The Dead Falcon (The Eastern Slave Series Book 4)

by Victor Poole

  "What?" Ajalia asked.

  "That you're pretty," Hal said. Ajalia turned over the translation stone to see the back, and moved along to a new word.

  "Yes," she said, without looking up. Hal's mouth twisted gently to one side as he looked at her.

  "Delmar's lucky," he observed. Ajalia did not ask why Hal thought this. "I can't get married to anyone," Hal said.

  "I thought you said I could marry you," Ajalia replied. She looked up in time to see a ruddy blush spread over Hal's face; she could see the skin below his beard glowing red in the lamplight.

  "I didn't mean you had to," he said. "I just said you could."

  "Why can't you get married?" Ajalia asked him. She moved past the first line on the paper, and began on the second line. The spell on the paper seemed to be about controlling a man's heart. Ajalia could not understand two of the words that she found. Hal seemed to be hoping that she would forget what she had asked him; he sat very quietly, and watched her pore slowly over the paper. When she had finished, she took the paper to him. "What is this word?" she asked him. Hal's eyes got confused; he looked down at the floor, and the blush overspread his face again.

  "I would rather not say," he said.

  "What about this one?" she asked, pointing to the second word.

  "It has to do with sex," Hal said reluctantly. "I would rather not say." Ajalia looked down at the mysterious words.

  "How so?" she asked. Hal began to look very confused and distracted.

  "I should go and find something to do," he mumbled. Ajalia put out a hand to stop him.

  "Please," Ajalia said. "I have a boy who can read the old Slavithe, but he's very small, and I'd rather not ask him."

  Hal's face was a fiery red; he looked swiftly around the room for some means of escape.

  "You could ask Delmar about it," he said in a murmur. Ajalia sighed, and folded the paper away. The spell, as far as she had been able to read, was for cutting off a man's ability to father children. It seemed to be some enchantment laid upon his body that would depress his sex drive. Unfortunately, Ajalia reflected, the two words she was asking about seemed to be the hinges upon which the spell was wrought. She did not know if she would see Delmar for some time yet, and the unknown words tangled in the back of her mind, nagging at her.

  "Well," Ajalia said, and her tone was brisk enough that Hal looked hopefully around, as though he were hoping she was going to drop the subject. "Why can't you get married?" she asked, taking the translation stone, and tucking it into her bag. She had gotten out of the habit of carrying the stone with her some time ago; her bag, she thought was almost becoming attached to her today. She did not like carrying her things with her all the time, but things had been happening at such frequent intervals today that she had never gone to stow her things away. I could have put my things away when I was at home, Ajalia thought, and she remembered her bed with fondness, and some measure of longing. Delmar, she remembered, had told her to go to bed. She remembered that Rane was dead, and that the former Thief Lord's house was likely still ablaze with shimmering white light. She wondered if every person in the city was going to gather in the narrow square, to stare up at the house. The long sack full of stolen things was still beside her in the chair; it made a long series of knobbly lumps against her side.

  Hal, when she had asked him again about marriage, had taken up a kind of angry vigil. He looked like a man who nurses some embarrassing secret.

  "I'm too poor," he said finally. Hal looked up at her. "I can't afford my own place," he said. "I live in a rented room, and there's no place for a woman there." Hal's gaze wandered to the silver lamp, and to the light that reflected out of the lamp's openings.

  "Is there a woman you like?" Ajalia asked. Hal looked at her swiftly.

  "No," he said. He sounded morose. He glanced up again at Ajalia, his eyes hooded. "Girls don't like me," he confided.

  THE WITCHES' THRALL

  Ajalia bit back a smile. Hal, she thought, spoke as though he were a little boy in a yard full of children; he seemed in every other way to be a mature man, but his view on women, she thought, had stalled somewhere back in his youth.

  "Do you wish that they did?" Ajalia asked. She folded her hands over her stomach, and stretched out her toes on the floor. The chair was comfortable. Ajalia told herself that she ought to go home; she reminded herself that Ossa and Coren were there, and that Leed was watching the bound boy for her. She remembered then that Isacar and Fashel would return, and find her gone. I will get up now, Ajalia told herself, but she sunk lower in the chair. Hal was regarding her shyly, a bare smile on his face.

  "Maybe I would like that," Hal ventured. "If girls liked me," he added.

  "What kind of girls do you like?" Ajalia asked. She told herself that Delmar would be out until all hours. She told herself that she ought to do something about Rane's body. She closed her eyes, and her elbow and hand were tucked tightly over the long sack. She leaned forward a little, and pushed her own bag beneath her lower back, so that she would feel it if anyone tried to touch her things. She settled back again, and closed her eyes. I could sleep here, in this chair, Ajalia told herself, for two whole days, and then I could go home.

  Hal was watching her, a curiously intense expression on his face. Ajalia opened her eyes, and looked over at him. He looked quickly away, and she thought of Daila, Card's daughter. She wondered if Hal would like Daila, and if Daila would like Hal.

  "I know a woman," Ajalia said. Hal's eyes brightened up; she thought that he was going to ask her if she would introduce him. "She's letting out single rooms in the oblong house, just up the street," Ajalia told Hal. "If you like, I could take you there."

  "Is she a nice woman?" Hal asked. Ajalia pretended to be asleep, because she wanted to know what Hal would do next. She felt an urgent hand on her shoulder, and she smiled. "Can you take me there now?" Hal asked.

  "Do you have to guard those two men?" Ajalia asked. Hal made a face.

  "Not anymore," he said, and Ajalia gathered that they were dead now. She sighed, and stood up. She adjusted her bag, and turned out the lamp.

  "Come on," she said, and then she felt Hal's arms slipping around her. Ajalia dropped the long sack, and with the same motion she grasped Hal's hair close to the roots, and twisted his face down and to the side. She liked Hal, and she didn't want to break his nose, so she stopped before the stone floor met his face, and let go of him. Hal was quivering in the darkness; she thought she could hear him crying.

  "That was stupid," Ajalia told him. She went to the lamp, and lit it. The Slavithe lamps had curious short wicks that led into a strange clear oil. They burned steadily and bright, and they lit easily. Ajalia had found that many households kept lighting materials tucked underneath the bases of the large lamps. The Slavithe had developed a cunning system of stones that were latched together with a rough hinge; they made a spark easily, and lit the lamps quickly. The lamp lighting tools were sophisticated, and Ajalia meant to carry many of the stones away with her, when she went to meet her Eastern master. He would find much interest in the stones, she thought, and there was some chance that her master would try to produce the hinged stones on a larger scale, to sell them throughout Leopath.

  Ajalia turned towards Hal, who was crouched on his knees, looking up at her warily.

  "Why did you do that?" Hal asked cautiously. Ajalia blinked.

  "I don't even understand why you're asking me that question," she said. She felt blank inside; she had really liked Hal. She still liked him, she found, but she saw an oddly damaged little boy in his eyes, looking out at her with a wounded expression. "You can't do things like that," she told Hal. Hal watched her, and he looked a little bit hurt. But I like you, his expression said plainly. His lips were pushed into an annoyed line.

  "What am I supposed to do?" Hal asked. Ajalia blinked again.

  "Why don't you talk to Delmar about kissing?" she suggested, and she picked up the long sack she had dropped to the floor.

&n
bsp; "You hate me now, don't you?" Hal asked anxiously. Ajalia drew out the folded piece of paper, and held it out.

  "What does that word say?" she asked. Hal looked down at the paper. He blushed again, but his mouth no longer looked pleased.

  "It's a very indecent word," he said.

  "What does it mean?" she asked. Hal stared at her, and she saw his jaw working beneath his beard.

  "It's an old Slavithe expression, a very rude expression, for when a man and a woman are together," he said.

  "What does that one say?" she asked. Hal blushed a deeper crimson.

  "It is an ugly word for what comes out of the man," Hal said. He looked angry. "I thought you would know that I liked you," he said defensively.

  "Rane is dead," Ajalia told Hal. "I came to tell Delmar, but he won't come back for some time. Deal with that for me." Hal's eyes widened, and his mouth opened. "And turn out the lamp," Ajalia said over her shoulder, "when you leave the house." She went out of the room, the long sack over her shoulder, and went out of Ocher's house.

  When she regained the steps of the dragon temple, which lay only a short distance from Ocher's house, she found a congregation of priests gathered in front of the temple entrance. Daniel was there, his hands raised in a conciliatory fashion. Daniel's face sagged in relief when he saw Ajalia coming; he ran towards her, and drew her aside from the priests.

  "They want to see you," Daniel said in a hushed voice. "They're talking about Sharo, and asking me where Delmar is. They heard that he came here sometimes," Daniel explained. "They're being very rude," he added, frowning at the priests.

  "Come with me," Ajalia told Daniel. She handed him the long sack, and went up the steps, and into the main hall. When the group of brown-cloaked priests attempted to follow her, she put out an arm. "I have urgent business," she said sharply. "Wait here. I will send someone when I am ready to see you." She glanced back, and saw that the priest at the head of all the others looked severely disgruntled. The hall within the dragon temple was darkened, and Ajalia heard the priests muttering to each other discontentedly on the stairs as she passed up the hall towards the staircase in the back.

  "They've been here for twenty minutes," Daniel told her. He hefted the long bag, and hurried to keep up with her as she strode through the long hall. "I told them you were out, but they said they wanted to wait. I think they were looking for Sharo, but they didn't ask for her after the first time I said no."

  "Did Isacar come back?" Ajalia asked. Daniel looked up at her, and nodded.

  "He didn't have that girl with him, though," Daniel said. "I didn't ask where she was." Ajalia went up the stairs, Daniel hot on her heels.

  "Put that bag away somewhere safe," she told him, and she went straight to her room, where the balcony opened over the front of the temple. She could hear the boys playing in another room as she passed it; she didn't stop to look in. When she came to her room, she drew the curtain that she had hung over the open balcony, and then closed the door. She tipped out the contents of her bag, and took out the wooden box. Unclasping it, she opened it, and got out the clear red stone. The rock, she saw, was no longer purely red. The stone had begun to turn a creamy, translucent white. It seemed, Ajalia thought, as though the red color was being burned away by the light that was still pouring steadily out of the stone. Ajalia put the stone on her desk, and went back towards the bed, where she had dumped out her things. She pulled off her Eastern robe, and put her fingers through her hair. She wanted to rest for a while, but Coren was heavy in her mind, and she was sure that the priests would come up into the temple if she kept them waiting for too long.

  Ajalia folded her cream robe and put it away in the trunk she had gotten for her room. She took out the orange sleeveless gown that Calles had sewn for her, with the high collar and embroidered stitching. Ajalia laid the gown out on the bed, and then flopped down on the stone floor. The white stones were icy below her, and her knife harness pressed snugly against her skin. Ajalia stared up at the ceiling, and thought about Fashel. The young woman would not have come back for two reasons that Ajalia could think of. The first reason was that she might have been a necessary servant in the house, and that it might take her a few days to put her work in order, before she could leave without creating disruption by her absence. The second, and more sinister possibility that came to Ajalia, was that Fashel was a shallow girl who would not be able to withstand the pressure of such an opportunity as Ajalia, and life in the dragon temple, presented. Ajalia had seen slaves before who preferred to stay in poor situations, because they were comfortable there, or because they did not feel capable of more sensitive work. For Isacar's sake, Ajalia hoped that Fashel was a good girl.

  Ajalia sighed, and rolled to her feet. She dressed herself, and arranged the things that she carried in the waist of her leggings. The gown had a snug waist, and she had to move several objects around, to keep from wearing strange shapes around her middle. She sat down on the bed, and sorted and repacked some of the things into her bag. The caches that she had retrieved from the forest she laid aside, and the falcon's dagger, and the white stone flecked with purple, she put into her bag. Ajalia hid the money and other items from her caches into the wooden base underneath her bed, and then she stood up, and yawned. She pinned her hair tightly up on her head, and put the bag back around her body. She had sewn a panel into the back of the orange gown, similar to the ones she had put into her Slavithe clothes, so that she could easily reach her knife beneath her clothes. The panel folded over itself, so that her knife was hidden from view, and her back was covered.

  Ajalia picked up the shining rock, and slipped it back into the wooden box. The light in the room vanished, and she went to the door, and went out to look for Coren. Ajalia found the boy, guarded assiduously by Leed, near the top of the house, in a small, box-like room that had lain empty since Ajalia and her boys had moved in. Ossa was sitting against one wall, her eyes fixed on Coren, and the boy was still tied sturdily, his wrists and ankles secured together. Coren was glowering at Ossa, and at Leed. Coren had a mulish look on his face, and his eyes were puffy, as though he had been crying.

  "Well," Ajalia said, when she had come in, and looked around at the three of them. "How's things?"

  Ossa looked up at Ajalia, and Ajalia thought she saw the shadow of a smile flit across the thickset girl's cheeks.

  "I'll get a light, so you can see," Ossa said, and she went out of the room. Ajalia went to the wall where Ossa had sat, and settled in against the wall. She looked at Leed, whose eyes were fixed steadily on Coren, and then she looked down at Simon's youngest son. Coren had glanced up when she had first come in, but now the boy avoided her gaze with a stiff neck. Ajalia could hardly see in the room; there was one small window against the far wall, but little moonlight came in, and deep shadows were against Coren's body and face. Leed did not speak to Ajalia, and she waited patiently for Ossa to come back. Ajalia could have taken the glowing stone out of her bag, but she did not want to reveal yet the gleaming stone. She had not yet decided what she wanted to do with the clear red stones, or about them. Silence filled up the little room; Ajalia could hear Coren breathing. There was a little rasp in the boy's breath, as though he had been crying hard, and his throat was dry.

  They sat together like this until Ossa returned; she carried a lamp, and the silver rays of light filled up the little room, and made it seem cozier, and smaller than before. Ossa gestured for Ajalia to follow her, and went towards Coren. Ajalia stood up from where she had leaned against the wall, and came to stand over the boy. Coren tried to turn his face into the floor, but Leed nudged him sharply with his foot, and Coren looked up at him with a snarl.

  Ajalia drew in an involuntary breath. Coren's face, in the lamplight, was marred. Nearly every inch of his skin was marked up with strange symbols; a pair of old Slavithe words, which Ajalia recognized from the leather she had translated earlier, were inscribed in his skin, one below each eye. The writing stretched from his jaw to his hairline. Some
marks seemed to have been drawn into his skin with a knife, while others glowed, like paint infused with magic, over his skin.

  "Who did this to you?" Ajalia asked. She stepped back, and indicated for Ossa to throw the light more clearly over the boy's hands. She saw that his wrists and arms had been similarly marked.

  "It is the way of the witches," Ossa said softly. "They call it casting a thrall. I have never seen so many marks as this," she added. Ossa's eyes drifted to Ajalia's forehead, where the black paint had lately been, and the girl frowned. "It is usually only one mark," Ossa said.

  "Where is your mark?" Ajalia asked the girl. Ossa flinched, but she met Ajalia's eyes steadily.

  "I don't have one," Ossa said.

  "If you didn't have a mark," Ajalia told the girl, "you would have looked horrified at the suggestion that you did. Where is your mark?" Ossa's mouth clenched down hard, and Ajalia smiled at her.

  "You see that I wear a mark, when it conveniences me," Ajalia said. "Where is yours?" Ossa was studying Ajalia carefully. When she saw that Ajalia was not angry, or outraged, she cautiously lifted one hand, and touched the skin of her right cheek. "How is it hidden?" Ajalia asked.

  Ossa lifted her hand, with a similar motion to what Hal had done when he had conjured the images over his palm, and a faint white word in normal Slavithe writing showed on her cheek. Ajalia could easily read the word; it was the Slavithe word for sky. So, Ajalia thought to herself, the women who work magic have their own kind of white brand.

  "How did you find these?" Ajalia asked, pointing down at Coren, who had put his face against the floor, to hide what he could of the marks. The white writing on Ossa's cheek gleamed, and then faded away.

  "The witches all work in the same way," Ossa said. "There are always parts of the magic left behind. If you follow the pieces of magic, you can unravel a part of what they did. Their magic is bad," Ossa said. "It is never clean."