937 – 938 ASF

Bloodhawk.

The riverbird would not be known by that title until later. When Rogar stumbled across her while walking along the river, just outside the walls of Great Forks, she introduced herself as Dessiri. Green-eyed, freckled, and frazzled of red hair, appearing from within a copse of willows. Harland, who had been following the king at a safe but respectful distance, rushed forward to intercept Dessiri—but was too late. Rogar waved away Harland, already enchanted by the riverbird’s beauty.

Harland distrusted Dessiri the moment he laid eyes on her. He tried to tell the king as such, but his warnings could not compete with Dessiri’s singsong voice. Each day, Rogar went out to see the riverbird, like a sailor ensorcelled by a siren. Over many months, the two grew closer. River walks became strolls in the castle gardens. Those strolls became intimate tours of royal quarters. Eventually, Dessiri ended up in the king’s bed.

Was some dark, seductive magic at play here? Or was Dessiri providing something that the king had been starved of his whole life? Nobody can say for sure, but it’s worth noting that Rogar was married with three children. For this reason and many others, Harland protested—carefully, but firmly— every step of the way, at every talon Dessiri closed around Rogar. And yet, all this earned him was the growing enmity of his king. Why, Rogar demanded, was Harland so against the happiness he had found in Dessiri? His kingdom was dying, his marriage was loveless, and his infant children possessed a bleak future.

Dessiri, the king declared, was his only light in life.

The riverbird tormenting Angler’s Arch was no Bloodhawk, but the townsfolk were already calling her names. Thief. Fraud. Birdshit. Whore. And, of course, witch. I overheard all of this and more, wandering the docks and market stalls during breaks from my work. As I dangled my feet off the town’s namesake bridge, watching the painted salmon swim below, I eavesdropped on conversation from passerby. Most everyone gossiped about Jayne’s latest crime, and what they wanted to do when she was finally caught. Palpable anger soaked their words and expressions, and it was getting more intense with each passing day.

I couldn’t help but think back to my time with Arlisse. How her neighbors—peaceful, welcoming, and caring townsfolk—had thronged together to form a vicious mob. All in defense of her, of course, but the transformation had frightened the everloving hells out of me. If those kind people were capable that, what would the people of Angler’s Arch do to Jayne? I didn’t want to find out. The night before my last day of work in the barracks, I struck out into the riverlands in search of the rogue riverbird. I had a few ideas of where to check.

Harland, unfortunately, was not so lucky. Consider his role: Kerraguard. That name—and much of the order’s code and training—was inspired by the tirkerra, a turtle native to the vast, open waters of Lake Liron. Growing to the size of fishing boats, tirkerra live in groups of five males fiercely protective of a single female. The tirkerra queen dictates where the group roams, sleeps, and feeds—but she herself is fragile thing, lacking the thick shell, beak, and barbed fins of the males. At all times, her ‘knights’ protect her and her young, employing defensive formations when attacked by grotters, nissadons, and other deeplake predators. In a crisis, a male tirkerra will sacrifice itself so that the queen and her group can escape—a display of courage and honor by any definition.

Every Kerraguard in training has this way of thinking drilled into their heads, and Harland was no exception. In addition to advanced combat training, he learned to navigate the perils of the river—how to swim, rescue a drowning person, and sail a riverboat. (Sadly, his training did not teach him how to fish). He emerged as one of Rivona’s finest swordsmen, and though he eventually rose in rank to Kerraguard-Captain, his duty and loyalty to Rogar remained steadfast.

And yet, for all this training, he was out of his depth with Dessiri. He believed she was not good for Rogar—at best, an opportunistic charlatan preying on the king’s vulnerabilities; at worst, a foul actor with sinister intents. He couldn’t shake the feeling it was the latter—not with the way she sought ‘privacy’ with the king, studied the layout of the castle, and met Harland’s gaze with a sharp scowl. And yet, she had done nothing except shower the king in love and affection. Harland could gather no evidence for anything otherwise, so his attempts to send her away or bar her from the castle were thwarted and overruled by Rogar.

Harland’s training as Kerraguard could not help him in whatever game Dessiri was playing. With nowhere else to turn, Harland sought the aid of the White Crow, the king’s spymaster. An ally—but one who operated from the other side of the coin. What little Harland knew of her shadowy work, he disapproved of, but it was not his place to question. Since Dessiri had come into the fold, he had been keeping in light contact with the White Crow out of strict necessity, but now he brought all his concerns front and center.

For perhaps the first time in history, the Kerraguard-Captain and White Crow agreed. One way or another, they were going to nail the riverbird to the wall.

I, too, sought a reluctant alliance—or at least a common understanding with Jayne. Using lessons I learned from Arlisse, I picked my way through the wilds outside of Angler’s Arch. As the sun was setting, I came across an abandoned hut. The home of the previous riverbird. Dallyn had told me Jayne didn’t live there—they had searched it, many times. What he hadn’t told me was that the hut was little more than half a pile of sticks that had been burned to the ground.

What had happened here? I soon got my answer. I pressed onwards into the wilds, searching for secret riverbird signs I had been taught to look for—gentle marks in willow trunks, wreaths of water poppies hung from branches, riverstones piled together. They weren’t as expertly constructed or hidden as Arlisse’s, but they led me to Jayne all the same.

When she leapt down from a willow tree, fishing spear pointed at me, I held up my hands and proclaimed I was here in peace. That I only wished to talk. The riverbird cackled at me. Talk? What was there to talk about? The people of Angler’s Arch, she explained, were ignorant, greedy, and violent, and deserved everything that happened to them. I pleaded for her to stop her attacks, otherwise she would end up lynched like countless riverbirds before her.

“Did you not see the burned hut on the way out here, little doe?”

Such was her response. But before I could remark to that, Jayne jumped and let out a shriek. A dozen guards burst out of the trees, surrounding us. And at their head—guess who? None other than Dallyn.

I couldn’t speak past the shock and anger clogging my throat. Before I knew it, the guards had captured Jayne, bound her in chains, gagged her. Dallyn placed a hand on my shoulder, telling me I had done the town of Angler’s Arch a great service. A service! A service? I wanted to slap him. Instead, I demanded to know what he was going to do with Jayne.

He invited me to see for myself. Her sentencing would be at first light.