Aiming his pony directly into the enemy's line of attack, he kept the man guessing until the last second when he signaled Fire into a sidestep to the right, taking him away from the warrior's waiting sword. His iron blade had been held high to the right as though he were preparing a similar attack to the one he had just completed. Instead, responding to signal, Fire swerved sharply to the left bumping the other pony on the rear with his chest and allowing Chan to twist his body around and neatly sever the warrior's head from his body with a stroke to the back of the neck.
The remaining nomad was already pressing his attack from the rear. Fire had almost fallen from the impact with the last opponent's pony and, in the interim the enemy had nearly caught up. Chan somehow kept his seat and signaled a turn that would allow him to present his sword to the stranger's attack.
The impetus of the enemy attack drove them apart and Chan, being nearly stationary already, was the first to reverse his course. Quickly, he urged Fire forward toward his surprised enemy. They met in another left side to left side encounter, their ponies almost coming to a standstill as the two iron swords met with a loud clang. The stranger had a round shield strapped to his left forearm and was holding his pony's reins in that hand. Chan was not encumbered with a shield and his reins lay across his pony's neck, unneeded. As the two swords met, Chan brought his left arm up and plunged the sharp point of his hook into his opponent's right forearm.
A loud scream of pain was rent from the stranger's throat as the two pulled apart. The hook had ripped from his arm, breaking several tendons and leaving a long, bloody gash that extended halfway down the nomad's forearm. The iron sword fell from his grip. Unarmed and in a panic, the wounded warrior spurred his mount forward and turned toward the trail upon which he had entered the meadow.
Chan wheeled Fire around and pursued at a run. Fire had always been one of the quickest of his ponies and he began to overtake the enemy's mount long before they exited the field of combat. The frightened stranger turned down a ravine to the right. The trail wound around large boulders and between occasional trees. The pace of the race was necessarily slowed. Chan knew that he must take out this last attacker before he could return to his tribe and spread the alarm. He had been lucky to prevail against three armed warriors. If he were to meet more in his now very tired state, he would not be so lucky.
Slowly, Fire gained upon the enemy pony. The pressure of a knee is more quickly responded to than the pull of a rein and Fire was more efficiently taking the turns in the tortuous path. Soon, they were just behind the enemy pony but the path was narrow and there was no room to pull up alongside the fleeing stranger.
Suddenly, they turned a corner and entered a point at which the path cut across a narrow ledge on a steep, rocky cliff which faced to the right. Chan urged his mount to hug the wall on the left and forge forward suddenly between their quarry and the cliff face. Reaching as far forward as he could, he struck at the enemy pony's rump with his sword. The combination of bump and sting caused the hapless pony to sidestep off the edge of the cliff.
Flame, responding to signal, pulled to a stop as Chan watched the enemy horse and rider plunge to their deaths some two hundred feet below. Chan sheathed his sword and rode on to the far side of the cliff where there was room to turn about.
When he returned to the scene of the main battle, he found the two remaining nomad ponies grazing not too far from their fallen riders. One of the nomads had died instantly, the other was lying there helplessly, his back broken and slowly bleeding. Chan checked him over and, finding there was little that could be done for the man, dispatched him with the knife Meron had given him. He wondered for a moment why he had even thought of helping the wounded nomad. The answer came quickly. Once you have experienced the mercy of a victorious foe, it was easier to empathize with a disabled and helpless enemy. He knew that the man had known love, fear, hatred and joy much as he had. In other circumstances they might have been friends.
Chan collected anything of value to him. There was some gold jewelry and a bronze hatchet. One of the dead nomads was large like him and he scavenged several articles of clothing including a good pair of moccasins. He located the iron sword dropped by his final opponent and placed it in the nicest of the scabbards remaining, discarding the bronze blade that it had borne before. This he hung by its belt from the saddle pommel of one of the other ponies. Leading the other ponies by a long length of rawhide tied with a slipknot to his pommel, he continued his travels in a direction that took him away from the unseen enemy camp.
As soon as he could, he plunged into a river and followed it upstream to a rocky area where the tracks of his ponies would be nearly impossible to follow. Before long he was well hidden in the mountainous wilds between McAllister and Washington craters.
CHAPTER FIVE
Kit looked down with interest. He could see West Pass some two thousand feet below him. He was accompanying Heron on patrol, just going along for the ride on Flash's back. It was late afternoon and the patrol was to be a short one so Heron had stopped by to pick up his friend for company.
Off to the right and slightly above them, Kit could see Heron, under his glider wing, searching the wilds just outside one of the passes for the presence of nomads. Above and to the left of them, Ree, their messenger falcon, flew in formation with the enormous Flash.
This was Kit's first opportunity to view the wild lands that surrounded the crater. The mountains were relatively young, as mountains go, and, therefore, steep and rocky with none of the softly curving lines of older, more worn down ranges. While trees and grasses abounded wherever there was purchase, they were crowded round and about by large and small boulders fallen from the peaks that now towered above the high flying eagle. Occasionally, an animal trail wound its way through the rocks, pointing the way to some distant water hole or meadow.
Kit looked down with a fascination that seemed overpowering. This territory was such a stark contrast to the ordered, cultivated world he knew inside the great crater. It looked as though the hand of man had never once done anything to modify the wild beauty of these mountain lands. He felt drawn to them, compelled by the exciting variety of terrain. Each time they soared over another ridge or rise, new wonders would stretch out in front of them, drawing their eyes, beckoning them to explore, to discover what else lay ahead. Would there be a turbulent river rushing angrily by, a green meadow dotted with colorful, spring flowers or, perhaps, a deep gorge with sunlit rocks at the top and deep shadows further down?
Without warning, Flash began to do wing waggles and started a turn to the left. Heron had warned Kit about that. This was the signal that the big eagle had spotted something unusual. Kit began searching the ground below and ahead of them.
Then he spotted him. Riding down a shallow ravine, not far from the pass, was a single nomad warrior riding a roan pony and leading two other ponies by a long, rawhide thong. Flash dropped even lower and went in close for a look at the lone horseman, staying just out of range of the nomad's short bow. There were several things that Kit noticed that were odd about the man. First, he wore no round shield. Kit saw something silver glinting in his left hand. It looked like he was holding a metal hook in that hand. No, it was not in his hand, it was there instead of a hand. The man was a cripple. Kit noticed, also, that the man was not holding his reins in either hand. Instead, they seemed to be tied together and were hanging loose over the pony's neck.
It was then that the strangest thing of all happened. The man looked up and spotted the eagle and rider above him. Kit expected the nomad to reach for the short bow that hung across his shoulder. Instead, the man raised his right arm and waved in a friendly manner at the boy. Almost without thinking, Kit waived back. Moments later, Flash began fighting for altitude at Heron's command.
When they had risen back to Heron's cruising altitude, Kit noticed that Ree was gone. Heron must have sent the little sparrow hawk back to the Aerie to make a report. The patrol went on as before. The three looked diligen
tly, searching out a good distance from the pass in all directions but they saw no other nomads.
One other time, they spotted the lone warrior they had seen earlier. His ponies had been tied to a tree and he was some seventy five feet away, stalking a fat zorbeast upwind of him. The quarry was, as yet, unaware of the hunter. Kit could see the orange red, six legged beast munching on a rich patch of the blue-green grass that was its favorite food. As the Eagle Rider and his friend watched, the nomad below fired an arrow from his short bow that dropped the herbivore in its tracks. This, too, was strange. Kit knew that the man wore a hook in place of his left hand. How, then, could he grip a bow in it?
When their relief had arrived over the pass, Heron led the way, once again, back into the thermal that they had found just to the north of the pass. They rose, circling inside the thermal, to an altitude that would allow Heron to glide easily to the Guardsmen's barracks that was not so distant from them to the south and east.
Kit watched Heron make his glider landing on the flat area outside of the barracks. This was only Kit's third ride and he enjoyed watching his friend's skillful approach and flare out over the landing area. Flash then followed his master in to a landing just a few feet clear of the right
tip of the glider wing. Heron had unclipped and was placing the wing down on the ground, the tail end faced into the light wind to prevent it from being blown away. There were several rings on stakes in the ground near the edge of the field where the new wings could be secured by their clips if the winds were strong but they weren't needed today. Heron then rushed forward to help Kit out of the novice saddle.
"Did you get a good look at him?" the excited Eagle Rider asked. "That's the first time I've seen a nomad in so close to the pass. What did he look like? Why did you wave at him?"
"I was waving back," Kit answered with a little wonder in his voice. "He waved first and smiled up at me as though he liked Eagle Riders or something."
"What did he look like?" Heron repeated insistently. "Was he really ugly looking?"
"No, he was really quite handsome," the boy replied thoughtfully. "He had dark hair and a beard with maybe a little red in it and was big with a nice face. He wore a big sword and had a short bow slung over his left shoulder. Instead of taking it down and shooting at us, he waved at me. Here's the strangest thing of all, he was missing his left hand and wore a hook, a hook made of iron, not bronze. Even so, when we saw him the second time, you saw it too, I'm sure, he was gripping his short bow with that hook and made a fine shot into the zorbeast he was stalking."
Heron looked puzzled at first but then a look of shock and surprise animated his face. "Chan!" he said, "that had to be the nomad spy, Chan, who was captured at the McAllister Headmaster's Hall during the invasion attempt.
"A spy?" Kit asked, mystified. "How do you know?"
"The missing left hand," Heron answered excitedly, "the iron hook, even your description of his looks adds up." He pulled his friend down by his arm onto a bench and looked steadily into Kit's eyes as he explained.
"You remember the story, I've told it to you before! Chan had been working with the traitor, Durabon, to enable Ajax's army to defeat the defenses at McAllister. Ajax wanted to capture the Guild headquarters there and force Master Zolfon and his apprentices to make mounds of iron weapons for him...." Out spilled the now familiar story of the McAllister invasion and its aftermath. "....That had to be Chan we saw out there," he concluded. "His description has been given to all of the pass guards and Aeries in every crater. Ask your father about it. He would know."
"Do you think we should tell the guards?" asked Kit.
"You wait here," Heron replied, "I'll run into the barracks and tell the Captain about it." The young Eagle Rider was excited with the import of his news. He ran into the barracks building, leaving Kit outside with the glider wing and Flash.
Kit had always admired the great eagle that belonged to his best friend. He walked over to the big bird and looked up at his fierce visage. "Stick your head down and I'll scratch it," he projected to the eagle.
Suddenly, he started in surprise. Inside of his head he had heard a small, strange voice say a single word, "itches." At the same time, the great eagle lowered his head to the lad and seemed to sigh as the boy started scratching it at the back of the bird's overly large scull.
Kit was administering to the eagle's comfort in this way when Heron came out of the barracks. The young Eagle Rider was still excited by their discovery outside the pass and began talking about it as he walked up.
After a few seconds, Kit interrupted his chatter as though he had said nothing. "He talked back to me."
"Who talked back?" asked Heron, "Chan? You weren't close enough to hear each other."
"No, Flash," Kit corrected. "I asked if he wanted his head scratched and he said 'itches' as clear as could be in my head."
"You talked to my bird?" Heron asked incredulously. Looks of shock and then suspicion twisted his face in rapid succession. "Have you been talking to Flash telepathically?"
"Well, yes," Kit answered, confused, "I didn't think it would do any harm. I used to talk to my mother's bird, Flower, all the time. Your father knew about it. He was quite impressed."
"Impressed, yes," the Eagle Rider shouted back, "and so is Flash, but Flash is impressed to me! Flower was retired as a patrol eagle. There may be no harm in talking to a brood eagle but nobody is allowed to try to talk to another Rider's mount. That's the worst thing you could have done and I'll bet you know it!"
"I'm sorry," Kit replied in a small voice, "I didn't know. I'll never do it again."
"You're darn right you won't," Heron hissed back, "because you won't be getting close enough to do it again. To think I thought you were my friend!"
Kit was shocked. "Heron, no! You are my best friend. I would never do anything to hurt you, not on purpose. All I did was ask him to lower his head so I could scratch it. Nobody told me it was wrong to talk to him. Please don't be mad at me for that. I just didn't know."
"Get away from my eagle!" Heron's voice was menacing and his hand had dropped to his sword hilt. "If I never see you again, it'll be too soon."
With tears in his eyes, Kittron backed away from his friend. When he had gotten to the edge of the field, he stood there and watched as the boy clipped himself into the glider wing and launched into the blue, Randor sky. When they had flown out of sight, Kit ran to his room in confusion and threw himself onto his bed as the tears began to well up from deep inside.
It was three weeks later when Kit saw his friend next. After the Eagle Rider had stopped showing up at the barracks, Kit had talked to his father, Peron, about it. On the man's advice, he had decided to ride up to the Aerie and see if he could patch up his friendship with Heron. The pinto pony he rode was his favorite and he had often allowed Heron to ride her.
The Aerie was in the shape of a half circle with the Crater's barrier rim forming the straight side. A twelve foot high stone wall formed the curved outer boundary with two, long buildings built up against the wall on either side of the central gate. One was the Rider's barracks and the other was the Servant's Hall. Their flat roofs were even with the top of the wall and formed working platforms from which the Riders flew and trained. Kit watched an Eagle Rider, a girl about twelve years old, making a separate landing onto the roof of the Rider's barracks as he approached the compound. The two story Falconer's Residence was in the center of the compound and behind it, along the Barrier Rim, was the eagles' roosts, the Falcon roosts and the stables.
Daron, the Master Falconer and Heron's father, was walking across the courtyard when Kit rode through the gateway to the Aerie. "Kittron," he called out, "what brings you here? Have you a message from the barracks?"
"I came to see Heron," the boy answered. "Is your son here or is he out on patrol?" Kit dropped from the pinto’s back and tied the reins to the rail in front of the Falconer's Residence.
"He just came in from patrol a half hour ago," the Falconer s
aid. "He should be in the roost still, taking care of Flash."
"I don't know if I should approach him when Flash is near," Kit thought aloud. "Master Daron, would you ask him to come and talk to me when he's through? I'll wait out here until he gets here."
Daron put his hand on the boy's arm compassionately. "Heron told me what he was mad about," he said, "and, in a way, it is my fault as much as yours. I never warned you about not talking to the other Riders' mounts. So few people have the telepathic strength to talk to an impressed eagle that I didn't even think of the danger. In the Aerie, it is common knowledge that it would be wrong to do so. I guess that other people need to be told.
"I tried to talk to him about it the day it happened. I doubt if I got through to him, he was very bitter about your 'treachery.' I pointed out that you were such good friends and that you probably meant no harm. He wouldn't listen. I don't know how he'll react now. They say time heals all wounds but they never tell you how much time is needed. I'll go get him."
When the Master Falconer disappeared around the building, Kit leaned up against the hitching rail, trying to act nonchalant. Each time he heard a noise, however, he jerked to his feet and turned quickly to look. Finally, the Falconer and his son walked around the corner of the Residence and approached him. Heron looked wary and angry. Daron stopped him a few paces away, whispered a few, low words to him and turned to walk into the front door to the Residence.
Kit stood erect, smiled and extended his hand. "Heron, I still consider you my best friend," he began. "I have come to talk to you about what has come between us."
The young Eagle Rider ignored the proffered hand and glared venomously at him. "Say what you came to say," he hissed, "and go away."
Soul of an Eagle Page 4