Hawkmistress! (21 page)

Reluctantly, a couple of the men followed. Whatever animal lay dead in the thicket - she suspected it was one of the small multicolored woods chervines - it announced its presence very soon by the smell, and Romilly wrinkled her nose.

Orain said incredulously, “We’re to feed that to those fine birds?” He bent down and hauled gingerly at the smelly carcass; a stream of small insects were parading in and out of the empty eye-holes, but it was not yet disintegrated enough to come apart in their hands, and Romilly took one end of the carcass and hoisted, trying to breathe through her mouth so she would not have to breathe in much of the foul smell.

“A kyarebni would think it fine fare,” Romilly said, “I have never kept a scavenger-bird, but their bellies are not like those of hawks, and how would you like to be fed on grass?”

“I doubt not that y’re right,” said Orain glumly, “But I never thought to be handling stinking carrion even for the king’s men!” The other men came and lent a hand in the hauling; Romilly was glad when it was over, but some of the men gagged and retched as they handled the stuff. Orain, however, drew a formidable knife and began hacking it into three parts; even before he was finished the hooded bird on his saddle set up a screaming. Romilly drew a long breath of relief. She did not like to think what would have happened if she had been wrong, but evidently she had been right. She took up a small handful of fine pebbly dirt and strewed it over the cut hunk of the carcass, then, hesitating - but remembering the moment of rapport with the sick bird - went and unfastened the hood.

Orain shouted, “Hey! Look out there, lad, she’ll pick out yer eyes-“

But the bird, under her light hands, seemed gentle and submissive. Poor hungry thing, Romilly thought, and lifted the heavy weight - it took all her strength to set it on the ground beside the hacked carcass. With a scream, the bird plunged its beak into the carcass and tore hard, gulping down fur, pebbles, the smelly half-decomposed meat.

“You see?” said Romilly simply, and went to lift down the other bird. Orain came to help her, but the strange bird thrust angry beak at him, and he drew back, letting Romilly handle it.

When all of the birds had fed and were preening their feathers, making little croaking sounds of satisfaction, Dom Carlo lifted his eyebrow at Orain, and Orain said, “Ride with us to Nevarsin, lad, and then to Tramontana to deliver these birds to Carolin’s men; and keep them healthy on the way. We’ll feed you and your horse, and give you three silver bits for every tenday ye’re with us while the birds stay healthy. Your hawk,” he added with a droll grin, “Can no doubt hunt for himself.”

“Herself,” Romilly corrected, and Orain chuckled.

“Be a bird male or female, none cares except another bird of its own kind,” he said. “Otherwise with humankind, aye, Dom Carlo?” And he laughed, though Romilly could not quite see the joke. “Well, what about it, boy, will ye’ have along of us and the sentry-birds?”

Romilly had already made up her mind. She herself was bound, first to Nevarsin and then to Tramontana to seek her brother or news of him. This would give her protection and keep her fed. She said, “Gladly, Dom Carlo and Master Orain.”

“Bargain, then,” said Orain, and stuck out his calloused hand with a grin. “Now the birds have fed, shall we move out of range of the smell of their feeding, and have a bait of vittles for ourselves?”

“Sounds good,” Romilly said, and went to unsaddle her horse.

The food was heavy dough, baked by the simple method of thrusting twists of the dough on to sticks and baking over the fire; and a few thick tubers roasted in the ashes. Romilly sat beside Orain, who offered her salt from a little pouch drawn from his pocket. When the meal was done, the birds hooded and taken on their saddles again - Orain asked Romilly for help with getting the hoods back on the birds - she heard one or two of the men grumbling.

“That lad rides a horse when we make do wi’ a stag-pony each? What about it - shall we have it from him?”

‘Try it,” said Orain, turning, “and ye can ride alone in these woods, Alaric - there are no thieves and bandits in our company, and if ye’ lay one finger on the boy’s horse, it’ll be for Dom Carlo to deal with ye’!”

Romilly felt a surge of gratitude; it seemed she had found a protector in Orain, and for the moment, facing the ragged crew, she was a little frightened.

Soon or late, though, she might have to face them on her own, without a protector….

“What are the birds’ names?” she asked Orain. He grinned at her. “Does anyone name uglies like these, as if they were a child’s cagebird or the old wife’s pet cow?”

“I do,” Romilly said, “You must give any animal with which you wish to work closely, a name, so that he will read it in your mind and know it is of him - or her - that you speak, and to her you are directing your attention.”

“Is it so?” Orain asked, chuckling, “I suppose you could call them Ugly-mug One, Ugly-mug Two, and Ugly-mug Three!”

“By no means,” said Romilly with indignation. The bird on her first fluttered restlessly, and she added, “Birds are very sensitive! If you are ever to work with them, you must love them-” before the open derision in the men’s eyes she knew she was blushing, but went on nevertheless, “You must respect them, and care for them, and feel a real kindness for them. Do you think they do not know that you dislike them and are afraid of them?”

“And you don’t?” Dom Carlo asked. He sounded genuinely interested, and she turned to him with relief. She said, “Would you mock your best hunting-dog if you wanted to have a good hunt, with him working to your word or gesture? Don’t you think he would know?”

“I have not hunted since I was a young lad,” Dom Carlo said, “but certainly I would not treat any beast I sought to tame to my service, with anything but respect. Listen to what the lad says, men; he’s got the right of it. I heard the same from my own hawkmaster once. And surely-” he patted the neck of the superb black mare he rode, “we all have love and respect for our beasts, horse or chervine, who carry us so faithfully.”

“Well,” said Orain, again with that droll curl of his lip, looking down at the great gross body of the sentry-bird, “We could call this one Beauty, that one Lovely, and that one over there we might call Gorgeous. I doubt not they’re beautiful enough to one another - lovesome’s as lovesome does, or so my old Ma used to say.”

Romilly giggled. “I think that would be overdoing,” she said. “Beauty they may not have, but - let me think-I shall call them after the Virtues,” she added after a moment. “This one-” she lifted the heavy bird on to its block on Orain’s saddle, “Shall be Prudence. This one-” she went, frowned at the dirty perch and thrust the hooded bird on to Orain’s gloved fist while she dug out her knife and scraped off a disgusting accumulation of filth and droppings. “This one shall be Temperance, and this one-” turning to the third, “Diligence.”

“How are we to tell them apart?” demanded one of the men, and she said seriously, “Why, they are nothing alike. Diligence is the big one with the blue tips on her wings - see? And Temperance - you can’t see it now, it’s under the hood, but her crest is big and white-speckled. And Prudence is the little one with the extra toe on her feet - see?” She pointed out the features one by one, and Orain stared in amazement.

“Why, so they are different - I never thought to notice.”

Romilly climbed into her saddle. She said seriously, “The first thing you have to learn about birds is to think of each one as an individual. In their manners and their habits, too, they are no more alike than you and Dom Carlo.” She turned in her saddle to the redhaired man and said, “Forgive me, sir, perhaps I should have consulted you before naming your birds-“

He shook his head. “I never thought of it. They seem good names, indeed … are you a cristoforo, my lad?”

She nodded. “I was reared as one. And you, sir?”

“I serve the Lord of Light,” he said briefly. Romilly said nothing, but was a little startled - the Hali’imyn did not come all that often into these hills. But of course, if they were Carolin’s men in exile, they would serve the Gods of the Hastur-kindred. And if Carolin’s armies were massing at Nevarsin - excitement caught in her throat. No doubt this was the reason Alderic was in these hills, to join the king when the time was ripe. She speculated again, briefly, about Alderic’s real identity. If these were Carolin’s men, perhaps they knew him and were his friends. But that was not her business and the last thing she should do was to entangle herself in any man’s cause. Her father had said it, and it was true, why should it matter which rascal sat on the throne, so long as they left honest folk alone to do their own business?

She rode in the line of men, keeping rather nervously close to Orain and Dom Carlo - she did not like the way the man Alaric stared at her, and, no doubt, like the villainous Rory, he coveted her horse. At least he did not know she was a female and so he did not covet her body; and she could protect her horse, at least while she had Dom Carlo’s protection.

Come to think of it, she hadn’t done such a bad job of protecting her body, at that.

They rode all day, stopping at noon for some porridge made by stirring cold well-water into finely-ground porridge powder. This, with a handful of nuts, made a hearty meal. After the meal they rested for a time, but Romilly busied herself with her knife, trimming and balancing proper perches - the sentry-birds were, she could see, in considerable distress from the poorly-balanced saddle-blocks. She checked the knots in the jesses, too, and found that one of the birds had a festered place in its leg from top-tight knots, which she treated with cold water and a poultice of healing leaves. The other men were lying around in the clearing, enjoying the sun, but when Romilly came back from checking the birds, she saw that Dom Carlo was awake and watching her. Nevertheless she went on with her work. One of the men’s stag-ponies was poorly dehorned and the horn-bud trickling blood at the base; she trimmed it and scraped it clean, drying it with a bit of rag and packing it with absorbent moss, then went from stag-pony to stag-pony, checking one which had been limping, and picking, with her knife-point, a little stone from between the hoof-segments.

“So,” said Dom Carlo at last, lazily, opening his eyes, “You go about your self-appointed tasks well - you are not lazy, Rumal. Where got you your knowledge of beasts? You have the skill of a MacAran with them-” and he sat up and looked at her, “and I would say you had a touch of their laran as well. And now I think of it, you’ve a look of that clan, too.” His grey eyes met hers, and Romilly felt a curious sense that he looked at her inside and out, and she quailed - could he tell, if he was one of the Gifted Hastur-kinfolk, that she was a girl? But he seemed not to be aware of her dismay, only went on looking at her - it was, she thought, as if it never occurred to him that anyone would refuse to answer him when he asked.

She said, her words stumbling over themselves, “I was-I said-brought up-I know some of them-“

“Born the wrong side of the bed? Aye, it’s an old enough story in these hills, and elsewhere too,” said Dom Carlo, “Which is why that ruffian Rakhal sits on the throne and Carolin awaits us in Nevarsin.”

“You know the king well, sir? You seem one of the Hali’imyn.”

“Why, so I am,” Dom Carlo said easily, “No, Orain, don’t look like that, the word’s not the insult in these mountains that it would be South of the Kadarin. The boy means no harm. Know the king? I have not seen him often,” Dom Carlo said, “but he is kin to me, and I hold by him. As I said, a few too many bastards with ambitions put Carolin in this difficulty - his father was too tender-hearted with his ambitious kinsmen, and only a tyrant assures his throne by murdering all others with the shadow of a claim to it. So I have sympathy with your plight, boy - if the usurper Rakhal laid hands on me, for instance, or any of Carolin’s sons, their heads would soon be decorating the walls of his castle. I suppose you have some of the MacAran donas, though, or you could not handle beasts as you do. There is a MacAran laranzu in Tramontana - it is to him and his fellow workers that we mean these birds to go, in the end. Know you anything of sentry-birds, then, my boy?”

Romilly shook her head. “Not until today did I ever set eyes on one, though I have heard they are used for spying.”

“True,” said Dom Carlo, “One who has the laran of your family or something like to it, must work with them, stay in rapport as they fly where you wish to see. If there is an army on the road, you can spy out their numbers and report their movements. The side with the best-trained spy-birds is often the side that wins the battle, for they can take the other by surprise.”

“And these are to be trained for this?”

“They must be trained so that they can be handled easily,” said Carlo. “A royal gift this was, from one of Carolin’s supporters in these hills; but my men knew little of them, which is why it is as if the very Gods sent you to us, who can keep them in health and perhaps gentle them a little to working.”

“The one who will fly them at last should do that,” Romilly said, “but I will try hard to accustom them to human hands and human voices, and keep them healthy and properly fed.” And she wondered; for Ruyven was at Tramontana, so she had heard, and perhaps he was the laranzu for whose hands these birds were destined. How strangely Fate turned … perhaps, if she could make her way to Tramontana, her gifts could be trained to the handling of such birds. “If your men have any hunting skills, it would be well if they could bring down some medium-small game and feed it to the birds, but not too fresh, unless they can cut it up very fine and feed them skin and feathers with it…”