“Lady Rani, Lady Mair,” Gry took advantage of the broken hostilities to regain the young people’s attention. The master falconer added the noble title to the girls’ names, as if he were accustomed to following the polite form of address with only a few syllables, instead of a noble’s long name. “It is getting late in the day. If these falcons are going to fly, they should do it now, before dark. It can be hard enough finding them at noon, once they’ve taken their prey in the high grass.”
Rani bit back a sharp reply, swallowing her inclination to claim that she had been ready to fly the falcons hours before. Instead, she turned her back on Bashi, stepping toward the falcon-master with a nervous energy. “Do you really think Kali’s ready, Gry? Do you think she’ll come back?”
The old falcon-master shrugged, and his brows beetled ominously. He tugged again at his ear. “If I didn’t think she was ready, I wouldn’t have brought her out here. There’s no way of knowing for sure, though, until you try.”
“But –”
“You’ve trained her, haven’t you? You’ve been around my mews long enough to understand that this kestrel won’t be acting like a dog. She won’t come back out of love for you. She’s still a wild beast.”
“I know that!” Rani protested, fighting the hot blush that stole across her cheeks as she heard Bashi choke on a guffaw. “It’s just that after all the time and energy we’ve put into training her.…”
The master falconer squinted as he settled a hand on the cadge. “She flies to your lure, doesn’t she?”
“Of course.”
“And she’s stopped bating when you hold her on your fist?”
“Yes.” Rani fought back a grimace, remembering her frantic struggle the first time the falcon had tried to fly away from her gloved hand, even though the bird had been held close by the leather jesses around her talons. Rani’s face had been batted by the tips of the falcon’s wings, and she had waved her arm in reflexive fear, upsetting the poor kestrel even more. Rani had been grateful for the thick cuff of her buckskin glove as Kali dug in her talons above her would-be mistress’ wrist.
The master falconer persisted. “And you know your kestrel’s hunting weight?”
“Yes.” Rani struggled to keep doubt from her voice. Hunting weight – that had proven to be the hardest part of the discipline of falconry. Rani had held Kalindramina within minutes after the bird was first caught in Gry’s snare. The little falcon had fought with the power of all the Thousand Gods, desperate to be free. Rani, though, had followed the master falconer’s instructions with trembling hands. She had slipped a long band of leather about the wild bird’s body, pulling the noose tight to cinch in the kestrel’s desperately flapping wings. With Gry’s help, Rani had managed to settle a hood over the falcon’s head, barely cinching the soft buckskin tight before the bird’s cruel beak could slash through the leather.
Kalindramina had quieted then. She had stopped thrashing her wings, and her talons had ceased their frantic opening and closing. Nevertheless, the kestrel’s heart had pounded, quivering faster than an infant’s as Rani pressed her fingers against the bird’s breast-bone. “Aye,” Gry had crooned. “You feel that? D’you feel the meat on her? We’ll let her lose a little of that flesh, so that she’ll fly when we ask her. A hungry falcon is a trapped falcon. A hungry kestrel stays to eat. A hungry bird can be recaught.”
Rani had checked the breast-bone again, and one more time, before she was certain that she knew the feel of Kalindramina’s full fed weight. Then she had nodded, and Gry had taken the kestrel away to the mews.
Now, a breeze picked up on the hilltop as Rani pressed a gentle finger against her bird’s chest. The girl had grown accustomed to the miniature thunder that pounded behind the deceptively fragile cage of bones. Kali’s heart yearned to fly free, to soar above the grasslands. The falcon longed to bank against the wind, spying the ground, watching for prey. Rani nodded to Gry, registering the weight of the hungry kestrel. “Aye. She’s ready to fly.”
“Let’s fly her then.” The bow-legged falconer waited for Rani to step up to the cadge. The girl took a deep breath before settling the falcon on her gloved fist. She fumbled with the hood for a moment, but then Kalindramina was blinking in the late afternoon light, cocking her head to the side as she looked at Rani. The girl drew in her breath sharply, snared as always by the beauty of the tiny feathers that fanned out from the falcon’s eyes.
Bashi pushed past Rani to the cadge. As he reached for Maradalian, he grunted, “Aye, let’s go.”
Rani squealed her protest. “No!”
“Gry.” Bashi’s single word held an entire argument.
“Bashi, you can’t!” Rani complained. “You know Maradalian will catch the prey. She’s faster than Kali, and larger. It’s not fair!”
“The Thousand Gods favor the fast.” Bashi stripped off his peregrine’s hood, settling the bird on his gloved fist with brutal efficiency.
“My prince,” Gry began, clearly uncomfortable. “You know how important it is that Kali succeed on this first flight. The bird is too valuable to break on a whim.”
“Oh, all right!” Bashi exclaimed. “You have my word. I’ll keep Maradalian on my fist until after Kali has flown.”
“But –” Rani began to protest.
“Surely Gry has taught you enough about falconing that you understand Maradalian won’t have a chance? Your kestrel will have the advantage of height and speed as she drops toward the prey.”
“I know that!” Rani snapped, irritated that Bashi was instructing her as if she were a child. “It’s just that –”
“What? You think that Kalindramina is too weak to hunt, even with the advantage of height?”
“No! I only.… Please –” Rani began again, but this time she was cut off by the soldier, Farantili.
“Perhaps, Your Highness, we should simply wait for another day.” The guard addressed his comment to Prince Bashanorandi as he looked morosely at the lengthening shadows.
“Ranita?” Bashi bowed toward the former apprentice, ceding her the choice with a twisted smile.
“No,” she answered miserably. “Let’s get this over with.”
Gry waited a moment for her to confirm her decision with an unhappy nod, and then he whistled at his hound. The little dog had watched the exchange with growing excitement, whining softly as both falconers settled their birds on their wrists. Now, he understood his mission, and he coursed out over the grassy hillside, nose low to the ground as he ranged back and forth. Rani followed, taking long strides in her riding leathers, remembering to croon softly to Kalindramina. The little kestrel was fast enough to get the prey, even if Maradalian were competing. Rani knew that. She just had to repeat it to the falcon a few times.
Bashi crashed behind them, the grass rustling loudly against his legs. Gry came next, then Mair and the soldiers.
An excited hush fell over the humans as they watched the dog. The sun was visibly lower in the sky, and the hound had covered half the distance to the shadowy copse of trees before he found his prey. Just as Rani was preparing to offer up a special prayer to Fairn, the god of birds, the little dog finally snapped to attention, all of his canine energy focused on a large tuft of grass. Gry nodded tersely and waved his hand, indicating that Rani should move around to the far side of the tussock.
Rani complied, aware that her heart was beating almost as fast as her falcon’s. She watched the hound, hoping, praying that the beast would remember its training, would wait until Kali was ready. The dog quivered with excitement, but he stayed low in the grass, head pointing at the hidden grouse like an arrow.
Rani’s fingers were slick with sweat as she loosened Kali’s jesses. She clenched the muscles in her arms and tossed the falcon gently skyward. The kestrel did not hesitate; instead, she caught a puff of breeze and began to climb above Rani, circling to use the wind to her best advantage. Rani caught her breath. This was the moment when Kali could choose to fly away, could choose to find her own
meal, her own prey to satisfy the hunger that burned in her belly.
The kestrel did not flee, though. Instead, she reached a comfortable height above her mistress, banking into the wind and settling her wings against the draft, managing to stay even with scarcely any effort. Rani watched for only a moment, until she was certain that the kestrel was waiting on, and then she shouted a harsh command to the dog.
The hound leaped forward as if propelled by a spring, barking as grouse exploded from the tussock of grass. The birds flapped their wings desperately, struggling to clear the ground, to escape the slashing canine teeth. Rani’s heart leaped into her throat, almost strangling her with its sudden pounding. Her glance flashed from the dog to the grouse to Kalindramina.
As if Rani were staring through a tunnel, she saw the falcon’s wings pull in toward its body. The sleek red and brown feathers moved with precision, calm and quiet despite the turmoil on the ground below. Rani imagined she could see the kestrel’s sharp eye; she felt it measure the distance to the grouse, calculate how far the slow prey could travel while the falcon plummeted. Then, Kali’s talons were extended, and the kestrel plunged from the crystal sky.
Kalindramina never caught her prey.
Even as Rani watched, an ebony lightning bolt flew from the earth into the sky. The grey and white arrow caught Kali in the middle of the kestrel’s plunge, knocking the bird aside. Feathers exploded in mid-air, and Rani’s heart was sheared by her falcon’s furious cry. Even as the grouse fluttered to safety, Rani tried to decipher the scene before her. The hound took up an excited barking as Rani ran forward. The girl ignored the dog, ignored the rough grass, ignored everything except the whirlwind that tore across the ground.
Maradalian, Bashi’s peregrine, screamed from the tall grass, struggling to lift its prey to safety. That kestrel prey, though, thrashed about, shrieking its own desperate cry. “Kali!” Rani added her panic to the melee. “Gry! Stop them!”
The old falconer, though, understood the danger of getting between two fighting raptors. He knew too well their razor talons, their tearing beaks. Gry held his ground. Maradalian was the larger bird by far, and more experienced in flying with jesses attached. Kali was struggling to fight her way free, screeching her rage, flapping her red and brown wings.
Rani reached into the avian whirlwind, leading with her buckskin glove. Maradalian slashed at her with a sharp beak and Rani swore, grasping at the bird with both hands. Before the peregrine could react, Rani sucked in her breath; Kali had caught her unprotected left palm with a dagger-sharp talon. “Gry!” Rani panted again, desperate for assistance.
The falcon-master could not move, though, before the kestrel fought its way free from the ground. Even as Rani grasped at Maradalian’s jesses, Kalindramina took to the sky. The red and brown bird pumped her wings hard to gain height, and Rani thought that she must be injured to labor so hard. “Kali!” she gasped, but the kestrel only circled once before she flew off to the east, pushing toward the copse of trees.
Rani raised her bleeding hand to her mouth, sucking at the jagged wound even as she watched her treasure disappear into the sky. Blood flowed freely from the slash, and the salty taste on her tongue made her stomach tighten.
Even as she fought the urge to gag, Gry stepped forward, managing to slip a hood over Maradalian’s frantic eyes. The falcon-master stood still for a moment, blinking in disbelief, and then Prince Bashanorandi stepped forward to claim his falcon. His face was pale as he settled the bird on his gloved fist, and he sucked breath between his teeth when he saw the jagged slash across Rani’s hand. For just an instant, he looked precisely like a fifteen-year-old boy, caught breaking the rules.
“Bashi!” Rani spat. “You did that on purpose!”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“You wanted to kill Kali!”
The prince’s tongue darted over his chapped lips. “I never wanted any such thing! I held back until Kalindramina had the height.” His gaze followed the course that the kestrel had flown, and he shook his head. He swallowed hard before adding plaintively, “I assumed she’d have the skill to catch her prey.” Bashi settled a protective hand against the dark grey feathers of his now-calm peregrine, then he reached into a pouch at his waist and pulled out a kerchief. “You’re bleeding all over. Wrap your hand with this.”
Rani wanted to throw the cloth at his feet, but she dared not. Mair stepped forward to bind up her wound, not bothering to disguise a hateful glance toward the prince. Bashi became absorbed with his peregrine’s feathers, and he muttered, without looking up, “You have to admit, Rani, Maradalian didn’t have much of a chance, flying from my fist.”
“I don’t have to admit anything, you bastard!” Rani sucked in her breath as Mair knotted the kerchief across her palm.
Prince Bashanorandi paled still further, and his lips turned to grim stone. Maradalian sensed his tension and the peregrine bated, trying to fly from his gloved fist, only to be pulled up short by her jesses. Bashi soothed the bird mechanically before he turned back to Rani. When he spoke, the words were pulled out of him like wool thread stretched on a spindle. “So you would remind me, merchant girl. Every single day, you would remind me.”
Rani saw the raw anger in Bashi’s eyes, recognized that the better part of his rage was because Mair and the soldiers had witnessed their altercation. For just an instant a chill crept up Rani’s spine. Before she could reply, Bashi spun on his heel and marched up the hill toward the cadge. Gry followed close behind, but the soldiers waited until the girls were ready to make the climb. Rani lingered for a long moment, staring east into the gathering night-time gloom, toward the copse where Kali had disappeared.
Mair whispered, “Don’t even think about it, Rai.”
“She might be there.”
“Why would she? She’s frightened and hungry. And free.”
“That kestrel is my responsibility, Mair. She might get tangled by her jesses. I trained her for four months –”
“Lady Rani,” Gry called from the cadge. Even in the dim twilight, Rani could make out the falconer’s impatience as he helped Bashanorandi settle Maradalian on a perch. The stocky man’s voice was harsh as he spat out his frustration with Rani, with the royal prince, with the loss of one of his birds. “It’s not likely that Kalindramina stopped at the trees. She’ll be far away by now.”
“I have to find out for sure.”
“It’s getting late, Lady Rani!” The falconer tugged at his ear as if he would rip it away from his skull. “King Halaravilli will be angry!”
“Aye, Gry. Bashi should have thought of that before he flew Maradalian.”
The falcon-master shrugged. “Bashi wasn’t thinking.”
The prince moved before Rani could realize what was happening. Pulling a curved dagger from the top of his boot, Bashi slashed his blade across the side of Gry’s throat. “My name is Bashanorandi, you Touched dog!”
Gry cried out and sank to his knees, even as Rani shouted the falcon-master’s name. In a glowing ray from the setting sun, Rani could see Bashi’s face, could make out the momentary horror etched across his eyes. The prince was clearly astonished by his own action, and his right hand trembled on his curved knife. Bashanorandi looked up at Rani, reaching toward her with his empty hand, grasping like a child.
“In the name of Fen, what have you done?” Rani croaked the question before she could think.
She saw Bashi register her words, saw him absorb the name of the god of mercy like a slap across his face. His cheeks flushed crimson beneath his ginger hair, and before Rani could speak again, he had whirled on the stricken falcon-master, drawing back his fine leather boot to sink his toes hard into the falconer’s side. The stocky man curled up reflexively, the action making blood spurt from his throat. He pleaded with the prince, making a horrible gurgling sound.
“Your Highness!” barked Farantili, sprinting to the hilltop. “Leave him be!”
Bashi drew back, trembling with rage. Rani stared at t
he prince in amazement, unable to comprehend what he had done. Mair’s eyes blazed in the twilight, and she rushed to the master falconer, tugging at her cloak in a futile attempt to rip it into bandages.
“Stand back!” Bashi ordered. He snatched at Mair’s arms, dragging her away from Gry. “Don’t get near that Touched dog!” Even as Mair fought against the prince’s grip, Farantili stepped forward. “Soldier! Don’t even think about helping him!”
“He’s a finer man than you’ll ever be,” Farantili grunted, falling to one knee beside the stricken falconer. Gry’s hands and feet twitched, and his body began to spasm.
“Leave him!” Bashi’s throat tore on the shout, and he fumbled for his curved blade. “That’s an order, man!”
For just an instant, Farantili stared up at his liege, his eyes dark with unspoken emotion. Then, the soldier turned back to the falconer, and he began to mutter soothing words, trying gently to view the wounded man’s gaping throat. Bashi gasped in disbelief, and then he raised his curved blade. “To me!” he cried, flashing a glance over his shoulder at the other guards.
There was a moment’s hesitation, while loyalties fought among themselves, and then a tempest broke over the hillside. Metal clanged against metal. Horses whinnied in panic, the sound high and chilling on the twilight breeze. Maradalian bated from her perch, fighting her hood and jesses. One of the soldiers crashed into the cadge, splintering the birch supports.
As Rani watched, Farantili was shoved to the ground amid the shambles of the cadge. Another soldier stepped up, menacing the fallen fighter with a short sword. Rani cried out, desperate to stop the bloodshed, but before she could make herself heard, another guard was cut down, bellowing as his hamstring was sliced by one of Bashi’s loyal men.
Across the now-trampled grass, Rani could make out the sound of bones crunching. Two soldiers pinned Farantili to the ground, pressing his spine against the shattered birch uprights from the cadge. One of the pair straddled Farantili’s chest and began to pummel the man’s head, starting with closed-fist blows and ending with a simple rhythmic pounding. Farantili’s limp neck hit the earth again and again and again.
Glasswrights' Progress Page 2