Hawk remembered what he’d heard about the incident. Evidently contrary to orders not to antagonize the Sylvan or to jeopardize their neutrality, the ambitious governor of the Empire’s satellite kingdom of Cumberland had raided the Avedon skytree forest in the province’s center. When Taral learned what had happened, he had not only sent apologies and reparations to the Sylvan but had also had the irresponsible governor executed. Despite this and the fact that the forest people had repulsed the invaders easily, there was growing concern among the Sylvan leaders that the raid had been only a prelude to some future concerted effort by the Empire itself.
Derek shook his head. “I still doubt that it will do us much good. The Sylvan will say that the raid proved that they are powerful enough to defend themselves against invaders and that they don’t need our help. Well, at least you probably won’t be talking to the Sylvan for very long, so you can send Hawk back here soon.”
“Maybe the chance to convince the Sylvan to aid us is slim, but we must take it,” Coleman replied. “We need their help to stop the Empire’s invasion and retake our lands. When I think of what the Empire has done to my own kingdom of Wessex—the death and destruction; looting, rape, and senseless killings to drive the people into submission; then they tax the ones who are left so heavily that they hardly have enough left to feed themselves—when I think of that, I know I must do everything I can to prevent that from happening here in York and to drive the invaders out of Wessex!”
Ro touched Coleman’s arm lightly. Knowing how much Wessex’s loss hurt him, she changed the subject. “Why do you want me along? I should be with the rest of the company. I can catch up with them.”
Coleman glanced warily at Derek S’Mayler, who knew nothing of Ro’s true identity or paranormal powers. “We can discuss that on the road. Meanwhile you’d better start loading your gear. Hawk, your horse should be in the corral, and there are some blankets and saddles by the wall.” Then he clasped Derek’s hand. “I’ll try to be back as soon as I can. Good hunting.”
“Give my regards to Brian,” replied Derek. He gestured toward the gutted stable and town. “Tell him about this, will you? Tell him we’ll do our best to slow S’Stratford, but I don’t know how much we can delay him.”
Hawk strode over to the pile of saddles and studied them absentmindedly. He had mixed feelings about the sudden turn of events. Although the chance to visit the Sylvan excited him, he was dismayed at leaving Derek S’Mayler just when his scouting ability would be greatly needed. He felt as though he were letting his friend down. Yet at the same time he knew S’Wessex was right. If he could help convince the Sylvan to aid York against the Empire, he’d be doing something far more important than anything he could do here. Also, the prospect of working with Ro was a pleasant one, if somewhat unsettling.
He began to rummage through the pile of saddles. Some were thick farmer’s saddles, some were slightly charred, and others appeared to be brand new. Suddenly, as he dug through the pile of leather, his fingers touched an odd-shaped horn. He pushed and pulled the saddle into the sun. It was his saddle. The delicate design around the edge was scorched and marred, and black streaks of soot covered the back and seat, but the perch-shaped pommel he’d made for his birds seemed undamaged. The saddle was no longer pretty, but it was still functional.
The sight of the perch made him remember his eagles, so he telepathed to the birds. They were flying over the Tompkins Road, heading straight toward Swego. He hesitated, longing to discover if S’Stratford’s ships had landed in the port, but he knew that he had to order the birds back now in order to maintain contact.
The eagles wheeled slowly, gliding like kites upon the wind, glad to return to their master and the fine food he provided. While they winged eastward, Hawk’s curiosity about Swego faded, and he began to wonder about his new mission to the Sylvan.
He felt as though the hand of destiny had gripped him somewhere along the line, and he was being forced through a chain of events that were changing not only his life, but also his sense of himself. He didn’t feel quite as shy as he used to, or as lonely. And he found himself wondering what the future would bring with far more confidence than he’d ever felt before.
9
The weariness Jaxton felt had reached a point beyond exhaustion. It was an aching numbness that seemed absolute and unendurable, yet somehow managed to increase with each dreary mile they traveled. He could not remember when he’d eaten last, and when he tried to count the days they’d traveled, they ran together in his mind so that he could not sift them into a pattern that would tell him exactly how far they’d come or how soon they’d reach Swego.
Even that goal no longer had any real meaning, for he knew they’d traveled far enough that they should have long since met S’Stratford’s invasion force. Yet even if S’Stratford had run into trouble, perhaps been defeated, they still had no real choice except to head for the port. For without S’Stratford they would have to escape from York some way, and they could always buy passage back to the Empire by ship.
He took a small sip of water from his nearly empty canteen and again tried to recall the days. First Ramsey had fallen into a coma, brought on either by the overuse of his sorcery powers, by a spell set by Derek S’Mayler, or by some combination of factors. Then they had traveled hard to escape pursuit. Without adequate rest or food, Jaxton had become quite drained of strength. He had reached the point where he could barely function as a telepath.
At first they had expected to meet S’Stratford at every bend in the road. But gradually despair had come to drive them harder than hope.
“Sir, there’s some smoke ahead.”
Jaxton looked up into the excited face of Wagner Prenis, a soldier who’d been scouting ahead.
Rubbing his eyes, Jaxton Sinclair squinted at the reddening western sky, but all he could see was the sun’s bloated disk.
“There, sir,” said Prenis, pointing insistently toward the crimson sky.
“Well, damn it, go find out what it is,” barked Jaxton.
As the man rode off, the telepath tried to contact birds ahead, but in his present state of fatigue he couldn’t sort through the conflicting sensory images he received to find any real meaning. So he prodded his horse into a faster gait and rode after the soldier.
He found Wagner Prenis halted at the forest’s edge, looking down on a hillside of fields stretching to the vast Inland Sea below. The road wound down like a ribbon of black silk to the squat, rectangular spool of the town of Swego.
Pulling the binoculars from Prenis’s hand, he surveyed the sailing ships anchored in the harbor. Black and silver flags identified them as S’Stratford’s fleet. Although part of the town had been burning, now most of the fires had been extinguished. Through the lenses he could just make out the Empire’s banner atop the stone fortress at the base of the town.
“Here, have some more wine and some of this smoked trout. It’s delicious,” said Lord Douglas S’Stratford as he refilled Jaxton’s glass. “There’s plenty more where this came from, you know? This town was as stuffed as a guinea hen with goods waiting to be shipped. It was certainly nice of the York to provide so many supplies for us. If these greedy Swego merchants hadn’t been so eager to continue to sell to the League and the Empire while York was readying for war, we’d have never gotten such a good haul.”
“I think I’ll have a bit more of this pheasant,” said Jaxton. “I enjoy fowl more than fish.”
He lay back into the sofa and crossed his legs, unconcerned that as he moved, his dirt-clogged boots streaked the silken cushions. After a good night’s sleep and several fine meals, he felt rejuvenated. He glanced upward and traced the gilded latticework of the ornately painted ceiling, admiring Douglas S’Stratford’s ability to find and occupy the best house in town. It had belonged to the commandant of Swego’s fortress.
In fact, he felt so good that as he asked about Ramsey’s condition, he wasn’t sure what motivated the question—concern for his old friend,
or his ambitious realization that if Ramsey died there would be an empty seat on the Council of Seven.
“He’s still in a coma,” answered S’Stratford. “It’s as if after his duel with Derek S’Mayler his body went into shock. The lack of proper food and rest evidently worsened his condition.
“But I can see that you are looking much better now,” he continued as he studied Jaxton. “You realize that with your cousin Geoff S’Akron’s death, you have become the Regent S’Akron until Geoff’s boy becomes old enough to rule?”
Jaxton nodded somberly, but inwardly he felt a surge of elation. Geoff’s son Michael was only nine, so he could rule for many years before he would even have to worry about taking care of the child. Meanwhile, he could control the Pendant of Thantos, and with it the kingdom of Akron, as he pleased.
S’Stratford continued without pausing long enough for Jaxton to reply. “I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that Geoff is dead. Even though you haven’t had much training in sorcery, I’m sure you can do more with the Thantos stone than he ever could. We can teach you quite a bit in the next few weeks, and Jessica S’Logan is here too. She’ll be very happy to give you all sorts of training, you know?”
Jaxton smiled at the double meaning in S’Stratford’s words. The Red Witch was as fond of men as of wearing the red clothes that had given her that nickname.
“I’ll look forward to that,” he said as the longwinded S’Stratford paused to pour himself a glass of fine York wine.
Then S’Stratford said, “You may have had some bad luck at Threeforks, but we had a pretty easy time of taking over this town. There was some minor resistance, of course, but the only real problem was in getting here in the first place. I think we originally underestimated Lord S’Mayler. He was really rather clever. He had Suzanne S’Elgyn and Lord S’Decatur stationed at Hayden Island, right in the middle of the Inland Sea. They sent hurricanes at our ships so that we couldn’t get through the Hayden Straits. At first we thought they were natural; it was the right time of the year, you know? So after we docked back at Stratford Bay the second time, we decided to use sorcery to remove the storm.”
He paced the room as he talked, reminding Jaxton of a bantam cock. S’Stratford’s dark hair was thinning and beginning to gray, but his small, wiry body seemed that of a boy.
“That’s when we realized the storm’s true nature. Jessica and I and the other sorcerers with us had to join together to block the spell, that’s how strong it was. We killed S’Decatur and captured that old witch S’Elgyn. They really had us fooled, because S’Decatur used his power to amplify S’Elgyn’s ability to control the weather. After we broke through the storm, we sailed right into Swego without any more trouble.” S’Stratford sighed and then frowned. “Of course, we didn’t know about Derek S’Mayler’s fake messenger or ambush, you know?”
Jaxton knew. When he had sorted through everything that had happened, he had realized that Ramsey must have received fake dispatches saying S’Stratford had landed when his ships actually remained at sea. S’Stratford had confirmed this.
Jaxton asked, “Well, what do we do now? Ramsey’s troops were virtually wiped out, and I doubt that S’Mayler had very many losses.”
“Relax. We’ve got ten times as many men as you had. Yours was just the advance party. We’ll continue on to Castle York as we planned, with one minor change. We’ll travel by way of the Keller Road to avoid Threeforks. It is a longer route, but we’ll be in less danger of attack. Derek S’Mayler will undoubtedly expect us to travel by the Tompkins Road.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” interrupted Jaxton. “That will delay us even more. I’m sure S’Mayler doesn’t have the time to set up any sort of ambush again, and we’d be able to go around Threeforks if necessary.”
“It probably doesn’t matter much,” Douglas S’Stratford replied. “S’Mayler is likely to try to cover both roads, and that means his troops will be divided and less effective. From what you’ve told me about the ambush, it sounds as if S’Mayler can’t have more than a couple of hundred men. We know that all of York’s regular army is tied up in the south against our main force.” He stopped pacing long enough to sip his wine. “I really don’t think S’Mayler will be much of a hindrance, but this time we’ll be watching for trouble, and we won’t let it surprise us.”
Jaxton nodded resignedly, tired of trying to squeeze his comments into S’Stratford’s monologue.
“Well, we will be cleaning up in the town today, sending out our advance scouts and so on, then we’ll move out the main forces at dawn. I’ve arranged a little present for you in your room, now that you’re feeling better.” S’Stratford smirked like a child who’d stolen a piece of candy. “It should be there by now. You can rest awhile and then meet with Jessica and me at dinner.”
Although Jaxton had no idea what S’Stratford had planned for him, as he rose and made his way back to his room, he wondered if Ramsey could have recovered and if he would find the sorcerer waiting. However, his room was unoccupied, without any sign of a disturbance or a surprise.
He wandered over to the window. It had a very good view of the town. From its vantage point several stories above the street, he could see S’Stratford’s men systematically looting the buildings, piling various goods into carts for ultimate transportation back to Stratford by ship or southward, as supplies for their army.
The bodies of the Swego townspeople who’d defended the port had been removed from the square below. However, hangmen’s ropes strung from the huge oak in the center of town displayed the forms of some of S’Stratford’s later victims. Jaxton’s excellent view enabled him to see that most of the men and women had been whipped or tortured before being hung. Even as he watched, another unfortunate woman was carried into the square and tied to the base of one of the greening copper statues of horsemen standing at the corners of the square. One of the soldiers in the group began to whip the girl.
Before he could witness the end to the grisly drama, someone knocked at Jaxton’s door.
“Come in,” he called.
Two soldiers entered, half-dragging a pretty young girl in a torn dress.
“Lord S’Stratford sends his compliments,” said one of the men.
Jaxton laughed deeply, caught hold of one of the girl’s hands, and pulled her to him. “Please thank him for his hospitality.”
Slamming the door after the men, Jaxton drew the trembling girl toward his bed. She hardly fought as he kissed her tear-streaked face and removed her dress.
10
The duet of mating thrushes brushed through the forest, painting a delicate song. The twin voices complemented and contrasted in sweet harmony, while Hawk listened raptly to the melodic, piccolo-like notes. The forest seemed especially full of birds, all singing ancient tunes of courtship prompted by seasonal rhythms.
The sharp edge of the birds’ excitement blended with Hawk’s eagerness to reach the skytree forest of Alycia, but his buoyant exhilaration masked a knot of anxiety. Since they had already passed several skytrees, he knew that they would soon enter the Sylvan territory.
After a brief stop at Castle York, Hawk, Coleman, and Ro had ridden south. Skirting the area around the Twin Lakes, they journeyed toward the badlands bordering southern York and western Cascar. Alycia, the largest Sylvan forest, lay just on the other side of the York border.
They traveled disguised as N’Omb pilgrims, ostensibly heading to the shrine at Elmera, about fifteen miles northwest of Alycia. Wearing simple gray garb, with their weapons and personal possessions concealed inside offering bags, they had avoided arousing the suspicion of Empire troops patrolling the CascarYork border near the holy place. They counted on the fact that so far Taral had not broken the sanctity and neutrality of N’Omb.
Hawk had found himself enjoying Coleman’s and Ro’s companionship far more than he expected. Instead of feeling nervous and shy, he actually relished their company. He wasn’t looking forward to returning to his lonely job as a scout after
this mission.
He remembered the first night they camped out together. As they unsaddled and groomed their horses, Coleman S’Wessex revealed the source of his wide knowledge of the forest people and their customs.
“When I told you I have friends among the Sylvan, Hawk, I wasn’t being entirely accurate,” Coleman said. “Actually, I have a Sylvan half-brother. His name is Elihen; he’s a rather prominent member of the Arthuria forest tribe in northern Wessex.”
Hawk was astounded. “I didn’t think the royal families married anyone outside the nobility, let alone Sylvan,” he said.
Coleman nodded and continued to curry his horse. “That’s generally true. Of course, the great families tend to intermarry, mostly for political reasons, to strengthen treaties and bonds between neighboring kingdoms and city-states. But although some people have frowned on them, there have been marriages to commoners as well.
“However, my half-brother arrived through a more usual liaison, one not sanctified by any marriage vow. My father was quite a lady’s man in his day, as your friend S’Mayler is now, but he was not a sorcerer able to prevent conception. So I have two illegitimate half brothers that I know about, and probably other unknown siblings as well.
“Elihen’s mother was the daughter of the chief of the Arthuria tribe. I don’t know whether my father began the affair out of love or expediency, but it did cement relationships between the Arthuria tribe and the humans in the rest of Wessex. There have been quite a few such liaisons between the Sylvan and the royal houses for just such reasons, although few produce any offspring. Ro has some Sylvan blood, for example.”
“My great-grandmother,” Ro added.
“I still don’t understand how this could happen,” said Hawk. “Aren’t the Sylvan alien? It’s like trying to cross a dog with a cat, if you’ll pardon my analogy.”
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