The Dead Falcon (The Eastern Slave Series Book 4)

by Victor Poole

  "Move," Ajalia said. She remembered the way Rane had stood before, in the secret room of Ocher's house, and she almost smiled. She had done magic, then, to make Rane listen to her. She was not sure that magic would work this time.

  "I want to talk," Rane said. He looked a little tense.

  "Then we can talk outside," Ajalia said. She did not glance behind her, but she was sure that the guard was there, watching. "You're not a proper guard," she called, without turning. "You gave yourself away when you went up the stairs."

  Rane bared his teeth in a smile.

  "You'd make an excellent spy, Ajalia," Rane said. Ajalia blinked, and then she smiled. Rane, she thought, had finally taken himself wholly out of his depth.

  "Where were you hoping to keep me?" she asked, and she began to gather into her hands the cords of light that ran all beneath the floors of the house. Rane glanced at her, a line of irritation between his brows, and smiled.

  "Doing magic won't impress me anymore," Rane told her. "I know what you are now."

  "What am I?" Ajalia asked. She imagined the cords of blue power that ran through the sky, and brought them down, running them in tight circles around the lights from the earth. A crackle of white light began to grow in her hands.

  "You can't frighten me with that magic," Rane said again, but his voice sounded a little hoarse. "You're going to help my people."

  "Not if you make me angry," Ajalia told him. "Well," she amended, "I will help your people, but you won't be very happy when I'm through with you. I have no quarrel with anyone from Talbos," she said. Rane, who was watching her cautiously, began to move his hand to the door, and pull it closed behind him.

  Ajalia sent the bristling mixed magic up and outwards, and she thought of the white twists of electric energy filling up every stone wall and ceiling in the house.

  "Are you thinking that I will attack you, and fight you to the death?" Ajalia asked. She could not keep the laughter quite out of her voice; Rane was looking at her as though he could not think of how to pin her down with words. She thought that he looked distinctly ill at ease.

  "I thought you'd be a little more concerned," Rane told her.

  "No," Ajalia told him. "I thought you'd have more sense," she said brightly, and then she thrust hard at the magic, and pictured the way that the temple had shone, when she had sent webs of white through the walls. Ajalia thought she saw a slight flicker of light gleam on the wall against the door; she closed her eyes, and imagined the whole span of the sky. She gathered all the cords that she could find, and threaded them down thickly through the walls. She pictured the golden veins of light that throbbed deep in the earth, down below all the other colors of corded light, and she drew up a massive bolt of shuddering gold. Rane, who had been cautiously closing the door, flung his hands against the frame. He looked as though he were sensing an earthquake beneath his feet.

  "Grab her," Rane snapped at the man who was dressed as a Slavithe guard, and Ajalia heard a slight scuff of feet behind her. She thought for a moment of killing the man; she could have drawn her knife, before he grabbed her arms, and she could have thrust the blade deep into his body. But the magic she pulled on gave her an idea, and she took the lights from the sky, and the cord of gold from the earth, and thrust them together violently in her own body. She saw her own colors of red and gold flicker, like a flame in a strong wind, and then, like sunrise spilling all of a sudden over a mountain ridge, her soul bled white; the colors were expunged. She felt herself rise a little from the floor. Ajalia looked down, and saw that her feet dangled free, some inches from the white stone. Rane and the man dressed as a guard fell back, their faces twisted in shock. The man in the garb of a guard flung himself desperately past Ajalia, and stumbled, in a dead run, out of the front door. Rane's eyes were wide with terror and surprise; he gazed up at Ajalia, and she remembered the way he had looked at her in the secret room, when she had done magic.

  "You said I was she," Ajalia reminded him. Her voice made a strange echo when she talked; she thought that she sounded as though she were some sea monster from the deep. An extra layer had come into her voice. Her words echoed heavily in the white stone house, which had begun, just a little, to glow. "When I drew out the matched hearts of you and your evil wife," Ajalia said, "you told the others that I was the sky angel. You promised to obey me then. You lied," Ajalia said mildly. She did not seem able to sound friendly now that she was hovering almost half a foot over the ground; her voice, when she spoke, did impressive things to the words. She tried to be neutral, and friendly, as she was when she negotiated, but her words now sounded impressive, and hard. "I'm sorry," she said, and she meant to be apologizing for the intimidating tone that her white-filled body produced. A crackle of light sounded all around her. Ajalia could feel a burst of light building up in her chest. She looked down, and watched, as if in slow motion, as an arc of pure white throttled out of her body, and consumed Rane where he stood.

  Rane did not drift down into a pile of scraps, as Bain had done, when Delmar shredded him apart with the golden lights. Bain had split into pieces, and his remains had resembled a sad and limp pile of rags. Rane, as Ajalia watched, began to burn up. She saw the lights and colors that she had replenished in his body earlier in the day; she saw the place where Beryl's piece of soul had been. A spark of white, like the blistering touch of the sun, ignited at the core of Rane's soul, and he looked down in horror as Ajalia watched his colors burn away. An edge of white light chased itself through his whole being; Ajalia saw his eyes, just before the white reached the inside of his face, and she saw the life in his face drop suddenly out. She had not tried to send the white arc of energy out; she watched Rane die, and he fell, with a heavy slump, to the floor. His arms and legs slapped the stone surface of the former Thief Lord's floor, and his head rolled lifelessly to one side. Ajalia's body dimmed a little. She felt as though the white energy she had put all through herself had acted as a kind of protective hood, like the angry expanse of a big snake's neck. She had not meant to kill him; the light had worked through her, and his soul had caught fire, and burned away. Ajalia did not know if she could have saved him, had she known what would have happened. She could have let them tie her up, she supposed, but she felt somehow clean and innocent, when she looked down at the lifeless body of Rane.

  Ajalia's feet touched gently to the earth. She felt a soft release, as though she had been set down from within the grasp of some giant cloud, and she looked around in the darkened house. The walls and ceiling, which she had imbued with strong magic from the earth and sky, had begun, gradually at first, but now stronger and more urgently, to glow. The walls, as she watched, began to throw off brilliant rays of light. Ajalia picked up the long sack she had dropped, and she went out of the house. She stopped in the street, a little distance from the house, and turned to look at the white edifice.

  "Oh," Ajalia said, and she felt a little out of place. Here, she told herself, was a great problem. She was not sure what she was going to do about the glowing house, now that it was glowing. The walls were beginning now to cast swaths of brilliant light out into the street, and the walls of the houses on either side of the old Thief Lord's house had begun to reflect pure white light, as though they had been in the path of a great shining star.

  The street behind her was empty; the people of the city, now that they had looted the dead Thief Lord's house, seemed to be avoiding that section of the road. The narrow square that stretched between the houses, and lay just before the front door of the big white house, was beginning to fill with light, as though the late Thief Lord's house had been a bonfire that threw out white flames. Ajalia tried to think of what she should do; she did not know where Delmar was now, and she wanted him. Philas, she thought, was not actually in the city. She thought that the false guard had told her so, to make her come with him. Ajalia was not annoyed that the trick had worked; the man in the clothing of a guard had been very good. She pictured the jovial man jogging in place for several minute
s before hurrying up to the dragon temple, and she laughed. Rane and the false guard seemed to have been the only people within the great white house; anyone else, she thought, would have come out of the front door by now, or tried to investigate the source of the now-burning walls and ceilings of light.

  A few of the neighbors' doors opened, and people began to poke their faces out, and to stare around at the house. They murmured to each other, and a few of them wandered out of their own houses, and came closer to Ajalia. Ajalia could not tell if they suspected her to be the cause of the lighted house. She thought that they did not seem to look at her suspiciously. Perhaps, she thought, she looked like a last-minute looter, with the sack in her hands, or perhaps the people thought that she had only been passing through. Ajalia was reminded, as the neighbors took up position beside her, and stared up at the shining house, of the way Ullar had reacted, when Ajalia had carried the frail body of the old witch down the tenement steps. Ullar had told her, with a laugh, that she could not kill a witch. Ajalia watched the walls of the house as they grew harder and brighter with light; they had been throwing gently stretching rays of light all around the street and square before, but now the white light was beginning to shoot up into the sky, making the former Thief Lord's house like a beacon.

  THE STORY MAGIC

  Ajalia was acutely aware of Rane's body, which was slumped down just inside the door of the big white house. One of the neighbors, a man who wore a soft brown cap on his head, saw the dark shape within the shining house, and went forward to investigate. The six or seven others who gathered around Ajalia watched him. Ajalia's fingers were closed tightly around the long sack she held in her hand; she kept her free hand close over the top of her own bag. She did not trust any of these people not to steal from her, if they saw an opportunity.

  "He's dead!" the man shouted back to them. Another man went forward, and a woman turned to Ajalia. The woman had opened her mouth to speak, but when she looked at Ajalia, and saw the dark symbol on her forehead, and the foreign cut and cloth of her robe, her lips closed up primly. Ajalia saw that though the city had, as a whole, likely heard of the scene in the receiving hall of the Thief Lord's house, and knew that Delmar had adopted a foreign slave as his own, the people did not all realize that it was her. Ajalia did not know who else people thought that Delmar's sponsored little bird would be, since foreigners did not come to the city, and since she stuck out like a sore thumb today, with her fine cream robe, and the black marks she had made on her forehead and below her eyes and temples, but, Ajalia reflected, the woman beside her was probably thinking that the sky angel rumored to be in the city was at least six feet tall, and would appear with winding white hair, and a gossamer gown made of clouds. Ajalia smiled to herself at this image, and she thought of Sharo, who had been so determined that she was the chosen one.

  Ajalia, as she stood among the growing cluster of Slavithe people, and watched the men and boys who now bent low over the body of Rane, remembered the way that her feet had lifted off of the floor. She could not exactly call what had happened to her flying, but, she told herself, she had certainly risen up into the air. She remembered what Isacar had told her, about the first falcon who had ascended up into the clouds. Maybe I am the sky angel, Ajalia told herself wryly, and she began, slowly, to move backwards through the crowd. She had not meant to go looking for Delmar before this, but now that Rane had turned on her, and now that Delmar's father's house was glowing like a flaming lamp, Ajalia thought that she would have to locate the new Thief Lord, and let him know what had happened.

  She had been looking forward to the three days that Delmar had promised her; she was eagerly invested in the end of the three days, but a part of her had settled deliciously down to wait. She wanted to spend the three days thinking about kissing him, and then she wanted him to come back and be available only to her. She guessed, from the arduous way that he had kissed her before he had left, that a similar idea had been in his mind, and she was glad that his previous reticence seemed to have melted away from him. Delmar's whole being seemed to have come to life with the passing from him of his father's colored shadows. Ajalia felt as though she had been speaking to and walking near a shadow of Delmar all this time, as if his real self had been concealed below a pile of old leaves. She felt as though she had never been able to see him properly, or speak to him, and to hear his own words coming back to her. But now that his father had come out of his brain, and now that his mother had been blown into bits, Delmar was even more of what she had hoped when she had first seen the gleams of his personality. He was perfection; he was manhood personified in every way to her. It seem impossible to Ajalia, but somehow, with the passage of his parents' evil from his flesh, his face had become clear and bright, and his eyes had taken on a solid and sensible gleam. Delmar now was quick-witted, and able. He was terrifically attractive to Ajalia; she could no longer remember how she had ever let Philas kiss her, let alone convince her that he was an option as a partner in life. Philas, Ajalia thought, and her mouth curled up with derision. She was disappointed that Philas had taken again to drink; she had hoped, ever since he had begun to take in the poison tree juice, and to act more like a better version of himself, that he would stay more like himself when he journeyed to Talbos. Philas has no character, Ajalia told herself, and she raised her fist to knock on the door of Ocher's house.

  Ocher's house lay near the dead Thief Lord's house; Ajalia could see the reflected glow of that white edifice from where she stood. I hope, she thought, as she waited for someone to answer the door, that I have not broken anything. Ajalia did not know if what she had made in the walls, the web of magic that she had used to fill up the walls and ceilings, would fade over time, or if she had somehow created a permanently glowing building in Slavithe. She thought that she might go back sometime, and see if she could extract the white mixed magic from the white stone walls.

  The door to Ocher's house opened a little, and Hal looked out.

  "Oh, it's you," Hal said. He opened the door wide, and moved aside for Ajalia to come in.

  "Is Delmar here?" Ajalia asked, stepping through the door.

  "He's with Ocher now," Hal said. He looked a little hesitant. "I think they're almost finished."

  "I don't want to go in there," Ajalia told him. She knew that Hal meant that Delmar and Ocher were with the two front men who had worked with Tree; she was full of other thoughts, and did not want to get into whatever mess Delmar was cleaning up now. She took the long sack of items, and followed Hal to a room partway down the house.

  "I'll tell them you're here," Hal told her, "when they've come out." Ajalia nodded. The room was lit with a single silver-gleaming lamp. She found a seat near the lamp, and when Hal had gone out again, she drew the scrap of leather and the folded piece of paper from where she had tucked them. She took out the translation stone with a sigh, and began to pore over the letters.

  Ajalia was glad that she had come to Ocher's house, now that she was here. The room was quiet, and still. Beryl was dead, and Ajalia suspected that Ocher's servants had made themselves scarce since the spectacle they had likely witnessed last night. She was sure that one of the servants, at least, had found a way to watch Delmar kill his father in the front room of the house. In every household Ajalia had been in as a slave, there had been someone who excelled at spying on the goings-on in the house, and who would spread the gossip to the other slaves. Ajalia would be shocked if at least one of the servant girls had not found some method of watching the scene. Even if they had not meant at first to watch, she thought, her eyes tracing over the letters on the thin white piece of stone, and matching them to the shapes burned into the scrap of leather, Delmar's father's shouting had been enough to alert anyone in the house to the fight that had ended in his death. Also, she thought briefly, some one of them would have had to clean up the blood.

  Ajalia had worked out half of the message that scrawled over the leather scrap, when Hal poked his head into the room. He watched her for
a moment, and then cleared his throat.

  "Delmar's gone out," Hal said in a quiet murmur. "I told him you'd come, and he said to say you would understand." Hal looked doubtful on this point, but Ajalia nodded easily. "Ocher's gone to the dragon temple for something that he said was important," Hal added. Again, Ajalia nodded.

  "You can come and sit, if you want," she said. She did not ask him where the two men were now that Delmar and Ocher had been questioning. Hal hesitated, and he looked afraid of being obtrusive. He wandered a little into the room, and sat down. Ajalia continued to work, and Hal watched her.

  "How did you learn to do magic?" Ajalia asked him, after she had worked out another pair of words from the old Slavithe. She kept her finger on the scrap of leather, but she looked up briefly. Hal was watching her; she saw his eyes lingering on the black mark she had put on her forehead that morning, and on the scrapes of black paint beneath her eyes, and over her temples.

  "What does that mean?" Hal asked shyly, raising his finger towards the black symbol. Ajalia, when she had first seen Hal, had thought him a dangerous and ugly man. She had wanted to attack him then, she remembered, to protect Delmar from him, but now Hal had changed almost entirely. She could not quite pin down a type for Hal; he was fluid and changeable, like a dash of light in clear water. His black beard, and his dark eyes, were now no more threatening to her than as if he had been a large house cat. Hal had claws, metaphorically speaking, Ajalia knew, and she had seen him make his eyes and face into a devastating mask of anger and foreboding, but now she looked over at Hal, and saw that he was quite a nice man, really.

  "Will you tell me about learning magic," Ajalia asked, "if I tell you about this?" She raised one hand to her face, and Hal, after studying her for a moment, nodded. "My master is descended from the ancient line of kings in the East," Ajalia said. She shifted in her chair, and turned her eyes down again to the row of scorched letters in the scrap of leather. "I am authorized to act in his place. This is the mark of a descendent of the ancient kings of the East. In many civilized places in Leopath," she said, "it is a symbol of great power."