Raven's Watch: Darklands: The Raven's Calling, #2

By Scott E. Douglas

An Iron Age Fantasy with heart.

The fates make many mistakes, but not when they choose two to be together.

When Ambial was publicly discarded in a cowardly manner by her intended bond, she had exactly the right answer for him, and her rely was just as public. Sent to stay with her best friend Gwemnial, bond to the Darklander Chief's son, to help prepare for the coming war and distract her from the heartless rejection, she finds her rejection and reply have become well known and have had a mixed reception. Applauded by some, despised by others, she finds herself among both friends and enemies. Friends who'll do what they must to protect her, enemies prepared to do what they must to kill her, and then there's love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scott E. Douglas
• Release date: Jun 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386588030

Book preview

1. The Message

AMBIAL LOOKED AT THE message on the table. To her it was a mess of dark red runes on some kind of pale grey leaf. That was until the messenger spoke their meaning.

Do you wish to respond? the man at the table asked. He was tall with the red hair and piercing green eyes common among the tribes of the north. He wore the green tunic and breeches of a messenger beneath a heavy coat of animal fur. Winter hadn’t yet relinquished her hold on the land.

Yes. Ambial pointed to the message on the table. Do you have another leaf like that?

It’s not a leaf. It’s leaf paper, made from crushing—

I don’t care what it is. Do you have one?

The messenger shook his head. It’s expensive and only the—

So he wants to impress me? Well how’re you going to deliver my message?

I will remember it and deliver it faithfully.

Ambial nodded. Tell Frañchael I am relieved that he chose to discard me before I suffered the misfortune of bonding with him. Indeed, the cowardly manner he chose to send his good news illustrates how good this news is. Tell him I wish him well in the coming seasons and that, for the sake of a future bond, I hope he grows something that resembles a penis. There’s nothing more unattractive than a man who lacks courage.

Warnagael laughed. Ambial had forgotten the old man was with them in the long house. I’m sorry, he said. "Would it be possible that you write the lady’s reply on the back of the message you delivered? That is the traditional means of reply to such a message, isn’t it?"

If I have ink and stylus.

I’ll get some. Warnagael left the long house.

We don’t often use... ahm...

I understand, the messenger said.

Warnagael returned.

That was quick, Ambial said.

Bhreacael had these in his hut.

Is he out there now?

Warnagael nodded to her as he handed the messenger a glass vial of dark brown liquid and a sharpened piece of reed.

Where did Bhreacael get that? Ambial asked.

Schverchalg, two winters ago.

Will it still work? the messenger asked.

Should do, Warnagael said. All the others he bought did.

Bhreacael can write? Ambial asked.

Yes, the old man smiled. And he can read too. He is chief.

Must we use the Otherlander word?

Yes, we must; and you know why.

Would you like to write it? the messenger asked Warnagael.

I would, but my memory is not trained like yours.

Exactly as said? The messenger looked at Ambial.

Do you think I should make it less—

Don’t you dare girl! Warnagael snapped. What you said was perfect for that cowardice. Everyone should learn of it.

What do you mean? Ambial asked.

I’ll tell you later. Warnagael said. Write what she said.

The messenger wrote. When he was done he handed the message to Warnagael.

Good. He chuckled. Now do your duty.

The messenger left.

Alright old man, what was that all about?

Your intended sent a written message for a poor reason.

To impress us with his wealth, Ambial snapped. Letting me know what I’ve missed.

He wasn’t trying to impress you with his wealth, Warnagael said. "He wanted others to know what he had to say to you. A messenger’s memory is good, trained to hold every word and nuance of a message until it reaches its destination. The problem with that is the message he carries will only be delivered to its intended recipient, unless the messenger tells others. What’s written can be read by others without the messenger saying a word of it."

So my comments about his penis...

Will be well known before he’s given the message.

Will this incite trouble?

Trouble is incited already. Warnagael went to the door and waited for her. He opened it as she approached. Outside Bhreacael stood with her father Kerntael and brother Ernshael. They were huddling against the cold and snickering. See? Warnagael smiled.

Ambial strode into their midst. What’s so funny?

Nothing, Kerntael said.

Just wondering, if Frañchael had arrived in person, would he still have his penis when he left? Ernshael asked.

You’re assuming he’d have one when he arrived, Bhreacael said.

That’s enough! Ambial snapped. I’m not supposed to be laughing at a time like this. 

She returned to her chores determined not to cry.

A swartfugul made a kaa noise in the distance.

THE GIRL’S STRONG, Bhreacael said as soon as Ambial walked off.

Kerntael couldn’t stop a rush of pride running through him. He’s a—

Typical Northern Vaerling. Bhreacael snapped. "They’re bred to look down on us. I’m surprised Frañchael agreed to bond with one so far south. I suppose it is Ambial."

Should we expect anything from the message? Ernshael asked.

I’ll send word to Gwemnial, Bhreacael said. I’ll get Ambial away from here for a while. Keep her thoughts off that bastard.

You expecting trouble? Warnagael asked.

We’ve gone against everything Vaerling this past winter, Bhreacael said. Now a message is returning to a northern tribe accusing a member of a prominent family of having no penis... he looked at Kerntael, ...and rightly so. Bhreacael sighed. Your daughter reminds me how much we need our courage.

I’ll go to the camp, Ernshael volunteered.

Only if you promise to come straight back, Kerntael told him. You’ve still sword learning to do.

And bow learning to teach, Ernshael said as he ran off.

BASTARD.

Ambial looked about the storage room. It was empty except for some food, the furniture, the bed... it wasn’t empty, but it was empty.

Bastard, coward and...

He couldn’t even deliver his news in person. Instead he hid behind a messenger who brought a piece of leaf-paper. A fucking message on a piece of leaf-paper that she needed someone to read to her.

Bastard, cowardly Lander-shit. What did he think she would do to him? Slit his worthless carcass open from one side to the other? It’s what she wanted to do. It’d be for the purity of the bloodline as the Lander-shit so condescendingly stated it in his so-fucking-superior message on the so-fucking-expensive leaf-paper read by his so-fucking-special messenger.

Yes, Gwemnial bonded with the Darklander. What did the fucking bastard, cowardly Lander-shit think that meant to their bond. How could Gwemnial fucking Aerathansarg affect the purity of the blood of their own offspring?

Well it couldn’t because there’d be no bond with Frañchael. Not now, not ever. If he changed his thoughts and came to claim her as his promised bond, she’d make sure he’d have no offspring ever. How dare he say what he—

You alright? It was her mother, Diantial.

No, Ambial said. But I’m better now than I would be if I’d bonded with that cowardly bastard Lander-shit from the north. Do you know what he called Gwemnial?

Don’t say it too loud, Diantial said. It’s still a little sore for Bhreacael.

She’s happy, Ambial said. It was a sacrifice she made, for all our sakes, but she’s happy. How can anybody begrudge her—

We’re not, Diantial said. Neither is Bhreacael, nor Gemnarsial. They have parent’s feelings for her beneath those chieftain’s feelings.

Are you happy with father? Ambial asked.

Diantial nodded and looked around. If you mention this outside this room, I’ll disavow you as my daughter. Do you understand me?

Then perhaps you shouldn’t tell me.

Hush and listen, Diantial snapped. I’ve been happy with your father these past twenty winters. We were bonded in the summer, I was promised to him without my knowledge and was upset when I learned. It took some time to understand that he is an honest man, and an honourable one. It wasn’t until I discovered he was also a passionate man that I felt I was one of the luckiest women in the tribe.

I think you’re telling me something a daughter doesn’t need to know about her father, Ambial said.

Diantial laughed. "I wasn’t talking about those activities, but he’s more than—"

Thank you for informing me of that, and please don’t inform me of anything about the activities on your bed. It’s enough that I still hear them from time to time.

We’ll find another bond for you. One fit for the task.

Please, Ambial said. I think I’ve heard enough about beds and activities. I just want things to be... different, but the same, if you know what I mean?

Yes, and no, Diantial said. I understand, but not the way you probably mean.

Ambial shook her head and smiled. Father is a lucky man, she said sadly.

We’ll find a lucky man for you.

Don’t hurry. 

Well what’re you going to do now?

Spin some lien. Maybe make a maid’s cloak.

PULLING TUFTS OF LIEN and twirling it into twine wasn’t as relaxing as Ambial hoped. The problem was it didn’t occupy enough of her attention. She could still think. At least it was something to do. The only other alternative was to go see Tergal and Rhioctorial. Then she’d not only have to think, she’d have to answer questions. She had a good length of twine when somebody knocked at the door.

What? Ambial snapped.

Only a friend, but if you don’t want a visitor. It was Gwemnial.

Of course I do! Ambial went to the door but it opened before she could reach it.

There stood Gwemnial, with her uncommon frizzy red hair but wearing the brown tunic of a common Darklander. I heard, she said as she walked into the room. I’m so sorry.

Why? Ambial asked.

It’s my fault.

Ambial shook her head. You can’t take responsibility for another’s cowardice.

But if I hadn’t bonded with—

Then I wouldn’t know the kind of man this Frañchael woman is.

Don’t be like that, Gwemnial scolded.

What, should I be nice and forgive him? Ambial asked.

No, the average woman has much more courage than that. In fact, the average little girl is more courageous than—

Sorry, Ambial interrupted. You’re right. I sound like an ignorant—

Don’t say that either!

I was going to say bairas.

No you weren’t. Gwemnial looked at the pile of lien on the table. Any of that for bow strings?

Ambial shook her head. I don’t know how to twist a bow string.

Well come with me and I’ll show you.

Where?

To the camp. We need help to set up a Vaerling section of the camp before father sends the Vaerling warriors.

Vaerling warriors, Ambial said absently. Those words don’t feel like they belong together.

Well get used to them, Gwemnial scolded. Northern, Vaerling and Warriors might not go together well, but from what I’ve heard, that might change.

Are they attacking already?

They’re moving. Iskvald has sent some words to Nouelig. Aerathansarg won’t tell me what they are, but from what I gather the northern armies are starting to move.

So how long before it’s real?

Snow still needs to melt.

Which it’s doing.

But not finished. Now come with me and help us. I’ve got a nice warm tent near Aerathansarg and me, not too close, and a lot of things for you to do.

Whose idea was this?

Father. Now come along and forget that penis-less fool.

Not you too?

You didn’t expect an answer like that would go unnoticed? You’re a hero among the young women of the camp, and quietly admired by the older ones.

I’ll need to tell mother I’m going, then see Tergal and Rhioctorial.

Well hurry up.

2. Arrows

THE CAMP WASN’T ENTIRELY to Nouelig’s liking. Sitting cross-legged on a rug on the ground in his tent, he’d silently chided himself on numerous occasions for having become soft. Living in a hut these past winters did nothing to help his constitution. Sharing it with his woman, Chanciern, had made it worse... and nice. That was the first thing he saw to when he took over as the head of his bandits, the safety of his Chanciern. Once she was safe, he could do what needed without further concern.

Now his thoughts moved to how to deal with the leather armour of the Otherlanders. The Darklanders and Vaerlings both relied on stone and wooden heads on their arrows. Even the red-haired bond to the Darklander chief’s son made her arrows with stone heads, fixed with lien twine. Though good enough to pierce the common Otherlander soldier, it wouldn’t pierce the leather of Otherlander commanders. Shit, even some of the common soldiers wore leather armour.

The tent flap opened. They’re here, one of his bandits said.

Send them in, Nouelig said.

Two bandits came. One was tall with striking dark blue eyes and fair hair on his head and his face. The other wasn’t so tall with a clean, hair-free face, but also with fair hair and pale blue eyes.

Nouelig nodded to two rugs on the ground in front of him.

They sat.

Nouelig reached behind him and produced three arrows, each with an iron arrowhead, and placed them on the ground in front of the two.

You need to get rid of that hair on your face, Rangtharn, Nouelig said. It’s really disgusting.

And warm in winter, Rangtharn answered.

Nouelig shook his head and turned to the other bandit. You know what these are?

The clean-skinned bandit nodded. Arrows with iron heads.

You know what I want? Nouelig asked.

How many? Rangtharn asked.

As many as you can get, but no less than a thousand. Take one each to show the swordsmith. I need at least five hundred before we march. How many accurate archers do we have? Ones who can hit a target over a hundred paces?

No more than twenty.

Can we enlist some Vaerlings? If the red-haired woman can shoot like she does, the men must be better.

Not from what I hear, the clean skinned bandit said.

What do you hear, Mikiansarg?

I hear she’s the best archer in the Vaerling village.

Nouelig closed his eyes and shook his head.

Their skill in the Otherness has meant they didn’t need practice, Mikiansarg said. They can just... well... you know.

Go see the swordsmith, Nouelig said. Take an arrow each. Tell him I want as many of these as he can make before we march. Tell him... Just tell him to make them, and make sure it’s the swordsmith, none other. And tell him I have metal for him to fashion.

Nouelig waved his hand at the pair.

Each took an arrow and left.

RANGTHARN AND MIKIANSARG left Nouelig’s tent for the aihwass pens.

Where’s this swordsmith then? Rangtharn asked as they reached the pens.

Near the Vaerlings, Mikiansarg said.

What’re you two here for? A greyish-looking older man walked to them from the feed troughs.

Nouelig sends us to the Vaerlings, Mikiansarg answered.

You want two horses then?

That’s right, Karngsain, Mikiansarg said. Two aihwass.

Huh! Karngsain looked at Rangtharn.

Educate him, will you? Mikiansarg said.

Rangtharn smiled. Horses, pigs, deer, he shook his head. Any other words?

Horses is enough, Mikiansarg said.

Alright then. Rangtharn nodded to Mikiansarg. Horses is a word used by the Otherlanders. They are our enemy and we are proudly Darklander. He looked at Karngsain again. We use the words of our origin. That’s what Nouelig said some days ago. We need two aihwass to do what Nouelig has told us to do.

"I’ll get you two horses then, the older man said. I’m amazed that Nouelig lets you remain with that Otherlander shit on your face. Even Iskvald scrapes his hairs away with his sword."

Iskvald has a himnis-blut to shave with. I only have a dagger.

You claim pride at being Darklander but do nothing to hide those disgusting Otherlander hairs.

They have special uses. Rangtharn smiled.

Careful, Mikiansarg warned Rangtharn.

I’m sure Karngsain here is adult enough for this.

What uses could that mess of food catchers have?

Once they’re long enough they tickle the neck of a Darklander maid and fill her with such passion, you can hardly imagine, Rangtharn said. Then, later and in a more private place, hairs that grow elsewhere can be used to incite such excitement that—

That’s enough! Karngsain snapped. Take those two mares over there and make sure you keep your disgusting hairs away from them.

Mares? Rangtharn asked.

Female aihwass, Karngsain replied.

IT TOOK THEM TWO HOURS to get to the swordsmith’s workshop. It was a strange arrangement. Not only was it away from the village but it had two workshops with a furnace between them. For some reason, there were three huts built about it making the place look more like a tiny village.

What door do we knock on? Rangtharn asked Mikiansarg.

Depends what you want, a dark-haired young woman with mesmerising dark eyes said as she approached them.

Your name? Rangtharn smiled.

Mikiansarg cringed. Although they’d been friends from childhood, Rangtharn would sometimes be a trial. Please forgive my friend, Mikiansarg shot a glance at Rangtharn. He has the passions of a man-child and the sense of a child. We’re looking for the swordsmith.

The woman nodded. If it’s swords you seek then you’re seeking my bond. She turned toward the farthest workshop. Tergal! There’s a man here after a sword!

Alright! came a voice from the workshop.

"A man after a sword?" Rangtharn said.

Alright, the woman said. There’s one man and a hairy man-child! she called to the workshop.

What? a dark brown Theolympian walked out from the workshop.

The woman smiled at Mikiansarg. My bond will help you and your son, she said and walked away.

Mikiansarg saw the bemused look on Rangtharn’s face and laughed.

Tried to match wits with my bond? the swordsmith asked. My name’s Tergal. How can I help you?

Mikiansarg, and my hapless friend here is Rangtharn and foolishly, yes, he tried.

Her tongue’s been getting sharper, Tergal said. I’d be concerned except she’s often funny. I hope you and your friend aren’t offended.

The opposite, Rangtharn said. I count it a privilege to be outwitted by one so sharp. It gives me opportunity to hone my own skills.

Aihwass shit, Mikiansarg said and turned to Tergal. We’re here at the order of Nouelig to have some arrowheads made.

Then you’re speaking to the wrong person. Braidok, or his son Garlrig can both make arrowheads, if they have time. I have swords to make for the Vaerlings.

Nouelig insisted that it be the swordsmith who make them.  Rangtharn dismounted and held out the arrow from Nouelig.

Tergal took it and examined the metal head. Impressive, he said. I believe Braidok can do work this good, Garlrig too if his father watches, but I don’t know that this kind of metal can be found around here.

Nouelig says he can supply the metal, Mikiansarg said.

Metal for what?

Mikiansarg looked. It was a young Vaerling woman, he guessed no less than eighteen winters. She had blonde hair, striking eyes and was the loveliest creature Mikiansarg had ever seen.

Metal for arrowheads, Rangtharn said.

And you ask a master swordsmith to make these? the woman asked.

Special arrowheads that’ll win our battles against the Otherlanders. Rangtharn looked at Tergal. I hope you’re good with that.

My home is here, Tergal said. I make swords, not arrows.

We only need the heads, Rangtharn told him then looked at the woman. And how should I address you?

Carefully, Tergal said. If what Rhioctorial told me is true, that is.

The news has already made it here?

News like that, of course.

And what news is that? Rangtharn asked.

None of our business, Mikiansarg answered him.

Your dumbfounded friend speaks, the woman said.

My name is Mikiansarg. This is Rangtharn.

I am Ambial, the woman said. Thank you for your consideration, but I think that word will spread regardless. My betrothed discarded me through a messenger. It was a written message and I replied to his message in kind.

Discarded? Rangtharn shook his head. Does this man have a sickness?

Something like that if the content of the message is anything to go by, Tergal said.

I don’t know why there’s such a fuss, Ambial said. I merely thanked him, wished him well and said I hoped he might someday grow a penis.

Mikiansarg burst out laughing, as did Rangtharn.

I see the women of this village aren’t to be taken lightly, Rangtharn said. I’ve only met two and both have formidable tongues. Are there others?

Arrowheads, Mikiansarg said. We need at least five hundred. You know Nouelig can pay.

You are asking a master swordsmith to make arrows? Ambial pressed. You don’t seem to care it’s beneath him.

I wonder if it’s his skin that makes him reluctant? Rangtharn asked.

He supplies swords to the Vaerling who—

I don’t need defending, Tergal said. I already told you Braidok and Garlrig are capable of delivering arrowheads. Even if I were to say yes, I’d need their help. I can’t make that many before you head south.

What shall we tell Nouelig then? Mikiansarg asked.

Tell him what I said.

So, you’ll do it then? Rangtharn asked.

Tergal shook his head. I just told you I can’t.

That’s enough, Rangtharn said and returned to his aihwass. We’ll see to it the metal is sent. He mounted the beast and sat upright. Do what you can. Messengers can be sent with arrowheads faster than an army can march. He looked at Ambial. It was a pleasure to look at, I mean meet you. He smiled and turned the aihwass before she could react.

Here, Mikiansarg tossed the arrow he carried to Tergal. It stuck into the dirt at his feet. Examine these carefully. I had only a brief look at it before we arrived. It’s different from what you’d expect. He looked at Ambial. It was a pleasure to speak with you. It’ll be a greater pleasure to say I’d met you when I hear the story of your message.

I’m Vaerling, Ambial said.

No doubt, Mikiansarg said. And I’m Mikiansarg, and that’s all I am.