Falcon Heart: Chronicle I an epic young adult fantasy series set in medieval times

by Azalea Dabill

  “You are a crafter of words and wills, whatever else you may be.” Shahin grinned. “You have your Shaheen’s love, and she is led by the spirit of the falcon.” He inclined his head. “Your plan is good. It will be done.”

  Tae looked him full in the face for a steady moment, then dropped his eyes and bowed over his knees, baring the back of his neck.

  Alaina sighed silently. It was a sign of utmost trust, to risk a deathblow by exposing the neck. It was a moment she must remember to record for her grandchildren. If she ever had them. She frowned and picked at the embroidery of her sash. The stitches were not as fine as she would wish.

  Tae said quietly, “My God bids me fight for those in need of just defense.”

  “The one the Eagles killed on crossed trees?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have heard of that God. I am content.” Shahin tilted his head. What did he wonder?

  “My Shaheen follows his true spirit, as do I. The falcon reflects his power.”

  “We will speak of that when the spirits clear our heads of battle.”

  “As the Father of all wills.” Tae clasped Shahin’s wrist and released it.

  Shahin hesitated, then with a smile, his fingers closed on Tae’s arm in return.

  Alaina shifted off her tingling feet. Impassive and reflective as water by turns, Tae’s face and Shahin’s intentness fit each other like the flat sides and edge of a sword. The Twilkets did not know how strong a flood of Nur-ed-dam they had released.

  Faisal stirred, staring at Tae with his hunting look, his mouth a little open, nostrils flaring, eyes dark. He turned his eyes on Kyrin, almost with regret.

  Alaina’s heart constricted, “What—”

  And Faisal clamped a hand on Kyrin’s leg and slid her dagger from her sash with the other. Alaina lunged for him; he would not hurt Kyrin. Faisal rose to one knee, flipped his wrist back and threw.

  Snapping to face Faisal’s quick motion, Tae saw the blade flipping toward him. He dived aside and rolled up to a crouch. The dagger thumped into the wall where he had been, stuck a moment, then was dragged through by a heavy weight.

  The wall bulged. The bulge slid and hit the ground outside with a faint thud. The felt quivered then was still.

  Alaina got to her feet beside Faisal, the lamp in her hand. The heavy base comforted her, a good club if an enemy entered. He would target the light.

  Kyrin held her cushion over her shoulder, seeming uncertain whether to hit Faisal with it or not. Her eyes darted from him to Tae and back. Alaina choked back a giggle. Faisal looked at none of them but held his own dagger ready, his eyes locked on the slit where the falcon dagger disappeared.

  §

  Tae’s heart thundered, lamp-smoke bitter on his tongue. No sound. No shouts from sentries, no attacking yells, no soft step without. It would be a hard-nerved man, to wait for the first move within the tent after his fellow fell. But it could be. He would wait longer.

  Everyone had a weapon in hand. Faisal had not relaxed. He was wise, I should not have left my blade off for this first meeting.

  There came a step outside, and someone touched the tent wall near the slit. Shahin barked “My warrior!” and grabbed at Faisal’s arm. Too late.

  The dagger catapulted from Faisal’s hand. He looked after it in horror. Kyrin snatched at it and missed. Alaina had not trained to catch one.

  Tae exploded forward and slapped his palms around the spinning blade with a “clop!” drawing his hands toward him, dissipating the weapon’s force. He had been trained.

  Shahin twitched—and lowered his blade from Faisal’s side. He inclined his head in respect and breathed out a long sigh. An Aneza voice rose outside, shouting in alarm and question. All in the camp would wake soon.

  Tae lowered the dagger, letting out his breath quietly. “Most times you get cut.” He considered his unmarked hands and handed Faisal’s dagger to him with a bow, then gripped his shoulders and hugged him close. “My thanks, warrior, that the falcon struck true. Though my heart is glad your own blade did not.”

  Faisal reached up and just touched his shoulders, solemn.

  The bond of brothers. Tae inclined his head and stepped back. It was good.

  Faisal lifted his head, triumphant, his blade beginning to quiver in his hand. Tae smiled and turned to Shahin. And his mouth flattened.

  A dagger in the back was the lowest blow of the low. But with the assassin outside might lie a chance to end the war before it started.

  18

  Consequence

  Commit your works . . . unto the Lord . . . ~Proverbs 16:3

  Shahin went to the tent door, opened the flap. Two Aneza slipped inside, wary. They whispered, fast and angry. “No,” Shahin said. “Speak plainly. This man is my brother, and these”—he swung his arm to include Kyrin, Alaina, and Faisal—“are within my tent.”

  The older warrior gave Tae a short dip of his head. “Our enemy moves swiftly. That was a Twilket. He is the only one at this moment.”

  “Your men search for his camel?” Tae ignored the warriors’ first anger and slipped into his place of command with barely an ache.

  The older warrior looked to Shahin, and at his nod, turned to Tae. “Yes. They will find his beast, and no Twilkets will get past us again. Guard yourself, my sheyk, though I will stay outside.”

  “Yes. We need every lance.” With a gesture, Shahin sent the younger Aneza to assemble the camp.

  “I would like to see the Twilket.” Tae waved at the tear in the tent wall. A disconsolate wind nosed it, revealing ragged darkness.

  Shahin held out his arm toward the tent door. “As you say.”

  Tae ducked out, dragged the man to the front of the tent, and laid the limp body on its side. Alaina raised the lamp.

  For a moment, the dirt-smeared high cheekbones and wrinkled brow turned the Twilket into Paekche, Huen’s father, frowning even in his sleep. Tae blinked, and tightened his fingers on nothing. That night of treachery came long ago. It was not now. The round brown eyes and thin beard of the Twilket man were again strange to him.

  Was this a simple warrior, or one used to assassin’s work? Tae bent and ran his hand around the man’s ribs.

  Yes, there. He set a thin, heavily etched dagger in Shahin’s hand, the well-worn blade of a man who kept his tool with care. The sheyk pursed his lips.

  There were other places to look. Tae unwound the assassin’s turban and found several small darts wrapped in careful folds. He set the darts aside, their heads rammed harmlessly into the sand, and searched on. He held up two blown-glass vials to the light and edged the corks free, careful not to jostle the cloudy contents. He sniffed, a bare intake of breath a handspan above each vial, and passed them to Faisal. One was snake venom, the other a deadlier poison he did not know. Faisal handed the vials to Shahin, while Tae rolled the assassin free of his sash.

  Nothing. He pulled the man’s arm from under him and slid back both long sleeves. In his left fist the assassin clenched a blowpipe the length of his hand. Tae freed it with a twist and laid it beside the darts.

  §

  Faisal eyed Tae’s stony face. It must have been a long-ago head wound that left his hair above his left ear white. He moved without wasted motion, as a man who dealt often with bodies and weapons. Faisal grunted.

  The assassin must have stood close to the felt, listening, waiting for his moment. And he had chosen Tae and not Shahin. The falcon blade had taken the Twilket in the side, through the ribs, to the heart.

  Tae withdrew the blade, wiped it on the man’s thawb, and handed it to Kyrin. She grasped the end of the haft between thumb and finger. There was still blood on the blade.

  Faisal wondered if she would scrub it. He had seen her at the edge of one of the pools, scrubbing her arrow shaft she had wedged under her knee, as if she could cleanse the life-blood away with t
he force of her hands. He scowled. The Nasrany should glory in a rightful death, not wipe it away.

  The light streaming from the lamp glowed warm on her hair under her kaffiyeh, weaving in reddish lights. In the desert she had bent under fear like a willow; in strength without breaking. What a warrior of Allah she would make. Would she go by his side then?

  Faisal stooped and touched his enemy’s still warm body, reddening his fingers. His heart swelled. This one threatened them and paid to his blade. How would a Twilket neck feel under his foot? He rubbed sand between his hands. This Kyrin had yet to be worthy of her Damascus blade. How had the falcon come to her? Such steel, in such a shape, he had not seen before.

  §

  Kyrin’s stomach cramped as she stared at the bloody blade. Again she had done nothing, had not known where to strike, and found a cushion in her hand. Again unaware. Faisal and Tae kindly acted as if nothing were amiss.

  At Tae’s side, Faisal studied the dead Twilket. He must not want to witness her shame. He probed the assassin’s side and stared at his red fingers. He pressed one red spot to the haft of his dagger, then sat on his heels and washed his hands with sand. He claimed the kill.

  Kyrin turned her back.

  Shahin suggested they examine the assassin’s Batina camel his men had found couched behind a large rock outside camp. “Stay here,” Tae said. “With the light. You are well-guarded.”

  Then the men left them to find what sleep they could. Kyrin wished Faisal stayed. Would he ever stand by her again, quiet and fiery, with a smile in his eyes?

  Much later, the men wandered back to their beds, and the last child was soothed to silence. Alaina breathed gently, an arm flung over her pillow, her fingers touching Kyrin’s. Tae slept within the tent facing theirs. Kyrin waited.

  She had left the lamp alight in the door of the tent. Faisal stepped outside Tae’s tent opposite, and turned. His eyes caught the glare. Except for the sentries, he went to his rug last. He nodded somberly, and dropped her tent flap.

  It hung between them, stitched in dark thread, stitched in strong, uneven, struggling marks. Kyrin twisted her hair painfully around her finger. Sleep did not take her for a long time.

  She woke, clutching her pillow, claws of pain tearing at her arm. She had slept on it, and the tiger had come. It was yet dark.

  A beast cried outside. She huddled around her sweat-damp cushion, biting at her hand to make sure the tiger’s black nose did not lift the tent flap. She did not wish to watch the black felt slide away from his hungry gaze, over his pricking ears, until he spied her in her blanket and sank his jaws in her throat. Kyrin bit down harder.

  Foolish fool, there were no tigers in this land, only lions. She watched the shadows until sleep caught her away.

  Alaina rose with the sun, whistling her sand-lark melody. Kyrin groaned, wishing no one knew where she slept. Her thick head clamored it was not the moment to get up. The assassin.

  She bolted upright. Any or all of them could have ended on the sand. Tae almost did, and Faisal would have followed if his second dagger had flown true, his life owed to an Aneza Nur-ed-Dam.

  How quick did the darts dipped in those vials work? She thought of Faisal twisted in agony, or sprawled, his throat cut, and of what it would mean for him. Eternity, with djinn.

  She rubbed her arms. The morning was cold. Meat and dates waited in dishes by the crackling fire Alaina fed. The fat was congealed, the fruit a too-sweet lump. Maybe later, when her middle did not cramp so and she did not feel sick.

  §

  Tae found her in the hawks’ tent, the sides raised for air and light. Kyrin did not turn but kept coaxing her falcon with a bit of rabbit liver. The bird turned her beak from Kyrin’s hand, her feathers ruffled, and leaped with a stubborn shriek off the perch. She caught short against her jesses and swung back against the base, wings flapping furiously.

  Avoiding Tae’s gaze, Kyrin got the upside-down falcon on her feet, calmer. She wished she could so well calm herself. In the night the invisible veil of her girlhood had fallen from her, in a rush of blood. Ali must not know. No one must know.

  She pushed the liver against the falcon’s beak again. The falcon refused it.

  Tae wrapped the tail of his black bisht around his arm, slow and steady, and nudged the bird’s feet. She stepped onto her new perch, her talons dainty and steel strong.

  Kyrin bit her trembling lip, nodded her thanks, and settled a new hood over the bird’s head. Mey had showed Alaina how to make eye covers in it, and had given her a bell and two feathers, which bounced gaily on top.

  Tae whistled softly to the falcon. Kyrin fingered the raw liver in her hand and pried her tongue from her teeth. She said in a rush, “Why can’t the Twilkets leave us alone?”

  “Because they want something.” Tae stroked the bird’s breast with a brown finger and regarded Kyrin, his head cocked, his brows drawn down. “I will give you a brew for the dreams, daughter. They will fade.”

  Her mouth twitched. He knew of the raider and her mother in her nightmares, and she had told him of the tiger, but not of his captive . . . She scuffed the ground with her foot.

  He lifted her chin with one callused hand, a hand that had saved Faisal from blood-feud. His dark gaze was searching, intent, earnest. “When you take a life like you did to save Rashid, your heart may rise against you. You must not believe it. It is wrong.”

  She turned her head aside. When she turned back, he was staring into a dark place of his own.

  “Last night filled you with fear, didn’t it?” His voice was soft. “It would be easier to die than to see others fall, especially Alaina or Faisal or I. And anyone can fall.

  “You think of fighting the Twilkets, and you fear your fear and the confusion.

  “Every fight is confused. I am full of fear; against one or fifty. The good we fight for happens within the confusion, or not at all. You did right to save Rashid, and you will find your courage when you must, as Faisal fought for me.” He set the falcon back on her perch. “You need seasons to learn and to grow, like this one.” He eased off the falcon’s hood, and she bobbed her head.

  He was proud of Faisal—it warmed even as it pricked Kyrin. “Why, Tae? Why didn’t I take Faisal down when he threw my dagger—at you? I should not have trusted him so far. The Nur-ed Dam is forgiven, but . . . can he change his heart so fast? I do not think so.” She chewed her lip.

  Tae smiled. “You do not want to think evil of him, for you see the battle inside him, but you doubt. You are right, for he follows Allah. And until he knows Allah’s falseness, he is part of that deception. Deception creates hardness. Worshipping Allah creates a wrong pattern of heart, twists the thoughts, as all untrue things do.”

  Kyrin looked at her toes. Faisal followed a twisted pattern—strong and torn and heart-lost.

  Tae’s smile slowly left him. “I am sorry, daughter. Does he see you in his heart?”

  That was the worst thing. How could he? Faisal hated cowards and weakness such as hers—and she must find her father—and she was not free. She stroked the falcon’s back. “I am yours . . . ”

  Tae laughed, long and loud. “Only in name—and that stretched by intent—and quite broken by faithfulness to the Master of all and to my Huen!”

  Heat in her face, Kyrin ducked her head. His words were true. She was free, or would be when she escaped Ali. But where did her heart lie? It tugged her so many ways: toward home and her father, and Tae, and Alaina, and yet she could not stop thinking of Faisal.

  His smile is like no other’s. As is his anger toward the Master of all. She stared at her feet. “Allah divides the springs of our hearts,” she said low, and scowled. That Faisal and the thorns he brought. He was closed to the Master’s truth. If he did think of her in his heart, she would break his other arm. “I can say nothing to him.”

  “I think you are wise. Wait until th
e Twilket threat is gone, my daughter, unless the Master of the stars makes a right moment.”

  The right moment. Kyrin bit her lip. Faisal killed a man and almost destroyed a friend by mistake. What had it done to him? She had never been good at finding the right moment. She would blush and make a pudding of speaking to him.

  Tae rubbed his chin, eyeing her. “Trust our Father. Give yourself and Faisal to him, with anything else that might happen. But you do as he commands.”

  Kyrin reached out and touched the falcon’s foot, the yellow skin scaly and cool, her talons sharp. Faisal, Tae, and Alaina must stay safe. They held her heart. Master of all. . . .

  “I have an errand to the Twilkets.”

  Kyrin lifted her head. “You will raid them with Shahin’s men?”

  “No. I go to their camp this evening, as a traveler who asks shelter. I must find a way to secure a day for council between Shahin and their sheyk, Gershem.”

  “You alone?”

  “Faisal will wait outside camp for me—none else. Any Twilket would know an Aneza by his kaffiyeh, his saddle, and his voice. I am a stranger to them, and so is Faisal.”

  “No, Tae! You cannot! They will—”

  “It may stop the war.”

  “But I loosed the first blood, I started it.” Her tears came fast. My heart and body both wake in the midst of death.

  Tae pulled her close. But he could not drive back the cold growing within her.

  He said steadily over her head, “In truth, you did not begin it. And you may not end it. The Master of the stars sent you to save Rashid, and he sent Faisal for me. We do not often know what we are to do before it comes, but he made us for this time.” He dropped his arms. “Shahin has given me a camel, one of yours”—Tae grinned—“and Alaina is packing me a feast. I will watch the stars rise this night. You will see them from here, and our thoughts will meet in the Master of the stars. Do not fear; I will not walk into ambush without a care.”