He meant to make her laugh, but thought of the assassin’s darts strangled it in her throat. He left her with a kiss on the forehead. She did not look, wanted to run after him and hold him back.
Camel pads thudded. Alaina called something to Faisal. Shahin raised his voice and called, “Go with the blessing of the Aneza and all good spirits.”
Kyrin did not turn. She could not watch them leave. “Stay alive, my father,” she whispered.
The rabbit liver squished between her fingers, her throat ached, and her nose ran. Peering through a watery blur with a sniff, she nudged her falcon’s beak again. It smeared the mess over her hand. She stroked the falcon’s feathers and growing wings and whispered to her. To God’s bird, as she was. Kyrin drew a deep breath. All was not lost.
The falcon cocked her head, eyeing her, and rubbed Kyrin’s wrist with a gentle razor beak. Kyrin held her breath.
With a lunge, the falcon snagged a bit of liver and flipped it down her throat. Kyrin gave her bird a wavery grin. She had risked a torn hand, not wearing a glove, but the falcon had eaten again. Her flight feathers would not break when she lifted into the sky.
The camels’ footfalls faded. Kyrin left the falcon resting under her hood. Such blindness kept her from leaping from the perch and hurting herself, kept her unafraid and calm, taught her to know friendly voices.
Usually one master trained any one falcon, but all creatures instinctively trusted Alaina. She would feed the falcon and fly her. Shahin had assured Kyrin that eating from the fist came first, then a short flight to eat there, then longer flights to pounce on a lure, and then—wings surging into the boundless sky.
Kyrin followed her thoughts toward her tent. She ought to have waved to Tae. If he could have told Faisal—what?
Did Faisal’s dream beasts laugh at him or hunt him, as the tiger hunted her? She should have said good-bye. But enough.
The falcon would fly between the clouds, wings shining. She must have a name. Willow?
Her mother would favor that. No, it did not fit; it did not quite fit. Deathfall? Kyrin wiped her hand across her wet face. She would not cry more. Master of the stars, give grace to their errand.
19
Daggers
See the goodness of the Lord . . . ~Psalm 27:13
Tae rode with five Aneza down a small wadi, toward the base of the mountain between them and the Twilkets. He would circle wide, out over the desert, pass the Twilket’s mountain camp, and approach from the northeast, not the southwest where the Twilkets expected the Aneza. Craggy hills and outcrops about the mountain’s foot slowed them. Then Tae left his escort and rode into a concealing huddle of low-limbed juniper.
He dismounted, untied two saddlebags and a large sack of goat hair. Swiftly he took off his thawb and slipped on a worn kaffiyeh and the shorter tunic and trousers of the northern tribesmen. Before first light he had sent Faisal ahead to scout their path, and as he instructed, Faisal had left one of Ali’s camels tied among the junipers. Tae mounted the beast, swatting its sides lightly with the rope.
Any tribesman of the sand could tell camels apart by their tracks. They would know the Aneza beasts. But they would not have seen the pad prints of Ali’s second best camel. Moments later, a stiff man-shape rode out of the trees on Tae’s camel, strapped upright in an Aneza saddle.
Tae squinted. The stiff sack of goat hair garbed in his thawb would fool the eyes of any watcher on the mountain. The Aneza swept close around the camel in a thicket of lances and dust, and escorted it back toward Shahin’s camp.
Tae waited, motionless in the juniper shade. Thinking and resting. At midday Faisal joined him. They rode north, Faisal unquestioning, his dark eyes alert. He had seen nothing during his scout but creatures of mountain and desert and the worn crags.
Tae studied him. “You have done well. You have my thanks.”
Faisal nodded. “It lightens my debt.”
Tae hid the twitch of his mouth. Didn’t he know he’d paid all debt by guarding Kyrin? They lapsed into silence. Far beyond the mountain, they rode painstakingly hidden in the wadis. The day passed without sight or sound of camel or man.
Tae peered at the sky. He had about a finger-length of sun, for he would arrive before dusk to quiet suspicion. It was good the Twilkets camped close to the caravan road on the way to Taif and Makkah. There was more cover. But it was too quiet.
He ran his thumb around the grip of the sword Shahin had lent him. A silver blossom of five petals etched both ends of the cross-guard, with a double-petaled flower in the haft butt. The sharp, well-balanced blade had no jewel to grace it. Its worth was in the folded, resilient blade: strong steel, light and quick. Tae’s mouth flattened.
He could have worn the assassin’s robes and returned his venomous gifts. What he attempted was more dangerous still. Yet there was a chance of lasting peace.
Near the crest of the ridge above the Twilkets’ wadi, Tae said, “We stop here.” Faisal tethered his camel to a tamarisk, and Tae dismounted. Did he remember? “How long do you wait?”
“Till the dew dries in the morn, Hakeem. Insha—” Faisal bit his lip.
“I accept your good will with thanks.” Tae grinned. “I go with the Father of us all. Though he is better than the one you believe him to be.” He sobered. He could not ask Faisal to care for Alaina and Kyrin if he did not return, with a husband’s duties inherent in the asking. He settled his sword.
The lightning blow through skin under the ribs’ midpoint, and feeling a man’s insides around his fingers as he struggled to end his life, was not something he wished to think on. The other death-strikes were quicker. It was why he carried weapons, to deal merciful death. Kyrin and Alaina needed three years before they learned the touch of death. If he was given the time to teach them.
Tae swallowed. He had not relaxed his before-dawn training, for Kentar’s men had given him the solitude he asked. His camel carried his lance, and his dagger and sword slept at his side. Faisal wore a dagger as befit a lost slave—so he would say he was—if a Twilket chanced upon him before Tae returned. Tae grimaced. If he brought death to the Twilket tents, it was to keep life for many more.
Life. He took a slow breath and faced Faisal. “If I do not meet you in the dawn, know that you are a son of my heart. And the One who died on crossed trees loves you more than I. He made you for joy. Do not forget.”
“No, Hakeem.” Faisal regarded him, his mouth tight, frowning. Tae grasped his shoulder, and Faisal grinned a little and touched his arm.
Tae mounted his beast. It was time to finish what the assassin began. The camel picked her way down the ridge. The sun hit the earth’s edge behind him and bathed the juniper and olive trees along the wadi in soft gold.
In the steep-sided bottom a few pools lingered. Two hundred tents lay beyond, pitched along the wide valley. The fires were lit, and men’s calls mingled with the lighter voices of women and children.
A Twilket man before a black tent rose from his fire and called cheerfully to Tae, “Ahlan wa sahlan! Welcome!”
Tae dismounted, bent, and stood, trailing the sand of peace from his hands into the wind. He glanced at the darkening sky. If peace was with the Twilkets, peace would stay upon them. In common he cried, “And to you be peace!”
Other men gathered to greet him, some older, carrying lances, their dark hands and faces weathered, the younger men talking excitedly among themselves. Feet kicked up dust, kaffiyehs and turbans gathered around the firs. The smell of roasted goat, cumin, and curry hung on the air.
The man who had called to Tae gripped his shoulders and kissed his cheeks. He stepped back. “You are not of the people.” His tone inquired.
“I hunt a lost slave.” Camels and horses shifted and stamped before every dwelling, tethered, ready to ride. They had not gone—he had come in time.
“Ahh. We have seen no stranger during this sun but y
ou.” The others nodded agreement.
Tae shrugged. “My slave is cunning, but worth much to me.” He did not see the sheyk he sought. Was he ill? The Twilket before him was long-boned and gaunt. When he spoke, his slight stomach swayed, reminding Tae of a camel.
“Slaves are ever so. One must bind them by the will of Allah.”
“I thank you for your kind words, my brothers.” Tae bowed his head and turned his camel toward the water.
The Twilket who had first spoken to him grasped his sleeve. “Stay, my friend! My wife would throw her stew to the sand-lizards if you did not taste it.”
The rest of the Twilkets grinned, and hands patted Tae’s back. A horn blew. The men scattered to their fires. Tae looked after them.
Their faces were tense. No stranger, a carrier of news, was left unheard without cause. He followed the man to his tent, and tethered his camel beside his host’s. If the Twilket inviting him to his fire knew his errand, he would not be so welcome.
Abdeel was his name. His quiet, gracious wife served a heavy platter and disappeared back into the tent, and they sat down to meat. Abdeel twisted off a rabbit leg and gave it to Tae. “Eat, my friend, eat!”
Tae savored every bit of juicy meat and hot rice, leaning back on his elbow, gazing up. The stars were in the sky. Kyrin would be thinking of him.
His host tipped back his head and drew a deep breath of content, smiling at the stars. “The night is quiet and full.”
“Yes,” Tae agreed. “The day was good, and this night is made better by your welcome.”
“It gladdens my heart.” There was a pause.
The expanse of the moonless heavens was wide, as vast as the moment. Ah, Huen, pray for me this night. He would leave more children to see the glory of the stars. Even if they were not his own.
“My journey is long. May I rest this night in your tent, Abdeel?” His bones were full of lead. My Huen, do you sleep safe behind Paekche’s walls?
“Again, stranger, you are welcome. I also have an errand. If I am not here when the sun rises, do not think ill of me. If it is your pleasure to await me, and your journey permits, we may feast together when I return.”
Tae bowed. “You are most gracious. Do you have children?”
“Yes, Yazid and Sahar, ten and five winters.” Abdeel beamed, his bearded face revealing bright teeth. “Does my guest have children?”
“Alas, not yet. My family waits for me, as God wills.”
“Ah, as Allah wills.” Abdeel nodded wisely.
“I see your sheyk knows camels of good blood. My camel is of that line, I think. Do you see the likeness? In the line of brow and nose?”
Abdeel looked critically at Tae’s camel couched at the edge of the firelight, chewing its cud, sniffing at the ground. “Ah, yes!” His face lit, then fell. “Sheyk Gershem has a long eye for the strongest females for his bull.” He waved at his camel. “This is one of his daughters, and I think yours is also.”
“My heart is glad.” The fire snapped. Tae sighed. “It must be good to live with a leader of wisdom, who garners wealth.”
“Allah has been generous.” Abdeel’s words were quiet and he looked at the ground.
Tae raised his brows. “There is no camel out of the sheyk’s bull and your good beast for your Yazid? Such a sheyk would not overlook the son of your youth, about to become a man.”
“The sheyk’s camels are his to do with as Allah wills, though our glorious arm of Allah has more horses than camels.” Abdeel’s face was tired and lined.
“It is good,” Tae said mildly, “for a sheyk of the people to lead with generosity.”
His host smiled wryly. “As Allah says.” He stirred the fire with a stick and lifted his head. “I see your heart is weary. The mountain way to the holy city is long. Would you rest?”
“You are generous—”
“No, no, it is nothing. This way.”
Tae followed Abdeel inside his tent. The Twilket’s white thawb rippled around his strong legs. His wife had retired behind the curtain.
Tae took off his bisht and lay down in his thawb beside Abdeel, waiting for the Twilket’s breath to even. He fingered his dagger. If this courteous man had been the tinker who came to the Aneza, the war would never have started.
He woke some time later as he had been trained and slipped out. From a corner between two tents a saluki raised its head, lifting its lip with a low growl. Tae threw it a bit of meat he had slipped from Abdeel’s platter. The dog circled the offering, sniffed, flipped it into the air, and gulped. The meat was gone.
Tae’s amusement strangled in his throat, and tears came to his eyes. Huen, your father was right. Paekche said I regard too much the lives of those under me. Unwilling to sacrifice, he said. But it is not right that you suffer because in his eyes I killed the wrong man, my love. The Aneza will not suffer the same.
The saluki followed him. Others watched. Tae crept by camel after camel, but the beasts made no complaint. The tent with the most horses about it was smaller than he expected, though it lay near the middle of camp. He regretted it was not closer to the edge. But he did not mean to leave. Yet.
My heart, our enemy took the chance I paid for peace. If only your father had wrested peace from what he thought a wrongful death, I would wake to see the morning beside you, and Paekche would see our children. He sighed. The Master of the stars keep you—and make my strike straight.If I could see you under the stars again . . .
He moved slowly to the windless side of sheyk Gershem’s tent, pressed his ear close to the felt, his skin tight, waiting for a blade or an arrow between his shoulders. A light snore came from within. Tae made a scratching noise on the ground, and laid down the rest of the meat.
He eased up the side of the tent. The night wind wandered across the roast goat and beneath. Ageless moments passed. No breath within but the lonely snore.
No saluki, no slaves, no wife or children? But many horses. A prickle crept up Tae’s neck. What kind of a grasping man was this sheyk? He might spell doom.
Tae closed his eyes a long moment. Inside, there would be no starlight. He took three deep breaths and loosened every muscle. Knelt, lifted the side of the tent higher, and rolled under.
In the dark he stopped, ready to roll back if someone held a sword above him. His eyes swept over a floor-spanning rug, shadows of saddles—and a sleeper in a mound of rugs. The tent was bare but for a few cushions and an unlit lamp. He checked again, glancing at the roof. No one in ambush. This Gershem had not much in his heart but his herds. There was no guard for his heartbeat.
Tae clamped his hand over the sheyk’s mouth and set his dagger where it would sever his spine with a single downward, sideways thrust. Gershem gave a choked snort. His body spasmed, then he lay still, staring up into Tae’s face.
§
Every time Kyrin closed her eyes, the tiger sprang away from her. His mouth opened and he dropped a bow and a sword. She snatched up the bow—but the beast would not let her step over the blade. He laid his ears back and bared his teeth, his claws threatening the falcon that screamed, struggling under his crushing forepaw. Under flame light, the wings etched on the torque about his neck seemed to move, to strain in the shadows, the falcon eyes of amber darting here and there.
Kyrin slowly bent to pick up the sword, making no sudden move. She could not lift it. Gasping, she tried again. The blade was heavier than a horse.
The tiger sat, tail lashing, his gaze steady. He lifted his paw.
The falcon flopped over on her back, flapped upright, and flew to land beside Kyrin, her chain chinking on her foot. She cocked her head, studying Kyrin with a bright eye.
Kyrin held the bow, but she had no arrow. They waited for her to grasp the sword. She reached for it.
And woke, staring into the darkness of her tent, breathing hard. There was no tiger’s panting rasp in he
r face, no sword at her feet. She plucked up the edge of the felt wall by her head to let the night cool the heat of her dreams. The long day had not made the tiger sleep.
Shahin had moved his people to the top of the island by compline. Everyone but the sheyk, the elders, and those who watched above the deep wadi walls that split around the island went to their tents and rugs. Shahin sat by the fire with the elders, where they committed Tae’s instructions to memory.
On the other side of the wadi, across from the island, Ali slept with Kentar and his caravan. Her mouth curled. Ali Ben Aidon would bargain with the victor of the battle. The air chilled Kyrin’s bared neck and arm. The stars were still out. Did her master sleep peacefully, knowing that Umar stood within his door and the Nubian without, and Kentar and his men around him? But he was not out of Tae’s reach. Tae walked under those stars—if he lived.
When Kyrin could see her hand, she left her bed and crept out to feed the falcon. Cicero followed, and she tied him outside so he would not frighten the birds. The falcon cocked her head at her first sight of Kyrin’s gloved hand. She lunged for the offered rabbit heart, her paler eyas feathers awkward and wispy among darker feathers of adulthood on her head.
“Good bird, good bird,” Kyrin whispered while the falcon gulped the morsel. She tilted her head, whistled at Kyrin, and stretched out her wings, shaking herself vigorously. She did not resemble the grey and silver queen chained to Kyrin’s enemy.
Kyrin wrapped a piece of camel hide hanging on an empty perch around her arm and guided the falcon onto it. The bird felt strange clinging tight to her right arm, when she should rest on her left. The falcon stood quivering, then settled.
Kyrin stroked her: long calming strokes from head to tail. Samson had feared the same until he grew to love her. Did he yet live in Cierheld in the oak outside her window?
On her wrist, the falcon stretched her tallest and extended her wings, flapping hard. She clacked her beak and screamed softly. “Ugh . . . shall I call you Stench? No”—Kyrin stroked again—“I will get you a dust bath, and a water bath when I can. There is a spot of deep dust near the path to the bottom of our island.”
Falcon Heart: Chronicle I an epic young adult fantasy series set in medieval times Page 21