Hawkmistress! (8 page)

“I did, and am still working with her; she has not yet flown free,” Romilly said, and smiled shyly at his look of amazement.

“You trained her? A girl? But why not, you are a MacAran. In the Tower where I dwelt for a time, some of the woman tamed and flew verrin hawks taken in the wild, and we are apt to say there, to one who has notable success with a hawk, Why, you have the hand of a MacAran with a bird….”

“Are there MacArans in the Towers, then, that they should say so?” Romilly asked, “I knew not that there were any MacArans within their walls, until my brother went thither.”

Alderic said, “The saying was known in my father’s time and in his father’s - the Gift of a MacAran.” The word he used was not the ordinary word in the Kilghard Hills, laran, but the old casta word donas. “But your father is not pleased, then, to have a son in the Tower? Most hill-folk would be proud.”

Darren’s smile was bitter. “I have no gift for working with animals - and small gift for anything else, save learning; but while Ruyven was my father’s Heir it did not matter; I was destined for the monastery, and I was happy with the Brotherhood. Now he will even try to hammer this bent nail into the place laid out for my brother.”

“Have you not a third brother?” Alderic asked, “Is the little lad who greeted you nedestro, or feebleminded, that your father cannot give a son to St-Valentine-of-the-Snows and rear Rafael, Rael, whatever you called him, to the lordship of Falconsward? Or, seeing what Mistress Romilly can do-” his smile was generous, and Romilly blushed. But Darren said bitterly, “You do not know my father-” and broke off while Romilly was still pondering this; did it seem reasonable to Alderic, then, that she might even take Ruyven’s place at Falconsward?

“I’ve brought fresh-killed meat for your hawk, Mistress Romilly,” Davin said, coming into the stableyard, “One of the cooks had just killed a fowl for roasting at dinner; she let me have the innards for your bird, and I gave orders for the freshest offal of every day to be put aside for you in the morning; that garbage Ker brought was from the day before, because one of the cooks put it aside for the dogs, and he was too busy eyeing the wenches in the kitchen to ask for the fresh meat. He’ll never make a hawker, that one! I swear, I’d turn him off for a sekal, and start teaching little Master Rael the handling!”

Romilly chuckled. “Luciella would have much to say about that,” she told him, “but put Ker to feeding the pigs or tending the kennels, and surely there must be someone on the estate who has some hawk-sense!”

Darren grinned mirthlessly. He said, ‘Try Nelda’s boy Garris; he was festival-got, and rumor speaks wide about who had his fathering. If he’s good with the beasts, it will bring him under my father’s eye, which Nelda was too proud to do. Once I suggested he should be put to share lessons with Rael, and our great Lady and Mistress Luciella had fits - one would think I’d suggested bringing the pig-boy in to dine at the high table.”

“You should know that Luciella hears only what she wants to hear,” said Romilly. “Perhaps she thought that bastardy is like fleas, catching… .” She fumbled for the lures and lines, cumbered with Preciosa’s weight on her wrist. “Damnation, Darren, can’t you hold her for me a moment? If not, for charity’s sake, at least thread the meat on the lure - she smells it and will go wild in a moment!”

“I will take her, if you will trust me with your hawk,” said Alderic, and held out his arm. “So, will you come to me, pretty one?” Carefully, he lifted the nervous hawk from Romilly’s wrist to his own. “What is it you call her, Preciosa? And so she is, are you not, precious one?”

Romilly watched jealously as the hooded hawk settled down comfortably on Alderic’s wrist; but Preciosa seemed content and she turned to tying the line around the meat, so that Preciosa could not snap it away too swiftly, and must bring it down to the ground to eat, as a good hunting-hawk must learn to do; badly tamed hawks tended to snatch food from a lure in midair, which taught them little about hunting practice. They must be taught to bring the prey down to their master, and to wait until the meat was given to them from the hand.

“Give me the line and lure,” said Darren. “If I can do nothing else, I can at least throw out the lure.”

Romilly handed it to him with relief. “Thank you - you are taller than I, you can whirl it higher,” she said, and took Preciosa again on her wrist. One handed, she slipped the hood from the hawk’s head, raising her arm to let it fly. Trailing its lines, the hawk rose higher, higher - coming to the end of the line, Romilly saw it turn its head, see the flying, whistling lure - swiftly, dropping with suddenly folded wings, it descended on the lure, seizing it with beak and talons, and dropped swiftly to Romilly’s feet. Romilly gave the sharp whistle which the hawk was being taught to associate with food, and scooped Preciosa up on her glove, tearing the food from the lure.

Preciosa was bending so swiftly to the food that she hopped sidewise on Romilly’s arm, her claws contracting painfully in the girl’s thinly-clad forearm above the gauntlet. Blood burst out, staining her dress; Romilly set her mouth and did not cry out, but as the crimson spread across the blue fabric, Darren cried out sharply.

“Oh, sister!”

Preciosa, startled by the cry, lost her balance and fell, bated awkwardly, her wings beating into Darren’s face; Romilly reached for her, but Darren cried out in panic and flung up his hands to ward away the beak and talons which were dangerously close to his face. At his scream, Preciosa tottered again and flew upward, checking with a shrill scream of rage at the end of her lines.

Her jaws set, Romilly hissed in a whisper “Damn you, Darren, she could have broken a flight-feather! Don’t you know better than to move that fast around a hawk? Get back before you frighten her worse than that!”

Darren stammered “You-you-you’re bleeding-“

“So what?” Romilly demanded harshly, shoved him back with a rough hand, and whistled softly, coaxingly to Preciosa. “I might better bring Rael into the hawk-house, you lackwit! Get out of here!”

“And this is what I have for a son and heir,” said The MacAran bitterly. He was standing in the door of the hawk-house, watching the three young people unseen. His voice, even in his anger, was low - he knew better than to raise his voice near a frightened bird. He stood silent, staring with his brows knitted in a scowl, as Romilly coaxed the hawk down to her wrist and untangled the lines. “Are you not ashamed, Darren, to stand by while a little girl bests you at what should come by instinct to any son of mine? But that I knew your mother so well, I would swear you had been fathered by some chance - come beggar of the roads… . Bearer of Burdens, why have you weighted my life with a son so unfit for his place?” He grabbed Darren’s arm and jerked him inside the hawk-house; Romilly heard Darren cry out and her teeth met in her lip as if the blow had landed on her own shoulders.

“Get out there, now, and try to behave like a man for once! Take this hawk - no, not like that, damnation take you, you have hands like great hams for all your writing and scribbling! Take the hawk out there and exercise her on a lure, and if I see you ducking away from it like that, I swear I’ll have you beaten and sent to bed with bread and water as if you were Rael’s age!”

Alderic’s face was dead white and his jaw set, but he bent his eyes on the backs of his hands and did not speak. Romilly, fighting for calm- there was no sense in upsetting Preciosa again - threaded meat on the lure again. Without words, Alderic reached for the line and began to swing it high, and Romilly watched Preciosa wing off, both of them frying to ignore Darren, his face red and swollen, clumsily trying to unhood a strange hawk at the far end of the stableyard. It was all they could do for Darren now.

She thought; at least, he is trying. Perhaps that is braver than what I did, defying Father; I had the Gift, I was only doing what is natural for me, and Darren, obeying, is going against everything which is natural to him… . and her throat swelled as if she would cry, but she fought the tears back. It would not help Darren. Nothing would help him except trying to conquer his own nervousness. And, somewhere inside her, she could not help feeling a tiny sting of contempt … how could he bungle anything which was so easy and simple?

CHAPTER FOUR

Romilly did not see the first of the guests arrive for the Midsummer-feast; the day had dawned clear and brilliant, the red sun rising over just a hint of cloud at the horizon. For three days there had been neither snow nor rain, and everywhere in the courtyard flowers were bursting into bloom. She sat up in her bed, drawing a breath of excitement; today she was to fly Preciosa free for the very first time.

This was the final excruciating test for hawk and trainer. All too often, when first freed, the hawk would rise into the sky, wing away into the violet clouds and never return. She faced that knowledge; she could not bear to lose Preciosa now, and it was all the more likely with a haggard who had hunted and fed for herself in the wild.

But Preciosa would return, Romilly was confident of that. She flung off her nightgown and dressed for the hunt; her stepmother had had her new green-velvet habit laid enticingly ready, but she put on an old tunic and shirt, and a pair of Darren’s old breeches. If her father was angry, then he must be angry as he would; she would not spoil Preciosa’s first hunt by worrying about whether or not she spotted her new velvet clothing.

As she slipped out into the corridor she stumbled over a basket set in her door; the traditional Midsummer-gift from the men of the family to mothers, sisters, daughters. Her father was always generous; she set the basket inside, rummaged through it for a handy apple and a few of the sweets that always appeared there too, and thrust them into her pockets - just what she wanted for hunting, and after a moment she pocketed a few more for Darren and Alderic. There was a second basket there too; Darren’s? And a tiny one clumsily pasted of paper strips, which she had seen Rael trying to hide in the schoolroom; she smiled indulgently, for it was filled with a handful of nuts which she knew he had saved from his own desserts. What a darling he was, her little brother! For a moment she was tempted to ask him, too, on this special ride, but after a minute of reflection she sighed and decided not to risk her stepmother’s anger. She would arrange some special treat for him later.

She went silently down the hallway and joined Darren and Alderic, who were waiting at the doorway, having let the dogs outside - it was, after all, well after daylight. The three young people went toward the stable.

Darren said, “I told father we were going hawking at dawn. He gave you leave to fly his racer if you would, Alderic.”

“He is generous,” said Alderic, and went quietly toward the hawk.

“Which one will you take, Darren?” asked Romilly, slipping Preciosa on to her wrist. Darren, raising his eyes to her with a smile, said, “I think you know, sister, that I take no pleasure in hawks. If father had bidden me to exercise one of his birds, I would obey him; but in honor of the holiday, perhaps, he forbore to lay any such command on me.”

His tone was so bitter that Alderic looked up and said, “I think he means to be kind, bredu.”

“Aye. No doubt.” But Darren did not raise his head as they went across to the stable, where the horses were ready.

Romilly set Preciosa on the perch as she saddled her own horse. She would not command any man to disobey her father against his conscience; but she would not ride sidesaddle on this holiday ride, either. If her father chose to punish her, she would accept whatever he chose to do.

It was sheer ecstasy to be on a horse again in proper riding clothes, feeling the cool morning wind against her face, and Preciosa before her on the saddle, hooded but alert. She could feel a trickle of awareness from the bird which was blended of emotions Romilly herself could not identify … not quite fear as she had come to know it, not quite excitement, but to her great relief it was wholly unmixed with the terrifying rage she had felt when she began training the hawk. The clouds melted away as they rode into the hills, and under their horses’ hooves there was only the tiniest crackling of frost.

“Where shall we go, Darren? You know these hills,” Alderic asked, and Darren laughed at them.

“Ask Romilly, not me, my-” he broke off sharply and Romilly, raising her eyes suddenly from her bird, intercepted the sharp, almost warning look Alderic gave the younger man. Darren said quickly, “My sister knows more of the hills and of the hawks than I do, Lord ‘Deric.”

“This way, I think,” she said, “To the far horse-pasture; we can fly the birds there and none will disturb us. And there are always small birds and small animals in the coverts.”

As they topped the rise they looked down on the pasture, a wide stretch of hillside grassland, dotted here and there with clumps of berry-briars, small bushes and underbrush. A few horses were cropping the bunchy grass, green with summer, and the fields and bushes were coated with clusters of blue and yellow wildflowers. Insects buzzed in the grass; the horses raised their heads in alert inquiry, but seeing nothing to disturb them, went on nibbling grass. One small filly flung up her head and came trotting, on spindly legs, toward them; Romilly laughed, slid from her horse and went to nuzzle the baby horse; she came not much higher than Romilly’s shoulder.

“This is Angel,” she said to the young men, “She was born last winter, and I used to feed her with apple scraps - no, Angel, that’s my breakfast,” she added, slapping the soft muzzle away from the pocket where the horse was trying to rummage. But she relented and pulled her knife, cutting a small slice of apple for the filly.