revert to normal and start describing the colors of the autumn leaves or some other useless minutiae. She hopped along the wall and turned away from him. "They are over there." Her beak wagged toward the Dream Wood. "They have built a small cabin. The B

  Farsinger hopped off his shoulder and walked among the forest floor's shadows. "The trees are whispering," she growled in Ravenspeech. The bard gripped his little wood chopper as if it could offer any protection from the horrors known so well by the village grannies. He had grown up with their stories of pixies that stole your memories and fairies that enticed and enchanted the unwary. "They say the forest has grown darker," Farsinger said. "They don't like it." "My Nan said to sit quietly at sunset of the full moon to see the fairy people. If you were worthy, they might grant a wish." Farsinger croaked in laughter. "The Folk are already watching you. The trees have already announced our visit." The bard sat still anyway, still gripping his hatchet. Maybe the fairies would visit him. "Your Nan was not wrong," Farsinger said. "But the Folk will not give you a boon without something in return." "L

  "Follow Farsinger," the small Yunni shaman said, her bracelets jingling as she ladeled more stew into her guest's bowl. The raven heard her name and stirred from her nap on the pronounced bosom of a carved fertility totem. Farsinger looked at the guest, a human healer from the White River village, and cooed in Ravenspeech, "Yes, I know the way, friend Don-lee-sar." The healer nodded thanks to the large black bird. Then he turned to the Yunni. "You have seen the artifact yourself?" "I have," she replied. "They have no idea how important it is." Two weeks later, Farsinger landed on a thatched roof and squawked, "We are here." The healer waved greetings to a few dirty children who ran into a nearby cottage. He waited just a moment, and a woman came outside, wiping her hands on her apron. "Hello," he said with a friendly bow. The lady nodded without a reply. "My name is Donlisar. I am a healer traveli

  Farsinger was unusually insistent. "I saw it glowing. It's magicked, I tell ya." She hopped on Ulrich's shoulder and pecked him gently on the neck. "Pick it up. It may be lucky." "Or it may turn me into a worm," Ulrich growled, his pagan sensibilities and his Oma's old stories had him on alert. "Then I'll have a nice breakfast," Farsinger cawed, laughing. "Or it may bring some luck. Pick it up." "It's just a stick," Ulrich said with a dismissive wave. "I think you're scared," Farsinger said with a raven growl of derision. And that sealed it. Ulrich picked up the stick. Except it wasn't a stick. /// Copyright

  "Ahhhh!" Farsinger squawked and leapt off Ulrich's shoulder. "Fek, fek, fek," she cursed in Raven Speech as she winged through the trees in terror. It was equivalent to Ulrich's most violent swear word, "Fook." "Gods be damned, stupid bird," Ulrich cried, trying to drop the glowing magic "stick" that Farsinger had said "might bring good luck." But his hand was locked on the vibrating wand, and no amount of shaking would release it. Then a hideous, distorted face appeared in the sickly cloud swirling around the tip and said, "Hullo, there. Got any raw meat you don't need?" /// Copyright