The Shining Wyrm

5.1

Jewel was flying with her weight harness, circling the manor when she saw a messenger bird arrive.

It was not unusual, strictly speaking, but the direction from which it had flown was concerning. To the east and west were neighboring baronies of Midglen and Clearwater, fellow vassals under the Countess Bathory.

To the north was the county of Zekhedge ruled by Count Fiebron. And beyond that Jewel had not yet learned, but there were many vague foreigners both under and over hill in every direction besides the cardinal directions found in flight.

Tsulogothulan and the rest of the wizards had arrived from the southwest for example, but since they had traversed by ways underhill at a reckoning of twenty-two days' travel it was no use to try and seek out any of their lands as known neighbors or even neighbors of neighbors.

Garmendan, Bothgola, Uloghai and Ghergeintat were not on any of the flight maps father kept.

No lands known to those reachable by wing under open sky could say whence their direction might be.

But it simply was thus when a traveler took routes that went underhill.

Father’s study did not have many books that mentioned the lands reached by underhill ways.

For the most part the paths through the caves found in the county and neighboring lands were too narrow to accommodate any but small bands, a few enterprising traders, a knight and retinue. But completely impractical for marching armies or trade caravans.

But the messenger bird was not flying from one of the known underways (and who would be so cruel as to ask for a bird to fly through the dark?). It was not flying from north, east or west along the open skies.

It was coming from the south.

And there was only one thing south of Rochford that had one of their messenger birds.

The Countess herself.

Bathory.

Jewel shook herself as she saw the bird coming home to roost. Likely tired from covering over the length of the barony twice over.

The peasantry were working the harvest brought in over Grain Turn, threshing out in the sun such that Jewel could see their work as she flew over in her exercises.

Bushels of wheat, barley, oat and rye each set aside waiting for their turn under the threshing beatings brought down upon them. Then the broken mix of them was put to the winnowing sheets, the chaff and straw blown off by the wind where children and women caught and gathered it up into different bushels.

Leaving the separated grains behind. Even with her eyes she could only really distinguish the wheat for the shortness of the bushels, more grain then stalk.

The rest were a muddle of colors that she supposed distinguished them but were unclear to her from a vantage so high.

Together, though, the work shined, filling the vista of Father’s demesne with a glory all its own.

The glittering luster of the dusty labor brought a sparkle to all the open places of the village. Shining, glittering sparkles decorated all places windward of houses, hills and wood available to the peasantry.

The labors of Threshing Turn surrounded and suffused the manor lands of Father’s immediate demesne spread out before her.

There was harvesting still to do, of course, peas being plucked by children or women not otherwise occupied by the labor of threshing.

Wandering through the stillgreen clumps that had been planted earlier that year.

She turned from the open fields, meadows and the labors done under sun to cross over Father’s hunting woods.

Jewel suppressed another shiver in memory of the Terror Boar. A beast whom none had yet found the origin of.

Perhaps there were no more in the barony? A beast wandered from some monster lair beyond Father’s borders?

Jewel did not know but she hoped to not see its kind again.

Quests had already been offered to criers for any of the enterprising knights errant. Both passing through and among Father’s peers among the Gryphon Lords.

But yet no word of it.

She flapped her wings, pumping another gout of wyrmflame through herself and into the air riding around her.

It was time she turned again so as to not leave the lands worked and labored directly by Father.

Jewel had two more circuits to finish, laden with heavy stones dragging her down to earth, before she was done with today’s exercise.

Alexander would likely be sore and tired from his own training by the time she was done.

Muriel might not hate him or Jewel, but it did not make her kind or soft when it came to training. This was in spite of Jewel’s efforts to get his struggling book studies into stewardship traded for more open air experiences dealing directly with the toils and responsibilities of a lord actually engaging with peasantry, coin, grain accounting and the like.

Jewel had tried, but their governess still ran him ragged when it came time to drill with a sword or march in heavy armor.

But at least that made sense.

If Alexander wanted to be a Gryphon Lord as Father? Well he would need to be a pinnacle of vigor.

Simply surviving the heights Zephyrvam soared strained even Father sometimes.

In their service to the barony Tsulogothulan was apparently trying to do some sorcery with moss to help in that matter, but was not yet ready to promise anything.

Jewel mused as she pumped the flow of her Wyrmfire through her wings and body and out into the world, feeling it coil and spin in whorls beyond her own flesh. Buoying her up on its own reinforced currents rather than being used to pull her up directly. It was much like how the Gryphons flew.

Conserving her fire when under load.

She would still be fresh and strong, flamed enough to not have to walk under only her own muscle power.

But still the question itched.

Why had the Countess sent a message?

What did this mean for her family?