Tamal turned away and brushed out Thalagar’s tail, leaving Taliesin to consider what he’d told her. Not once had Roland ever mentioned he’d been married; then again, she’d never asked. It made sense now why he’d never told her he loved her; he didn’t because he still loved his dead wife. But had he murdered his own wife for sleeping with other men? She didn’t want to believe it. She couldn’t believe that of him. Yet, Roland stayed with them because he wanted the sword for the king. He didn’t stay because he loved her and wanted to be with her; if he did, he’d not have said those painful things to her. If he loved her, he would do as she requested, but that’s not what he’d done.
Sometime later, Hawk found her sitting at the back of the cave and offered a blue kerchief from around his neck to dry her tears. The pearl earring dangling from his left earlobe caught her attention and gave her something to look at; a distraction. He was still dressed like a gypsy, with hair dyed black and his eyes outlined in black. After she dabbed her eyes and blew her nose into the scarf, she handed it back. He seemed disinclined to accept it, but stuffed it into the pocket of his baggy black pants.
“In the past,” he said, “I enjoyed hearing you and Grudge bicker like two old magpies, but this time it’s different. It’s your own damn fault for growing attached to an outsider. Roland considers himself a White Stag, not a Black Wing; that much he admitted. We’ll never be able to sell that sword, but I had no idea you wanted to keep it. What will you do with it?”
“It’s always about money with you,” Taliesin said, bristling. “Ringerike belongs to our clan, and I’m not about to give a sickly old king a piece of our heritage, so if you’ve come to ask me to reconsider, you might as well forget it, because I’m not going to.”
The young man threw up his hands. “I’m offended you would think so lowly of me,” he replied. “My only interest is keeping the Raven Sword with the Raven Clan, and now I know you aren’t going to part with it, I won’t make any suggestions about lords who might be interested in buying it...it wouldn’t be right. This mission isn’t about making money, anymore. It’s about pride in our clan and preserving our heritage.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” Taliesin said. She smiled at Hawk and poked him in the ribs. “It’s not like I think all of your ideas are bad. You’d make a decent Raven Master, if you were ever inclined to put the clan before your own needs. Who knows? Before this is all over with, you might be just the person to wear Master Osprey’s shoes.”
“You mean you don’t want to lead the clan?”
Taliesin saw the wheels turning inside Hawk’s head. He had a look on his face that made it clear the idea had never occurred to him, and now that she’d mentioned it, he was already picturing himself wearing a raven-feather cloak and crown.
“Raven’s Nest has to be rebuilt, Hawk, from the ground up, and I can’t do that alone,” she said, glad he was so easily led. “That’s not a marriage proposal, mind you, so don’t jump to conclusions. We’re Ravens. Putting the clan first is what we’re supposed to do. I simply meant you’d make a wonderful Raven Master, with or without me.”
“Yeah, I see your point,” he said. “I would look good in a crown.”
Within the hour, Taliesin and her friends had saddled the horses and loaded their gear. Zarnoc meant to ride the mule on a permanent basis so Tamal decided it was best not to burden the animal with additional weight, and the wizard seemed quite content that his mount had been elevated in statute. Any opportunity to make amends with Roland seemed to sidestep Taliesin. Though she wasn’t eager to seek him out, she noticed he kept close to Tamal and the gypsies instead of the Ravens. Although they’d heard no wolf howls, nor seen any Aldagar soldiers milling about the area, the knight and the five men readied their weapons as if they anticipated trouble on the road and rode out of the cave without waiting for the others.
When she finished saddling Thalagar, Taliesin put on her black cloak, fastened her sword belt tight about her waist, and climbed into the saddle. Jaelle led a small roan, with white tassels hanging from its bridle and saddle, out of the cave and mounted beside her. The gypsy girl tossed her long, curly, black hair and motioned in the direction taken by her brother.
“Sirocco, Khamsin, Simoom, and Harmattan Nova are staying with us,” Jaelle said. “The brothers are all seasoned fighters, but Harmattan is the best. The eldest, Sirocco, is my brother’s best friend. It is known when Tamal becomes the next Shan, the Nova brothers will become his personal guards. My father will not be surprised they have chosen to remain with us.”
“I’m glad they did,” Taliesin said.
“Sirocco desires to marry me, even if I have no intention of marrying,” replied Jaelle, sounding more than a little conceited. “If I stay with the tribe, I suppose I must marry one of the Nova brothers one day; if it comes to that, I’ll ask Harmattan to fight for the honor of marrying me.”
“Both are fine-looking men, Jaelle,” Taliesin said. “You could do far worse. Your brother is also a very good scout; he seems to know when trouble is afoot.”
A friendly smile appeared on Jaelle’s beautiful face.
The Ghajar were beautiful people, overall, thought Taliesin, and the Shan’s daughter was without a doubt the loveliest woman she’d ever seen. The expression in the girl’s eyes confused her, though. It wasn’t Harmattan Jaelle had feelings for. While Taliesin didn’t quite understand it, she knew the girl was interested in her in the same way Taliesin was interested in Roland. The revelation wasn’t an unpleasant one, but it was strange territory, and Taliesin didn’t want to give Jaelle any false hope.
“Many thoughts fill your head, Raven Mistress,” Jaelle said, in a husky voice. “I heard your argument with your man. Roland is torn between his loyalty to his king and his love for you.”
Glancing at the sun through the tree limbs, Taliesin wanted to forget about what had been said between her and Roland. Hawk, Rook, Wren, and Zarnoc were still inside the cave, packing the last of the gear, and taking more time than was necessary, but the delay gave her time to put an end to Jaelle’s curiosity about Roland.
“Roland is a King’s Man, not a Raven,” Taliesin said. “The king sent Roland to join our clan with orders to bring me to Padama. As soon as we find Ringerike, Roland will surely try to get me to return with him, but I have no intention of doing so.”
“Tamal believes Roland is a good man. My brother’s opinion is of value.”
Taliesin hated herself for doubting Roland, especially at this point in their journey, but her trust in him was shaken. It was ironic that while Tamal had tried to kill Roland and Jaelle has attempted to strangle her, she considered them the least problematic. The pair was honest about their feelings, and that counted for something, unlike Roland, who had too many secrets.
“Best keep an eye on Roland,” Taliesin said, sounding angrier than she’d intended. “Too many people are interested in finding Ringerike, and far too many know we are looking for it; that makes me nervous. I don’t want to be caught off guard or surprised, not for any reason. Tamal can think what he likes about Roland, but I can’t take that risk, and I’m not thinking clearly, so you’ll have to do it for me, Jaelle.”
The gypsy girl nodded. “Love makes you blind. I understand. You can count on me, Taliesin. I will watch your man.”
Hawk, Wren, Rook, and Zarnoc rode out to the two women, and Jaelle led them west, through the tall pine trees. Rook only nodded as they took the opposite direction from Roland and the gypsies, who had not returned. An argument was going on between Hawk and Wren that clearly had both upset.
“Varguld is real,” Wren said, in a defensive voice. “The Age of the Wolf is upon us. Zarnoc said so.”
“The world’s population cannot possibly be eaten by giant wolves,” Hawk said. “All the talk about Ragnal, the God of War, dropping to all fours and turning into a giant wolf to join his sons, Varg and Cano, is but a legend. Zarnoc also said he’s been to Mt. Helos, and spent an afternoon in the Hall of Im
mortals with Stroud the Maker and his wife, Broa. It’s a bunch of bird crap. Don’t believe everything that old man tells you.”
“I’m right here,” Zarnoc said, sounding quite offended. “I do not invent stories to mislead young ladies, Eugene, and I did spend an afternoon with the gods. We had roasted boar and spring wine and talked about a great many things!”
The old wizard carried his belongings across his lap. His pipe was put away and he’d changed the color of his robe into a dark, forest green. Something besides Hawk’s angry snort abruptly caught his attention, and despite a sudden tug on the reins in the opposite direction, his mule brayed loudly and took off through the trees. The group’s laughter ended at the sudden, forlorn howl of a wolf. Hawk drew a silver cutlass, horse dancing as he wheeled, and pointed with his blade toward the north.
“Get the women out of here, Rook!” Hawk shouted. “Don’t wait for us. Get across the Minoc River. We’ll meet you on the other side.”
Spinning his horse around, Hawk took off after the wizard as Jaelle took the lead again, riding hard, with Rook, Wren, and Taliesin following. They heard a chorus of wolf song and the immediate clang of steel behind them. Although Zarnoc’s magic was growing stronger by the day, and Roland and Hawk fought beside the gypsies, Taliesin had a sinking feeling she may never see any of them again.
* * *
Riding quickly through the trees, Jaelle led the way around a cliff, along a path, and onto a gravel-covered road lined by tall pine trees. They rode hard until they arrived at an intersection; one path led up the hill to Stalker Castle and the other toward the city of Tunberg. Taliesin saw no other roads, and although they’d meant to avoid either place, said nothing about the chosen path, seeing how distraught Jaelle looked.
“I know where I’m going,” Jaelle said, sounding angry. “We can ride through town and still reach the river before nightfall. No Wolfman will come into the city. Pull the hood of your cloak over your head so no one notices you,” she told Taliesin.
Taliesin rode along beside her, already able to smell the city on the breeze. It seemed less hazardous when they passed a man, chewing on a blade of straw, with a cart of vegetables. He nodded as Taliesin glanced in his direction and she settled in the saddle, content for now to ride through the town and make their way to the river. Jaelle’s mood seemed to be improving, and Rook and Wren looked happy, if that was possible; it dawned on her that she’d been stuck, like some old nanny, with the three teenagers.
“I like Rook. Most men talk too much. Not him.” Jaelle glanced over her shoulder then turned forward with a blush on her cheeks. “Wren is fortunate to be so loved. The Erindorian waits on her hand and foot like a castle servant. He asks nothing and gives everything. That is a rare quality in a man. A man like that could make me think differently about their gender.”
“Rook can talk, but chooses not to. Something happened to him when he was a boy, and he’s never talked since,” Taliesin said. “Of course, playing the part of a mute would be a wonderful disguise for a spy, but that’s the romantic in me.” She heard the flapping of wings and saw a flock of wrens fly away from the trees, startling her horse. She patted Thalagar on the neck to calm him, and her hand came away slick with sweat and black horsehair, which she wiped off across her pant leg. She watched the flock pass over the road and sang, “We hunted the wren for Baldor. In the glade, we hunted his wife. We hunted the wren for Baldor; in the glade, he took her life.”
“Wrens are birds of fair weather,” Jaelle said. “What song do you sing?”
“What? Was I singing?” Taliesin shook her head, unaware she’d spoken aloud. Of all the plays written by Glabber the Glib, she found it odd that particular one came to mind. “It’s some stupid song from a stupid play about birds and bird wives. Glabber the Glib wrote it; he’s my favorite playwright. I guess it’s habit; you know, think of old sayings and attach them as omens about whatever type of bird you see.”
“It is a tragic play?”
“Rather,” Taliesin said. “A wood nymph falls in love with a knight before the eve of battle. She is married to a warlock, who learns of her unfaithfulness, turns her into a wren, and convinces the knight and his comrades the wren is an evil omen. They pursue, determined to kill her, but the warlock arrives first and kills his wife. When the bird-wife cries out, the knight and his companions are discovered by the enemy and slaughtered. So now, soldiers fear seeing wrens before a battle, thinking it’s a bad omen. Glabber’s plays have that effect on people.”
“Superstitious people. Like my people. We have many stories about birds and even more about wolves.” Jaelle sat straighter in the saddle as they passed a man and his children, walking toward town and carrying baskets of eggs. “The father smiled at me. Not many people smile at the Ghajar. They think we’ll kidnap their children and turn them into gypsies. We’ve never done that, so I don’t know why people think that about us.”
“The Raven Clan did,” Taliesin said. “That’s what happened to me.”
“Mind your hood—your hair is too red.” Lifting a hand, Jaelle wiped sweat off her brow and glanced to make certain Taliesin did as she requested. “I know it is hot today. It will continue to get hotter during the day and colder at night as we approach Garridan. The desert is an inhospitable place. I have not been, but Tamal and the brothers have. They know the way, and they will find us before dark, I promise.”
The city walls loomed before them. A small creek ran under a bridge that led to the open gates, and guards stood in the towers, city guards, not the duke’s men. The road was getting crowded. Carts, wagons, and riders were coming and going from the town. No one took much notice of four gypsy riders, but Taliesin sensed Jaelle was uneasy.
“Have you been to Tunberg before?” Taliesin said. “I haven’t been to any big cities, not since I was a child.” Taliesin thought of Tantalon Castle, in the royal city of Padama, and how different it looked in comparison to the smaller Stalker Castle, which was more a fortress than a palace. Tunberg was impressive, but not half as beautiful as Padama. “I’m sure you’ve seen far more interesting places than I have. Most of my life has been spent looting battlefields, leaving me little time to go to market. Women usually stay home and let the men handle trading the goods, although I sometimes went with Osprey and Grudge.”
“Grudge?”
“Sir Roland,” Taliesin said. “That was his clan name. Hawk’s real name is Eugene, but don’t tell him I told you. He’ll be mad at me; he doesn’t like that name.”
“It’s a nice name.” Jaelle leaned forward and made certain her skirt covered her ankles, obviously not wanting to show any skin. “Here you can buy and sell anything you can imagine. I’d like to buy a new pair of riding gloves. I did not bring any and the sun is unmerciful in the Salayen Desert.” She pulled to the side of the road and stopped their progress as a knight in a yellow tunic passed, heading toward the city.
“What’s wrong?” Taliesin said. “Don’t you want to go into town?”
“Duke Volund Fortinbraus is not as bad as they say. He protects these lands from the Djaran tribes; they are not liked by my people.” Jaelle looked around, obviously uncertain if going into the city was a good idea. “The Minoc River will take one day to reach. It not only separates this dukedom from Garridan, but keeps the Djaran from raiding Tunberg.”
“Let’s turn around, then,” Taliesin said. “We can find a way around the city and reach the river. You seem nervous. I’d rather not take any chances.”
A loud trumpet call came from the castle. Taliesin and her friends turned their horses and watched as a line of armored knights rode out of the castle gate. An alarm must have been given, she thought. Lord Valesk was sending more men along the road, away from the city and into the forest. Riding into battle against the Wolfmen, she thought, as the last man disappeared into the dark, gloomy forest; she hoped they were armed with silver weapons.
“There is a small trail, used by the farmers, we can take,” Jaelle said. �
��I know you’re worried, Taliesin, but Lord Valesk’s men will offer aid, if they arrive in time. I know he has no love for Chief Lykus, because my brother says the hall of Stalker Castle is filled with wolf pelts. If you skin a Wolfman before he turns into a human, it makes a very fine pelt.”
“Lord Valesk is someone I don’t want to meet,” Taliesin said. “The sooner we are away from this place, the better for all of us. Lead on, Jaelle. I want to cross the Minoc before nightfall.”
With a whistle to her friends, Taliesin let Jaelle take the lead and followed her, riding away from the gloomy castle and leaving the town far behind.
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty
Taliesin and her friends, riding along the outskirts of the city, encountered only a few farmers headed to Tunberg with their goods. A patrol of armored soldiers rode by and paid no attention to travelers dressed as Ghajar gypsies. Taliesin wore her own clothes, but was covered by the cloak that belonged to Jaelle. The path was beaten down by use and proved a wise decision. No one stopped them and no one bothered them. Miles went by as they passed fields of cotton and corn, and as the sun started its descent in the west, they came upon a small village with thatched cottages, a small church, and a tavern. Children played in the road, tossing a ball, and several dogs barked and ran after them, trying to catch the ball. Women wearing aprons sat outside one of the cottages, drinking lemonade and chatting together, while their husbands worked behind plows on small patches of land.
“I’m starving,” Wren said, glancing toward the tavern. Several horses were tied to posts outside the sagging walls of the old building. “Can’t we stop? Please, Taliesin. My legs are so sore. I swear I can’t ride another mile; we don’t have to stay long.”
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