Mercedes Lackey - Anthology (39 page)

 
          
Over
the course of the next weeks, as spring finally came to the principality, and
the countryside blossomed in earnest, Freya took Honoria out every day and
assiduously worked with her. First
came
flights to the
fist from Sir Gunther's or
Bern
's glove to Freya's—though Honoria only pretended to eat the tidbit
Freya held. Little by little the distance between Freya and her helper
increased, until Honoria made it swiftly and surely across the length of the
stable yard.

 
          
Then
they moved their training out into the open. A leash tied to Honoria's jesses
and tied in turn to a creance "prevented" her from flying off, and
she went from fist, to perch, and back again. This was to give her practice in
landing on something other than a glove; it was surprising how hard it was at
first to grasp that tiny perch with outstretched talons. Then, when Freya was "sure
that the hawk would come back to the fist," the creance and leash came
off, and Honoria was free to learn to land in trees.

 
          
It
wasn't as easy as it had always looked. The first time she tried, she missed
the branch she'd been aiming for, and crashed into the boughs. The second time
she was more careful, but unfortunately chose a branch too slender for her
weight, and found herself hanging upside down for a moment. It took experience
to learn how to choose the right branches, and to seize them correctly, and
Honoria had never until now appreciated the sheer work it took to be a bird!

 
          
But
the work had only begun, for now Freya taught her to hunt. They began with a
lure of rabbit fur dragged through the grass; they went on to the same lure,
but with Freya, Gunther, or
Bern
doing their best to keep it away from her.

 
          
Then
Gunther or
Bern
went out into the fields, and came back
with her first live prey. They brought her young rabbits, just weaned and on
their own, and not yet used to outwitting hawks. Even so, the rabbits escaped
her, time and time again, as she wound up exhausted, panting, and gazing after
them in frustration and fury, her talons full of grass and a little fur.

 
          
Then, one afternoon—success at last.

 
          
She
pursued the escaping rabbit as it twisted and turned, doubled back, while her
blood raced and a wild emotion she could not have named filled her and gave her
a sudden burst of energy—and struck, and finally, her talons sank into flesh
for the first time.

 
          
The
rabbit screamed, and she reacted to the sound by lashing out with her beak and
biting it, hard, where the skull met the backbone. It went limp; she hesitated
for a mere second, then let her body do what it wanted to, and found herself
beak-deep in hot, red, living blood, a taste that filled her with incredible
euphoria and intoxication. She tore into the soft underbelly of the rabbit, as
footsteps approached.

 
          
"Aren't
you going to stop her? She's breaking in," Gunther said, worried.

 
          
"No—because
I'm not going to keep her," Freya replied. "She's worked so hard to
live, and now she's working so hard to learn, I'd like to reward her. I always
intended to turn her free someday, and once she can hunt on her own, I ink I
ought to. Breaking into the quarry isn't a vice in a wild hawk."

 
          
"No,
it isn't," Gunther agreed. At that point, since it was clear that Freya
wasn't going to take this delicious meal away from her, Honoria ig-nored them
in favor of stuffing her crop. She only stopped when she couldn't stuff in
another morsel, and stepped off the carcass, which at this point wasn't much
but bones. She had no-ticed how euphoric her birds got when she al-lowed them
to break in and eat newly killed prey; now she knew why. She stropped her beak
in the grass,
then
began fastidiously cleaning her
talons. Freya waited politely until she'd finished, then offered her glove to
step up on.

 
          
"Well,
my dear, congratulations on your first kill," she said to Honoria, who
blinked at her, overwhelmed by lethargy after her meal.

 
          
"My
lady, you have accomplished a wonderful thing," Gunther said earnestly.

 
          
Freya
blushed.

 
          
That
made Honoria take notice; a blush, as she knew all too well, was not a reaction
that one could control.
Freya—blushing at a compliment from
Sir Gunther?
What had been going on while she was in the mews?

 
          
She
kept her questions to herself for the moment, merely observing as the two of
them took her back to her stall. Gunther was just as much in love with Freya,
but Freya, although she managed to keep a collected exterior, was not as
indifferent to Gunther as Honoria had supposed.

 
          
Only
when she was alone with Freya in the mews did Honoria "think out
loud" as she had learned to do when she wanted Freya to hear and
understand her.

 
          
So—how
long have you been infatuated with our friend?
she
asked, amused. She was even more amused when Freya
blushed
a deep crimson.

 
          
"Long
enough," Freya murmured uncomfortably. "I don't suppose he still
comes out here to pour his heart out to you?"

 
          
Not
that I've noticed—but why don't you tell him that you're allowed to wed anyone
you choose? Why don't you at least tell Father that he's the one you want? It
seemed incomprehensible that Freya hadn't made any efforts in that direction,
but evidently, she hadn't.

 
          
"I—I'd
like him to at least say something, first," Freya sighed. "What if
he's changed his mind? What if it's just a temporary infatuation?"

 
          
What
if pigs fly?
demanded
Honoria. Freya only shook her
head.

 
          
It
wasn't the first time that Honoria had noted how illogical people in love were.
But when Freya left, she resolved to take matters into her own hands—well,
talons—as soon as ever she could.

 
          
From
that moment on she had two tasks: first, to master the skills she would need
for freedom and independence, and second, to see to it that Sir Gunther
declared himself before she won that independence.

 
          
Every
chance she saw to bring the two physically closer together, she took.

 
          
She'd
work a jess off and drop it in such a way that they both reached for it at the
same time. She'd make a flyover so close to one or the other that the
involuntary flinch drove them into physical contact with each other. She even
stole things and made them chase her to retrieve them. Each time, she thought
surely that Gunther would speak.

 
          
But
he never quite managed to get up the courage. It was very frustrating.

 
          
Her
quest to master flying and hunting skills, however, progressed with great
success. She graduated from baby rabbits to adults, from adult rabbits to
hares, and from hares to far more difficult winged prey. The goshawk was so
named because the breed was routinely used to hunt geese, formidable foes for a
bird of prey. With their strong wings, they could break a goshawk's leg or
wing, their clawed feet could open terrible wounds, and they could take out an
eye with a blow from their beaks. They outweighed a goshawk by a considerable
amount as well, and most of that weight was muscle.

 
          
Honoria
had to work up to geese, therefore. She began with partridge, then mastered the
teal, and by autumn, routinely took ducks. And while she worked to conquer
flying prey, she learned when it was prudent to pursue prey into cover, afoot.
Only a goshawk would dare something so outlandish, but occasionally it was a
good idea when she knew that the prey couldn't escape from the cover. When
she'd been the falconer and not the bird, Freya had occasionally gone into a
thicket after a rabbit or a partridge; there would be a violent commotion
followed by a death cry.
and
the gos would emerge,
backward, dragging the bird in her beak. She usually had broken teathers to
show for the exercise, and it wasn't something to do lightly, but if prey was
scarce, she knew she'd better learn to hunt in that odd way now, when a mistake
would be less costly with lighter consequences.

 
          
The
day came when Honoria finally took her first goose, in a perfect kill; in the
air over land rather than water, so she didn't make her kill only to lose it.
As she stood on the body, watching as Freya and Gunther walked toward her, she
knew that this had been the signal Freya was waiting for.

 
          
"I
think she's ready, Sir Gunther," Freya said quietly. "Look at her! She's
gained back all that she lost, and more."

 
          
She
wasn't looking at Gunther, who appeared to Honoria like a man who had just
heard his own death sentence.

 
          
Of
course he had; there would be no more excuse to spend countless hours in
Freya's company, "helping" her with the hawk. As lowly as his rank
was, he would not dare to approach her anyplace else. He didn't even have the
excuse of sharing
Bern
's lessons in falconry, as Heinrich had taken those over so that Freya
could spend all her time with Honoria.

 
          
Something
drastic had to be done, and Honoria was just the hawk to do it.

 
          
As
they neared, she crouched; when they froze, as a good falconer would, to keep
from frightening the bird off her kill, she sprang into the air, and struck
without mercy.

 
          
With
both feet fisted, striking as a peregrine would rather than a gos, she hit
Gunther in the head hard enough to knock him off his feet As he dropped to the
ground, dazed, Freya leaped to his side, and Honoria returned to her kill.

 
          
"Gunther!
Dear Jesu, are you all right?" She gathered Gunther's head to her breast
in a most poetic and romantic—and completely unplanned—manner, frantic with
fear, searching for bloody gashes in his scalp beneath his long hair. Which of
course would not be there; that was why Honoria had fisted her feet. "Did
she hurt you, beloved? Oh my love, please, has she hurt you?"

 
          
Sir
Gunther gazed up at her for a moment, more stunned by her words than by the
blow Honoria had given him. Then, with the most comical mixture of hope and
horror on his face that Honoria had ever seen, he struggled to his feet.

 
          
As
Freya rose, terribly confused now, he dropped to his knees before her,
groveling, lifting the hem of her skirt and kissing it.

 
          
Oh,
blessed
Virgin Mary—this lad has listened to far too
many romantic tales!

 
          
"My
lady—dearest lady—you mustn't say such things—" he babbled. "I dare
not—I am beneath your notice, you must forget me—"

 
          
"Forget
you!" Freya cried, dragging him up by main force.
"Never!"

 
          
"My
lady—my love—" Gunther was clearly in agony, and if Honoria hadn't felt so
sorry for him, she'd have been doubled over in silent laughter.

 
          
He'd
better find someone else to compose lover's speeches for him, she thought
mirthfully.

 
          
"Oh,
if only you were a poor knight's daughter!" he cried wildly, which was, of
course, exactly the sort of thing that Freya had been waiting to hear. "I
would carry you to the priest at this moment—"

 
          
He
looked down at her, and Freya's face, shining with bliss, made him forget
whatever else he was trying to say.