The Silver Sparrow

With the Birds in It

They spotted the salar's company coming out of the valley a few hours before sundown. An entourage of fifty men accompanied the salar, with two riders riding a little ahead to clear the path and two rows of guards flanking left and right of the five wagons that presumably contained gifts from the governor of Khandoor. The salar made a trip to all the four provinces, once independent kingdoms that now belonged to the Salasar, at least once a year. Governors needed to be kept on a short leash to discourage any plan of uprising. There was always an uprising somewhere in the Salasar, no matter how long they'd been conquered or how many privileges they were allowed. People were people. 'Give them an apple, and they'll say it's an orange they need,' his father had said. It was a big peninsula to rule, a responsibility more enormous at times than the power that came with it. Lasura had never quite understood why anyone would want to sit on that throne.

Ahead of the wagons was Salar Muradi in a black tunic completely identical to the guards around him. His mount—a magnificent black Vilarian stallion—was dressed with the exact same military saddle as the rest of his men's. To his immediate right, Ghaul rode sturdily atop his massive Samarran horse, alert and ready, as always, to kill any living thing that came within two steps of his salar. A royal carriage followed not too far behind. It would be empty, as always, dragged along only to deceive those who might try to assassinate him.

It would have to take a truly ignorant assassin to attack the carriage, Lasura humored himself with that thought, watching the company coming nearer. While it should have been difficult to notice the salar in his party of fifty men wearing the exact same color, even with his giant guard removed from being the center of attention, the Salar of Rasharwi would still stand out from a crowd ten times as large. His father's was a presence that filled rooms and doorways, a figure that demanded absolute attention in any space he occupied, and Lasura had never gotten used to the way his limbs tended to paralyze every time he had to share that space.

Next to him, Azram's horse fidgeted as it stood waiting, forcing its rider to reign him in several times. Horses were sensitive creatures. They could always sense the rider's anxiety or a lack of confidence. Azram, for all his eagerness earlier that afternoon, looked like he was trying not to sit on a spear someone was pointing up his behind now that their father was approaching.

Ghaul snapped a command, and the two riders in front came forward to check on Azram's party. Once their identities had been confirmed, one rode back to the main company to inform the salar, the other stayed behind to signal should the situation change in any way. One of the things Salar Muradi was notorious for was how thorough he could be over security checks. It was the reason why he'd survive to become what he was and why the other princes of his time hadn't. One might call it an act of cowardice, but so far such a person hadn't existed in the Salasar, or if he had, his existence didn't last long enough for Lasura to hear of it.

Azram urged his horse forward as the salar's company reached them, bowing smoothly to their father once they were at the appropriate distance.

"Welcome home, father." With a discreet gesture, Azram signaled the tracker to bring forward the kill. "We were out hunting in the area and saw you coming out of the mountains. I've caught you something."

It had to appear as a coincidence, everyone knew. The salar had always been suspicious of those who went out of their ways to lick his boots. Lasura doubted the event that day would be seen as a coincidence by his father, but sometimes one could get away with putting up an effort to conceal it.

The tracker brought the dead fox over to the salar. Ghaul steered his horse between the two and reached for it in his place, handing the kill to another soldier. His father, who had yet to say a single word, took a glance at the animal, and then at both his sons. The silence that ensued made all the horses fidget. The first word from the Salar always felt like a death sentence, for the reason that sometimes it literally was.