Royal Falcon

  Table of Contents

  The First Born

  Five Years Later

  A Beginning

  Progress

  Games

  An Alliance Born of Necessity

  Decisions

  Flight of the Falcon

  The Dark Seed

  Setting the Playing Field

  The Assassination

  A Sorcerer Rises

  A Visit to The Red Keg

  Friend Versus Friend

  Home

  The Bull Hunt

  Lessons

  Conspiracies

  Disparate Duels

  Sorcerers’ Business

  The Toloran Bride

  In the Old Dungeon

  The Oracle

  Mortal Enemies

  A History Lesson

  The Gift of Death

  An Attack on the King

  The Death of a Grand Master

  Rats in the Dungeon

  The Judgment of the Goddess

  A Shocking, Terrifying End Appendix: Information about the Kingdom of Karapak

  Map of the Kingdoms Geography and people

  Political structure

  Sorcerers

  Names

  Code of Honor

  Religion

  Other books in the series Falcon Warrior

  Desert Warrior

  Extract from Falcon Warrior

  Mirror Magic

  Volume 1

  Royal Falcon

  C. Svartbeck

  Notes:

  This book contains adult content and violent imagery

  and is intended for mature audiences

  At the end of this book, you will find an appendix with

  information about the country of Karapak and its inhabitants.

  © C.Svartbeck, Smiling Wyvern Press

  © translated by Charlotte C. Milstein

  Machandel Publishing, Erpenbeck, Haseluenne, Germany 2019

  Cover art source: breakermaximus / shutterstock. com

  ISBN 978-3-95959-177-5

  The First Born

  A son!

  Kanata, of the illustrious House of Mehme, eleventh ruler of Karapak looked down, exceptionally pleased, at the little creature the midwife presented to him with a deep bow. The new concubine had brought honor to the royal house. Her first-born, a son, not even fourteen moons after she joined the harem. Miomio wasn’t just a very beautiful woman. Kanata allowed himself a smile as he thought of the past few nights. The concubine also knew how to hold an intelligent conversation and her advice wasn’t bad. She was highly educated, for a woman.

  Kanata stretched out his hand and carefully touched the newborn; the first in what would hopefully be a long line of sons. The future commander of his kingdom. The babe looked strong. His head was already covered in thick, jet-black hair and his little hands were clenched in fists. Yes, he would be a warrior.

  Someone pushed in beside him. Kanata smelled peaches. His first consort, Iragana’s, new favorite perfume. She laid her soft hand on his arm. “A beautiful son, my husband,” she said. “What will you name him?”

  “Ioro,” Kanata didn’t have to think long. “He will be High Commander. He will lead our troops to victory, so it is fitting he be called, ‘The Victor’.”

  “He should have a brother. A commander needs a king for whom he can fight.”

  Kanata furrowed his brow. Iragana had been first consort for two moons, but it seemed a bit premature to summon her to his bed. After all, the girl was only thirteen monsoon seasons old, and, in contrast to Miomio, she was as flat as a board. Not something in which a man might find pleasure. Why, by all the gods, had the Privy Council been in such a hurry to marry him off? A few more years and his cousin might have had a few curves to make her more appealing.

  He looked back down at the infant. He was proof he could sire sons. That should be enough for the Privy Council, for now. His first consort would have to wait a while longer.

  Iragana watched her husband as he proudly strutted out of the room, his chest swelling with pride. Uncontrollable jealousy welled up within her. That worthless concubine was not only allowed to share her husband’s bed, she had also borne him a son! While she, as first consort, only saw her husband on rare occasions when they dined together. Something had to change. She had to make sure her husband sired a son with her, too. Somehow.

  What had her wet nurse said, just before she climbed into the bridal sedan that took her to Sawateenatari? “There are many secrets in the harem. If you want to know what’s really going on, do not ask the king’s wives. Ask the servants. Ask the eunuchs.” The king had grown up in the palace. The older servants and eunuchs, in particular, likely knew him better than he knew himself. One of them would certainly know what she would have to do to get her husband into bed.

  Iragana forced a saccharine smile and stepped up to Miomio’s bed to congratulate the concubine on her son.

  Miomio wasn’t certain she had reason to celebrate. Of course, King Kanata was pleased with her. Pleased that the first child she had borne him was a son; a son Kanata officially recognized as his own, unlike the bastards he had sired with the servants. It also secured her own status. The king would never cast out the mother of a legitimate son. In theory, everything had gone perfectly.

  In theory.

  Miomio knew only too well the emotion she recognized on the first consort’s face. The girl was still too young to fully conceal her feelings. Jealousy and envy. A dangerous combination. Pettier motives had been known to be fatal in the summer harem.

  The first consort would never attack her outright with a dagger, but there were plenty of ways to murder someone without getting one’s hands dirty. The summer harem was notorious for its intrigues.

  Miomio decided to employ a taster from now on.

  The first son of the king was cause to celebrate. All of Sawateenatari was on its feet, cheering.

  The first son of the king was also cause for questions. Questions posed to the oracles at the temple.

  The gods’ responses were ... concerning. Concerning and ambiguous. Concerning enough that the priests had passed these responses on to the sorcerers.

  The first son of the king was also cause for the Crystal Chamber to sacrifice a mirror.

  Ro, Grand Master of the Sorcerers, glared at Master Li. “That is not a particularly precise vision of the future.”

  Li shrugged his shoulders. “The priests are better at such things. After all, they have a direct link to the gods.”

  “And we have mirrors.”

  “If the gods do not cooperate, our mirrors remain blind.”

  “But we can force an image.”

  Li pointed to the melted glass and bent frame. “Which I did. You can see the result. And the image I received was not a whit better than what happened to my mirror.”

  “I saw the image, too,” said Master Ur. “The mirror showed tragedy and war.”

  “Yes, but it also showed a Karapakian commander on the balcony of the royal palace in Tolor.”

  “Wishful thinking,” Ur growled. “We will never conquer Tolor. Even if we do, we will not be able to hold it. We have been through this before.”

  Li drew an intricate line in the air. A glowing fire rune floated briefly above the floor. “I have looked even deeper,” he said pensively. “This boy, Ioro, will live up to his name, but whether his victory will have positive or negative consequences for Karapak will depend on where he stands. On who becomes the next king. I think, if it were possible for this Ioro to become king, the bad omens the oracles saw could be prevented.”

  “Impossible. The son of a mere concubine can never be king. So says the law.”

  Ro cleared his throat. His cohorts immediately turned to look
at him. “Laws are written by people,” he said. “And people can change them.”

  Li and Ur exchanged a look. “Why should they?” Li asked.

  Ro looked at the lump of molten glass. Apparently, what he had seen had escaped his two colleagues. This Ioro... his bloodline was interesting. Very interesting. Interesting enough to take a bit of a risk. The palace no longer being hermetically sealed off to the sorcerers would also be very useful.

  “We will simply have to try it,” he said. “Let’s submit a request.”

  Kanata squinted at the piece of paper. Change the line of succession? What, by all the wind demons, were those sorcerers up to? If there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that the Crystal Chamber never did anything without benefiting somehow. What benefit did the sorcerers see in having a bastard son be the successor to the throne?

  They couldn’t gain direct influence on the palace through Ioro. No one in the royal family had even the tiniest trace of sorcerer blood in their veins. The palace was off limits to magic, for good reason, and all the women brought to the king were hand-picked.

  What then?

  What house was Miomio from again? Brepaka. A small, insignificant barony in the Dragon’s Tail Mountains near the southern border. Not a province from which royal concubines usually came. Miomio had been a courtesy gift. Kanata had actually planned on sending her directly to the winter harem. Brepaka was simply too insignificant to elevate a woman from her house to royal concubine.

  Then, he had seen the woman; and the woman had moved. She had fallen on her knees before him with a grace beyond comparison. He had asked her name. When she answered, not only was her voice soft and sweet and promising, her face was beautiful, too, as he realized when she raised her head. A beautiful face, flawless skin and, when she arose and her robe moved and slid across her breasts, he could see clearly how shapely she was. A vision that had made the blood shoot to his loins. After that, he hadn’t wasted another thought on shuffling this special woman off to the winter harem.

  What could the sorcerers possibly hope to gain from Brepaka?

  Nothing. The province was simply too insignificant. Not a single sorcerer was stationed there.

  Hmmm. Perhaps that was precisely the sorcerers’ motive. For centuries, they had exclusively served the major houses; rather profitably. Still, there were significantly fewer major houses than minor houses. Perhaps that was how the sorcerers intended to increase their power base; by securing the support of the minor houses.

  That made sense.

  Kanata took a deep breath.

  Those who see through their opponent’s motives have the upper hand; he had learned that much. Regardless of the sorcerers’ motives and how sensible they may be, he would do everything in his power to ensure they failed. Out of principle alone. He owed his house that much.

  The palace had eyes and ears, even in the summer harem. The court ladies were unable to hide their discomfort as they told the first consort the news.

  Iragana felt miserable. The Crystal Chamber had requested a change in the succession laws? That was impossible! Her son, and only her son, when she finally had one, would inherit the throne! Not the bastard of a concubine who'd simply had the good fortune to have a mother who had found her way to the king’s bed a little sooner.

  What could she do?

  Iragana’s eyes narrowed. She remained friendly, but resolute, as she informed her ladies that she was not feeling well and needed some time for herself. Then, she hurried into her chamber, took out paper and a quill, and began to write. When she was finished, she sealed the letter and gave it to Zoch, her favorite eunuch. “Get this letter to Duke Pritasaru as quickly as possible. My uncle has been waiting too long for a message from his favorite niece.”

  Zoch bowed and hurried out. Iragana watched him go. Her uncle would know what to do. He always knew what to do. After all, he was the one who had arranged for his niece to marry her distant cousin, Kanata. Of course, with no ulterior motive except for the fact that upon, the birth of the heir to the throne, he would be guaranteed a lifetime seat on the Privy Council.

  Duke Pritasaru didn’t hesitate for a second. After he had read his niece’s letter, he immediately sent out a messenger pigeon in every direction. Many people owed him favors.

  It was a good thing Iragana had acted so intelligently and quickly. Pritasaru didn’t care to imagine what would become of his ambitious plans if his niece lost her place as first consort to that insignificant concubine. It would be catastrophic! He had worked so patiently for so many years to improve his family’s position.

  However, there was still one little matter to take care of. Pritasaru went to a cabinet and removed a small vial from a well-hidden secret compartment. He stared at the vial of light-blue liquid for a moment. As harmless and inconspicuous as it seemed, the poison was deadly. Pritasaru wrote a letter, carefully wrapped up the vial and letter, and gave both to the eunuch. “My niece will be grateful for your speedy return.”

  As Zoch left the room, a smile appeared on the duke’s lips.

  Iragana read her uncle’s letter. She read it again and sighed. Then, she faked a smile and turned to Zoch. “Well done,” she said.

  The eunuch’s face broke into a wide grin. He loved his young mistress. He had loved her since they had both lived at her father’s house. Iragana had expressly asked to take Zoch with her as her servant. Zoch was certain he had a bright future before him, now that Iragana had begun including him in her plans.

  His young mistress went to the little table where there was a bowl with sweets she had placed there a few days prior. More precisely, since Zoch had explained to her that men usually appreciated a few curves on their women. She poked around in the bowl and pretended to pick something out.

  Then, she turned toward him, grinning, and held out a waffle cone filled with candied fruits. Zoch’s smile beamed even brighter. His young mistress remembered his favorite treat! Pleased, he took the treat from her hands and shoved it in his mouth.

  Even as he swallowed, he felt a fire running down his throat. Fire that turned into a raging storm in his stomach. Before he could scream, he collapsed.

  Iragana looked at his twitching body lying at her feet. It didn’t take long. Uncle Pritasaru was right, the poison worked quickly. She felt moisture on her cheek. She wiped the tears away, swiping angrily at her face. Friend or not, a queen could not allow herself any weaknesses, and co-conspirators were too dangerous. Uncle Pritasaru was right to remind her of that.

  When she was absolutely certain Zoch was dead, she called the servants to remove the body. The men obeyed without so much as a grimace. The life of a eunuch was not worth much at the royal palace.

  Iragana waited until she was alone again. Then, she went back to the little table. She held up the vial pensively. Would the rest be enough to send a concubine to the gods?

  “This will never happen again!” Kanata glared pointedly at his wife, his eyebrows furrowed in anger. “In this house, only one person decides who lives and dies; and that is me!”

  Iragana remained silent, her head bowed.

  “What could have possibly possessed you to poison a concubine’s servant?”

  A lack of foresight. Iragana was frustrated with herself for not having planned more carefully. Miomio had somehow become suspicious and appointed a taster. Something Iragana had found out too late. Her husband would not likely be very understanding. Iragana chose to remain silent.

  “Ah, as I suspected. The poison was not intended for the servant. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice what was going on in my own house?”

  She did not. Iragana knew as well as her husband did that, except for her, no one would profit from the death of the concubine. On the other hand, she was first consort. She was practically untouchable. Even for her husband, who was studying her very, very intensely. Iragana shrugged her shoulders almost imperceptibly. The loose, wide robes she had chosen specifically for this encounter, slipped down a bit more and
exposed the small, but nicely shaped curve of her breast.

  As though drawn by a magnet, her husband’s gaze wandered downward.

  Then, he came to her.

  His hands were rough. His voice was, too, but he did what she had wanted the whole time.

  Before he left her chambers, he turned to her once more. “I will be making Miomio my first concubine,” he said.

  Iragana remained silent. She knew that, as first concubine, Miomio was off limits to her, but, from now on, the concubine was not the only woman who would regularly share Kanata’s bed. The icing on the cake was that a message from her uncle had arrived today, informing her that the Privy Council’s request to change the line of succession had been rejected.

  Five Years Later

  Jokon stared at the goat, his brow furrowed. She had stopped eating. The food was probably too dry for her. If the goat didn’t eat, she wouldn’t produce any milk, and his mother needed the milk. Her own had dried up, and she had a small child to feed. Despite being only seven monsoon seasons old, Jokon knew what that meant. If the goat stopped providing milk, his little sister would die.

  Perhaps they would all die anyway.

  The clouds had remained elusive for two monsoon seasons in a row. The drought clutched the land in its merciless grip. Dust devils danced across the fields, the trees stretched their bare branches into a sky that shone like melted copper, and not a single drop of water flowed in the riverbed. It had been baked into a congealed, stinking mass of cracked, rock-hard mud and animal carcasses.

  And now, just before sowing season, even the village well had run dry. For days, it had only produced a pathetic trickle. This morning, the mud in the spring wasn’t even moist ...