Master of Hawks (2 page)

As the Lord of Akron, he governed one of the largest provinces in the Taral Empire and commanded Akron's troops, which made up most of the Imperial force stationed in northern York. Further, Geoff S'Akron had inherited the Pendant of Thantos, a powerstone capable of amplifying the necromantic powers of its wearer. But in Lord Geoff's hands the potentially powerful spellstone could do little to help the Empire.

The sudden, sharp creak of the door opening caused Lord S'Akron to start forward and spill his drink slightly. As he rubbed the spot, S'Akron looked up with dismay to see his cousin Jaxton Sinclair stride into the room. He mistrusted his cousin, for only S'Akron and his son stood between Jaxton and succession to the throne of Akron. And Jaxton was as ambitious as he was clever.

The eye of the peregrine falcon clasp fastening Jaxton's brocade cape glowed scarlet in
the candlelight.

"Where's Ramsey?" asked Jaxton brusquely, glancing quickly around the dim room of Castle Buchanan's keep. He stared distractedly at the graffiti on the fire-blackened walls of the common room, thinking of the important news that he had for Ramsey. He did not want to waste time discussing it with an incompetent.

"I wouldn't know . . . " S'Akron paused to sip his wine. "He's not in the habit of telling
me
things."

For a moment the two men watched each other grimly. Then each began a haughty, sardonic smile, cut off quickly at the sight of the other's smile.

"Is Lord Ramsey casting?" asked Jaxton.

"Casting spells? I hardly think we're ready to attack," scoffed Lord S'Akron, brushing at his wine-stained tunic absentmindedly.

"I thought he might be trying out a few things in preparation for the attack," answered Jaxton with the inflection he normally used when talking to small children.

"Are you implying that the great Ramsey needs to practice his witchcraft?"

Jaxton glared at S'Akron. "Perhaps we all need to practice if we're going to be strong enough to defeat York."

Lord S'Akron looked surprised and laughed derisively. "We're not going to have any trouble taking York . . ." He poured himself another glass of wine. "No trouble at all."

"You're wrong if you think York will fall as easily as the other Eastern Kingdoms . . . "

"We captured Cascar, Cumberland, and Westvirn in one day!" retorted Lord S'Akron.

"The element of surprise wears a little thin after twelve years," replied Jaxton. "Besides, that happened under special circumstances."

He knew that twelve years before, the newly formed Taral Empire had attacked the kingdoms without warning, destroying the Triad, three huge powerstones that had barricaded most of the Eastern Kingdoms against all magic for over a century. Without their own sorcerers, the three major kingdoms had fallen in a single night to the blitzkrieg.

"Since then, whenever we've taken a kingdom and consolidated our gains we've given the remaining kingdoms more time to prepare. The renegades, rebels, and resistance fighters have become increasingly dangerous. Each time it has been a longer, harder victory."

"But a victory!" said Lord S'Akron, pounding his glass on the rough wooden table so hard that the wine slopped over the edge and trickled onto the blackened floor. "And only a few of those in the Western League dare oppose us."

Jaxton looked exasperated. "That's just the point! Now some of them do oppose us and are supporting York. They are trying to maneuver the entire Western League of Kingdoms into attacking the Empire. If that should happen the Empire would be fighting on two fronts."

"Those cowards, they'll never attack us. They've been bickering among themselves for years, and after we've destroyed S'York and his friends, we'll turn west and gobble the League states one by one," Geoff S'Akron said with a satisfied smile.

"While the Western League may not be willing to attack the Empire to save the Eastern Kingdoms, once we attack them, the League and its ruling lords will unite quickly enough. However, I'm not worried about those in the League that won't help S'York, I'm worried about those that will—S'Mayler, S'Elgyn, and S'Decatur—they're the best magicians in the League. And Ramsey believes that the White Tower of N'Omb has sent some of its adepts . . . "

Jaxton paused and Lord S'Akron looked up as the two men sensed rather than heard the entrance of Lord Ramsey, the third ranking member of the Council of Seven and the commander of the Northern Army.

As he swept into the small room, Ramsey seemed even taller than his six feet. A jet-black spellstone hung from a thick gold chain around his neck, and a smaller powerstone of the same oval shape glowed like a ruby on the middle finger of his left hand.

"I was in the courtyard watching your birds, Sinclair," said Ramsey. "The men and I enjoyed the sport."

"I'd like to talk to you about that," replied Jaxton, emphasizing the word "you" in a manner that caused Lord Geoff S'Akron to scowl and rise.

"That's all right, gentlemen, I have important business elsewhere." He threw the now empty wine bottle to the rubble-strewn floor. Then not quite looking them in the eyes, he turned and swaggered out the archway from which Ramsey had entered.

"We're going to have to do something about that oaf," said Ramsey softly as his penetrating blue eyes lingered on Geoff S'Akron's retreating form and then focused on Jaxton's angular features.

Jaxton Sinclair tugged thoughtfully on the ends of his collar-length, dark blond hair. "We have more pressing worries at the moment, Lord Ramsey. I killed more than a hawk."

"Mind-controlled?" asked Ramsey.

"Yes. Our friends at York sent a bird-telepath to spy. I wasn't expecting that. Animal-paths are rare, and I was aware of only one other bird-path, my father. When I sent my falcons after the hawk, it was just for the sport—then I realized that it was mind-linked."

"What happened to the telepath?"

Jaxton smiled. "Unfortunately for the Yorkmen, he won't return. I imagine you'll find the man's body out in the woods beyond the ruins."

"Are you sure you killed him? I don't want his information getting back to York."

"He must be dead. As the birds fought I attacked the man's mind." Jaxton pulled one of the high-backed chairs away from the rough pine table that dominated the sparsely furnished room. He sat down. "He was not a very strong telepath. Before the hawk died, I overwhelmed the human mind and felt it disintegrate and disappear."

"I'll send out a search party for the body," Ramsey decided. "He may have carried papers and maps. Do you have any idea where it might be?"

"No, I didn't get any impression of his exact location, but it should be fairly easy to find."

Ramsey nodded, knowing full well that the maximum telepathic range was the same as that for sorcery —a few miles at most. The body could not be very far from the castle.

"Good," he replied. "But this is another indication that Brian S'York has gathered a wide spectrum of allies to his cause—first those damn League sorcerers, and now telepaths. And what if they should make an alliance with the Sylvan?"

He stepped past the makeshift pine table and concentrated on the map tacked to the wall behind it. The richness of the gold-illuminated parchment contrasted sharply with the dingy wall blackened by countless wayfarers' campfires and marked by their graffiti.

Ramsey studied the oblong kingdom of Cascar lying on York's southern border and the smaller state of Wessex to the southwest. "We know that the rebels hiding out in the badlands west of York and in Wessex's mountains have been trying to form an alliance with the Sylvan for years. So far the Sylvan's distrust of humans has prevented any compact, but those savages must realize that the Empire cannot tolerate them forever. The existence of Sylvan forests scattered throughout the conquered kingdoms is a constant threat to us."

"The Sylvan will keep their neutrality," interjected Jaxton. "Nothing less than an outright attack against them would make the forest people take sides in a human war. They dislike humans as much as we dislike them. Besides, those tree-eaters don't leave their blasted forests anyway. And the Western League won't oppose us; they'll avoid a war at all costs. They still remember the devastation of the Great War against Lord S'Shegan a century ago. They may protest, but they won't take any action. They prefer to hope that the Empire will be satisfied with annexing the Eastern Kingdoms and will leave them alone. For that matter, the Sylvies remember what S'Shegan did to a couple of their forests."

Ramsey sighed. "Sometimes I wish we could avoid this war, but I know Taral, and he won't stop until he's conquered the Western League and the Sylvan, and maybe not then."

He turned from the map and sat in one of the chairs. Then he stared beyond Jaxton as though he saw the future etched among the wall's graffiti. "And he will do it. I've seen his plans for destroying the Sylvan after we've finished with York. When the League finally realizes that they're a target, they'll fight, and Taral will make the Great War look like a skirmish and S'Shegan look like an amateur."

"He did that when he destroyed the powerstones of the Triad," added Jaxton. "After the Eastern Kingdoms erected it as a barrier against S'Shegan's sorcery during the Great War, S'Shegan spent years trying to destroy it without success. In fact, if he hadn't wasted so much of his time and energy trying to neutralize the Triad, S'Shegan might have been strong enough to defeat the alliance that finally broke him."

"Fortunately, Taral has learned from S'Shegan's mistakes," replied Lord Ramsey. "That's why he's conquering one area at a time instead of trying to take on everyone at once, as S'Shegan attempted."

An urgent rapping on the outside door interrupted their discussion.

"Enter," called Ramsey.

A man wearing soiled riding clothes slammed open the door. "Important dispatches, Lord Ramsey."

Ramsey extended his dark hand to receive a bundle of papers in a leather pouch. "Thank you."

As the messenger left, Ramsey quickly reviewed the letters. Then he looked up and nodded at Jaxton.

"From Douglas S'Stratford. He's landed at Swego Bay with the major part of our troops. They are marching east and should meet us at the town of Threeforks in four days."

Jaxton excitedly slapped his palm against the tabletop. "Good. We've all become a bit impatient with this waiting."

"So has Lord Taral. He's sent a note reminding me that his army is just south of the Twin Lakes and will move toward Castle York as soon as we join forces with S'Stratford."

"Another note? As if we didn't know that—sitting here on our hands waiting for the storms over the Inland Sea to abate so that S'Stratford could reach York."

Ramsey picked up another letter and waved it toward the door. "Sinclair, please notify Sergeant Waltner that we will be moving out in the morning. Oh, you'd better tell S'Akron too, he hates being left out of things."

Jaxton stood. "Certainly, Lord Ramsey."

As Jaxton left, Ramsey continued studying the dispatches. Then he edged his chair around so that he could see the map.

The artist had painted the Empire a royal purple, the Western League dark green, and the Eastern Kingdoms red. To the left, the states outlined in green stretched out along the Sissi River like a fat finger pointing southward. The purple dominated the center of the map in a great U shape, with the top left prong poking into the Inland Sea, then arching down and to the east through the former Eastern Kingdoms of Carlton, Richmond, and Westvirn along the coast, and then northward through Cumberland, Wessex, and Cascar. Only York and the smaller kingdoms of Aderon and Douglas to the north remained red.

Ramsey's fingertip traced York's border. "It's isolated," he thought, "and our army is divided into two arms that will strangle York between them."

He studied the map, searching for some error, something he had overlooked, and found nothing. He knew they should win, that they must win. Then with a deep sigh he turned back to the letters, pushing the wisp of foreboding into the back of his mind.

3

Into the nothingness that was everything, the timelessness that was forever, came the sound. It pierced. The sound ebbed and flowed unceasingly and incessantly, giving the blackness substance as it grew in intensity.

The sound broke the darkness into a billion fragments of light and pain. The tones became color—gold and azure; the patterns of yellow and blue battled with the blackness like sun and sky tugging at the night. The azure shrilled and shrieked. The gold harmonized and quieted.

In agony, he recognized the sound. He reached for it, stretching through the emptiness, searching for it, straining for it through the black that became red with pain into the blue and gold, clutching it in the sky and sun.

Scores of birds lifted from the still form as they felt the disquiet of struggling man-thoughts.

Through the throbbing, lingering pain, Hawk returned to consciousness and recognized the sharp, penetrating sound of the birdsongs. Then he opened his eyes to find the birds, which had covered him like a blanket, rising in a blur of beating wings. As the pain surged again through his skull, he closed his eyes and pressed his back into the cradling warmth of the earth.