Falcon: If You Want to Know What Happens Next (And Possibly How it Ends)

I suppose I should be doing NaNoWriMo right now. 

But I don't feel like it.

So I suppose some of my audience is wondering what was supposed to happen next to Avrielle, the unfortunate heroine of "Falcon." Allow me to alleviate the suspense. I will pick up right where I left off.

One day, however, Avrielle's fortune changed. A young man she had not seen before came to the aviary.

“Who are you?” she asked the man.

“I am Robin, apprentice to the king's gamekeeper,” the man said. “The king believes you will make a good hunting falcon, and I am in charge of training you.”

“What? Train me like a common dog?” Avrielle gasped. “I never!” Robin reached into the cage to grab her, but she hopped out of his grasp like a bar of soap, and she bit and clawed his hand and fingers. However, she calmed down when Robin put a hood over her head. Then he removed it and fed her some meat.

“If you will calm down and behave yourself, I will feed you,” said Robin simply. Avrielle complied. Robin began to teach her how to be a hunting falcon, but he found that she barely knew how to hunt or to fly to begin with.

“Why are you so poorly coordinated?” Robin asked.

“I'm not really a falcon, I'm human. And I've only been cursed a few weeks,” Avrielle explained. Robin felt sorry for her. Robin decided he would try a different approach towards teaching her. He took her into the royal library to read books on falcons and falconry . He took her into the forest to train her with a lure and give her room to fly. While in the forest, they ran into some of the male falcons who had teased Avrielle.

“Don't be afraid of Robin,” she said when they tried to run away from her human companion. “He is a friend. He won't hurt you. He wants to show me what real falcons do.”

“A friend, eh? You claim to be human: are you sure he's just a friend?” Sidney sniggered.

“You want us to show you how to be a falcon?” said Farley, who was more sensitive than Sidney. “Why didn't you say so before?” Sidney and Farley gladly showed Avrielle how to be a proper falcon, to fly and to fish and to hunt, to spot a mouse shaking the grass in a field from a mile in the sky, to dive as straight as an arrow for the quail darting through the open meadow. 

Here I try to throw in some research I did on falconry

Avrielle became a superb huntress. Robin trained her to hunt with humans, and they became an efficient hunting team. Robin made sure to hood her and give her treats like he would give to a normal falcon. He asked the king to build her a special aviary called a mews with perches and ledges for her to hop on.

Robin also took Avrielle's curse seriously and treated her like a human. Robin motivated Avrielle to do her best, speaking kindly to her and stroking her feathers gently. When she was sad, he would comfort her. He told her she could be as happy as she made up her mind to be. And so Avrielle chose to be happy, and with her newfound skills and confidence it was an easy choice.

The king took Avrielle and Robin on his hunts, and she brought many ducks and wildfowl to grace his table. And just as the creatures of the forest had advised her, she made sure that the king hunted none of the animals that could talk. The king was very pleased with Robin's work with Avrielle, and he made him his Royal Falconer.

Back in her lair, Mandie the witch was bored, so one day she asked her magic mirror

Looking glass, O looking glass,

tell me what joy has come to pass.

The mirror showed Mandie Avrielle's success as a falcon huntress. Mandie was so angry that she spat at the image in the mirror and pulled her hair.

“Curses! Curses! If Avrielle becomes any happier she will break the spell!” said Mandie. She hopped on her broomstick and flew to the king's palace. She turned herself into a snake, and when the night came she slithered into the king's bedchamber. With a flickering forked tongue, Mandie whispered dark things in his ear. “Your majessssty, you must realizzze that Avrielle thinksss she is just a pet to you. She isss more loyal to her trainer, Robin, than to you. You must punisssh Robin for his treassson.”

Mandie slithered away, hissing in laughter. Then she changed back into herself and flew away.

When the king awoke, the witch's words went slithering through his head. He could not eat breakfast, he could not work. Surely what Mandie had said was not true? He hoped. He went hunting that afternoon, and though he tried not to look his gaze was drawn to Avrielle and Robin. It soon became clear that Avrielle was more loyal to Robin than to the king. She preferred his hands as a perch, she listened to Robin's commands more often, she was more likely to bring him a catch than take her prey straight to the king to bag. The king tried to spoil Avrielle, speaking to her softly and petting her and giving her extra treats, but Avrielle did not like being flattered by the king, and she bit his fingers instead. The king sent Robin to do extra chores and he spent some time with Avrielle while Robin was busy, but Avrielle refused to talk to him. He tried to set up special perches for her in his office and in the library, but she would fly off to some other spot to hide and the servants would spend all day trying to catch her.

One day, the king went hunting but made sure a different servant came along instead of Robin. Avrielle tried to fly away into the forest, but the king sent his hounds after her and his guard bagged her again. He locked her up in the mews without any food. Avrielle was heartbroken that the king was treating her this way, and she pined for Robin to come be with her. Late that night, Robin came to the mews to see her. Avrielle told him how the king was abusing her. Robin was angry with the king as well as sad for Avrielle.

“Let's run away to the forest where the king shall never hurt us,” said Robin. Avrielle agreed. Robin took Avrielle out of the mews and stole a horse from the palace stables, and they rode away into the forest an hour before dawn.

And that is all I feel safe telling you without giving away the ending. It does end happily, of course, and Mandie the witch ends up somewhat like this:

 

 Except there's a chicken coop involved (if you remember the chicken coop at the beginning).

Minor Villans Make My Day

From Chapter 13 of Northern Warriors. In the ruined Ravun castle, the troll warlord Armalut confronts the goblin lord Pintath. One of my finer displays of comic interaction, I think...


In the evening, Lord Pintath was sitting in the throne room, slouched in half-slumber in the abandoned throne, trying to forget that he had ever heard that Armalut was coming. His guards Ninkal and Huluk were dozing in the corner behind him, and he was feeling quite content to be alone otherwise. He twisted a half-empty jug of cider idly in his spidery hands, just beginning to think of going to bed, when he heard footsteps in the hallway outside. He quietly wished to himself that they were not headed to see him in the throne room as so often they were, but as ever such hope was in vain. What was even more unfortunate for him was that it was not some panicked sentry come to report rebellion in the streets of Ramalsk—which happened infrequently nowdays though it still happened as often as not—nor was it Lord Televokov come to interrupt his usual mindless stupor with some business of state—which Pintath did not miss in the least since his rival's capture by the fairies—but it was another nemisis come to ruin his otherwise perfectly quiet evening.

Lord Armalut did not barge through the door himself. Two thuggish trolls larger than Armalut himself were walking in front of him, clearing the traffic for their angry sovereign and his entourage. Armalut's face was visible between the hulking shoulders of his comrades, his shorter stature framed by no less menacing muscles. His grimacing face was an eerie sight in the brightly lit chamber, the scars from his humiliating encounter with Prince Dmitri still vivid even weeks later. Lord Pintath had learned over the years it was best to try and ignore such a pending confrontation, but tonight admittedly he was curious.

“Well, well, Lord Armalut at last, the dread warrior of Kamchatka. Tell me, how is the elf-hunting going?”

His stony grimace not even flinching, Armalut grabbed a loaded crossbow from one of the trolls behind him and fired a shot at the throne. Pintath ducked, but the impact still knocked the heavy chair off-balance.

"Elves!" Armalut hissed. "Do not speak to me of elves! Ever since the battle at Toornath
they have been wearing my forces thin! They have all but driven us from the southeast quarter."
“Well, haha, I'm sorry to hear that,” said Pintath. He truly was sorry, but he made it a point not
to show pity to people who were working under him. Pintath heard his guards stirring behind
him at the commotion. Armalut came up to the throne dias and stared Pintath in the eye.

 Pintath sat upright in his seat, trying to look somewhat like he was still in charge. "So what do you want?" scowled Pintath, annoyed.

 “Where is our plunder?” Armalut asked.

Pintath balked. “Er, I was aware of that already. Let's discuss your other problems first.”

"If you insist, goblin. Why aren't your forces helping me?" Armalut growled at him.

 "What? Haven't you been paying attention to what's going on up here?"

"To what?"

"I mean while you've been playing ring-around-the-rosies with the rebels, I've been having a heck of a time keeping the peace here in Ramalsk. Is that some kind of a picnic to you? The people are still balking at our every move. They don't want us in charge any more than the elves do. That's what's been keeping us busy up here, if you think you're entitled to any support."

"Well, that's a poor excuse!" Armalut growled. "Your men are slouching about the streets and villages looting and drinking while we're running our hides off! Do you honestly call yourself a commander?"

 "Call myself a commander? You keep getting beaten by the elves; that's your problem, not mine! If the Opposition is responsible for half your casualties in the past three weeks, deal with it. I have my own problems. I thought we had it in the terms of our agreement that you would look after your own people, huh? Our government is in debt! We can't support you, so don't ask us too!"

 Armalut looked ready to explode, but he restrained himself. "Well, can't you put your forces to better use than to steal food from helpless villagers instead of keeping the rebels from annihilating us?" the troll lord demanded.

Pintath swallowed and tried to come up with an excuse. “We hardly have enough plunder for ourselves, much less to supply you. Really, I'd love to help you, but there's another problem with this, er, situation. I can't send out my forces to keep the public peace without permission. I'm still in a bind unless Lord Televokov grants me the authority, which, er, he can't right now." Pintath attempted a nervous laugh.

To his surprise, Armalut gave a low chuckle in reply. “Well, Lord Pintath, then I suppose it wouldn't be too hard to send a courier to the fairy fortress Tammil to request such a grant of authority, wouldn't it?” Pintath laughed along with Armalut nervously, trying to play along, but he stopped when he remembered that it was a dangerous game to laugh along with an enemy. “I thought the triumvirate was disbanded.”

 “Disbanded? Not remotely. Me and Televokov have everything under control. We just haven't found a third partner yet, so he, er, hasn't seen fit to promote me. The point is, my good lord, that the triumvirate is still in power as long as Televokov is alive. His word is law. I can no more act without his supervision than you can, so I am afraid I cannot do anything for you.”

Pintath smiled in an attempt to appear as helpless as he was making himself out to be, but he figured that Armalut already disbelieved his feigned innocence, which he presumed correctly. “But why do you need Televokov's authority when, if I am correct, you have now seized total power? Why do you now sit upon the throne that your master so thoroughly despises?”

 Pintath stood up on the seat of the throne, affronted. “My master? That impudent fairy? I do whatever pleases me and my troops, not that snub-nosed, silver-haired--”

“Well, do it!” snarled Armalut, drawing his sword and brandishing it at the goblin's stomach. Pintath's guards put their spears at Armalut's chest, suddenly on the defensive.

Pintath decided it was best not to argue outright. “All right, then. Have it your way. I'll...see to it that Televokov is informed of your request for assistance—as well as your request for payment. Meanwhile, you make sure that the Opposition doesn't budge an inch until we go stomp 'em out. Does that sound like a plan?” Armalut growled, but he withdrew his sword and sheathed it. Pintath's guards withdrew their spears. “Good. Now get back out there while I compose a message to his lordship.”

 “No. We stay here.” Armalut and his trolls turned away and began to walk out of the throne room.

“What?”

 “We will stay here and rest before we go out and fight the rebels again. My spies say they will be resting for a time, too. Some of the elves are going to join the Opposition. What have your spies been up to, goblin?”

“What? But--”

Armalut did not bother to explain his statements further before his trolls closed the throne room doors behind them.

Pintath stared nervously at the doors for a few seconds after they left.

“Did you have to let him do that to ya, chief?” asked Ninkal.

“Let's show him who's boss,” said Huluk. “Slit their throats in their sleep.”

Pintath relaxed, then stood up and stretched. “Actually, I've had enough of bossing him around for one day. I'm going to bed.”

Ninkal and Huluk looked at each other.

“Make sure none of them try to make off with any of the valuables in the castle. Good night.” Pintath strode out of the throne room, thinking to himself that Armalut needed to pick on someone his own size, considering the troll was nearly three times as tall as the average goblin.

The Southern Sea Revisited

 When I was young, I saw a PBS special on Ernest Shackelton's Antarctic voyage. From then on, I was hooked on National Geographic articles about the Antarctic, penguins, and sailing. I wrote the following poem in high school to record the feeling of the experience:

 

The Southern Sea

Our ship is tossed

on watery peaks.

The waves pound harder.

and we spring leaks.

The sails are full

of Southern air.

To slacken our watch

we do not dare.

Only the strong here

can survive.

Only the wary

remain alive.

The mighty albatross

we see.

A sign of good fortune

is he.

Where ice and seals

and penguins rule,

the Southern sea

is hard and cruel.

There is nothing in the world like an adventure across hazardous and unknown wastelands.

Here is a preview for an upcoming reenactment of the Shackleton expedition. Please note that I do not endorse the Malt Whiskey sponsor.

https://vimeo.com/48923718

And on that note, there is nothing like penguins, either.

Swarms of haute couture midgets waltz on ice

shuffling with an awkward, gamboling gait.

Angry flippers are tools of their vice,

they are short and tall, tails small, and beaks straight.

They dine on fish, shrimp, and krill far out to sea,

on ice and land they fast and wait to eat.

Their offspring wear soft down till grown they be,

They trip and slide on land, in water fleet.

Small, sophisticated, they dwell on coast,

flocking in thousands, cackling with heads high.

Haughty kings and emperors and hosts

rule remote lands beneath Antarctic sky.

A penguin’s life endures much strife and cold,

but, ah! to see those creatures brave and bold!

 

Falcon: the Story of Avrielle's Enchantment

So Avrielle's namesake asked me to post this. So for the sake of posting, I am posting a fairytale....

FALCON

Once upon a time, there was an evil witch named Mandie. She was an ugly old hag who was withdrawn, ridiculed, and grouchy. Misery loves company, and because she was so unhappy Mandie could not stand the happiness of others and wanted to ruin it. So she wove a net of shadows and hung it on a frame, and she turned the net into glass to make it into a mirror. Whenever she was in the mood to cause mischief, she would look into her mirror and say:

Looking glass, O looking glass

show me what joy has come to pass.

The mirror would show her the happiness of other people, their celebrations, their tender moments, their beauty, and their laughter. All of this happiness of others made Mandie sick, and so she would set out into the world and ruin the happiness of the people she saw in the mirror. She kidnapped their children and sold them as slaves to goblins; she caused warts and moles and wrinkles to grow on flawless skin; she burned down houses and barns; she made prized farm animals fall ill and blighted whole vegetable crops; anything that was a source of happiness to others, she ruined. And all this mischief gave her great delight. 

One day Mandie looked into her magic mirror and said:

Looking glass, O looking glass,

show me what joy has come to pass.

The mirror showed her a farmer and his beautiful daughter. The farmer's name was Peter and the daughter's name was Avrielle. Avrielle was extremely beautiful, with brown hair that she would braid flowers into and a porcelain-white face and amber eyes. Men who turned to look at her as they walked by tripped and fell, and the roses bloomed and the birds sang wherever she went. She was very kind and gentle, and she was as merry and lively as a summer's day. The sight of all her loveliness and merriment in the mirror made Mandie sick. What made it even worse was that she heard Peter boasting, “Of all the women in the world, my daughter is the Happiest One of All!” 

“Is that so?” sneered Mandie at the image in the mirror. “Well, I'll show him!” Mandie got on her broomstick and traveled to the place where Avrielle lived, and she spied on her and her father to find out how to destroy them.

It was Mandie's luck that on the day she arrived, a wild falcon swooped down and killed one of their chickens. Peter was furious. “If another falcon ever comes to my farm, I'll kill it on sight, dead chicken or no!” he vowed. Mandie laughed. Now she knew how to get rid of Avrielle.

That evening when Avrielle came out to feed the chickens, Mandie sprang on her just as she was leaving the chicken coop. “You won't be the Happiest One of all anymore if others don't love you, and certainly your father won't be so proud of you if you are a creature he hates!

Change hair for feathers,

feet for talons,

lips for a beak!”

Avrielle changed into a falcon. Mandie then ran to hide behind the chicken coop and watched as Peter came out to look for her. Seeing a falcon and not his daughter, Peter took a shovel and swung it at the falcon. Avrielle squawked in terror and flew into the forest. After Peter left, Mandie the witch had a good laugh. Then she followed Avrielle into the forest. She caught Avrielle in midair with a magic rope and held her fast.

“I'll have one more word with you, birdie,” cackled Mandie. “You are a falcon now and no longer a human. You will be hated by your father and all the other farmers in the land as a scourge who eats their chickens. The forest creatures will shun you as a predator. The other falcons will despise you because you are a stranger. You can never love or be happy again because of what you are. Try to overcome the hatred of others and you might break the spell, but up against such odds you'll never succeed. Good luck, birdie.” Mandie gave a final cackle and released Avrielle into the forest. She flew away on her broomstick, cackling and singing,

“Who's the Happiest one of all?

The one who makes the Happiest fall!”

One of the first things Avrielle figured out as a falcon was that she was still able to cry. The wind brushed the tears off her downy cheeks as she flew over the forest, but when she could not bear to fly any longer (and she was flying very clumsily), she landed on a tree branch, buried her face in her wings, and cried hard for a good long while.

The talking animals of the forest heard her crying and came to watch her cry. She told them that she was really a human under a spell and not a falcon who wanted to eat them. Some of them laughed at her. Some of them shied away from her.

“She's less of a problem as a falcon than as a human, I say,” said a fox.

“Once a human, always human,” said a weasel.

“Just don't eat the talking animals,” said a squirrel.

Avrielle had no idea how to be a proper falcon. She waddled clumsily on her talons and she flew in lopsided loops. The forest creatures were disgusted with her because she was so melancholy. Her only desire was to break the spell, but she did not know how that was going to happen because she did not know how she was supposed to be happy. 

The other falcons in the forest heard about Avrielle within days of her arrival. Two of the young male falcons, named Sidney and Farley, decided to go meet her. They gaped at her because, even as a falcon, she was still beautiful. Avrielle, however, thought she was ugly as a falcon and that the males were teasing her.

“May one of us take you for a mate?” Sidney chirped at her.

“No, back away!” Avrielle squawked, frightened. “You don't want me! I'm, a human under a spell! Don't show me any kindness.”

Sidney, Farley and their gang of falcon friends watched her, however, and soon realized that even if she was a falcon she was a very clumsy one The male falcons watched Avrielle all day and amused themselves with her folly. Avrielle's life became all the more dark from their teasing, and Mandie loved to watch her misery in her magic mirror.

One day Mandie said to her mirror,

Looking glass, O looking glass,

show me what joy has come to pass.

In the forest where Avrielle was living, the king of the land built a new summer palace. On Midsummer Eve, he held a grand ball to celebrate its completion, and lords and ladies came from all over the kingdom in their finest clothes to dance and feast.

Avrielle was living in the trees near the new palace, and she watched the king's servants preparing for the ball. She ached to go to the ball and dance with her fellow humans.

Mandie decided she would make Avrielle's life even more miserable. On the night of the ball, Avrielle was watching the courtiers' carriages pull into the drive when, out of nowhere, Mandie appeared on her broomstick.

“What do you want of me?” Avrielle asked, frightened.

“I came to see how you were doing, my sweet,” Mandie said in a honey-sweet voice. “Is there anything I can do to make your life better?” she asked.

“Well, I would like to go to the ball,” sighed Avrielle.

“Very well, then, you may go to the ball,” said Mandie. She turned Avrielle into a human with a snap of her fingers, and with another snap she was wearing a scarlet and gold ball gown. Mandie warned her, “The magic ends at midnight, so be careful to leave before then.” Avrielle thanked Mandie and then crept onto the palace grounds. She entered the ballroom from the garden door.

Everyone who saw Avrielle was soon enchanted by her beauty. She was a very graceful dancer and won the hearts of many of her dance partners. The ladies of the court were riled with envy the magnificence of her dress. All of the courtiers assumed that she was a foreign princess. Avrielle was the happiest she had been for many weeks, and she had so much fun that midnight crept on her unawares. Frightened, she tried to leave the ballroom, but the king's son and a few of his friends seized her.

“Where are you going?” asked the prince.

“Nowhere,” said Avrielle, beginning to panic.

“Why would you leave me?” asked one of his friends.

“I must,” Avrielle insisted, trying to wrench herself free.

“Don't you know I care for you?” asked another.

“You wouldn't if you knew what I was,” said Avrielle. But before she could escape, she changed back into a falcon. The ball guests gasped in horror.

“She's a witch!” shrieked one.

“She's a sprite!” said another.

“She's a demon!” screamed a lady as she fainted.

“She's cursed!” someone cried. “We're all going to be cursed!” The guests began to flee the ballroom screaming.

“Guards, seize the falcon!” shouted the king. Avrielle tried flying out of the ballroom, but the guards closed and locked all the doors. She flew to the ceiling and perched on the chandeliers. The guards put up ladders and tried to reach her. She flew around in circles trying to evade capture. Finally a guard bagged her with the gardener's butterfly net. The guard presented the captured falcon to the king. The king rewarded the guard with a thousand pieces of gold for the bird and made him a knight, and then he ordered the guard to take Avrielle to his aviary and lock her in a cage. Avrielle looked to the prince for help, but the prince—who was disappointed that Avrielle had turned out to not be human—showed her no sign of pity. 

The king's aviary was a room full of the strange and unusual birds that the king liked to collect. Some had bright-colored feathers, some sang songs in foreign languages, some were strangely shaped or looked more like beaked lizards. Avrielle was taken to a small, dirty cage in the back corner. She cried herself to sleep and slept for a good part of the day. In the evening, the bird keeper brought her a piece of meat and some water.

Avrielle lived in the aviary for several days. Sometimes the king would come with important visitors and ministers to show her to them and tell them the story of how she had seduced the best young men in the kingdom, his son included, in the guise of a woman. Sometimes the other birds would make fun of her for being so dun-colored and make up rude songs about her. Avrielle kept her face to the wall mostly, to not be seen. And from far away, Mandie said to her magic mirror,

Looking glass, O looking glass,

show me what joy has not come to pass

and she saw Avrielle weeping in her cage. Mandie laughed so hard she cried.

One day, however, Avrielle's fortune changed....

And for the sake of not spoling the end, we shall leave off here.  
But as you can tell, I am pretty excited about this story because I made sketches of the characters :)

Nine Eleven Commemorated...In Ekphrasis

The tragedy of 11 September 2001 has always held a place of respect in my mind, both personally and artistically. When I made my first forays into poetry, I began searching for ways to connect to the terrorist attacks with my writing. Nothing I have tried until recently, however, held my satisfaction for very long.

Then last winter semester, I was looking through the photos in my American Literature textbook when I saw the following picture.

World Trade Center Burning, Peter Morgan, September 11, 2001

I had only recently learned the art of ekphrasis, or poetry to describe works of art or photographs. This picture brought to mind the phrase "Lightning-Struck Tower" from the sixth Harry Potter book. I took a piece of paper and made that phrase the first line. Then I began to play with the other words that this image brought to mind.

Lighting-struck tower,

fuming volcano with a perched antenna –

streaks a blue canvas,

shadow on shadow –

pores effusing darkness

and unreal pain –

The sky

holds trembling and still,        music waits to be played:

the song that numbs

pain when everyone and everything

gets hurt;

Shades of sorrow

turned over for light –

worn closer to the heart?

 Admittedly, I had little use for ekphrasis, but as it turned out, the only way I could connect to a tragedy with words was through a picture. I had tried everything else: simple rhyming poems, sonnets, songs, but ekphrasis with a free verse, airy structure and Emily Dickenson-style dashes finally put into words what I had been trying for so many years to express.

Meet the Villan: Nassus Televokov

Interview between Nassus Televokov and Fairy Lord Kilan. Setting: Fairy Fortress of Tammil, Revunia. 

The double-doors on the other side of the room banged open. Two fairy guards entered, carrying between them in chains the one fairy who was easily by now the most hated on the island. Lord Kilan's people had once supported Televokov, but now that the invasion had taken its toll they showed him only minimal favor. Televokov, everyone knew, was more of a serpent than a fairy: a cunning, ruthless manipulator who now thrived on his profits from Revunia's tragic downfall. Kilan had heard that much about him, but he had never had to deal with him personally.

Yet here he was, bound in magical chains, stripped of arms and armor, clad in only breeches and a long under-tunic, silver hair disheveled, staring hatefully at his captor with cold gray eyes. He knew that Televokov was sizing him up. Kilan was plainer in his appearance than most fairies. He wore his dark brown hair to his shoulders and kept it combed straight. His tunic of mustard yellow, dark trousers, and boots, were undecorated, and his dark cloak was clasped with a simple bronze brooch. The sword at his side had a handle of dull silver, and hung from a belt of dark leather. The two fairies stared at each other for a moment, before one of them finally spoke.

“Well, well, well, Lord Televokov at last,” said Kilan, trying to sound casual.

“My lord Kilan,” Televokov spat through gritted teeth.

Kilan looked up at his guards. “Release him. You are dismissed.”

The two fairy guards undid Televokov's chains and departed. Televokov stretched as he rose to regain his balance.

“I trust your stay has been comfortable,” Kilan commented calmly.

“Yes, my lord, it has been—for a dungeon cell, at least.” Televokov rubbed his wrists with visible discomfort.

“I see,” Kilan replied, retaining his level tone. He walked over to a small table on the side of the chamber, laden with refreshments. “Have a seat, my lord,” he commanded, indicating two chairs near the table. Without a word, Televokov walked up to the table, and the two fairies seated themselves on either side. “Would you care for something to drink?”

“Absolutely,” Televokov said coolly. Kilan raised a flagon of fairy wine and poured them each a goblet full of red liquid. Televokov watched the fairy general drink and sample some of the bread and cheese on the table before partaking himself.

“Now, tell me, Lord Televokov,” Kilan began after his prisoner had eaten some, “why you were out in our southern fields the other night after there had been a considerable uproar at Toornath Crater?”

“I am sure you know, my lord, what the uproar was all about,” Televokov answered scathingly.

“I do know, somewhat, but not everything.”

“Do you mean to interrogate me?”

“In a way, yes,” Kilan answered playfully, “but I also mean to inquire this of you as your honorable host.”

Televokov made a face, then relaxed. “I see you mean to gain my trust. I suppose you shall have it then,” he replied, eying Kilan mysteriously. “I suppose there's no need to suppress the fact that the incident at Toornath was a bit of, er, a fiasco.”

Lord Kilan stroked his chin thoughtfully. “The word is you led an attack on the Opposition's camp followers. What objective were you trying to fulfill by doing that?”

Televokov dropped his goblet to the table impatiently. “The objective is, and remains to this day, to strike out and destroy the Opposition in any way possible. With the guerrilla tactics they have been employing it has been difficult to implement any strategy.”

“Please forgive me, my lord, I am largely unaware of your forces' movements' in the recent battle.”

“Quite. In any event, we engaged the Opposition just as their main forces were entering the crater. We were planning to finish them off quickly, but the rebels were doing their best to drag it out. So I...engaged the prince in hope I would put an end to it.”

“But I heard he bested you, and the troll lord.”

Televokov's pale face began to redden. “Armalut's ferocity comes second only to his stupidity, General. Any fool could have bested him that day. But as for me,” Televokov sighed ruefully, “no one should have. The boy is a coward. The Opposition are not killers: their policy is secrecy and no mercy.”

“But what did happen?” Televokov did not reply, but, acting distracted, took a long swig of his wine. “My lord, does this have anything to do with the rumors about a unicorn being involved?”

Televokov choked and coughed. “No, this has everything to do with it!” he gasped angrily.

“Are you all right, my lord?” Kilan asked, feigning alarm.

“No, I am fine,” said Televokov as he choked down his cider, casting a venomous glance at General Kilan.

Kilan glanced nervously back. “Very well then, my lord, I will have to assume that the rumors are true.”

“Yes,” Televokov growled as he wiped his face with a napkin. “I was no match for his powers. He did a basilisk entrapment spell on me so I couldn't escape, but he was too noble to finish me off then and there—you know how unicorns are.”

“I see,” Kilan commented. “To brings us nearly back to the point, what were you doing in the fields outside our fortress?”

“I was getting to that,” Televokov sneered. He took a sip of wine and continued, “My horse was my best chance to get back to Ramalsk in a timely manner, but it had run off during the battle. I found its trail running north out of the crater, and then east toward your fields. I was there when your guards apprehended me.”

“Ah, I see. Well, since your only need by trespassing in independent fairy lands was to return to your home, it seems only fair to send you back to the goblins first thing in the morning,” said Kilan.

“Have you found my horse?” Televokov inquired over the rim of his goblet.

“No, but I'm afraid we have some unfortunate news for you,” Kilan responded.

“Oh. Do tell.”

“Lord Pintath and his goblins have moved in to seize total control in Revunia.”

“Oh, really? Now that's shameful of him.”

“Yes, it is a shame,” said Kilan. “He has declared himself sole ruler of Revunia and there is now talk that he is considering taking the throne as well.”

“Really?” Televokov raised an eyebrow. Kilan was surprised he was handling this so calmly.

“Well, I wouldn't know all the specifics, of course, being so far from the capital, but there has been some uproar in Ramalsk over this development.”

“Really, then? Well, I'd better get home, hadn't I?”

“Ahem, yes, you probably should.” Kilan continued, “I am sorry we have not been able to arrange this sooner, but I have been busy tending to my people's, er, security. I would encourage you not to feel that you have been treated unfairly; frankly, you're being repaid for all the waiting my people have done to have our petitioners admitted to your grace's presence.” He gave a knowing smile to Televokov, who, oddly enough, returned it.

“I see,” said Televokov finally, after they had stared in silence for a second. “I would not dare hold such a measure against you. In fact, I think I would like to stay here a little longer—provided, of course, I am given more appropriate accommodations.”

“That you may,” said Kilan, nodding approvingly while trying to hide his surprise. “You are welcome to stay on as my honored guest.”

“Naturally,” said Televokov, who quietly toasted the general. Kilan mirrored the gesture.

Walrus Encounter (And who is this Alexia?)

Excerpt from Northern Warriors Chapter 10--Hot off the griddle!

She was walking up the deck to the bridge when she heard a splash in the water to her left. She turned and saw a large walrus sticking his head above the waves. His head was brown and leathery, and his whiskers above his tusks were tan and wiry. The walrus' tusks were so long that they did not even stick above the water. Brittany was so stunned that she did not even gasp.

“Hello, there,” the walrus greeted her in a cheery British accent, his dark eyes twinkling at her. “This is the Blue Swan, isn't it?”

“Er, of course,” Brittany stammered.

“Well, aren't you going to invite me aboard?”

“I suppose you're welcome,” said Brittany. “But shouldn't I tell the captain?”

“Yes, of course, go tell Eric that Sir Oliver's here to see him,” the walrus nodded.

Brittany bolted for the bridge, bursting open the door. Eric and his assembled officers looked up at her.

“Captain, there's someone here to see you,” Brittany said.

“Who?” asked Eric.

“A walrus named Sir Oliver.”

“Ah! The council fleet's messenger,” Eylon said.

“Well, tell him to come on board,” said Evan.

“Right away,” said Brittany. She turned to go back on deck. Eric, Evan, and Eylon followed her.

Evan paused right outside the cabin door.

“What's up, bro?” asked Eric.

“Er, shouldn't the crow's nest have apprised us of his coming?” Evan wondered.

Oris heard them from the bridge. “Don't look at me, I'm off duty.”

“Staaaaamps!” Eric called up to the crow's nest.

On the crow's nest, Stamps had fallen asleep. He woke suddenly and looked around in confusion. “Uh, uh, oh, Walrus off starboard!” he cried.

“That's better,” said Eric. He walked up to the side of the ship across from Sir Oliver's bobbing head. “Come aboard, Sir Oliver, rest assured you're welcome.”

“Thank you, Captain,” said Sir Oliver. He extended his flippers from out of the water and reached over the side of the ship. “Wivota!” he shouted, and yellow sparks lifted his massive body from the water with a splash. He landed on the deck with the heaviest THUD Brittany had ever heard, and it rocked the ship from side to side. Most of the animal sailors yelled and tottered on impact. Below deck, a glass beaker that Minta was mixing potion into rolled down the cupboard and smashed against the wall, splashing green slime on the starboard side of the sickbay.

“I know that thud,” Minta said to herself as she began cleaning the mess with magic.

Above deck, Sir Oliver was exchanging pleasantries with Eric and Evan.

“How's trading been, old chap?” Sir Oliver said to Eric.

“Been fine. We were south of the equator for a few weeks right before we met up with the fleet in Sydney. The penguins were accepting shellfish for currency last summer, they were so abundant.”

“Nasty little vermin,” muttered Evan. “Er, I mean the shellfish.” He looked behind his shoulder to see Peter and Paul the penguins glaring at him.

“Shellfish ain't nasty,” muttered Peter.

“Nuff talk o' food, I'm starvin', mate,” Paul replied, rubbing his belly hungrily.

“And I suppose you are the Council representative on board, sir?” Sir Oliver asked Eylon.

“I am,” said Eylon, standing erect. “I am Eylon Allhin, a Lieutenant in the Enchanter's Council Security Corps.”

“Why of course, Eylon!” Sir Oliver exclaimed, extending a flipper to shake the elf's hand. “General Gyter Allhin's son, I shouldn't wonder. You've been studying in Scotland, I understand?”

“Yes, I've finished school and I've been working for the Enchanter's Council.”

“What did you major in?”

“Military Science with Magical Application, emphasis on Weaponry.”

“Splendid, splendid!” said Sir Oliver. “You're a jolly old chip off the old block, I shouldn't say so.”

“I suppose,” Eylon said, glancing away modestly. “But enough small talk. I expect you've come on official business?”

“Yes, indeed,” said Sir Oliver. “I bring several letters of instruction from the Council Fleet Commanders. Young lady, would you kindly remove the pouch on my shoulder?” Sir Oliver looked at Brittany and wiggled his massive shoulder, shaking a leather pouch strapped to his back.

“Yes, sir,” said Brittany, stepping forward. She went and undid the buckle to the strap. “Is this waterproof, sir?”

“Yes, indeed, my dear, it's a seal leather pouch with the strongest waterproofing magic in existence. I'm the Council's official courier in these waters.”

“Wow.”

“Just open the clasp, my dear, and hand out the letters inside. You'll find the addresses' names written in English below the official seal.”

Brittany undid the clasp on the pouch. The inside was completely dry. There were three letters inside, one for Captain Eric, one for Minta and the other for Eylon. She handed them out. Captain Eric told her thanks while Eylon only nodded.

“Where's Minta?” asked Brittany when the other two letters were handed out.

“I'm here,” Minta called from across deck as she flew above the for'ard hatch. She glided across deck and perched on the ship's railing behind Sir Oliver.

“Orion's Daughter!” Sir Oliver exclaimed when he saw her.

“Sir Oliver, how are you?” she asked the walrus.

“Doing splendid!” said Sir Oliver. “I understand you're the ship's surgeon on board?”

“Yes I am,” said Minta as she received her letter. “This is from my father, isn't it?” she asked, examining it.

“It is indeed,” Sir Oliver nodded, the blubber around his face shaking like jello. “A firebird from Revunia flew out to the fleet a few weeks ago. That's when the fleet commanders decided we needed to contact the Blue Swan.”

“So the fleet is still intact after that storm?” Minta asked.

“For the most part. Most of the ships sustained heavy damage, and that's slowed our progress. We lost the Merlin IV and the Rosabel, but thankfully the crews survived.”

“That's good to hear,” said Minta. “And it's good to know my father's still alive in Revunia, judging by this letter.”

“Aye, and if he is that means the Opposition is still on its feet fighting. Very reassuring.” Sir Oliver then cocked his head at Brittany. “And who might you be?” he asked her.

“I'm Brittany Stevens. I'm new to the crew.”

“New to the crew? Eric must've been crazy to hire you, how old are you? Twelve?”

“Eleven.”

“Eleven, ha, just younger than Princess Alexia, isn't she?” he asked Minta.

“I believe so,” Minta nodded as she opened the letter with her beak. She spat out the ripped paper. “Alexia's birthday isn't 'til July. When's your birthday, Brittany?”

“August twentieth,” said Brittany.

“There you go, they're a month apart,” Minta said to Sir Oliver.

“Ha, I'm sure she's just as plucky. Where did Eric pick you up, Brittany?”

“San Francisco,” Brittany said simply.

“Frisco? Is that where you wrecked?” he asked Eric.

“Indeed we did,” said Evan. “Right at her babysitter's house on the beach.”

Sir Oliver glanced bug-eyed at Brittany. “Extraordinary. Are you a mortal or a witch?”

“Mortal,” said Brittany.

“Mortal, eh? Are you training to become a middle-woman?”

“She is now,” said Minta.

Sir Oliver laughed heartily. “This is quite extraordinary. Forgive me, but I haven't properly introduced myself. I am Sir Oliver Walrus, North Pacific Messenger, Knight of the Order of the Star Hunters, Table of the Animal Wizards.” He leaned in closer to Brittany and whispered, “I was also a knight of Revunia, before the invasion. Grand Prince Orlando's messenger to the Pacific Rim, knighted for stupendous service.”

“Sir Oliver is one of the fastest messengers in the North Pacific,” said Minta. “Since the Invasion, he has served as a local representative for the Enchanter's Council.”

“And frankly I would like to keep the job after this whole business is over, they have good pay,” said Sir Oliver. He turned back to Eric, Evan and Eylon. “Ahem, the Enchanter's Council wishes me to tell you that you are not to waste time rejoining them but to retain your present course to Anchorage.”

“I thought as much,” said Eric.

“Where is the fleet?” asked Evan.

“Four day's sailing from here to the North-Northeast, but it's a good two-day swim so if you have a fast messenger then communication shouldn't be a problem.”

“And how are the seas ahead?” asked Eric.

“Rough, rough, but manageable. Nothing you can't handle, I should expect. You know something Eric, they say you're one of the best sailors in the fleet. Keep up the good work.”

“Will do,” said Evan, patting his brother on the back.

“Rather, hahaha!” Sir Oliver laughed. “It has been a pleasure to see you again, Captain. And a pleasure to meet you, Miss Stevens,” Sir Oliver said, nodding to Brittany. “Cherrio. Wivota!” Yellow sparks surrounded Sir Oliver, and he floated over the side of the ship and landed in the water with a tremendous splash. “I'll be giving the fleet a good report of you!” he called as he dived beneath the waves.

“Gosh, he's sure nice,” said Brittany.

Captain Eric looked over his letter. “Evan, I want an officers' meeting at two this afternoon in the meeting room. Spread the word.”

“Aye, sir,” said Evan.

“Eylon, I want you to be present and read your instructions to the officers.”

“Yes, Captain,” said Eylon as they returned to the bridge.

“Excuse me, Captain,” Brittany called after Eric.

Eric stopped and turned around. “Yes, Miss Stevens?”

“I've finished my practicing for today. Is there anything you need me to do now?”

“Well, thanks for asking, but I think we're good until lunchtime. We've got about half an hour. Oris wants you on KP after lunch. Stay out of trouble until then.”

“I will, Sir,” said Brittany, saluting. As Eric walked away, Brittany turned to Minta. “What's KP?”

“Kitchen duty,” said Minta simply as she read her father's letter.

Brittany nodded. She walked over to the railing next to Minta. “What's in your letter?” she asked, watching Minta as she read.

“News from Revunia,” Minta said quietly. “The Opposition is hiding in the Meikalon ridge in the south part of Revunia, but Father doesn't expect that to last long. He says he's doing well. The Royal Family is doing all right, but the two princesses have a nursemaid keeping them busy, sounds like. I wish I was there to be with Alexia,” she sighed.

“Who's Alexia?” Brittany asked.

“She's one of Grand Prince Orlando's daughters. She and her sister Caroline stayed in Revunia with Prince Dmitri after their mother took the rest of their family to Canada.”

“Oh. And I hear she's my age?” said Brittany.

“You heard right,” said Minta.

“Hm.” Brittany did not like the sound of that. It was people her age she had trouble getting along with.

“Alexia and I were the best of friends,” said Minta. “We met right before the invasion, and during a good part of her exile when I was staying in Revunia we played with each other. She knows how to treat an animal right. Younger children will fight over a pet. Alexia has always treated me gently.”

“Younger children aren't nice to you?” Brittany asked.

“Well, no, it's just Alexia's younger surviving siblings were rough on me. My brothers put up with it a little better—but they're males, so what you expect?”

Jack the dwarf walked across the deck to greet them. “What'd I miss?” he asked Brittany and Minta.

“Sir Oliver the Walrus just came by,” said Minta. “He brought letters from the fleet—and a letter from Father!”

“Oooh,” said Jack. “That's lucky. We haven't heard from the Opposition in ages. How's the fight going?”

“It appears to be going well for the moment,” said Minta. “Not much action so far this spring, he says.”

“Pah. They'll have some before the summer's out,” Jack said, waving his hand dismissively. “Evan just came by saying we're havin' an officers' meetin' at two. I should guess that's what this is all about. And it looks like you've got something to bring to the table.”

“Indeed,” said Minta.

“Want any help in the sickbay before noon?”

“I was just cleaning up a mess below deck,” said Minta. “Care to join me?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you want to come, Brittany?” Minta asked Brittany.

“No, it's fine,” said Brittany. “I'll just stay up here.”

“Okay, then, we'll see you at lunch,” said Minta. She and Jack turned to leave, heading for the for'ard hatch.

(a picture that reminded me of this scene.)

Kitty Update

So, while I was starting work on Northern Warriors for today, my phone rang. It was from my family.
"Hello," I said.
"Hi, Lizy!" said my little sister. She was calling because they were in the process of naming our new litter of kittens (7 all told). She was wondering if I had a name to suggest for a little orange kitten with white spots.
"I have a character in my book that's an orange cat with yellow spots, and his name is Eric. So call him Eric. Captain Eric." My sister says she'll introduce me to little Eric tonight on Skype. :) Life is good.

Angry at Goblins, Porridge, or Both?

The camp followers were already eating lunch. They had left the ridge country and were now stopped beneath Toornath Crater, a low volcanic vent on the flanks of Mount Telvi. Some of the children were running up the hillside to play on the rocks ringing the crater but the Royal Family was staying put while Mrs. Yulyanov all but force-fed her children plus Alexia and Caroline a lunch of cold porridge. The mule had been unhitched from the cart and was grazing close by.

Alexia looked down angrily at her half-emptied porridge bowl. She did not think she could stomach another bite of the tasteless gray sludge. She sat her bowl aside and crouched on the ground behind the wagon while she watched the children eating.

“Why aren't you eating?” asked Nikita Yulyanov.

“I'm not hungry,” Alexia said coldly.

“Alexia, you must eat,” Gladya ordered as she wrestled with the two-year-old to spoon-feed him his porridge.

“I said I'm not hungry,” she repeated.

“Mother, I'm not hungry either,” Margaret Yulyanov said to her mother.

“Margaret, you must eat,” said Mrs. Yulyanov, feeding her baby while leaning against a rock.

“Alexia, for shame,” Gladya hissed at her. “Setting a bad example for the children. A princess should eat what is put in front of her.”

“I'm not a princess, Gladya, I'm an outlaw like everyone else in this camp!”

“Alexia!” Caroline shouted.

“Well, if you don't want to eat, give your bowl to someone who would be more grateful,” said Gladya.

“I'll feed it to the trolls if they show up,” Alexia spat.

“I'll take it,” said Maria Yulyanov.

“Here,” said Alexia, passing her the bowl. She got up and went to relieve herself behind some bushes. While she was gone, Maria tried to tuck into Alexia's porridge.

“Yech, I'm not sure I can eat this either.”

“Let me see it,” said Caroline, who was seated next to her. She looked over the porridge and tasted it. “It seems fine. Maybe you should heat it.”

“Should we use magic? Can I try a heating spell, Mama?” Maria called over to her mother.

“Let Caroline show you,” said Mrs. Yuluyanov as she burped her baby.

“Here, put one hand on it,” said Caroline. She and Maria each held up the bowl with a hand. “Virwen,” Caroline said.

“Virwen,” Maria repeated. Their hands glowed, and the glow spread over the bowl. Alexia returned and saw them using magic to heat the porridge. The glow dissapated. The bowl was warm to the touch but not hot, and the porridge was just the perfect temperature.

“Thanks,” said Maria.

“You're welcome,” said Caroline. Maria had a few bites of the porridge. “How is it?”

“Much better,” said Maria.

Caroline heard a rustling sound behind them and turned around. Alexia was storming away from the family's picnic site.

Alexia was upset by the fact that she had not thought to ask someone to heat the porridge for her with magic. Of course she never would have thought of it herself because, well, she was a half-witch and no sparks came out of her hands when she performed a spell.

It would be much easier to smear the porridge on all of their faces, thought Alexia. And if any trolls or goblins showed up I could smear it onto them, too.

“Can you heat my porridge, too?” she heard Nikita ask.

“I can,” said Caroline.

“ATTACK!” someone at the edge of camp shouted. Everyone looked up and stopped what they were doing as a messenger ran in from the side of the crater. “Goblins from the Toornath outpost. At least two hundred of them!”

The camp followers began panicking, gathering up their possessions and trying to flee with their children.

“Everyone leave your possessions!” one of the camp leaders shouted. “Run back to the ridge!”

Women and children began screaming. Although some people still tried to grab bundles from their carts and shoulder their packs, most of the wagons and heavy loads of food and clothing were left behind as the camp followers began to flee back the way they had come. Nikita slapped the mule on its hindquarters and told it to run. Mrs. Yulyanov's baby began to cry, and Gladya picked up and carried the two-year-old. Caroline took Margaret and Maria by the hands. Nikita tried to run the other way.

“Nikita, where are you going?” his mother shouted.

“I'm going to go fight them!” he called back.

“Come back here! You're too young!” Nikita groaned but obliged his mother, following his family in the rear. Alexia ran next to him, looking back as an army of goblins came around the base of the crater. Short and armed with mostly long, thin spears, the goblins came in yelling savage and bloodcurdling war cries that made Alexia's neck hair stand on end. Some of the scouts along with the old men and young boys guarded the rear of the Opposition camp. However, as Alexia watched, the goblins attacked this rear line of defense with swords, felling most of the defenders and breaking through. Ignoring the Opposition's possessions laying on the ground, the goblins began to hurl their spears at the women and children. Alexia had stopped to watch, but now she screamed as she turned around and ran to catch up with her family. Then she paused again. She turned back and ran to where the Yulyanov's had eaten their lunch.

Caroline turned around to see where Alexia was and saw her running back towards the charging goblins.

“ALEXIA, WHERE ARE YOU GOING?” Caroline shouted at her.

“I have to try and stop them!” Alexia shouted back. She then resumed running.

Gladya and Caroline watched Alexia run back. “Go after her,” Gladya said. Caroline nodded and ran, the back of her dress billowing after her.

Alexia found the pot of leftover porridge still sitting in the Yulyanov's cart. Mrs. Yulyanov had made the batch yesterday, filling the pot so that there would be enough for the family for the entire week. It would do. Alexia carried the pot and, scooping with her bare hand, flung a large blob of porridge at the nearest goblin from behind the cart.

“Take that!” Alexia shouted.

The goblin got the porridge on the side of his face, slopped from his eye down to his mouth. The goblin spat out the bits that had got in his mouth.

“Blah! Pleh! Why YOU!” The goblin prepared to rush Alexia with his spear. Alexia flung another handful of porridge at his face and ducked to the other side of the cart. The goblin got the porridge in his eyes. Alexia saw another goblin charging at her and threw porridge at him. She missed. He lunged angrily at her,. She ducked under the cart. He threw his spear and it landed under the cart, knocking over the porridge bowl. The goblin bent down to pick it up again, but before he could Alexia grabbed the tip. The goblin gawked at her in confusion as they began to play tug-of war with the spear. The first goblin tried to attack her from behind. She threw the second goblin at the cart, and with their combined impact they pushed the cart over with all its contents still intact. The first goblin screamed in agony as he was crushed and the second while he was knocked over. She finally wrested the spear from his grasp and walked away.

Several charging goblins flung their spears at Alexia. She ducked them, and all of a sudden she had a flashback to the invasion when she had done the exact same thing. Anger surged through her frame. It was time for payback.

“You'll never hurt my family again!” Alexia shouted, thrusting her spear at one of the goblins before he could pick his spear off the ground. He fell over, wounded. She attempted to attack another goblin with a similar thrust, but he drew a short sword at his side and blocked the spear. He attempted to stab her, but she hit him on the side with the staff of her spear. He fell with a yell and rolled over.

“Wusses!” she shouted.

“Alexia, what are you doing here?” came Caroline's shout from behind her. “We have to go!”

“I'm trying to stop them. Leave me alone!” Alexia said to her sister as she blocked a goblin from attacking them.

“You can't stop two hundred goblins all by yourself!”

“I sure feel like it!”

“Let's just go!” Caroline shouted, grabbing her by the shoulder just before another goblin tried to spear them. As they were running back, however, they saw the Opposition camp running back their direction, screaming.

“What the?” Caroline shouted. They ran up to one of the scouts who was riding on horseback. “What's happened?” she demanded.

“Another goblin army has come from the east, led by Lord Televokov. We're making for the crater!”

“What? But we'll be sitting ducks in the crater!”

“The edge of the forest is on the other side. If we can make it to the trees we might stand a chance!”

“Drop the spear, Alexia, there isn't time,” Caroline told her sister. “We've got to run.”

Knowing it was probably a better idea to run, Alexia did what she was told and ran with her sister up the side of the mountain.