Hand and Talon (World of Kyrni Book 1)

by Melonie Purcell

  “I don’t hate you,” he said, snatching a rock up off the ground and rolling it around in his hand. “Although, at times I do want to shake you till your teeth rattle.” He indicated the knife with a stern glance, then looked away. “You bring back memories of a time that I have worked hard to put behind me. Painful memories.” Sorin glanced down at the rock in his hand. On one end, it was smooth and flat, the sort of rock that would skip across a pond several times before sinking, except that particular rock would never skip. Where gentle curves marked one side of the rock, a sharp, jagged edge was all that remained of the rock’s other half. “It isn’t your fault, and I’m sorry that you have taken the brunt of my foul mood.” He ran his thumb over the broken edge for a moment and then tossed it to the side. “I’ll have to ask you to be patient with me while I try to work this out.”

  Krea was stunned. Whatever happened that led to the loss of his link must have been horrible. Sorin was a hard man to figure out, but that he was not given to emotional displays was obvious enough. She couldn’t decide on a proper response, so she just nodded and stared down at the forest.

  “If you don’t start doing what I tell you to do when I tell you to do it, you are going to find out I can be a whole different kind of cross.”

  She nodded again, but couldn’t help smiling.

  They sat in silence for what felt like the whole rest of the day. She had done her share of stalking her mark, but this was ridiculous. “How much longer?” she finally asked.

  “I don’t think he’s still following us. The birds and squirrels would have given him away by now. Do you hear anything? Smell anything?”

  Smell anything! Krea blinked at him and then closed her eyes to concentrate on her other senses. She had never really paid attention to her sense of smell before. How was she supposed to smell a…a what? She didn’t even know what he was. After a few seconds of trying to focus on nothing, she shook her head. “Do you know what he was? He didn’t act like a trader.”

  “I can guess.” Sorin pushed himself up and dusted off his breeches. “Let me see that knife.”

  “Why?”

  They stared at each other. Sorin’s jaw twitched. His birch-colored eyes squinted at her from under dark, furrowed brows. When he finally spoke, his voice was hard and controlled. “Because I am going to stab you with it after I see if it tells me anything about its former owner.”

  She waited another few seconds to make her point, and then pulled it out from the back of her breeches. It was a good knife. At least as good as the one she had nearly taken from the clearing, maybe better. She had examined every line while they had been waiting on the rock. The handle was made of creamy-white polished bone with a carved design partly worn away from use. The blade had also seen some wear, but it was still sharp and smooth. No pits or deep scratches anywhere. With as much indifference as she could feign, she handed him the sheathed knife.

  Sorin stared at her a moment longer and then took it. He examined the sheath, paying special attention to the threads and knots, held the handle up to the light to better see what was left of the carvings, and finally slid the blade free. After checking its edge, he returned the knife to the sheath and handed it over. She snatched it away and quickly shoved it back into her waistband.

  “Well, the knife is Wakilni, that much is certain. I’d bet my horse those riders were as well.”

  “You sure they weren’t from Tisher?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Do you think that rider will keep following us?”

  Sorin shook his head. “My guess is he went back to Faythor.”

  “Why?”

  “To set a trap for you.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that.

  Sorin took in their surroundings again and finally climbed onto his horse. When Krea was also mounted, he turned Drindoc toward the steep embankment that made up the backside of their hill. Krea yanked Caldir back hard.

  “We can’t go down that!” she exclaimed, chancing another peek over the edge. “No way. What are you thinking?”

  Sorin looked over at her in obvious confusion and then surveyed the drop again. “Sure we can. Just give him his head and lean back in your saddle.”

  The man had lost his mind— again. “Sorin, that’s a cliff!”

  “We’ll get to some cliffs later, and I’ll show you what one really looks like. This is just a little hill. Caldir will get you down. Just leave him alone. He’ll take care of it.” Without another word, Sorin clicked to his mount and disappeared.

  With her heart lodged in her throat, Krea edged her horse closer to the drop-off and looked over. Drindoc was taking the hill at an angle. His haunches bunched under him as if he were ready to spring. At times, he looked like he was sliding down the hill on his rear, and Krea had to admit that in a certain sense, he was.

  Drindoc was already halfway down before she built up enough nerve to click her horse forward. Caldir didn’t hesitate. Krea pitched forward, and only a handful of mane kept her on the horse. She yanked at the reins to turn Caldir back, but it was too late; he was committed.

  Caldir jerked his head back when she pulled on the reins and slipped to the side in his attempt to obey her command. Dirt and rocks gave way under his hooves, and Krea screamed. She was sure he was about to fall sideways and roll on top of her down the hill. He would kill her if that happened. She decided to jump free and released the reins so she could roll off the side. Caldir took advantage of the freedom and dropped his head almost between his legs. All at once, she was looking at the ground where Caldir’s head once was, and it felt for all the world as if he were about to somersault the rest of the way down the hill. Caldir slipped sideways. A sudden jolt threw Krea back in the saddle, but she had nothing but air to hold onto.

  She felt her horse shift his weight back onto his powerful haunches, and even though the ground continued to crumble beneath his feet, he adjusted and stayed essentially level the rest of the way down the hill. Ironically, it wasn’t until they reached the bottom of the hill and Caldir pushed himself out of his tucked position that Krea fell off.

  “What were you thinking!” Sorin demanded, snatching Caldir’s reins off the ground before she had finished rolling sideways. He led the horse forward, watching each foot as it hit the ground.

  “What was I thinking? Did you really just say that? You’re the one who decided to go down a cliff when there was a perfectly good hill on the other side!” Krea climbed to her feet and tried to push away the jarring in her head. “I’m fine, by the way. Don’t worry about me.”

  Sorin walked Caldir in several circles before he was satisfied that the horse wasn’t hurt. “I told you to give him his head. Your change of heart up there nearly lamed my horse.”

  Krea snatched the reins he offered and glared up at the caller. “Maybe this little fact has somehow escaped your thick skull, but I don’t know how to ride a horse. I’m so happy that you can drop off the edge of a cliff and see that as nothing to be concerned about, but from where I was sitting, that was just this side of insane, not to mention damned scary.”

  Sorin started to respond, but then smiled instead. Slowly, the smile turned into a soft chuckle until he was finally laughing outright. Krea couldn’t help herself, and before she knew it, she was laughing too.

  “That was actually pretty funny to watch.” Sorin walked over to her, still chuckling, and reached for her face. “Come here. You have dirt on your nose.”

  “I bet it was,” Krea said. “Wasn’t funny at the time, though, let me tell you.”

  Sorin was still grinning when he dropped his hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  Krea nodded.

  “Good. Next time, let the horse have his head. Let him get down the mountain his own way.”

  She nodded again and brushed more dust off her sleeve. “Why didn’t we just go back the way we came instead of going through all of that?”

  “Because if that last rider is waiting for us, he will b
e at the base of that hill. I chose that spot specifically because I knew no one could come in from the back without us hearing. Unfortunately, if he is waiting, he would have heard you scream, which means he’ll know where we are, again.”

  Sorin helped Krea resituate her pack and then climbed onto his horse. “I think we’ll cut away from the river and head straight for Ryth. It’s going to get interesting because we left Trasdaak without provisions, but I don’t see any other safe options.” Sorin looked out into the tree-covered thicket. “The last thing we want is to spend the next four weeks looking over our shoulders.”

  That familiar feeling of awkwardness rushed in and took over. It seemed like her whole life Krea had been messing things up, and today was no exception. Maybe she wasn't a changeling like she thought, but she sure had some sort of curse on her head. Krea pulled herself up onto her horse and fell in behind Sorin, feeling heavy and stupid. Chances were that when she got to the Royal City, they wouldn’t want her anyhow.

  Chapter 6 - Story

  Krea didn’t have to guide Caldir at all. He naturally followed Drindoc as Sorin wound in and out of trees and rocks. The sun was long out of its crest, but the dark sky was from the ominous clouds, not the waning day. Thick underbrush made the forest difficult to navigate in places, but Sorin always managed to find a path through the tall evergreens and looming oaks, almost as if the forest welcomed him by opening paths that weren’t there a moment before. How he even knew the direction he traveled was beyond her. Krea followed along in sulky silence, watching, wondering, and learning.

  Days blurred into a week and the week into two weeks. Day after day, the same monotonous thing. At first Sorin hardly spoke, but as the days passed, his dark demeanor seemed to lift. He shared stories of the battles he and Kole fought when Sorin first arrived at the manor he had been given as a fief by Her Majesty, and about how slow the townspeople of Trasdaak were to accept him when they found out he was a caller. Other than to say the drykir had given it to him, Sorin would not speak about his hand. He did tell her about court life and why he avoided it whenever possible. Now and again, he would pause to let the horses eat or point out special flowers or plants that caught his attention; some he collected for food, but for the most part, they rode in eternal silence from the moment the sun rose until it dropped out of the sky and sometimes beyond that.

  Krea glanced up. The dark clouds continued to press in above them, and she could smell the rain on the air. She frowned at the angry black sky peeking in through the thick forest canopy. Sorin didn’t seem to notice, or more likely, he didn’t care. He just continued picking his way through the scrub oak and fallen trees as if this were as natural as breathing. When the sky started to rumble, she clicked Caldir up beside him and protested.

  “Aren’t we going to stop?” she asked, pulling her thin oilskin cloak out of the saddlebag. It was the one piece of clothing he had packed for her that didn’t fit.

  Sorin shook his head. “We can get wet riding, or we can get wet sitting. Either way, we’re about to get wet.”

  He had a point. “Do you know where we are?”

  Drindoc stopped. After a long stretch in the saddle, Sorin looked around. “Mostly,” he said, turning to pull his own cloak out of a pouch.

  “Mostly?” Krea glanced around at the forbidding woods. She had spent many nights sleeping out in the forest before this trip and as many sleeping in the rain for that matter, but this was different. There were no roads, no paths, and no village.

  To make matters worse, the storm cast an eerie haze over the treetops that left her feeling like the trees leered down at her. Their leaves whispered about her fate. She didn’t want to spend another minute under their looming stare, let alone a night, but Sorin didn’t seem bothered.

  “Well, it’s been a while since I came this way, but I seem to remember a rock face that should have been in view by now. It could be that we aren’t far enough in.”

  “Maybe we’ll find a hunter’s shelter to weather the storm in,” Krea said, giving the sky another speculative glance. When she looked back at Sorin, he was looking at her as if she had just wished for a flying horse.

  “You aren’t serious, are you?” he asked, head cocked to one side.

  “Well, that’s what happens in the songs.”

  “And that would be because singing about a cold, miserable night in the woods doesn’t get a bard asked back to the town.” Sorin pulled the hood of his leather cloak up and nudged his horse forward before Krea could form a decent response.

  “Why are you so grumpy?” she demanded, kicking Caldir into motion and pulling up her own hood.

  Sorin didn’t even turn around. “Because I’m old,” he called back. “Too old to be dragging through the forest in a rainstorm.”

  “Well, don’t take it out on me. This was your idea, remember? You were the one who said we had to go see the elders.”

  ###

  Sorin’s rock face finally came into view through sheets of rain so heavy she could barely hear Sorin call for a stop. Fortunately, the thick canopy of the forest took part of the beating, but Krea was soaked just the same. Only the oily leather cloak offered any protection from the downpour, and it didn’t cover half of what it was intended to.

  Several times he stopped in front of very promising overhangs, but after a cursory glance, he pushed forward. When the caller drew up to yet another protruding rock, Krea didn’t bother looking up. She just kept her hood pulled as far down over her face as it would go and waited for him to set off again.

  “I was beginning to wonder,” he muttered mostly to himself as he reined his horse back toward Krea. Whatever else he had to say was lost to the rain. The forest was as dark as dusk from the heavy cloud cover. Krea shivered. She didn’t relish the idea of sleeping in the downpour, but the idea of curling up in the heavy wool blanket sounded better and better.

  “Krea!” Sorin called.

  When she glanced up to find him, a stream of water from her hood drizzled down her cheek. The caller waved for her to follow and then turned his horse into what looked like a thick wall of underbrush. A week earlier, she would have been surprised by his disregard for nature’s obstacle, but like his moody silence, she was getting used to it. Instead, she waited for the cedar brush to snap back behind him before clicking her horse forward.

  Caldir was less enthusiastic about stepping into the tangle of brush, but after sufficient coaxing that involved several kicks and a yell, he jumped into the weedy branches. The bush reluctantly parted, and when Krea looked up again, she was shocked to find herself in a huge shallow cave. The brush had provided a perfect curtain for the oasis of dry land. Had Sorin not been there, she would have never seen it.

  “And you said that this only happens in songs,” she said, sliding out of the saddle.

  Sorin grinned and started untying his bags. “Who do you think the bards were singing about?”

  At first, Krea dismissed his comment and went to work removing her own saddlebags, but the more she thought about it, the more she wondered. How old did he say he was? And he was a caller, after all. There were more songs about the kyrni and their callers than she could count.

  She peered over Caldir’s saddle as she worked to make her frozen fingers unlatch the girth buckles and watched Sorin deftly strip his gear from Drindoc’s back. Where had he been? What adventures had he seen? What could have happened to him to make him so surly and silent? She wondered again about his lost link and the pain she had seen in his eyes. Where had he been, indeed?

  As if reading her mind, Sorin glanced over at her. She hurried to look away, embarrassed.

  “Do you need help?” he asked.

  Krea shook her head. “I’m fine. Do you want me to put my saddle by yours?”

  “Aye, and use that torn shirt of yours to dry the saddles as best you can.”

  “What about the horses?”

  He waved her off and began searching through another bag. “Don’t worry about them. They ju
st need to go eat. Tend to the saddles.”

  Still shivering, Krea carried her tack over and laid it out next to Sorin’s. In short order, she had both saddles as dry as she could get them, but there was nothing to be done for the discoloration caused by the rain on the leather. When she turned back to Sorin, he had moved his search to her bags.

  “I didn’t steal anything of yours, so whatever it is you’re looking for, I don’t have it,” she said, glaring across the dimly lit cave.

  “I didn’t say that you did.” He reached for a new bag.

  “Then why are you looking through my things?”

  Sorin finished searching the last bags, then turned to look at her. “Well, to be honest, they’re all my bags, aren’t they? And the reason I’m looking through them is because I know I put an extra pick in and I can’t find it. I can’t find either of them, actually.”

  Krea glared at him for a moment, remembered that he was the reason she wasn’t standing in the rain, and contained her desire to scratch his eyes out. “What’s a pick?” she finally managed through chattering teeth. His amusement danced in his eyes.

  “A hoof pick,” he explained. “It’s for digging rocks out of a horse’s feet. You must have seen me use it before now.”

  “Does it look like a small rod of metal twisted into a curved hook?”

  “Aye. Do you know where it is?”

  Krea smiled. “Is it black?”

  “I don’t remember. It could be. Have you seen it?”

  “About this big?” she asked, indicating a distance roughly the length of her hand.

  “Aye,” Sorin said, exasperated. “Where did you see it?”

  “Who says I saw it?” Krea said, unable to suppress her grin. “Maybe I used to have one just like it when I was a child.”