The Wings of a Falcon

by Cynthia Voigt

  “Aye,” Griff agreed.

  They slept, and well, and when they awoke in the morning the woman had finished with her work. She lay in a pool of blood, with a bloody babe in her arms. Her lower lip was ragged, where her teeth had bitten down into it.

  Griff spoke. “When they held me down, and branded me, I cried out, Oriel. But,” he held up his hand to stop whatever Oriel was going to say, “no more than that. Not with the fear of knowing what was to come, nor with the pain that came after. Only with the pain then—as any man might,” Griff said. He bent to pick up the bloody babe. The woman’s eyes flew open, alarmed. “I will wash him, as the dams do their kids,” Griff said.

  When Griff returned with a squalling babe, Oriel had helped the woman move from the soiled birthing place to a clean, grassy spot. Rulgh came with Griff and the woman took the child to her breast, to hide it from Rulgh’s eyes.

  “It’s born?” Rulgh asked.

  “Aye,” Oriel said.

  Rulgh stared down at the woman’s pale face and sweaty hair. He looked at the blood on her hands, as she held the naked babe.

  “We leave at sun-high,” Rulgh said. “Eat now. She serves us?”

  Oriel didn’t need to answer.

  “Agh, leave her,” Rulgh said. “Woman, children, slow Wolfers down. Tell enemies where we are with cryings. We eat now, Oriel. Griff,” he said. “Serve us.” Anger grew in his voice.

  They hurried to obey him.

  Chapter 18

  THEY JOURNEYED NORTHWARDS, WITH ORIEL and Griff sharing the burden of gold. Hills led them up to flat high grasslands, beyond which sharper hills rose. Food was scarce, because there were few settlements to raid; but at least Rulgh elected to fight no direct confrontations. It seemed that once he had learned the ease of thieving, he preferred it to the Wolfer way of blade and fist and fire, of arrow, cudgel, dagger, of teeth and fingers if all other weapons failed.

  Summer flowed away under their bare feet and left Oriel and Griff trudging the hard ground of fall. The rain that came down over their bare heads and bare shoulders fell colder and colder. Oriel used his strength to keep moving and had almost none left for speech or thought. He and Griff huddled close together across the nights. The Wolfers had no fire, nor needed any.

  One day white specks appeared in the grey air, floating down, dancing on the wind. “Snow,” Oriel said.

  Beside him, Griff grunted under the weight of his burden. A few pieces of snow rested on his dark brown hair and gleamed, melted, on his shoulder. He asked, “Remember the stars, when we sailed at night?”

  Oriel remembered nothing of that sail, except the dangers to which he had sat alert.

  “Snow is, like being there, among those stars,” Griff said. “This snow.”

  “I don’t remember,” Oriel said, with regret.

  The air grew grey as sword blades, and tasted metallic. Slowly, the mountains came closer, rising up white into the air. On a clear day the mountain whiteness was enough to set Oriel’s heart racing and make him feel, against all reason, hope.

  They followed no path, but gradually they were joined by other bands of Wolfers, until they became part of a great army, all with the same destination although each Wolfer band kept itself separated from all the others. They shared neither food, nor fire, nor words.

  Over the silence of the moving mass of men, the wind blew.

  Oriel and Griff had their hands bound again with leather thongs. Oriel was tied with a leather rope to one of Rulgh’s men, and Griff was so bound to another. All captives, Oriel saw, traveled so. His feet were so thickly callused that he could barely feel the cold. His belly was so empty he was almost glad for the numbing icy pain of cold on his naked skin, because it distracted him from the seizing sharp-toothed pain of hunger. When he slept, he dreamed of fires and warm soups.

  They climbed hills and saw the mountains still distant, ragged-topped against the sky. The bare trees gave no shelter. The frozen ground gave no comfort. At last, through another sky filled with falling snow, Oriel could see a dark mass, along the rounded top of a hill. The army of Wolfers approached the mass, and Oriel saw that it was a wall, twice Oriel’s height, stretching away to two sides. The wall was made out of wooden stakes, bound together with leather straps. The arched double gate was closed.

  Rulgh was not surprised to be so welcomed, and neither were any of the other Captains. The Wolfers seemed to have no intention of entering the city behind the gates. Instead, they rested at last, and built campfires out of stacks of wood that waited beneath the walls. Nobody seemed surprised when a line of men, wrapped in fur cloaks, walking on fur boots, emerged from between the gates to hand out furs from the wagon that accompanied them. Meat also came out in wagons, and bread, and a frothing drink.

  Stupefied by the warmth of furs and the fullness of his belly, and the blinding drink, Oriel sat dumb beside Griff, both of them shivering themselves back to warmth within furs, and stuffing themselves to nausea. His shoulders and back ached now, and his fingers and feet hurt, down into the bones. His belly throbbed painfully with the work of eating. It wasn’t until the next grey morning, the lightening sky colorless, that Oriel had the thought to wrap furs around their feet and tie them with thongs, and thus make boots. He had no hope that their condition would become easier. He had no confidence that they would be allowed to keep whatever comforts they had unexpectedly been given.

  “Malke’s Feast,” Rulgh said, leaning over for a quick word before he lurched away to join up with the loud singing, boasting, jeering, and storytelling of the Wolfer Captains. “Three,” he said, squinting at the four fingers he held up. “Then Malke comes. Then Rulgh—great man, with gold.”

  After two days of the feast and two nights of full-bellied sleep, warm under furs beside a fire, Oriel almost couldn’t remember the hardships of the journey here. The Wolfers were filled with rejoicing, and excitement, too, and Oriel thought he understood the purpose of Malke’s Feast: Oriel was not even an honored guest, as were these Captains, and he had no place of his own at the feasting tables, as the Captains did. He brought no booty to place at Malke’s feet. In fact, he was the booty. He had no reason for gratitude, yet he felt gratitude to Malke, for the feast.

  So whatever resentments and angers these raiding bands might have been carrying with them—for the sacrifices they had made and pain endured—would be less after three days at Malke’s Feast. Even Oriel, after only three days of feasting, found his desire to take revenge on Rulgh less urgent, even when the sight of the red cicatrix on Griff’s cheek reminded Oriel of the red stripes that scored Griff’s back, and reminded him of how Rulgh mocked his helplessness.

  IT WAS A PALE NORTHERN midday when the great gates split, and opened wide. A line of fur-cloaked archers emerged; they knelt down, arrows notched. The Captains and their bands gathered together, facing the archers. Spearmen came out, marching two by two, and behind them a great figure of a man, tall and broad, with a black fur like a long cape over his shoulders and a great worked golden chain on his chest that shone no more brightly gold than did his hair as it flowed down loose over his shoulders, and the gold of his narrow beard, flowing down over his chest. His eyes were blue as ice. Malke, the King.

  Many pale-haired women came next. At that sight, the Captains made a noise in their throats, as if they were a single man. The women gathered behind Malke.

  Malke stepped forward, although he stayed behind the archers and spearmen. He spoke to his raiders, a speech of welcome, as Oriel understood. Malke wore leather gloves on his hands, and rings on all of his fingers. He wore gold bracelets up his arms. When he was finished speaking, four men carried a carved wooden chair up to him, and Malke sat in it. He raised one ringed hand to point with as he called out a name. A Captain stepped forward. In the cold air, Malke’s breath smoked.

  Invisible in the throng of Wolfers and their captives, Oriel and Griff watched the ceremony. Oriel counted fifteen Captains, some with bands of twenty around them, none but Rulgh wit
h so few as two. All the bands stood behind piles of booty.

  The Captain faced the King, and his band stood behind the Captain. The Captain presented his booty, carried forward and spread out either by his captives or by his men. He told the story of his campaign, while the King and the women attended.

  Afterwards, Malke sent a man forward, to take up shares of the booty. Then he called out a name and the Captain beat with a closed fist, once, upon his chest. Malke called out another name, and the Captain responded with the same gesture.

  This was the end of the ceremony. Malke gestured with his raised right hand, and one of the women came out from behind him, to greet the Captain, and a child followed her, who was handed into the Captain’s arms despite its cries and Teachings for its mother.

  The day stretched on. At the third band, with whose booty Malke was not pleased, one of the men stepped forward. He told a tale that differed from his Captain’s tale. Oriel listened carefully. Was he saying that the Captain had run away from an enemy? Oriel thought so, but couldn’t be sure. Malke asked for corroboration from the rest of the band, who stirred uncomfortably under his eye, but kept silent. Malke studied the Captain and turned the rings on his fingers, silent, brooding.

  At last the Captain could stand it no longer. He began to speak, his palms facing outward. He started explanations and excuses.

  Three arrows flew into his throat.

  Oriel looked to Malke, whose left hand was just settling back into his lap.

  The Captain’s body was dragged away. The man who had made public the Captain’s cowardice was named Captain over the band. One of the women brought two children forward and set them at the foot of Malke’s chair. He took each by the hand, and then gave them back to their mother. She knelt before him, her lips on his right hand. Malke placed his gloved and ringed left hand across her bent neck, and then sent her away.

  Malke called out another name.

  It was not a dignified ceremony. The crowd before Malke was often noisy, responding to a Captain’s tale of exploits, advising the King, calling out to the women, who often called back. Men walked around. Malke was often restless in his chair and sometimes rose, left the scene, returned shortly. The ceremony went on without him. Only the bowmen and spearmen maintained an unmoving, watchful silence.

  The second time a member of a band spoke against his Captain, it was the Wolfer the King punished. He was not executed, however, but his hands were bound as Oriel’s and Griff’s were, and he was shoved roughly over to the side of the waiting crowd. His Captain ignored him, as did the Wolfers he had run with. He had put all at risk with his perfidy, with his desire to gain the Captainship that was the reward for denouncing a coward or thief.

  Oriel studied Rulgh’s sharp profile. Oriel had the beryl at his back. He didn’t think he could buy their freedom with it; he didn’t think freedom was one of the choices he had. But he could betray Rulgh with it, or make the attempt. If he could show the stone—and he could—and argue that Rulgh had been too stupid to find it, or say that Rulgh had let him keep it so that Malke would not get it—and Oriel would not stop short of a lie, if it would serve his ends. Then Rulgh would be executed and lie in his own blood on the frozen ground, and Oriel would have the revenge he had promised.

  But Oriel and Griff would still be captives, and probably move into Malke’s possession. Within the walls of Malke’s stronghold, Oriel didn’t imagine there would be many chances for a captive to escape. Moreover, even if he and Griff could escape from the Wolfers, this was not a land where food was plentiful to find, and this was not the season to be wandering homeless. Moreover, Oriel didn’t know how far he was from the sea, or in what direction the sea lay. The mountains blocked forward progress, like an ice wall, impassable.

  It would be foolhardy to make a move now.

  It might well be, Oriel thought, that looking backwards he would see this as his last chance, the last time when they might have attempted escape. But he could only follow his own judgment.

  Rulgh was called forward. When the Captain and his two men stood before Malke’s great chair, the King made a mockery of peering at the band, peering around behind Rulgh as if looking for something he couldn’t see. Rulgh called Oriel and Griff forward, to set down their booty. The lumps of gold and the handful of coins were the best of it. The rest was weapons—among which Oriel saw his own dagger, and Griff’s—and some cloths woven in rich colors. The gold lumps were abundant, and Oriel used them as a shelf over which to display the rest. Rulgh started to tell his tale.

  A woman came up to Malke’s left hand, and Oriel thought this must be Rulgh’s wife, because of the way she flashed her eyes at the speaking Captain. For his part, Rulgh addressed the tale of his exploits to her as much as to his King. She listened, and cast the glance of her eyes like a spear from under the fall of ashen hair, most often at Rulgh but sometimes at Malke, who turned his face away as if to conceal that he had been watching her as she watched Rulgh.

  Rulgh came to Selby. Oriel heard the name, hissed like something hated, “Selby, Selby,” by some of the other bands. He stood with Griff at his shoulder and wondered how this day would turn out.

  Malke was pleased by the gold chunks. His greedy eyes measured their number. But when Rulgh had told of the battle at the mines, and the band’s return there as stealers, Malke’s expression shifted abruptly to displeasure. He called out a name, and Rulgh beat once with his fist on his chest. Malke called out another name, and another. Each time Rulgh made the gesture to say, This is a dead man. As the list went on, Rulgh grew stiffer and stiffer in his pride and shame. At the last, Malke stood up, crossed his arms before his chest, then opened them wide, in a gesture of refusal.

  Oriel watched Rulgh. The Captain would have spoken, in the heat of his anger, but he dared not. Rulgh stared at the woman. She looked only at the ground. Malke pointed, at various men around the fires, at Rulgh, at the mountains, and Oriel understood the order: Rulgh was to lead a band of men into the mountains, and over the mountains; if he returned with sufficient wealth, then he could kneel again before his King.

  Rulgh swallowed his anger and attempted to persuade the King. The season was unfavorable, no man had ever returned from beyond the mountains, Rulgh was a Captain proven by many successful seasons who had had the misfortune to have one poor year. Malke demanded to know where were the riches of Selby. Rulgh gestured at the mound of gold. Malke would not be persuaded, he would not sit down, he would not give over the woman who now stood at his side. He ordered his servants to come forward and take up all of the booty Rulgh had laid before him. “Bring,” Oriel heard the order given, and then the Wolfer word for “captives.”

  This was a danger he hadn’t thought of.

  Rulgh moved to stand before Oriel and Griff. “No,” Rulgh growled, deep in his throat. “These are mine.”

  The crowd fell silent, and Oriel could see Malke measuring the situation. The King didn’t know if his power would hold in this quarrel. He didn’t know whether the other Captains might stand with Rulgh, against their King, when their right to booty was the issue. Malke was unsure of his own power, and Rulgh knew it. Oriel could sense the pull back and forth between Rulgh and Malke, to be the victor in this contest of wills.

  Oriel had no part in the decision. He could do nothing to affect the outcome of the contest.

  But he could almost see the understanding rise up in Malke’s eyes: If he gave way to Rulgh in this, then Rulgh must obey whatever Malke’s will was in the other thing. By winning the captives, Rulgh had handed over all else, and must obey Malke’s orders.

  Malke smiled and waved his hand in a gesture, brushing Rulgh away from before the great chair just as a man brushes a fly out of his hair. He looked at the woman in triumph; and she was watching his face, to catch his eyes when they fell on her. She knelt before him and her long hair fell down, hiding her smile, and Malke’s hand dropped onto her neck.

  Rulgh turned on his heels and paced to the back of the crowd.
He pulled Oriel and Griff behind him.

  Chapter 19

  BY MOONRISE, A SMALL BAND of men had gathered around Rulgh, where he stood at the rear of the throng. The white moon sailed up into the sky. Oriel waited in the shadows. Rulgh would be Captain of this Wolfer band, but the band was made up of men Malke had found wanting in service. Malke’s judgments were made swiftly, without hesitation.

  In the white, warmless light of the moon, his people’s fear rose up like a tide towards Malke, and it seemed to Oriel that the King drank in that fear, as if it were wine to give him strength and rejoicing.

  It seemed to Oriel also that Malke was a fool, not to know that fear was a thing that could turn, like a snake; and what a frightened man might do, in his fear, no man could know. It seemed to Oriel that if he were King over the Wolfers, he would rather have their hearts filled with courage than fear.

  Sitting in the shadows, with Griff at his side, it seemed to Oriel that he could be King over the Wolfers, and that he would be able to command obedience from these wild and war-loving men.

  At last Malke rose to lead his party back within the gates. The booty followed, including Rulgh’s mounds of gold nuggets, and all the crowd followed. Last to leave were the archers, who pulled the gates closed after them. The sounds of celebration began, within.

  Rulgh walked away from the bonfires. Without a word, he turned his face to the hills, where they lay white as bones under moonlight. The band fell in behind him, ten men. Six captives trailed the Wolfers, tied together into pairs and each pair led by a member of the band. Rulgh set a quick pace.

  When they were three nights from Malke’s city, the Wolfers settled around a fire they had built in the forest but forbade the captives to lie down. Rulgh, in the first words he had spoken since Malke had announced judgment on him, pulled Oriel and Griff out among the leafless trees, and tied them back to back to one of the narrow straight trunks. “Wolfguard,” he said.