The Hawk and the Falcon

by Benjamin Corman

  When later the sound of footsteps approaching was heard, and the chamber door swung open once more, neither of them moved. A man strode in then, and at first Alaina could not make him out in the dark. But another came behind the first with a torch, and then Alaina could see that it was dark-haired Marcel, and he had a knife in his hand.

  Alaina winced as he approached, but he passed her by, and moved to Erielle’s side. She swung around when she realized what was about to happen, but then Marcel took Erielle’s leather tie in hand and cut it with the knife, freeing her. The other woman rubbed at her wrists, staring at the young man with narrowed eyes.

  “You’re free now, my dear, for what it’s worth,” he said. “She finally did it, and so you’re free. Your Jethra killed a king. Or close enough to a king anyway. If that doesn’t pay the price, what does?”

  Alaina jumped to her feet, not believing him. “What? What did you say?”

  Marcel favored her with a grin. “Now, Alaina, fret not, you’ll be a queen soon enough.”

  Alaina raged, leaping forward and raising her wrists, then bringing her bound fists down on Marcel’s shoulder, hard. She then spun about and pushed past the man with the torch, rushing into the hallway.

  There was no one about, so she raced down the corridor, until she found a stairwell. She took the steps two at a time, coming to a lower level. Moving along the wall, she found a door that led to the outside. Beyond, she could see the sun setting over a small patch of grass, surrounded by barren earth. There was a fair copse of trees beyond. If she could run, make it to the trees, she could hide. She could survive, and then escape.

  But as she took a step toward freedom, something nagged at the back of her mind. Marcel had come and freed Erielle, talked of a plot to kill… she didn’t want to think about it. It couldn’t be true. But it was Marcel. Not Stans Walls, nor Blanche, or even Anne. As she mulled these thoughts over, she heard voices coming from down the hall behind her. Not the hurried talk of chasing guardsmen she expected, but casual words of conversation. And amongst those voices, she heard one oddly out of place, oddly familiar.

  Alaina turned back from the setting sun and headed once again into the gloom of the keep corridor. She followed the voices until she came to a small room. The door was ajar, and as she crept up to it, she could see three men inside, one standing and the other two seated. There was a table between them, upon which a large leather-bound tome was spread open, and there was a fire crackling in a small hearth.

  The man standing was easy to make out. He was the golden-haired and gray-eyed Earl of Ayer, Erick Odein. The man seated to his right she could not easily see but seated to his left was a portly man with gray hair and beard.

  “Worry not, Crake,” the Earl was saying, resting a hand on the portly man’s shoulder. “We have word from Gregor Hake that all has gone as planned. There is fighting on the streets and the Acolytes were well paid. They are slaughtering all in their path. The bridges are down, and we control all of the ships through Fazzil Suk and House Kardiff. They are all of them locked inside Valis with no easy means to escape in any large number. The Prince Regent is dead, and his allies are trapped.”

  “What of William Erris?” the man called Crake asked.

  Byron dead, it can be. I can’t believe it, won’t believe it. And Will. What does this have to do with Will?

  Crake continued, “It seems he’s caused quite a stir, rallying the Lyle soldiers.”

  “Nothing to worry on, Marsen,” said Erick, with the swat of a hand. “Up jumped lummox, I hear, of middling birth. Can’t control his anger long enough to cause any real trouble.”

  “I’m not certain,” said the third man, the owner of the familiar voice. A young man it seemed, but despite the familiarity, she couldn’t place him. “I knew him at Lyle. Ill tempered, perhaps, unpredictable, maybe, but not without wit. We best be wary, until all is set.”

  Alaina straightened and smoothed the soft fabric of her dress. Then she put her hand to the door and pushed it open as she stepped forward. The Earl of Ayer looked up at her, eyes narrowed to slits. Marsen Crake leaned forward and closed the book on the table in front of him. The cover was revealed then, black in color, and branded into the leather was a crest she did not recognize. One of a spread-winged, two-headed raven, each of its beaks pointing outward to either side.

  “Alaina,” the familiar voice said. He sounded surprised. So too was Alaina when she saw who it was. Seated before her was fair-haired Brien Laswick, the son of Lord Lewin Laswick.

  “Brien,” Alaina breathed. “But you… you died. With Robert. At Valis.”

  Brien opened his mouth as if to respond, but before he could speak, there was a sound of footsteps behind her. Alaina turned to see Stans Wallace enter the room.

  “Ah, my lady, there you are,” said the Duke. He put a hand on top of hers, then frowned, looking at her bound wrists. “Now what have they done to you? We must take care of this.” He seemed not all concerned with the people in the room, a fact which initially confused her.

  Stans Wallace took her by the hands and began to lead her from the room. Alaina was reluctant to move at first, her feet cemented to floor, but then he pulled on her, and she began to follow. She turned as she went though, and looked back, studying the three men through the door frame. Brien Laswick, son of Lord Lewin, thought dead with Robert, but now returned. A man named Marsen Crake, and another mentioned named Gregor Hake. And then Erick Odein, the Earl of Ayer. It occurred to her suddenly that they had all been gravely wrong about the Casterlins. They are power-hungry, yes, but are they merely pawns in the same way that I myself am a pawn? In perhaps the same way that House Lyle has been? Who are these people? What is their connection?

  Her eyes went then to the two-headed raven on the tome between them. Does this book hold the answers? What does the symbol mean? It was then that she knew she could not run. That instead it seemed that she was precisely where she needed to be, after all.

  As Alaina was led down the hall her gaze went upward from the book to the man standing in the middle of the trio, standing above that two-headed raven. The Earl of Ayer was studying her with those gray eyes of his, and it occurred to her in that moment that they were such a very deep sort of gray, like the color of a raging storm.

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