RAYMOND E. FEIST
Talon of The Silver Hawk

Book One of Conclave of Shadows

Copyright

HarperVoyager

An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 77–85 Fulham Palace Road, Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

www.harpervoyagerbooks.co.uk

First published by HarperVoyager 2002

Copyright © Raymond E. Feist 2002

Cover Illustration © Nik Keevil

Raymond E. Feist asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

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Source ISBN: 9780002246811

EBook Edition © AUGUST 2012 ISBN: 9780007373802

Version: 2014–09–05

Dedication

For Jamie Ann For teaching me things I didn’t know I needed to learn

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Maps

Part One: Orphan

Chapter One: Passage

Chapter Two: Kendrick’s

Chapter Three: Servant

Chapter Four: Games

Chapter Five: Journey

Chapter Six: Latagore

Chapter Seven: Education

Chapter Eight: Magic

Chapter Nine: Confusion

Chapter Ten: Decision

Chapter Eleven: Purpose

Chapter Twelve: Love

Chapter Thirteen: Recovery

Part Two: Mercenary

Chapter Fourteen: Masters’ Court

Chapter Fifteen: Mystery

Chapter Sixteen: Tournament

Chapter Seventeen: Target

Chapter Eighteen: Choices

Chapter Nineteen: Defence

Chapter Twenty: Battle

Chapter Twenty-One: Hunt

Epilogue: Scorpion

Keep Reading

Continue the Adventure …

Acknowledgments

About The Author

Also by the Author

About the Publisher

Maps

• PART ONE •
Orphan

‘Death stands above me, whispering lowI know not what into in my ear …’

Walter Savage Landor

• CHAPTER ONE •
Passage

HE WAITED.

Shivering, the boy huddled close to the dying embers of his meagre fire, his pale blue eyes sunken and dark from lack of sleep. His mouth moved slowly as he repeated the chant he had learned from his father, his dry lips cracking painfully and his throat sore from intoning the holy words. His nearly black hair was matted with dust from sleeping in the dirt; despite his resolve to remain alert while awaiting his vision, exhaustion had overcome him on three occasions. His normally slender frame and high cheekbones were accentuated by his rapid weight loss, rendering him gaunt and pale. He wore only a vision seeker’s loin cloth. After the first night he had sorely missed his leather tunic and trousers, his sturdy boots and his dark green cloak.

Above, the night sky surrendered to a pre-dawn grey and the stars began to fade from view. The very air seemed to pause, as if waiting for a first intake of breath, the first stirring of a new day. The stillness was uncommon, both unnerving and fascinating, and the boy held his breath for a moment in concert with the world around him. Then a tiny gust, the softest breath of night sighing, touched him, and he let his own breathing resume.

As the sky to the east lightened, he reached over and picked up a gourd. He sipped at the water within, savouring it as much as possible, for it was all he was permitted until he experienced his vision and reached the creek which intersected with the trail a mile below as he made his way home.

For two days he had sat below the peak of Shatana Higo, in the place of manhood, waiting for his vision. Prior to that he had fasted, drinking only herb teas and water; then he had eaten the traditional meal of the warrior, dried meat, hard bread and water with bitter herbs, before spending half a day climbing the dusty path up the eastern face of the holy mountain to the tiny depression a dozen yards below the summit. The clearing would scarcely accommodate half a dozen men, but it seemed vast and empty to the boy as he entered the third day of the ceremony. A childhood spent in a large house with many relatives had ill prepared him for such isolation, for this was the first time in his existence he had been without companionship for more than a few hours.

As was customary among the Orosini, the boy had started the manhood ritual on the third day before the Midsummer celebration, which the lowlanders call Banapis. The boy would greet the new year, the end of his life as a child, in contemplating the lore of his family and clan, his tribe and nation, and seeking the wisdom of his ancestors. It was a time of deep introspection and meditation, as the boy sought to understand his place in the order of the universe, the role laid before him by the gods. And on this day he was expected to gain his manhood name. If events went as they should, he would rejoin his family and clan in time for the evening Midsummer festival.

As a child he had been called Kieli, a diminution of Kielianapuna, the red squirrel, the clever and nimble dweller in the forests of home. Never seen, but always present, they were considered lucky when glimpsed by the Orosini. And Kieli was considered to be a lucky child.

The boy shivered almost uncontrollably, for his paltry stores of body-fat hardly insulated him from the night’s chill. Even in the middle of the summer, the peaks of the mountains of the Orosini were cold after the sun fled.

Kieli waited for the vision. He saw the sky lighten, a slow, progressive shift from grey to pale grey-blue, then to a rose hue as the sun approached. He saw the brilliance of the sun crest the distant mountain, a whitish-golden orb that brought him another day of loneliness. He averted his eyes when the disc of the sun cleared the mountains, lest his sight flee from him. The trembling in his body lessened as the sun finally rose sufficiently to begin to relieve the chill. He waited, at first expectantly, then with a deep fatigue-generated hopelessness.

Each Orosini boy endured this ritual upon the midsummer day close to the time of his birth anniversary in one of the many such holy places scattered throughout the region. For years beyond numbering boys had climbed to these vantage points, and men had returned.

He experienced a brief moment of envy, as he recalled that the girls of his age in the village would be in the round house with the women at the moment, chatting and eating, singing and praying. Somehow the girls found their women’s names without the privation and hardship endured by the boys. Kieli let the moment pass: dwelling on what you can’t control was futile, as his grandfather would say.

He thought of his grandfather, Laughter In His Eyes, who had been the last to speak to him as he climbed the lonely trail from the valley where his people dwelt. The old man had smiled as he always had – he could hardly remember a time when he hadn’t seen a smile on the old man’s face. Grandfather’s face was like brown leather from nearly eighty years of living in the mountains, his clan tattoos upon his left cheek still black despite years in the sun. The old man’s keen eyes and strong features were always framed by steel grey hair down to his shoulders. Kieli resembled his grandfather more than his father, for they both shared the olive skin which turned nut-brown in the summer and never burned, and in his youth Grandfather also had hair the colour of a raven’s wing. Others remarked that an outlander must have joined their family generations ago, for the Orosini were a fair race, and even brown hair was unusual.

Kieli’s grandfather had whispered, ‘When the gourd is empty, on Midsummer’s day, remember this: if the gods haven’t already provided you with a name, that means you’re allowed to choose one you like.’ And then the old chieftain had smothered him in a playful, but still-strong, hug that sent him stumbling along the path. The other men in the village of Kulaam looked on, smiling or laughing, for the festival would soon be upon them and the time of the naming vision was a joyous time.

Kieli remembered his grandfather’s words and wondered if any boy actually had his name bestowed upon him by the gods. Examining the gourd, he judged he would be out of water by midday. He knew he would find water at a brook halfway down the path to the village, but he also knew that meant he had to leave the ledge when the sun was at its zenith.

He sat silently for a while, thoughts of his village dancing through his mind like the splashing foam of the brook behind the long hall. Perhaps if he set his mind free, he thought, if he didn’t try too hard to find his vision, it would come to him. He wanted to return soon, for he missed his family. His father, Elk’s Call At Dawn, was everything the boy hoped to be, strong, friendly, kind, resolute, fearless in battle, and gentle with his children. He missed his mother, Whisper Of The Night Wind, and his younger sister, Miliana, and most of all, he missed his older brother, Hand Of The Sun, who had returned from his own vision but two years earlier, his skin burned red by the sun, except for a pale print of his own hand where it had rested all day upon his chest. Their grandfather had joked that Hand was not the first boy to have come to his vision while asleep. Hand had always been kind to his younger brother and sister, taking care to watch over them when their mother was out gleaning the field, or showing them the best places to find ripening berries. Memories of those berries, crushed with honey and served on hot bread made his mouth water.

The celebration would be joyous, and the thought of the food that waited below gave Kieli cramps of hunger. He would be permitted to sit in the long house with the men, rather than in the round house with his mother and the other women and children. He felt a pang of loss at that thought, for the singing of the women as they oversaw the domestic chores of the day, their laughter and chatter, the gossip and the jokes, had been a part of his daily life for as long as he could remember. But he also looked forward with pride to being allowed to sit with the men of the clan.

His body shivered uncontrollably for a moment, then he sighed and relaxed as the sun warmed him further. He let his stiff muscles loosen, then moved to his knees and attended to the fire. He placed a few fresh twigs upon the glowing coals, then blew upon them, and in a few minutes it was done. He would let the flames die down after the mountain air warmed up, but for now he was thankful for the nearby heat.

He sat back against the rocks, which were warming with the sunlight despite the lingering chill in the air, and took another drink. Letting out a long sigh, he glanced at the sky. Why no vision? he wondered. Why had he received no message from the gods granting him his man’s name?

His name would be the key to his na’ha’tah, the secret nature of his being, that thing which only he and the gods would know. Other people would know his name, for he would proclaim it with pride, but no one would know the nature of his vision and what his name said to him, about his place in the universe, his mission from the gods, or his destiny. His grandfather had once told him that few men truly understood their na’ha’tah, even if they thought they did. The vision was only the first hint from the gods as to their plans for a man. Sometimes, his grandfather had said, the plan was a simple one, to be a good husband and father, a provider for the well-being of the village and the nation, an example for others to emulate, for it might be that his role was to be a father to someone chosen, a special one, a na’rif, and that plan would unfold long after a man’s death.

Kieli knew what his grandfather would say at this moment, that he worried too much, and that he should simply put aside worry and let the gods bring to him their will. Kieli knew his father would say the same, adding that to hunt or give counsel in the long house, or to be a good husband, first one must learn to be patient and to listen.

He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the breeze in the mountains. It spoke to him as leaves rustled in the cedars and pines. At times the wind could be a cruel companion, cutting through the heaviest of furs with a bitter, freezing edge. At other times it was blessed relief, cooling the hottest days of summer. His father had taught him of its voices and taught him that to learn the language of the wind was to be one with it, as were the hawks and eagles who built their nests among the craggy peaks. A screech split the morning air and Kieli’s head turned with a snap as a silver hawk struck at a rabbit less than a dozen yards from where he rested. The rarest of the hawks of the high mountains, its feathers were actually grey, with a mottling of near black around the head and shoulders, but an oily sheen upon the wings caused the bird to glisten with silver highlights when it sped through the clear sky. With a single beat of its wings, the hawk gripped the struggling rabbit tightly and launched itself into the air. Like a kitten carried by its mother, the rabbit hung limply from the bird’s talons, as if resigned to its fate. Kieli knew the animal had gone into shock – nature’s kindness as pain and thought were dulled. He had once seen a stag lying motionless on the ground, awaiting the hunter’s final mercy with a knife, felled by an arrow that hadn’t killed it.

In the distance he saw other birds wheeling lazily in the morning air, catching thermals off the rapidly heating rocks so that they could glide in search of a meal. Turkey buzzards, he knew. Their large wingspan allowed them to drift on the rising hot air while they scanned below for the dead and dying. Ungainly and ugly on the ground as they hopped to the carcass of a fallen animal, on the wing they were majestic.

To the south he saw a black-tailed kite balanced in mid-air, tail pointed downward while its wings beat quickly for two or three strokes, then halted to allow it to fall slightly, then beat again, to hold the kite in place above its intended kill. Then with stunning swiftness, it stooped, talons extended downward, and with precision bordering on the supernatural, struck the ground in a tight arc, lifting off without even a moment’s hesitation, a squealing vole clutched in its claws.

From the distance, forest sounds reached him. The rhythms of the day and night were different, and now the diurnal residents of the forests below were making their presence felt as their nocturnal neighbours sought out shelters in which to sleep. A woodpecker industriously sought out insects in the bark of a nearby tree. From the pattern of the sound, Kieli knew it was the large red-topped who was digging out his meal; his tapping was slow, thunderous and persistent, unlike the more dainty staccato of his smaller, blue-winged cousin.

The sun rose higher in the morning sky and soon the fire died, unneeded as the heat of day returned to the rocks. Kieli resisted the temptation to finish drinking the last of his water, for he knew that he must harbour it until he was ready to descend the trail. He could drink his fill at the creek below, but he had to get there first, and should he waste his water now, there was no guarantee he would safely reach the creek.

It was rare that a boy perished upon the peaks, but it had happened. The tribe prepared each boy as fully as possible, but those who had failed to survive the naming ordeal were considered to have been judged by the gods as lacking and their families’ mourning was a bitter counterpoint to the celebration of Midsummer.

The heat increased and the air dried, and suddenly Kieli realized a sa’tata was upon them. The wind from the north blew cold year round, but the summer western wind would grow hotter and dryer by the minute. The boy had seen grass turn brown and brittle in less than three days and fruit dry upon the branch from this wind. Men grew restless and women irritable when the sa’tata lingered more than a few days, and the skin itched. Kieli and his brother had swam in lakes and rivers on such days, only to be dry by the time they had returned to the village, as if they had not felt the cooling touch of water at all.

Kieli also knew he was now in danger, for the sa’tata would suck the moisture from his body if he remained. He glanced at the sky and realized he had only two more hours before midday. He glanced at the sun, now more than half-way along its climb to the mid-heaven, and he blinked as tears gathered in his eyes.

Kieli let his mind wander a few moments, as he wondered who would be chosen to sit at his side. For while Kieli lingered on the mountain, waiting for his vision from the gods, his father would be meeting with the father of one of the young girls of the local villages. There were three possible mates for Kieli from his own village: Rapanuana, Smoke In The Forest’s daughter; Janatua, Many Broken Spears’ daughter, and Eye of the Blue-Winged Teal, daughter of Sings To The Wind.

Eye of the Blue-Winged Teal was a year older, and had gained her woman’s name the year before, but there had been no boy of the right age in the local villages to pledge her to. This year there were six, including Kieli. She possessed a strange sense of humour that made Kieli wonder what she found funny most of the time. She often seemed amused by him and he felt awkward when she was near. Though he hid it well, he was more than a little scared of her. But Rapanuana was fat and illtempered, and Janatua was pinched-faced and shy to the point of being speechless around boys. Eye of the Blue-Winged Teal had a strong, tall body, and fierce, honey-coloured eyes that narrowed when she laughed. Her skin was lighter than the other girls’ and scattered with freckles, and her heart-shaped face was surrounded by a mane of hair the colour of summer’s wheat. He prayed to the gods that his father had met with her father the night before Midsummer, and not with one of the other girls’ fathers. Then with a surge of panic, he realized his father might have met with the father of one of the girls from close-by villages, the slow-witted Pialua or the pretty but always complaining Nandia!

He sighed. It was out of his hands. Stories were told of men and women who longed for one another, sagas told by the storytellers around the fire, many of them borrowed from singers from the lowlands as they passed through the mountains of the Orosini. Yet it was his people’s way that a father would choose a bride for his son, or a husband for his daughter. Occasionally a boy – no, he corrected himself, a man – would return from his god’s vision and discover that no bride waited to sit next to him at his manhood festival and he would have to wait another year for a bride. Rarely, a man would discover that no father wished his daughter wed to him and he would have to depart the village to find himself a wife, or resign himself to live alone. He had heard of a widow once whose father had died before her husband and she had taken one such man to her hut, but no one considered that a proper marriage.

He sighed again. He longed for this to be over. He wanted food and to rest in his own bed, and he wanted Eye of the Blue-Winged Teal, even though she made him uncomfortable.

Upwind he caught a sound he knew to be a sow bear with cubs. She sounded alarmed and Kieli knew her cubs would be scampering up a tree at her warning. Kieli sat up. What would alarm a black bear this close to the mountain? A big cat might, if a leopard or cougar were ranging nearby. They were too high up for the big cave lions. Maybe a wyvern was hunting, he thought, feeling suddenly small and vulnerable out on the face of the rocks.

A small cousin to a dragon, a wyvern could hold off half a dozen or more skilled warriors, so a boy with only a ceremonial dagger and a gourd of water would make a very satisfying break of fast for such a beast.

Hunting packs might frighten the sow bear; wild dogs and wolves usually avoided bears, but a cub was a manageable meal if they could draw the sow away from one of her babies.

Or it could be men.

In the distance the circle of buzzards grew and the boy got to his feet to gain a better view and was suddenly gripped with a light-headedness, for he had stood up too quickly. Steadying himself with one hand upon the rocks, he gazed into the distance. The sun was now high enough that the haze of morning had burned off and he could clearly see the buzzards and kites wheeling in the distance. Kieli’s sight was legendary in his village, for few could see as far as he, and none in the memory of his clan could see better. His grandfather joked that whatever else he lacked, he had a hawk’s eyes.

For a long moment Kieli’s eyes saw without him comprehending, then suddenly he realized the birds were circling over Kapoma village! Alarm shot up through him like a spark and without hesitation he started down the trail. Kapoma was the village nearest to his own.

There was only one possible explanation for so many carrion-eaters above Kapoma: a battle. He felt the panic rise up in him. Moreover, no one was clearing away the dead. If marauders were ranging through the valleys, Kulaam would be the next village they raided!

His mind reeled at the thought of his family fighting without him. Twice as a boy he had stayed in the round house with the women while the men had defended their village from attack. Once it had been a clan fight with the men from the village of Kahanama, and another time a goblin raiding-party had sought children for their unholy sacrifices, but the stout stockade had proven sufficient to repulse the invaders. Who could it be, he wondered as he stumbled down the path toward the trees below.

The moredhel – those the lowlanders called the Brotherhood of the Dark Path – had not been seen in these regions since his grandfather’s boyhood, and the trolls usually gave the villages of the Orosini a wide berth. There were no clan feuds currently being fought. The people who lived in the High Reaches to the north-east were currently peaceful and Latagore and the Duchy of Farinda to the south had no issues with the Orosini.

Raiders, then. Slavers from the City of Inaska or Watcher’s Point down in Miskalon would sometimes venture into the mountains. The tall, strong, red and blond-haired Orosini fetched high value on the slavers’ blocks down in the Empire of Great Kesh. Fear overtook Kieli: he felt it start to freeze his mind.

He drank what little water and herbs he had left, secured the gourd around his waist with a cord, then took half a dozen wobbly steps down the trail and lost his footing. Attempting to catch himself with his outstretched right hand, the youth fell and twisted, falling hard into a large rock. Pain shot through him and his head swam as he realized he had injured his left arm. It didn’t feel broken, but there was already a massive red mark running from his shoulder down to the elbow which would turn to a deep bruise. It hurt when he moved it. He tried to stand and his stomach heaved from the pain, and he sat down and vomited.

Kieli’s vision swam and the landscape turned a vivid yellow, and he fell back upon the road. The sky above turned brilliant white and the heat seared his face as he gazed upwards, his eyes gradually losing focus. The ground beneath him spun until everything was swept away as he fell through a tunnel into darkness.

Pain woke him. He opened his eyes as it seared through his left arm. His field of vision narrowed, contracting and expanding for a moment as dizziness washed through him. Then he saw it.

On his arm, flexing slightly, rested what looked like a spread talon. Kieli didn’t move his head, just shifted his eyes. Barely inches from his nose stood a silver hawk, one leg bent as it rested its talon upon his arm, its claws digging into the skin but not piercing it. Almost as if seeking to awake the stunned youth, the hawk flexed its claws again, dug deeper.

Kieli found himself looking into the bird’s black eyes. The bird’s claws tightened again and pain shot through his arm again. Kieli’s eyes locked on the birds, and then the words came. Rise, little brother. Rise and be a talon for your people. As you feel my talon upon your arm, remember you can hold and protect, or you can rend and revenge. Kieli heard the words in his mind. Suddenly he pushed himself upright and stood bearing the hawk on his arm. The bird’s wings flared as it kept its balance.

Pain was forgotten for a moment as Kieli stood facing the bird. The hawk stared back; then bobbed its head, as if nodding agreement. Their eyes locked once more and then with a screech the bird leapt upwards, a single snap of its wings taking it right past the young man’s ear. Kieli felt another slight pain and reached up to touch his right shoulder. His eyes saw upon his arm the pinprick marks of the bird’s claws.

Was this my vision? he wondered silently. No hawk had ever behaved so in the history of his people. Then, with a dull shock, he remembered his reason for hurrying down the mountain.

The heat of the day still baked the rocks around him. He felt weak and his left arm throbbed, but his mind was clear and he knew he would reach the creek. He picked his way carefully among the rocks, seeking good footing lest he fall again and suffer further injury. If there was a fight coming to his people, injured arm or not, he was now a man and would stand with his father, uncles and grandfather to defend his home.

Kieli stumbled down the dusty trail, his left arm sending jolts of agony up into his shoulder with every movement. He summoned up a chant, a mind-numbing exercise that would reduce the pain, and softly intoned it in rhythm. Soon he felt less pain, though the chant didn’t work as well as his grandfather had told him it would; his arm still hurt, but at least wasn’t making him dizzy from pain.

He reached the creek and fell forwards into it, his arm suddenly exploding in hot agony at that foolish choice. He gasped and was rewarded with a choking mouthful of water. Then he rolled over on his back and spat out water, clearing his nose as he sat up, coughing for a moment. At last he rolled over onto his knees and drank. He filled his gourd quickly, tied it again around his waist then resumed his journey.

He was starving, but the water had settled down his thinking. It was a two-hour walk to his village. If he ran at a steady pace, he would be there in a third of that time. But with his injured arm and in his weakened condition, he couldn’t sustain any sort of steady run. Below the creek he entered the heavy woodlands where he felt the day’s heat lessen and then settled for a fast walk, jogging over open stretches of trail, moving as quietly as he could, his mind focused on the coming struggle.

As he neared his village, Kieli heard the sounds of fighting. He smelled smoke. A woman’s scream pierced his heart as sharply as if a blade had struck. Could that be his own mother? No matter, he knew that whoever it was, it was a woman he had known all his life.

He took the ceremonial dagger and held it tightly in his right hand. How he wished he had two good arms and a sword or spear. In the heat of the day he had not felt the need for his usual clothing, though he had missed his cloak and tunic at night, but now he felt particularly vulnerable. Even so, he hurried along, the anticipation of the combat to come dulling the pain in his arm and forcing his fatigue aside.

Choking clouds of smoke accompanied by the sound of flames warned him of the devastation that greeted him a moment later. He reached the point in the trail where it left the woodlands and passed between the village’s large vegetable gardens before reaching the stockade. The gate was open, as it was during peaceful times. No enemy had ever attacked on Midsummer’s Day, which was a day of almost universal truce, even during time of war. The condition of the wooden walls and the surrounding earthen foundations below told the boy that the enemy had rushed through the gate before the alarm had sounded. Most of the villagers would have been in the central square, preparing the feast.

Everywhere was flame and smoke. He could see figures in the smoke, many on horse, and the outlines of bodies on the ground. Kieli paused. To run down the trail would make him a target. Better to circle along the line of the wood until reaching the point closest to the village, behind Many Fine Horses’ home.

As he moved to his right, he found the smoke blowing away from him. Now he could see the carnage in the village. Many of his friends lay motionless upon the ground. It was hard to make sense of the tableau before him.

Men on horseback, wearing various styles of clothing and armour rode through the village, several who were bearing torches firing the houses. Mercenaries or slavers, Kieli knew. Then he saw footmen wearing the tabard of the Duke of Olasko, ruler of the powerful duchy to the south-east. But why would they be aiding raiders in the mountains of the Orosini?

Reaching the back of Many Fine Horses’ home, Kieli crept along. He saw an Olaskan soldier lying motionless just beyond the edge of the building. Casting aside his dagger, Kieli decided to make a run for the man’s sword. If no one noticed, he would attempt to remove the round shield on the man’s left arm as well. It would hurt to carry the shield on his injured arm, but it could also mean the difference between life and death.

The sound of fighting was coming from the other side of the village, so he thought it possible he might be able to fall upon the invaders from behind. Creeping forwards, he retrieved the shield and sword and paused for a moment.

In the smoke, he could faintly discern figures moving in the distance, cries of outrage and pain drifted towards him, as his people struggled to repel the invaders.

His eyes smarted from the acrid smoke and he blinked back tears as he reached the fallen soldier. He turned over the body to retrieve the sword and as his hand fell upon the hilt, the soldier’s eyes snapped open. Kieli froze, and as he yanked back the sword the soldier lashed out with his shield, bashing him in the face.

Kieli fell back, his vision swimming and the world seemingly tilting under his feet. Only his natural quickness saved him, for just as the soldier was on his feet, dagger drawn and slashed at him, Kieli dodged.

For a second he thought he had avoided the blade, then pain erupted across his chest and he felt blood flowing. It was a shallow wound, but a long one, running from just under his left collarbone down to his right nipple and there to the bottom of his ribs.

Kieli slashed with his own blade and felt shock run up his arm as the soldier deftly took the blow on his shield.

Another attack and the boy knew that he was overmatched, for he only narrowly avoided death from a dagger-slash to the stomach. Had the soldier attacked with his sword instead of with a short blade, Kieli knew he’d be lying gutted upon the ground.

Fear threatened to rise up and overwhelm him then, but the thought of his family fighting for their lives only yards beyond the masking smoke forced it aside.

Seeing the boy’s hesitation, the soldier grinned wickedly and closed in. Kieli knew that his only advantage was the length of his blade, so he offered his already-wounded chest as a target and clumsily raised the sword with both hands as if to bring it crashing down upon the soldier’s head. As Kieli had hoped, the soldier reflexively raised his shield to take the blow and drew back his dagger for the killing thrust.

Kieli, however, dropped to his knees with a spin, bringing his sword down and around in a powerful arc which sliced through the soldier’s leg, knocking him backwards screaming. Blood sprayed from the severed arteries just below his knee. Leaping to his feet, Kieli stepped upon the man’s dagger-hand, and struck straight down with the sword’s point into the man’s throat, ending his agony.

He tried to wipe his sword-hand dry, but discovered that blood was flowing freely from the long cut on his chest and knew he’d soon be weakening if he didn’t bind it, though he thought it probably looked a great deal worse than it was.

As he hurried toward the sounds of battle a gust of wind cleared his vision for a moment so that he had a clean line of sight and could see the village’s central square. The tables that had been heavily laden with food and ale were overturned, the ground around them littered with the feast for the day’s celebration. The flower garlands were crushed into mud made up of soil and blood. For a panic-stricken second, Kieli faltered, horror causing his gorge to rise. He blinked back tears – though whether they were caused by smoke or rage he didn’t know. A short distance away lay the bodies of three children, obviously cut down from behind as they raced for shelter. Beyond them, he could see the men of his village making a stand before the round house. Kieli knew the women and surviving children would be inside, the women armed with knives and daggers to defend the children should the men fall.

Men he had known all his life were being slaughtered, despite fighting with desperation to protect their families. The soldiers had set up a shield wall and were pressing in with spears levelled, while behind them sat mounted soldiers, calmly loading and firing crossbows into the villagers.

The Orosini bowmen responded, but the battle’s outcome was obvious, even to a boy like Kieli. He knew he would not survive this day but even so, he could not stand behind the invaders and not do whatever was in his power.

On wobbly legs he started forwards, his target a man upon a black horse, obviously the leader of these murderers. Next to him sat another horseman wearing a black tunic and trousers. His hair was as dark as his clothing, pulled back behind his ears and falling to his shoulders.

The man somehow sensed something was behind him, for he turned just as Kieli started to run. Kieli saw the man’s face clearly; a dark beard trimmed close to his jaw-line, a long nose which gave him a harsh appearance, and pursed lips as if he had been lost in thought before he heard Kieli’s charge. The rider’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of the armed and bloody boy then he calmly said something to the officer, who turned. The man in black carefully lifted his arm. There was a small crossbow in his hand. He calmly took aim.

Kieli knew he had to strike before the man’s finger tightened on the release. But two strides away from the horseman the boy’s knees weakened. Kieli’s newly acquired sword felt as if it had been fashioned of lead and stone and his arm refused to obey his command to deliver a killing blow to the invader.

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 backwards from fingers that could no longer grip. His knees struck the ground and he fell over backwards, his eyes losing focus as pain and shock swept over him.

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.

• CHAPTER 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 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 that pushed him back and said, ‘Lie still, lad. Breathe slowly.’

Kieli saw shapes before him: heads in shadow, lightning 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 meagre 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.

At some point they stopped for a few days. He recognized a structure around him, a barn or shed, he couldn’t be sure 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 mould 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 travelled. 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 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 towards 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 colour, 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. 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 moustache 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 is a forester’s hut, not used for years. Kendrick is allowing us to use his barn 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.’

‘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 travelling 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. We didn’t think you’d survive for a long while. 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.’

‘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.

They were in a large stabling yard, surrounded by a high wall of fitted stones. The boy instantly recognized the 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 storeys 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 up them slowly until he was on top of the wall and able to look over.

The inn sat in the centre 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, 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 neighbours.’

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 must be difficult neighbours.’

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 colour, and her hair was as black as night. Her large brown eyes sparkled as she laughed.

‘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 that 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.

Talon lay back on his pallet and closed his eyes while Pasko puttered around in the barn with some items he had brought in from the wagon. Despite having felt alert when he had awoken just a scant half-hour before, the boy drifted back off to sleep.

Patient by nature, Talon let the days go by without pestering Pasko with questions. It was obvious to him that the servant was by nature taciturn, and by instruction not very forthcoming. Whatever he discovered would be through his own powers of observation.

The pain caused by his people’s destruction was never far from his thoughts. He had shed tears nightly for a week, but as the days passed, he turned away from his grief and began to court anger. He knew that somewhere out there were the men responsible for his people’s obliteration. Eventually he would hunt them down and take retribution; such was the Orosini way. But he was also enough of a realist to understand that one young man on his own had little chance of extracting full vengeance. He would need to gain strength, power, knowledge of weapons, many things. He knew that his ancestors would guide him. Silver Hawk was his totem: the boy once known as Kielianapuna would be a talon for his people.

The days became routine. Each morning he would awake and eat. Pasko and he would walk, at first just around the compound surrounding the huge inn, then later into the nearby woods. His strength returned and he started helping Pasko with chores, hauling water, chopping wood, and mending reins, halters and traces for the horses. He was a clever lad and had to be shown a thing only once or twice to grasp it. He had a fierce passion for excellence.

Occasionally, Talon would catch a glimpse of Robert as he hurried about the inn, often in the company of any of three men. Talon didn’t ask Pasko to name them, but he marked them. The first Talon guessed to be Kendrick. A tall man with grey hair and a full beard, he moved around the property as if he owned it. He wore a fine tunic and a single ring of some dark stone set in gold, but otherwise serviceable trousers and boots. He often paused to give instructions to the servants – the girl Lela, and the two younger men, Lars and Gibbs. Lars and Gibbs had also been regular visitors to the barn when travellers called at the inn, for they cared for the horses.

The second man Talon saw he thought of as Snowcap, for his hair was as white as snow, yet he looked to be no more than thirty or so years of age. He was not quite as tall as Kendrick or Robert, but somehow seemed to look down at them. He carried himself like a chieftain or shaman, thought Talon, and there was an aura of power about him. His eyes were pale blue, and his face was coloured by the sun. He wore a robe of dark grey, with an intricate pattern woven at the sleeves and hem, which was just high enough for Talon to glimpse beneath it very finely crafted boots. He carried a wooden staff upon occasion, while at other times he affected a slouch hat that matched his robes in colour.

The last man bore a faint resemblance to the second, as if they were kin, but his hair was dark brown, almost the same colour as Talon’s. His eyes were a deep brown as well, and his manner and movement suggested a warrior or hunter. Talon called him the Blade in his mind, for his left hand never seemed to venture far from the hilt of a sword, a slender blade unlike any Talon had seen. He wore blue breeches tucked into kneehigh boots and a dark grey shirt over which he wore a tied vest. He also wore a hat all the time, a twin to Snowcap’s slouch hat, though this one was black. Once Talon had seen him leave the inn at sunrise carrying a longbow and that night he had returned carrying a gutted deer across his shoulders. Instantly the young man had felt a stab of admiration; hunting was considered a great skill among the Orosini.

Robert, Pasko and Talon were treated much as if they were part of the surroundings. Only Lela took a moment now and again to call out a greeting to Pasko and Talon, or to nod or wave. Lars, a stocky red-headed lad, and Gibbs, a slender older man, would occasionally speak to them, asking for a piece of tack, or assistance in holding a horse that was being tended. But both avoided any casual conversation. Most of the time, Talon felt as if he and Pasko didn’t exist in the minds of those inside the inn.

After a full month had passed, Talon awoke one morning to find Robert deep in conversation with Pasko. The young man arose quietly, and dressed, then made his presence known.

‘Ah, young Talon,’ said Robert, smiling at him. ‘Pasko tells me you’re recovering nicely.’

Talon nodded, ‘My wounds are healed, and most of the stiffness is gone.’

‘Are you fit enough to hunt?’

‘Yes,’ he answered without hesitation.

‘Good; come with me.’

He left the barn and Talon fell into step beside him. As they walked to the inn, Talon said, ‘Sir, I am in your debt, am I not?’

‘Agreed,’ replied Robert.

‘How shall I discharge my debt?’

Robert stopped. ‘I have saved your life, true?’

‘Yes,’ replied the boy.

‘If I understand the ways of your people, you have a life-debt to me, correct?’

‘Yes,’ Talon said calmly. A life-debt was a complex concept, one that involved years of service, directly or indirectly. When a man of the Orosini saved the life of another, the man who was saved was considered to be at the call of the other. It was as if he became a member of that family, but without the privileges of that membership. He was honour bound to ensure that his saviour’s family ate, even should his own go hungry. He was obliged to help bring in his saviour’s crops before his own. In every way, the rescued man was in debt to the other. What Robert was telling Talon was that he must now consider Robert his master until such time as Robert released him from service.

‘This is a heavy debt, is it not?’

‘Yes,’ Talon replied evenly.

The wind blew slightly, rustling the leaves in the distant trees and Robert was silent, as if thinking. Then he said, ‘I shall test you, young Talon. I will judge your mettle and see if you will do.’

‘Do for what, sir?’

‘For many things. And I shall not tell you half of them for years to come. Should you prove lacking, I will bind you over to Kendrick’s service for a number of years so that you may learn to care for yourself in a world other than the highlands of the Orosini, for that life is now denied you forever.’

Talon heard those words and felt as if he had been struck a blow, but he kept his expression blank. What Robert said was true. Unless others had somehow survived the attack and crept away into the mountains, he was now the last of the Orosini and no man could live alone in those mountains.

Finally Talon said, ‘And if I am not lacking?’

‘Then you shall see things and learn things no Orosini could imagine, my young friend.’ He turned as another man approached. It was the Blade, and he had a longbow across his back, and carried another in his hand, with a hip-quiver of shafts. ‘Ah, here he is.’ To Talon, Robert said, ‘This man you have seen, I am sure, for you do well in observing things; that I have already noticed. Talon, this is Caleb. He and his brother Magnus are associates of mine.’

Talon nodded at the man, who remained silent, studying him. Up close, Talon decided that Caleb was younger than he had at first thought – perhaps no more than ten years his senior, but he stood with the confidence of a proven warrior.

Caleb handed the bow and hip-quiver to Talon, who tied the quiver-belt around his waist, and inspected the bow. It was longer than the one he had learned with, and as he tested the draw, he felt Caleb’s eyes observing his every move. There was wear at one end of the string, but he didn’t judge it frayed enough to be a problem yet. Even so, he asked, ‘Extra bowstring?’

Caleb nodded.

Talon set the bow across his back and said, ‘Let us hunt.’

Caleb turned and led the way, and soon they were trotting down the path into the woods.

They moved silently through the trees. Caleb had not spoken a word to Talon yet. Half an hour into the hunt, Caleb led Talon off the path and down a game trail. The younger man looked around, marking signs in his mind to guide him back to the road should there be a need.

Caleb had led the way at a steady trot, a pace that would have been no problem for Talon when he was fit. But his injuries had weakened him and he found the pace difficult after the first hour. He was considering asking for a rest, when Caleb slowed. He had a water skin on his left hip, where his sword usually rested, and he unslung it and handed it to Talon. Talon nodded and drank sparingly, just enough to wet his throat and mouth. Feeling revived, he passed the skin back to Caleb. The silent man motioned as if asking if Talon wished to have another drink, and Talon shook his head. Looking at the rich woodlands around him, Talon reckoned he could not be far from any number of sources of water – streams, pools and brooks – but being from the high mountains where water was far more difficult to find, drinking sparingly while on a hunt was an inborn habit.

They resumed their hunt, but now Caleb led them at a walk rather than at a trot, looking at the ground for game sign. They entered a meadow after a few minutes, and Talon paused. The grass was nearly waist-high, pale yellow-green from the summer sun and ample rain.

He quickly unslung his bow and tapped Caleb on the shoulder with it. He motioned with his left hand, and Caleb looked to where he indicated. They made their way into the meadow, noting how the grass had been parted and some of it broken and crushed. Talon knelt and looked for prints. In a depression in the damp soil, he found one.

Softly he said, ‘Bear.’ He reached out and tested the broken blades. They were still moist at the break. ‘Close.’

Caleb nodded. ‘Good eyes,’ he said softly.

They began to follow the bear’s trail, until they had crossed nearly half the meadow. Caleb held up his hand and they halted. Then Talon heard it. In the distance, the snuffling sounds of a bear, and a dull thump.

They crept along until they reached a small brook. On the other side stood a large brown bear, busily rocking a dead tree trunk and ripping at it with its claws in an effort to expose a hive of bees, which were swarming futilely around the animal. The bear tore open the dried wood and revealed the rich comb inside while the bees stung ineffectually at its thick hide, one occasionally finding the only exposed part of the animal, its tender nose. Then the bear would hoot in outrage, but after a moment it would return to its task of getting to the honey.

Talon tapped Caleb on the shoulder and motioned towards the bear, but the older man shook his head and motioned back the way they had come.

They moved silently away from the scene and after a short distance, Caleb picked up the pace and led them back towards the road.

Nightfall found the two hunters returning to the inn, a deer across Caleb’s shoulders and Talon carrying a pair of wild turkeys tied together at the feet.

Robert waited at the gate. When they got there, Gibbs appeared and took the turkeys from Talon. Robert looked at Caleb.

Caleb said, ‘The boy can hunt.’

Talon watched Robert’s face and saw a flicker of satisfaction. He wasn’t sure what had been said, but he was certain it had to do with more than merely hunting game in the woods.

Caleb followed Gibbs around the side of the inn, towards the kitchen door.

Robert put his hand on Talon’s shoulder. ‘So, it begins.’

• CHAPTER THREE •
Servant

TALON STRUGGLED.

He followed Lela up the hill from the stream that ran through the woods, carrying a large basket of dripping-wet laundry. For the previous week, he had been put in her charge, essentially providing an extra pair of arms and legs for her.

The one oddity had been Robert’s insistence that she speak only the language of Roldem to him, answering him only when he asked a question correctly. A few of the words in that language were used in the Common Tongue, but Common was mainly the hybrid of Low Keshian and the King’s Tongue, developed by years of trading along the border of those two vast nations.

Still, Talon discovered he had an ear for language and quickly picked up the language from the constantly cheerful girl.

She was five years his senior, and had come to Kendrick’s by a circuitous manner, if her story was to be believed. She claimed to have been a serving girl to a Princess of Roldem, who had been en route to a state arranged marriage with a noble in the court of the Prince of Aranor. Depending on his ability to understand her language and the frequency with which her story changed, she had either been abducted by pirates or bandits and sold into slavery, from which she had been freed by a kind benefactor or had escaped. In any event, the girl from the distant island nation across the Sea of Kingdoms had found her way to Kendrick’s where she had been a serving girl for the last two years.

She was constantly happy, always quick with a joke, and very pretty. Talon was becoming quickly infatuated with her.

He still ached inside at the thought of Eye of the Blue-Winged Teal, lying dead somewhere with the rest of her family. Left unburied for the carrion-eaters. He shoved the image aside and concentrated on lugging the huge wicker basket he carried on his back.

Lela seemed to think that because he was assigned to her she was freed from the need to make several trips to the stream to clean the clothing. So she had found a basket four feet high and had rigged a harness so he could haul it up the hill on his back. Taking the clothing down to the stream was the easy part of the morning; carrying the sopping-wet garments back up to the inn was the difficult part.

‘Caleb says you’re a good hunter.’

Talon hesitated for a moment. He had to think about the words before he answered. ‘I’ve hunted my life for all.’

She corrected his sentence structure and he repeated what she had said. ‘I’ve hunted all my life.’

Talon felt considerable frustration as Lela prattled on; half of what she said was lost on him even though he listened hard, and the other half was mostly gossip from the kitchens, about people he had barely glimpsed.

He felt lost in a lot of ways. He was still sleeping in the barn, though alone now that Pasko had vanished on some errand for Robert. He saw Robert only rarely, glimpsed him through a window of the inn, or as he was crossing from the rear of the inn to the privy. Occasionally, the man who had saved his life would pause and exchange a few idle pleasantries with Talon, speaking in either the Common Tongue, or in Roldemish. When he spoke the latter, he also would only reply if Talon spoke in that language.

Talon was still not allowed inside the inn. He didn’t think that strange; an outsider wouldn’t have expected to be admitted to an Orosini lodge, and these were not the Orosini. Since he was a servant now, he assumed his sleeping in the barn to be a servant’s lot. There was so much about these people he didn’t understand.

He found himself tired a great deal. He didn’t understand why; he was a young man, usually energetic and happy, but since he had come to Kendrick’s, he found himself battling black moods and almost overwhelming sadness on a daily basis. If he was set to a task by Robert or Pasko, or when he was in the company of Caleb or Lela, he was distracted from the darker musing he was prey to when he was left alone. He wished for his grandfather’s wisdom on this, yet thinking about his family plunged him deeper into the morbid introspection which caused him to feel trapped within a black place from which there seemed to be no escape.

The Orosini were open amongst themselves, talking about their thoughts and feelings easily, even with those not of the immediate family, yet they appeared stolid, even taciturn to outsiders. Gregarious even by the standards of his people, Talon appeared almost mute to those around him. Inside he ached for the free expression he had known in his childhood, and though the edge of that childhood was only weeks earlier in his life, it felt ages past.

Pasko and Lela were open enough, if he asked a question, but Lela was as likely to answer with a prevarication or misinformation as Pasko was likely to dismiss the question as being irrelevant to whatever task lay at hand. The frustration Talon experienced as a result only added to his bleak moods. The only respite from this crushing darkness was to be found in hunting with Caleb. The young man was even more reticent than Talon, and often a day of hunting would go by with less than a dozen words spoken between them.

Reaching the stabling yard, Lela said, ‘Oh, we have guests.’

A coach, ornate with gilded trim on black lacquered wood and with all its metal fittings polished to a silvery gleam sat near the barn and Gibbs and Lars were quickly unhitching from the traces as handsome a matching set of black geldings as Talon had ever seen. Horses were not as central to the mountain tribes of the Orosini as they were to other cultures in the region, but he could still appreciate a fine mount. The coachman oversaw the two servants, ensuring that his master’s team was treated with due respect.

‘Looks as if the Count DeBarges is visiting, again,’ said Lela.

Talon wondered who he might be, but remained silent.

‘Put the basket down in the back porch,’ Lela instructed.

Talon did so and the girl smiled as she vanished through the rear door to the kitchen.

He waited a moment, unsure what to do, then turned and headed back towards the barn. Inside, he found Pasko seeing to one of the many constant repairs the old wagon required, humming a meaningless tune to himself. He glanced up for an instant, then returned his attention to the work at hand. After a few moments of silence, he said, ‘Hand me that awl there, boy.’

Talon gave him the tool and watched as Pasko worked on the new leather for the harnesses. ‘When you live in a big city, boy,’ Pasko commented, ‘you can find craftsmen aplenty to do such as this, but when you’re out on the road miles from anywhere and a harness breaks, you have to know how to do it for yourself.’ He paused for a moment, then handed the awl back to Talon. ‘Let me see you punch some holes.’

The boy had watched Pasko work on this new harness for a few days and had a fair notion of what to do. He began working the straps where he knew the tongue of the buckles would go. When he felt unsure, he’d glance up at Pasko who would either nod in approval, or shake his head indicating an error.

Finally, the strap was finished, and Pasko said, ‘Ever stitch leather?’

‘I helped my mother stitch hides …’ he let the words trail away. Any discussion of his family brought back his deep despair.

‘Good enough,’ said Pasko, handing him a length of leather with the holes already punched. ‘Take this buckle—’ he indicated a large iron buckle used to harness the horses into the traces of the wagon ‘—and sew it on the end of that strap.’

Talon studied the strap for a moment and saw that it had been fashioned from two pieces of leather sewn together for extra strength. He noticed there was a flatter side. He picked up the buckle and slid it over the long strap, the metal roller opposite the tongue he placed against the flat side. He glanced up.

Pasko nodded and smiled faintly. Talon picked up the heavy leatherworker’s needle and started sewing the buckle in place. When he had finished, Pasko said, ‘Fair enough, lad, but you made a mistake.’

Talon’s eyes widened slightly.

‘Look at that one over there,’ Pasko said, pointing to another finished strap. Talon did as Pasko instructed and saw that he had made the loop where he had sewn the end together too short; this belt had triple stitching below the buckle for added strength.

Talon nodded, picked up a heavy knife and began to cut the stitches. He pulled them loose, careful not to damage the leather and then adjusted the strap so that the holes on one side would be where the first line would be stitched and the holes on the other piece would match up with the third. He carefully stitched those two lines, then added a third halfway between.

‘That’s right,’ said Pasko when Talon was done. ‘If you need to do something for the first time and there’s an example of the work close to hand, take a moment and study what you’re attempting. It makes for less mistakes, and mistakes can cost a man his life.’

Talon nodded, though he thought the remark odd. After a while he said, ‘Pasko, may I talk with you.’

‘About what?’

‘About my life.’

‘That’s something you need to take up with Robert,’ said the servant. ‘He’ll let you know what it is he expects as things move along, I’m certain.’

‘Among my people, when a youth becomes a man, another man is always ready to guide him, to help him make wise choices.’ Talon stopped and stared into the imagined distance for a moment, as if seeing something through the walls of the barn. ‘I have …’

Pasko said nothing, merely watching him closely.

Talon remained quiet for a long time, then he went back to working on the harness leathers. After more time passed, he said, ‘I was to be wed. I was to have joined the men in the long house, and I was to have joined in the hunt, planted crops, fathered children. I know what it was I was born to be, Pasko.’ He stopped and looked at the servant. ‘A man was to guide me in those things. But none of those things matter now. I’m here, in this barn, with you, and I do not know my lot in life. What is to become of me?’

Pasko sighed and put down the leather he was working on. He looked Talon in the eyes and put a hand upon the boy’s shoulder. ‘Things change in an instant, lad. Nothing is forever. Remember that. For some reason the gods spared you among all those of your race. You were given the gift of life for a reason. I do not presume to know that reason.’ He paused as if thinking about what to say next, then he added, ‘It may be that your first task is to learn that reason. I think you should speak with Robert tonight.’ He put down the harness and started to walk out of the barn. Over his shoulder he said, ‘I’ll have a word with him and see if he’s of a mind to speak with you.’

Talon was left alone in the barn. He regarded the work before him and remembered something his grandfather had once said to him: tend to the work at hand and set aside worrying about the work to come. So he turned his mind to the leather in his hand and concentrated on making the stitches as tight and even as he possibly could.

Weeks passed and summer became autumn. Talon sensed the change in the air as might any wild creature who had lived his entire life in the mountains. The lowland meadows around Kendrick’s were different in many ways from the highlands of his home, but there were enough similarities that he felt one with the rhythm of the seasons’ changes.

When he hunted with Caleb he noticed the coats on rabbits and other creatures was thickening, anticipating winter’s approach. Many of the trees were losing leaves. Soon a cold snap would turn them red, gold, and pale yellow.

Birds were migrating south and those beasts that spawned in the autumn were in rut. One afternoon he heard the roar of a male wyvern, bellowing a challenge to any other male that might trespass on his range. With the shortening days a melancholy came upon Talon. Autumn meant the harvest, and putting up salted meats and fish for the winter, gathering nuts and mending cloaks, blankets, and getting ready for the harsh weather to follow.

Winter would bring a greater sense of loss, for while the harsh mountain snows could isolate a village until the first thaw, it was that time when the villagers drew close, huddling in the long house or round house telling stories. Families would often crowd together, two, three or even four to a house, comforted by closeness and conversations, old stories being retold and listened to with delight no matter how familiar they had become.

He recalled the songs of the women as they combed their daughters’ hair or prepared a meal, the scent of cooking, the sound of the men telling jokes in low voices. Talon knew this winter would be the harshest so far.

One day upon returning from hunting, the coach of Count Ramon DeBarges was again visible in the courtyard. Caleb took the brace of fat rabbits they had trapped while Talon deposited the carcass of a fresh-killed deer on the back porch of the kitchen.

Caleb paused for a moment, then said, ‘Good hunting, Talon.’

Talon nodded. As usual they had hardly spoken throughout the day, depending on hand gestures and a shared sense of the environment. Caleb was as good a hunter as Talon had seen among his own people, though there were a dozen or so in the village who could … who had matched his skill.

Caleb said, ‘Take the deer into the kitchen.’

Talon hesitated. He had never set foot inside the inn, and wasn’t sure if he should. But Caleb would not ask him to do something forbidden, so he reshouldered the deer and mounted the broad steps to the rear door. The door was of solid oak with iron bands, more the sort of door one might expect on a fortification than a residence. Talon was certain that Kendrick’s had been designed as much for defence as it had for comfort.

He lifted the heavy iron handle and pushed inwards, and the door swung open. He followed its arc into the kitchen and discovered a world unlike anything he had seen before.

Orosini cooking was done over open fires or in large communal ovens, but never in a central location. Talon’s first sense was one of chaos, and as he paused a moment, surveying the scene before him order emerged.

Lela looked up and saw him, greeting him with a quick flash of a smile before returning her attention to a large pot hanging before one of three huge hearths. A stout woman saw Lela’s glance and followed it to the rawboned boy holding the carcass.

‘Is it dressed?’ she demanded.

Talon nodded. Then he thought to add, ‘But not skinned.’

She pointed to a large meat hook in the corner, above a large metal pan he assumed was used to catch blood and offal. He took the deer over and hung it by the strap holding together its hind legs. Once it was in place, he turned and waited.

After a few minutes, the older woman looked over and saw that he was motionless. ‘Do you know how to skin a deer, boy?’ she demanded.

He nodded.

‘Then get to it!’

Talon didn’t hesitate, but set to skinning the deer in an efficient, practised fashion. He also didn’t think for a moment about who this woman was and why she should order him about; among his people, women were in charge of all food preparation and men did as they were told around the hearth, fire pits, and ovens.

He was finished quickly, and as he turned around to find a rag upon which to clean his belt knife, someone threw him one. He caught it in mid-air. A grinning Gibbs was standing before a large block upon which rested a heap of vegetables, which he was cutting with a large knife.

Behind Gibbs, Talon could see other servants cooking meats at one hearth, while others saw to the baking of fresh bread in the ovens. Suddenly Talon was at once overwhelmed by the aroma of the kitchen and by a fierce hunger which stabbed through his chest. For a moment the warm smells shocked him back into memories of his mother and the other women preparing meals.

As his eyes threatened to well up with tears, Talon saw a large door swing aside, through which strode a man. He was of middle years, heavy set with a large belly protruding over his belt – which looked more a horse’s girth than a belt to Talon – breeches tucked into mid-calf boots, and a voluminous white shirt, covered with spatters of food and wine. His face was almost perfectly round, his hair black but shot through with grey and was tied back in a horse’s tail. His long sideburns almost met at the point of his chin. He glanced around with a critical eye and found nothing lacking until his gaze fell upon Talon.

‘You, there, boy,’ he said pointing an accusatory finger at Talon, though his eyes were merry and he had a slight smile on his lips. ‘What is it that you’re doing?’

‘I’ve skinned this deer, sir,’ Talon said, haltingly, for the man was speaking Roldemish. The question snapped him out of his sadness.

The man walked purposely towards the boy. ‘That is something which you have done,’ he said in an overly loud voice. ‘What is it you are currently doing?’

Talon paused, then said, ‘Waiting for someone to tell me what to do next.’

The man’s face split into a grin. ‘Well said, lad. You’re the boy from the barn – Talon – is that correct?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I am Leo, and this is my kingdom,’ said the man, spreading his arms in an expansive gesture. ‘I’ve served as cook to nobility and commoners alike, from Roldem to Krondor, and no man living has a complaint of my cooking.’

Someone in the busy kitchen muttered, ‘Because they died before they had the chance.’ This brought a moments laughter before the workers stifled the outburst. Leo turned with unexpected swiftness, a black look crossing his visage. ‘You, there, Gibbs! I recognize that smart mouth. See to the slops.’

Gibbs stood very stiff and said, ‘But the new boy should do that, Leo. I’m for the serving table.’

‘Not tonight, my glib Gibbs. The boy will stand at the table, and you can see to the pigs!’

As a dejected-looking Gibbs departed the kitchen, Leo winked at Talon. ‘That’ll sort him out.’ He glanced over the boy’s rough appearance. ‘Come with me.’

Without waiting to see if he was being followed, Leo turned and pushed aside the large door through which he had entered. Talon was a step behind.

The room was obviously some sort of servant’s area, with another door in the opposite wall. Large side tables ran along the left and right walls. Upon one table sat a variety of dishes, bowls, goblets, and other table service. ‘This is where we keep our dishes,’ said Leo, pointing out the obvious. ‘If we have a reason, we’ll show you how to set the table for guests.’ He pointed to the other table, which now sat empty. ‘That is where the hot dishes will be at supper time. Lela and Meggie will serve.’

He pushed through the second door and Talon followed him into the centre of a long hallway. The wall facing them was ranged with shelves upon which a variety of items rested: lamps, candles, mugs, goblets, an entire inventory of supplies for a busy inn. ‘Here’s where Kendrick keeps the knick-knacks we need,’ said Leo. Pointing to the door at the lefthand end of the hall. ‘That’s the common room. If we have a caravan stopping by, or a patrol from one of the local castles, it’ll be full of loud, drunken fools.’ He pointed to the door at the right end of the hall and said, ‘That is the dining room, where the nobles and guests of stature eat. Tonight you’ll serve in there.’ He paused and rummaged through the shelves until he came away with a long, white tunic. ‘Put this on,’ he said to Talon.

Talon did so and found the tunic came to the midpoint between his hip and knee. There were drawstrings at the cuff of the puffy sleeves and he tied them.

‘Let me see your hands, boy,’ Leo demanded.

Talon held out his hands.

‘I’m not the fanatic for washing up some are, but you can’t be serving nobility with blood from a skinning under your nails,’ Leo said. He pointed back into the kitchen. ‘Go back and wash. Use the brush to get the blood out.’

Talon moved back through the serving room into the kitchen and found a large bucket of soapy water used to clean the pots and dishes. He saw Lela standing before the wooden table Gibbs had vacated, finishing up the vegetables. He started to wash his hands and she glanced over and smiled. ‘Serving tonight?’

‘I suppose so,’ Talon answered. ‘I haven’t been told.’

‘You’re wearing a server’s tunic,’ she informed him. ‘So you’re serving.’

‘What do I do?’ asked Talon, trying to suppress a sudden nervousness in his stomach.

‘Leo will tell you,’ Lela said with a bright smile. ‘It’s easy.’

Talon inspected his hands and saw the blood was gone from his nails. He returned to the hall where Leo waited.

‘Took you long enough,’ said the cook, raising an eyebrow. Talon was beginning to think that this cook was a lot like his grandfather had been, playful with his scolding, never truly meaning a word of it.

‘Come along,’ Leo said.

Talon followed him into the dining room. It was a long room with a huge table, the biggest the Orosini boy had ever seen. At each end was placed a pair of high-backed chairs, and eight ran along each side. The wood was oak and ancient, polished by years of wear and oil and rags, and it shone with a dark gold, and the stain of a thousand spilled wine goblets and ale mugs mottled the hue from one end to the other. Noting the boy’s expression, Leo said, ‘Kendrick’s table. It’s legendary. Cut from the bole of an ancient oak in a single piece. Took a score of men and two mules to haul it here.’ He glanced up and waved his hand. ‘Kendrick built this room around it.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t know what he’d ever do if he had to replace it. We could cut this one up with axes for firewood, but how’d we ever get another in?’

Talon ran his hand over the surface and found it extraordinarily smooth.

‘A thousand rags in the hands of hundreds of boys like yourself have given it this finish. You’ll have your turn at it.’ Leo turned and surveyed the room. ‘Now, here’s what you’ll be doing.’ He pointed to a long side-table. ‘In a few minutes some pitchers of ale will be fetched in here as well as some decanters of wine, and then you’ll have your work to do. See those goblets?’ He pointed to those already upon the table.

Talon nodded.

‘Some of them will be filled with ale. Others will be filled with wine. Do you know the difference?’

Talon suddenly found himself wanting to smile. He kept his face straight as he said, ‘I’ve tasted both.’

Leo feigned a frown. ‘In front of the guests you will call me “Master Cook”, is that clear?’

‘Yes, Master Cook.’

‘Well, then, where was I?’ He looked puzzled for a moment. ‘Oh, yes, your task is to stand upon this side of the table. This side only, is that clear?’

Talon nodded.

‘Observe the guests before you. There will be six on this side, seven upon the other, and two guests will be seated over there.’ He pointed to the pair of chairs at the end of the table on Talon’s right. ‘No one will sit at the other end.’

‘Six on this side, Master Cook,’ Talon repeated.

‘You will be responsible for keeping goblets filled. Should a guest have to ask for more ale or wine, Kendrick’s honour will be besmirched and I will view that as a personal affront. I will most likely ask Robert de Lyis to have Pasko beat you.’

‘Yes, Master Cook.’

‘Make certain you pour ale into those goblets containing ale, and wine only into those containing wine. I have heard that some barbarous people down in Kesh actually mix them, but I find that difficult to believe. In any event, mix them and I will ask Robert de Lyis to have Pasko beat you.’

‘Yes, Master Cook.’

He gave the back of Talon’s head a slight slap. ‘I may ask Robert de Lyis to have Pasko beat you just because you are a boy, and boys are annoying. Stay here.’

With that, the Master Cook departed, leaving Talon alone in the room.

Talon let his eyes wander. There were tapestries above the sideboard behind him, and in the right corner of the room as he faced the table was one small hearth. Another lay at the far lefthand corner opposite him. Between the two they would provide ample heat for the long dining hall on any but the coldest nights.

Against the far wall another sidetable waited, and a moment later, Lars entered carrying a huge platter with dressed mutton heaped upon it. In what appeared to be controlled frenzy Meggie and Lela, along with several others he had seen in the kitchen whose names were unknown to him, came hurrying into the room bearing platters of steaming vegetables, hot breads, pots of condiments and honey, tubs of freshly churned butter and trays bearing roasted duck, rabbit and chicken. They ran back and forth bringing new platters until the sideboard was filled with food, including many items unlike anything Talon had seen before. Fruits of strange colours and textures were placed alongside familiar apples, pears, and plums.

Then the ale and wine was fetched in, and Lars remained standing opposite Talon on the other side of the table as Meggie went to the left end of the far table, and Lela went to the right end of the sideboard behind Talon.

There seemed to be but the merest pause, a moment in which to catch one’s breath, to compose oneself, then the doors opened and a parade of well-dressed men and women filed in, each taking a place at the table, based upon some system of rank, Talon assumed, for a man and a woman stood behind the chairs at the end of the table and those who came in after them each took their appointed place. It seemed to Talon that this was much like the seating in the men’s long house in his village. The senior chieftain would sit upon the high seat, the most prominent in the building, with the second most senior chieftain on his right, the third on his left, and so forth until every man in the village was in his place. A change in the order only occurred when someone died, so any man in the village might expect to sit in the same place for years.

Last through the door was Kendrick, dressed much as he had been the first time Talon had seen him. His hair and beard looked freshly washed and combed, but his tunic was much the same colour, and his trousers and boots were still workaday. He stepped to the chair before the man at the head of the table and pulled it out.

Talon saw Lars moving to the chair closest to the head of the table and begin to pull it out. Talon hesitated only for a moment, then moved to his right to the chair closest to the head of the table and mimicked the others, pulling out the chair with a slight turn and allowing the dinner guest – a striking woman of middle years with a lavish necklace of emeralds around her neck – to move in and be seated, then pushing the chair in slightly as the guest sat. Talon was only a beat behind the others, but he managed the task without a flaw.

He anticipated the need to move down to the next chair and repeat the action, and quickly all the guests were seated. As Talon returned to his station, he saw Kendrick watching him and Lars move back to stand by the sideboard.

The girls began serving food, and then Lars took up a pitcher of ale and a decanter of wine and moved to the head of the table. Talon hesitated and looked across at Kendrick. Kendrick glanced first from Talon to the sideboard, then back to the young man.

Talon duplicated what Lars was doing. He moved to the side of the man at the head of the table and offered him a choice of wine or ale. The man spoke in a heavily accented speech, but the words were Roldemish, and it was clear that amidst the flurry of witticism and observations he was instructing Talon to pour the wine. Talon did so, attempting not to drip upon the table or the guest.

He then moved down the row of other guests quickly filling goblets as they instructed him.

Once that had been accomplished, the rest of the evening passed without event. Throughout the course of the meal he refilled goblet after goblet and when his own pitchers and decanters were nearly empty, one of the girls took them to the kitchen for a refill.

From Talon’s inexperienced point of view things seemed to be progressing smoothly. Near the end of the meal he sought to refill the goblet of the man at the head of the table, but the man indicated he wished no more by putting his hand briefly over the goblet before him. Talon had no idea what to say, so he bowed slightly and backed away.

Kendrick stood discreetly behind the head of the table, watching his staff’s every move, looking for any need that was going unmet.

When the meal was over, the guests indicated they were ready to leave. Talon hurried to a place behind the first guest he had seated as he saw Kendrick and Lars do, and was only half a beat behind them in gently pulling out the chair so the guest could rise gracefully.

When the last guest had left, Kendrick followed. As the door into the common room swung shut, the door from the serving room swung open and Leo strode through, shouting, ‘All right then! What are you about! Get this mess cleaned up!’

Suddenly Meggie, Lela, and Lars were grabbing platters and dishes off the tables, and Talon did likewise. They hurried back and forth between the dining room and kitchen and the task of cleaning began.

Talon quickly sensed a rhythm in this business, a matching of task to person, and he found it easy to anticipate what to do next. By the end of the night’s work, he felt comfortable in the tasks asked of him, and knew that he would be even better able to execute them the next time he was asked.

As the kitchen staff prepared for the morning meal, several staying to prepare the morning’s bread, Lela came to him and said, ‘Before you sleep, Kendrick wants to see you.’

He looked around. ‘Where?’

‘In the Common Room,’ she replied.

He found Kendrick sitting at one of the long tables before the bar with Robert de Lyis, both of them enjoying a mug of ale.

Kendrick said, ‘Boy, you are called Talon?’

‘Sir,’ said Talon in agreement.

‘Talon of the Silver Hawk,’ supplied Robert.

‘That is an Orosini name,’ said Kendrick.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘We have seen a few of your people here from time to time over the years, but usually you tend to stay up in your mountains.’

Talon nodded, uncertain whether an answer was required.

Kendrick studied him a moment in silence, then said, ‘You hold your tongue. That is a good quality.’ He rose and came to stand before Talon as if seeking to see something in his face up close that he could not see from a distance. After a brief inspection, he asked, ‘What did Leo say you were to do?’

‘I was to pour wine into wine goblets and ale into ale goblets.’

‘That was all?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Kendrick smiled. ‘Leo thinks it amusing to toss a boy into service without much preparation. I shall have to have words with him again. You did well enough, and none of the guests realized you were not experienced.’ He turned to Robert. ‘I will leave him to you. Good night.’

Robert rose and nodded in farewell, then motioned for Talon to come sit.

Talon did so and Robert studied him. Finally, he said, ‘Do you know the name of the man who sat at the head of the table?’

Talon said, ‘Yes.’

‘Who is he?’

‘Count Ramon DeBarges.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I saw him, the last time he visited the inn. Lela told me his name.’

‘How many rings did he wear on his left hand?’

Talon was surprised by the question, but said nothing as he tried to remember. After calling up an image of the count holding his wine goblet for more wine, he answered, ‘Three. A large red stone in a silver setting upon his smallest finger. A carved gold ring upon his next finger, and a gold ring with two green stones upon his pointing finger.’

‘Good,’ said Robert. ‘The green stones are emeralds. The red stone is a ruby.’

Talon wondered what the purpose of these questions was, but said nothing.

‘How many emeralds in the necklace worn by the lady to the Count’s left?’

Talon paused, then said, ‘Seven, I think.’

‘You think or you know?’

Talon hesitated, then said, ‘I think.’

‘Nine.’ Robert studied the young man’s face, as if expecting him to say something, but Talon remained silent. After a long pause, he asked, ‘Do you remember what the Count and the man two places down on his right were speaking of when you were serving ale to the lady between them?’

Talon remained quiet for a minute as he searched his memory. ‘Something about dogs, I think.’

‘Think or know?’

‘Know,’ said Talon. ‘They were speaking of dogs.’

‘What about dogs?’

‘Something about hunting dogs.’ He paused, then added, ‘I still do not speak the Roldemish tongue well, Robert.’

De Lyis was motionless for a few seconds, then nodded. ‘Fair enough.’ Next, he launched into a series of questions, ranging from who ate what, what was discussed at various times, what manner of clothing and accessories the ladies wore, and how many drinks each man consumed, until it seemed to Talon he would be there all night.

Suddenly, Robert said, ‘That’s all. Return to the barn and sleep there until you are called. Then you will be moving into the servants’ quarters here; you will share a room with Gibbs and Lars.’

‘Am I then to be a servant in Kendrick’s household?’

Robert smiled slightly. ‘For a time, young Talon. For a time.’

Talon rose and made his way through the kitchen, where loaves were rising before the hearth, waiting to be baked first thing in the morning. Realizing he had not eaten for hours, Talon paused to snatch an apple from a large bowl and bit into it. He thought they were to be used for pies, but was content that the loss of one would be no great hardship to Leo.

Making his way outside, he saw that the eastern sky was lightening. Soon it would be the time before dawn his people knew as the Wolf’s Tail, that grey-upon-grey time in which a man can steal an early march upon the hunt or a long journey, before the dawn breaks.

Entering the barn and seeking out his pallet, Talon threw himself down, fatigue overwhelming him. The half-eaten apple fell from his hand. As he wondered what fate had in store for him and the reason behind Robert’s many and seemingly pointless questions, Talon fell quickly into an exhausted sleep.

• CHAPTER FOUR •
Games

TALON FROWNED.

He looked at the cards laid out upon the table and attempted to discern any choice that might create a solution. After examining the four cards he had just turned over, he realized there was no possible way he could continue the game.

Sighing, half in frustration, half out of boredom, he swept up the cards and began reshuffling them. He resisted the temptation to turn and see if the two men watching him were showing any reaction.

The white-haired man he had thought of as ‘Snowcap’, but who was actually named Magnus, stood beside Robert, who was sitting on a stool, brought into the dining room from the common room. Robert had introduced the concept of cards to Talon a week earlier.

The deck consisted of fifty-two cards, in four suits: cups, wands, swords and diamonds, each a different colour, the cups being blue, wands green, swords black, and diamonds yellow. They were used primarily for games likel-in-land, pashawa, and poker, or po-kir as it was called in Kesh. Robert had demonstrated several games and had Talon play a few hands of each to get familiar with the ordering of the suits, from the card known as the ‘ace’, which Robert explained came from a Bas-Tyran word for ‘unit’, to the lord. The lower cards were numbered from two to ten, but Talon saw no logic as to why the unit, or the one as he thought of it, was the most valuable card, more so than the lord, lady, or captain.

Talon smiled slightly to himself. He didn’t know why that little fact, that the lowest number, the single unit, was the most valuable card, irritated him. Still, he did well enough with the games Robert had taught him. Then Robert had introduced him to the concept of solitary play, using the deck for idle amusement when lacking opposing players. The games were roughly a variation on a theme, different ‘layouts’, as Robert called them, with different ways in which to draw cards from the deck. Some games required the player to build cards in rows based on rank, in alternating colours of light and dark, or in order of number, or a combination.

Earlier in the previous day Robert had taken Talon from the kitchen – there were no guests so duty was light – and had brought him into the dining hall. There he had introduced the game of ‘four lord’s.

It was a perplexing game. Four lords were laid out from right to left, and four cards were dealt face up. The object of the game was to place the cards by suit next to the lords, the only prohibition being that cards must be placed next to cards of the same number or suit. The next goal was to create ‘packs’ of four identical number cards, in a square. This continued until all four aces were together, at which point they were retired from the game. Then the twos, and so fourth until only the lords remained.

Talon had discovered early on that it was a very difficult game to win, relying far too much on the random luck of cards coming out in a certain order, rather than skill. But some skill was required in anticipating situations in which cards would be isolated from others of like value.

For half a day Talon had eagerly played the game, determined to become a master at it. Then he realized just how much random luck was involved and became disenchanted with it. Yet Robert still insisted that he play, and sat behind silently to observe.

As Talon laid out the next game, he wondered not for the first time exactly why Robert was doing this.

Magnus whispered, ‘Robert, why are you doing this?’

Robert whispered, ‘The boy’s people have little abstract logic in their daily lives. They were hunters, farmers, poets and warriors, but their mathematics were basic and all the disciplines based upon advanced logic were lacking to them. They had builders, yes, but no engineers and far fewer magic-users than any other people I’m aware of, perhaps one or two throughout the entire land of the Orosini.’

They spoke in the King’s Tongue, the language of the Kingdom of the Isles, to prevent Talon from understanding them – and Robert judged his hearing very sharp.

‘So the games are to teach him logic?’

Robert nodded. ‘They are a start. This is very basic problem-solving.’

Magnus’s pale blue eyes were fixed upon the cards on the table. ‘I’ve played four lords, Robert. You taught it to me, remember? It is a difficult game. He won’t win many.’

Robert smiled. ‘It’s not about winning. It’s about recognizing a no-win situation. See, he’s recognized that those four cards ensure that he can’t win.’ They watched as Talon gathered up the cards, leaving the lords in place, and started a new game. ‘At first, he went through the entire deck to reach the point of realizing he had no chance of winning. Now, less than two days later he’s recognizing the more subtle combinations that show he can’t win.’

‘Very well. So he’s got potential, talent even. That doesn’t address the question of what it is you plan to do with the boy.’

‘Patience, my impetuous friend.’ He glanced at Magnus, who watched Talon with a fixed gaze. ‘It would have been better had you more of your father’s temperament than your mother’s temper.’

The white-haired man didn’t shift his gaze, but he did smile. ‘I’ve heard that from you more than once, old friend.’ He then looked at Robert. ‘I’m getting better at reining in my temper, you know.’

‘Haven’t destroyed a city in the last few weeks, have you?’

Magnus grinned. ‘Not that I noticed.’ Then the stern expression returned. ‘I chafe at these games within games.’

‘Ah,’ said Robert. ‘Again your mother’s son. Your father has taught me over my entire adult lifetime that we can only deal with our enemies when they present themselves. Over the last thirty years we’ve seen so many different assaults upon the tranquillity of our lives that it defies imagining. And there’s only been one constant.’

‘Which is?’ Magnus turned his attention again to Talon’s game.

‘That no two ploys of the enemy have been alike. The servants of the Nameless One are cunning and they learn from their mistakes. Raw power failed, so now they achieve their goals through stealth. We must respond in kind.’

‘But this boy …?’

‘Fate spared him for a reason, I believe,’ said Robert. ‘Or at least, I’m trying to take advantage of an unexpected opportunity. He’s got … something. I think had this tragedy not befallen his people, he would have grown up to be simply another young Orosini man, a husband and father, warrior when the need arose, farmer, hunter and fisherman. He would have taught his sons the ways of his ancestors and died in old age satisfied at his lot.

‘But take that same lad and forge him in the crucible of misfortune and heartbreak, and who knows what will occur? Like fired iron, will he become brittle and easily broken, or can he be turned to steel?’

Magnus remained silent as Talon began another game. ‘A dagger, no matter how well forged, has two edges, Robert. It can cut both ways.’

‘Don’t teach your grandmother to suck eggs, Magnus.’

Magnus grinned. ‘My father never knew his mother, so the only grandmother I’m aware of did a fair job of conquering half the world; I wouldn’t have dreamed of teaching her anything.’

‘And you have your mother’s nasty sense of humour, too.’ He turned from the King’s Tongue to Roldemish to say, ‘Talon, that’s enough. It’s time for you to return to the kitchen. Leo will tell you what needs to be done.’

Talon put the cards away in a small box and handed the box to Robert, then hurried to the kitchen.

Magnus said, ‘I’m still uncertain what you think this boy will contribute to our cause.’

Robert shrugged. ‘Your father showed me many things when I was young, but the most important lesson of all was simply the very nature of your home. Your island provided refuge and school to all manner of beings I couldn’t have imagined in my most youthful dreams.’ He pointed towards the kitchen. ‘That boy may prove to be nothing more than a valuable servant, or perhaps a well-crafted tool.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘But he also could be something far more important, an independent mind loyal to our cause.’

Magnus was silent for a long moment. Then he said, ‘I doubt it.’

Robert smiled warmly. ‘We had doubts about you when you were younger. I remember a certain incident when you had to be confined to your room for … what was it? A week?’

Magnus returned a faint smile. ‘It wasn’t my fault, remember?’

Robert nodded indulgently. ‘It never was.’

Magnus looked toward the kitchen. ‘But the boy?’

‘He has many things to learn,’ said Robert. ‘Logic is only a start. He must come to understand that even the most important issues in life can often be seen to be games, with a sense of risk and reward and how to calculate them. He must learn when to walk away from a conflict, and when to press his luck. Much of his nature, what he was taught as a child among his people, must be taken from him. He must learn about the game of men and women – did you know his future wife was being arranged for him while he waited upon a mountain-top for his manhood vision?’

‘I know little of the ways of the Orosini,’ confessed Magnus.

‘He knows nothing of the most common knowledge in the city; he has no sense of duplicity and deceit, so he has almost no instinct for when someone is lying to him. Yet he has a sense in the wild that would rival that of a Natalese Ranger.’

‘Caleb told me he hunted like no city-born man,’ agreed Magnus.

‘Your brother spent years with the elves; he should know.’

‘Agreed.’

‘No, our young friend Talon is an opportunity. He is, perhaps, unique. And he is young enough that we may be able to educate him to be something few of us can be.’

‘Which is what?’ asked Magnus, clearly interested.

‘Unlimited by our heritage. He’s still able to learn, while most of us at his age are already convinced we know everything.’

‘He does seem a ready student,’ Magnus conceded.

‘And, he has a sense of honour that would serve a LaMutian Captain of Tsurani descent.’

Magnus raised an eyebrow. Those of Tsurani descent were as hidebound where honour was concerned as any men living. They would die to discharge a debt of honour. He looked for a moment to see if Robert was exaggerating and realized that he wasn’t. ‘Honour is useful, at times.’

‘He has a mission already, even if it has yet to come to the surface of his mind.’

‘Mission?’

‘He is Orosini. He must hunt down and kill the men responsible for the obliteration of his people.’

Magnus let out a long sigh. ‘Raven and his band of cutthroats. No mean feat, that.’

‘The boy’s already a hunter. When he is ready, he’ll seek them out. I would rather have him do so with better weapons than his bare hands and native wit. So, there is much we must teach him, both of us.’

‘He has no skill for magic, I imagine, or else you would have sent him back to Father instead of bringing him up here.’

‘True, but you have other skills besides magic, Magnus. I am not jesting; he has a nimble mind and there are far more complex tasks to discipline thought than playing games with cards. If he is to serve us, he must be as tough in spirit and intellect as he already is in body. He may not have any skill in magic, but he will face it, and he will face minds far more adept in backstabbing, double-dealing and deception than he could possibly imagine.’

‘If it’s double-dealing you’re worried about, you should have brought in Nakor to tutor him.’

‘I might still, but not yet. Besides, your father has Nakor down in Kesh on some errand or another.’

Magnus stood up. ‘Ah, then the prospect for war between the Kingdom of the Isles and the Empire of Great Kesh is now excellent.’

Robert laughed. ‘Nakor doesn’t wreak havoc everywhere he visits.’

‘No, just most places. Well, if you think you can ready the boy to chase down Raven and kill him, good luck.’

‘Oh, it’s not Raven and his murderers I’m concerned with. Hunting them is only part of Talon’s training, albeit his journeyman’s piece. If he should fail, then he would lack the true test of his skills.’

‘I’m intrigued. What lies beyond?’

‘Talon will avenge his people when he kills everyone responsible for the obliteration of the Orosini. Which means he may not rest until he faces down and destroys the man behind that genocide.’

Magnus’s eyes narrowed, the pale blue becoming icy. ‘You’re going to turn him into a weapon?’

Robert nodded. ‘He will need to kill the most dangerous man living today.’

Magnus sat back on the seat again and folded his arms across his chest. He looked towards the kitchen as if trying to see through walls. ‘You’re sending a mouse to beard a dragon.’

‘Perhaps. If so, let’s ensure the mouse has teeth.’

Magnus shook his head slowly and said nothing.

Talon hauled water up the hill and saw that Meggie waited for him and that she was frowning. She was the antithesis of Lela, tiny where Lela was voluptuous, fair to the point of pallor where Lela was dark, plain where Lela was exotic, dour where Lela was exuberant. In short, at not even twenty years old, she was more than halfway to being a middle-aged scold.

‘Took you long enough,’ she said.

‘I didn’t realize there was a rush on,’ said Talon, now comfortable with the idiomatic Roldemish he was being told to use almost exclusively.

‘There’s always a rush on,’ she snapped.

Following her up the hill, Talon asked, ‘Why did you come down to meet me?’

‘Kendrick said I was to find you and tell you you’d be serving again tonight in the dining room.’ She wore a shawl of drab green which she gathered tightly around her shoulders as she walked before him. The days were growing cold and the nights colder; autumn was turning to winter and soon snow would come. ‘There’s a caravan from Orodon to Farinda staying over tonight, and it seems there’s someone important travelling with it. So, Lela and I are assigned to the common room with Lars, and you and Gibbs to the dining room.’

‘You could have waited until I got back to the kitchen to tell me that,’ Talon observed.

‘When I’m told to do something, I do it at once,’ she snapped. She picked up her pace, hurrying on ahead. Talon watched her stiff back as she walked in front of him. Something struck him oddly for a moment, then he realized what it was; he liked the way her hips moved as she climbed the hill. He felt that same strange stirring in his stomach he often felt when he was alone with Lela and wondered about that. He didn’t particularly like Meggie, but suddenly he found himself thinking of the way her nose turned up at the tip, and how on those very rare occasions she smiled at something, she got tiny lines – crinkles Lela called them – at the corners of her eyes.

He knew that something had passed between Meggie and Lars for a while, but that for some reason they were barely speaking to one another now, while everyone spoke with Lela. He pushed away his discomfort. He knew what passed between men and women – his people were open enough about sex and he had seen many women naked at the bathing pool when he was still a child – yet the actual fact of being close to a young women caused him much distress. And these people were not Orosini – they were outlandish – though after an instant’s further thought he has to concede that now he was the outlander. He did not know their rituals, but they seemed to make free with their bodies before they were pledged. Then he realized that he didn’t even know if they did pledge. Perhaps they didn’t have marriage like the Orosini at all.

Kendrick had no wife as far as Talon was aware. Leo was married to the heavy woman, Martha, who oversaw the baking, but they were from some distant place called Ylith. Perhaps here in Langadore men and women lived apart, only … he shook his head as they reached the outer gate to the stabling yard. He didn’t know what to think. He resolved to speak of this with Robert should the opportunity arise.

He noticed that Meggie was standing in the porch, waiting for him. ‘Fill the barrels,’ she instructed.

Softly he said, ‘I know what to do.’

‘Oh, do you?’ she returned, her meaning obscure.

As she turned to hold the door open, he waited, then moved past her. As she closed the door behind him, he put down the large buckets of water and said, ‘Meggie?’

‘What?’ she said, turning to face him, her face set in a half-frown.

‘Why do you dislike me?’

The openness of the question took her aback. She stood speechless for a moment, then she brushed past him, her voice soft as she said, ‘Who said I didn’t like you?’

Before he could answer, she was gone from the kitchen. He picked up the buckets and carried them to the water barrels. He really didn’t understand these people.

After dinner that night, Talon sought out Robert, who stayed in a room at the back of the inn, on the first floor. He knew he had a life-debt to this man. He knew that until he was released from that debt, he would serve Robert de Lyis for the rest of his life, or until such time as he saved Robert’s life. But he was uncertain as to the plans Robert had for him. He had been numb with grief and overwhelmed by the changes in his life since Midsummer, but now with winter fast approaching, he had come to think about the future more and wonder what his fate would be after the spring came, and the next summer was upon him.

He hesitated before the door; he had never intruded upon Robert’s privacy before, and did not even know if such an approach was permitted. He took a breath, then knocked lightly.

‘Come in.’

He slowly opened the door and leaned in. ‘Sir, may I speak with you?’

Robert’s room contained only four items of furnishings, a bed, a chest for his clothing, a small table and a stool. He sat upon the stool in front of the table, consulting a large object, which appeared to Talon to be many parchments bound together. Next to it rested a candle, the room’s only illumination. A water basin and a pitcher indicated the table’s other function when Robert was not using it for his work.

‘Come in and close the door.’

Talon did so and stood awkwardly before Robert. ‘Is it permitted?’ he asked at last.

‘Is what permitted?’

‘For me to ask you a question.’

Robert smiled. ‘Finally. It is not only permitted, it is encouraged. What is on your mind?’

‘Many things, master.’

Robert’s eyebrows went up. ‘Master?’

‘I do not know what else to call you, and everyone says you’re my master.’

Robert waved to the bed. ‘Sit down.’

Talon sat, awkwardly.

‘To begin with, it’s appropriate for you to call me “master” in front of anyone well known to us, but when we are alone, or with Pasko, you may address me as “Robert”. Understood?’

‘I understand that is what I am to do. I do not understand why.’

Robert smiled. ‘You have as keen a wit as you do an eye, Talon of the Silver Hawk. Now, what is it you wished to see me about?’

Talon composed his thoughts, taking a few moments to weigh his words. Then he asked, ‘What are your plans for me?’

‘This concerns you?’

Talon lowered his eyes for a moment, then remembered his father’s words, that he should always meet another man’s gaze and always face a problem directly. ‘It concerns me.’

‘Yet you have waited for months to ask.’

Talon again fell silent. Then he said, ‘I have had to consider much. I am without a people. Everything I know is gone. I do not know who I am any more.’

Robert sat back. He drummed his fingers lightly upon the table and said after a while, ‘Do you know what this is?’ He touched the large bound sheaf of parchment.

‘It is writing, I think.’

‘This is called a book. In it is knowledge. There are many books with many different kinds of knowledge in them, just as each man is a different kind of man.

‘Some men live their lives, Talon, without having to make many decisions. They are born to a place, grow up in that place, marry and father children in that place, grow old and die in that place. This is how it was to have been for you, is it not?’

Talon nodded.

‘Other men are cast adrift by fate and must choose their own lives. That is how it is with you now.’

‘But I am in your debt.’

‘And you shall replay that debt. Then what?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Then we have a common purpose, for in discovering how you may best serve me, we shall also discover what your destiny is.’

‘I don’t understand.’

Robert smiled. ‘That’s not necessary, yet. You will in time. Now, let me tell you some things you should know.

‘You will spend the next year here, at Kendrick’s. You will do many things, serving in the kitchen as you have, and in the stable, and in other capacities as Kendrick sees best. You will also, from time to time, serve Caleb or Magnus, should they need you while they are staying here. And from time to time you will travel with me.’ He turned, putting his hand upon the book once more. ‘And we shall start tomorrow by teaching you to read.’

‘To read, Robert?’

‘You have a bright mind, Talon of the Silver Hawk, but it is untutored. You were educated in the ways of your people to be a good and true man of the Orosini. Now you must be educated in the ways of the world.’

‘I still don’t understand, Robert.’

Robert motioned for Talon to stand. When he had, Robert said, ‘Go away and go to sleep. You will understand over time. I sense a potential for greatness in you, Talon. I may be wrong, but if you fail to develop that potential, it will not be for a lack of effort.’

Not knowing what to say, Talon merely nodded, turned and left. He paused outside Robert’s door and thought to himself, Potential for what?

Talon waited, sword ready. Magnus stood a short distance away, observing. The boy was already drenched with perspiration and was sporting several red welts on his shoulders and back from the blows he had taken.

Kendrick stood before him, a wooden training sword in his hand, motioning for the boy to attack one more time. He had allowed Talon to use a real blade, claiming that if the boy could cut him he deserved to bleed, and so far he had proven his ability to avoid being touched. But Talon was fast and learned quickly, and he was getting closer and closer to reaching Kendrick.

Magnus had said nothing during the training exercise, but he watched every move closely.

Talon attacked, this time holding his blade back as if readying for a downward strike. He suddenly spun away from Kendrick’s right side – his sword side – and slashed down and sideways with the blade, a vicious swing at Kendrick’s unprotected left side. Kendrick sensed the move only at the last instant, and barely got his own blade in place for a block, but suddenly Talon reversed himself and slashed in a backhand at Kendrick’s right side, which was now unprotected since he had over-extended himself for the block.

With a satisfying ‘thunk’ the flat of Talon’s blade slapped into the innkeeper’s back, eliciting a grunt of pain and Kendrick shouted, ‘Hold!’

Talon turned, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath and watched as the innkeeper studied him. ‘Who taught you that move, boy?’

‘No one, sir. I just … thought of it a moment ago.’

The innkeeper reached back and rubbed where Talon had struck him. ‘Fancy move, and beyond most swordsmen’s imagination, let alone their capacity, yet you pulled it off the first time.’

Talon didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure if he was being praised or not. He was getting to be almost fluent in Roldemish, but some of the nuances and idioms were still lost on him.

Kendrick handed his practice blade to Talon and said, ‘We’re done for today. Put these away and see what Leo has for you do to in the kitchen.’

Talon wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his tunic, took the weapon and hurried off towards the kitchen. When he was out of hearing, Magnus said, ‘Well, what do you think?’

‘He’s a cat, that one,’ said Kendrick. ‘I would have wagered a bag of gold he couldn’t touch me for at least two more lessons. At first I could whack him at will. Then he started anticipating my blows. Defence first, instinctually, knowing that survival comes before victory. He’s a smart one, too, as well as fast.’

‘How good can he be?’

Kendrick shrugged. ‘If you want a battle-butcher, I can have him ready to storm a wall in a month. If you want a swordsman, he’ll need better masters than I.’

‘And where would I find such?’

‘Give him to me for the year, then he’ll be ready for the Masters’ Court in Roldem. One or two years there and he’ll be one of the finest swordsmen I’ve ever seen.’

‘That good?’

Kendrick nodded. ‘More. He may be the best if something doesn’t ruin him along the way.’

Magnus held his iron-shod staff and leaned against it, staring at where Talon had last been visible, as if maintaining the image of the fatigued youth, dripping with his own perspiration, his hair lank and plastered to his head, hurrying to the kitchen. ‘What sort of something?’

‘Drink. Drugs. Gambling. Women. The usual.’

Kendrick looked at Magnus. ‘Or whatever plots and intrigues your father has lying in wait for him.’

Magnus nodded. ‘Father’s left the boy’s fate up to Robert. Talon is not part of our plans … yet, but father heard Robert’s report on him and counts him a fortuitous opportunity.’

‘Fortuitous for whom?’ asked Kendrick. ‘Come, I need to bathe. That lad worked me more than I expected.’

Magnus said, ‘Had Robert and Pasko not found him, Talon would be dead with the rest of his tribe. It’s Robert’s judgment that every minute from that moment on is borrowed time. The boy’s got a second chance.’

‘Ah, but who is going to use that chance?’ asked Kendrick. ‘That’s the question, isn’t it?’

Magnus said, ‘We’re all used, in one fashion or another. Do you think for a moment my life could be any different?’

‘No, you were fated by nothing more basic than who your parents were. Your brother, however, had choices.’

‘Not that many, really,’ said Magnus. ‘Caleb had no gift for magic, but he could have been something more than a soldier.’

Kendrick said, ‘Your brother is more than a soldier. Elven-trained as a hunter, master of more languages than I know of, and as skilled a student of men as lived. I wish I’d had him with me back when we put down the rebellion in Bardac’s Holdfast; trying to get information out of the prisoners at Traitors’ Cove was no spring fair, I can tell you. Caleb can tell when a man is lying just by looking at him.’ Kendrick shook his head, ‘No, there is nothing about any member of your family that I’d count as begging. And I think it’s much the same with the boy. I think he could be many things.’ He slapped Magnus lightly upon the shoulder. ‘Just don’t ruin him by trying to make him too many things, my friend.’

Magnus said nothing. He stopped to let Kendrick move ahead of him, then turned and looked into the sky as if trying to read something in the air. He listened to the sound of the woodlands, and then cast his senses outwards. Everything was as it should be. He turned and looked back. What had briefly troubled him? Perhaps it was Kendrick’s warning about the boy. Still, a sword was not forged until the metal was heated, and if a flaw existed in the steel, that was when you found it, in the crucible. And every blade would be needed for the war to come if his father’s plan wasn’t successful.

Talon heaved the last of the flour sacks onto the pile he had been constructing. A wagon-load of provisions had arrived from Latagore and he had spent the afternoon unloading it, hauling them down the steps into the basement below the kitchen. Besides enough flour for the winter, there were baskets of vegetables and fruits imported from other lands, preserved by some fey art that Talon didn’t understand, though he had overheard enough in the kitchen to know that such magic preservation was costly beyond the means of any but the noble and wealthy.

Leo and Martha had taken command of a variety of small boxes, containing spices, herbs and condiments that the cook counted more valuable than their weight in gold. All their provisions for the winter, with what they could grow in the garden and harvest in the autumn, and what Talon and Caleb could hunt, meant a winter of good food, far beyond what the boy was used to.

‘Talon!’ came Lela’s voice from above. He hurried up the broad wooden steps, and saw her standing next to the wagon, a rapt expression on her face. ‘Look!’ She pointed skyward.

Snow was falling, tiny flakes blown about by a gentle but persistent breeze, most of them melting upon reaching the ground. ‘It’s just snow,’ Talon said.

Lela threw him a pout, one of her many expressions which caused his stomach to go hollow. ‘It’s wonderful,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think it’s beautiful?’

Talon watched the flakes falling for a moment, then said, ‘I never thought of it. In my village, snow means months inside our houses or hunting in drifts as high as your chest.’ For some reason, just mentioning the word ‘chest’ caused his eyes to drift to Lela’s ample bosom, though after an instant he averted his eyes. ‘My toes always hurt after a hunt.’

‘Oh,’ she said in mock disapproval. ‘You have no sense of beauty. I come from a land that never sees snow. It’s wonderful!’

Talon smiled. ‘If you say so.’ He looked into the rear of the wagon and saw that it was empty. ‘I need to go tell the driver I’ve finished.’ He closed the large wooden doors down into the cellar, then moved around to the kitchen door. Once inside, he realized how cold the air outside had become, for the kitchen seemed hot and close to him.

The wagon driver and an apprentice teamster sat at a small table in the corner of the kitchen, eating the meal Martha had prepared for them. They looked up as Talon approached. ‘Wagon’s unloaded,’ he said.

The teamster, a gaunt man whose nose looked like a buzzard’s beak grinned, showing that he was missing two front teeth. ‘Be a good lad and unhitch the horses, will you? We’re not done quite yet and it wouldn’t do to leave them shivering out in the cold. We’ll be staying the night and heading back north first thing in the morning.’

Talon nodded, and turned back towards the door. Lars intercepted him. ‘You shouldn’t have to see to his team. That’s his job.’

Talon shrugged. ‘I don’t mind. No guests to worry about and it’s either see to horses or scrub pots in here. Not much to choose from.’

Lars said, ‘Suit yourself,’ and returned to his duties.

Talon went back outside. The few moments in the kitchen had turned the air outside from brisk to uncomfortable. He hurried to the wagon and led the horses to the mouth of the barn. He had developed a fair hand in dealing with the fractious animals, and while his few attempts at riding had been less than pleasant, he found stable-work easy and mostly enjoyable. The heavy wagon had been drawn by a team of four, and it took a bit of convincing to get the animals to back up enough to put the wagon neatly out of the way. He quickly unhitched each animal, took it inside and got it into a stall. Then he set to brushing each of them. Even after having stood motionless for nearly a half-hour while he unloaded, the horses were still damp from their long pull to the inn that afternoon. Steam rose from their backs as he brushed, as the air turned bitterly cold.

By the time water and fodder had been placed in the stalls, Talon knew that the weather was turning serious. He went out into the stabling yard and looked up at the sky. The sun was setting, but he could see that the clouds were growing darker and thicker and the snow more insistent. He thought the teamster and his apprentice needed to be quick on the road to Latagore or else they would find themselves in snow up to their hubs in the next few days. If they were lucky. If a big storm was heading their way, they could find themselves snowed in for the winter at Kendrick’s.

Supper passed uneventfully. After the kitchen had been cleaned and the bread readied for baking in the morning, Talon was about to retire to the room he shared with Lars and Gibbs, when Lela approached him. ‘Don’t go to your room, yet,’ she said in a whisper. She put her hand upon his arm and led him to the pantry between the common room and the dining room. She pushed the door to the common room slightly ajar.

Gibbs was sitting quietly before the hearth, staring into the dying embers as he nursed a mug of ale. Lela closed the door, a mischievous smile in place. ‘Lars needs the room for a while.’

‘For what?’ asked Talon.

Her eyes widened and she giggled. ‘For what? You don’t know?’

He frowned. ‘If I knew, would I ask?’

She playfully put her hand on his stomach and gave him a gentle push. ‘He and Meggie are there.’

Talon said, ‘Why?’ Then before she could answer, he realized. ‘They need to be alone?’ he asked.

‘Of course, you fool!’ she said playfully.

‘With my people it is different,’ he explained. ‘We live in community buildings during the winter, and often a man and woman will lie together under bearskins. Everyone else pretends not to notice.’

‘Around here we notice,’ she said. Looking at him with a glimmer in her eye, she said, ‘You look troubled. What is it?’

Talon’s mind returned to Meggie’s quirky smile and upturned nose, and the way her thin frame swayed slightly when she walked. At last he said, ‘I don’t know.’

Suddenly, Lela’s eyes widened. ‘You’re jealous!’

Talon said, ‘I don’t know that word.’

‘You want Meggie for yourself!’ she said with a merry laugh.

Suddenly Talon’s face was flushed and he wanted to be just about anywhere else. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he stammered.

Lela gave the boy an appraising look for a long minute. Then she said, ‘You’re turning into a handsome young man, Talon.’ She put her arms around his waist and pressed closer, her face just in front of his. ‘Have you known a woman before?’

Talon felt his pulse race and he found himself speechless. Eventually, he shook his head.

Lela laughed and thrust herself away from him. ‘You are such a boy.’

Abruptly, Talon found himself angry. For some reason the remark stung and he almost shouted, ‘No, I am a man of the Orosini! I went upon my vision quest and …’ He paused. ‘I would have had my manhood tattoos upon my face had my family not been killed.’

Lela’s expression softened, and she stepped back towards him. ‘I’m sorry. I forgot.’

His anger soon fled as she pressed herself against him and kissed him, her soft, warm lips causing stirrings that threatened to overpower him. He grabbed her hard, and pulled her into him, eliciting a squeak of protest. She pushed him back slightly and said, ‘Gently.’

Talon blinked in confusion, his mind swimming in feelings he could put no name to; he ached to pull her back into an embrace.

She grinned. ‘You know nothing of the game of women and men.’

‘Game?’

She took him by the hand. ‘I’ve seen those games Robert and Magnus have taught you. Now I think it’s time to teach you the best game of all.’

Feeling fearful and flushed with anticipation, Talon clung to Lela’s hand as she led him through the common room towards the room she shared with Meggie.

Seeing what was transpiring, Gibbs grinned and hoisted his ale-jack in salute. As they climbed the stairs to the now-empty guests rooms, he said, ‘Got to get another girl working here; that’s all there is for it.’

Lacking any other comfort, he elected for one more ale before finding a place for himself for the night.

• CHAPTER FIVE •
Journey

TALON SNEEZED.

‘Too much pepper,’ said Leo.

Talon wiped away the tears in his eyes with the hem of his apron and nodded. He had been working in the kitchen for a year now and over the last four months had come to feel at home there. He still served elsewhere at Kendrick’s discretion, but most of his time recently had been spent with the cook.

Four months earlier Leo had walked in one day and beckoned Talon to his side, showing him how to prepare dishes for baking pies, a simple task involving lard and wheat flour. From there he had moved on to washing vegetables and fruits. He then worked his way up to preparing simple dishes. In the last few weeks, Talon had learned the basics of baking, cooking meats, and was now being trained how to make sauces.

Talon smiled.

‘What’s amusing you, young fellow?’ asked Leo.

‘I was just thinking how much more there is to getting food ready to eat than what I learned as a boy. My father and the other men of my village would sit around a large spit upon which a deer turned, talking about the hunt or crops or which son was the fastest runner, and the women baked bread or cooked stews or soup.

‘My mother would have gawked in wonder at the spices in your cupboard, Leo.’

‘Simple fare can be challenging, too, Talon. A spit of beef must be dusted lightly with salt and pepper at the right moment, then graced, perhaps, with a kiss of garlic just before presentation.’

Talon grinned. ‘My mother would never have understood presentation.’

‘You’ve only seen the barest glimpse of it, boy,’ said Leo. ‘What we do here is wasted upon commoners for the most part, and even those lords and ladies who stop by on their travels would count our fare rustic compared to the tables at which they’ve dined in the great cities.

‘The noble tables of Rillanon and Roldem are each night piled high with the efforts of dozens of cooks and hundreds of kitchen whelps such as yourself. Each plate is graced with just such a portion of this dish, just such a portion of that delicacy. There is an art in this, boy.’

Talon said, ‘If you say so, Leo. Though I’m not sure what you mean by “art”. We have no such word in my language.’

Leo stopped stirring his own reduction sauce and said, ‘You don’t?’

Talon was fluent in Roldemish and now found himself being corrected only on pronunciation and occasionally on his delight in profanity, which seemed to amuse Leo, irritate Robert, and outrage Martha. The Orosini were comfortable with sex and other natural body functions, and Talon found it oddly amusing that describing defecation or the sex act was considered ‘bad’ in Roldemish society.

‘No,’ said Talon. ‘The closest the Orosini tongue can get is “graceful” or “beauty”, but the idea of doing something just to do it is … not something I grew up with.’ Talon had come to terms with the destruction of his family over the last year. Rather than the terrible pain it had given him, now it had become more of a dark memory which haunted him from time to time. The desperate anguish was gone, for the most part. Learning to do new things was part of the reason; and Lela was the rest.

‘Well, then,’ said Leo. ‘You learn something new every day.’

Talon agreed. ‘We have –’ he corrected himself, ‘– had art in some of the crafts the women practise. My grandmother made patterned blankets that were prized by everyone in the village. Our shaman and his acolytes would make prayer … you don’t have a word for it, circles of patterns of coloured sand. They would chant and pray while they worked, sometimes for days, in a special tent that they would put up and work inside. When they were finished, the entire village would gather to see the work and to chant as the wind took the prayer to the gods. Some of them were beautiful.’ Talon paused. ‘Those paintings Kendrick hangs in the dining room …’

‘Yes?’ asked Leo.

‘I wish some of my grandmother’s blankets or the sand prayer-circles could be remembered like that, hung on a wall for people to see. They were beautiful.’

‘An eye for beauty, young Talon, is a gift.’ Leo said.

Just then, Lela walked into the kitchen.

‘And speaking of beauty …’ muttered Leo with a grin.

Talon glanced at the girl and smiled slightly. His people could mask their feelings around strangers, but he felt now that the kitchen-staff were his family and everyone knew of his relationship with Lela. He had slept in her bed almost every night for the better part of the last year. Close to sixteen years of age, a man by the standards of his people, he would have been wed and a father by now had his village survived.

Lela returned his gesture with a smile.

‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ asked Leo. ‘Is the washing done?’

‘Yes,’ she said pertly. ‘Meggie and Martha are folding the last of the dyed bedding and I came to see what needed to be done here.’

‘Of course you did,’ said the cook with a chuckle. He moved Talon gently aside, dipped a spoon into the sauce the young man was preparing and tasted it. He stared off into space reflectively for a long moment, then said, ‘Simple, yet … bland.’ His fingers danced across the small jars of spices before him, picking up a pinch of this, a dash of that, which he added to the sauce. ‘This is for chicken, lad, and slowly roasted chicken. It is a bland meat, not full of flavour like those lovely partridges and turkeys you bring home from the hunt. Those require a simple sauce to bring out the bird’s taste. This sauce needs to give the bird flavour. Here!’ He poked the spoon at Talon’s lips. ‘Taste!’

Talon did so and nodded. It was exactly the sauce he had been trying to make. ‘So I should have used more spices, Leo?’

‘By twice, my boy, by twice.’ The cook put down the spoon and wiped his hands on his apron. ‘Now, be a good lad and go and help Lela wash vegetables.’

Talon nodded and went over to the large wooden sink attached to the rear wall of the kitchen. It had a drain that cleverly went out through the wall and emptied into a small culvert that ran along the base of the building, then into a pipe under the ground and eventually into the cess pit Kendrick had dug beyond the outer wall of the courtyard. He hefted a bucket of cold water and stood there, pouring slowly while Lela washed the freshly-dug vegetables. It was the first of the spring crop and the thought of fresh carrots, radishes, and turnips made Talon’s mouth water.

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