Master of Hawks

by Linda E. Bushyager

  “There is no need; we know of that forest,” replied the Aseneth chief.

  “And you know of the other places where entire forests burned. Now there is blackened earth and the charred trunks of skytrees … ” His voice drifted off as he let them think about that.

  “The Empire is greedy. Do you really think they’d let you alone? Their war has been expensive. They need your wealth, your supplies, your abilities. You have tomaad and valuable wood, as well as the skill to shape it. Moreover, do you really think they’d allow small pockets of possible resistance to remain in the middle of their conquered lands—forests where outlaws and renegades could hide?’

  Then Feder rose and spoke. “Enough. We have heard these arguments before. We know them. We will consider them.” He strode around the table until he reached Ro and Hawk. Then he inspected them with a penetrating gaze that made Hawk feel he was being analyzed, categorized, and filed.

  “Elihen has spoken to me of your abilities. I would like to see a demonstration. Please follow me.”

  The sudden ending to the meeting surprised everyone, even the other chiefs, but they followed Feder outside meekly. Hawk’s eagles had been brought, and there were several cages with mice and squirrels.

  Feder questioned Ro intently about her family, background, training, and immunity to magic. He ordered her to demonstrate her ability to control the animals. Then he turned to Hawk, interrogated him about his telepathy, and had him fly the eagles. Hawk resented the Sylvan’s condescending attitude, but responded with calm self-assurance, confident of his own abilities.

  When he finished, Feder said, “Thank you. Elihen, please take them back to their room. I am going to call a full Council meeting tonight. I will inform you of our final decision tomorrow.”

  With that announcement Feder and the other chiefs returned to the council chambers.

  “What the devil is going on?” asked Coleman. He felt bewildered by the sudden shift in events.

  Elihen shook his head, as confused as the humans. “I don’t know. None of us expected him to call a full Council meeting. They do it telepathically, of course, through the communicators. But what’s he up to? When I talked to him earlier this morning and told him about Ro’s identity, he already seemed to know about it. He mentioned that there had been some new developments, but he didn’t say what they were.”

  “What did he mean by a final decision?’ asked Coleman. “Why didn’t he tell us now? I’m getting tired of all this delay.”

  “I don’t know, but from his tone it sounded as though he has made up his mind once and for all about fighting Taral,” Elihen answered.

  “It did sound that way,” added Hawk. “At least we’ll have the decision tomorrow.” He was as anxious as Coleman to get back to the fighting.

  “I’ll take you back to your room. Council meetings are closed, but I’ll see what I can find out.” Elihen led them toward the tree trunk. “I just don’t understand why he was so interested in Hawk’s and Ro’s abilities; why did he ask all those questions?”

  Equally bewildered, Ro shook her head, but she had a sudden hunch that she and Hawk were being singled out for another Sylvan test. Only this one would be as dangerous as anything she’d ever done.

  12

  Bright sunlight splashed off the walled city of Kellerton, making it seem like a dark, sparkling jewel against the shiny blue of Lake Lounsbury lying behind it. From his vantage point atop a watchtower guarding the city, Jaxton Sinclair studied the spires of the N’Omb Shrine of the Three Miracles that rose from the center of the town like three silver needles.

  It was a place of wonder and hope for the thousands of N’Omb faithful who traveled to see it each year and to be blessed. Yet the name meant something else to him—something sad and almost sinister, stemming from a loss that had occurred so long ago he had almost forgotten it, but that could never be totally forgotten.

  Jaxton suppressed his stirring memories and looked toward Swego, which lay about forty miles directly northwest of Kellerton. Through his binoculars he could just make out the outline of the Inland Sea.

  Suddenly his new aide-de-camp, Wagner Prenis, tapped him on the shoulder. “Lord Sinclair, I see something over there.”

  Jaxton smiled at his new title, courtesy of his position as Regent S’Akron. In the unfortunate event his ward should die, he would add the S’Akron name to his own—Lord Jaxton Sinclair S’Akron—it had a sound to it that he liked.

  He turned and followed Prenis over to another of the tower’s slitted windows. Surveying the strip of the Keller Road that ran northeast along the lake and followed the Lounsbury River eastward toward Castle York, Jaxton thought he could even see a dark smudge on the horizon that could be its fortifications—perhaps thirty miles away.

  Something moved on the road—several wagons coming toward Kellerton. He watched them for several minutes until he was sure, then announced, “Farmers, bringing vegetables to market.”

  However, he continued to search the road for any signs of the guerrilla forces that had plagued them for days. He felt certain that most had died during the series of skirmishes that had occurred since they had left Swego. Probably the survivors would regroup and seek to cut the Keller Road behind them to block the flow of supplies, rather than try to head them off. Still, it paid to be cautious.

  Having finished his inspection of the road, Jaxton handed the binoculars back to the guard manning the watchtower and instructed him: “Everything appears to be in good order. Notify headquarters of any enemy movement immediately. There’s a slim possibility that what’s left of S’Mayler’s forces may ever try to attack Kellerton itself.”

  “Yes, sir,” the man replied. “We’ve worked out signals with the guards at the city’s main gate.”

  “Good.” Jaxton hoped the man would be diligent. He didn’t want any surprises. He motioned to Wagner Prenis. “We’ll be going back to the town now.”

  They descended the ancient brick and stone tower with care, for the narrow, corkscrew stairs were broken and steeply pitched. When they reached the bottom, they mounted their horses and rode the overgrown path down the hill to the Keller Road. A few hundred feet on, the road branched, and they turned left onto a cobblestone street leading down to the walled town. Kellerton had been built near the ruins of a city destroyed by N’Omb’s wrath thousands of years before, and much of its grayish stonework had come from the rubble.

  As they passed through the narrow, arched gate into the almost deserted streets within, Jaxton noticed the town’s dual nature. On the surface everything appeared to be quite normal, with few signs of the occupation. But the undercurrents of fear and change were reflected in the faces of the few townspeople who ventured outdoors, even though S’Stratford’s directives against looting and rampage were being strictly followed. He had ordered his soldiers not to sack any more towns or villages. Instead, all conquered lands were to be annexed into the Empire as peaceably as possible. Since the men’s lust and greed had been satiated at Swego, S’Stratford knew that now they would be willing to accept the discipline necessary to subjugate rather than destroy the rest of York.

  Jaxton and Prenis dismounted in front of S’Stratford’s headquarters, the red-brick city hall. The building was tall enough to be a tower, but it seemed almost squat compared to the spires of the cathedral-like shrine across the square.

  The plaza was almost empty. Normally it would be filled with crowds of pilgrims waiting to enter the shrine. In its center a group of N’Omb priests gathered around a kiosk that shimmered in a blue-gold halo. The magic protected a display of minor holy relics inside.

  Jaxton found the sight of the gray-robed pilgrims and white-robed priests disturbing. They reminded him too much of the past. His mother had been devoutly religious, but when she’d disappeared during a pilgrimage to several of the holy shrines, he’d developed a hatred of the N’Omb priests and all they represented.

  Irritated at himself for feeling pain at a wound he considered long
healed, he brusquely handed his reins to Wagner Prenis and stalked into the city hall. The dim hallway led to a set of narrow wooden steps curving upward into a darkness pungent with decay. The stairs appeared to have endured centuries of use and, thought Jaxton as he stepped on the shuddering boards, perhaps centuries of termites.

  Reaching the second floor, he passed along a hallway stained coal black from the torches lining it. He opened the door at the end and again admired S’Stratford’s ability to find the best accommodations, even in the musty hallways of the city hall. The former mayor’s office was brightly lit by several enormous chandeliers and the sunlight from two bay windows. The walnut paneling and furniture were quite luxurious, far more than anything else Jaxton had seen in the town, except for the Shrine of the Three Miracles itself, of course, which siphoned off most of the city’s wealth.

  As he expected, Jaxton found Douglas S’Stratford with Jessica S’Logan.

  “Ah, Jaxton, we were just talking about you,” said S’Stratford.

  “Darling?’ The Red Witch kissed Jaxton quickly but firmly on the lips. He had gotten to know her rather well during the past couple of weeks. She had even found time to teach him something about the use of the Pendant of Thantos.

  “We’ve decided on our next move,” continued S’Stratford, ignoring Jessica Slogan’s actions. He’d seen her work on other men before; in fact, he’d been one of her targets. Somehow he didn’t think she’d find Jaxton Sinclair to be as malleable as she hoped.

  “When we leave here tomorrow, you will remain behind as temporary mayor of this region. You’ll maintain control here and ensure the delivery of our supplies.”

  “That’s a nice job,” said Jaxton sarcastically. “Don’t you think someone else could do it? Now that I have the Thantos spellstone, I think I’d be of more help coming with you.”

  Jessica moved closer so that he felt the warmth of her body, smelled her exotic perfume, and heard the faint rustle of petticoats beneath her red taffeta gown.

  “That’s why we want you here, darling, to use its power to keep the Keller Road safe. When the siege of York Castle is about to break, we’ll send word for you to join us.”

  “That’s fair, you know,” added Douglas S’Stratford.

  Jaxton realized the futility of arguing. He had been chosen to remain at Kellerton, and that meant he’d have the responsibility of preventing sabotage and hijackings of the supplies being transported along the Keller Road.

  “I have a present for you,” said Jessica with exquisite sweetness. Jaxton resisted the urge to put his arm around her, for he’d already learned to recognize her ploys, and he was determined not to fall for them. He would enjoy their relationship as long as possible, but he would not let her use him. However, when she pulled forth a cage containing a large, alert falcon, he could not help but be touched by the thoughtfulness of the gift, even though he suspected that her motives were probably mixed—after all, he’d be more useful with a trained bird of his own.

  “I heard that you lost your falcons, so I thought you might like this one.”

  “Thank you very much,” he replied, taking the cage.

  “It is easier for a telepath to work with a bird he is used to. He looks like a fine hunter.”

  S’Stratford walked over to one of the windows to watch the small crowd in the plaza below. “You’ll have lots of use for him,” he said. “So far the N’Omb priests have stayed out of things, and we’ve respected their neutrality. I want to keep it that way. So I want you to move carefully where the N’Ombs are concerned. Although we’ve occupied this town, remember that the shrine itself is strictly neutral—I don’t want any of our men harassing priests or pilgrims or deciding to steal a little loot from the shrine, right?

  Some of the priests don’t like the Empire, some are even trying to persuade the whole Church to come out against us—so I don’t want any incidents, you understand?”

  “I know,” Jaxton replied.

  “Of course he does, Douglas,” added Jessica S’Logan. “Jaxton is going to do an excellent job here, I’m sure of that.” She moved closer to the telepath and leaned against him. “Of course, I wish you were coming with us instead, but we’ll be back together very soon.”

  S’Stratford nodded. “Once we join up with the Southern Imperial Army at York, there is nothing that’s going to stop us. A siege of a few months perhaps, that’s all we’ll need.”

  “I hope you are right,” said Jaxton.

  Jessica S’Logan pressed her hand against his thigh. “It’s too bad Ramsey is still unconscious. It’s a real shame to see a sorcerer of such talent lying there totally useless. And of course his seat on the Council of Seven is vacant now … “

  She batted her beautiful green eyes at Jaxton and offhandedly smoothed her flaming red hair. He knew what she was thinking, what she’d been hinting at for days. She could influence the Council to appoint him to Ramsey’s seat, at least temporarily, if he’d agree to support her in the power struggle within the Council. She wanted to control as much of the newly conquered lands as possible, as did everyone else on the Council of Seven.

  “Yes, it is sad,” he added. “He was … is a good friend.”

  S’Stratford turned back toward them. “Well, I’m convinced of one thing now, Derek S’Mayler is the major force we have to reckon with, you know? He devised that ambush, and he was a strong enough sorcerer to defeat Ramsey. Taral’s always warned us about him, and now we know why. Jessica, you know the man. Is there some weakness we can use against him?”

  The Red Witch laughed. “I knew him many years ago. His weakness then was women, and we used that against him. I hear it still is his weakness, but I don’t know how we can use that against him now. I really don’t know how we can get to him. But it won’t matter, he’ll be no match for Taral.”

  “What sorcerer is?” said S’Stratford. “Still, Ramsey was a great sorcerer, one of the best, and now he’s lying in a coma while Derek S’Mayler is out there,” he gestured at the window, “sending raiding parties against us.”

  Jessica S’Logan filled three glasses with brandy from a decanter sitting on the mayor’s desk. “We’ll be testing S’Mayler’s abilities soon enough, so why don’t we stop worrying about them? The downfall of York is inevitable. Let’s drink a toast to that, shall we?”

  She handed one of the glasses to S’Stratford and another to Jaxton. “Let’s drink to all the poor York soldiers who are going to be dead very soon,” she said.

  “To our victory,” added S’Stratford as the glasses clinked together, “and to their deaths.”

  “To the defeat of York,” toasted Jaxton Sinclair.

  13

  “Perhaps the downfall of York is near,” said Lord Brian S’York, refilling Derek S’Mayler’s glass and then his own. He stared at the thick, cold walls of Castle York and wondered how long they could withstand the siege that now seemed inevitable. The defeat of the York troops attempting to hold back Taral’s main forces at Twin Lakes had been a severe blow. When Derek arrived with the news of heavy losses to the forces protecting the north and of S’Stratford’s imminent arrival into the area, he’d had to face the fact that York’s forces were no match for Taral’s more numerous troops.

  “We may be outnumbered,” said Derek, as though he had read the thoughts that shadowed S’tork’s face with worry, “but we’re not finished by a long shot. We’ve weakened S’Stratford’s forces, and I wouldn’t say that Taral’s army in the south was intact either—their losses were considerable.”

  “Well, we’re well prepared for a siege at least, and with the sorcerers we’ve got and the protective spells you and the other League sorcerers laid on the castle itself, Taral won’t find us as easy a target as the other kingdoms he’s fought. We haven’t really opposed him with sorcery yet.” S’York put his left elbow on the table, propped up his head with the back of his hand, and glanced glumly across at Derek. “But I still think we’ll need a miracle to win.”

 
; “One miracle coming up,” said a deep voice from the doorway behind him. Brian S’York half rose from his chair and swung around to face Coleman S’Wessex, who had just entered the room. Behind him came Ro and Hawk.

  Derek S’Mayler studied their travel-stained pilgrim garb and smiled wryly. “Well, either your disguise was so good that N’Omb granted your prayers, or somehow you’ve gotten the Sylvan to agree to help us.”

  Coleman smiled, but Ro and Hawk looked grim.

  “Not quite,” said Hawk, slipping into a chair.

  “May we join you in your drink?” asked Coleman, pouring himself a large glass of whiskey without waiting for an answer. Then he drank it, straight.

  “Certainly,” murmured S’York. He called out to the guard standing just outside the door. “Jeff!” When the man entered he continued, “Have the kitchen send up some food for these people, they look as though they could use something to eat, and some sleep.” The guard nodded and hurried out.

  “You’re right about that, we rode almost straight through after talking with Feder.” Coleman sank into a chair. Ro remained standing, leaning against door frame, with her gray cloak trailing over her arm. Although she declined S’York’s offer of whiskey, Hawk poured himself a short one with a little water. Then Derek’s exasperated voice punctured the silence. “Well, aren’t you going to tell us what Feder said?”

  Coleman took another sip of his drink and set it down thoughtfully, letting the liquid fill his empty stomach with a warm glow. Then he replied, “Feder has agreed to help us, and the Sylvan Council has gone along with his wishes … “

  “That’s wonderful!” interjected S’York.

  “Not totally,” Coleman continued hastily, “there’s a condition … “

  Brian S’York slapped his hands against his thighs impatiently. “I might have known the Sylvan would never agree to help us without demanding something in return.”