WAR AND PEACE
Long after the fall of Saar, in a space of time illumined by vision, Revel, High King of Casoria, began the tradition of Open Court. For six days a year, three before spring moon and three after harvest, those with a grievance could journey forth to Castle Ursaulis to stand before him. He received them in the Great Throne Room, a wonderful hall with great oaken beams and leaded windows of ruby and blue. Rank was abolished on these occasions, and so it was common for young dandies to be confronted by red-faced merchants or landed gentry to argue volubly with farmers over scraps of land. Rank was dismissed in the galleries as well. Fine silks rubbed against coarse wool or burlap as delicate musk and spices mingled with barnyard scents. From dawn until dusk, Revel heard them; from dawn until dusk, the royal scepter rose and fell. He reigned for forty years and was known as Revel the Fair.
His son, Rand, continued the tradition but took no real pleasure in it. His joy was the hunt; he found the cases before him unpleasant and tiresome. He would not decide against his friends.
Under his rule, Open Court took on a circus atmosphere. The Great Throne Room became an arena for coarse villains to bluster to the delight of the crowd. Justice was decided by the loudest voice while lewd fabrications, unspeakable in King Revel’s day, drew crude laughter from his son and friends. Even so, the people kept streaming into Casoria for these sessions, if not for justice, then to roam the streets at will.
But before he could corrupt his father’s vision entirely, Rand, who was now called Rand the Rash, began what would ultimately be known as the Blood Wars, a conflict that would span twenty years, a dark bloodstained part of Casorian history that would nearly destroy the city and cost the lives of thousands.
It began over a bird.
The three- spotted falcon was a rare bird, not only in the sense of limited numbers but due to the fact that it was seldom seen, having been sighted only a handful of times outside the Eld Forest. In that dense pocket of foliage, the birds flew and mated without intrusion. No one hunted in the Eld Forest because it had been declared a sikestra, sacred to Jah.
One morning while out riding with his nobles, Rand the Rash flushed out a bird when his horse stumbled into a thicket. The falcon froze on a low limb, then spiraled upwards, giving off a high, piercing shriek. It happened in a matter of seconds, but Rand had time to observe the peculiar pattern on the bird’s wing. It was like none other in his mews.
“What sort of bird is that?” he demanded of Garrion, his falconer, who rode a stout dapple on his left. “And why is it not in my aviary?”
“What bird?” Garrion focused on the pommel of his saddle, rubbing at a spot.
“That bird yonder!” the King roared, and Garrion looked up.
“It’s a small species of bird peculiar to the Eld Forest,” replied the falconer with a deprecating shrug. “It’s of little account. The merest chick in your aviary is far superior.”
Rand the Rash lifted red-rimmed eyes and followed the bird’s flight. The image blurred, then sharpened into a perfect V held in stasis before it disappeared from sight.
“I must have it,” he declared.
His noble companions eyed each other uneasily. Lord Dinnisee’s bay threw back its head and sprayed them in a series of snorts.
“Pray consider,” began Anjhest, a burly drinking companion. In the taverns, he was known as a brawler, but now his voice was wheedling and soft. “It’s a small bird and the distance to the Eld Forest is great.”
“How far, falconer?” Rand asked, casting a sharp glance to the left.
“Two days, three at the most. I’m guessing, but it’s a fair guess.” Garrion paused before adding. “One does not travel often to the sacred forest. I myself have only skirted around it and then as a lad.”
“I see.” The King seemed satisfied, then turned to Anjhest with a snarl. “And what if it’s two days or twenty? My horses are the swiftest in the land!”
“Of course, Majesty. I only meant. . .”
“What he’s trying to tell you, cuz, is that you can’t go there.” Creath, fair as the sun and blood cousin to the King, slapped his reins lightly against his palm. “The Eld Forest is sikestra. No one may enter.”
“There are other amusements,” put in Gerlatch, quickly. “A ruby scaled dragon is picking off children on the moors of Glynnis Fen. We could find no greater sport.”
“Dragons are worms. I find them sad,” said William, forcing a yawn. “I have a yen for the bird.”
“Saar’s bones, cousin!” burst out Creath. “The Eld Forest belongs to Jah! We can’t go there!”
“Jah! Jah!” William bellowed. “All my life I’ve heard of the old god, yet we have never met. He has never come to court. And as for the notion of Sikestra? I am the law of the land! Today, this very day, we begin for the Eld Forest. If Jah is there when we arrive, well and good. If not, we begin to hunt.”
“We don’t want to go,” said Creath bluntly. His bullish expression matched the King’s own.
“Which of you would refuse your King?” demanded Rand.
One by one, they lowered their heads.
It was a subdued party that set out that same afternoon. The King clattered down the cobbled streets of Casoria, the others following. The entourage consisted of Creath, blood cousin to the King and Prince of the Nibban Highlands; Lord Dinnisee, second son of a well-connected family; Lord Gerlatch, Duke of Hiffert; and Lord Anjhest, ruler of the Andovers and March Lord of Banescale, a thin strip of land that bordered on the wastes of the Nevers. They were joined by Lord Alexy Fulcruchen, a Bornish gentleman of high fashion but skilled in swordplay, and Perri, nephew of the falconer, who was in charge of supplies. They’d brought nets of every conceivable sort; the pack ponies creaked with them.
The men broke camp the first night outside Saundry; the second night was spent in an open field. Although the wine was plentiful, none felt inclined toward conversation. The thought of the Eld Forest loomed before them. Only the King and Lord Alexy Fulcruchen seemed unaffected by what lay ahead.
“How far, falconer?” Rand lounged on one side, cradling a bottle of Frennin White, a tart, potent wine of royal vintage. “Come now, another guess.”
“We should see the peaks of Ron Jonna, smallest of High North, by tomorrow’s nightfall,” replied Garrion, his face moody in the firelight. “The Eld Forest lies directly in its evening shadow to the west.”
Rand sat up and spat into the fire. “We’ll bag a bird before noon and ride home directly.”
“My thoughts exactly,” agreed Fulcruchen. “Our prey is neither scarce nor intelligent. It should be a small matter of confining several to our nets.”
Despite their apprehension, it was a mellow night. The air was warm and the swallows melodious. The crickets kept up a steady chirp. It was Creath who broke the silence.
“Upon our return, I will be repairing to my country estate,” He stared at his cousin thought the firelight. “With the King’s permission, of course.”
Rand grunted, then belched.
“I, too, have obligations,” agreed Anjhest sadly. “Horses, cattle, peasants. Life is a tiresome affair.”
“I’m getting married,” blurted Dinnisee. “She’s as freckled as a spotted pup, but with a large dowry. We will rub well together.”
“Begone, then!” Rand sneered. “But what of you, Lord Fulcruchen? Have you no pressing matters to attend?”
Fulcruchen shrugged. “I live each day to the fullest, impervious to petty duties, changing fortunes, or the whims of gods. I’m yours to command.”
Creath muttered an obscenity while Rand beamed. Until now, the King had regarded Fulcruchen in an unflattering light, wary of his caustic tongue and overdress. This outing, however, had revealed the true character of the man. Rand now saw hard intelligence and refined tastes. A ruler would do well to surround himself with such men. The King took a generous swig of wine and mulled over an appointment at court.
They awoke the next morning, anxious to net a bird and be gone. The horses picked up their excitement and turned skittish. A small pack pony broke loose, and a red-faced Perri brought him back.
The falconer’s approximations proved correct. By late afternoon, they passed a looming mountain; a few miles farther and they were gazing at what Garrion assured them was the tree line of the Eld Forest.
