Dagger Trilogy Book 1 - The Valley

Falcon was numb. He had no idea what had just happened, but as he turned his head, the pain was excruciating. His screams of agony echoed across the valley, as the pain shot through every nerve in his torn body. Falcon looked to his left and through the trampled grass and mud he saw her. “Raven!” Falcon shouted, “Raven!”. Raven didn’t respond, Falcon saw the blood gushing from her abdomen, like water from a spring it bubbled. Falcon could see her breathing. “Hang on Raven! Just hang on!” Falcon’s voice was faint, the ringing in his ears overwhelming.
         Taking stock of his own injuries, Falcon looked at his torn cloak, blood everywhere, his own dagger protruding from his thigh. Still unable to move anything but his head, Falcon looked away from Raven and to his right. “Sparrow, no” Falcon cried out into the darkening day. Sparrow lay twisted, broken, and lifeless in a pool of red. The only color left in the desolate valley. Falcon had been responsible for Sparrow, they were like brothers, and now what had he done. Sparrow wasn’t moving.
         This was how it would all end, Falcon thought.

They had failed.


Chapter 1 Falcon

         Some time ago

Falcon knew there wasn’t much he could do. Rupert was faster, stronger, and had him by 60 stones. “Well if it isn’t Sir Engvid, the ugly little rat” Rupert laughed vigorously, “It’s my lucky day.”
           “That’s Falcon to you Rup” Falcon replied, trying to keep the fear from his voice, a man of eighteen shouldn’t be scared. Should he just run? Better to just get this over with, Falcon thought, if not today, Rup would catch up tomorrow. “I told you I meant no harm to you and yours” Falcon was trying to buy time now. Words were nothing if not a weapon.
         “I like ugly rat better, Sir Engvid” Rupert’s sirs were drenched in sarcasm, “You shouldn’t have taken that meat. Or bread. Or the dagger.” Rupert’s eye’s shown with fire, his fists clenching and unclenching in rhythm.
         “That was months ago Rup, just let it go” Falcon replied in haste, trying to gather a moment to survey his surroundings. Rup had cornered him behind the stables, hay had been brought in fresh this morning and was piled high, too slick to climb quickly over and escape. The stable roof was just out of reach, there would be no vaulting onto it, and it looked too old to hold Falcon’s weight. An old cart sat against the back of the stable, a broken pitchfork inside. Falcon hoped Rup didn’t notice that, taking a beating was one thing, death something not in Falcon’s stars just yet.
         “You cost my family 100 coins rat! And you took my father’s dagger, you must pay” Rupert was turning red in anger, a blacksmiths apprentice who knew how to use the fire of the forge and the fire inside himself. Falcon took a step back. “Come on Rup, you know that dagger isn’t your fathers. And we were hungry! You would do the same.” Falcon knew Rup had never felt hunger, or cared for anyone but himself, but he needed more time to breathe.
“LIES!” Rupert yelled and was done with words; he advanced at Falcon, fists big as boulders and arms like tree trunks. “Whoa Rup! What if I give back the dagger and all the coin I have?” Rup paused just long enough for Falcon to make up his mind. As quick as a cat and light as a feather, Falcon flew into action. He dove for the broken cart and before Rup knew what had happened, Falcon stood holding the broken pitch fork, 3 prongs under Rup’s chin.
“What do you say I keep the dagger and you keep your thick skull?” Falcon’s confidence was soaring, now that the odds were swung well in his favor.
         “You always were a little cheating ugly rat!” Rupert’s fury hadn’t subsided, but sweat poured off his brow like a waterfall and his eyes were fixed solely on the prongs of the rusted pitchfork.
“I learned from the best Rup, your father!” Falcon couldn’t hold his tongue, Rupert’s eyes shone bright as the sun and he planted his boot squarely in Falcon’s chest so fast there was no time to react. Falcon hadn’t been so grateful for hay in his life as he landed deep in the fresh piles. Falcon had no time to savor the smells and feel of his impromptu salvation before Rupert was charging, fists cocked back ready for the one blow to end this fight. Falcon scrambled to his feet, slipping on the hay just in time to miss the first swing. Rupert missed so badly due to Falcon’s good misfortune he lost his balance and went stumbling into the pile. Falcon saw his chance and started to run for it, but in the rush to run he forgot the broken cart and stumbled across the old boards to the ground. Falcon’s knee throbbed with pain, and he could hear Rupert’s laughing, the oaf must have seen it all. As Falcon rolled over, fear overtook him, Rupert was towering over him with the pitchfork in hand and murder on his face.
         “Rupert, forgive me, I’m no match for you. Please think this through.” Falcon was shaking now, everything seemed to slow down and he was well aware of the stench from the stables and the sweetness of the hay. He heard the dogs in the distance, a wolf howled from the cliffs. Falcon knew this was the end, he had always heard you felt as if the world was calling out to you in those last moments.
         “Your words will not save you this time, Engvid, the rat.” Rupert spoke like a demon set free, his tongue dripping with vengeance, his words sharp to Falcon’s ears. “You dare insult my father, my family’s honor, and still not accept your fate rat?”
         Falcon closed his eyes and took what he thought would be his final breath, deep and cool, savoring the taste of fall air. The night air.
         Falcon snapped his eyes open in time to see Rupert raise the pitchfork high and bring it down. Falcon rolled to his right, Rupert drove the pitchfork deep into the ground. Falcon kicked Rupert’s left knee so hard he heard it pop and Rup screamed in agony. As Rupert fell to a knee, Falcon was up, pulling the pitchfork from the ground and quick as lightning thrust it deep into Rup’s right knee.
         Then Falcon ran, the screams of pain echoing off the cliff face behind him, making the night even creepier. As the echoes poured down through the village people started to yell at their neighbors, trying to locate the problem. Falcon sprinted past shack and shed, inn and tavern, through the square and out of the gates. Falcon ran, the pain from his fall and rumble with Rupert but a flash in the past, all his mind told him was to fly. He crossed the river in the middle of the valley and sprinted past the fishing cabin into the woods, tree’s bigger than houses in the village rose around him. Falcon ran on instinct and when he stopped inside his favorite hollow stump, he collapsed, exhausted in mind and body. Falcon never fell asleep so quickly.

Chapter 2 Raven

         Raven never did understand why her mother insisted she be up every morning before dawn to help Sean. He never let Raven do anything but sit on a stump and watch as he ran the mill. Perhaps her mother thought Raven would accept Sean as her father through these bonding times, instead of it reminding Raven every day that Sean was nothing like she dreamed her father being. Sean was a good man, Raven knew that, but he seemed so simple to her. Sean did the same thing every day, ran the mill, checked the small garden, fed and watered the goats and chickens, and was home for supper right at dark. There was never any excitement in Sean’s life, and Raven despised the monotony of it all. Raven sat brooding on her stump, it was worn out and comfortable at least after five straight years of abundant use, and tried her best to act interested in the same conversation for the thousandth time.
         “Did you sleep well?” Sean was cheery, as always, this morning.
         “As good as ever I guess.” Raven replied, trying to hide the frustration in her voice.
         “Looks like storm’s a’comin.” Sean looked up at the few clouds in the sky, same as yesterday. Storms were always coming down off the mountains, just another day in the valley.
         “I better go tell mother then.” Raven needed a way out of this depressing situation and she couldn’t hide the hopefulness in her voice this time. Sean looked sad, but kept that thought to himself and said, “Go if you must, but stay away from the river today Reyna.” Raven hated when he used her name, but almost knocked her stump over in the rush away from the mill.
         The mill wasn’t far from their small cottage here on the south edge of the valley, but was hidden from view by the tree line at the base of the mountain. The path twisted through the lush forest but was worn from plenty of use so Raven had no trouble disappearing from Sean’s sight in a few seconds. As Raven came out of the tree’s the view opened up, the cottage was beautiful in the sunrise as always, her mother’s flowers blooming all around. Red’s, yellow’s, orange’s, and more splashed across the various sides of their home, reminding Raven even more of her simple life. Beyond the cottage the valley really opened up into rolling green fields and creeks that branched off the river. From here Raven could barely hear the river, but it was out there, in all its glorious power, calling to her. Raven saw the path to the east that Sean used when he had the mules drag their cut wood to float it down the river, it kept a steady income for them and if one thing was abundant here in the southern valley it was trees. Raven wasn’t sure how it worked or where exactly it all went but twice a year a man named Thom from the city of Drin came to the cottage and paid Sean. Thom always brought Raven treats and a flower, both of which she hated, but accepted with grace, and told her how much he wanted her to meet his son. Raven always answered, “I would be delighted Master Thom.” He would smile and then leave her to the gifts.
         Sean always gave half of the coin to mother, and the other half he buried somewhere. “For when the snow’s fall,” he always said. Raven had never seen much snow, a light dusting here and there, but mostly winter was just a time for heavier clothes and shorter days in the south valley. Thom would compliment Raven’s mother on her beauty and Sean on their land and lumber, they would eat together then Sean and Thom would go out for a smoke. Raven was most interested in this part of the visit, the smoke, not that she had any interest in the actual smoke but in the stories from Thom. He spoke stories about Drin, the King, and pretty much anything more exciting than Raven’s daily routine made this visit worth it all. Raven had fought relentlessly with mother about being able to listen to Thom for many years, but mother always said, “No lady needs to smoke.” Raven would always roll her eyes and spend the evenings silent and angry at her misfortune, resigned to wait for Sean to remind her that “We have no concerns with the world here Reyna, we are happy.” Raven hated these visits with a passion. Until three years ago.
         Raven was sitting on her bed, furious with mother yet again, when she looked at her window into the night and plain as day heard Thom speaking. Startled, Raven jumped to the window to see if they were behind the cottage in the garden. Raven didn’t see anyone out there but she heard Sean and Thom bantering back and forth as if they were in the house with her. Raven had rushed from her room, only to be yelled at by mother, ready for another fight, but no Sean or Thom in the house. Returning to her room, Raven had lay down in bed and listened to the stories she was forbidden to hear, with no idea how she could hear them. Thom and Sean always went down to the river to smoke, over eight stones throws from the cottage, out of range of any normal hearing. At first Raven had been scared that they would know she heard them, but then when nothing happened for a few days after, she couldn’t wait for Thom to return. Raven couldn’t understand what had happened that night, and never had it happen again until Thom returned. Only when she desired those stories did she begin to hear them plain as day. Many times Raven thought she was just making it up, bored with her own life, but decided if so then at least it was exciting. One time she even thought about questioning Sean on a story she’d heard, but thought better of it for fear of them finding out, or for her finding out she was imagining the whole thing.
         As Raven thought on all of this and looked across the valley, she reminded herself it was only a couple days before Thom would be back. Treats, flowers, and abundant stories to hear, Raven smiled. The best way to spend her sixteenth year.
         The river was calling and Raven took off in a sprint across the green fields, the sound of rushing water, of freedom, in her ears.

Chapter 3 Sparrow

         Sparrow clutched the stick so tightly his hands turned white, sweat trickled into his eyes, and his legs burned from exhaustion. The taunting was the worst of it all.
         “Little boy, little boy, you’re as weak as a girl, run home to granny and get your hair all in curls,” the laughter surrounded Sparrow, all the boys yelling together, “Little boy, little boy, you’re as weak….”
         “I’m not weak” Sparrow tried to reply, but it came out hoarse and high pitched which fueled the other boys.
         “He is a girl” They shouted. “Put that hair in curls.” Laughing hard the oldest of them, Gerom, bellowed above the rest, “Start crying little girl, granny’s not here to help you, cry like yesterday. Cry!”
         Sparrow was fighting the tears, his sweat stinging his eyes already, he was no man, they were right about him. Sparrow was so small for a thirteen year old, most boys already learning their fathers work by now, all but Sparrow. He swore he would stay inside the walls of the family stronghold today, but every day he was sent out with food for the orphans. Gran always said they must help those in need, but every time he came around the last corner to the orphanage the boys would rush him, take the food and start the teasing. He tried to tell Gran about this but she just said “Boys will be boys, they are your friends.” These were not his friends, Gerom was a bully, leading his pack of strays. Sparrow was born rich and in the orphan’s eyes he was evil, and very easy prey. Sparrow was thin for his age, wirey his Gran said, not very tall and to top it all off, not allowed to cut his hair. To anyone unaware that Sparrow was a boy, he did look like a small girl.
“Tell your Gran that tomorrow we want potatoes, meats, and grapes little girl. We are tired of your scraps.”
         Sparrow never brought them scraps, Gran had the cook make fresh bread every morning and sent jerky along as well. Not cheap jerky like they gave the war hounds, but nice juicy, fat jerky. Sparrow wanted to tell the orphans that, but he couldn’t speak while choking back the tears. Stand up, he thought, stand up and regain your pride. It was hopeless Sparrow knew, all that was left of the once great House of Riverbreak was Gran and himself. The beginning of the end the townspeople said, no one believed Sparrow would carry on the name, much less keep the mansion once Gran was gone. Sparrow would soon be thrown into the very orphanage that tormented him right now.
“Stand up girl, let me kick you one more time before your evening tea.” The boys roared in laughter again, everything Gerome said was funny to his strays. As if to signal the final blow of the day they began in ernest, “Little boy, little boy, you’re as weak as a girl, run home to…..”
         The sun had just dipped behind the western cliffs as Sparrow struggled to his feet with stick in hand. Gerome and the strays were singing their song louder than ever, Gerome dancing around Sparrow like some twisted wedding dance of long past. Sparrow tried to watch him closely, anticipating the next punch or kick, but Gerome just ducked in and slapped him every few seconds. Once, twice, three times Sparrow felt a sting on his cheek, his ear, the back of his head. Gerome was toying with him, enjoying the attention from the strays and the song of triumph at dusk.
Sparrow was just about to give in to the rush of tears and run back to Gran when the stick in his hand felt scorching hot. Sparrow jumped at the sensation, but felt no pain, his hands glowing in front of him. Gerome and the strays took no notice of what was happening, they were drunk in their fun. Sparrow’s tears vanished and energy flowed from his lumines hands to his arms, his chest, his legs. Without understanding what was happening Sparrow began to move, straight at Gerome with quick and fluid movements. Gerome barely had time to realize what had happened before Sparrow landed a flurry of attacks with the stick to Gerome’s body and head. As the strays began to realize what was happening a couple older boys tried to help, Sparrow just batted them away as if they were mere flies, sending one tumbling over a nearby fence and another into the crowd of smaller boys. Gerome was bleeding from one ear and clutched his stomach like he had the plague, “Please stop” he begged. Sparrow couldn’t, it was as if all this built up rage inside him had exploded and there was no going back. Sparrow took one last swing at Gerome and hit him right in the nose, stick shattering. Sparrow heard the breaking of bones and gasps of terror from the strays as he ran for the shelter of House Riverbreak.

Chapter 4 Falcon

The sun was on its way down again before Falcon felt the sticks in his back, and the light smell of decay around him. As Falcon rubbed the night from his eyes, he started remembering what had happened. Rup trying to kill him, and the sudden quickness Falcon had found, plunging the pitch fork into Rup’s knee. It all seemed so unreal, and now here he was, many hours from Drin, but he’d gotten here so quickly it seemed. Falcon remembered the sprint, fleeing for his life, it was impossible to have been that fast, yet here he lay. Falcon stood up in his makeshift retreat, the hollow stump that had sheltered him from the darkness and made his way outside.
         Looking back across the valley, Falcon realized just how far he’d run, Drin was but a speck in the distance, the massive walls barely noticeable from here. The river was roaring much closer than Drin, but the noise was muted from his perch. Falcon had run to the base of the western cliffs, where the tree’s grew thick and the wolves thicker, knowing the guards wouldn’t chase him this far in the dark at least. Now Falcon realized they wouldn’t have even had time to reach him yet. Retracing his path, Falcon saw the boulder cemetery on the south side of the river, a mess of terrain eroded away by the rushing water. On the north side of the river were the large mills, massive rock fences for the livestock, and the green fields that fed the people of Drin. His pursuers would have had to follow the winding roads through all of that, but Falcon must have come straight through.
         Rupert’s family would have sent out the best of the town guard and war hounds at the very least, and hired the best mercenaries from the taverns, plus if Rup had any say, a couple of assassin’s as well. Falcon shivered, fighting Rup was one thing, a small army of guards, dogs, and trained murderers, not part of the plan. Falcon looked east, the river settled down before it hit the cliffs here in the west, bringing in logs from various mills across the valley. There would be no going west, the hills turned into sheer cliffs in an instant, the only way west was a small path along the river that no one had taken in a very long time. East would be easy, rolling plains followed the river, traders coming and going made for better paths. If Falcon could keep to the tree line it would be possible to make it to the town of Hollow in the south, or maybe even go north to Scalin, if the weather held true. Falcon wished he had some trader friends to take him as far east as Riverbreak, rumors were the orphans ate like kings there, but Riverbreak sat at the foot of the eastern cliffs, a long journey for one.
         Falcon had the clothes on his back, half an apple. The dagger. Falcon grabbed at his waist, panic rising in his chest, his hands not finding the scabbard anywhere. He searched the ground inside the stump, throwing dead limbs and brush all over, searching like a mad man in a graveyard. Falcon’s blood pounded so much it started to hurt, he couldn’t have lost it, it was always by his side. Grabbing a particularly large limb, Falcon threw it at the wall of the stump in anger, screaming at the sky in desperation and flung himself to the ground outside his shelter.
         A glistening caught Falcon’s eye, leaping to his feet he grabbed at the brush and tore loose the scabbard that was caught there. His dagger, safe and sound again, had fallen off at the last second in his terror last night. Falcon’s panic subsided and his pounding heart relaxed as he pulled the dagger from the leather. He examined it in the sunlight, it was ugly to the untrained eye and quick glance, but on further examination, spectacular. The black handle had a green hue upon Falcon’s touch, the texture of snake skin in his hand. The blade seemed dull, but as Falcon grabbed it, shone out silver, wisps of fire streaking through the sharp metal. Never once had Falcon used it, the power it had was too much he feared. After Falcon saw the dagger on Rupert’s father’s waist the first time, he had rushed him in wave of anger, unwittingly. After waking up in a jail cell, Rupert’s father had questioned Falcon on why he had attacked unprovoked, but Falcon didn’t answer, eyes fixed on the dagger. Later on, when Falcon had finally stolen the dagger and it had reacted to his touch, he knew it was meant to be his. The best part of the dagger to him was the three figures carved at the base of the handle, his favorite the largest. Falcon set off to the east and angled towards the river, as he put his dagger back at his side he took a look at those three carvings.
         A falcon, a raven, and a sparrow.

Chapter 5 Raven

Raven had spent the morning dodging questions from Sean about where she had run off to yesterday afternoon. Somehow she had convinced him she was reading in the fields and had lost track of time, even though Ravens pants were soaked from her day at the river and her mother seemed to know the truth immediately. Her mother had stayed quiet, avoiding another fight between Sean and Raven over the evening meal. Now that the quizzing was over, Sean was back to normal pleasantries, “How did you sleep?” and “Looks like a storms coming.” Ravens brain took over on her typical answers and she let her mind run back to the river, too all its mysteries.
         Raven’s favorite part of the river was almost a pond, the river came into a huge field of long grass and seemed to stop and engulf the flat plain. She swam on the eastern side here, the undercurrents were extreme farther west, where the river reformed and went over a small waterfall to regain the speed and terror Sean feared. Raven always sat next to the waterfall to end her swim, the breeze coming off the rushing falls dried her and the crashing against the rocks was a lullaby. Raven had fallen asleep on her bed of grass, the river made everything so lush in the valley, bringing nutrients from the eastern cliffs and spreading them far and wide. Raven wished she could sleep there every day, and already she started planning on how to ditch Sean again today and get back to the river.
         “Reyna, are you even listening to me?” Sean had caught on to Raven’s daydreaming.
         “Nope, can I go now?” Raven figured there was no sense covering it up, better to let mother fix it later.
         “Why do you do this to me Reyna? All I want is for you to….” Sean was cut off by a loud clanging from the house, Raven’s mom always hit pots together to call them back from the mill, gardens, or fields. “We’ll continue this later.” Sean sighed and told Raven to run back to mother and see what was needed, even as Raven had already hit the path running.
Raven rounded the tree line to an unusual site, horses in the distance, with riders. The group was stopped quite a ways from the house still, out in a field near the river, and a lone rider was approaching the house at a trot. When Raven got to the house her mother had a confused look and said “Thom’s a day early, and he brought friends.” Then pushed Raven towards the house to wash up, “Company is here, try to come out back out like a lady.”
Raven listened at the door for Thom’s approach, mother humming softly to herself waiting, the river rushing in the distance. “M’lady, is Sean near?” Thom wasn’t as complimenting as usual, sounding gruff and tired. “He’s up at the mill Master Thom. This is a pleasant surprise.” Mother was pleasant enough. “The road has been kind m’lady. I will go see him now, thank you.” Thom was moving, kicking his horse into a trot towards the tree line. Raven rushed to her room, closing her eyes even as she dropped to the bedside and wished harder than ever that she could hear Thom and Sean now. At first there was nothing, her mother moving into the house, the river, a few birds here and there. All at once she heard branches breaking, a horse straining at the slim path to the mill, Thom’s voice urging the horse for more speed.
         “I wondered when this day would come.” Sean’s voice, yet deeper and stronger than any Raven had ever heard, she was losing concentration in the confusion and missed what Thom said back. “How many men did you bring with you Thom? What do you fear from a old man and two women?”
         “Sean, I gave you your peace and secrecy, the time has come, the dagger has been taken. I had to make my move.” Raven was completely lost, Sean and Thom had always discussed the mill and the happenings of Drin, all the profit to be made, and never in tones that made her shiver.
         “The time has not come Thom. You know as well as I, the river is still true and the days still fair. Let us feast tonight, and forget this business until tomorrow.”
         “Sean your tongue still matches your sword for skill. I won’t have it. You didn’t run when you had the chance, so I give you the courtesy of asking today.”
“Thom you never were a good liar. What is this courtesy of asking? Why bring the men if you plan on not taking from me today?” By now Raven was shaking in fear, the world seemed colder. Sean spoke like a man of the mountains, not a humble log cutter living in a small valley cottage. They were speaking of things that scared Raven, not of the joyous stories about taverns in Drin.
“How do you know of my men Sean? Bah, what’s the difference, let us just get on with this and I will leave you to your logs and flowers. I’m needed back in Drin soon, and I’d much rather be off tonight. I brought triple your coin, as thanks for your help, and will leave my four choice horses for your fields and logs. It’s much more than fair for your easy life on the plains these last sixteen years.”
         “It won’t be happening Thom, get off my land and crawl back to Drin. Surely the dagger is more important than this. Now go.”
         “Sorry old friend, but times have changed.” Raven couldn’t understand what happened next, she heard sounds of rushing wind and a massive thud. With no way of seeing what had happened it was hard to piece it all together. Raven was crying along with the shaking now when her mother burst into the room. Looking as worried as Raven she grabbed her hands and fighting back her own tears started to speak. But all at once they heard what sounded like Sean, gasping for breath, he said as clear as if he were in the room,
         “Raven, RUN!”

Chapter 6 Sparrow

         House Riverbreak sat at the base of the eastern cliff’s in the city of the same name, a sprawling lodge of pine and fir from the northern forests, accented by the white washed cliffs. A painter couldn’t have dreamed it more beautiful, and Sparrow only felt safe under those looming walls. He had run back so fast he almost knocked over the gate attendant Peter. Apologizing quickly, Sparrow had asked the gate be closed for the night and bolted for Gran’s.
She chose to live in the smallest of log buildings on the estate, ordering the servants to take up the rooms of the massive lodge in the middle. Sparrow’s official room was in the lodge, but he rarely stayed there, choosing the building next to Gran instead. When other high class visitors came to Riverbreak, Gran and Sparrow stayed in their rooms at the lodge, but at all other times Gran insisted the servants take that space. Sparrow had never questioned it, Gran had raised him this way, and their servants were never ordered to do anything, instead doing it almost on instinct. For all the taunting Sparrow received from the orphans, he didn’t seem to live so much higher than them, and by no means felt better than them. If only they could have seen that, Sparrow thought, they could have truly been his friends. Sparrow passed the stables on the right of the main gates, black smith and tanner’s to the left. He ran through the training yard, arrows still in training dummy’s and wooden swords stacked neatly nearby. The open air kitchen and fresh gardens sat beyond this, then the smaller few buildings housing grains and the chicken coops behind them, before he reached Gran’s and his living areas to the left of the main lodge. Sparrow paused to catch his breath before opening Gran’s door, she always made a fit about him bursting in like a drunkard at times. Steadying his hands and nerves, Sparrow knocked and called out, “Gran I need to talk to you.”
Gran was old. At least that’s what she told Sparrow, much older than anyone in all the land she would say. Sparrow laughed at the thought, for Gran looked no older than the local barmaid, who was barely pushing her twentieth year. Gran’s hair was blonde like Sparrows, but it shone even in the darkest night, almost as if it were made of fire. There were no wrinkle’s on her face, no weakness in her bones, and no ailments Sparrow could recall. Gran wasn’t just the oldest person around, she was also the image of perfection that so many women strived for. Sparrow had more than once been called her son, to which Gran would laugh and correct them with “Grandest of Sons, yes.” She once had tried to explain this response to Sparrow, but had lost him with a long list of names he had never heard. Sparrow just knew she was family, and family was all he could trust right now.
Gran sat near the fire, staring deep into the flames, her hair dancing along with it and didn’t seem to hear Sparrow. Sparrow softly closed the door, fearing he was intruding on a private moment, and took a seat next to Gran. They sat staring in silence together, Gran the picture of calm, Sparrow a fidgeting mess, for what seemed like forever.
“How are your hands Master Stephen?” Gran always addressed him formally, it made him cringe usually, but her question threw him this time.
“My hands?” Sparrows lip quivered, remembering the glowing and fight only minutes before.
“They usually sting for days after, the first time the glow happens. You must take care not to hurt them these next few days. You will recover soon though, you’re young. Unlike me.” Gran let out a little chuckle at her own joke, ignoring the fact that Sparrow sat with his jaw hanging open at the fact that Gran knew of his hand situation.
“How did you know? What’s happening to me? What do you mean recover?” Sparrow had so many questions, each one creating another, and Gran just sat there with tiny smirk and her eyes shining in the firelight.
“There will be time for answers later Master Stephen, for now how are your hands? We have things to help the pain, do you need them?” Gran gently touched his hands at this, inspecting them as if they were diamonds.
“I’m not in any pain Gran, there was no pain. Just glowing.” Sparrow was stammering through his words, the whole time watching Gran gently touch the lines in his hands.
“No pain? No pain. You are strong my young Stephen, much stronger than you think. I must speak with Peter now. Don’t leave this room I do ask you, we have much to discuss when I return.” Gran moved gracefully from the fire and into the night as Sparrow was left with his questions and his hands, apparently going through things that were expected of them by everyone but Sparrow himself. Sparrow sat staring into the fire, reliving the events of the night, how could he have done those things? He decided this was all a dream and he would wake soon, better now than later, so Sparrow plunged his hands into the fire to wake up.
They began to glow. No pain, no searing flesh, just a dull glow. Not as bright as earlier in the fight, but here they were, right in the fire, glowing. Sparrow pulled his hands out, in awe of the craziness of what he had done. This was not a normal dream, maybe he was in a really deep sleep, like the time he accidently got drunk on what he thought was normal grape juice when he was ten. He had slept for three days after that, Gran thought he was dying, she had even yelled at a cook afterward. After he woke Gran had removed all alcohol from the grounds and never yelled again. This was different though and Sparrow knew it, everything had been way too real, and not in weird shades of green like those three day dreams. Tears were coming back as Sparrow sat alone by the fire, he just wanted to fall asleep and go back to normal tomorrow. Sparrow was just about to go to his house and room when Gran came back, with Peter in tow.
“Master Stephen, you need to go with Peter immediately.” Gran was rushing with her words, no longer the image of calm Sparrow loved. This wasn’t helping with his confusion.
“But Gran, my hands, the orphans, the fire” Sparrow was crying now, fear pouring out of his soul.
“There is no time, I’m sorry. Peter will take care of you. Some men were staying in the inn this night, they have questions about some battered orphans I think you know. I will do the answering, but you need to be away for now. Peter will know when to bring you back, or I will come to you.” Gran grabbed Sparrow by the shoulders, abruptly stopping his tears, and gazed into his eyes with the fire of her own. “You must be strong now.” She let him go and moved to a trunk in the corner.
Peter was keeping watch through a crack in the door, there seemed to be a commotion near the front gates now, Sparrow could hear some shouting back and forth. Gran was uncovering something from deep in the trunk now, whispering to herself, and glancing into the fire. She then rose and moved toward the door.
“Time to go Peter.” Peter opened the door and motioned Sparrow to follow then disappeared into the night. Sparrow felt his body moving on instinct as Gran bent down to him and unwrapped her find. She strapped a small scabbard around Sparrow then held out the cloth to him. Sparrow looked down on a dagger, unlike anything he had seen before. Sparrow touched it and fire seemed to shoot through the blade, the handle like snake skin, carvings at the bottom. A sparrow, a falcon, and a raven.
“For many years I’ve held this, and many times I’ve doubted.” Gran paused and looked at him with eyes full of hope, she seemed to will strength into his bones and bravery to his mind. For the first time ever as she urged him into the dark she said.
“Tonight it is yours, my King.”

Elsewhere North of Scalin, Seat of the King

         In the bowels of the catacombs two hooded figures met in the late hours of the night. Tunnels deep below the great city of Scalin housed the dead of the valley, and the meetings of those who wished to be unknown.
“We just received word, the third has been found.”
“And what of the dagger? Has it been returned?”
“Not yet, but we are close, we only need more time.”
“More time,” one of the men laughed, a low rumble, “We are out of time, if the three truly exist then the time is now.”
“The dagger will be yours within the week as I promised.”
“The dagger or your head within the week,” the low rumble of coarse laughing again, “as I promised.”

Chapter 7 Falcon

         Falcon tried to hide in the cover of the tree’s for as long as he could, but when the line turned to much south he made his way back towards the river. If he could find an old trading road along the river he could travel much faster away from Drin. Falcon had kept a study pace most of the day in the tree’s, avoiding the thicker brush and long grasses, but now down in the valley the tall grass was slowing him down. Sometimes only the sound of the river told him what direction he was going, soon he had to find a path or road, already the sun touched the western peaks and lost in the tall grass at night was not a fun thought. Finally Falcon made a straight line towards the sound of the river and before long the grass gave way to a trading road, and not much farther the river was rolling by. Falcon felt the light breeze outside the tall grass, refreshing him and restoring strength to his body. Falcon made his way to the river bank for a drink and hopefully a snail or two, there wasn’t much to eat out here and his apple had long been eaten. He’d been used to stealing food as needed or just removing an apple or two from orchards outside Drin when he was hungry, now Falcon realized he’d had it easy.
Falcon quenched his thirst and even dug up a few clams on the bank, cheering his mood even more, and sat down to enjoy his meal. The sun was hiding behind the massive peaks in the west, the valley days were so short if you lived near the peaks, only those living directly in the middle of the valley had a full day of sunlight. Falcon stared across the river, sunlight glistening off the waters, as it moved lazily by. He had decided this was as good a place as any to stay for the night, and he walked a little farther east to use a few rocks as shelter from the road. No need for traders to see him just yet, Drin was still very close and no doubt there would be a reward for anyone who brought him back.
Falcon grabbed some dry reeds from the river bank for a bed, a few more clams, and really started to feel safe for the night when the sounds started to creep up on him. First Falcon swore he heard splash’s across the river, and rustling in the grasses across the road, but he quickly dismissed the sounds as the dark playing with his mind. Then what sounded like a dog barking, this got Falcon’s full attention, there were no dogs out here, the wolves and other predators made sure of that. Falcon would have swore it was a bark, trying to think of other things that might sound like a dog he heard it again. Clearly this time, that was a dog. Then Falcon heard an answer, and another, and another. Chills crept up his spine and Falcon crouched behind his rocks and slowly looked back west along the trade road.
There were lights, pole lanterns Falcon was sure of it, he could only see a few at first but as the sun fully died behind the mountains lights started popping up more. They were spread out through the tall grasses and on up into the hills going south. Falcon shivered, they were searching for him, and now the dogs began barking in earnest, they must have found his scent. Over the chorus of barks, he heard the guttural howls, fear grabbed his heart and choked the breath from him lungs, war hounds were being set loose. Falcon was frozen in place, he was no match for the speed of the hounds, nor the riders that surely followed behind them. They could smell him now, and war hounds cared for nothing so much as the hunt. Falcon yelled to himself, Move!, but his body seemed to have disconnected from his brain. The howling was growing louder as more hounds joined in, the pole lanterns all streaming back towards the river, the whole of the town guard must have been sent after him.
Falcon went limp, falling back behind the rocks and onto his bed of reeds, with no way of out running the hounds and only his dagger to defend himself, Falcon was no match for an army. He reached for his dagger and one last look before it was taken from him forever. As he pulled it from his waist and settled his grip on it, the shaking started, fire shooting through the blade, greens and blues radiating from the handle and the carvings seemingly come to life in Falcon’s hands. It shook Falcon so vigorously he forgot the howling and the lights coming towards him, raising the dagger to the sky in defiance, Falcon moved to the middle of the road. Then they saw him.
At first there were only three hounds, chest high, pounding towards Falcon on the road, then more and more appeared from the grasses, until Falcon could not count the number. Still he stood, dagger raised above his head, waiting. As the hounds closed the gap, Falcon saw them more clearly. They were as high as his chest, flattened heads with massive jaws and powerful legs. Muscles twitched down their bodies, honed to perfection, the beasts built for battle. The lead hound came into view, mouth open and two rows of razor teeth glistening in the reflection of Falcon’s flame tipped dagger. Falcon felt no fear, no longer the shivering boy by the river of minutes past, but stood poised for his death, determined to take at least one hound with him. The leader jumped.
Falcon crouched at the last second, raking his blade underneath the hound as he rolled from its outstretched claws, feeling the tearing of muscle and bone. No time to celebrate before Falcon was jumping over the next hound, plunging the dagger into its neck and diving away from the third. Another hound met its end with a well placed thrust to its bottom jaw, and another with a blow so strong both Falcon and the hound flew in opposite directions. Falcon barely regained his footing before the main group was on him, slashing left and right, jabbing up and down. Sliding under one hound and jumping another, Falcon moved as fast as the wind but as strong as the river. Some hounds never felt him and still some were hit so hard and fast they flew into the tall grass howling painfully at the night. Falcon felt a hound break his defense and clamp those teeth into his leg, without hesitating Falcon removed the hounds head from its body. His leg drenched in blood, some his own and other not. Falcon stared at the chaos around him. Hounds lay dead or dying all across the road, more floating at the edge of the river or moaning softly in the grass. Falcon looked at the dagger, it had grown brighter through the fight, so blinding now he could barely see where it ended and his arm began. Shouts began to ring out in the distance, riders could see the light. Killing hounds had happened so fast Falcon couldn’t have stopped, but now the riders brought him back to reality and he quickly sheathed the dagger. Falcon turned back east and sprinted up the road, gaining some time as the riders would no doubt be upon their hounds soon. Falcon saw a rock running out into the river, disappearing below the water here and there, and ran out across it. As the end of it came up Falcon decided to dive into the water and cross to the other side, losing his pursuers in the confusion and dark.
Falcon dove, ignoring caution and reason, into the dark waters. As quickly as his face felt the cold against it, a whirlpool grabbed him and sucked Falcon deeper, bashing him upon the rocks and ripping into his body.
Then she was there, the most beautiful face he had ever seen, lighting the waters and grabbing his hands to pull him out of the depths. “Sleep,” she mouthed.
Falcon blacked out.

Chapter 8 Raven

         With tears streaming down her face, Raven was running for the river. Her mother had helped her out of the bedroom window and told her “Swim across the river, follow the red flowers east.” There had been no time to explain why her mother heard the things Raven did, or what had happened to Sean, not even who Thom really was. Raven’s tears were of confusion, she had never wanted her boring life back so badly. Sean had sounded desperate when Raven heard his plea for her to run, the Sean she hated, buying her time to flee. Raven’s feet pounded against the ground, her lungs burning from the effort, the river must have moved farther away since yesterday she thought. Raven wanted to know who she was running from, what they wanted, and where her mother and Sean were really from. She felt betrayed by her family, which only added to the pain in her body. Raven stumbled into the river, tripping when her momentum hit the water. She had always thought the river a friend, now it just felt cold and mean. She was struggling to swim, exhaustion crushing down on her as the sun fell to the west. Raven just kept her eyes on the far bank, scanning for red anywhere, ignoring the biting cold. She finally reached the other side, the cold water forcing all emotion away and leaving her completely alone.
Alone with only “Follow the red” to guide her, Raven jogged along the east bank looking for any sign of color besides green, tan, or grey. Her eyes were focused looking for the flowers, Raven forgot to watch in front of her and fell over some washed up logs, landing face down in the mud. Exhaustion was setting in, pain from her long run and the fall, and fear for her life. Tears threatened to come, overwhelmed as Raven was, only her mother’s last words kept Raven grounded. She washed her face and body quickly in the river, looking to the southern bank for signs of pursuit. She could still see smoke from the cottage back to the south-west, reminding her how close danger still was. Raven had waited long enough, with a quick drink and a check for injury, she set a quick pace away from home.
It had been mid-morning when her life fell apart, and the sun was no longer soothing, but another enemy fighting Raven for every stride and breath. The crushing weight in her side slowed her down, the flames in her knees even more, and the sun just sat high in the sky beating down on her with a fury. She stopped, slumped over gasping for air and looked back down the river bank. Footprints! Raven was horrified, her tracks in the mud standing out like a pole light in the night. All this running for nothing, men on horses would easily catch up to her with a trail to follow. She fell to her knee’s, the day crushing in on her and the tears fell. She wasn’t sobbing, they just fell, running down her cheek one at a time and landing in one of her footprints. A small puddle forming inside as Raven sat with her head bowed, wondering how long she had left and whether to just wait for her pursuers. The tears still fell, filling her small footprint and running to the next, a reminder of her doom. Then she saw it, a small red flower, almost lost in the grasses along the bank and Raven’s heart skipped a beat. She scrambled too it, putting her face down beside it and smelling the life it had given her. Tears of fear became tears of joy as she plucked the flower delicately from its place and sat down to look for more. She searched frantically for another sign of red, turning and remembering the trail she had left behind of footprints. One last tear slid down her cheek and touched the red flower, where it vanished within and the flower began to pulsate ever so softly.
Startled, Raven dropped the flower and it landed in her tear filled footprint. Seconds later the footprint was gone, then the next, and the next. She could barely breathe, as she watched as each footprint disappeared one after another til she couldn’t see them anymore. Raven snatched up the flower, cherishing it even more and began moving back east along the river. She looked behind her a few minutes later, and not a single footprint existed. As if she never even existed.
With that Raven began to run, heart full of freedom once again.