The boy was one stride away when the black-clad man fired the crossbow. Then his knees buckled. The bolt had taken him in the chest, high up in the muscle below his first wound.
The bolt spun him around completely, and his blood splattered both men as it fountained from the wound.
The sword flew backward from fingers that could no longer grip. His knees struck the ground and he fell over backward, his eyes losing focus as pain and shock swept over him.
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Voices shouted, but the sound was muted, and he could not understand what they were saying. For a brief instant, he saw something: high in the sky above him a silver hawk flew in a circle, and to Kieli it seemed to be looking directly down at him. In his mind he heard the voice once again.
Linger, little brother, for your time is not yet. Be my talon and rend our enemies.
His last thought was of the bird.
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TWO
KENDRICK’S
Kieli’s pain pierced the darkness.
He couldn’t will his eyes open, yet he knew he was alive. He felt hands upon him and as if from a great distance heard a voice mutter, “This one’s still alive.’’
Another voice said, “Let’s get him in the wagon. He’s lost a lot of blood.’’
Part of Kieli’s mind registered he was hearing words in the traders’ language, what was called the Common Tongue, not the language of the Orosini.
He felt another pair of hands upon him. As they began to move him, he groaned and lapsed back into unconsciousness.
__
Pain coursed though Kieli’s body as he came awake. He forced his eyes open and tried to lift his head. The effort 9261.01 3/13/03 12:53 PM Page 24
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brought forth a wave of agony, and his stomach churned, yet there was nothing in it for him to vomit up. The wracking pain that swept through him made him gasp aloud and moan.
His eyes couldn’t focus, so he could not see the owner of the gentle hands who pushed him back and said, “Lie still, lad. Breathe slowly.’
Kieli saw shapes before him: heads in shadow, lightening in the sky above them. He blinked and tried to clear his eyes. “Here,” said another voice from above him, and a gourd of water touched his lips.
“Drink slowly,” said the first voice. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. We didn’t think you’d make it.’’
The first swallow of water caused the spasms to return, and he vomited up the tiny bit of water. “Sip, then,” said the voice.
He did as he was instructed, and the mouthful of water stayed down. Suddenly he was thirsty beyond memory. He tried to swallow, but the gourd was removed from his lips.
He attempted to lift his hand to grasp it, but his arm would not obey his command.
“Sip, I said,” demanded the voice. The gourd was pressed against his lips again, and he sipped, and the cool water trickled down his throat.
He focused his meager strength on getting the water down and keeping it down. Then he lifted his eyes above the rim of the gourd and attempted to discern the features of his benefactor. All he could see was a vague lump of features topped by a thatch of grey. Then he fell back into darkness.
__
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which. And he knew it was raining for a time, because the air was heavy with the scent of wet soil and the mustiness of mold on wood.
After that images came and fled. He was in a wagon, and for a brief time one afternoon he sensed he was in the woodlands, but not those near his home. He didn’t know how he knew—some glimpse of trees that didn’t match the lofty balsams, cedars, and aspens of his own forest. There were oaks, and elms, and trees he didn’t recognize. He lapsed back into his troubled slumber.
He remembered bits of food being pressed to his mouth and how he swallowed them, his throat constricting and his chest burning. He remembered feverish dreams and awoke several times drenched in sweat, his heart pounding. He remembered calling out his father’s name.
One night he dreamed he was warm, at home, in the round house with his mother and the other women. He felt awash with their love. Then he awoke on the hard ground with the smell of wet soil in his nostrils, the smoke from a recently banked campfire cutting through the air, and two men asleep on either side of him, and he fell back, wondering how he had come to this place. Then memory returned to him, and he recalled the attack on his village.
Tears came unbidden to his eyes and he wept as he felt all the hope and joy die in his chest.
He could not count the days he traveled. He knew there were two men caring for him, but he could not recall if they had given him their names. He knew they had asked him questions and that he had answered, but he could not recall the subject of those discussions.
Then, one morning, clarity returned to him.
Kieli opened his eyes and although he was weak, he found he could understand his surroundings. He was in a large barn, with doors at either end. In a close-by stall, he 9261.01 3/13/03 12:53 PM Page 26
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could hear horses eating. He was lying upon a pallet of straw covered by a double blanket, and had two more blankets over him. The air was hazy with smoke from a small camp stove, a rectangle of beaten iron sheeting within which coals were allowed to burn. Safer in a barn full of hay than an open fire. Kieli elbowed himself up and gazed around. The smoke stung his eyes a little, but much of it escaped through an open door in the hayloft. It was quiet, so Kieli judged it was not raining.
His body ached, and he felt stiff, but his slight movement didn’t bring on waves of pain as it had before.
There was a man sitting upon a wooden stool, regarding him with dark eyes. The man’s hair was mostly grey, though bits of black still remained. His droopy moustache hung down on either side of a mouth that was tightly pursed as if he were concentrating. A heavy fringe hid most of his forehead, and his hair hung to his shoulders.
Blinking an accumulation of gunk from the corners of his eyes, Kieli asked, “Where am I?’’
The man looked at him inquisitively. “So, you’re back with us?” he asked rhetorically. He paused for a moment.
“Robert!” he shouted over his shoulder toward the barn doors.
A moment later the doors swung open and another man entered the barn and came to kneel beside Kieli.
This man was older still, his hair grey without color, but his eyes were powerful, and his gaze held the boy’s.
“Well, Talon, how do you feel?” he asked softly.
“Talon?”
“You said your name was Talon of the Silver Hawk,”
supplied the older man.
The lad blinked and tried to gather his thoughts, struggling to understand why he might have said such a thing.
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Then he recalled the vision, and he realized that it had, indeed, been his naming vision. A distant voice echoed in his mind, rise and be a talon for your people.
“What do you remember?”
“I remember the battle . . .” A dark pit opened inside his stomach, and he felt tears begin to gather. Forcing the sadness aside, he said, “They’re all dead, aren’t they?’’
“Yes,” answered the man named Robert. “What do you recall after the battle?’’
“A wagon . . .” Kieli, who now had to think of himself as
“Talon,” closed his eyes for a while, then said, ?
??You carried me away.’’
“Yes,” agreed Robert. “We couldn’t very well leave you to die from your wounds.” Softly he added, “Besides, there are some things we would know of you and the battle.’’
“What?” asked Talon.
“That can wait until later.’’
“Where am I?” Talon repeated.
“You are in the barn at Kendrick’s Steading.”
Talon tried to remember. He had heard of this place, but could not recall any details. “Why am I here?’’
The man with the droopy mustache laughed. “Because we rescued your sorry carcass, and this is where we were bound.’’
“And,” continued Robert, “this is a very good place to rest and heal.” He stood and moved away, stooping to avoid the low ceiling. “This barn Kendrick is allowing us to use without charge. His inn has warmer rooms, cleaner bedding, and better food—’’
“But it also has too many eyes and ears,” offered the first man.
Robert threw him a glance and shook his head slightly.
The first man said, “You bear a man’s name, yet I see no tattoos upon your face.’’
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“The battle was on my naming day,” Talon answered weakly.
The second man, the one called Robert, looked back at his companion, then returned his attention to the boy.
“That was over two weeks ago, lad. You’ve been traveling with us since Pasko found you in your village.’’
“Did anyone else survive?” Talon asked, his voice choking with emotion.
Robert returned to the boy’s side, knelt, and put his hand gently on his shoulders and said, “Gone. All of them.’’
Pasko said, “The bastards were thorough, I’ll give them that.’’
“Who?” asked Talon.
Robert’s hand gently pushed the boy back onto the pallet.
“Rest. Pasko will have some hot soup for you soon. You’ve been at death’s door. For a long while, we didn’t think you’d survive. We’ve seen you through with sips of water and cold broth. It’s time to put some strength back in you.” He paused.
“There are many things to talk about, but we have time. We have a great deal of time, Talon of the Silver Hawk.’’
Talon did not want to rest: he wanted answers, but his weakened body betrayed him, and he lay back and found sleep welcoming him again.
__
The song of birds greeted him as he awoke ravenous. Pasko brought over a large earthen mug of hot broth and urged him to drink slowly. The other man, Robert, was nowhere to be seen.
After stinging his mouth with the hot liquid, Talon asked, “What is this place?’’
“Kendrick’s? It’s an . . . inn, buried somewhere in the forests of Latagore.”
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“Why?”
“Why what? Why are we here, or why are you alive?’’
“Both, I suppose,” said Talon.
“The second, first,” answered Pasko, as he sat down on the little stool and hefted his own mug of broth. “We found you amidst carnage unlike any I’ve seen since my youth—when I was a soldier in the service of the Duke of Dungarren, down in Far Loren. We’d have left you for crow bait with the others, save I heard you moan . . . well, wasn’t even a proper moan, more like a loud sigh. It was only by the hand of fate you survived. You had so much blood on you and such a jagged wound across your chest, we both took you for dead to start with. Anyway, you were breathing, so my master said to fetch you along. He’s a soft-hearted sort, I can tell you.’’
“I should thank him,” said Talon, though he felt so miserable for being alive while the rest of his family had perished that he didn’t feel remotely thankful.
“I suspect he’ll find a way for you to repay him,” said Pasko. He stood up. “Feel like stretching your legs?’’
Talon nodded. He started to rise and found that his head swam and his body ached. He had no strength.
“Gently, my lad,” said Pasko, hurrying to give Talon a helping hand. “You’re weaker than a day-old kitten. You’ll need more rest, and food, before you’re close to being fit, but right now you need to move around a bit.’’
Pasko helped Talon to the door of the barn, and they went outside. It was a crisp morning, and Talon could tell they were in a lowland valley. The air smelled and felt different from the air in his highland meadows. Talon’s legs were shaky, and he was forced to take small steps. Pasko stopped and let the boy take in his surroundings.
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construction as a fortification by its design, for stone steps flush with the walls rose up at several locations a short distance from the large building, which he took to be the inn. The top of the wall had crenels and merlons, and a walkway broad enough for two men to pass one another as they defended the grounds.
The inn was as large a building as Talon had ever seen, dwarfing the round house and long house of his village. It rose three stories into the air, and the roof was covered with stone tiles rather than thatch or wood. It was painted white, with wooden trim around the doors and windows, the shutters and doors having been painted a cheery green.
Several chimneys belched grey smoke into the sky.
A wagon had been pushed to the side of the barn, and Talon assumed it was the one that had carried him here. He could see the tops of trees some distance off, so he assumed the forest around the inn had been cleared.
“What do you see?” asked Pasko unexpectedly.
Talon glanced at the man, who was studying him closely. He started to speak, then remembered his grandfather telling him to look beyond the obvious, so he didn’t answer, but instead motioned to Pasko to help him to the nearest steps. He climbed them slowly until he was on top of the wall and able to look over.
The inn sat in the center of a natural clearing, but the stumps of a fair number of trees revealed that it had been enlarged years before. The stumps were covered with grasses and brambles, but the road into the woods had been kept clear.
“What do you see?” Pasko repeated.
Talon still didn’t answer, but began walking toward the inn. As he did so, the layout of the inn called Kendrick’s unfolded in his mind’s eye. He hesitated. He had as much fluency with the Common Tongue as any boy in the village, 9261.01 3/13/03 12:53 PM Page 31
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but he rarely spoke it, save when traders came to . . . He thought of his village and the cold hopelessness returned.
He pushed down the ache and considered the words he wanted. Finally, he said, “This is a fortress, not an inn.’’
Pasko grinned. “Both, actually. Kendrick has no fondness for some of his neighbors.”
Talon nodded. The walls were stout, and the forest on all sides had been cleared sufficiently to give archers on the wall a clear field of fire. The road from the woods turned abruptly halfway to the inn and circled around to gates he assumed were on the other side of the inn. No ram or burning wagon could easily be run along to destroy the gates and gain entrance.
He glanced at the placement of the building. Archers in the upper windows would provide a second rank of defenders to support anyone on the wall. He returned his gaze to the doors and saw they were also heavy with iron bands. He imagined they could be barred from the inside.
It would take stout men with heavy axes to break those down. He glanced up, and saw the murder-holes above each door. Hot oil or water, or arrows could be directed down at anyone in front of the door.
At last he said, “They mus
t be difficult neighbors.”
Pasko chuckled. “Indeed.”
While they stood upon the parapet looking at the inn, a door opened and a young girl appeared, carrying a large bucket. She glanced up and saw them and waved. “Hello, Pasko!’’
“Hello, Lela!’’
“Who’s your friend?” she asked playfully. She appeared to be a few years older than Talon, but unlike the girls he had known among his people, she was dark. Her skin was dark, with a touch of olive color, and her hair was as black as night. Her large brown eyes sparkled as she laughed.
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“A lad we picked up along the way. Leave him alone.
You’ve enough admirers already.’’
“Never enough!” she shouted playfully, swinging the bucket around as she twirled a step, then continued on her path. “I could do with some help fetching water,” she said with a flirtatious grin.
“You’re a healthy enough lass, and the boy’s injured.”
Pasko paused, then asked, “Where are Lars and Gibbs?’’
“Kendrick’s got them out,” Lela said, disappearing behind the other side of the barn.
Talon stood silent for a moment after she vanished from view, then asked, “What am I to do?” Inside he felt a profound hopelessness, a lack of volition and will he had never known in his young life. Without his family . . .
Memories of his village made tears gather in his eyes. The Orosini could be an emotional people, given to loud celebration in times of joy and tears in times of sorrow. But they tended to be reserved in the presence of strangers. All that seemed without purpose now, and Talon let the tears run down his face.
Ignoring them, Pasko said, “You’ll have to ask Robert about that when he returns. I just do as I’m bid. You do owe him your life, so that debt must be settled. Now, let’s walk you around a little more, then get you back inside to rest.’’
Talon felt a desire to explore, to go inside the inn and investigate its wonders, for a building this large must contain many, he judged. But Pasko took him back to the barn, and by the time they reached his pallet Talon was glad to be there, for he felt exhausted deep into his bones. The wounds on his body ached and stung, and he knew that even that little bit of exercise had torn some new scar tissue and he would need time to heal. He remembered when Bear Who Stands had been gored by a boar. He had limped for almost a half year before regaining full mobility in his leg.