Fire Hawk

by Justine Davis, Justine Dare

  “I did not know. I thought you had . . . always been as you are now.”

  Tal’s mouth twisted wryly. “By most measures of time, I have.” He gave another shake of his head. “It no longer matters. It was a very long time ago, in another lifetime. An old memory that should be forgotten.”

  But Tal had not forgotten, Kane thought. No matter how long ago it had been.

  “So tell me of your guest. How does the training progress?”

  “If you are so curious, you shouldn’t have disappeared like an accursed phantom this afternoon.”

  Tal laughed. He reached out and stroked a hand over the raven’s gleaming feathers. “Maud was on the hunt,” he said, “and she had no wish to tarry.”

  “That bird,” Kane said, moving at last toward the edge of the pool, “is more hawk than raven.”

  For the first time since he’d known him, Tal looked genuinely startled. He stared at Kane as if trying to divine some hidden meaning in the observation Kane had meant merely as a joke.

  “Can you deny it?” he asked. “She flies and hunts with a hawk’s ferocity and silent skill, not a raven’s trickery and noise.”

  “Yes,” Tal said softly. “Yes, she does.”

  Kane wondered at his odd tone, but abandoned the thought as he came out of the water and the night breeze struck his already chilled body. What had seemed essential before seemed overmuch now, and he fought down the shivering.

  “Here.”

  Tal held out something that Kane at first thought was his clothing, but now saw was a rough-textured cloth. Kane looked at him curiously.

  “Dry off. Unless you’re fond of the battle of getting wet skin into leather leggings.”

  Kane chuckled and took the cloth. He dried himself, making no effort to hide his scarred, battered body from Tal. The man had seen most of the marks he carried already and had wormed the grim stories behind them out of Kane, for what purpose Kane couldn’t guess; Tal had no fondness for warfare, yet he seemed intrigued by the tales. And he had to admit he’d felt oddly lightened himself by the telling.

  “Is it truly the woman who has you seeking out icy baths in the middle of the night?”

  “ ’Tis myself,” Kane said as he yanked his clothes back on. “I’ve become a raving idiot, nothing less.”

  “Hmm,” Tal said thoughtfully. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  Kane grimaced with wry humor despite his inner turmoil.

  “What has you so tormented?”

  Kane hesitated. He did not wish Tal to know of the cold bargain he’d struck with Jenna. He’d tried to tell himself she’d forced it upon him with her refusal to give up, that she’d backed him into a corner by refusing to take off running as she should have at the very idea of letting herself be used by a man like him, but all his fine arguments came back to the simple fact that he hadn’t been able to withstand the pleas of one small woman, and had gotten himself into this muddle through his own weakness.

  “What is it, Kane? She . . . refuses you?”

  Kane made a choking sound that was half laugh, half groan. The words burst from him before he could stop them. “No. She simply waits, watching me like a frightened deer, waiting for me to take her as we agreed.”

  Tal went very still. “Agreed?”

  “Why else would I be so torn? The solution to my problem is within my grasp, yet I hesitate to take it.”

  “The solution?”

  “Jenna.”

  “I . . . see.”

  Tal sounded odd, disturbed. Kane finished tying the lacing of his tunic with sharp movements, not able to meet Tal’s eyes.

  “I told you I was a bastard,” he said gruffly, reaching for his belt. “Now you know ’tis true in all senses of the word.”

  “Yes, you told me.”

  “I am Kane, the most ruthless warrior of them all, the coldest, most unfeeling bastard alive, just as the legends say. Was it not you who said most legends are built upon truth?”

  He put the belt around his waist and jerked it tight, fastening it as if speed were imperative as he went on mercilessly.

  “Well, that is the truth of Kane, Tal. He is as bad as the legends paint him, and he will never change. He is the kind of man who would lay waste to an entire land, wreak havoc on people who have done no more than get in his way, and leave the dead behind him to rot.” He settled his dagger in its sheath with a short, sharp, angry motion.

  “Are you through scourging yourself yet?” Tal asked, his tone strangely mild.

  “Not nearly.” Kane made himself face his friend now, thinking it quite likely it would be for the last time; Tal was not the kind of man who would approve of what he’d done. But perhaps it was time Tal knew just what kind of man he was dealing with. Tal was looking at him with that intensity that was so unnerving, nothing of his thoughts showing in his eyes.

  “Kane is the kind of man who would demand of an innocent the one payment that should never be forced, who would trade lessons in war for the purity of her body, because he was too feeble willed to simply send her away as he should, and too feebleminded to realize she would call his bluff.”

  Something changed in Tal’s eyes at those last words, and Kane could have sworn he saw a glint of that odd golden glow he’d seen the night Tal had found him in the stream.

  “So that’s how it happened,” Tal murmured.

  Kane answered only with a grunt of disgust as he bent to tug on his boots.

  “It was a ruse, wasn’t it?” Tal said softly. “You offered her a trade—your lessons for . . . herself—that you believed she would refuse.”

  “She should have,” Kane muttered. “She should have fled like a rabbit scenting a wolf.”

  “But she did not.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  Kane slammed his heel down into his right boot. “Because she is a fool. Because she is blind. Because she is too witless to take care of herself.”

  “Because she loves others above herself? Because she sees too clearly what will happen to them? Because she is so desperate she cannot think of her own welfare?”

  Tal countered his accusations one by one, in a voice barely above a whisper.

  Kane straightened slowly, staring. “You speak as if you know her.”

  “I do. As well as I once knew another, so like her . . .”

  With a short, jerky motion unlike any Kane had ever seen him make before, Tal turned away. And Tal, who was always in such perfect control of his body, who never made a false move, was never in anything but perfect balance, nearly slipped as he jumped down from the rock.

  He steadied himself, still looking away, but Kane sensed somehow that if he could see his friend’s eyes, he would see that same shadowed look he had seen before, the look of a deeply buried memory that brought great pain. ’Twas that Tal was thinking of, Kane thought, not Jenna herself. If the two had truly met, Tal would hardly be avoiding her now.

  Maud, as if sensing something wrong, gave a quick flap of her wings and alighted on Tal’s left shoulder, something Kane had also never seen before. The bird pecked at Tal’s ear, so gently it was more of a nudge.

  Tal took a deep breath, then whispered something to the raven Kane could not hear. The bird’s head bobbed, but she did not leave his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” Kane said.

  Tal’s head came up. Any trace of tension had vanished, replaced by his usual mocking grin. “The mighty Kane is sorry? That’s enough to worry a man, imagining what that would take.”

  For once, Kane refused to let himself be diverted. He wasn’t certain why. It was not a warrior’s habit to make friends. The cost ran far too high. And there were few men he’d met he would care to call friend anyway. Especially the kind of friend privy to the sort of emotional stra
in Kane hated to even admit to.

  But Tal was . . . different. He’d always been different. And although he didn’t want to admit this any more than the other, he couldn’t deny that Tal had a habit of turning up at the times when that strain he didn’t care to acknowledge was at its worst. He wasn’t sure exactly what had happened the other night, wasn’t sure he wanted to know; he did know he owed Tal for it. And he’d never thought to have a chance to repay him. Other than the occasional flicker of darkness in his eyes, Tal had seemed unaffected by such things. Until now.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, “for whatever you were thinking of just now.”

  For a long, quiet moment Tal just looked at him. There was nothing of mockery in his face, nothing of that mysterious glint in his eyes, nothing of the mask in his expression. And in that moment, for the first time, Kane thought he was seeing the real man Tal was. Or had been, once.

  “Who are you, Tal?” he asked.

  “You know who I am. Better than anyone.”

  Kane looked at him steadily. “Then who were you?”

  “That,” Tal said, “no longer matters. That man doesn’t exist anymore. He hasn’t for a very long time.”

  Kane went very still. After a moment, he said slowly, “That’s why you understand, isn’t it? You’ve . . . left yourself behind just as I have. Or have tried to.”

  Tal’s dark brows rose. “You’ve come a long way.”

  Kane grimaced. “Not far enough.”

  “Tell me, were you this critical of the men you led, or only of yourself?”

  “A leader is supposed to be harder on himself than anyone.”

  “But you lead no one now, why continue?”

  Kane lifted a brow. “If you think I judge myself too harshly, you are misguided, my friend.”

  Tal shrugged. “ ’Twould not be the first time.”

  Kane drew back a little, surprised. Tal usually accused him of doing just that, being too merciless with himself. He hadn’t realized until just now how much he’d come to count on Tal’s quiet assurances that he wasn’t the devil most believed him to be. That he wasn’t the devil he thought himself to be most of the time.

  The answer came to him quickly; it was what he’d done to Jenna, no doubt, that had changed Tal’s mind. Just as he’d feared, their friendship could not withstand such a thing. Tal was clever, quick, strong, and possessed of those unique gifts that made Kane uneasy, but above all, he was a gentle man, and he would not care for the mistreatment of innocents.

  “I warned you,” Kane said flatly, turning away, knowing that once more what he was had cost him something he valued.

  “We have both paid a heavy price for what we once were, my friend. It makes for a bond not easily broken.”

  Kane whirled back around at the unerring accuracy of Tal’s words and found himself facing the same smiling, faintly amused Tal he had always known.

  “And you swear you are not a mind reader?”

  “Is it so strange, that two men who have had such common things in their lives, should think in similar ways?”

  He had no answer for that, so he stayed silent. The raven made a sharp noise, then left Tal’s shoulder to vanish into the night with a minimum of fuss, and Kane knew Tal was back to normal. And that he would soon disappear with little more fuss than the bird.

  “I wish you luck in your current predicament, Kane, my friend. You will need it, I believe.”

  Kane watched him go, and stood for a long time after, pondering the mystery of his friend, and the wonder that he still, apparently, was a friend.

  And the fact that he had little doubt Tal’s last words were absolutely true.

  IT WAS THE FIRST time she’d been out on the mountain alone, and Jenna was savoring it even as the apprehension played counterpoint to the thrill. She’d never hunted for food in her life; what if she failed? She’d only been shooting the small, lightweight crossbow Kane had helped her make for four days now, although the constant minor ache in her arms and shoulders made it seem much longer.

  True, she had made progress; she had moved from stationary targets to ones Kane tossed rather quickly, and he himself had said she had a good eye, but firing at a living, moving animal was quite a different prospect. Not to mention her apprehension at killing another creature so . . . directly.

  She smiled ruefully at the irony of worrying about slaying a rabbit when her heart was crying out for her to slaughter those who had slaughtered her family and friends. It still cried out, despite knowing that Kane was right, that they could have no hope of vengeance; saving what was left was the best they could hope for.

  She shivered, but knew it had little to do with chill, or even her own bloody thoughts, and everything to do with Kane. Still he had not called upon her to honor their agreement, and the waiting was making her more nervous than she had ever been in her life. And she knew as well that a great deal of her uneasy state was because of the new tack Kane seemed to be taking; every night, as he had the day she’d climbed the cliff, he knelt behind her to ease the stiffness out of her weary muscles with his strong yet gentle hands.

  And every night, she fell under the warm, languorous spell he seemed to weave over her, until she felt as good as boneless in his grasp.

  Boneless, but not nerveless. In fact, when Kane touched her in that slow, stroking way, she discovered nerves she’d never known she had, nerves that first tingled, then sparked, then burned, filling her with sensations she’d never felt, never known it was possible to feel.

  A shiver rippled through her as she remembered last night, when she’d felt a new kind of creeping warmth, and a tension utterly unlike that of her weary body, as he’d massaged her into that limp, slack state of relaxation, then slid his hands forward to gently cup her breasts. She’d been so softened by his touch it had taken her a moment to realize an entirely new kind of heat had begun to pulse beneath his hands, and before she realized it, a low moan had escaped her. In that same moment, before she had instinctively stiffened and pulled away, he had rubbed his fingertips gently over her nipples, sending little darts of fire shooting through her, making her suck in a shocked little breath.

  By the time her body had gone rigid with that shock, he had released her.

  “Are there no men in your clan,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, “that you remain untouched?”

  Before she could gather her oddly scattered thoughts to answer that the problem was she herself, not the men of Hawk Glade, he had gone, off on another of his nighttime excursions. This morning he had not mentioned anything, merely sent her down the mountain with the small crossbow, saying they would eat the results of her hunt, or not at all. Jenna wished he would just take her and get it over with, before the anticipation drove her mad.

  And found herself wondering if it would truly be so bad, as long as his touch remained as gentle as it had been.

  A sudden commotion and the sound of wings beating the air stopped her in her tracks. Quickly, she notched an arrow, her eyes searching the trees to her right, from where the sound had come. A flock, at the least, she thought; from the noise—

  And there they were, pheasant, several of them with their distinctive long tails and their odd, cough-like cries, the males bright against the backdrop of trees, the females a muted contrast. Jenna wondered what had flushed them from their hiding place, and breathed a small prayer of thanks as she drew back the bowstring, that it hadn’t been quail; she had little faith in her ability to bring down one of the smaller birds.

  She never fired.

  A shout, a man’s shout, from close by, startled her into nearly letting the arrow fly wildly.

  What had flushed them from their hiding place?

  Her own thoughts came back to her, along with Kane’s stern admonitions to always be aware of what was around her, and to never co
ncentrate so much on one thing that she lost sight of all else.

  She crouched down behind a large, low bush, her heart pounding; she had done exactly that, been concentrating so intently that she’d overlooked the possible danger even when it had crossed her mind. She wondered if perhaps Kane had followed her, keeping out of sight among the trees. She even began to hope it was him.

  She heard another shout, of a man’s name, William, she thought. Then an answering bellow. Both voices were male, neither Kane’s. And then, in the first voice came a chilling command.

  “Kill him!”

  There was a moment of unearthly silence, then it was broken by the harsh cry of a raven. A cry that was almost human in its rage. A cry Jenna could almost swear was tinged with fear.

  Chapter 9

  JENNA RESISTED the urge to run; she could no longer afford the luxury of self-preservation, and she might as well accept the fact now. Should it be true that Kane had followed her, it could well be him in trouble just beyond those trees, as impossible as that seemed.

  Keeping her small crossbow at the ready, she began to move toward the sounds, keeping low and moving with as little noise as she could manage, as Kane had taught her. She heard the raven again, closer now, and crouched even lower.

  “Watch him! He’ll try some sorcerer’s trick!” The first man again, she thought.

  “Then you kill him,” the second voice said, somewhat fearfully.

  “What’s wrong with you?” the first man sneered. “Are you afraid of him? Look at him, he has only a dagger, and no armor at all!”

  “If he’s a sorcerer, what need has he for armor?”

  The image flashed through her mind, Kane holding a plump pheasant like those she had just seen.

  . . . courtesy of the local wizard.

  The rest of their exchange echoed as clearly.

  You have . . . a wizard?

  No. Just a friend who is far too clever.