Heron was one of the last to fly. He stood in the audience and watched as nine of his rivals performed their maneuvers. Very few mistakes were made and it looked like the contest would come down to a hard fight between himself and young Piperon McAllister flying on Fury. Pip had ranked just behind Heron in the target identification competition, having identified eight of the ten targets. If he outperformed Heron and Flash on this final phase, he could still walk off with the Championship.
Pip flew seventh and, as Heron watched anxiously, he and Fury went smoothly from one maneuver to another with flawless precision. He performed with the aplomb of a Senior Rider and had easily out shone all of the contestants that had flown before him. Heron knew that the pressure was on him when his rival's score was flashed in front of the watching audience. It was one of the highest scores that Heron had ever heard of in the junior division. As the next contestant started his series, Heron saddled up Flash and strapped himself into his safety wing. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his sleeve. He turned his head to see Pip McAllister standing beside him.
"Good luck, Heron," the boy said, "I can't think of anyone else I might accept defeat from. I watched you in practice yesterday and you and Flash are very good. He's obviously well trained. Just remember to relax and let your bird perform the maneuvers. That's the big secret to success." He held his hand out to his rival.
Heron accepted the handshake with a grin. The two had become good friends during Heron's period of training and it made Heron feel good that the pressure of competition had not diminished that friendship. For some reason, the knowledge lifted all of the pressure from the young Eagle Rider's shoulders. When it came time to launch, he did so without any of the butterflies in his stomach that had accompanied him during the first two phases of the competition.
Heron sat on Flash's back and concentrated on proper posture. Other than that, all he had to do was remember the formal order in which the maneuvers were to be performed. As Flash finished each signal, his Rider would order him into the next one. It was a rigorous series and many of the young eagles in the junior division were often tired out before it was completed, causing them to make little mistakes that lost points. Flash, however, was a clutch mate of Fury and every bit as big and strong. Never once did he falter as he flew through the series in spite of the long and rigorous cross country flown during the target identification contest earlier in the day.
When Heron ordered Flash to make his landing, he felt very good about their performance. When he walked down to the courtyard where the audience was gathered, he was met at the foot of the stair by his father.
"Pip's score was a little higher," Daron told him, "but it is still a close race. I'm no mathematician so I cannot tell for sure. The final scores will be calculated by the Guild experts who are acting as scorekeepers. You did well, son. However it comes out, you are still my Champion." His hand clapped Heron's shoulder in a gesture of pride.
After the last contestant had flown, there was a waiting period of nearly forty minutes as the final scores were calculated. At last the moment of truth had arrived. Three riders were ordered to the landing platform for the final ceremony. Two of them were Piperon McAllister and Heron Washington. Each was given a different colored sash to wear. They lined up side by side and made simultaneous takeoffs, climbing to an altitude of about two thousand feet above the Aerie.
On the landing platform were three target circles. The center one was for the Champion. The one to its right was the designated landing area for the first runner up and the other was for the second runner up. When the three Riders were in position, a colored flag corresponding to one of the three sashes the contestants wore was draped over the third place target. As soon as he saw it, one of the Riders dropped from the sky and made a landing on his proper position accompanied by polite applause from the audience.
It was no surprise to anyone that the two remaining finalists were Piperon and Heron. It was the next flag that would answer the question that had plagued the contestants all day long. Heron looked down at the blue sash on his waist and glanced at the orange one worn by his friend, Pip. He looked below and watched as the host Master Falconer stepped up to the second place target with a bundle in his hand.
For a second, the young Eagle Rider closed his eyes and said a prayer to the fates. When his eyes opened, he focused them on a square of orange on the right hand target. He looked over at Pip in astonishment. His young friend smiled and saluted him. He then dropped into a long glide to a landing which ended smack dab in the center of the second place target.
Heron waited politely until his friend had landed and the blue flag had been officially draped across the center target before he made his move. He ordered Flash to drop into a stoop towards the Aerie compound. The enormous eagle's wings swept back above and behind his body and he dropped like a stone toward the ground below.
Heron gripped his saddle grimly as a wind pressure that he had never experienced before buffeted him mercilessly. The thrill of that stoop was heightened by the proximity to the ground and he wished it would go on forever. The atmospheric pressure was considerably higher at this altitude than that at which he had practiced the maneuver the day before, giving the wind more force.
With great bravado, Heron ordered Flash to delay his recovery until the last possible moment. Finally, at less than five hundred feet and with the walls of the Aerie speeding up at them at over one hundred miles per hour, Flash swept out of the stoop in a mighty zoom maneuver. The wind pressure was the greatest at this point and, combined with the centrifugal force of the turn it proved to be too much for the foolish Eagle Rider. Heron's hands were torn from the handles on his saddle by forces that he couldn't withstand. He slipped from the eagle's back at the bottom of the zoom and was flung toward the Aerie compound at a hundred miles per hour. His hands reached frantically back and began deploying his safety wing.
Daron had been standing next to his friend, Master Falconer Aferon of McAllister Aerie, when he had recognized the victory dive that his son was initiating. A sudden fear gripped his heart. This was too daring and complicated a maneuver for a boy just out of fledgling status to attempt. Daron had attempted this maneuver once, himself, starting at three thousand feet. The wind pressures had been almost too much for him to handle and he had been a Senior Rider at the time.
His stomach twisted into knots as he realized that the boy was pressing the stoop way too low for safety's sake. Finally, Flash's wings began to spread and they began to experience the tremendous gee forces of the recovery zoom maneuver. The crowd groaned in mass as the boy was torn from his eagle's back. Daron bounded to the roof of the Rider's barracks as he watched his son try to deploy his wing. The wing began to spread but much too slowly. The wind pressure at that tremendous velocity was too strong. Heron's young body dropped from his father's sight and hit the outer wall of the Rider's barracks with a loud smack.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Helvon looked across at Kit's young, confident face and debated with himself over the best approach to the subject on his mind.
"M' name's Helvon and I hear ya been lookin' 'round fer a means of 'ployment," he said tentatively, "and thet ya been livin' in town on yer own fer th' last few days. Have ya decided what yer gonna do fer a livin' from now on?"
Kit lifted the large purse he had just won and shook it, producing a pleasing jingle. "I'm not doing too badly so far. Is there something else that you think I should be doing instead?"
"Well, kid, consid'rin' th' skill ya have with thet crossbow of yer'n an' th' wildcraft skills I could teach ya, ya could make a fortune at wild meat huntin'." The hunter grinned at his young companion. "Sooner 'r later ya're gonna run out o' marks ta fleece with yer s'prising skills. 'Twould be better fer ya ta have a perfession ta make ya a good livin' at an' save the gamblin' as a way ta make a leetle extry icin' ta put on the cake, if'n ya catch m' meanin'." He gave the boy a wink.
"Huntin' is th' real life fer an a’venturous young man like you.
Th' wild lands outside th' crater 'r varied an' rich with game of all kinds. Ever time ya go out ya gets ta see new lands. Ya never know what yer gonna 'sperience, what new sights ya'll see 'r who yer gonna run 'cross. Have ya ever considered jinin' th' Home Guards like yer pappy done?"
"If they would let me join three years early," the boy replied, "I would already be going in. I lived in the barracks for the last two and a half years. Where do you think I learned how to fight, ride and shoot?"
The hunter spread his arms akimbo. "Add ta thet three years of stalkin' wild game an' eludin' nomads in th' wild an' they ain't no Guard unit on Randor would turn yer 'plication down. What c'n ya do at yer age thet would start ya on a life of a'venture any quicker'n huntin'?"
The boy leaned back in his chair and considered the question for a minute. "Well," he pointed out, "I have a good friend whose father is the Master Falconer here at Washington. I've always wanted to join the Aerie but my grandfather has been standing in the way of a nomination since my mother died. My friend says if his father can convince my grandfather to nominate me, I can start training as a fledgling right away. That's quicker and better than being a hunter. How many eagles have you flown in your lifetime?"
"If'n yer friend is gonna hep ya," the man asked, "then what're ya doin' here?"
"Waiting," the lad answered. "My friend and his father are at O'Malley crater for the bi-annual games. He is competing in the junior division. They should be back in four or five days. I'll look him up then."
"And if'n yer friend's pappy cain't hep ya? What'll ya do then?"
"In that case," Kit answered with a shrug, "I guess I might decide to join your hunting party for a while."
"Well, while ya're waitin', why don't ya check us out? If'n ya get ta know us an' a'ready know what ya want ta do, ya'll be able ta make a d'cision much quicker if'n yer friend's pappy can't hep ya. It don't hurt ya none ta check out yer options. I won't ask ya to make a co-mitment 'til after yer friend returns."
"You keep saying 'we' and 'us' when you talk. How many others are there in your party?" the boy asked.
The man paused a moment. "Jest one other right now. I'm used ta workin' alone 'r in a large group but with th' nomad activity so quiet lately, two 'r three men c'n get as much game as a whole mob and th' split o' th' profits is much better thet way. If'n th' nomads start invadin' th' area again, we'll either get more men in our party 'r hole up in the crater 'til they drifts away again. Our job is huntin' meat, not fightin' nomads."
"Have you ever had to fight off nomads before?" The eager light in Kit's eyes assured the old hunter that an honest answer wouldn't hurt.
"Oh, yes, lots o' times." The man sat back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head. "I been wanderin' th' wilds fer nearly forty year now. Ya don't spend thet much time out thar 'thout seein' lots o' nomads. M' last run in with 'em was jest afore the battle at McAllister. They caught me 'way from camp and took m' ponies and all m' pervisions. Had ta make m' way back inta McAllister afoot with on’y th' weapons thet I was carryin' at th' time. A sword, a skinnin' knife, a crossbow and a dozen 'r so bolts. 'Twere a tough trip. I had ta kill five nomads afore I's able to sneak up ta High Range Pass on th' north side o' McAllister.
"'Twas thar thet I picked up m' present partner. He's all right but he ain't no great hunter. Didn't have much choice, really, I'd lost m' outfit and had no money ta r'place it with. I thought 'bout servin' a stint as a scout fer th' Guard but I don't really like thet kind of duty so much. Then I run 'cross Goovon. He's a bit of a rascal an' he seemed in an all fired hurry ta get out'n th' crater. He didn't have no huntin' 'sperience but he did have a lot o' money so we struck us a deal. He bought th' outfit I needed and I moved m' base o' op'rations away from McAllister and taught him th' trade. It's worked out OK so fer, I guess, but I got ta thinkin' thet if'n we had jest one more good marksman an' a few extry pack hosses we could bring in twice th' meat an' everbody's cut would be larger."
"Can't your partner shoot a crossbow?" Kit was intrigued by the proposition.
"Sure, but he ain't no marksman. If'n he gets in close, he c'n put down th' 'casional zorbeast 'r a beefalo but at any distance hit's just hit an' miss with him, if'n ya know what I mean. When I went a'lookin' fer a new partner, I never 'spected ta find one with an eye as good as yer'n. If'n ya can spend enough o' thet big purse ya jest won ta buy a couple o' extry ponies, we'll be ready ta make us some real money."
"Have you seen any nomads around Washington?" the lad asked with concern.
"'Bout a month ago they was lots of 'em. You ought to know. I heard thet yer father were killed by a mob of 'em 'bout thet time. Since th' Aerie tried out them new bombs, howsomever, it's been real quiet like. Th' only nomad we've seen in three weeks were a cripple. One hand done been chopped off and r'placed with'n a hook. He tried ta talk ta us oncet but we warned 'im off. He were prob'ly hopin' ta beg him a meal off'n us."
"That cripple you saw was Chan," Kit volunteered, "the nomad spy who was captured at McAllister. My friend and I saw him outside the crater about two months ago and he waved at me. I was told that he warned my father's troop away from an ambush the day they were attacked. If it weren't for that warning, none of them would have made it back alive. The Guardsmen have orders not to attack him but he isn't allowed in the craters anymore. They'll kill him out of hand if he tries to enter one of the passes."
The hunter rubbed the beard on his chin. "Warned th' troopers, did he? Mebbe I'll be a mite more neighborly th' next time I see 'im. I never knowed a nomad who'd give ya th' time o' day afore."
"I doubt if you'll see him again," Kit pointed out. "If a nomad doesn't want to be seen, he won't be. I hear Chan is a real crafty one. When can I meet your partner?"
"We can go ta th' campsite t'day, if'n ya like. They's a few things I gotta tell ya 'bout 'im fust, though. As I said afore, he were a real greenhorn when I picked him up. He were a bad to medium shot with a crossbow and knew nothin' 'bout campin' out. I still make most o' th' kills but Goovon's become a purty good camp cook an' pot scrubber. He tends ta make his fires too large fer safety but he heps out enough 'round camp ta free me up fer some serious huntin'.
"The main reason I keep him 'round is thet I owe him money. I figure thet, oncet ya learn the ropes 'n if'n he still don't seem ta be pullin' his weight, we c'n buy him out and really make us some money with jest th' two of us workin' t'gether. Thet'll be next spring, mebbe. It'll take 'til then fer me ta pay back what I owe him.
"They's one leetle thing thet I should warn ya 'bout concernin' Goovon. One o' th' few actual kills he made were a fat zorbeast thet we happened 'pon by accident. We wasn't even on a stalk. We jest happened ta go 'round a corner an' thar he were, walkin' towards us. I think Goovon got so nervous he done shot his crossbow off by accident an' it jest happened ta hit th' animal in a vital spot. He jumped down from his pony, his mouth a'goin' a mile a minute. He were so pleased with hisself, he couldn't stop tellin' me 'bout it. I tried ta warn him ta be keerful but he weren't listenin' an' moved in too fast. With its dyin' breath, the zorbeast managed ta maul him purty bad with its foreclaws. Ya'll see the results when ya meets 'im. Thar's a big scar cross his face thet makes 'im look repulsive. He's purty bitter an' sensitive 'bout it, too, but under thet ugly mask, he's OK."
"Where are you two staying?" Kit asked.
"Up th' crater a bit they's a crick thet crosses th' road ta West Pass. We been sleepin' under th' bridge thar. They's good pasturage nearby an' lots o' firewood ta be had in the woods 'long th' crick bank. Ya interested in visitin' our campsite? Ya might want ta jine us thar fer th' night."
"Lets go," Kit said, "I'll think about joining you after I know more about you and your partner." He got up and led the way out the front door to the tavern. "Did you come on horseback, Helvon?" He stepped up to Satan's side and began untying the reins from the hitching rail.
"No, I been trampin' 'round this here town on foot t'day lookin' fer you." Helvon looked Satan over with admiration.
"If this here is yer pony, it ain't no wonder thet soldier didn't want ta bet 'gainst it. I seen very few thet're so exc'llent as this and I've run 'cross a lot o' hossflesh in m' time, b'lieve me."
"This is Satan. He was my father's mount the day he died. I wouldn't trade him for a Chieftain's ransom. Hop on up. He can carry double for that short a distance."
Ten minutes later, they were approaching the stone bridge outside of town. Kit could smell and see wood smoke coming up from under the bridge on the far side. They crossed the creek and turned off the left side of the road before dismounting.
Helvon spoke in a low voice. "You wait here. I'll make sure he knows yer friendly. He gets touchy. Some Gypsies tried ta rob us in a camp like this'n oncet. He ain't trusted nobody since then." He raised his voice to a loud hail. "Goovon, it's me, Helvon. I'm a'comin' inta camp now." With that he started down a trail toward the nearly dry bed of the creek.
A couple of minutes later, the tall hunter's head popped up above the bank. "Come on down, Kit, and meet m' partner. He's got some zorbeast steaks ready ta go on th' fire. We don't allus have a lot of money, but a hunter allus eats well."
Helvon's partner turned out to be as repulsive looking as had been described but the steaks were good and juicy and the vegetables and potatoes were properly cooked and seasoned. The meal was the best that Kit had eaten since the night before he left Jaron's farmhouse.
The two hunters tried to convince the boy to remain in their camp for the night but Kit begged off by pointing out that he had another pony to care for and it was too late to go to his own camp and return before dark. Actually, Kit had decided to check out these two characters a bit before he even considered throwing in with them. As Kit prepared to leave for his camp, Helvon walked out with him and talked as Kit saddled up Satan.
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