The bird in Mey’s hands cocked her head, her gaze bold and dark, a questioning noise in her throat. She clicked her beak, and bobbed her head. Shahin and Mey whispered, their heads almost touching, and the falcon screamed between them.
Kyrin was puzzled. Bedouin said almost nothing in secret. Then Mey dismounted, and smiles bloomed on every face.
The eyas lay quiet in Mey’s brown hands, alert, her wings bound to her body by a cloth. Mey met Kyrin’s eyes and stretched up her cupped hands. Kyrin gulped. It couldn’t be.
“A shaheen for you, Shaheen of a true spirit.” Mey’s words were careful in the hush.
“I-I thank you,” Kyrin said, voice low. The falcon’s jet eyes changed to amber in the sun as the bird struggled in her hands, head bobbing. Kyrin’s heart rose—and beat back the memory of blood on her mother’s still body.
“You acted truly for my son, from a right spirit.” Mey choked, and there were tears in her honey eyes.
Not trusting her tongue, Kyrin nodded—and her smile shook wider when the mottled eyas rested in the crook of her arm, turning her steel-blue and grey head—wisps of feathers sticking out around her yellow beak, her bright eyes blinking, funny and fierce as she attacked the cloth about her with her beak. The height erupted in Aneza cheers.
Through the rough material pinning the falcon’s wings and sharp talons, a quick heartbeat radiated warmth into Kyrin’s palm. The falcon was strong, ready soon for her first flight. She peeped and cocked her head to stare at Kyrin with a round eye, the cheek patch of the peregrine distinctive below it, with dark markings also on her wings and breast. Kyrin looked back at her terrible falcon. Soon you will be a hunter of the air—beautiful, adept in your airy paths—without malice in your deadly dives.
What could she use for a hood? Kyrin slipped her pouch thong over her hair; the pouch would fit the bird’s head. She would not mind the cheese. The eyas struck at the leather bag with her beak but calmed when Mey held her and Kyrin slipped the pouch on.
On the way back to camp, Kyrin was dimly aware of their path down the mountainside. The Aneza watered their camels at pools in the wadi lined with green moss. The water at the bottom of the mountain near camp was sweet, not the mineral-heavy, bitter desert water. Kyrin couldn’t get enough. She was very thirsty. She raised her head, water dripping from her chin. Though she was ready for a cushion for her arm, it was so good to ride again and to see the sky. And her falcon. She grinned.
Faisal must see her bird. Maybe he would help her get a rabbit or a sand-hen heart to tempt the eyas. She must eat before morning or her feathers would form brittle hunger lines, and break when she tried to fly. Kyrin frowned.
Faisal was nowhere among the robed men who scratched their beast’s necks while they drank, or those unsaddling, hobbling, and couching camels near the tents. She sighed. Her stomach growled. Later she would find him, doubtless around the fire.
A galloping messenger interrupted their late meal, yelling as his horse skidded to a stop. Most of the Aneza rose to their feet, waiting, kaffiyeh and thawbs shifting in the wind.
“What is it?” Kyrin could not understand the messenger’s rapid speech.
“Tae is coming!” Faisal whooped, the scowl he’d been wearing at her news disappearing.
Her heart leapt. “Only Tae?”
“Do you believe your most generous master would forget to trade the use of his slaves to a desert sheyk?”
“No.” Her smile hitched sideways. Ali was never generous unless it gained him something.
“He will kick us and say, ‘I am most merciful, you lost those thrice your worth to me.’” Faisal imitated Ali’s scowl impeccably.
Kyrin laughed, her heart lightening. Faisal had lost the horses but gained his life. And she, she had found a measure of peace with the jackal.
17
Assassin
Watch over your heart with all diligence,
for from it flow the springs of life. ~Proverbs 4:23
Ali rode at the fore of his caravan on Munira. His litter had been packed out of sight. He saw Kyrin among the throng of Aneza and slid down calling, “My treasured one!”
A hand under her good arm, Faisal helped her kneel to touch the ground then knelt beside her. She endured Ali’s embrace. He kissed her cheek, jostling her arm, and his sweating skin was cool as a fish’s.
Ali raised Faisal, kissed his cheeks ceremonially, and turned from them to greet Shahin. Kyrin lost herself in the crowd, wiping Ali’s kiss from her cheek. She found Tae guarding the rear of the caravan, covered in dust, a living wraith. She ran toward him.
Kentar shouted and the camels lurched toward their grazing for the night. Tae’s hug loosed. He brushed at his face and said in a roughened voice, “Run and attend Ali, later we will talk.”
On her way to Ali’s tent, Kyrin stopped when Shahin motioned her further from Ali’s hearing. Ali did not notice, as he was ordering the Nubian to move his tent nearer Shahin’s.
The sheyk’s fingers bit into her arm. “Is he here?”
“Yes, Tae is at the end of the caravan. Ali would put him there.” She could not stop smiling. Not that Ali’s command would deflect Shahin’s favor. Tae was himself. Whatever company he was in, he could not be ignored.
Shahin’s jaw flexed.
Kyrin’s brow furrowed. “What is wrong, my lord?”
He looked at her under heavy brows. “I asked your master for your price. He offered me any other slave, and at a beggaring cost. You are as his daughter, the prop of his old age.” Shahin’s voice dripped irony.
Kyrin’s mouth opened—nothing came out. Shahin had thought to buy her?
Shahin clasped his hands behind him, staring at Ali’s back as he kicked at a tent stake the Nubian had pounded home. “I will ask Tae Chisun to accompany you among our tents, for a husband should protect his master’s ‘treasured one.’”
Kyrin flushed hot with relief. Ali had told him. Was Shahin angry she had not?
“Your master cannot refuse your rightful lord’s protection. Our trade is not yet agreed.” Shahin’s brown eyes lit, and his lips parted in a dry laugh. “Tonight will instruct us all, Shaheen.”
He nodded and walked away. Kyrin stared after him, glad she did not wear Ali’s sandals across a trade agreement with the sheyk of the Aneza. But Alaina must be near, and Faisal might be with her. She would ask him to help Tae with the camels—making it clear to everyone, slave and free, that Faisal had guarded her for Tae—and that Tae was satisfied.
That night Kyrin sat with her companions at the edge of Shahin’s council.
Shahin made a stirring tale of the Twilket’s attack and Kyrin’s bow drawing down on his son. Of the fearless shot that brought their enemy down, the Aneza arrow that struck her, and Faisal’s unarmed stand against his lance. “This faithful daughter saved us all, coming as a falcon on the wind out of the desert.” Shahin smiled at her, and Aneza murmured their approval.
Ali stood, his lips parting over his teeth in an eel’s grin. “It is so, and my slave will not go without reward. But though it pains my heart, the house of Ali Ben Aidon has no part in any Nur-ed-Dam of the Aneza. Allah, the wise, has not blessed me in the art of war. I will pray to merciful Allah, and he will give your enemies to your lances. Though I may not lift a lance with you, my heart is open to you. My hakeem, Tae Chisun, will carry the name of my house among you. May your ears be open to the wisdom of my mouth. And when Allah blesses your justice, let your hand be generous.”
Shahin bowed. “In sha’allah. We will speak further on the morrow. I bid you rest under the bond of salt.”
The council circle broke up, the Aneza muttering among themselves.
Kyrin ran a finger along her falcon dagger. Shahin would take more important council this night. Someone poked her ribs.
Startled, she jumped, spun, and batted away Alaina’s next touch and
then scored a neck blow. She twined her good arm with Alaina’s and slid loose. They struck against each other: attacking, seeking, and defending in quiet delight.
At last Alaina captured Kyrin’s hand and pulled her close. “I missed you.”
Kyrin laughed. Her arm hurt little. It would be whole soon, along with many other things.
Standing with the men, Faisal sniffed at their martial play in disdain. Kyrin sniffed back and laughed again. He could not make her angry this night of bright stars, with the love of Tae and Alaina around her.
Now when Faisal appeared as if out of the air and tickled the back of her neck with his stick, which amused him no end, she wanted to shake him instead of beat him senseless. Their war had ended.
Tae had been smiling at them all evening. She did not try to stop her grin, ignoring Faisal’s scowl, and put her hand in Alaina’s and pulled her toward the falcons’ tent. Somehow she could not speak of Faisal yet. Kyrin licked her lips. He could move quieter without being seen than anyone she had known. He had been doing it a long time in the streets, outwitting his fellow beggars, hunting food, hiding when he must.
Watching her with her green eyes, Alaina said soberly, “These people almost killed you—and those raiders—. Ali would not let Tae look for you, you know. He tried to steal a camel, but Ali had them guarded. The Nubian almost caught him. I cried every night you were gone, even a tear or two for the jackal.” She indicated Faisal.
Kyrin wondered how hard the Nubian had tried to catch Tae. And Faisal was not a beast, not now. “It was terrible, but my debt with Faisal is paid. He saved me, remember? And I am with you again.” She swung their joined hands up, then her smile faded. “Did Ali think we stole the horses?”
“Tae found the dead raider and told Ali you did not. He yelled, ‘that worthless slave, she brings the evil eye to destroy my goods, and chases after another worthless one.’”
“Is he angry now?”
“He mutters in his tent. You are his favorite outside the walls.” Alaina eyed her sidelong. “At least until the Twilkets are not a threat and his trading with the Aneza sheyk is done.”
Kyrin stopped short, squeezing Alaina’s fingers. “Enough of him, Alaina. I want to show you something. The Aneza gave me a falcon. She is yours, too. She’s beautiful—you will treasure her. And—she’ll fly from your hand first.”
“I? Fly a falcon? Me?”
Warmth stole through Kyrin at Alaina’s joy. “Yes, you. She’ll need us to feed and train her well before she is ready to fly. And she screams a lot, but she is an eyas. The Aneza usually catch grown falcons with a pit and bait; they already know how to hunt. Lord Bergrin, Myrna’s brother at home, he always said the grown ones were better hunters. But I am glad we have her young. So she will always fly back to us.” Kyrin glanced down.
Long ago at Esther’s birthday feast, Esther had snorted in derision. “You always were a moon-eyed one, Kyrin! Falcons cannot love men.” She had seated Kyrin next to Bergrin, Myrna’s older brother, and with a mocking lift of eyebrow, she turned to him and said, “You will find Kyrin’s interest in your hawk breeding instructive, my lord.”
Kyrin had blushed and sat stiffly. So Lord Bergrin Jorn was rich, and knew all the dances and the gentle girls. Still, it was true, what she knew. Falcons were loyal to their mates, fed their young tirelessly, and if a bird treated a human well, was that not love on some level? Some humans could learn from that. She eyed Esther’s back, then met Bergrin’s amused hazel eyes, and her neck heated.
She lifted her chin. “I think raising falcons in the mews does make them worse at hunting, though loyal. But your wild bird has heart, Bergrin, since she escaped. Leaving her to find a mate in the wild and taking a chick that fledges would keep her line in your hands.” She winced at the hair twisted violently about her hand, but she refused to look away from his face. She had no other way to represent her stronghold but with truth.
Lord Bergrin greeted her rush of words with a crooked smile, a smile that leaped out of ambush. Kyrin’s heart beat hard. Crossing one scarlet stockinged leg over the other, Bergrin leaned back on the bench. “I have thought of it. Her mother was a fine huntress, and you are right, I hate to lose her.” He quirked a thoughtful blonde brow. “But I would gain her skill in her daughter. And who knows, maybe her daughter’s mate, from my mews, would teach her to be a loyal hunter, to love me.” He set his feet on the floor. “I think I will do it.”
He looked at Kyrin from the corner of his eye. “Esther is more right about you than she knows. For all your blood of the hills, you are someone to watch—at least in the mews.” He chuckled at his own wit, and walked away to join a bright threesome about the fire.
Kyrin glared after him. Lords’ sons, they are all the same. Rough as boars.
Kyrin released Alaina’s hand. No bride-price had ever been settled on a lord for her. Now her falcon slept, hooded on a high perch in the black tent with the Anezas’ birds, her head tucked under her wing. And she loved her already.
§
“Oh, she’s beautiful!” Alaina had never seen a falcon so close. Falcons were for stronghold first-daughters, not woodcutter’s get. She wished it were lighter in the tent so she could see more than the falcon’s slim head and pale cream breast. The falcon squeaked when she rubbed her soft, feathered crest. Alaina jerked her hand back.
Kyrin laughed and sank down next to the perch. “She is not screaming now, and my ears are glad. She ate meat from a stick a while ago; soon she will take bits from you.”
Alaina wrapped herself in her cloak and sat too, shivering with wonder, reaching up to stroke their falcon. Her falcon. It smelled of dust and somehow softness, like her lambs-wool embroidery thread.
She whispered, “I finished the last of Ali’s pouches so you won’t have to do that, but”—she smiled at Kyrin’s shadow—“you will have to practice hard to catch up. Tae taught me how to defend against a lance after he found the dead raider. Faisal killed that one?”
“He must have.”
Why did Kyrin avoid speaking of him? Something had changed; they teased instead of killed each other with their glances. Alaina held back a sigh. Kyrin would not speak until she was ready. Alaina ran her forefinger from the falcon’s head to her tail. “When does she need food, and what does she eat?”
“Rabbit hearts give her strength, and sand-hen keeps her in good flying weight . . .” Alaina let Kyrin’s clear voice fill her ears and sank against the post. Her sister was with her again. She was not gone, thank the Master of the stars, though she came close to dying more than once.
At a soft step inside the door the falcon shifted its feet and screamed sleepily. Alaina laid her hand on the bird, and the falcon quieted.
“Shahin wants you. In our tent,” Faisal said, his voice stiff.
They scrambled up, and he led the way. He held up the tent flap, closed against the night’s unpredictable wind, and Alaina ducked inside after Kyrin.
Near the middle poles inside, the sheyk waited cross-legged beside a bright oil lamp. Tae rested on a wide cushion opposite. He leaned into the lamplight and nodded. Alaina smiled at him, and bowed uncertainly to the sheyk.
Shahin inclined his head, courteous, and Alaina settled on a blue and black rug near the door, glad of the clean softness instead of the rough sand of the hawks’ tent. She shoved another cushion toward Kyrin, who settled on Shahin’s right in the place he indicated. Kyrin might wish the support for her arm.
The sheyk was the only Aneza present, not a warrior, not a servant within. Did he mean to test their intentions? He would not find them lacking.
Faisal settled himself next to Kyrin, disdaining cushions.
“We meet to consider our path.” Shahin slapped his hands against his knees. “I am impatient. Your master has complicated things.”
Alaina stared in surprise. He said his mind at once, unlike every Bedouin sh
e had met, who first inquired after every relative, their well-being, and their doings under the sun. This war must be near.
The sheyk’s eyes glittered in his edged face. “Does Ali Ben Aidon think the Aneza fools? But enough. The Twilkets gather on the other side of our mountain. Tae Chisun, you have led your people in battle?”
“Yes.” Tae said it simply, with complete confidence.
“You know what Shaheen did for us, and what comes. We ride against three hundred at the least. They fight as we do, in swift attack from camel and horseback with lance and sword.”
Alaina’s chilled toes were warming. The Twilkets felt seasons away. She glanced aside, her lips tightening. They were not hunting her, burn them, but her sister. Kyrin hugged her knees, resting. Faisal’s eyes gleamed in the shadows.
Shahin’s voice murmured on. The lamp glow dimmed as Alaina’s eyes grew heavy, and her head sagged to her knees. She jerked awake.
Tae was saying, “It is all or nothing. Set a trap in the wadi. Your messengers tell me it has high walls, and in the middle, defensible islands that have water. Within two days every man, woman and child must be ready. I—”
“You will lead us? Can you do so?” Shahin leaned forward, watching him, a dark hawk, dangerous within the shadows of his kaffiyeh, ready to kill to protect his people.
Would Tae show him what he was? Alaina bit her lip.
Tae was gentle. He said softly, “When a man says such words in my land it shames his name, casting doubt on his heart. But I judge you speak so to find the truth. No, Sheyk Shahin, I am askar, but not sheyk. You know your people, their weaknesses and their strengths. I may direct your Aneza with knowledge, but you lead their hearts.
“To fight unmounted, in a wadi, a trap, is not the Aneza way. But it is the way to overcome the Twilkets. It is a way to live and fight again. Every Aneza warrior to count against their three.”
Shahin said nothing, and Tae continued, “Some of us will raid their herds next nightfall. We must control their movements. Make them come to us where we are strong, bunch them together. Cut them down with each arrow, each lance, each blow. You will lead your people, spirit and heart and body. I will show you how to overcome a large body of men with a few.” Tae leaned back.
Falcon Heart: Chronicle I an epic young adult fantasy series set in medieval times Page 19
