They’re all silent.
“What’s an amarth?” Royo asks.
“It’s a type of bird,” I say.
That’s the best way I can phrase it. A nightmare of legend is more accurate. I’ve never seen one. Never wanted to. But I’ve heard of them. One of our spies was killed by an amarth around a year ago. We never recovered his remains.
“Gods on High, it’s not like a samroc, is it?” Euyn’s brown eyes widen.
It might be worse.
“The amarth are part human but mostly bird. They have white plumes and stand roughly a head taller than a man. They are purportedly servants of the Sky God. According to this text, their queens lay black-colored eggs.”
“Part human?” Aeri asks.
“The legend is that the son of the Sky King loved a woman and mated with her in the form of an eagle, producing an egg,” I say. “That was the first amarth. If they are, in fact, human, I believe that makes them cannibals. They are carnivorous, with razor-sharp beaks, long talons, and the speed of eagles. But they reportedly have human features and can speak.”
Euyn shudders, and I know what he’s thinking. The only thing that could’ve made our encounter with the samroc worse would’ve been them talking to us. A chill runs over my shoulders at the thought.
Royo rubs his forehead. “Speak like a parrot?”
“No, I think it’s closer to you and me,” I answer. “But the book doesn’t say.”
His brow wrinkles as he tries to get his head around it.
“I really…” Euyn pales. “You said there were two exceptions. Perhaps we should try the other?”
I think we’ve both had all the bird encounters we can handle. But the second option is not easy or safe, either.
“The other states that the person who brings in the head of Staraheli will be granted a villa on the mountain with primary standing and will be allowed to sit at the feet of the king.”
“Who or what is Staraheli?” Sora asks.
“He was the ruler of the Marnans—the people of the northwestern part of the country who did not become Khitanese. They fought with Khitan over land and water for centuries and had to retreat to the ice caves and the frozen wasteland after heavy losses. But Staraheli was a brilliant strategist who organized successful invasions. He made it all the way to Vashney and killed a prince before being defeated. But Khitan wasn’t able to capture him, so they want his head.”
Luhk nods from the back wall, where he’s wiping away the blood splatter.
“But the last Staraheli revolt was over a century ago,” Euyn says.
I nod, although I’m surprised. He must’ve paid attention to his history tutor, which I didn’t expect. Euyn wasn’t much of a student if it didn’t interest him. His tutor was probably attractive.
“Then there’s no head to bring to Quilimar,” he says. “Even if he lived a long life, he must be ashes by now.”
“The Marnans bury their dead,” I say.
The table is silent as the thought of grave robbing a hundred-year-old corpse hits everyone. Like I said, it’s not great.
“I kind of get wanting to display the head of an enemy, but why the egg?” Aeri asks.
“That, I don’t know,” I say.
“It’s because of the curse,” Euyn says, flipping a book to face us.
Everyone gathers around. It’s an illustration of a king sitting with a knife and fork. He’s getting ready to eat what looks to be a black ostrich egg.
“What curse?” Royo asks.
“The ring, like all of the relics, curses the wearer with a terrible price for its use,” Euyn says. “The crown is an exception because it only protects or turns imposters to ash, although there’s a thought that the cost is increasing madness. Regardless, the Golden Ring causes tremendous pain and weakens the blood of the wearer. The same as how the Water Scepter causes desiccation and the Flaming Sword causes burns. All relics pull life out of the wearer. It’s written here that eating the black egg of an amarth is thought to cleanse the blood. The king was looking for a cure.”
