Talon of the Silver Hawk (26 page)

They spent three days in Krondor, making arrangements to travel with a caravan. Caleb and Talon would serve as guards, in exchange for transportation and food. The caravan master was pleased not to have to pay the mercenary bonus, and counted himself fortunate.

The mystery of why Lela was working at the inn under the name of Roxanne was not discussed, and Talon assumed it was yet another of those things which might never be explained to him. Yet it was oddly reassuring to discover a familiar face in such strange surroundings, even if under circumstances that could only be called bizarre.

Krondor was a revelation to Talon, for while Latagore had seemed fabulous to his untutored eyes when he had visited it for the first time, it seemed a provincial village compared to the capital of the Western Realm of the Kingdom. The city was teeming with people, from distant lands as far away as the Keshian Confederacy, the captive nations in the Empire's southern reaches. Dialects and languages strange to the ear could be heard in every market and inn.

Caleb took him to see famous sights: the remaining portion of the seawall, which had been destroyed during the Serpentwar when, according to legend, the armies of the Emerald Queen had invaded from across the sea and the entire city was virtually destroyed. Talon had to pause when Caleb told the story, to remind himself that Caleb was speaking of his own grandmother, who had been enslaved by a demon. Talon judged that many of the tales told around the campfire in his boyhood might need be reevaluated, rather than merely dismissed as folktales.

He visited Barrett's Coffee House, where finance, as complex and mysterious as magic, was conducted. He had a vague sense of what the place meant to the economy of the Kingdom from his reading of the life of Rupert Avery, who had been a businessman of some fame at Barrett's. They went to see the palace, though they observed it from a respectful distance, for while Caleb hinted at some past relationship between his family and the crown, there seemed no plausible reason to gain entrance. Nor any motive, for that matter, apart from curiosity. Talon felt a mild interest in these things, as he did with anything that was alien to his experience. Now when he reflected upon his childhood, he realized how little of the world he had known as a boy; but even so he remembered with clarity how much he thought he understood of it. Such had been
the heritage of his people, who were content to live out their lives in the mountains as their ancestors had done before them. Generations passed with little change among
the Orosini, and it seemed a good life. Talon looked around the city, taking in the crowds clogging the streets, and wondered if perhaps that was one thing his people had correctly apprehended—the quality of a good life. Certainly, most of the people he viewed as they passed were evidencing little by way of joy. Most were intent upon the business at hand, or making their way somewhere in a great hurry. A few children played in the streets, but only the very young; the older children seemed to be banded together in groups of ten or more and often could be seen running with a constable of the law in pursuit.

They traveled with the caravan through the Western Realm, through rolling hills and into low mountains not unlike those of his homeland. But where those mountains had been populated by folk living in villages of wooden huts and stockades, these mountains boasted towns and castles. In Ravensburgh they had the finest wine Talon had tasted, and he asked many questions of the innkeeper. He stole an hour to seek out a winemaker and plied him with questions, too.

Demetrius had said at some point that their masters would be teaching Talon about wine, and he now thought this would be a good thing.

The journey continued to the town of Malac's Cross, and there they bid good-bye to the caravan master. After a night spent sleeping in a relatively clean room, Caleb secured two fine horses, and they set off to the east.

As they rode toward the rising sun, Talon said, “Caleb, am I to ever discover what it is we are doing?''

Caleb laughed. “I suppose it matters little if I tell you now or tell you when we reach Salador.''

“Then tell me now, for I am afire with curiosity.”

Caleb said, “In Salador we shall finish with your education in manners and breeding. For a year or more you will learn at least two musical instruments—the lute and another, perhaps a horn or pipe. You will learn even more about the culinary arts, though you are well on your way, having tutored under Leo. And you will learn more about manners of the court, costumes appropriate for all occasions, and how to comport yourself with persons of any rank. You will learn to judge wine and you will learn to sing, though I suspect this last matter may be a lost cause.''

Talon laughed. “I can sing.''

“I've heard you, and I'd hardly call it singing.''

“But to what end does all this training in the art of being a man gentle born lead?''

Caleb switched from the King's Tongue, which they had been speaking since arriving in Krondor, to Roldemish. “Because in a year's time, my young friend, you shall journey to the island kingdom of Roldem, and there you shall enroll in the Masters' Court. And if the fates are kind, we shall establish you there as a minor noble, a distant cousin of a noteworthy family, rich in heritage but poor in resources, and as such employable.”

“The Masters' Court? Kendrick told me a little about it. He said the finest swordsmen in the world trained there.''

“And that, my friend, is your task. For when you leave Roldem, you must be counted as the best of them all. You must be counted as the greatest swordsman in the world.''

Talon stared at his friend in stunned silence and rode on.

 

— Part Two —

Mercenary

Revenge is sweet but not nourishing.

—Mason Cooley

 

Tal blinked.

The blade that hovered for the briefest instant in front of his face flicked to the right, and he hesitated, then moved in the same direction. As he had anticipated, his opponent was feigning to the right and went left. He slipped past his guard so fast that the other swordsman couldn't react in time, and Tal's blade struck home.

“Touch!” cried the Master of the Court.

Tal retreated a step, then came to attention and saluted his opponent, a young noble from the coastal city of Shalan. Duzan or Dusan, Tal couldn't quite recall his name. The spectators applauded politely as if the match had run to form, which it had.

The Master of the Court stepped forward and declared, “Point and match to m'lord Hawkins.''

Talwin Hawkins, a minor noble from Ylith, distant
cousin to Lord Seljan Hawkins, Baron of the Prince's Court in Krondor, bowed first to the Master of the Court, then to his opponent. The two men removed the protective mesh masks they wore and crossed to shake hands. The young Roldemish nobleman smiled and said, “Someday you're going to guess wrong, Tal, and then I'll have you.''

Tal smiled in return. “You're probably right. But as my man Pasko says, ‘I'd rather be lucky than good.' Right, Pasko?''

The burly servant, who had appeared at his elbow and was now taking his master's sword and mask, smiled, and said, “As my master says, given the choice, I'll take luck anytime.''

The two combatants exchanged bows and retired to opposite corners of the huge dueling hall that was the heart of the Masters' Court in Roldem City. Large carved wooden columns surrounded a massive wooden floor, which had been polished to a gleam like brushed copper. Intricate patterns had been laid into the floor and, once he had been introduced to the instructors, Tal had quickly seen they served a function beyond the aesthetic aspect. Each pattern defined a dueling area, from the very confined, long and narrow dueling path for rapier fencing, to a larger octagon for longer blades.

For blades were the reason for the existence of the Masters' Court. Over two hundred years ago the King of Roldem had commanded a tourney to name the greatest swordsman in the world. Nobles, commoners, soldiers, and mercenaries had traveled from as far away as beyond the Girdle of Kesh—the mountains that separate the northern and southern halves of the Empire, the Far Coast of the Kingdom, and all points in between. The prize had been fabled: a broadsword fashioned from gold and studded with gems—an artifact worth a kingdom's taxes for years and years.

For two weeks the contest had continued until a local noble, a Count Versi Dango, had prevailed. To the King's astonished delight, he announced he would reject the prize, so that the King might make use of the value of the sword to pay for the construction of an academy dedicated to the blade, and there hold the contest on a regular basis: and thus the Masters' Court was born.

The King ordered the construction of the school, which covered an entire city block in the heart of the island kingdom's capital, and over the years it had been rebuilt and refined, until now it resembled a palace as much as a school. Upon its completion, another tourney had been organized, and Count Dango had prevailed in defense of his rank as premier swordsman in the world.

Every fifth year the contest was held, until on his forth defense, Count Dango was wounded in his match by the eventual winner and was forced to retire from the contest.

Since then thirty-one different men had won the championship. Talon of the Silver Hawk, now known as Tal Hawkins, planned to be the thirty-second such champion.

The dueling master approached, and Tal bowed. “Master Dubkov,” he said with respect.

“That was a fine display, but you took your opponent for granted. If you did that with a more experienced swordsman, you might have found yourself taken, my young friend.''

Tal inclined his head in acknowledgment of the dueling master's correct appraisal. Then he grinned and said, “If I never offer the less skilled a slight chance to win, what motive do they have to spar with me?''

Master Dubkov laughed. “And those with more experience—say, those anticipating a place in the tourney—will not spar with you lest they reveal too much and disadvantage themselves to you during the contest, eh?''

“Exactly,” said Tal.

“Well,” said the dueling master, lowering his voice, “I don't know how much good you think you're doing yourself by these exercises, but the crowds enjoy them—especially the young ladies.” He inclined his head toward an area of the gallery where a dozen of Roldem's noble daughters sat observing the bouts.

Several smiled and nodded in Tal's direction. He smiled back and returned the nod in their general direction without making eye contact with any specific girl. Master Dubkov raised an eyebrow at this. Then he said, “Well, I must be about my duties. Good day to you, young Talwin.''

“Good day to you, Master.” Tal bowed like a lifetime courtier.

He removed the padded jacket with Pasko's assistance, and Pasko handed him a towel. Tal dried his neck and his damp hair, which was clinging to his head. Then he donned a fine brocade jacket, suitable for afternoon wear, and stood patiently while Pasko fastened the frogs and loops. “Dinner invitations?” he asked.

“Four, m'lord. The Lady Sabrina wishes you to dine with her and her father. The Ladies Jessica and Mathilda each wish for you to dine with their entire families, and the Lady Melinda wishes for you to dine with her, and mentioned that her father is away on business.”

“Melinda it is, then,” said Tal with a grin.

“You seem unusually happy today,” Pasko observed. Robert's former servant had appeared during the first month Tal and Caleb had taken up residence in Salador. He played the part of manservant with such conviction and ease that Tal could easily believe he had held such a post for a nobleman at some point in his obscure past. He had certainly inculcated Talon of the Silver Hawk with all the necessary nuances of noble manner and bearing to become Talwin Hawkins.

Tal nodded and smiled. “Rumors, idle gossip, and sources of impeccable unreliability lead me to believe that before the contest I shall be invited to the palace for an audience with the King, or at the very least, be listed as a guest for the next gala.''

“That's unsurprising, Master,” said Pasko. Dropping his voice so that he could be heard only by Tal as he put a cape around the young man's shoulders, he said, “What's surprising is that it's taken so long.''

Tal smiled. “Indeed.”

They departed from the practice hall, past the gallery, and as they entered the grand hall that led to the outer courtyard, more than one servant pressed a note into Pasko's hand. Portraits of past champions lined the walls of the grand hall, and in the center of the entrance, a heroically large bronze statue of Versi Dango welcomed visitors and students to the Masters' Court. They hurried down the steps to a waiting carriage, and the driver held the door open for them.

Once inside, Tal said, “I am only the second swordsman in the history of the Masters' Court never to have lost a bout.''

“Hmmm,” said Pasko. “I seem to remember you taking a drubbing from Master Dubkov one afternoon, m'lord.''

“That wasn't a bout,” said Tal. “And it was instructional. And, mainly, it was because I let him.''

“You let him?''

“Yes, for two reasons,” said Tal as the carriage pulled out of the courtyard and entered the streets of Roldem. “First, he is a Master of the Court and I need friends there, and second, I learned more in losing that match than I would have if I had pressed and won.''

“So that's why you've settled for draws in some bouts?''

“Yes,” said Tal. “But only in practice, you'll note. I've
never lost in competition and I don't intend to start doing so any time soon.''

“Swordsmen from all over the world are coming for this competition, I'd remind you, m'lord.''

“Yes, and I may lose, but that is not my intent.''

“Good,” said Pasko.

The carriage wended its way along the cobbles, and Tal sat back and enjoyed the passing view while Pasko quickly read and discarded the notes pressed into his hand. They were all the same, young women asking Tal why he had not called upon them recently.

Tal sat back and let the fresh ocean air that blew constantly from the west refresh him while he drank in the sights. He had seen three great cities, Krondor, Salador, and now Roldem, and by far he preferred his present location. Krondor seemed rough-hewn and almost primitive compared to the other two, perhaps as a result of having been largely rebuilt from rubble over the last thirty years. Caleb had told him the story of the Emerald Queen and the destruction of the city by her forces, and about the gallant stand by the Kingdom Army at Nightmare Ridge.

Salador, by contrast, was an ancient city, sprawling and metropolitan. The outer districts were dominated by small local markets and streets of businesses, and the inner city bore little resemblance to the ancient walled fortress it must once have been in the dim past. Tal remembered passing through an open gate from one precinct of the city to another, but otherwise there was little to indicate the great wall which must once have been the city's main defense.

Salador possessed some charms, and the two years Talon of the Silver Hawk had spent there becoming Talwin Hawkins had been two of the best years of his life until he had come to Roldem. He had learned to play the lute, the brass horn, and a variety of percussion instruments. He had
lost all accent when speaking the King's Tongue or Roldemish, and could pass as a gentleman from either nation. He had refined his painting, learned to tell a good wine from a poor one—discovering a passion for the former—and mastered the intricacies of court dances.

He had read books and scrolls and studied everything he could about the history of the nations of this continent of Triagia. He learned of the other nations he had not visited, and became an avid student of history.

He had met and known women. At first he had nursed his injury at Alysandra's hands, but Caleb had forced him one night to accompany him through the city, drinking at inn after inn until at last they had arrived at a particularly well regarded brothel. There Caleb had entrusted Tal's care to a cadre of skilled and enthusiastic young courtesans, who had found ways to revive his interest in women. After that, there had followed liaisons with serving girls, merchants' daughters, and the occasional daughter of the minor nobility.

By the time his twentieth birthday arrived—he had adopted the Kingdom custom of using Midsummer Day to mark his birth—he was ready to make his entrance at the Masters' Court.

Robert had appeared one night with forged documents, naming him Talwin Hawkins, a distant cousin to a minor noble in Yabon Province in the Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles. So Talon of the Silver Hawk had become Talwin Hawkins, Squire of Morgan River and Bellcastle, Baronet of Silverlake, vassal to the Baron of Ylith, who had left his father's home to serve with the northern garrison for a while as a Bannerette Knight Lieutenant under the command of the Duke of Yabon, and had honorably left that service to seek his fortune: a young man of rank but no wealth.

Along the way, somehow, he had amassed enough resources to purchase a modest, but tasteful, apartment in the better quarter of the city, where he entertained small groups of young nobles; and had distinguished himself as the finest swordsman and the most eligible foreign bachelor to have arrived in the city in years.

Tal had been impressed with the amount of work that had gone into preparing his way into Roldem society. Letters of credit, introductions, and references had all been prepared in advance. Several locals presented themselves as old acquaintances, even going so far as to remind Tal of details of their past encounters.

To Pasko and Robert's delight, Tal turned out to be a skilled gambler, the result of the logic games forced upon him while he studied with Robert and Magnus. He resisted the temptation to win large stakes, preferring to consistently win small amounts. To ensure that he was invited back to games of cards and dice, he conspired to lose upon occasion, with grace and good humor.

He was judged by everyone who knew him an upstanding young man. Direct, polite, and amusing, he was counted as a prize dinner guest, and rarely did he eat alone at home. His fluency in many languages, his grace as a dancer, his ability to sing and play many instruments, all made him one of the most popular young men around town. Only an invitation to one of the King's galas was lacking; and now rumor provided hope that might be imminent.

The only criticism leveled at Tal Hawkins was from the young ladies of Roldem. He was charming, handsome, witty, and at the right time, ardent. But more than one young woman had accused him of having no heart, for he would never speak to them of love. Desire and the pleasures of the body, yes, and his directness and bold approach
had won more than one young flower of Roldem who had been determined to resist the notorious young man from the west. His bed was empty only when he wanted it to be, but often he found little joy in those who shared it with him. Release, pleasure, and amusement; but never joy. His mind turned to Alysandra from time to time, and he wondered if he was becoming like her, then decided he was not, for he still felt affection for his mentors and remembered the love he held in his heart for his family and those of his village; but when it came to young women, he found them a means to an end, either to satisfy his lust, to gain him social access, or merely to provide diversion.