Master of Hawks

by Linda E. Bushyager

  “Not until we bind that wound.” He reached her side and began to help her from her horse. As she slipped down he saw that the material she’d pressed against the wound was saturated with blood. He eased her to the ground and peeled back her torn garment and the makeshift bandage to reveal a long, jagged wound along her side.

  Taking a clean shirt from his saddlebag, he tore it into strips. Then he knelt by her to clean and bandage the gash.

  “You shouldn’t have rescued me; you should have taken the plaque on to the Sylvan.”

  Ro shook her head. “I couldn’t leave you behind. We’re a team. Besides, I should have sensed that you would be in danger. By the time I knew, it was too late to warn you.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know that the other bird-path was around any more than I did. I overheard the guards talking about him; his name is Jaxton Sinclair. He’s also a sorcerer—he started the fire at Threeforks.”

  “If he should come after us … ” Ro whispered the thought that Hawk had been considering.

  “I don’t think he will. He’s in charge of Kellerton, and the town is evidently undermanned as it is. I really don’t think he’d take the chance of coming after us himself. In fact, I doubt that he can spare very many men to track us.”

  He finished bandaging Ro, pulled down the cloak she’d tied to the back of her bedroll, and put it around her shoulders. Then he used his sword to rip open his trouser leg so that he could bind his own cut.

  “How bad is it?” asked Ro.

  “A flesh wound. Your wound is a lot more serious.

  It’s not that deep, but you’ve lost a lot of blood …”

  “I’m all right,” said Ro, pulling herself erect. “Damn it.” Hawk limped over to her. “I’m not sure you’re in any condition to ride.”

  “I’m going to ride,” she contradicted with her characteristic determination. “We’re hardly out of Sinclair’s range, if he should try to stop us with sorcery, and we’ve left a trail easy enough for a child to follow. Come on, you know that I’m right—we’ve got to put as many miles between us and Kellerton as we can and get to the Sylvan before it’s too late.”

  Hawk nodded, acknowledging the truth of her words. He knew that even now Castle York could be under siege, fighting against the greatest alliance of sorcerers ever known—Taral and his Council of Seven. They dared not waste any time in reaching the Sylvan.

  “Are you sure you’ll be able to ride?” he asked, helping her mount.

  “You did a good job of doctoring. The bleeding’s stopped now.”

  “Okay, but if it starts again, let me know.” Worriedly he thought of the long ride ahead that might reopen her wound at any time.

  She seemed to sense his fears, for she smiled at him and her eyes glowed with that same fierce intensity and determination he’d seen before.

  “I’m an S’Cascar, remember? Do you think I’m going to let a little flesh wound stop me?” With that comment she galloped off, forcing Hawk to gather his canteen and sword quickly, mount, and pound after her.

  Then she slowed and let him retake the lead. As he passed her he saw her face clearly in the moonlight.

  It was the same beautiful face he’d daydreamed about, but the cold reality of the blood she’d dispassionately spilled washed away his romantic fantasies. For the first time he began to realize that it was not the differences in their height, rank, or birth that would keep them apart, but rather something more fundamental. Even if he were high-born, there would be a gulf between them.

  He admired her self-confidence, her ability to command, her ruthlessness in a fight. But these were the qualities he wanted in a friend, not a lover.

  Uneasily he thought of the men that had died in their escape, the birds he’d hurt, the loss of his mother’s pin. The cost was high, but at least they had accomplished their mission. Now all that was left was to take the plaque to the Sylvan.

  He just hoped that the Sylvan’s aid would not come too late.

  16

  As Jaxton listened to Wagner Prenis report on the escape, he reflected that the last twenty-four hours were just about the worst he had ever been through.

  First had come the bird attack at the Shrine of the Three Miracles, then the battle with the hawk-telepath, and finally the revelation that the man Hawk was in fact his own brother.

  In the next hours he’d had to suppress the shock of that as he prepared the town for further possible attacks. He’d also spoken with various N’Omb priests and town officials in a somewhat successful attempt to mollify their fears that he and the Empire were behind the disruption of the Saint Steffan festival.

  It wasn’t until late that night that he’d had a real chance to think about his brother. In the privacy of his apartments he’d stared at the jade leaf pin and felt the doubts and questions return to the surface of his mind. When he again compared its pattern to that of the gold border around the Pendant of Thantos, he had realized that the means to verify the pin’s origin lay within his grasp. The spellstone could be used to reveal strong memories that might be associated with an object.

  As the great clock tower tolled the hour of one, he had drawn the double circle around the pin and said the spell that wove a web of remembrance. Then he’d placed the amber powerstone over the pin and stared at it until the translucent crystal became opaque.

  Flashes of swiftly changing scenes swirled in a collage of color on the surface of the Thantos. They were glimpses of the lives of those who had worn the pin. It was like looking through the bottom of a bottle as soundless images twisted and formed and then altered. Most of the scenes were meaningless to Jaxton, but they were enough to tell him what he needed to know.

  In the kaleidoscope of shapes and colors he had seen his mother and glimpsed her death at the hands of highwaymen. He’d seen a child grow into a man—the man Hawk. Finally there had been scenes of Hawk struggling with the guards when they’d taken the pin from him. Then the images faded, and the Pendant became lifeless.

  He’d hoped that the pin would reveal some useful information about York, perhaps even confirm his suspicions about the reasons for the bird attack, but the images were too warped and fragmentary to do much more than whet his curiosity.

  Although the spell had confirmed Hawk’s identity, Jaxton had realized that the truth could not alter the decision he had already made. In the morning the hawk-telepath would be tortured, would confess, and would die. It did not matter that a bond of blood lay between them. As far as anyone else knew, his brother had died in childhood, and there could be no alteration in that story. Hawk was a threat to him in too many ways, any one of which would be sufficient for his removal. He was a York spy, a powerful bird-telepath, an unwanted heir to the kingdom of Akron …

  It was regrettable and not a little ironic to have found a long lost brother only to be forced to eliminate him, Jaxton thought as he took the jade pin and slipped its chain over his head. It was his now—a memento of his mother. As for his brother, as far as Jaxton was concerned he had died with her a long time ago.

  He had slept then—the deep, untroubled sleep of one with a clean conscience, or of one without any—until Wagner Prenis had knocked frantically at his door bringing news of the latest in the day’s series of disasters.

  Jaxton pushed aside the memories of the day and concentrated more fully on his aide’s description of the escape.

  “One of the soldiers at the east gate sounded the alarm.” Prenis’s thin face tensed. “When my men and I went to investigate, we discovered the body of the guard on watch at the main door. Then we found the two dead prison guards—one’s body had been half-eaten by rats.”

  “Rats?”

  “Yes, sir—the dungeon’s full of them. After the guard was killed, they evidently were attracted by the blood … and … well, they can get awfully hungry.”

  “I see. So someone got in, killed the three guards, freed the spy, and then they all escaped by the east gate?” asked Jaxton.


  “Well, yes and no … ” Prenis wet his lips. “Apparently only two of them left by the gate. I’ve sent out patrols to look for any other accomplices. According to the wounded guard, only a woman and the prisoner rode out.”

  “Well, how many others were involved?”

  The lieutenant looked at the floor. “The guard didn’t see any others, and nobody saw anything happening at the city hall, at least nobody who’s able to tell the tale.”

  Jaxton poured some water into the washbowl and splashed his face to wash away the cotton that seemed to fog his mind; he must have misunderstood the man.

  He rubbed his eyes and turned back to Prenis. “Are you saying that the telepath managed to escape with the help of just one woman?”

  “Well, no, sir, I mean, I don’t know. It doesn’t seem likely that a lone woman could have broken him out of the cell. More than likely it took a couple men to take out the three guards there without raising an alarm. But the wounded guard swears that there were just the two of them at the gate. Evidently the girl was quite a looker, sir, and one of the men took her up to the guardhouse … “

  Jaxton slammed his fist into his hand. “So she opened the gate?”

  “Yes, sir, and stuck a knife in him too, it seems. Then she and the telepath killed the other two guards and left the wounded man for dead. He was unconscious for a while, but finally woke up and managed to ring the alarm bell.”

  “You said you sent men after them?”

  “Yes, I sent a search party out just as soon as we learned about the escape. I figure they couldn’t have had much more than a couple hour’s head start, and they didn’t have any spare horses with them. I’m sure my men will catch up with them long before they reach Castle York.”

  “If they’re heading for York … ” mused Jaxton. Although it was their most likely destination, the roads would be clogged with S’Stratford’s troops, and the siege could have started by now. No, they might have gone aground somewhere nearby, even headed to Threeforks. If the alarm had sounded sooner, he could have caught them with the Thantos spellstone, but by now they were well out of his range. It crossed his mind that perhaps he should go after Hawk himself. However, the nature of the escape seemed to indicate that there were other York agents still at large within Kellerton; could he afford to leave when they might be planning something else?

  He looked up at Prenis and said, “Triple the guard if you have to, but I don’t want any of their accomplices to get out of the city; and those guards had better be alert!”

  “Yes, sir; I’ll put whatever men are available on duty, but we’re really shorthanded.”

  Jaxton ran his fingers through sleep-tousled hair. “I know. Do the best you can.”

  “Yes, sir!” said Prenis. He hurried out.

  Casting a wistful glance at his still warm bed, Jaxton hesitated and then dismissed the thought of getting any more sleep. So he washed his face again, shaved, and dressed. Then he crossed the hall to his office, poured himself a stiff drink, and walked over to one of the bay windows facing the square.

  The cloudy sky had begun to lighten; in the early morning gray he could make out soldiers below patrolling in front of the city hail. Unfortunately their diligence had come too late.

  His eyes were drawn to the shrine’s spires. He wondered what the N’Omb priests would think when they learned of Hawk’s escape. Although the N’Omb Church was officially neutral in the war, the priests stationed in the Eastern Kingdoms naturally sided against the invaders. They hoped the Church would condemn the Empire. They would try to use an incident such as the bird attack to force the issue.

  Jaxton guessed that Father Richards would suggest that Hawk’s escape had been only a convenient ploy to conceal the Empire’s complicity in the bird attack. The deaths of the six soldiers might help convince the priest of the truth, but Jaxton doubted that even that would completely remove the priest’s suspicions.

  Suddenly there was a flurry of activity in the plaza as a horseman rode up to the building. He was quickly escorted inside. Jaxton hoped that the man had some good news about the escaped prisoner and his accomplices, but when the rider entered his room a few minutes later, Jaxton received the last of the day’s surprises.

  The horseman was a messenger from S’Stratford bringing word that the battle for York had begun and that Jaxton’s presence was urgently requested.

  The content of the summons put a stop to any thoughts Jaxton might have had about pursuing the hawk-telepath himself. The order was imperative and unequivocal. The two halves of the Imperial Army had surrounded York, and the battle had begun earlier than anticipated. He was to leave his men garrisoned at Kellerton and head to Castle York at once.

  “Guard, send for Lieutenant Prenis and have my horse saddled. I’ve been ordered to join our forces at Castle York—Prenis will be in charge while I’m gone.”

  Then he reread the dispatches. By the end of the day he would be facing Douglas S’Stratford. He wondered what S’Stratford would say when he learned about the strange bird attack. What had York hoped to gain by it?

  It was just after sunset when Jaxton reached the army. From a distance the encampment looked as though a thousand fireflies had landed on the plain encircling the dark knoll of rock and gravel upon which stood the castle. At close range the lights became campfires surrounded by dour-faced soldiers, who ate if they could and readied their weapons, for the word had been passed that an attack was expected at midnight.

  A soldier escorted Jaxton across the muddy pastures to one of the tents near the front lines. Inside sat Douglas S’Stratford and Jessica S’Logan discussing strategy over a map of the area spread across part of a table still cluttered with supper dishes. In preparation for battle, the redhead had forsaken her usual flamboyant crimson attire for modest brown tunic and trousers, but Jaxton noted with amusement that the inside of her waist-length cape was scarlet. Although she was not vain enough to let herself become an obvious target, she was too vain to give up her trademark completely.

  At the sound of Jaxton’s entrance S’Stratford looked up, and for a moment his worry-creased expression eased and a smile flickered across his face. Then his lips twitched back into a firm line and his brow furled.

  After a quick, passionless kiss from Jessica, Jaxton reported the events at Kellerton and his judgment that the attack had been a last-ditch attempt to discredit the Empire—an attempt that had failed, leaving the N’Omb priests cautiously neutral.

  As it turned out, S’Stratford accepted the story without much comment or concern. When he sketched out the situation at York for Jaxton, it became clear S’Stratford thought the bird attack was a trivial matter compared to the impending battle.

  The York stronghold was well defended and heavily provisioned, and the presence of a formidable group of sorcerers and numerous protective spells reduced the possibility that the Empire could win with sorcery alone. S’Stratford explained that the Imperial troops had circled the castle at a radius of about one-half to three-quarters of a mile in classic siege strategy, hoping eventually to starve York into submission. However, Brian S’York had taken the offensive by staging a series of sorties from the castle and by positioning the remnants of Derek S’Mayler’s forces somewhere to the northeast so that they could raid behind the lines.

  Using his necromantic powers to foresee York’s moves, Taral had discovered that a surprise attack was planned for that very evening. However, York’s barrier of protective spells had been partially effective, and, as a result, Taral had learned only the time of the attack, not its shape or thrust. He had guessed that with just the moon and stars for light, the assault would almost certainly be based upon magic rather than might.

  Since Taral expected that the main target would be their supply stockpile in the southwest, he had stationed himself and a group of his best sorcerers there. The rest of the Council members were scattered around the perimeter, with Jessica and S’Stratford defending the northwest.

  Ramsey still l
ay in a coma. His spellstones were tuned to him in such a way that they remained useless for anyone else.

  While S’Stratford talked, Jaxton studied the map and familiarized himself with the troop positions, castle layout, and fortifications. Then he tried to second-guess York’s likely tactics, while reviewing his repertoire of magic to find the best way to counteract any type of attack.

  Interrupting S’Stratford’s monologue he asked: “If you think York’s geared up for a full-fledged attack tonight, wouldn’t the best thing be for us to set up a real counteroffensive?”

  S’Stratford shook his head. “Unfortunately we’re not quite ready for that. We expected we’d have weeks, perhaps months, before we’d need siege towers, so we had just started to build them when York began its sorties. We’ve got men working on them around the clock, but it will take several days to complete them.”

  “And when they are ready, Taral will begin the offensive,” added Jessica. “I think he’s just as impatient as I am to get this war over with and complete the takeover of the Eastern Kingdoms. He never wanted to use a siege here in the first place. But the rest of the Council thought we should be cautious.” Her left hand clutched the table edge, her fingernails digging into the top and then tapping impatiently against its edge. “Ramsey was one of that group. I can’t say I’m sorry to see him out of this now. He and the rest were afraid of Derek S’Mayler—afraid of his power and afraid that he might persuade his League friends to rescue York. He’s dangerous, all right, but not that dangerous—I know.”

  Jaxton wondered just how accurate the Red Witch’s assessment could be. She had known S’Mayler sixteen years ago, when Taral’s plan for conquest had only been in the formulation stage and she’d been a spy in the Western League. Derek S’Mayler had been little more than a boy then, perhaps nineteen. Since then he’d had a lot of years to study and grow as a sorcerer.

  He’d seen S’Mayler in action at Threeforks—and the empty shell he’d left of Ramsey. The man undoubtedly had planned most of York’s strategy so far, and he’d probably dreamed up the bird attack as well.