Victory of the Hawk

by Angela Highland

  Much had changed since Julian and Rab had stolen Faanshi out of Camden, but this refrain was as familiar to him as Rab, his knives or his horse, and he welcomed it like the dearest of friends. He was growing slowly more accustomed to being simply Julian—but every so often, he needed to be the Rook.

  This time they kept their disguises simple, their cover story uncomplicated. Two days of riding ahead of Khamsin’s forces as fast as they could push the horses gave them just the right air of travel-weary exhaustion, and having seen the Anreulag in all her might mowing through the forces at Dolmerrath gave Rab all the fodder he needed to weave a tale of two farming brothers fleeing the Voice of the Gods rampaging through the province. But as they closed in on the outpost of Riannach, they quickly discovered that they’d barely have to make the effort. Even from a distance, even under cloud-shrouded moonlight, the damage to the walls around the outpost and to many of its outermost buildings was plain. Wagons, horses and tents in far less orderly arrangement than those of Khamsin’s camp were clustered outside the walls, and the uneasy din of the people putting them to use filled the air as Julian and Rab rode into range.

  The Anreulag, it seemed, had beaten them to Riannach.

  Two miles out they left the road, taking shelter in a copse that let them make a good show of having stopped to rest their mounts if anyone found them, and which had the added benefit of being true. Of course, it was also a copse with tall, sturdy trees, one of which Rab promptly climbed so he could make use of the spyglass he’d acquired from the quartermaster of the duchess’s troops. When he came down again to join Julian and the horses, his brow was creased in thought. “From the look of it, they’ve got people camped along a half-mile spread to either side of the front gates. Which greatly lessens our chances of getting in and out again without being seen, much less stopped.”

  Julian didn’t bother to take a turn at climbing the oak—he had two good eyes again, but Rab was still younger and more nimble. But he did take the spyglass and peer out through the cover of the trees at what the distant hulking shape of the outpost had to tell. “If they’re making people camp outside the walls, that means they don’t have any room for them inside.”

  “Overcrowding,” Rab said.

  “Or the result of Our Lady of the Lightning enacting a surprise involuntary reconstruction plan. Probably both, given the damage I’m seeing to those walls. We already know stone doesn’t stop her—and those walls are wood. There must have been fire.” Julian scowled, pushed the ends of the spyglass together to collapse it, and handed it back to his partner. “Good for our patroness, but bad for us. We have to assume they’ll have extra watches on any slaves who haven’t taken the opportunity to escape already. And we can’t risk getting any closer to the fort with so many extra people on hand.”

  Rab, even roughened by the dust of travel, was too refined to pout. But he did give a longing stare to their objective, the sort of gaze Julian normally saw him reserve only for the shiniest of baubles around the necks of ladies of the gentry. “Ah, hells. I so dislike the sound of lost opportunity.”

  “You’d like the sound of being detained for questioning even less.”

  “It pains me to admit it, but you’re right. We need another plan.”

  The camp of the Army of Nirrivy, Kilmerry Province, Jeuchar 15, AC 1876

  “I realize I’m the last person here any of you are likely to listen to,” Jekke Yerredes said, “but if you truly want to win the people to your cause, then they need to see the healer.”

  The akresha duchess had called a council as soon as the assassins returned from their scouting mission. This time Faanshi had been relieved to answer her summons, for it meant Julian and Rab had returned, riding back to intercept the army as it continued eastward. And so they’d gathered in Khamsin’s meeting tent. The duchess and her two seconds. Gerren and Alarrah for the elves. As always Rab was the Rook’s loyal shadow, and Kestar brought Celoren—but to the surprise of the others, they’d also brought Jekke Yerredes of the Hawks. She too had been summoned, to speak of what the Order knew of Riannach.

  Now all eyes locked on her, and with a flush of discomfort Jekke added, gesturing in Faanshi’s direction, “You know I’m right. Isn’t that why she’s here, after all? To let the people see and believe?”

  “I cannot dispute your observation, Lieutenant, for it is correct. But let me be clear. You propose that we send Faanshi into the thick of the refugees in Riannach, into a veritable nest of your Hawk brethren?” Once more in the company of those who were not her kin, Khamsin had hidden her face behind the korfi. But the spark in her eyes was plain, as was the ring of challenge in her voice. “I grant that I’m not native to this land and was not raised to know your Order’s ways, but it seems clear even to me that those who hold the outpost would be disinclined to let us have our healer back once they acquired her.”

  “Risking her so blatantly seems unwise,” Father Grenham said. “Especially if the fort refuses to surrender. But if we could win them without firing a shot…”

  Sister Sother turned to Khamsin, eyes gleaming. “A battle we could win without fighting could win the people indeed. If Riannach is sheltering those who’ve fled the Anreulag’s wrath, they won’t be as free to make war on us. I say we send her, akresha. Let her open our path.”

  “I say we let my sister say what she thinks of the idea,” Alarrah said coolly, and with that, all eyes turned to Faanshi.

  Ridah of strength. Ridah of courage. The litany played yet again in Faanshi’s mind, and with that inner prayer came the memory of terrified people on the streets of Shalridan, along with the sick and hurt who dwelled in the tunnels beneath the city. They’d cried out for her help, and now, she was to go among those who would cry out for her again. For a wild moment she could only hope that the Lady of Time still had enough strength and courage to spare for her, since there was only one answer she could give.

  “If there are people there who need my help, I want to go to them. How may we do it safely? Can we do it safely?”

  “Our amulets stopped working when the Anreulag came,” Jekke said. “If she’s attacked Riannach, theirs may have died as well.”

  “That might actually give us at least a small amount of time for the element of surprise, if they can’t tell she’s coming,” said Celoren.

  “Which would last exactly as long as it took her to find the first broken limb or colicky baby that seized her magic’s attention. Faanshi, your power is a wonder, but it’s not exactly subtle.” Kestar’s tone was easy, but his countenance was not; there was strain in the line of his mouth, and at the corners of his eyes. “I’m coming with you.”

  He hadn’t spoken of it to her, but Faanshi could guess the cause of his tension, for she’d seen glimpses of it when their minds had been as one. Something about the place they were approaching had been important to his father. “Thank you,” she told him. “I’ll feel safer with you at my side.”

  Khamsin cast a considering look around the tent before proclaiming, “We will all come with her—but we must time it correctly. Faanshi can go in first, with whoever wishes to accompany her. We can call it a gesture of goodwill to Riannach, but if they choose to refuse it, we will extract her. Which leaves the matter of the freeing of the slaves.”

  “Leave that to us,” Gerren said. “Those of us who came out of Dolmerrath know all too well where Riannach keeps its slaves. If Faanshi can draw enough attention, we can free them while the eyes of the Hawks look to her.” He snapped a look from the duchess to Faanshi and back again. “Most of my scouts will not be inclined to wait. It would go well, akresha, if a regiment of your people would be willing to accompany us.”

  “You will have them. Who else will go with Faanshi?”

  “I will,” Semai said, speaking up for the first time. “I have pretended to be her father before, and will do so again if required. If not, she will h
ave my sword.”

  Alarrah moved to Faanshi’s side and embraced her, before pulling back to study her in concern. “Will you be all right if I go with Gerren? I don’t like to leave you, but…”

  “You like to leave him even less.” Faanshi readily returned her sister’s hug, and smiled. “I’ll be all right. And I’ll be proud that you’re working to bring freedom to more of our people.”

  She turned at last to Julian, for he hadn’t yet spoken, and his silence stalked the edges of her resolve. As soon as her gaze met his, he inclined his head, saying gruffly, “I’m coming, little eagle. Don’t worry.”

  But for a fleeting instant his attention flashed sideways to Kestar. Faanshi hadn’t seen into his mind as deeply as she had the other man’s, for all that she’d likewise saved him from death. Julian was human, and a human’s thoughts were shielded from her, save in the height of healing magic. Still, she’d sensed enough, and had seen enough from traveling beside him, to know the nuances of his face. Nor did she miss the shadow that edged into his eyes, turning twilight blue to something darker.

  “I won’t,” she said, with real relief that he’d be with her. He’d taught her to watch and listen, to know when to hide and when to run. It would have troubled her sorely to try this next task without him, and she rejoiced that Djashtet would not take him from her side.

  Yet in her heart of hearts, she began to worry.

  Outside Riannach, Kilmerry Province, Jeuchar 16, AC 1876

  “There weren’t as many people here two days ago,” Julian muttered as they joined the line of people leading up to the outpost’s gates. “Where the hells are they all coming from?”

  “From the east,” Semai suggested, in the low, rough tones that served him as a whisper. “They did not pass us on the way here.”

  Faanshi said nothing; the maiden had uttered scarcely a handful of words since the four of them had left the Nirrivan army’s camp, aside from sharing prayers to Djashtet with her Tantiu countryman. Kestar hadn’t missed the concerned glances she’d been giving both him and Julian when she thought no one was looking, but there’d been no time to take her aside and ask what was amiss. And there was certainly no time now, for the mass of tents clustered outside Riannach’s walls had commandeered her attention as soon as they’d come within sight.

  Without warning, she climbed out of the cart in which they were riding and walked to the wagon ahead of them. Two children were huddled there, an older girl with her arm around the shoulders of a younger one who leaned limply against her. The smaller child was pale and coughing, and could only manage to blink listlessly at Faanshi’s approach.

  Kestar straightened at the sight, and beside him, though his stance remained deliberately casual, Julian’s gaze followed the healer’s every move. “Not a colicky baby,” he said, even as Faanshi spoke in tones too soft for them to overhear—and then laid a glowing hand upon the coughing child’s head, while the bigger girl squealed in audible surprise. “But it’ll do.”

  Just as they’d expected, heads began to turn. First were the parents of the children in the wagon, leaping out of the wagon’s front and running back to see what had befallen their offspring. Close on their heels, though, came the shouts from those camped to either side of the road, and three bedraggled boys who converged on Faanshi at once.

  “Gracious Mother, she’s not sick anymore, what did you do?”

  “I’m all right, Mama, she touched me with her hand and I’m all right!”

  “We saw what you did! We saw what you did!”

  “Don’t let the Hawks see her!”

  “Please, you’ve got to come help our grandpa, you’ve got to!”

  Faanshi turned from the child she’d healed. Even from several paces away Kestar could see nervousness flash briefly across her face, only to give away to an earnest, steady resolve. “I’ll help anyone who needs it,” she said, not loudly, but clear enough nonetheless to carry to nearby ears. “Anyone who’s willing to let me.”

  The outburst from her gentle proclamation turned even more heads. Inevitably someone cried out about an affront to the gods, only to be shouted down by a woman who announced to everyone within earshot that the Voice of the Gods had already turned against them. “And as far as I’m concerned, if a Tantiu girl can heal my husband’s broken arm, I’m going to damn well let her! He’ll get gangrene if she doesn’t!”

  As Faanshi worked her way through the growing knot of people in the road, Julian slid Kestar one sharp, meaningful glance that needed no translation. This was their cue. While Semai kept a watchful eye on their cart and horse, they climbed down to trail the girl through the crowd. Both of them were armed, though Kestar had a suspicion that the pistol tucked beneath the loose folds of his coat, less obvious than a sword, was still no match for the plethora of knives the assassin habitually carried. Where he hid them all on his person, Kestar still wasn’t sure.

  It took only two more acts of healing by Kestar’s count before a trio of Hawks came running down from the gates, shouting orders to clear the way. Not Hawks Kestar knew by sight—but nonetheless, he touched Julian’s elbow in silent warning. With a grimace, Julian kept his hands in plain view, and Kestar opted to trust that the older man wasn’t as close to drawing a blade at the slightest excuse as he looked.

  “By the gods, am I seeing things?” the lead Hawk bellowed. “After everything else this outpost has gone through, someone’s actually working magic down here?”

  The man had an amulet, but just like Jekke’s and those of the other Hawks Khamsin’s army had taken prisoner, it showed no betraying light. Its wearer unthinkingly reached for it before he caught himself, whirling to find Faanshi in the center of the clamor. “You! Woman! What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

  “Helping these people, akreshi. Some of them are sick and hurt. I can heal them.”

  “She’s outright professing to be a mage?” blurted one of the other Hawks, looking at her own amulet and then in consternation at Faanshi.

  “Well, hells, if she wants to work open magic right in front of us, far be it from us to deny her the attention.” Several of the nearest bystanders began to shout in protest at the first Hawk’s words, but he promptly drew a gun and shot into the air, adding in thunderous tones, “And all of you should damn well know better! By the authority invested in me—”

  With that, Kestar stepped easily forward. “You should just stop right there, as your authority’s about to be overruled. The lady’s not alone. My friend here and I are with her, as well as the Tantiu gentleman back there in our cart.”

  The Hawk turned to Kestar, looking him up and down, distinctly unimpressed. “And who are you, the prince of bloody Vreyland?”

  “Baron of Bremany, actually. Kestar Vaarsen. Son of Dorvid Vaarsen.” With a grateful thought to Celoren for all the guiding examples he’d ever shown him, Kestar gave the Hawk his best guileless smile. “Who, if you’ve been stationed here for more than five minutes, you may know used to be in command of this place.”

  Alarm flared in the face of the third Hawk, who immediately put in, “Sir, we’ve got orders about these people.”

  “I know, damn it, I know! Well, I can arrest four as easily as one—”

  Before he could finish, the deep reverberating crack of cannon fire abruptly split the air. Out past the outermost edge of the crowd, a cannonball hurled headlong into the already fractured wooden wall that protected the outpost. Voices that had been lifted in gladness and relief at Faanshi’s acts began to scream.

  All three Hawks shot frightened glances to the west, from which the cannonball had come. “Damn it to the nine hells,” the first Hawk shouted, “what now?”

  Even now Julian refrained from drawing a blade, but the smile he turned on the Hawks was as sharp and edged as any of his weapons. “That,” he replied in tones of purest velvet, “would be the rest
of our friends catching up with us.”

  * * *

  In the end they weren’t quite able to take Riannach without firing a shot. They had to fire three.

  Still, the warning shots from the cannons, along with the arrival of an army five thousand strong, were enough to make the commanding officer of Riannach bring out a declaration of surrender—in person, with his second in command accompanying him. The men came out on horseback to meet the front line of Khamsin’s force, where the duchess herself waited, along with Idrekke Sother, Cortland Grenham, and an dozen elven scouts under Gerren’s command, every last one armed with bow and sword. The Hawks who’d tried to arrest Faanshi came behind the commander, with Faanshi and the others in their cart.

  The outpost commander clambered down off his mount, moving with the care of a man on the edge of illness, or the lack of sleep. He didn’t bother to introduce himself or study the gathering before him any longer than necessary to identify the duchess as the one in charge. To her he proclaimed brusquely, gesturing over his shoulder at the cart, “I believe these people are yours? And whatever else you want, yes, fine, you can have it. I’ve got no time for this with a thousand panicked refugees on my hands, and I’m sure as hells not prepared to fight you.”

  “By all means, akreshi,” the duchess said, “let us avoid violence. I am Khamsin elif-Darim Sarazen, Duchess of Shalridan, and in the name of the nation of Nirrivy and of the free elves of Dolmerrath, I hereby bid you relinquish control of the outpost of Riannach to us, as it lies within lands formerly under Nirrivan rule. Additionally, we require the immediate release of all slaves of partial or full elven blood. In exchange for your cooperation, we offer a report on the whereabouts of six Knights of the Hawk now receiving medical care in Camden, as well as three who have elected to ride with us. And we offer aid and assistance to all under your protection, including additional defense should the Anreulag make another appearance here.”