Talon of the Silver Hawk (35 page)

“Tal Hawkins.''

For an instant, there was a flicker of recognition, then he nodded. “You're getting nowhere fast with this fool.” He gave Zemos a nudge with his boot, and said, “Get up, man.''

When Zemos was upright, Creed said, “Give the lad back his gold, and don't make promises you can't keep.''

The gold was returned, and Zemos hurried from the inn, nursing his split lip. Creed looked around the room. “Why don't we go for a walk and find a better inn?” Tal nodded and followed him outside. “What happened to that
fellow you were traveling with, the one who crippled you to prevent me from killing you?” Creed asked, grinning.

“Why?”

“Because I should thank him. I didn't make the connection until just now, but you're the lad who won at the Masters' Court last summer ago, aren't you?''

Tal nodded. “I didn't realize that sort of news traveled this far.''

“Oh, it does, my young champion,” Creed said. “So I think maybe your friend deserves my thanks, because if you're that good, you might have done a fair job of carving me up.''

Tal grinned. “I had a lot of practice between our first meeting and winning that contest. You probably would have skewered me in the first minute.''

“Would have tried, anyway, and that would have been a shame. Anyway, what are you doing looking for that swine Raven?''

“We have business,” said Tal.

“The killing kind, no doubt.''

“Yes.”

They walked down the street, and Creed said, “Rumor is, he's got a camp outside of Coastal Watch and is getting ready to move north in a few weeks.''

“He's going to start burning Orodon villages,” said Tal. “The same business he did years ago with the Orosini.''

“Nasty stuff, that,” said Creed. “I don't mind fighting for my pay, and I certainly have no problems gutting a man who's holding a sword, but killing women and children is not something I'll be party to. Lot of lads feel the same way, so Raven's paying top price for swords. But there's something strange going on.''

“What?”

“Zemos and the others who usually are eager to get you
to a mercenary captain to claim their bounty, well, they're not doing business as usual.''

“What do you mean by that?' They reached another inn, and, gesturing with his chin, Creed indicated they should enter.

It was quiet inside, with barely half a dozen seated at the tables, engaged in low conversation. One nodded at Creed, who returned the greeting. He and Tal pulled out chairs and sat down. “What I mean is that suddenly no one knows where Raven's camp is, or the camps of a couple of other companies who are probably working for Olasko.''

“People know Kaspar is behind this?''

“If you kill people for a living, you sort of want to know who's paying you,” said Creed. “Raven's not going to get good swords on promises of bounty. Those hill-people and fishermen don't have a lot of valuables to loot. Raven's got to make guarantees, and the men have to know where the gold is coming from, so that they know they won't find promises unmet at the end of a campaign.” He paused and scanned the place for a moment.

“Fact is,” Creel continued after a while, “some of the lads are hoping the other side shows up and starts recruiting.”

“Other side?''

“The Orodon. They aren't a rich people, but they've got some gold and other goods to trade.''

Tal signaled to the barman to bring them two ales. “Why would you want to face an invading army?''

“Won't be an army,” said Creed. He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. His shaggy light brown hair hung down over his eyes, giving him a hooded look. “It'll be two, maybe three, mercenary companies. They'll be hitting villages all up and down the coast, and counting on surprise and getting in and doing their dirty work before word spreads.''

Tal nodded. That was exactly how they had done it when they wiped out the Orosini villages. He said, “So if one village is ready for Raven and his men, and can hold them, the entire campaign could fall apart?''

“Exactly. One good fight, and if you win, Kaspar's got to rethink his entire approach to the Orodon. Maybe negotiate with them so they leave his flank alone as he conquers High Reaches. I know he doesn't want to fight on two fronts—no general does.''

Talon nodded. “What do you need in order to put together a company?''

“Me?” Creed smiled. “I'm no captain. I can recruit lads, have fifty for you in a week, but I can't lead. Why?''

“I'm thinking that it might be a smart move to put together a company and ride up to the Orodon border and see if we can make a deal.''

“We?”

“Sure. I'm looking for Raven because I mean to have his guts on a stick, and I'd just as soon do it in a stand-up fight as stalk him through the woods, avoiding his mercenaries.”

“You're talking about cracking a very tough nut, boy.''

“I know, but it's a personal matter.''

“Then here's what you need,” said Creed as the barman brought over two ales. Tal paid him, and Creed continued. “You need enough gold to pay fifty men for three months, against whatever bonuses you offer.”

“I can do that.''

“Then you need supplies, wagons—at least two—and mules. If you can get some engineers, they'll cost you more, but they'll save lives and make it that much more difficult for Raven or the other companies to just ride through.''

“Keep going,” said Tal.

Creed continued to talk, and Tal drank in every word, and they continued making plans as the afternoon wore on. At sundown, the innkeeper brought them supper, and the two men continued talking late into the night.

As dawn broke, a column of riders moved slowly down the pass. Creed huddled under the heavy wool cloak he wore, and said, “We're being watched, Tal.''

“I know. For about the last half an hour, since we crested the ridge.''

They had left Latagore a week earlier, forty swordsmen and archers, a company of a dozen engineers, half a dozen porters, and two wagons. They moved slowly, and Tal kept his point and outriders in close, since he did not wish to appear too menacing as they reached the land of the Orodon.

At the frontier between Latagore and Orodon, they had bedded down outside a small inn, and there Tal got as much information as he could on the land on the other side of the mountains. It had taken them three days to reach the meadow where they had slept the night before, then they had broken camp an hour before sunrise.

“If that innkeeper knows what he's talking about,” said Creed, “the first village should be about five miles ahead.''

“Closer, I think,” said Tal. “They wouldn't have sentries posted that far from home.''

“Unless they were expecting trouble,” answered Creed.

They continued to ride as the sun rose, and as they reached the foothills Tal felt a stab of familiarity. In the distance he could see the haze that he knew hung over the
ocean, but between there and where he now sat, the land reminded him achingly of his home mountains. In the distance he saw a haze. “Cooking fires,” he murmured. Turning to the men, he said, “Rest here until I get back, but don't get too comfortable.”

The men muttered, and a few made jokes, but as he was their captain and was paying them well, they obeyed. Creed had convinced Tal that he had to take the role of captain; otherwise, disruption would ensue. Men who had fought alongside one another, or at other times against one another, didn't feel comfortable taking orders from each other, but from a young captain, obviously a gentleman—that was different, especially when he paid good gold up front.

Talon rode on, moving slowly, not wishing to appear rushed or anxious. He sensed that he was being watched, and as he got closer to the Orodon village he knew there would be more eyes, bows, and swords close by.

He saw the stockade. The gate was closed. Although he could see no figures on the wall, he knew they were there, just as there would be many warriors in the woods behind him as he rode into the clearing.

He came within a bowshot of the gate and dismounted. Rather than speak, he squatted down with most of his weight on his right foot, his left foot extended a little in front for balance, in the fashion of his people. He waited.

Nearly an hour went by before the gate opened and a single man walked out. He appeared to be in his late fifties, for his hair was mainly silver-grey, but his bearing showed he was still a fit and powerful man. He came to stand before Tal and knelt in a similar fashion, saying nothing.

Slowly, in his native language, Tal said, “I seek a parley with the Orodon.''

“You speak the tongue of the Orosini,” said the man
with a heavy accent. “It is a speech I have not heard since I was a boy.''

“I am Orosini.''

The man smiled. “You are not. You have no markings.”

“I am Talon of the Silver Hawk, of Village Kulaam, called Kielianapuna as a boy. My village was destroyed on my naming day, as I waited on Shatana Higo for my name vision. I was left for dead by those who slew my people. I am the last of the Orosini.''

“Who are your people?''

“I am son to Elk's Call at Dawn and Whisper of the Night Wind, grandson to Laughter in His Eyes. My brother was Hand of the Sun, and my sister was called Miliana. All were slain, and I am here for vengeance.”

“Why do you come here for vengeance, Talon of the Silver Hawk?''

“Men are coming to burn you out of your villages, to slaughter your people and scatter your ashes to the winds. They are the same men who destroyed the Orosini.''

“I am called Jasquenel,” the old chieftain said. “In our tongue it means Rock Breaker. If you have cause against our enemy, then you are a friend and welcome. What of the others you've left in the hills?''

“They are my men,” said Tal. “They obey me and will fight alongside your warriors. I have weapons in the wagon, and I have brought engineers, for if we can turn the invaders away while you warn the other villages, then can you save your people.''

The old man nodded, then stood up. “You may enter the village. I will send a man who speaks the Common Tongue to summon your men. We shall feast tonight and discuss what is to be done when the invaders come.''

Tal stood up as well. He extended his hand, and the Orodon chieftain gripped his forearm, in the same fashion
as the Orosini used to greet one another. Jasquenel said, “You are welcome, Talon of the Silver Hawk.''

Tal smiled. “Among my men I am known as Tal Hawkins. They do not know me to be Orosini, and think me a gentleman from the Kingdom of the Isles.''

“Then we shall also call you Tal Hawkins. Come. Let us go inside and talk to the other men of the village.''

Leading his horse, Tal followed the old man. As he entered the stockade, he felt a stab of emotion. It was all so much like his own home, yet there was enough that was different that he knew it wasn't home.

Home would never exist for him again.

Tal waited.

Jasquenel stood beside him on the stockade, watching for the first sign of the invaders. For a countless time Tal reviewed all the things they had done in the last ten days. Runners had been dispatched to all the nearby villages, who in turn sent more runners to villages farther north. If Raven and his company managed to fight their way past this village—Queala—they would be resisted at every other village until they were turned south.

In the ten days since Tal had arrived with his company, he had felt sudden bouts of sorrow and yearning, for no place since his boyhood reminded him of his home as Queala did. The Orodon were not the Orosini, but it was clear that at one time they had been close cousins, for many of their ways were Orosini ways. There was a familiar long house where the men gathered in council,
and a round house where the women worked. Their dress and customs were much like his own people's, too. But there were also differences, and often it was those differences as much as the similarities that reminded him of how much he had lost.

Queala was larger than his home had been, for it had thirty families living within its walls, compared to the dozen or so in Village Kulaam. There were four common buildings, the men's long house, the women's round house, a community kitchen, and a bathhouse. Smaller homes filled the stockade, with only a central clearing left empty.

He looked back over the wall and down at the clearing in front of the stockade. The engineers had dug traps and covered them with canvas; then added light coats of earth for camouflage, and wind and a light dusting of snow two nights before had completely hidden them. There was an inconspicuous-looking twig stuck in the ground a hundred yards to the right and fifty yards away from the wall, and a large rock at the edge of the clearing. From the rock to the twig, then the twig to the gate was the safe route to the gate; otherwise, one risked being impaled upon a nasty set of stakes.

Tal thought about the defense of the village and realized that he had been fortunate; the village had only two walls that could readily be attacked—the south and the west, where the main gate was. The north wall overlooked a very steep hillside, which should be impossible for a significant number of men to climb; two bowmen could easily sit up on the wall there and pick off any attackers foolish enough to try to come at the village that way. The east wall overlooked a gorge that fell away sixty feet below its base.

Two massive catapults had been assembled by the engineers. These men had fascinated Tal by their ability to walk
into the woods with a set of simple tools, some ropes, a few nails, and some spikes, and emerge three days later with such impressive engines. The leader of the engineers, a man named Gaskle, had said that if they had a good smithy, some iron ore, and a forge to work with, they could build him a proper trebuchet in a week, but Tal had observed that he thought the catapults would be sufficient, as they would probably get only one chance to rain rocky death on the attackers before Raven and his men beat a retreat.

Glancing down at the walls, Tal saw where the engineers had reinforced the stockade, against the possibility of the attackers' using a ram. It was unlikely they would bring a heavy covered ram; but they might think to try a large tree bole fitted with wooden wheels, which they could roll down the hill toward the gate. It should bounce off, if it didn't get fouled up in the pits that had been dug along the way. Tal was satisfied that all had been done that could be done.

And so they waited. Sentries two days before had sent word of bands of armed men riding through the southern passes and marshaling in a meadow half a day's ride to the south. Tal glanced skyward. It was now midmorning, so the attack could come at any time. He looked across to the southern wall. John Creed met his glance and nodded. Nothing in the woods there to see.

Tal pondered. He was no expert on tactics or strategy, having read only a few books on the subject while studying in Salador, and having no practical experience of warfare. The skill he had with a sword was as a duelist, and he did not know if it would serve him on the field of battle. Which was why he had come to rely on John Creed and his experience. There was no rank in the company, but it was clear to all the other men that Creed was the unofficial second in command.

At the moment, the thirty men of the company were lounging in doorways or under the overhang at the wall, saving their energy for the coming battle. Tal had sent ten men each to the next two villages up the line, with the engineers, to bolster their defenses.

By all rumor more than one company was moving north, probably two; perhaps three. Tal was occasionally visited by the fear that Raven and his gang would raid another village, leaving Queala to a different band and robbing him of the chance for revenge. He tried to put that out of his mind and be content to let fate bring him what it would. Either way, he would save the Orodon from the fate of the Orosini. Eventually, he would find Raven and those others who had wronged his people—if not in this next battle, then the next, or one after that.

“The signal,” said Jasquenel suddenly.

Tal looked where Jasquenel indicated and saw sunlight flash from a mirror. He waited and counted, and when the signal started to repeat, he said, “Two hundred horsemen coming though the southern pass.” He calculated quickly. “Less than an hour. Creed!” he shouted.

“Yes, Captain?''

“Two hundred riders coming from the south!''

Creed nodded, knowing that every man in the village had heard that. “We're ready.''

Tal nodded. They were ready. Orodon warriors were even now making their way along the palisades, holding both their own weapons and the new swords and bows that Tal had brought in one of his two wagons. As Tal had guessed, like his own people, the Orodon harbored a collection of weaponry that ranged from the merely serviceable to the downright useless. Many swords were family treasures which had been handed down from father to son, with an accompanying story as to how each nick and
crack had been earned. Heavy with honor, they would fail as soon as the first blow was struck.

And while the Orodon might have good hunting bows, war bows were better. The men of Queala were not stupid; they tossed aside their own short bows for the new composite recurved bows Tal had purchased in Roldem from a trader from Kesh. The first time he had seen one of those was when Rondar had used one, for it was the favorite weapon of the Ashunta when on horseback. Made from laminated bone and wood, cured to curve one way, then curved back on itself, it was a short bow with stunning power. In the hands of a strong bowman, it could punch an arrow through light armor like a crossbow. And Tal had brought crossbows, too. A dozen Orodon women stood in doors in the village, armed with them. Should the gate fail and the riders enter the stockade, they would be ambushed from every building they passed.

The older children were also armed. Any child over the age of ten carried a short blade, and the older girls and boys also had been shown how to crank, load, and fire the crossbows. Tal had to explain only once, around the first campfire the first night, what had happened to the women and children of his village to convince the men to put aside their tradition of hiding their families in the round house. The Orodon men were loving husbands and fathers: swiftly they helped their wives and children prepare to fight.

Creed left the south wall, crossed the compound, and climbed the ladder to stand next to Tal. “I wish you'd let me take half a dozen lads into the woods, Captain.''

“I know, and if I hadn't sent twenty men to the other villages, I'd gladly let you.''

“It will break them if we hit 'em in the arse when they're on the verge of being repulsed. I know mercenaries,
and while Raven may be a murdering loon, some of his boys will quit if it looks like they're going to be slaughtered. Not all of them think they're invincible.”

“We can harry them from here.''

“Well, I'll say it one more time,” said Creed. “Those pits that keep them out, they keep us in.” He pointed to where the twig marked the safe route. “We've got to go there and then over to the rock to get out, and if they've dropped some lads into the pits, they'll see that. Raven can put three bowmen over there”—he indicated a place of relative safety in the trees—“to keep us bottled up while he regroups. If we don't kill at least half his men, it'll be a siege, and it won't take that murderous bastard long to realize it.” Suddenly he paused and sniffed the air. “Smoke!''

Jasquenel also said, “Yes! Pitch smoke.''

“They mean to burn us out,” Tal said grimly. “They fired my village as they came in.” He turned and shouted in Orodon, “Bowmen! Target the riders with torches first!” Then he repeated the order in the Common Tongue. A general acknowledgment came from the bowmen on the wall. Tal turned to John Creed. “You'd better get back to the south wall. They're going to hit us here
and
there, I'm certain.''

Creed nodded and returned to his post. Moments later a sentry at the southwest corner of the stockade shouted, “Movement in the trees!” and suddenly horsemen erupted from the woods, racing into the clearing.

“Mark your targets and don't waste arrows!” Creed shouted.

Tal watched in fascination as the riders galloped toward the first line of traps. He searched faces to see if he could spy Raven or any other man who might look like those who had killed his family. But these were just men, and his chest
constricted at the thought that some of those responsible for the death of his people might go unpunished. Then the first rider reached the line of traps. For the briefest of moments, Tal wondered if the canvas-and-earth coverings were too sturdy, for the horse's front hooves struck it, and for an instant it held. Then the canvas and twig frame under it collapsed, and the horse went down. A man's scream echoed the horse's as both animal and rider were impaled on sharpened stakes. The riders' momentum was too great for those in the second or third ranks to rein in before they also plunged into the traps. A few lucky ones managed to get their horses to leap over the ditches, landing on solid ground a yard or two beyond the ditch, only to find two strides later
that another line of traps had been dug.

As the fourth rank of riders reined in, Tal shouted, “Catapults!”

The two boys who had been given the responsibility for firing the war engines yanked hard on the lanyards that released the big arms, launching huge baskets of fist-sized rocks into the air. The missiles came crashing down onto a dozen riders, unhorsing many of them, and killing or injuring them all. Tal made a quick count and reckoned that thirty or more riders were down, either too injured to fight or dead. His men had yet to suffer an injury. He knew that would change. Then he saw Raven. The leader of the marauders emerged from the tree line, calling for his men to regroup. Those nearest the wall were being cut down by archers, and any man with a torch was struck with half a dozen arrows before he could throw his flaming brand. Even with his exceptional sight, Talon couldn't make out Raven's features, but he could imagine that the mercenary captain's face would be set in an enraged mask as he shouted orders to his panic-stricken men. What they had
expected to be an easy raid—the burning
and destruction of a sleepy village, executed with few casualties—had turned out to be something of a rout in the first five minutes, with nearly a quarter of Raven's men dead or too injured to continue the fight.

Suddenly Tal understood he had been too cautious. Had he let Creed take half a dozen bowmen into the trees behind Raven's position, a flight of arrows at this moment would have broken them. They would be in full fight now rather than regrouping for another assault. Instead, he realized, Raven was not going to let the defenders sit comfortably, but was hatching some other plan. He watched men dismounting and disappearing into the woods. Within minutes they could hear the sound of axes, as trees were being felled.

“What now?” Tal called to Creed.

“I think he means to deal with the pits,” said Creed, waving his hand to indicate the pocked ground where the network of pits stood revealed.

Tal glanced around and saw that everyone was still holding their places. He hurried down a ladder, crossed the yard, and climbed up next to Creed. “You were right about the archers in the woods, so I'll be far more willing to listen to anything you have to say now.''

“I could still get some men over the north wall,” said Creed, “but surprise is no longer possible. I think we should just sit tight until we see what he's got up his sleeve.''

“What would you do if you were Raven?''

“I'd turn tail and trek back over those mountains to the south, but then I'm not a murderous lunatic who dares not show his master failure. No, I'd be building turtles for my men to use to get close to the wall, and I'd be building ramps to drop over those trenches, and then I'd get some men in close enough to fire the logs of the stockade. Either
the gates burn off, and I rush the place, or I wait until the defenders come out and take them as they do.''