Talon of the Silver Hawk (5 page)

Talon nodded at the man, who remained silent, studying him. Up close, Talon decided that Caleb was younger than he had at first thought—perhaps no more than ten years his senior, but he stood with the confidence of a proven warrior.

Caleb handed the bow and hip-quiver to Talon, who tied the quiver-belt around his waist and inspected the bow. It was longer than the one he had learned with, and as he tested the draw, he felt Caleb's eyes observing his every move. There was wear at one end of the string, but he didn't judge it frayed enough to be a problem yet. Even so, he asked, “Extra bowstring?”

Caleb nodded.

Talon set the bow across his back, and said, “Let us hunt.''

Caleb turned and led the way, and soon they were trotting down the path into the woods.

They moved silently through the trees. Caleb had not spoken a word to Talon yet. Half an hour into the hunt, Caleb led Talon off the path and down a game trail. The younger man looked around, marking signs in his mind to guide him back to the road should there be a need.

Caleb had led the way at a steady trot, a pace that would have been no problem for Talon when he was fit. But his injuries had weakened him, and he found the pace difficult
after the first hour. He was considering asking for a rest when Caleb slowed. He had a waterskin on his left hip, where his sword usually rested, and he unslung it and handed it to Talon. Talon nodded and drank sparingly, just enough to wet his throat and mouth. Feeling revived, he passed the skin back to Caleb. The silent man motioned, as if asking if Talon wished to have another drink, and Talon shook his head. Looking at the rich woodlands around him, Talon reckoned he could not be far from any number of sources of water—streams, pools, and brooks—but as he was from the high mountains, where water was far more difficult to find, drinking sparingly while on a hunt was an inborn habit.

They resumed their hunt, but now Caleb led them at a walk rather than at a trot, looking at the ground for game sign. They entered a meadow after a few minutes, and Talon paused. The grass was nearly waist-high, pale yellow-green from the summer sun and ample rain.

He quickly unslung his bow and tapped Caleb on the shoulder with it. He motioned with his left hand, and Caleb looked to where he indicated. They made their way into the meadow, noting how the grass had been parted and some of it broken and crushed. Talon knelt and looked for prints. In a depression in the damp soil, he found one.

Softly he said, “Bear.” He reached out and tested the broken blades. They were still moist at the break. “Close.''

Caleb nodded. “Good eyes,” he said softly.

They began to follow the bear's trail until they had crossed nearly half the meadow. Caleb held up his hand, and they halted. Then Talon heard it. In the distance, the snuffling sounds of a bear, and a dull thump.

They crept along until they reached a small brook. On the other side stood a large brown bear, busily rocking a dead tree trunk and ripping at it with its claws in an effort
to expose a hive of bees, which were swarming futilely around the animal. The bear tore open the dried wood and revealed the rich comb inside while the bees stung ineffectually at its thick hide, one occasionally finding the only exposed part of the animal, its tender nose. Then the bear would hoot in outrage, but after a moment it would return to its task of getting to the honey.

Talon tapped Caleb on the shoulder and motioned toward the bear, but the older man shook his head and motioned back the way they had come.

They moved silently away from the scene, and after a short distance, Caleb picked up the pace and led them back toward the road.

Nightfall found the two hunters returning to the inn, a deer across Caleb's shoulders and Talon carrying a pair of wild turkeys tied together at the feet.

Robert waited at the gate. When they got there, Gibbs appeared and took the turkeys from Talon. Robert looked at Caleb.

Caleb said, “The boy can hunt.''

Talon watched Robert's face and saw a flicker of satisfaction. He wasn't sure what had been said, but he was certain it had to do with more than merely hunting game in the woods.

Caleb followed Gibbs around the side of the inn, toward the kitchen door.

Robert put his hand on Talon's shoulder. “So, it begins.''

Talon struggled.

He followed Lela up the hill from the stream that ran through the woods, carrying a large basket of dripping-wet laundry. For the previous week, he had been put in her charge, essentially providing an extra pair of arms and legs for her.

The one oddity had been Robert's insistence that she speak only the language of Roldem to him, answering him only when he correctly asked a question. A few of the words in that language were used in the Common Tongue, but Common was mainly the hybrid of Low Keshian and the King's Tongue, developed by years of trading along the border of those two vast nations.

Still, Talon had an ear for language, he discovered, and quickly picked up the speech from the constantly cheerful girl.

She was five years his senior, and had come to Kendrick's in a circuitous manner if her story was to be believed. She claimed to have been the serving girl to a Princess of Roldem, who had been en route to a state-arranged marriage with a noble in the court of the Prince of Aranor. Depending on his full understanding of her language and the frequency with which the story changed, she had been abducted by either pirates or bandits and sold into slavery, from which she had been freed by a kind benefactor or escaped. In any event, the girl from the distant island nation across the Sea of Kingdoms had found her way to Kendrick's, where she had been a serving girl for the last two years.

She was constantly happy, always quick with a joke, and very pretty. And Talon was becoming quickly infatuated with her.

He still ached inside at the thought of Eye of the Blue-Winged Teal, lying dead somewhere with the rest of her family. Left unburied for the carrion eaters. He shoved the image aside as he lugged the huge wicker basket he carried on his back.

Lela seemed to think his being assigned to her freed her from the need to make several trips to the stream to clean the clothing. So she had found a basket four feet in height and had rigged a harness so he could lug it up the hill on his back. Taking the clothing down to the stream was the easy part of the morning; carrying the sopping-wet garments back up to the inn was the difficult part.

“Caleb says you're a good hunter.''

Talon hesitated a moment, as he had to think about the words before he answered. “I've hunted my life for all.''

She corrected his sentence structure, and he repeated what she had said. “I've hunted for all my life.''

Talon felt frustration inside as Lela prattled on; half of
what she said was lost on him and the other half was mostly gossip from the kitchen, about people he had barely glimpsed. He listened hard, but much of what she said was still lost on him.

He felt lost in a lot of ways. He was still sleeping in the barn, though alone, as Pasko had vanished on some errand for Robert. He saw only a little of Robert, glimpsed through a window of the inn or as he was crossing from the rear of the inn to the privy. Occasionally, the man who had saved his life would pause and exchange a few idle pleasantries with Talon, speaking in either the Common Tongue or in Roldemish. When he spoke the latter, he also would reply only if Talon spoke in that language.

Talon was still not allowed inside the inn. He didn't think that strange; as an outsider, he wouldn't have expected to be admitted to an Orosini lodge, but these were not the Orosini. As he was a servant now, he assumed his sleeping in the barn to be a servant's lot. There was so much about these people he didn't understand.

He found himself tired a lot. He didn't understand why; he was a young man, usually energetic and happy, but since he came to Kendrick's, he battled black moods and nearly overwhelming sadness on a daily basis. If he was set to a task by Robert or Pasko, or in the company of Caleb or Lela, he found his mind turning away from the darker musing he was prey to when he was left alone. He wished for his grandfather's wisdom on this, yet thinking about his family plunged him deeper into the morbid introspection that caused him to feel trapped within a black place from which there was no escape.

The Orosini were an open people among themselves, talking about their thoughts and feelings easily, even among those not of the immediate family, yet they appeared stolid, even taciturn, to outsiders. Gregarious
even by the standards of his people, Talon appeared almost mute at times to those around him. Inside he ached for that free expression he knew in his childhood, and though that childhood was only weeks earlier in his life, it felt ages past.

Pasko and Lela were open enough, should he ask a question, but Lela was as likely to answer with a prevarication or misinformation as Pasko was likely to merely dismiss the question as being irrelevant to whatever task lay at hand. The frustration within that grew from this situation only added to Talon's bleak moods.

The only respite from the crushing darkness in his heart was found in hunting with Caleb. The young man was even more reticent than Talon, and often a day of hunting would go by with fewer than a dozen words spoken between them.

Reaching the stabling yard, Lela said, “Oh, we have guests.''

A coach, ornate with gilded trim on black-lacquered wood, all metal fittings polished to gleam like silver, sat near the barn. Gibbs and Lars were quickly unhitching from the traces as handsome a matching set of black geldings as Talon had ever seen. Horses were not central to the mountain tribes of the Orosini as they were to other cultures nearby, but a fine mount could still be appreciated. The coachman oversaw the two servants, ensuring his master's team was treated with the respect due.

Lela said, “Looks like the Count DeBarges is visiting, again.''

Talon wondered who he might be, but remained silent.

“Put the basket down on the back stoop,” Lela instructed.

Talon did so, and the girl smiled as she vanished through the rear door to the kitchen.

He waited a moment, unsure what to do, then turned
and headed back toward the barn. Inside he found Pasko seeing to one of the many constant repairs the old wagon required, humming a meaningless tune to himself. He glanced up an instant, then returned his attention to the work at hand. After a few moments of silence, he said, “Hand me that awl there, boy.''

Talon gave him the tool and watched as Pasko worked on the new leather for the harnesses. “When you live in a big city, boy,” he commented, “you can find craftsmen aplenty to do such as this, but when you're out on the road miles from anywhere and a harness breaks, you have to know how to do for yourself.” He paused for a moment, then handed the awl back to Talon. “Let me see you punch some holes.''

The boy had watched the man work on this new harness for a few days and had a fair notion of what to do. He began working the straps where he knew the tongue of the buckles would go. When he felt unsure, he'd glance up at Pasko, who would either nod in approval or shake his head indicating an error. Finally, the strap was finished, and Pasko said, “Ever stitch leather?''

“I helped my mother stitch hides . . .” He let the words fall off. Any discussion of his family brought back the despair that threatened to overwhelm him on a daily basis.

“Good enough,” said Pasko, handing him a length of leather with the holes already punched. “Take this buckle”—he indicated a large iron buckle used to harness the horses into the traces of the wagon—“and sew it on the end of that strap.''

Talon studied the strap for a moment. He saw it had been fashioned from two pieces of leather sewn together for extra strength. He noticed there was a flatter side. He picked up the buckle and slid it over the long strap, the metal roller opposite the tongue he placed against the flat side. He glanced up.

Pasko nodded with an ever-so-faint smile, and Talon picked up the heavy leatherworker's needle and started sewing the buckle in place. When he was done, Pasko said, “Fair enough, lad, but you made a mistake.''

Talon's eyes widened slightly, in question.

“Look at that one over there,” he said, pointing to another finished strap. Talon did as Pasko instructed and saw that he had made the loop where he had sewn the end together too short; this belt had triple stitching below the buckle for added strength.

Talon nodded, and picked up a heavy leather knife and began cutting the stitches. He pulled them loose, careful not to damage the leather, then adjusted the strap so that the holes on one side would be where the first line would be stitched and the holes on the other piece would match up with the third. He carefully stitched those two lines, then added a third halfway between.

“That's right,” said Pasko when Talon was done. “If you need to do something for the first time, and there's an example of the work close to hand, take a moment and study what you're attempting. It makes for fewer mistakes, and mistakes can cost a man his life.''

Talon nodded, though he thought the last remark odd. He said, “Pasko, may I talk with you?''

“About what?” asked the older servant.

“About my life.''

“That's something you need to take up with Robert,” said the servant. “He'll let you know what it is he expects as things move along, I'm certain.''

“Among my people, when a youth becomes a man, another man is always ready to guide him, to help him make the wise choices.” Talon stopped and stared into the imagined distance a moment, as if seeing something through the walls of the barn. “I have . . .”

Pasko said nothing, merely watching the boy closely.

Talon remained quiet a long time, then he went back to working on the harness leathers. After more time passed, he said, “I was to be wed. I was to have joined the men in the long house, and I was to have joined in the hunt, planted crops, fathered children. I know what it was I was born to be, Pasko.” He stopped and looked at the servant. “A man was to guide me in those things. But none of those things matter now. I'm here, in this barn, with you, and I do not know my lot in life. What is to become of me?''

Pasko sighed and put down the leather he was working on. He looked Talon in the eyes and put his hand upon the boy's shoulder. “Things change in an instant, lad. Nothing is forever. Remember that. For some reason the gods spared you among all those of your race. You were given the gift of life for a reason. I do not presume to know that reason.” He paused as if thinking for a moment about what to say next, then added, “It may be your first task is to learn that reason. I think tonight you should speak with Robert.” He put down the leather harness and started walking out of the barn. Over his shoulder he said, “I'll have a word with him and see if he's of a mind to speak with you.''

Talon was left alone in the barn. He regarded the work before him and remembered something his grandfather had once said to him: tend to the work at hand and set aside worrying about the work to come. So he turned his mind to the leather in his hand and concentrated on making the stitches as tight and even as he possibly could.

Weeks passed, and summer became autumn. Talon sensed the change in the air as might any wild creature who had lived his entire life in the mountains. The lowland
meadows around Kendrick's were different in many ways from the highlands of his home, but there were enough similarities that he felt one with the rhythm of the season's changes.

When he hunted with Caleb he saw the coats on rabbits and other creatures thickening, anticipating winter's approach. Many of the trees were losing leaves, and soon a cold snap would turn them red, gold, and pale yellow.

Birds were migrating south, and those beasts that spawned in the fall were in rut. One afternoon he heard the roar of a male wyvern, bellowing a challenge to any other male who might trespass on his range. With the shortening days came a melancholy that threatened to overwhelm Talon at times. Fall was the harvest, and putting up salted meats and fish for the winter, gathering nuts and mending cloaks, blankets, and getting ready for the harsh winter to follow.

Winter would bring more sense of loss, for while the harsh mountain snows could isolate a village until the first thaw, it was that time when the villagers grew close, huddling in the long house or round house telling stories. Families would often crowd together, two, three, or even four to a house, comforted by closeness and conversations, old stories being retold and listened to with delight no matter how familiar.