Fire Hawk

by Justine Davis, Justine Dare

  Could it be Kane’s friend in danger here? She crept forward a little more.

  “If I am truly a sorcerer, all the armor you wear will not help you.”

  Jenna stopped suddenly, hunkering down behind the branches of a spreading plant, wary of what looked like thistles. That voice, she thought. It sounded familiar. Not just the voice itself, but that faintly amused tone, that of a man entertained by something only he could see. She dared a prickly seed head and peeked through the bushes.

  Two men, big, bulky, draped in some kind of metal fabric that appeared dull with age and wear, and armed with rather unclean swords they had drawn and held at the ready, had a third man backed up against a tree.

  “And if I am not,” the trapped man said easily, “you have no reason to kill me.”

  He did not look, Jenna thought, like a man whose life was in danger. Smaller than his hulking adversaries, he nevertheless looked wiry and strong in simple leather tunic and leggings much like those Kane wore, and she thought his size might prove to be deceptive. He leaned against the tree as if casually passing the time, one booted foot drawn up and resting flat against the trunk. He wore no armor, and no weapon that she could see except for a small dagger with a carved hilt at his narrow waist. His hair, brushing his shoulders, was dark, shot with silver at the temples. And his mouth was curved upward at the corners in the barest hint of a smile.

  “Who but a wizard would have such a creature at his beck and call?”

  The second man she’d heard speak gestured with his blade, and only then did Jenna see the black bird perched on a branch just above the third man’s shoulders.

  “And the damned thing clawed at my eyes!” exclaimed the first man.

  “Aye, I saw it,” the other agreed. “He is evil, in league with the devil.”

  “I swear he set that bird on me!”

  “She does as she chooses,” the man leaning against the tree said.

  What was it about his voice? Jenna crept forward to get a better view. In the moment she did the man against the tree went very still. Slowly, as if to avoid drawing the armed men’s attention, he glanced her way. And stared as if he could see right through to her hiding place, as if he knew exactly where she was.

  Jenna’s breath caught. Those eyes. She knew those eyes, knew that fierce intensity. But pinned by it, she could not think, could not remember.

  He looked away at last, and she let out a breath she hadn’t been aware of holding. She felt a little dizzy; she didn’t know this man; she knew she did not, but for a moment . . .

  “ ’Tis time for this to be done,” he said in a tone that belied his position against the two bigger, armed and armored men.

  “You have the right of that. The devil’s minions must be destroyed,” the first man, the bigger of the two snarled. He lifted his sword. “William!”

  The other man closed in, his sword held at a lower level. Even she could see their plan, and guessed they had worked it together before; the smaller of the two in close to keep their victim from moving, possibly reaching for the one weapon he had, the larger wielding his vicious blade in an arcing blow that would cleave the man in two.

  She didn’t hesitate. She hated bullies and doubted Kane had so many friends he could spare this one. She stood, forgoing the protection of her hidden position. She lifted her small weapon and took careful aim.

  In the instant she let the short arrow fly, the scene erupted into chaos. The black bird gave a murderous cry and dived at the smaller man. He careened back. The bigger man, whose sword had begun to descend, shouted as if in pain, whirling in her direction. The bird’s flitting, clawing, noisy attack on his companion drew her attention, and as the man reeled toward her she quickly notched another arrow.

  She didn’t need it. Something very odd happened. There was a sound, a sharp, piercing whistle. The raven answered, withdrawing from the fray to circle above with a flap of glistening black wings. Both of the armed men were staring at the bird as if they were seeing something far more terrifying than a relatively small but admittedly defiant and wrathful raven.

  Only then did she see her arrow had struck the bigger man in the forearm, the arm that wielded his heavy sword.

  “Go. Now.”

  It was their intended victim, the man she had feared to see bleeding his life’s blood into the ground, giving an order as if he were holding the swords, as if he wore the armor. It was a voice that held the ring of a steel stronger than that of their blades, and both men seemed to know it. Although he still stood there, armed with only a small dagger he had never drawn, the men went pale.

  And ran. As if the hounds of Hades were at their heels.

  There was another whistle, an odd up-and-down tremolo; she saw him do it this time. The raven remained silent but flew off in the direction the fleeing men had taken.

  Then he turned to look at her.

  Slowly, as he walked toward her, his eyes went over her with an interest and intensity that was obvious. Yet she felt nothing of male heat in it, only curiosity, the curiosity of a man seeing something long heard of but only now seen up close. When he stopped in front of her, his gaze lingered for an instant on her hair, her eyes, and at last on the small crossbow she carried.

  “ ’Tis a small weapon, to take on two such as they,” he said mildly.

  “I could say the same,” she said, nodding toward the dagger. “Although your friend is a formidable opponent.”

  “My friend?” He looked puzzled for a moment. “Kane is with you, then?” He glanced about as if he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen the big warrior.

  Her mouth quirked. “I meant the feathered one.”

  His gaze shot back to her face. And then, suddenly, he grinned. It was a sparkling, infectious expression, and she found herself smiling back. He was a very comely man, and he moved with a grace she’d rarely seen. Was it something about these mountains that bred exceptionally fine-looking men? she wondered. Those two who had fled notwithstanding, of course.

  “Ah,” he said. “Maud. She is a valiant creature, is she not? And loyal. As are you, Jenna of the clan Hawk.”

  The fact that he knew who she was confirmed her guess that this was Kane’s friend. She shrugged.

  “I am not. I merely have had quite enough of late of big, blustering men who trample those weaker or smaller or less well armed.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “Still, they could have turned on you, hurt, or even killed you. ’Twas courageous of you to risk yourself so. And for a stranger. I thank you for your fine shooting.”

  She hadn’t thought it courageous, she’d only done it. Without thinking. “No thanks are necessary.” Her mouth quirked. “Besides, I was aiming for his knee, in hopes of making him fall.”

  He chuckled, an odd light coming into his eyes. Those eyes that seemed so familiar to her. “Whatever your aim, you achieved the goal. And I do thank you.”

  “You are Kane’s friend, are you not?” she asked.

  “Who has lost his manners,” he said suddenly. “My apologies.”

  With a sweeping, grand gesture he bowed at the waist. “I am Talysn ap Bendigeidfran, at your service.”

  Jenna blinked. “Tal—uh . . .” she began, her brows furrowed.

  “Talysn ap Bendigeidfran,” he repeated, grinning now.

  She shook her head. “Are you . . . named for someone?”

  “The last part is for my feathered friend, as you put it. It means blessed raven. The first, for something, more accurately. But it doesn’t exist yet, so there’s no need for you to learn it.”

  “Oh.” She was feeling a bit lost; he wasn’t making much sense.

  “Just do as Kane does,” he suggested. “Call me Tal.”

  His humor was irresistible, and she smiled at him. He was charming, if a little nonsensical.
“All right. Tal.”

  “And I do thank you. ’Tis not often I find someone willing to take such a chance for someone they do not know.”

  As the memory of what had happened after she’d fired came back to her, she eyed him a little warily. “I’m not at all certain you needed my help. Or anyone’s.”

  “That,” he said, waving a hand in negation, “doesn’t matter. What does is that you were willing to risk your life to give it. I shall have to think of a proper way to repay you.”

  “That is not necessary—”

  “But it is,” he insisted. “To me. ’Tis worth more than you know to an old man like me to find one of such bravery and generous spirit.”

  “Old?” Jenna stared at him; he was hardly that, despite the gray that graced his temples.

  Tal blinked, looking for the moment like nothing more than a small, muddy boy caught by his mother.

  “Do not mind that,” he said, rather hastily. “ ’Tis you I’m speaking of. A rarity such as you, in this world, should be treasured, fostered. This kind of courage should be honored and revered, acknowledged in some appropriate manner.”

  He looked thoughtful, while Jenna blushed at his flowery praise. The man had a tongue sweet enough to match his looks, she thought. “Please, you must stop.”

  “Modesty as well,” he said. “It suits you. There will come a time when such a mixture will be rare indeed. And the world will be a sadder, sorrier place because of it. ’Twould be a pity if this particular pedigree for courage were to die out . . .”

  He looked suddenly thoughtful, and Jenna wondered if Kane’s friend was . . . quite right in the head.

  He laughed. Loud and joyously, like a man who has just made a wondrous discovery.

  “That is it!” he exclaimed.

  Jenna resisted the urge to back up a step; she knew somehow this man was no danger to her, yet he was making her exceedingly nervous.

  “What is it?” she asked warily.

  “The perfect recompense for your bravery in coming to my aid.”

  “I have told you, I don’t wish—”

  “Of course. If you sought it, I would not give it.”

  “Give . . . what?”

  “A gift that will extend down into time eternal.”

  Jenna drew back slightly. “Are you sure you were not injured?”

  He laughed again. “I’m worrying you, aren’t I? I am sorry, Jenna. But you will see that you need not be concerned. It is a most befitting gift, I think.”

  She wondered if there was any point in repeating her assurances that she neither wanted nor expected anything from him. Before she could decide, he startled her with a quiet question.

  “What is most important to you, Jenna of the clan Hawk?”

  She did not have to think to answer that. “My people. They are dying, being slaughtered. That is why I am here, with Kane.”

  “And would it ease your pain to know that they will never die? That no matter what happens now, or in the future, there will always be a descendent of the Hawks walking this earth?”

  “I . . . of course it would. But no one can promise that.” The ever-present ache settled onto her heart anew. “No one can even promise they will be alive when I get back.”

  “That is true,” Tal said softly. “But you, Jenna, your line, your blood . . . that I can promise.”

  She lifted her gaze to his eyes. Something glinted in the depths, something golden and glowing and infinitely mysterious. Changeable eyes, she thought vaguely, caught and held by them as surely as if she’d been gripped by one of Latham’s snares. And in that moment, if he told her man could fly, she would believe him.

  “I would trade it,” she said in hushed tones, “for the lives of my people.”

  “I know that you would.” His voice was so incredibly gentle her heart ached. “But I cannot. I haven’t the power to save so many. But this one thing I can give you, Jenna. Your line will continue. You will be the beginning, and your heart, your soul, your courage, your blood will continue in an unbroken line, forever. Should fate step in and reduce your line to but one, it shall still go on. I promise you this.”

  Jenna caught her breath, startled despite the hypnotic effect of his eyes and voice. “You know? That I am . . . the last?”

  “I know.”

  “How can you promise such a thing?”

  “That does not matter. Just believe that I can.”

  Perhaps he was a wizard, she thought, her brain feeling oddly foggy. Or perhaps just a lunatic Kane had befriended.

  “I . . . how?”

  “You don’t understand, yet.” His dark brows furrowed. “Nor will those who come after you. So there must be a way,” he said, as if musing aloud, “for those who are the last of the line to know, to understand what they must do to assure it continues. Something to guide them along the right path . . .”

  Lunatic, she decided, now that he was no longer looking at her and she wasn’t held captive by that incredible gaze. A lunatic talking nonsense.

  He nodded sharply, suddenly. “I will make it so.”

  She drew back slightly. He looked at her again, and Jenna braced to look away; she didn’t like the fogginess that had come over her when he’d been staring at her before. But the golden glint that had held her so rapt was gone now; he looked like any other man. Any other charming, handsome man with a devilish grin, she amended silently. She could but hope that grin only appeared devilish.

  “Do not fear, Jenna. I promise you there is no evil involved here. Only my thanks, for your courage.”

  Startled by his perception, she looked at him doubtfully. He smiled.

  “I see you are ill at ease. I will say no more, except that when the time comes, you will know. You will understand.”

  He cocked his head to one side suddenly, then smiled. A moment later, the raven appeared, wings flared as she slowed to land with a small flourish of feathers on Tal’s shoulder.

  “They are long gone,” he assured Jenna.

  She eyed first the bird, then the man, with equal amounts of wariness.

  “She would not have come back,” Tal explained, “had they not been well away.”

  That seemed a simple-enough explanation, and she supposed a bird as clever as the raven could be taught such things.

  “Come,” he said. “I will walk back with you. Oh,” he added, bending and reaching behind him, “you might as well take these.”

  He held out a pair of the rabbits she had never even thought of trying to hunt; their darting quickness was far beyond her fledgling skill with the crossbow. She eyed him curiously for a moment; she hadn’t seen the animals until this moment, yet he’d obviously had them close by.

  “ ’Tis only fair,” he said. “You would have had one of those pheasants had you not stopped to save my life.”

  She flushed, entirely uncertain that she’d done what he said. Or that she would have had one of the pheasants, either.

  He glanced at the bow she’d slung over her shoulder as they began to walk. “A nice bit of work.”

  “I . . . yes,” she agreed, thankful for the less unsettling topic. “Kane is . . . well versed in such things.”

  “Yes.”

  “You progress quickly, to be handling weapons so soon.”

  “ ’Tis not quickly enough,” she said. The nightmare of what was happening in Hawk Glade rarely left her; it remained hovering at every moment. Except the moments when Kane’s hands were on her. She could think of nothing but his touch, then, and for that alone she welcomed the contact. And the fact that her heart sped up at simply the thought of him touching her meant nothing other than that she was on a razor’s edge, waiting—

  “And do you progress elsewhere as quickly?”

  She smothered
a gasp and gaped at the man beside her. Had he read her thoughts? Was he in truth the wizard Kane had jokingly called him, or the sorcerer those men had judged him in their fear?

  “I mean,” he said calmly, “in the lessons of tactics, of course.”

  “Oh.”

  She felt herself flush, and averted her face. But even looking away, she could still clearly see that moment when something of realization had flickered in those changeable eyes, as if he’d not only known of her bargain with Kane, but had guessed it had not been fulfilled, and she had somehow confirmed it for him. But he could not know. Unless . . .

  She stole a sideways glance at him. “Those men . . . they called you sorcerer.”

  “Yes.” He shrugged. “ ’Tis a common habit among the fearful when confronting anything they do not understand.”

  “Kane called you the local wizard.”

  Tal’s brows rose. “Did he?”

  “In jest,” she hastened to add.

  “You’re certain of that?”

  Her forehead creased. “That it was in jest? Yes, I believe so. He very quickly denied it, saying you were but a friend who is far too clever.”

  Tal nodded, as if he’d expected that. “Kane . . . finds it hard to have faith in anything he cannot see or touch.”

  He has so little faith left, in anything, but most particularly himself. ’Tis like a candle on a windy night, a very fragile light.

  The storyteller’s words rang in her mind, and it suddenly came to her, what had been nagging at her since she’d first seen this man. He reminded her of the silver-haired man who had so often held her rapt, who had given her a quiet support that gave her a strength that amazed her, who had appeared to her in that oddly vivid dream like no dream she’d ever had. . . .

  It was the eyes, she thought. He had the storyteller’s changeable eyes, the misty green of the forest one moment, then glinting oddly golden the next. And the storyteller had his way of moving, with a tightly knit grace and balance that belied his age.

  “Jenna?”