“They are Tukoran, and there’s a dragon about. Of course they’re tense.”

“A small dragon who clearly means no harm. If we wanted to attack them, we’d have done so already. And you claim this Bernard Westermont to be a great Bladeborn knight and Emerald Guard…the personal bodyguard of the crown prince, no less. He should have no fear of a little dragon, Ranulf. She is only a gentle soul.”

A gentle soul who fought savagely against Paglar, Ranulf thought. And not so little as you’re making out. Still, Paglar was a great deal larger, and without the intervention of mighty Calacan he would have caught his prey eventually and conducted Neyruu, Talasha, and Cevi to a most unpleasant and untimely end. Instead it was he who became the prey, as the Eagle of Aramatia soared down from the storm in a net of golden lightning to tear Paglar wing from limb.

A battle I should have liked to see, Ranulf thought…though he had to settle for hearing a pair of secondhand reports instead, firstly from the Fourth Elder, who had witnessed the fight through the eyes of one of her bonded eagles, and secondly from Talasha herself when she arrived at the Everwood the following day. That had been by invite of the First Elder, the oldest and wisest and most powerful of the twelve, the First Elder who was in fact the tenth First, as he’d told Ranulf the very first time he’d met him. The day Calacan returned to the world, Ranulf thought. The day I scaled the steps to the high eyrie atop the First Tree and saw him plunge down from the skies…

It still gave him shivers, even now. The sound the great eagle made. The width of his wings as he opened them wide and bathed all the Everwood in a wash of golden light. He had not seen him since that day, leastways in nothing more than distant glimpses as Calacan soared on his patrols, high in the skies, warding off threats and protecting his borders. Paglar had been foolish enough to enter uninvited, and thus Calacan had destroyed him. Others would not yield so easily. One in particular. And he is stirring.

A screech rang out through the air, the high-pitched call of an eagle. Ranulf understood. “They’re nearing the top of the steps, my lady,” he said to Talasha Taan. Ranulf could speak eagle now. The clicks and whistles and cries made for a fairly basic language, but during his time with the Calacania he had learned to comprehend their tongue.

“Your bird told you?” The princess peered at him.

“Kamcho,” Ranulf said. That was the name of the eagle he had chosen. And the eagle who had chosen him. It had been a mutual pairing, as did happen when man and beast built their bonds. One day, shortly into his time with the Calacania, the First Elder had invited Ranulf to join him atop his eyrie. There, rather than discuss with Ranulf the fate of the world, and describe to him the events he had witnessed, he had opened out a feathery arm and presented to him a great convocation of eagles.

“Choose,” the ancient had said. The command had been given to both Ranulf and the gathered birds, and so followed a period of deliberation as Ranulf walked among them, the eagles peering at him with those piercing eyes, some flapping up close to take a good long look, even nipping gently at his hand as he reached out to touch them. Eventually a strong bird with plumage in gold and blue had come forward. Ranulf knew several of their names by now and this one he knew as Kamcho; handsome, strong, quick and courageous, with eyes of burnished gold. Somehow he knew he was the one, and it seemed that Kamcho did as well. When the eagle opened his wings and gave a screech, then flapped up to land upon Ranulf’s shoulder, the choice was made and the bond was sealed.

“A fine pairing.” The First Elder had smiled at them both with that face three centuries old. “Kamcho’s colours are the same as your homeland, Ranulf. Yes, a fine pairing indeed. You shall do well together, I think.”

In the days that followed Kamcho had accompanied Ranulf everywhere. He stayed by him at night when he slept in his hammock, and soared about him by day as he strolled through the glade. When Ranulf climbed the trees and met the Elders in their eyries Kamcho would be there, circling and watching. Soon enough his clicks and whistles and cries were as familiar to Ranulf as the speech of man, but that was just the start of it. One day, soon after Ranulf and Kamcho had made their choice, they were invited to join the First Elder again.

“Sit down, Ranulf. Take a drink of water.”

The water was from the Spring of Aramatia, rich in magical properties, a source of great power. Ranulf drew on its sweet taste as he perched in a seat of woven branches, looking out across the Twelve Trees and the Greater Everwood beyond.

“Tell me of your great-great-grandfather,” the First Elder said. “Do you know much about him?”

“Only what I heard from my grandmother as a boy.” Ranulf Shackton was not the only adventurer in his family. Though his parents had been somewhat strangled of that ambition, that was not true of those who came before. His grandmother herself had been a dedicated climber and his great-great-grandfather had travelled through much of the southern continent, visiting lands so far off as the Unseen Isles if the tales were to be believed. “His name was Edmond,” Ranulf recalled. “He was said to have some southern blood in him, a touch of olive in his skin. And keen eyes.”

The First Elder smiled. His robes of feathered plumage were mixed silver and bronze and gold, and a great long beard, white as snow, flew from his chin like a banner. “More than a touch, Ranulf. He was sired here in this very glade.”

Ranulf frowned. He must not have heard. “Apologies, Great Elder, I…”

“His mother, your great-great-great-grandmother, visited us once before,” the ancient went on. “She stayed with us for some months, oh, it must be almost two hundred years ago now. I was a young man back then, barely more than a century old. I knew her well, though not as well as the Eighth Elder of that time. They fell in love, Ranulf. The Eighth was young, headstrong, and your great-great-great-grandmother was a beautiful woman. When she left us she did so carrying his child. That Eighth Elder is long dead now, of course, and your great-great-great-grandmother as well, but the seed that was planted lies dormant in you. The power of Light, Ranulf. I did tell you there was light in you, did I not?”

Some of that light shines in you, Ranulf Shackton. He had said that the day they met. “I…I did not think you meant…” The truth of it was dawning. “There is Lightborn blood in me. Elder blood?”

“A smidge of it, yes. Diluted by time and generations of breeding, but enough for you and Kamcho to develop a more special bond. Speech is one thing, sight and senses another. The water from the Spring will hasten your learning, Ranulf. Drink freely, and drink often. You will not be with us long.”

From that moment on, Ranulf’s bond to Kamcho took on a different meaning. Day by day, week by week, he learned to see through his eyes.

Now, standing by that rock on those dusty plains, he closed his eyes and focused. Slowly, vaguely, the world came into view from high above him, a blur of blue, of sky and sea, and the golds and browns of the cliffs and plains. He could see the blotchy forms of the Tukoran soldiers below and himself, even himself, standing in the distance with the princess by the rock, with Neyruu nearby, and Cevi sitting up against her, enjoying the shade of her wing.

His sight remained blurred, indistinct, but the details were growing clearer every day. Kamcho flew over the edge of the cliff, over the fleet far below, bobbing against their piers. Thousands spread out onto the beach and there was a great rush of motion down there. He saw the great sculpture of Calacan soaring from the cliffside, a sculpture of great likeness he could now attest. As Kamcho circled back around Ranulf sighted the switchback stair, zig-zagging up the face of the rock. The company were at the top now, just about to take the last turn that would bring them up over the lip.

He smiled and withdrew, opening his eyes to return once more to himself. Talasha was looking at him strangely. “You are a curious fellow, Ranulf Shackton. You can truly see through him. This eagle of yours?”

“Vaguely, yes.”

“And you never knew? Of this power hidden in your blood?”

“Never.” Everything happened for a reason, Ranulf Shackton had come to find. Talasha’s coming to the Everwood was one such event. They were twined, now, in their quest. A long bleak flight awaited them. And it will be cold up there.

The company were stepping up the last of the stairs and joining the other men on the clifftops. Ranulf felt a pang of nerves to reunite with Saska again. “How do I look, my lady? Presentable, I hope?”

“You smell of vomit, Ranulf Shackton.”

He sighed. “You are cruel, Lady Talasha. How long are you going to mock me over this?”

“Oh, as long as we know one another.” She spoke with a smile. “Best refresh your breath with a swig of that water of yours. And wipe your chin again. You missed a bit.”

She grinned and set off across the dusty plain, commanding Cevi to remain behind and keep Neyruu company. Ranulf wiped his chin again, though there was no need. The woman was merely teasing him. By then the host at the cliffs had doubled in size, and a party of considerable power, both in land and title and sheer brute force, was approaching across the barren rock.

Saska and Leshie were leading from the front. Both of them were grinning, turning their heads to speak to one another as they came, laughing and shaking their heads. Behind came the Wall, with the Butcher and the Baker for company. Some of the other sellswords had made the climb as well, out of interest most likely; Ranulf knew them by description, if not by sight. So too Robbert Lukar, whom he’d never met, yet who was said to be much alike to his father in look, and so it did seem. He walked at the back looking somewhat perplexed. “A handsome young man,” Talasha observed, upon seeing him. “Even with the eyepatch. Who is this tall one who walks beside him?”

“That would be Sir Lothar Tunney. He is the second of Prince Robbert’s guards, along with Sir Bernard.”

“He must be seven feet.”

“I believe he is six feet and eleven inches.” No doubt that was of great upset to him, to miss out on that vaunted number by so small a margin.

Leshie took it upon herself to rush ahead as they neared, lifting a finger to point right at him. “I know you. I’m sure of it. I know that silly old face.” She hurried along in her fetching red armour, a red silken cape trailing at her back, grinning massively. “Bloody hell, Ranulf. Now don’t tell me you flew here?”

“I had that pleasure, Leshie, it’s so.”

“It’s so,” the Red Blade repeated. “Gods, I don’t miss that stupid phrase of yours. It’s so. What does that even mean?” She snorted, hugged him, grinning and laughing and then drew back and turned to the princess, performing a clumsy curtsy. “Your Highness. We’ve been worried about you. Saska especially. She…”

“Can speak for herself,” Saska said, stepping in behind her. Her eyes flitted between the princess and the adventurer. A smile simmered on her lips. It felt to Ranulf as though she wanted to rush in and embrace them both, though she held her reserve, ever wary of how she appeared. “I’m sure there’s quite a tale to tell here. How is it you came to be together?”

“Oh, that is a story for Ranulf to tell, I think.” Talasha smiled and drifted in to take Saska’s hands in her own. “I’m sorry I left for so long. We had a spot of trouble with Paglar.”

“Paglar?” repeated Leshie. “That was the big dragon at the lake?”

“A fearsome beast, but ultimately overmatched. Drulgar is not the only titan to have returned.”

The two girls shared a confused look, as the Butcher stamped forward, smirking from ear to ear. “Ersel!” he roared. “Ersel San Sabar!” He stepped straight in to pick Ranulf up off his feet in a chest-crunching bear hug. “What a joyous day! Ersel San Sabar has returned to us. I have missed you, Ersel!” He shook him from side to side. Ranulf’s legs swung freely like a rag doll. “Where have you been? The Everwood. Yes, we know. But why is the true question? Why have you not returned? And these others who went with you? The Sunrider and his men and that funny little gardener…”

“Let him go and perhaps he’ll answer.” That came from the Wall, a booming thunderclap of a voice that was not easy to mistake for another. “He can barely breathe, Butcher. Put him down.”

“Ah. Sorry, Ersel. I am getting overexcited to see you, I think.” The Butcher lowered him to the ground, and Ranulf tried to remain dignified while refilling his lungs. A great paw shook his shoulder. “So? So? Let us hear this tale from the famous tale-teller. Wine. Yes, there is wine aboard the ship. We should go down and drink wine and you can speak of your adventures.”

“You’ll forgive my brother. He is a child in a man’s body.” The Baker pushed his golden spectacles up his nose. “A very ugly scarred man, and a very simple child.” He smiled, showing his odd, unnaturally white set of teeth. “How are you, Ranulf Shackton? Still trying to avert your eyes from Ana, is it not so?”

“Ana!” The Butcher burst out laughing. “Yes, you tried so hard not to look, Ersel. A very pretty girl. Do you remember her?”

How could I forget? It had been Ranulf’s first meeting with the Bloody Trader brothers in their pavilion outside Eagle’s Perch. Never in his life had Ranulf Shackton entered a scene of such debauchery, with couples writhing in every corner and naked singers prancing about among the cats and dogs and goats that roamed freely through the scented smoke. Ana had been the nude girl who served their wine, a very nubile girl whom Ranulf had been very careful not to look at below the eyes. Of course, that had been of tremendous amusement to the sellswords. “I recall Ana, yes,” he said.

“You could have recalled her better if you’d taken her to bed, Ranulf,” the Baker informed him. “We did offer.”