wind will be the judge.”
Sintus shook in righteous anger, his own brother’s blood dripping from his sharp beak. “Why should I not merely state the truth of my birthright? I should not be forced to honor this Reckoning. This is old and dying magic. The time for a new King has come, and most know I should be the one. Those who do not will soon be convinced.” There was a nervous murmur of agreement from his devotees. Nascus remained calm. The General, inscrutable, eyed the eldest. The twelve sentinels watched Fragit for any sign of charge.
Ophrei chuckled a bit then quivered his feathers with a slight tremble. “You will abide by the Reckoning’s order and carry on with the relation.”
Then Sintus likewise laughed a bit and said, “Oh, all right, old bird! I’ll play your needless game. Let me see . . . how does that old story go? Something like this, I think . . .” He began to hum a melody, something without ordered notes or tune, really a childlike da-da-ma-ma-dum with no sense to it. He broke into a dance as the melody continued. The old rook watched, his tremor stilling. Sintus’s mindless humming continued. Then one of his followers, Darus by name, stepped into the circle and joined the dance.
“In the first night,” he sang gaily, “the Wind and the Earth were making babes. And the Earth just lay there while the Wind had its way. And the Earth shook in earthquake and the Wind came in a hurricane! And looky what they made! Cold gray stones to mark the graves. Of course, the Wind was let down. Let me give you the best I can, my love! And it blew hard as it could and look what came out! Little black gods! Crows!” He continued the dance and song for a while, fearless and arrogant. Darus took his wing in beak and did a mock curtsy to the prince.
Ophrei watched, his expression unchanging. The rest of the murder was quiet with the exception of Sintus’s group, who were forming into a company and whistling and cawing along with the eldest. Sintus broke out of the song and went back to the mindless humming and whistling with which he had begun. Darus moved back toward the outer circle but stayed closer to the prince than before the dance. Sintus did a final trot and ended his ‘tale’ with a jump and a short flight, spreading his wings to their fullest and calling out, “And that is the truth and I am here to tell it!” His group, which had assembled more distinctly since he began his song, exploded in laughter and support. For the most part, the rest of the murder was still and watchful, though a few did laugh nervously. Fragit did not move, nor did his guard.
Ophrei showed no sign of annoyance or amusement, just calmly said, “Now. Tell the story of your father’s life.”
Caught up in his fit, Sintus reacted as if he had just eaten a rotten apple. “The old King Crow was born to be a better King but never was! He slept most of his majestic life, though he bedded many fine black birds! Yes, that’s it! Just slept, ate, and made babies! He has three sons official, but his bastards are many. Let me see—” He glanced around the field. “Why, there’s one, two, seven, sixteen . . . Ah! Look at all my brothers and sisters unofficial! Not one of you would deny!” There was laughter throughout the field, some buoyant and some tense.
It was then that from his hiding place within the brush Ysil clearly saw Ophrei’s feathers begin to rustle with a rise in the wind. He could not feel any breeze at all, and the murder seemed intent on Sintus’s tale and did not notice. Abruptly the old rook began to quaver.
Cotur Ada put his wings around the younger quails and held them low. “Young ones. The kingship is about to be decided, surely. I have the feeling that Sintus’s record is not to be approved.”
To their left, within the brush at the bottom of a small hollow, there was a rustle and a panicky peep. Fear gripped Ysil. Was it a crow guard, searching for intruders? He froze and lifted his eyes
Sintus shook in righteous anger, his own brother’s blood dripping from his sharp beak. “Why should I not merely state the truth of my birthright? I should not be forced to honor this Reckoning. This is old and dying magic. The time for a new King has come, and most know I should be the one. Those who do not will soon be convinced.” There was a nervous murmur of agreement from his devotees. Nascus remained calm. The General, inscrutable, eyed the eldest. The twelve sentinels watched Fragit for any sign of charge.
Ophrei chuckled a bit then quivered his feathers with a slight tremble. “You will abide by the Reckoning’s order and carry on with the relation.”
Then Sintus likewise laughed a bit and said, “Oh, all right, old bird! I’ll play your needless game. Let me see . . . how does that old story go? Something like this, I think . . .” He began to hum a melody, something without ordered notes or tune, really a childlike da-da-ma-ma-dum with no sense to it. He broke into a dance as the melody continued. The old rook watched, his tremor stilling. Sintus’s mindless humming continued. Then one of his followers, Darus by name, stepped into the circle and joined the dance.
“In the first night,” he sang gaily, “the Wind and the Earth were making babes. And the Earth just lay there while the Wind had its way. And the Earth shook in earthquake and the Wind came in a hurricane! And looky what they made! Cold gray stones to mark the graves. Of course, the Wind was let down. Let me give you the best I can, my love! And it blew hard as it could and look what came out! Little black gods! Crows!” He continued the dance and song for a while, fearless and arrogant. Darus took his wing in beak and did a mock curtsy to the prince.
Ophrei watched, his expression unchanging. The rest of the murder was quiet with the exception of Sintus’s group, who were forming into a company and whistling and cawing along with the eldest. Sintus broke out of the song and went back to the mindless humming and whistling with which he had begun. Darus moved back toward the outer circle but stayed closer to the prince than before the dance. Sintus did a final trot and ended his ‘tale’ with a jump and a short flight, spreading his wings to their fullest and calling out, “And that is the truth and I am here to tell it!” His group, which had assembled more distinctly since he began his song, exploded in laughter and support. For the most part, the rest of the murder was still and watchful, though a few did laugh nervously. Fragit did not move, nor did his guard.
Ophrei showed no sign of annoyance or amusement, just calmly said, “Now. Tell the story of your father’s life.”
Caught up in his fit, Sintus reacted as if he had just eaten a rotten apple. “The old King Crow was born to be a better King but never was! He slept most of his majestic life, though he bedded many fine black birds! Yes, that’s it! Just slept, ate, and made babies! He has three sons official, but his bastards are many. Let me see—” He glanced around the field. “Why, there’s one, two, seven, sixteen . . . Ah! Look at all my brothers and sisters unofficial! Not one of you would deny!” There was laughter throughout the field, some buoyant and some tense.
It was then that from his hiding place within the brush Ysil clearly saw Ophrei’s feathers begin to rustle with a rise in the wind. He could not feel any breeze at all, and the murder seemed intent on Sintus’s tale and did not notice. Abruptly the old rook began to quaver.
Cotur Ada put his wings around the younger quails and held them low. “Young ones. The kingship is about to be decided, surely. I have the feeling that Sintus’s record is not to be approved.”
To their left, within the brush at the bottom of a small hollow, there was a rustle and a panicky peep. Fear gripped Ysil. Was it a crow guard, searching for intruders? He froze and lifted his eyes
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