A Facet for the Gem Read Free

stretch in their wake, and reseal.
    Shrouded once more by unending gray, Morlen savored the picture, etching it into memory that none could rob. Then, with another prod to the horse, he continued on his way.

Chapter Two
    The Eaglemasters
    K nightly warriors in beaked helms, feathery silver armor, and regal capes of deep red, mounted above wide-spanning wings, the men of Veldere assembled to fly into battle. Each had a lengthy spear and full quiver strapped over his shoulder, with a longbow gripped in one hand, and a sword sheathed at his side.
    Their dauntless birds puffed out broad chests under plumage interspersed with brown and white, and their golden beaks, below piercing bronze eyes, threatened worse than any blade. A line of trumpeters cracked the air with notes that were answered by ringing calls only the heartiest of beasts could muster, and lethal talons sprang off in flight. Soaring toward Korindelf’s lands, the Eaglemasters were three thousand strong, wreathed by the rising sun—a sight to fill even the most brutal foe’s heart with dread.
    One man among them held a shining spear, its upper half and sharp head crafted of crystal, with a silver shaft and bone horn filed to a razor edge at its base. He was scarred and weary, yet had a sureness of direction that commanded great trust from all following behind. Peering into the distance, he grimaced as though to inspect a patch of sores that would never heal, since he could not look out upon his own kingdom without seeing the atrocities prowling at its edges.
    Three who flew closest along his path watched him diligently, keeping a slight distance. “Father flies heavy today,” said one, loud enough to be heard over the wind at such altitude, though careful not to project past the two on either side of him.
    “No heavier than you, big brother,” replied the one to his right. “Six years’ peace with nothing but a few dozen ferotaur skulls beneath your sword has made you fat.”
    The first who’d spoken laughed at this. “Peace has never met the stomach of any Velderian, mine least of all, brother. A true Eaglemaster would vomit at the thought.”
    “You think yourselves true Eaglemasters?” said the third and youngest. “Our little sister holds more sway over the birds than do the likes of you.” He spurred his carrier on to fly a deft loop around his two brothers. “Neither of you could beat me in flight even if I had four goblets in me.”
    “No,” said Verald, the eldest, “we’d stay back and watch you fly boldly into the Wildlands, with a leg of lamb where your spear ought to be.”
    “Besides,” added Ivrild, second eldest, “I was there when you took your very first flight, remember? Snatching Father’s eagle so brazenly, only to tread air like an infant before being flung down through the aviary.”
    Young Ondrel lowered his head, pride slightly deflating as he raised his voice over their chuckling. “I still remember lying there at the bottom in a heap of feathers and cow bones, and—” he sighed, wiping some ill-remembered feeling from his hair. “Father came down to find me, and then he gave me a lashing I still can’t forget. The flat of his blade left its outline on my back for months.”
    Suddenly the one they watched out in front slowed his eagle, gradually flying abreast with them. His presence was welcome, though all three instinctively straightened their posture when he approached.
    He furrowed his brow at his youngest son, showing wrinkles made by laughter he dared not let anyone hear, and said, “I’ve never struck you before in your life.”
    Confusion reddened the prince’s jovial expression as it turned between his father and brothers. “But,” he replied, “I remember, you said—”
    “Oh right,” Ivrild blurted, “something to the effect of, ‘Son, this hurts me more than it hurts you.’ And what’d Verald say when it was his turn to have a go?” he snickered.
    “You did all the talking as I