Flight of the Godkin Griffin (Godkindred Saga 1)
Flight of the Godkin Griffin (Godkindred Saga 1)
On the eve of her retirement from the army, Mistress Commander Angharad Godkin finds herself re-activated and directed to replace the governor of the newly conquered territory of Shraeven. With its multitude of diverse societies and religions, the province will not be easy to tame; but Angharad has thirty-four years of experience and is determined to succeed--even with the additional challenge of an ex-lover as her second-in-command.
However, what starts out as a seemingly predictable military challenge takes multiple unexpected turns at the hands of Shraeven's rebellious people, their unorthodox beliefs, and their capricious, demanding, and very tangible gods. Angharad quickly finds herself the central piece in a game being fought on too many levels, all of them very foreign to her nature and background.
But if she's being forced to play, she's going to play to win; and Shraeven may come to regret having gotten her into the game.
Genre (setting): sword & sorcery (Godkindred)
Tags: furries, religion, politics, mythical creatures
Rating: R for implied rape, violence
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Excerpt From Chapter 1
Tomorrow I’m retiring.
My bags are packed and my borrowed room has been stripped of my equipment. The flickering light the fire casts is coy over these details, so the sense that this isn’t happening, can’t be happening, is perhaps understandable. I am folded as comfortably as I’m able into a wooden basin, enjoying a hot bath in front of a fireplace in a real room, and this—comfort, quiet, privacy—is going to be my life for the foreseeable future.
I’m retiring. Blood and gods, it hardly seems possible.
I have served the Closest Kin in the army for thirty-four years, since I took up a spear to drive away the raiders on the slopes of the Firerake Mountains under Captain Trerian. That fourteen-year-old girl seems very distant indeed from who I’ve become. Beneath the water I trace countless scars with the tips of my fingers. I am one of the few Godkin with wings and I am grateful that I can fly with them…but my bones break easily, and my hide tells too many grim war stories.
Fans of water fall from my arms as I slide out of the basin. I am done with the army. As I’ve grown older, more and more my mind has turned to this matter of the gods and our never-ending quest to become more like them. There are rumors about how we came about, enticing enough to draw a woman tired of war onto the road in search of truth.
I’m still dripping, which is a surprise. I have never had the time to be this absent-minded. I grab a towel and dry off before sitting on the bunk next to my bags. The only thing I haven’t packed is my kit. My leather armor, ivory for camouflage against the clouds, has been mended more times than I can remember. It had designs on it originally, but they’re gone now. That hole there—that’s the one that broke my ribs this last time, in Glendallia’s final battle at Klen Valley.
I had just finished dressing after my bath when a runner knocked on my door.
“Mistress Commander, the Mistress General wants your presence in her office.”
Mistress General Casandre Godkin of the Salt Bluffs has been my host since my assignment to Fort Endgame to heal and await retirement after Glendallia’s fall. She has never been given to evening chats. Perplexed, I leave my chamber and walked the battlements to the northern tower. The night has a blue-violet cast, and with all three moons up in a clear sky the merlons shine a rosy silver. A warm breeze presages spring and sweeps my fine hair off my shoulders, tickling my wings. It is a beautiful night, until I step into Casandre’s room.
The Mistress General hovers behind a desk, overlooking several maps and emitting a palpable air of tension. She has never elucidated her bloodlines to me, though to be named Godkin she must be the product of the interbreeding of at least ten species, as I am. In appearance, she is mostly mammalian, leaning toward genet or marten with rounded ears and a striped tail.
“Mistress General, you wanted to see me?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says curtly. “Angharad Godkin, you are hereby reassigned to replace the provincial governor of the newly pacified province of Shraeven, on orders of the Godson.”
My beak drops open in shock. Any soldier in the Godson’s army can retire…unless they’re on active duty.
Casandre sighs. “Sit, Angharad.”
I refuse. “I’m retiring tomorrow.”
“Not anymore,” she says. “I’m sorry, Angharad, truly, but the Godson himself sent the orders. It’s time for Governor Chordwain to step down.”
“This is—” I stop myself from saying ‘insane’ and opt for, “ill-advised. I lost most of my cavalry unit in Glendallia, including its captain—”
“—their replacement is on its way to Nadeir,” Casandre interrupts.
“—I have no experience in governance,” I continue, and hurry on before she can stop me again, “my unit is exhausted and under-supplied…Blood of the gods, General, the plainsmen even slaughtered half my support staff!”
“All that can be overcome,” Casandre says. “I’m sorry, Angharad. The Godson has authorized me to fulfill as many of your requests as possible, but your re-assignment is not up for discussion. You knew the terms when you signed with the army, and you must abide by them.”
I dip my head, struggling with anger, horror, resignation. Finally, I say, “Requests?”
Casandre nods. “Men. Supplies. Whatever you need.”
I’ve never been offered anything I wanted to get a job done before. I suppose I should be glad.
My brain starts moving again. “I want a map. One drawn by someone who’s actually seen the terrain. And I want to talk to someone fresh out of Shraeven.”
“Easily done,” Casandre says.
“I want my entire company re-outfitted. This new cavalry unit included,” I say. “I want more soldiers. And I need a new support staff.”
“Naturally,” Casandre says.
“I want money in case of contingencies,” I say.
“Of course.”
I lean back, mantling my wings, suspicious. I have been leading soldiers since I turned twenty-two, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that the role of Supply is to keep as much money and equipment out of the hands of soldiers as possible. I go with my instinct and say, finally, “And I want it all now.”
Casandre shakes her head. “That I can’t do,” she says. “Shraeven can’t wait…we need you to join your company at Nadeir immediately. We’ll have post-riders delivering your requests as soon as possible, but we need your companies on the move in two weeks.”
Two weeks! I barely keep my ears from flattening. “Is there something I should know about the condition of Shraeven?”
Casandre smiles and shrugs. “It’s simply uncivilized, that’s all. No different from most new provinces.”
A chill lifts the short fur along my back and fluffs my lowest feathers. I’ve spent many a month in a tent fighting guerrilla wars in ‘uncivilized’ provinces. “This sounds like a convenient recipe for failure.”
“Not at all,” Casandre says. “It’s just a difficult assignment.”
“Difficult!” Now I know I’m right. My requests may actually make it out to meet me, or they might conveniently never appear. I know nothing about the political importance of Shraeven, but I have to find out, and soon. “I’d like a copy of your orders for my requests tonight,” I say. “I’m leaving as soon as I can get a horse.”
Try as I may, I can’t see any discomfort in Casandre as she says, “You’ll have them in half an hour.”
Are they planning to sacrifice me? Or is this simply a gamble for them, a roll of the painted bones that they’ll win whether I succeed or fail?
I take my leave of the Mistress General. The battlements no longer seem so friendly. Leaning on a merlon, I squint at the horizon…west, the direction of Shraeven. Fort Endgame is perched in a mountain pass; abutted by two sheer stone cliffs, it has a narrow but unimpeded view of the long rolling hills to the western sea. That’s where I’m going.
The dark, the seeming presentation of an inevitable path, remind me that I have not yet selected a spouse, have not yet chosen bloodlines for a child and had that child. I wonder if this is the campaign that will kill me.
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