The Gold Falcon

by Katharine Kerr

  “I want to be me,” she said at last. “Jill was so strong, so powerful, that I feel like she’s another woman entirely. She’s living inside me or suchlike—I mean, I don’t know how to say this well—but sometimes I feel her trying to take me over. Branna will be the dead one, then, and I don’t want to die.”

  “No wonder you’re frightened! You know, this is another reason why so few people remember anything of their past lives.”

  “It’s truly terrifying.” She was whispering. “Will I have to give myself up and turn into Jill again?”

  “I intend to make sure you don’t.” Dallandra put all the calm reassurance she could summon into her voice. “You can have Jill’s memories without being Jill. Think of them as tales you heard a bard tell, or for that matter, as dreams, just as they’ve come to you. There’s valuable knowledge in them, but tales and dreams is all they are.”

  “But you’ll help me?” Branna turned to her with a genuine smile. “I thought you’d—well, it seems truly silly now that I think of it.”

  “I doubt very much if it’s silly, whatever it is.”

  Branna hesitated, but only briefly. “I thought you’d want me to turn back into Jill. I thought maybe I’d have to if I wanted to know what she used to know.”

  “Nah, nah, nah, never think that! Jill was a woman of great power, truly, but she had her faults and blind spots just as we all do. I suspect—and I hope—that she learned enough about them so you won’t need to repeat them. You need to study dweomer as Branna, not as her.”

  “Thank the gods!” Branna began to say more, but tears welled and ran. She wiped them roughly away on the sleeve of her dress—a gesture that reminded Dallandra of Jill, not that she would have mentioned it.

  “We’ll work through this together,” Dallandra said. “You and Neb both are going to have to come study with me and with another dweomermaster I know, Niffa of Cerr Cawnen. She’s a human being like you, and a former apprentice of mine.”

  “Apprentice.” Branna grinned at her. “I like that word. I’ve found my craft and the guild I belong to.” The grin vanished. “But Aunt Galla will miss me.”

  “She’ll have Lady Solla for company and, I hope, Adranna as well. We intend to do everything we can to get Adranna and her daughter safely out of that siege.”

  “My thanks. There’s poor little Matto, too, but you may not be able to save him. I doubt me if Honelg will let him go, and I’m terrified that our gwerbret will have him killed even if he does leave the dun with the women.”

  “What? Whatever for?”

  “So he doesn’t grow up to swear vengeance. That’s just the way things go out here on the border.”

  “But he’s only—” Dallandra stopped herself from launching into a diatribe against Deverry ways. “That’s very sad. I’ll see what we can do to rescue him.”

  “A thousand thanks! I—” Branna broke off speaking and shuddered. “Dalla, someone’s spying on us.”

  Dallandra felt the cold then as well, a thin line of ice drawn down her back. She got up and stood staring into the sky. Far above them in the gathering twilight a winged creature flew in lazy circles. For a moment she could hope that it was Arzosah, but it suddenly dipped into a turn and flew off with a flurry of wings. Since she was seeing it against a darkening sky, Dallandra could only make out a bird shape that may have been a raven—a very large raven.

  “Mazrak,” Dallandra whispered. “I’d wager high that you’re no ordinary bird.” She raised her voice to a normal tone. “Why is Salamander always off somewhere when I need him? I suspect he knows who that is. Here, hold a moment.” When she concentrated on Ebañy, she could feel his mind, but it was so muddled with mead and food that she couldn’t catch his attention. “How like him!”

  Branna had been listening to all of this gape-mouthed.

  “That raven’s evil, isn’t it?” she said. “It must be the same one that was spying on us at home, and now the beastly thing’s followed us here.”

  “It was doing what? Tell me what you know about it!”

  “Well, it looks like a raven, but it’s far too big for that. It kept appearing over the dun, and it gave me a nasty cold feeling, truly, though I can’t explain why.”

  “I know why. Do you know what a mazrak is?”

  “I don’t.”

  Dallandra sat back down. “Well, I think I’d best tell you, and right now.”

  “There’sonething I must say about these Deverry lords,” Calonderiel said. “They set a good table.”

  “They do at that.” Salamander belched profoundly. “Uh, sorry! Mayhap I shouldn’t have had that last goblet of mead.”

  “And didn’t I try to tell you just that? We’ll be mustering at dawn for the ride north. No sleeping till noon for you, gerthddyn.”

  “Oh, ye gods, have pity on this poor fool!” Salamander looked up at the stars and raised his hands to implore them. “Let the dawn come later than usual!”

  “The gods have better things to do. It’s too bad about the tourney, though. They had to cancel it, of course, but I’d have liked to have seen that.”

  They were walking across Dun Cengarn’s ward on their way out. Behind them the noise from the great hall still roared and murmured like a stormy sea. The feasting and the bard songs would go on for hours, no doubt, but Calonderiel, his mind on the coming war, had insisted they leave early. He’d already ordered the Westfolk archers to go down to the camp ahead of them. Salamander had seen Gerran do the same with the Red Wolf men. Prince Daralanteriel, however, had found himself bound by protocol to remain at the gwerbret’s table until the proceedings were over. Meranaldar had volunteered to stay with his prince—to lick Dar’s boots clean afterward, according to Calonderiel.

  As they crossed the empty ward, their footsteps seemed to echo on the cobbles—their footsteps and someone else’s, running after them.

  “Salamander! Banadar! Wait!”

  It was Clae, panting for breath when he caught up to them.

  “What’s all this?” Salamander said, smiling. “Now, don’t tell me you can see in the dark. How did you know it was us?”

  “I saw you leaving, and I followed as fast as I could. Can I come with you? I’ve got to talk to the captain. Neb told me to find you and see if you’d help me find him.”

  “He’s down at the meadow camp. Come along, then.”

  They found Gerran sitting with Dallandra and, surprisingly enough, Branna at a campfire, burning for its light. With the Red Wolf men sharing the meadow, Dallandra wouldn’t have dared to make a dweomerlight, no matter how warm the evening. Clae bowed to both women in turn, but it was a clumsy gesture, since he kept glancing Gerran’s way as if for approval.

  “Forgive me, my ladies,” the lad said, “but somewhat’s happened, and I have to tell the captain.”

  “Then tell away,” Dallandra said, smiling. “We don’t bite.”

  Clae managed a smile, then bowed again, this time to Gerran. “Well, uh,” he began, “a groom stole two horses and left the dun.”

  “If they were in the dun, they couldn’t be our horses, lad,” Gerran said. “You should be telling Lord Blethry this.”

  “Lord Blethry left this noontide to take some messages to some allies in the mountains. He won’t be back for ever so long. And I didn’t want to tell just anyone in case they believed in Alshandra.”

  “What? Why would that matter?”

  “Because I think the thief’s going to Lord Honelg to warn him.”

  Gerran swore and rose to his feet, as supple as a cat and twice as fast. “Why do you think that?”

  “You know how we’ve all been helping tend the horses? Me and Coryn and the other lords’ pages, and all the grooms, I mean.”

  “I do. Go on.”

  “So I heard things, the grooms talking and suchlike, and some of the other servants, too, when they’d come out to the stables to fetch a horse for some lord. And a couple of them worship Alshandra—well, maybe. They never come right o
ut and say it, but then, they wouldn’t, would they?”

  “Cursed right, they wouldn’t, not if they had half a wit between them, anyway.” Gerran sounded more weary than angry. “Ah, by the black hairy arse of the Lord of Hell!”

  “And so, this groom named Raldd, he took a pair of horses out of the dun to exercise them. I saw him go, and he had a couple of saddlebags and what looked like a rolled-up blanket tied to the saddle. And then he never came back. They were two of Prince Voran’s horses, so they’d been put in proper stalls in the stables. That’s how I know where they should have been. I kept looking for them, but it got dark, and they were never there. And so just now I looked all over the dun, and when I couldn’t find him or the horses, I decided I’d best tell you.”

  “Good job, lad.” Calonderiel nodded at Clae. “You have good eyes and the wits to match them.”

  “My thanks, sir,” Clae said.

  “The banadar’s right.” Gerran’s mouth flickered in one of his rare smiles. “You’ve done truly well.”

  Even in the dim firelight Salamander could see Clae blush scarlet. He murmured a brief “my thanks” and stared at the ground.

  “This is exactly what I was afraid of.” Salamander said. “Everyone in the dun saw Zaklof die.”

  “Zaklof?” Gerran snapped. “Who’s Zaklof?”

  “A Horsekin prophet, preacher, and general pro claimer of Alshandra’s cult,” Salamander said. “He impressed Honelg most deeply. In fact, he’s the reason Honelg developed his strange taste in goddesses. Apparently our lord of the Black Arrow wasn’t the only person to wonder how Zaklof could face his death so calmly. From what I heard in town, Zaklof would preach to anyone who asked. He probably made a good many converts.”

  “I suppose he would have, curse him!” Dallandra said. “Captain, is there any way to stop this wretched Raldd before he gets to Honelg’s dun?”

  Gerran turned to Clae. “When did you see Raldd leave?”

  “A long time before they served dinner.” Clae thought hard for a moment. “The sun was about halfway to the horizon, halfway down from noon, I mean.”

  “Right when everyone was working the hardest and most frantically on the feast.” Salamander joined in. “He chose well, our Raldd. Clae here is probably the only person who noticed he was leaving.”

  “The Lode Star’s reached zenith,” Calonderiel put in. “How far is Honelg’s dun?”

  “About thirty miles.” Salamander paused to make a few quick calculations. “There’s a decent road, too, at least for the first twenty, but part of it does run uphill.”

  “He’s got two well-rested horses from the royal herd, the best horses in all Deverry,” Gerran said. “No doubt he’s willing to founder them.”

  “Which means he’s at least twenty miles away by now,” Salamander went on. “He’ll be at Honelg’s before dawn.”

  “You’re saying we’ll never catch him,” Dallandra said.

  “I am.” Gerran shook his head in frustration. “We’ve got some sober men and good horses out here, but by the time we saddled up and set out, he’ll have gained a little more distance on us. We’ll have to circle the town, find the road, and follow it in the dark, when he doubtless knows the way.”

  “We could ride right into an ambuscade, too,” Salamander muttered under his breath.

  “This is a disaster,” Calonderiel said. “Dalla, it means that by the time the gwerbret’s army reaches Honelg’s dun, it’s going to be provisioned for a long siege. I’ll wager he calls up the men of his loyal village, too.”

  “No doubt,” Gerran said. “I would in his place.”

  Branna had been silently listening to all of this. She’d drawn her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, as if she were trying to make herself as small as possible. From the way her head rested upon them, Salamander could tell that she was half-asleep.

  “Branna?” Salamander said. “Hadn’t you better be going back to the dun? The town gates are closed, but if the banadar walked with you, no doubt they’ll let you in.”

  “Oh, ye gods!” Branna was wide awake in an instant. “Neb’s going to worry if I don’t get back.”

  “True spoken.” Calonderiel scrambled to his feet. “Here, my lady, allow me to escort you up to the dun. There’s a candle lantern around here somewhere, I think. The rest of us should all get some sleep, anyway. We’ve got an early start on the morrow.”

  “Just so.” Gerran turned to Clae. “Come along, lad.”

  “A moment more of your time, Captain.” Dallandra stood up and joined them. “Will Tieryn Cadryc be sending his womenfolk back to his dun?”

  “He will, truly.”

  “How many men can he spare for an escort?”

  “Only a few, alas. It’s not like we have the entire warband with us.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  “Do you think they’ll be in danger?”

  “I do, though it’s a hard thing to explain.” Dalla glanced at Calonderiel and changed over to Elvish. “I want them to stay here in Cengarn, but I can’t come right out and tell them I’ve had dweomer omens. Can you think of some rational reason?”

  “Yes, and it might even be true.” Calonderiel turned to Gerran and spoke in Deverrian. “The Wise One here is worried now that Honelg knows we’re coming. What if he decided to send a fast-moving squad out to circle around our line of march and try to take the women as hostages? Branna and Galla would make splendid ones, to say naught of the gwerbret’s own sister.”

  Gerran muttered a few foul oaths under his breath. “I’ll come back to the dun with you,” he said. “Let’s find the tieryn and suggest that the women stay here. I’m sure that Ridvar won’t begrudge them his hospitality. Clae, you go back to the pavilion and get some sleep.”

  Until the others had all left and gotten well out of earshot, neither Dallandra nor Salamander spoke. From the tense way she stood staring into the darkness, he could tell that she had something in mind that she’d rather keep to the pair of them.

  “Do you think you can scry without harming yourself?” Dallandra said at last. “Tell me honestly.”

  “Yes, it should be safe enough,” Salamander said. “Scrying’s always come to me easily, after all.”

  “That’s true, yes. Have you ever seen this Raldd?”

  “Not that I know of. He’s probably traveling through dark forest by now anyway.”

  “Most likely. What about Sidro? Do you think she’d be somewhere near some light?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. I can try.”

  They knelt beside the little campfire. Salamander fed in a few twigs and scraps of bark, then used the leap of flame as his focus. Thinking of Sidro made him remember how much he hated her, her and those sharp little eyes of hers that had nearly gotten him killed.

  The image built up fast. He was seeing her by the light of a single oil lamp on a stone altar. The flickering glow reflected off the obsidian pyramid with sparks of dark fire, a glitter of blackness darting this way and that. Some of the sparks seemed to nestle gleaming in Sidro’s raven-black hair.

  “She’s inside somewhere,” Salamander began, “and I suspect it’s the Inner Shrine. I can see her kneeling before an altar. Behind it is a painting of Alshandra, an oddly realistic picture from the little I can see of it, in the Bardekian style called ’perspective’. Sidro has her arms spread out, and she’s mumbling in the Horsekin tongue.”

  “She’s in Zakh Gral?” Dallandra was whispering in a soft monotone, lest she break his concentration. “You’re sure of that?”

  Salamander let the vision pull back. Under starlight the fortress spread out.

  “Yes, very sure.”

  When he returned to Sidro, she was still on her knees and still wrapped in what appeared to be prayer. Since he’d never been inside the shrine, her surroundings faded off into mist as soon as he tried to look at any object more than a few feet from her.

  “I can’t tell if she’s alone in there or not,” Salamande
r said. “But on the altar there’s a lamp, and it’s exactly the same kind as they have in Bardek, little pottery things with a wick floating in oil.”

  “Bardek?” Dallandra’s voice rang with urgency. “How very odd!”

  “Yes, it is.” Salamander broke the vision and sat back on his heels. “That’s enough for now.”

  “Why? Do you think Sidro realized you were watching her?”

  “No, but I know these people. They can pray for hours on end. There’s not going to be a lot more to see.”

  “All right. Those things from Bardek, do you think they traded for them?”

  “Not directly, if that’s what you mean. In all the many many years I spent in Bardek, I never ran across anyone who knew that the Horsekin existed, much less traded with them.”

  “And it’s not likely that Bardekian trade goods would get all the way north to Cerr Cawnen either.”

  “Even if some had, I doubt if any of the folk there would traffic with the Horsekin.”

  “That’s true, yes. Now, the Bardekians, they have their own gods, too. Do men as well as women worship goddesses there?”

  “Yes. Do you think that’s important?”

  “Yes. Alshandra seems to fill some sort of empty place among the Deverry gods, is why. We have our star goddesses, and of course, the Black Sun, but only Deverry women care about their goddess. Men need some contact with the sacred in female form, too.”

  “I have to agree with that. I doubt if Alshandra’s caught on in Bardek at all, thanks to their bevy of goddesses. Although, you know, I wonder.” Salamander paused, running over memories in his mind. “There’s a place for her already there. Some Bardekians have a goddess with no name and no face. Sometimes she’s depicted as a woman with a veil drawn across her face. At other times, her statues just have a sort of cylinder for a head. She’s a death goddess. I think she protects the dead on their last journey, or maybe she punishes some of them. No one much likes to talk about her.”

  “That’s usual when it comes to death gods. It would be easy for those Bardekians to see Alshandra as one of their own, then.”