“And what lies beyond the desert?”
“No one seemed certain. That land was blighted, poisonous to all life, and none dared traverse it. One Adept wrote that he had served far to the west, and that the land became ever more seared, until it ended on the melted, glassy shores of an uncanny sea inhabited by strange creatures.”
“Which fits the legends Hilarion remembers.” Dakar smiled a little. “My lord is not the greybeard you envision, my lady. He spent considerable time imprisoned beyond a Gate where Time ran differently than it does on this world. Have you ever heard of such?”
“Yes, I know of the Gates.”
Her companion hesitated. “You seem to know much about the uses of Power, my lady. Are you a Wise Woman, then?”
“No.”
“A witch or sorceress?” he persisted.
She laughed, but the sound held a bitter note. “No, no, and no! I am no more a Holder of Power than you are, friend Dakar. Of all those who reside in Kar Garudwyn, only my father and I lack the Gift.”
“I, too, know what it is like to be set apart,” Dakar said, his eyes holding hers. “But… Lady… do not be too sure that possession of Power is always a Gift. I have been assured by those who know that it can also be a curse, a… shadow… over the life of the person who has it.”
“So have I also been told,” Eydryth admitted. “But still, it seemed to me when I was growing up that I was as lacking as a child born without eyes, or ears. My foster-sister, Hyana, told me time and again that was not so, but still…” She shrugged. “But you know what it is like, I need not remind you.”
Her companion regarded her steadily, compassionately. Embarrassed, the young woman glanced away, feeling her cheeks grow warm. “Moonrise is not far off,” she observed, seeing a faint glow in the east. “We had best sleep, so we can be up and away with first light. The first of us to wake must call the other.” She hesitated, then said in a rush, “I neglected to thank you for risking everything to come back for me. Please… accept my gratitude, Dakar.”
“Only if you will accept mine,” he said, his eyes holding hers. “Both Monso and I owe you our lives.”
She smiled. “We are all of us well thanked, then. Rest well, Dakar.”
After pulling off her boots, Eydryth crawled into her bedroll, pillowing her head on her harp case. Determined to sleep, she closed her eyes.
Lulled by the fire’s warmth, she had nearly drifted off when the other spoke again. “Lady Eydryth… about tomorrow. You will be going on to Lormt?”
“Yes,” she murmured, gazing at him in the dimness, her eyes heavy-lidded with the great weariness that had descended upon her. “I must go on.”
“But they may be searching for us,” he pointed out.
Eydryth thought again of the witches. “They have your purse,” she said. “That may satisfy them.”
“Perhaps it would be best if we stayed hidden in these hills until we discover whether there is any pursuit…”
“I cannot rest, nor turn back,” she said, with a stubborn head-shake. “The life of someone I hold very dear depends on me.”
“I see,” he said thoughtfully. “Well, since it is my fault that you cannot return to Rylon Corners to buy a mount, I would be pleased to take you to Lormt. I know the way. We can make good time. Monso will not mind a double load.” He spoke with a sort of wary eagerness, as though he were bracing himself to have her refuse his aid.
Eydryth pushed herself up on one elbow to stare at him across the dying fire. “You would do that for me? Why?”
“It is the least I can do. The saving of one’s life is no small thing. Had it not been for you, that blank-shield would have sheathed his blade in my vitals.”
She nodded slowly. “I had forgotten that. Very well… I would be pleased to company with you, Dakar.”
He poked a twig into the coals, watched it smolder, smolder, then burst into flame. “And another thing,” he continued, slowly. “My name is not ‘Dakar.’ I used that name because… because I did not want to use my rightful one among those who might have cause to… grow angry with me.” He gave her a rueful half-smile. “For cheating, as you pointed out. It seemed prudent. But I would not want to deceive a… comrade-in-arms.” His eyes met hers across the dying fire. “I am Alon.”
The first rays of dawn slanted across Eydryth’s closed eyelids… Frowning, she stirred restlessly, dreaming…
In her dream she saw her mother, Elys, looking not a day older than the last time Eydryth had seen her. The witch lay upon a pallet draped in grey silk, asleep or entranced. Only the slightest rise and fall of her breast proved that she still lived. Leaden-colored vapor swirled around her still figure, alternately obscuring, then revealing, her face.
“Mother!” Eydryth tried to shout, but no sound issued from her lips.
She managed a step forward, then another, but it was akin to walking beneath the surface of a lake or ocean; she could make but little progress. Peering down, the girl saw that her feet were weighed down, trapped within one of the coiling grey fingers of mist.
“Mother!”
Still no sound, and now the girl could move no farther; her groping hands encountered bars that she could feel but not see.
“Mother! Mother, I am here!”
As she struggled desperately, wildly, Elys, hands folded across the mound of her unborn child, faded away into the shrouding mist…
Eydryth awoke with tears in her eyes, only to see a face peering into hers—a huge, golden-eyed, inhuman face, dominated by a cruelly hooked beak!
The songsmith jerked upright with a startled gasp, her heart slamming painfully. A moment later, she regained her sense of perspective, realizing that what she was seeing was no enormous monster, but a falcon. The bird was perched on the edge of the harp case that had pillowed her head; it had been eyeing her so closely that its beak had nearly brushed her nose.
The creature was large and black-feathered, save for a white V on its breast. Eydryth had seen its like before; several of the marines serving aboard the Osprey had been Falconers. But its yellow feet bore none of the scarlet thongs a Falconer’s companion customarily wore—so from whence had it come? Surely a creature out of the wild would not behave so!
“Who are you?” Eydryth whispered, as though she might indeed be answered. “How did you come here?” From Rylon Corners? Surely not! I have heard of no Falconer villages within the boundaries of Estcarp!
Still, the bird-helmed warriors’ stronghold, the Eyrie, had been destroyed during the Turning. Perhaps some of those exiles were now living among the people of Estcarp. But she had heard in her travels that this strange race of warriors who hated their women and loved only their falcons were currently trying to establish a foothold at Seakeep in High Hallack.
None of which speculation helped her account for the presence of this bird, eyeing her so measuringly, first with one eye, then the other. Its head bobbed up and down with the motion.
“He calls himself Steel Talon,” said a voice from behind her.
Eydryth whirled to find Alon, fully dressed, carrying a hide bag full of water. “Is… is he yours? You are no Falconer!”
“You speak truth,” he agreed readily. “Steel Talon belongs to no one but himself. His master, Jonthal, was my friend and partner. He… was killed. Murdered. Instead of willing himself to join his master in death, as is customary for these birds, Steel Talon has chosen instead to live for the day in which he will find his master’s slayer… and on that day, he will wreak a terrible vengeance.”
“I see,” Eydryth said, studying the bird, who stared back at her with hot golden eyes, eyes that held intelligence in their aurulent depths—a nonhuman kind of intelligence, but none the less for all that. “So he travels with you?”
“After a fashion,” Alon replied. “He comes and goes as he pleases.” He stepped forward to stand beside her, so they both faced the bird. “Steel Talon, this is the Lady Eydryth,” he said, introducing her so solemnly that they might have been at some noble gathering, rather than in a misty, dew-wet pasture dotted with sheep dung. “Monso and I are taking her to Lormt, to aid her in her journey, so she will be companying with us today and on the morrow.”