Mercedes Lackey - Anthology (9 page)

 
          
"Return
to our room at the inn, Wren," Adelia commanded. "I shall come when
the sun is there," the sorceress indicated a spot just above the western
horizon. "Have a hot . . . have a warm bath prepared for me."

 
          
The
last time she'd ordered a "hot" bath, Adelia had raised a blister on
the foot she'd so incautiously plunged into the near boiling water.

 
          
Wren
gaped and panted.

 
          
"Do
you understand me?"

 
          
Wren
nodded.

 
          
"Then
go!" Adelia pointed in the direction of the inn.

 
          
The
little servant girl turned and bolted through the crush of people, trying to go
in a straight line and calling out in little shrill peeps when she couldn't.

 
          
Some
of the surrounding crowd cast a surreptitious glare in Adelia's direction, and
she couldn't blame them. There was every appearance of a girl broken by ill
treatment. But the truth was that Adelia never abused Wren; there would be no
point.

 
          
Existing
is punishment enough for that poor creature. With a tsk of disgust she
continued on her way alone. It might be best to simply unmake the girl.

 
          
Adelia
was not quite ready to take that step just yet. Though admittedly, after this
afternoon she was much closer to it than she had been.

 
          
Perhaps,
she mused, I would have better luck if I began with a bolder creature. Adelia
paced on.
A stallion?
The thought brought a smile to her
face as she walked along. Then, with a sigh, she dismissed the idea. A
stallion's size and aggression would be as difficult to manage in their own way
as poor little Wren's terror.
Pity.

 
          
At
last her walking had taken her to the far end of the fair, where the animals
were kept. Here at the leading edge of the animal market were smaller, less
offensive creatures, and she passed by cages of dogs and ferrets and even
monkeys.

 
          
Adelia
paused to examine the capuchin monkey in its little velvet vest and fringed
cap, sitting on its master's shoulder. But something almost human in its hands
turned her away with a shudder.

 
          
That
won't do, she thought with a grimace. If I wanted something almost human, I
could pick up any urchin off the streets. And she moved on.

 
          
At
last the sorceress came to the sellers of birds, and her steps slowed. Her
experiment with Wren had been an almost total failure. The girl that had
resulted from her spells ate worms, feared everything and had to be constantly
coaxed down from the rafters. But some part of Adelia resisted giving up.

 
          
Here,
she knew in her heart, was the answer.

 
          
Birds.
They pleased her so, their beauty, their grace, their
freedom.

 
          
She
longed to possess that freedom, or at least to take it; on the theory that if
you could take something from an entity, then in some measure what you had
taken became yours.

 
          
She
passed the song birds, lingered by the rare parrots. They were far more
intelligent than the finches, she could see, but none of these had the fire she
sought.

 
          
At
last she came upon the hunting birds; some in cages glaring boldly out between
the bars, some, hooded, sat upon their perches.

 
          
Yes!
Adelia thought triumphantly. A predator! Just like
herself
.
This is what I need.

 
          
"You
there," she called imperiously. "Are these yours?" A gesture
encompassed all the falcons of every variety.

 
          
The
man she'd called looked up from his bargaining to note the lady sorceress.

 
          
He
bowed, and the man he'd been speaking with murmured that he'd return later and
made off.

 
          
"Tell
me about these," Adelia demanded.

 
          
The
man was tall and hazel-eyed, with a shaggy beard streaked with gray. His craggy
face fought a frown and Adelia wondered at it. Did the creature dare to think
of denying her whatever she asked for?

 
          
"My
Lady Sorceress," he said at last in a voice deep and quiet. "Is it
your pleasure to hunt with hawks?"

 
          
"My
pleasure," she said stiffly, "is to know about these birds. Instruct
me in their character."

 
          
It
seemed to the hawk seller that the flame on her brow burned brighter for a
moment, and he bowed his head, leading her over to the cages.
"Their character, Lady?"
He pursed his lips.
"It varies from one to the other, just as character varies in
people," he said at last. "Here," he said, pointing to a tiny
kestrel, bright as a songbird, "this little lass,
perfect
for a lady..."

 
          
"No!"
Adelia exclaimed contemptuously. "Nothing so small will do. And I want a
male," she added on impulse.

 
          
"Females
are preferred in falconry, Lady Sorceress," the man assured her. "The
males are "smaller, you see."

 
          
"Hmm,"
Adelia murmured. As she looked around, she spied a handsome blue-gray bird
perched on a block, a curious leather mask over its head. Its color pleased
her, and the size was just about what she wanted. "Tell me about this
one," she said eagerly. "He . . ."

 
          
"Ah!"
she said approvingly.
"He!"
"Yes, my
Lady Sorceress. He is a goshawk.

 
          
And,"
the hawk seller paused. "And if the Lady Sorceress is unfamiliar with
falconry, he would be a very poor choice to begin with."

 
          
Adelia
leaned in close to the bird, studying its
plumage,
it
had a clean, spicy fragrance. Suddenly she blew hard against its breast and the
bird started with a sharp cry, then settled.

 
          
"I
like him," she said decisively.
"How much?"

 
          
The
hawk seller's mouth dropped open. He looked at her, then at the bird,
then
drew himself up, like a man facing an angry mob.

 
          
"I
cannot sell him to you, my Lady Sorceress.
Unless, of course,
you have some servant skilled in the ways of hawks."

 
          
She
was utterly astonished at his audacity. Fortunately for the hawk seller, Adelia
chose to find his response interesting.

 
          
With
narrowed eyes she asked him, "Do you imagine that anyone in this whole
fair will so much as touch this bird when I have expressed an interest in
him?"

 
          
With
a bow, the hawk seller replied, "The Lady is undoubtedly correct. If I do
not sell him to you, he will not be sold."

 
          
Adelia
studied him; he would not meet her eyes, and she detected a fine sheen of sweat
forming on his brow. Clearly, he feared her.

 
          
"Then
why will you not sell me this bird?" she said at last.

 
          
"Goshawks
are the most difficult of hunting birds to bond with, my Lady. They are
sensitive and wild and are considered utterly indifferent to the falconer.

 
          
Some
think them quite mad. And this fellow is not even fully trained, my Lady
Sorceress. Let him fly, and he will leave you. And ... in panic, to which
goshawks are inclined, he may harm you."

 
          
Then
why is he here for sale?" Adelia demanded in exasperation.

 
          
"Because,
my Lady, many falconers prefer to train their own birds."

 
          
She
frowned. All this talk of training was unexpected, and indeed was useless since
she never intended to hunt with the bird. Still, as a predator, it might need
specialized care. Certainly it would need more than a seed cup and a little
water. With a deep sigh, she resolved to pay heed to the hawk seller's
concerns. Besides, she would need a male slave on
hand,
she might as well get some use out of him.

 
          
"Where
might I find a servant skilled in the ways of hawks?" she inquired.

 
          
The
hawk seller gave her directions and she tsked in disgust. The slave mongers
were on the opposite side of the fair from the animal sellers.

 
          
One
would think that they would keep all the livestock together, Adelia growled
within her mind.

 
          
In
less than two hours she returned with her purchase. The man she had bought was
in his mid twenties, only a little taller than herself, but with a muscular
warrior's build. He had a thick head of rough-cut black hair and a short, curly
beard. It was his shrewd, narrow, sherry-wine eyes that had decided her to buy
him,
though,
over the older fellow the slave dealer
told her was also familiar with hawks. Around his neck hung a relsk stone, the
spell that rendered him obedient despite the pride with which he carried
himself.

 
          
"My
name," he murmured to her as they approached the hawk seller, "is
Nairn."

 
          
His
name is Nairn, she thought, amused. Nairn was a word in the ancient tongue
meaning an amount so small as to be nothing at all.

 
          
She
walked up to the hawk seller and, ignoring the customer he'd been speaking
with, the one she'd interrupted twice now/announced, "I believe that this
person should satisfy you. Ask him what you will of caring for hawks." She
glanced at Nairn. "And he'd better satisfy you." She deliberately
left it unclear as to whether this was a threat against Nairn or the hawk
seller.

 
          
She
wandered idly around, examining the little kestrel that had first been shown to
her. A pretty thing, but, she sniffed, female. Adelia listened without much
interest as the two men talked, exchanging terms like "creance" and
"tiercel." At last they settled down to dicker on price. Adelia
crossed her arms beneath her breasts and raised one brow. Still, though she had
not given him permission to do so, she allowed Nairn to speak for her in
obtaining the bird.

 
          
At
last the two men shook hands. Nairn turned to her to obtain money, while the
hawk seller went into his little booth and returned with a heavy glove, a
perch, and what looked like a leash.

 
          
Nairn
put on the glove and touched the back of the hooded hawk's ankles. The bird
stepped back automatically, caught his balance and settled on this temporary
perch.

 
          
"I
wanted to carry him," Adelia complained, chagrined.

 
          
"Of
course, my lady," Nairn said soothingly. "But he's heavy, perhaps two
pounds in weight, and he is a bird. I should hate to see him soil your
beautiful gown."

 
          
She
smiled slightly at the manipulative courtesy of his response and wondered where
he'd learned it.

 
          
"No
matter," she said with a shrug and led the way to the inn proud as a queen
at the head of a procession. Being followed by a handsome young man carrying a
hawk was far more in keeping with her vanity than the attendance of the
wretched Wren. I shall definitely have to do something about her, the sorceress
thought.