Blackwing
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Blackwing
Book excerpt
Chapter One - Grimstar And Dragon’s Breath
The landlord of the inn, who was standing behind the heavy, rough-hewn counter polishing his plain pewter tankards, gave a cursory glance toward the stranger who had just entered. The other customers stopped talking and watched the stranger, suspiciously and surreptitiously, as he passed.
“Wipe yer boots! I run a clean establishment,” the landlord yelled to be heard over the din.
When the stranger didn’t respond, he realized the place was strangely quiet, the usual low buzz of conversations had fallen silent.
When the landlord looked up once more, he saw the stranger walking toward the counter, with his head slightly down, his thick-heeled boots making a distinct clopping sound on the wood-planked floor. The stranger towered over everyone present, wore black leather from head to toe, and walked with a plain oaken staff, taking two steps for every thud of the staff on the floor. The landlord noticed that no water dripped from the stranger’s clothes, even though it had been raining all day, and his well-worn boots were spotless and highly polished, instead of being mud-caked. The brim of the stranger’s fedora was perfectly parallel to the floor except for the front third, which had been turned downward, casting a shadow over his face and eyes. As the stranger walked to a table to the left of the counter, the landlord noticed the stranger looked straight ahead, never looking left, right, or at the other customers or tables.
Once he reached the table he wanted, the landlord saw him lean his staff against the wall, and then heard the distinctive sound of coins hit the table as he seated himself with his back against the wall.
“Welcome ta’ the Dragon’s Breath Inn,” the landlord said, as he cheerfully approached the table, wiping his hands on his makeshift apron. “What’s yer pleasure?”
The stranger looked up to the landlord, his features, previously shaded, now more apparent. A large, ugly scar marked the left side of his thin face, drawing a thick, jagged channel from beneath the fedora to the start of his neckline. The only visible break of the gruesome wound was the black, cloth eyepatch. Trying to force his eyes from the disfiguring injury, the landlord attempted to meet the stranger’s gaze. The near-white shade of the pale blue iris looking back at him shocked him. The stranger’s hair was black, streaked with gray, and though twisted and wrapped around his neck, the end was held by three rings — two gold and one silver.
“Nothing,” the stranger whispered, in the innkeeper’s own tongue. His deep, basso profundo voice promised thunder if riled. “I am meeting someone.”
The innkeeper was shocked to hear this creature, which was definitely not a faerie, speak the Fair Tongue. The innkeeper frowned. He tried to be tolerant of others who lived in the Seven Known Planes of the Fae, but only faeries spoke the fair tongue.
“You have a name?” the landlord snapped, obviously insulted.
“Blackwing,” the stranger replied, in a deep whisper. “And keep it to yourself.” He smirked.
The innkeeper grasped at his heart as it pounded, and stepped back to regain his balance.
“N-not Phelonius Blackwing!” he gasped, quietly, his face betraying his terror. My heart is beating so hard I know it’s going to stop.
“What do you know of Phelonius?” the stranger asked, his right eye narrowed to a slit.
The innkeeper whispered, “O-only that he was… is… a Dark Enforcer. A Storm Bringer, some would say, one of the T’et Faqin Q’estirions.”
Blackwing gave a nod toward the coins on the table and the innkeeper reached for a gold one. Then, thinking better of it, reached for a silver one. Before he could pick up the coin, Blackwing pinned his wrist to the tabletop. With his free hand, the stranger pushed up the sleeve of his duster and then passed his hand, fingers twitching, over his bared forearm. The innkeeper saw the stranger’s tanned forearm transform—a red and gold tattoo of a gryphon appeared, sparkled briefly, faded and disappeared. Blackwing released him.
His bonafides! A true T’et Faqin, doing the Council’s business in the Faewyld. “Y-yes, sir, I understand,” the innkeeper said, as he backed away quickly, pocketing the table rental.
Once he was far enough away, he took a moment to compose himself before he hurried to resume his work.
The innkeeper tried to calm himself once he was behind the counter. It was difficult to will his hands to stop shaking and slow his hammering heart. A Dark Enforcer! Here!
His grandfather had told him of Phelonius Blackwing. How he had destroyed an entire village, for a perceived minor slight of some kind.
“The T’et Faqin Q’estirions are more than wizards,” he remembered his grandfather saying. “They are the most brutal, merciless, tenacious group that ever walked the Faewyld, maybe even the entirety of the Seven Planes. They are ferocious and unyielding warriors.”
He glanced over to Blackwing’s table in time to see a highly engraved pewter tankard with what looked like a dragon handle with gems in the eyes, float to the table top. And once there, Blackwing tapped the handle three times and the tankard filled itself.
His grandfather’s words echoed in his mind. “If you ever see one of the Q’estirions, go the other way. Failing that, don’t anger them and don’t offend them. T’ain’t healthy!”
You could remove your hat, at least. It’s only good manners, ain’t it?
After taking a few sips of the noxious brew in his tankard, Blackwing motioned for the innkeeper.
“Y-yes sir?” the innkeeper asked.
“Give me your hand,” Blackwing said.
He picked up a gold coin from the tabletop and put it into the innkeeper’s proffered hand and held it there while he closed the landlord’s fingers around the coin. With his other hand, Blackwing reached into a pocket and produced a red crystal globe that shone with an eerie internal light. The innkeeper’s eyes were drawn toward the globe. As he stared at it, he saw an image of another green faerie.
“Pontifar Grimstar. Seen him? Before you answer, you have Wizard’s Gold in your hand, so if you manage to lie, which I wouldn’t recommend, it will disappear and return to me, after marking you. So answer carefully.”
“H-he comes in sometimes,” the innkeeper said, guardedly, after calming himself. “I have not seen him,” his voice cracked, “in a phase cycle or so.”
“He will be here. Do not warn him in any way.” Blackwing released the innkeeper’s hand. “And do not interfere, if you value your freedom.”
The innkeeper gave a nervous smile, bowing quickly as he backed away.
* * *
Blackwing swallowed more of the concoction from his tankard. It seemed to help suppress the pain from his ruined eye and the facial scar. He was half-finished with his second tankard when his staff started bouncing, making a tapping sound. When he raised his eyes, he saw Grimstar entering the inn. He placed a hand on his staff and it calmed.
Grimstar was talking with the other customers, sometimes laughing raucously, as he made his way to the counter. Blackwing set his tankard down and picked up one of the gold coins. He stood it on its edge, holding the top with a finger of his left hand, and flicked it with a finger on his right hand, making the coin spin in place. While it spun, he murmured a summoning spell.
Grimstar, drawn to the spinning coin, made his way, haltingly, to Blackwing’s table. Once there, mesmerized by the coin, he reached to take it, but once his palm touched it, the coin flattened into a band and fastened itself around Grimstar’s wrist.
“Hey! What is this?” Grimstar raised his arm to inspect the band, and saw no seam.
It was tight enough that he couldn’t pull his thick wrist out of it. When he tried to get a finger under the band to pry it off, he felt it tighten. The more he tried, the tighter it became.
“Who are you?” Grimstar yelled. “Get this thing off me! You have no right!”
He glanced around desperately in search of aid, but no one in the bar seemed to hear anything he said.
“No right?” Blackwing stood, grabbed his staff and hit the base of it on the wooden floor.
Boom!
He opened his duster and a huge jewel floated from one of the inside pockets. Everyone in the inn turned to look as they heard the snapping and cracking of wood. As Grimstar watched, he saw the top end of the staff changing and growing into the shape of a finely carved, arched dragon’s head, reminiscent of a shepherd’s crook. They saw the jewel, which was such a deep red it was close to black, float over to the staff and insert itself into the dragon’s mouth before it closed, securing the gem in place.
There was no sound for quite some time.
Finally, the silence was broken by the landlord, who had come over to Blackwing’s table.
“Um… excuse me, sir,” the innkeeper said. “Is there a charge against Grimstar?”
Blackwing turned and slowly bent at the waist to fix the landlord with his right eye, and glowered.
“I don’t mean to tell you your business,” the landlord said, “but his family will want to know.”
“I am not going anywhere with you,” Grimstar yelled.
“I am transporting him and his accomplices to Sha-Tor-Ads-Moor, for prosecution. The charges so far are illegal use of an artifact and illegal transmutation for the purpose of swindle. There will undoubtedly be more by the time we get there. Why do you ask? You may accompany him if you wish.” Blackwing picked up his coins and his tankard and stowed them for travel. “Where is his family located?”
The innkeeper quickly declined the invitation to accompany Grimstar and started explaining where Grimstar’s family could be found. When everything was ready, Blackwing started for the door.
“Turn me loose,” Grimstar shouted. “You… you—”
He fell silent. His mouth was moving, but no sound left him.
As Blackwing walked, Grimstar was being dragged, his resistance not hindering Blackwing’s pace in the least.
Once outside the inn, Blackwing took two steps, and on his third the pair vanished.
* * *
Moments later, they reappeared in a forest clearing. Grimstar didn’t recognize the area, but it was apparent that his captor did. As Blackwing stepped forward, toward the center of the clearing, Grimstar stumbled.
“The disorientation from the wizard-step will pass. Just ignore it,” Blackwing said, in a voice so low Grimstar had to strain to hear him.
As Blackwing entered the center of the clearing, he raised his staff and muttered something. A small cottage shimmered into existence and Blackwing entered, with Grimstar in tow.
“Is this your house, or did you liberate it from some peasant?” Grimstar looked around the small one-room building and saw only a hearth, a table, and three chairs.
“No. It is a resting place for T’et Faqin Q’estirions. Only we know where it is and only we can make it appear. Get the fire going and look around for something to eat.”
“I am not your slave! Do it yourself,” Grimstar snarled.
In that quiet, menacing tone, Blackwing said, “I require nothing from you. The fire and food are for you. You do not want food or warmth then go without. Any complaints later will be silenced.” Blackwing sat in a chair that faced the only door and took out his tankard and a few pieces of dried meat. He remained silent while he ate and drank.
Grimstar grumbled and thought for a few minutes, before starting the fire and rummaging around the cottage for something to eat. About the time he found something, the door opened and someone—another Q’estirion, by the look of him—entered and sat opposite Blackwing, and the pair began to converse. All Grimstar heard were hushed words with soft sounds—unlike the usual harder tones—and he understood none of it. Even though Blackwing was the first Dark Enforcer he had ever seen, comparing the two left him with the idea that Blackwing seemed unkempt and road-weary. The irritating part for Grimstar was that neither of them acknowledged him in any way.
“This cannot be good,” he mumbled. Very few ever see a Dark Enforcer these days, and here sit two of ‘em!
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