The two riders approached the guards cautiously, their horses exhausted from the journey. The lightly armed guards crossed their spears on the path.
“Halt! What business do you have here?” the larger of the two guards said.
The riders dismounted and slowly advanced. “Drian and Duma, we are expected by Livius the Falconer.”
“Surrender your mounts and your weapons and we will announce your presence to the Falconer,” the guard said. He motioned for his companion to address the riders.
Drian and Duma calmly handed their rapiers to the guard. Drian made his way back to his horse and retrieved a box from the saddle bag.
“Water the horses if you can, kind sir, they are exhausted from our travels. We have come a great distance, and a hard ride,” Drian’s politeness took the guard aback. Most visitors were brigands or scoundrels. These two, though haggard from their journey, acted like gentlemen. Their clothing, though stained with mud and grime, betrayed fine manufacture, and the qualtiy of their blades lay clearly beyond the capabilities of the local smiths.
“It will be done, my lord,” the guard said, motioning to his companion, “follow me to the aviary.”
The aviary stood some distance from the stables, a lone, round edifice with a tall roof. It was, in truth, the most spectacular aviary in the Four Kingdoms. Dozens of hawks, falcons, osprey, and a prize eagle inhabited the structure, and it was the refuge of the third son the King, Livius the Falconer. From an early age, Livius had few other interests than hunting with birds of prey.
Furthermore, in addition to training the birds, he learned to study their habits in the wild, and successful bred specimens for his collection. He had also proved their worth in battle, training them to dive at enemy archers. This accomplishment alone redeemed his standing with his father, who otherwise thought his son a major disappointment.
A slight man, the Falconer spent his entire day either in the aviary tending to his flock, or in the fields or forests hunting deer or rabbits with the aid of his birds. A careful, studious man, he seldom moved quickly or betrayed much emotion or excitement. So it took his guard by surprise to see him rush out of the aviary as he was told of the arrival of Drian and Duma.
“Have you got it?” he asked the two travelers, “tell me you’ve got it!”
Drian raised the box with both hands and presented it to the Falconer. He unfastened the clasp and revealed the contents of the box to the lord. Within the finely wrought chest, lined with finely padded velvet rested a perfect egg, creamy white, with hints of bright colors glinting as the sun caught it.
“Wisely packaged, my friend Drian, the egg is among the most easily breakable in the ornithologoical world,” the Falconer said with a huge grin, “I am glad to see you alive.”
“As are Duma and myself to be alive, my lord. It is not common for two humans to invade the Fey Lands and make off with a prized Prismatic Hawk egg,” Drian said. He was proud of himself, and would have an amazing tale to tell. Fleeing through the Fey Land with a pack of elves riding dire wolves through an overgrown forest.
“You will be my guests until the bird hatches. I will have rooms prepared in the manor, and we will have a masquerade held in your honor,” the Falconer closed the box, “Bulger here will show you to your rooms. Have a bath and I will meet your in the late afternoon.”
“Thank you, my lord,” said Drian.
The Falconer excused himself, and entered the aviary with the box. Duma looked over Drian, “you trust him, brother?”
“No. But the egg is no longer in our possession. My aim is to get all or at least some of our payment before they come for it.”
“Aye,” said Duma, “good plan.”
“Halt! What business do you have here?” the larger of the two guards said.
The riders dismounted and slowly advanced. “Drian and Duma, we are expected by Livius the Falconer.”
“Surrender your mounts and your weapons and we will announce your presence to the Falconer,” the guard said. He motioned for his companion to address the riders.
Drian and Duma calmly handed their rapiers to the guard. Drian made his way back to his horse and retrieved a box from the saddle bag.
“Water the horses if you can, kind sir, they are exhausted from our travels. We have come a great distance, and a hard ride,” Drian’s politeness took the guard aback. Most visitors were brigands or scoundrels. These two, though haggard from their journey, acted like gentlemen. Their clothing, though stained with mud and grime, betrayed fine manufacture, and the qualtiy of their blades lay clearly beyond the capabilities of the local smiths.
“It will be done, my lord,” the guard said, motioning to his companion, “follow me to the aviary.”
The aviary stood some distance from the stables, a lone, round edifice with a tall roof. It was, in truth, the most spectacular aviary in the Four Kingdoms. Dozens of hawks, falcons, osprey, and a prize eagle inhabited the structure, and it was the refuge of the third son the King, Livius the Falconer. From an early age, Livius had few other interests than hunting with birds of prey.
Furthermore, in addition to training the birds, he learned to study their habits in the wild, and successful bred specimens for his collection. He had also proved their worth in battle, training them to dive at enemy archers. This accomplishment alone redeemed his standing with his father, who otherwise thought his son a major disappointment.
A slight man, the Falconer spent his entire day either in the aviary tending to his flock, or in the fields or forests hunting deer or rabbits with the aid of his birds. A careful, studious man, he seldom moved quickly or betrayed much emotion or excitement. So it took his guard by surprise to see him rush out of the aviary as he was told of the arrival of Drian and Duma.
“Have you got it?” he asked the two travelers, “tell me you’ve got it!”
Drian raised the box with both hands and presented it to the Falconer. He unfastened the clasp and revealed the contents of the box to the lord. Within the finely wrought chest, lined with finely padded velvet rested a perfect egg, creamy white, with hints of bright colors glinting as the sun caught it.
“Wisely packaged, my friend Drian, the egg is among the most easily breakable in the ornithologoical world,” the Falconer said with a huge grin, “I am glad to see you alive.”
“As are Duma and myself to be alive, my lord. It is not common for two humans to invade the Fey Lands and make off with a prized Prismatic Hawk egg,” Drian said. He was proud of himself, and would have an amazing tale to tell. Fleeing through the Fey Land with a pack of elves riding dire wolves through an overgrown forest.
“You will be my guests until the bird hatches. I will have rooms prepared in the manor, and we will have a masquerade held in your honor,” the Falconer closed the box, “Bulger here will show you to your rooms. Have a bath and I will meet your in the late afternoon.”
“Thank you, my lord,” said Drian.
The Falconer excused himself, and entered the aviary with the box. Duma looked over Drian, “you trust him, brother?”
“No. But the egg is no longer in our possession. My aim is to get all or at least some of our payment before they come for it.”
“Aye,” said Duma, “good plan.”