Soul of an Eagle

by Edwin Skinner

  CHAPTER TEN

  The light was dim in the tavern after the bright afternoon sunlight outside. Helvon stood still a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust. He looked about for his partner as he did so. Helvon was a tall, blond man with a craggy face of indeterminate age. He was older than he looked or felt. His body was wiry and strong, conditioned by the hard life he had led hunting in the wilds. Finally, his blue-grey eyes focused on a table in a far corner of the room. A dim candle sputtered in the center of the table and a tall jug of wine stood beside it. A dark figure was hovering over a drinking bowl possessively, his face lit dimly by the candle.

  Helvon strode over to his partner with a scowl on his face. He stood before the table with his hands on his hips. His disgust was evident but the figure slumped before him was too drunk to care. He was shorter in stature, dark of hair and complexion and had a recent scar across his face that distorted an ordinary face into a hideous mask. He reeked of alcohol and stale vomit.

  "Drinkin' already," the tall man said, shaking his head, "an' hit's on'y the middle o' th' afternoon. I don't know why I even took ya on. Ya're next to wuthless on a hunt, ya complain o' th' discomforts o' campin' in the wilds and ya drinks up all o' yer profits when we hits the towns."

  "You took me on," the shorter one reminded him, "because I had the money to replace the ponies and equipment that you lost to Ajax's scouting party. You keep me on because you still don't have the coin to pay me back yet. I would have been better off back at McAllister. At least I wouldn't have this." He indicated the scar that ran raggedly from right temple to left jaw. It had even caught a corner of his eyelid, distorting the shape of the right eye and causing it to fill with mucus constantly. "You know, I haven't had a woman since this happened to me? That's why I drink so much. There's nothing else to do."

  "Ya wouldn't o' been mauled like thet if'n ya'd used yer head fer somethin' 'sides a hat rack," Helvon pointed out. "Any halfwit knows ya don't 'proach a wounded zorbeast 'til ya know hit's dead. Them fore claws c'n be right dangerous, as ya found out."

  "Yeah, yeah," the moody drunk said, "but I haven't spent most of my life out in the bushes. You should have warned me about him."

  "I tried to but ya was too busy shootin' yer mouth off 'bout the fine shot ya jest made." The tall hunter helped himself to a seat at the table, his back to one wall. "Pull yerself t'gether. D'ya 'member I tole ya we needed 'nother partner? Well, I think I jest found 'im. Not on'y does he have some money, but the guy's a better shot with a crossbow then I am. Never thought I'd say thet but hit's true."

  "No lie?" The shorter man looked at him in shock. "You always said you were the best shot on Randor and, after seeing you drop that nomad on our first hunt, I believed you. Who is this guy? How do you know he's so good?"

  "Would ya believe he's a kid 'bout nine years old 'r so?" The hunter's voice was purposely low and he kept his head close to that of his partner. "I tell ya, Goovon, th' kid's a whiz with a shooter. I heard 'bout someone who were bettin' gold coins on his skill with a crossbow an' thought I'd cash in on it. Luckily, I got thar in time ta watch him take down some other sucker. They set th' target at a hundred fifty feet and 'llowed three shots each, best combined score wins. The mark was good, scorin' a bull an' two in th' next circle. Then this kid steps up. Quick and smooth, he pumps three bolts inta the center o' the bull. He cocked and fired thet old wood and bronze crossbow like a Home Guard pro but I never saw no Guardsman shoot thet acc'rately. That were the tightest groupin' I ever saw at even half th' distance."

  "And you say he's got money?" Goovon's eyes perked up with interest. "How do you know?"

  "Shucks, he won five gold coins from thet mark alone," the hunter pointed out. "I asked 'round. He's fleeced ever gambler in th' crater at least oncet an' he hardly even spends a copper penny 'thout need. He's good with swords too, an' rides like a cavalryman. His pappy were a lieutenant in th' Guards here and were jest killed by nomads a month ago. He lives with his grandpappy on a farm up th' crater a ways but he don't want ta stay thar no more. Seem to me he might want a change o' scene."

  "You want me to come along with you to talk to him?"

  "No, fates forgive me fer a fool if'n I did. Yer face'd frighten him 'way 'fore I could get th' fust question out. I want ya ta go back ta camp, though, and sober yerself up some. Take a bath in th' stream an' put on yer best outfit. I'll have ta bring him ta meet ya sometime. I'll 'splain 'bout yer leetle accident an' prepare him fer th' shock. I jest don't want 'im ta think ya're a useless drunk even if'n ya can be one at times."

  "This is my best outfit," Goovon protested.

  "Then, clean it up 'r put on 'nother," the disgust reared its head again in Helvon's voice. "Ya look a total mess. We cain't 'tract no new partner lookin' like thet." The tall hunter stood up, grabbed the half full bottle and stalked away. He placed the bottle in front of another drunk at another table as he strode past.

  The man looked up with a broad grin on his face. "Gee, thanks, mister. You're a peach."

  Helvon didn't acknowledge the remark as he exited the tavern with long strides.

  It took the hunter a half hour to locate the young marksman. The lad was sitting in one of the better taverns with a bowl of weak wine in front of him. The man who was sitting with him was shaking his head, an amused smile on his face.

  "No way, kid, I talked to a man who watched that big stallion of yours run," the man was saying. "He said you took a big, fast bay by two lengths and that was the third race of the day for you. My gelding is fast but there’s no way he’s even in your league. I don't mind gambling but that would just be giving my money away no matter what odds you offer to give me." He paused a moment in thought. "Now, swords are my profession. If you know a champion you want to bet on against me in a sword fight, you're on. The only one who might take me is on his way to O'Malley to compete in the games right now."

  "I don't know," the boy said casually, ignoring the hunter as he sat down beside them, "I might be able to take you up on that. What kind of odds will you give me?"

  "At least even," the stranger said, "depends on the other contestant. Who did you have in mind?"

  "I thought I'd fight you, myself," the boy replied.

  "You?" the man was incredulous. "I couldn't do that. You're, what, nine years old? It wouldn't be fair at all."

  "Nine in a few months," The smile on the kid's face was taunting. "What's the matter, old man, don't you think you can handle my action? I thought you would take on all comers. Do I scare you that much?"

  The man laughed. "It'll be like taking candy from a baby. In fact, it will be taking candy from a baby. You're on, kid." He rose from the table. "But only to first blood, I don't want people to start calling me a killer of women and small children."

  "Wait a minute," the youth's hand was up, palm out, "what about the odds, and how big a bet do you want to make?" A small sack of coins dropped onto the table from the lad's pocket.

  "What the hell," the man laughed, "why not three to one? Shoot, we can make it five to one if you like. It doesn't matter much. I'll cover the whole thing." He drew a much larger sack from his belt, dropping it on the table by the boy's money.

  The kid acknowledged the hunter's presence for the first time, looking up into his eyes steadily. "Mister, would you hold the stakes for us and witness the fight? Don't try to run off with it, I'll hunt you down and take it off your dead body if I have to. You saw my skill with the crossbow this morning and I have a lot of friends in the Guard."

  Helvon nodded and silently picked up the boy's pouch. He counted out the coins in it and then began counting those of the stranger. When he was done, he lifted his eyes to those of the man. "Ya're two coins short," he announced.

  "Well, that's all I got," the man said. "Give the kid back one coin."

  "That's all right," the boy broke in. "I'll accept it as it stands. Let's go." He rose from the table and headed outside, followed by the other two and a large crowd of onlookers. Helvon noted that a fe
w of them were winking at each other and joking in low voices. This had happened before, he surmised.

  In back of the tavern was a large grassy area. The onlookers arranged themselves against the surrounding buildings, forming a battle ground ringed with human bodies. The stranger, a big man with light red hair unslung a round shield from his back and drew a long iron sword from its scabbard at his side. He turned to face the boy who, by this time, stood there with a short sword in his right hand and a long knife in his left. The hunter stepped between them with his hands held high in the air.

  "All right," Helvon began, "this'll be a fair fight. No sand in th' eyes, no hep from the audience, no fatal blows an' first blood d'termines th' winner. I'll call a rest break after ten minutes. If'n I holler 'done,' both o' ya should step back an' lower yer swords. Understood?" He looked from one to the other. Both acknowledged his instructions.

  As Helvon stepped back, the two contestants began circling. The man struck the first blow with his long sword. Surprisingly, it was met by the kid's knife and a counter blow by his short sword was barely deflected by the startled man's shield. The circling began again.

  The second exchange was initiated by the lad. He moved in quickly using a slicing motion with his sword. It was met by the man's own blade but, had he not bounded back quickly, he would have been nicked by the boy's knife. The older contestant's eyes darted from one blade to the other with sudden respect. The boy moved in again, launching a flurry of blows and strikes that made the man move back and circle round. Several times, the crowd was forced to give way before them, affording the fighters room to maneuver.

  Helvon watched his prospective partner closely. As the fight wore on, he began to realize that the boy was holding back, playing with his opponent so as not to show off too much. Apparently, he had a mind to try to get other marks to step forward from this crowd. The odds would not be so great after such a deft fight, but the kid wanted to see if he could generate a little more action to enrich his purse.

  Twice during the seven minute engagement, the young swordsman faked mistakes that were miraculously salvaged at the last second. When he made his score, he made it look like an accident. He had darted away from a sword stroke and, bouncing off of a wall, seemed to fall forward, nicking the man's arm with his out flung knife hand. He didn't fool Helvon or his weary opponent but to many of the onlookers, the victory had probably looked like a lucky fluke.

  Helvon tossed the two money pouches at the panting boy who caught them deftly. "Don't go 'way, kid," he said as he stepped up to the vanquished swordsman and began binding the gash on his sword arm. "I got a prop'sition ta make ya m'self."

  When they entered the tavern and sat down at the same table as before, the red headed stranger approached them and bowed to his recent assailant.

  "That was well done, kid," he said graciously. "Where did you learn the two sword fighting style, anyway?"

  "From my late father, Peron," the boy answered with a smile. "He learned it from a master at Sukov crater, where he came from."

  "You're Peron Sukov's son?" The man slapped his forehead with his palm. "If I had known that, I would have saved my money. I saw him fight at the games twelve years ago. He lost the Grand Championship by a hair that day."

  "I won't have an admirer of my father's walking away flat broke," the boy said. He handed the man three gold coins. "No hard feelings?"

  "You're Peron's son all right," the stranger tossed off before he left. "He was the nicest master swordsman I ever met and that's no lie."

  Kit watched the man leave and then turned to the tall hunter sitting across from him. "My name is Kittron Washington," he said, "My friends call me Kit. What's this proposition you have for me?"

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The games at O'Malley crater were in their third day and it was Heron's time to shine. The first day had been taken up with preliminary meetings and ceremonies. The meetings of the Master Falconers had eaten up most of the day. They had taken recesses in order to attend the various ceremonies but, in all, the twelve Falconers spent ten grueling hours in conference behind the closed doors of the O'Malley Aerie's main conference room. Even meals were eaten there to allow the discussions time to continue.

  The main topics of discussion were all related to the new techniques and discoveries made by the Aerie at McAllister the summer before. Because of this, the O'Malley Master Falconer had early on surrendered the chair to Master Aferon of the McAllister Aerie. They had talked about the new Glider Rider status and its ability to extend the useful career life of an Eagle Rider. Such questions as how long to remain flying, whether or not a Glider Rider is allowed married status, must a Senior Rider still be able to ride on his eagle, and what future competitions between Glider Riders should consist of were tentatively answered. They were addressing questions which would form a complete new phase of Aerie life for centuries to come.

  Other items discussed included the new aerial bombs that had been developed by the Guild and used so effectively against the nomads at McAllister and, more recently, at Washington. The new, one handed crossbow suggested by Ganton McAllister and developed by Master Zolfon and his apprentice, Meron, of the Guild were introduced and demonstrated. The new towing and rescue techniques had been considered along with tow eagles and their use. One topic of discussion that had been listened to eagerly by all of the Falconers was the improved impression techniques developed at McAllister the year before. They had sped up the training program there by over three months in most cases.

  The second day of the games had been devoted to the first round of competition among the Guardsmen. Most of the Eagle Riders had used much of that day in practicing their maneuvers in preparation for future competitions. On that day, also, representatives from the Guild had shown up to display and take orders for a number of new weapons that had been developed recently including the glider wings, the aerial bombs and the Ganton model crossbow. Their business was brisk and spilled over into the next three days of the games.

  Today was the first day of competition for the Eagle Riders. This was the day that the junior division of Riders competed. These were boys from ages eight to ten years of age who had achieved battle ready status. The riders were tested and graded by Master Falconers in sending and reading messages by falcon, recognizing various targets from altitude and in flying zone patrol in battle including all of the advanced maneuvers.

  These were the same subjects that the middle and senior divisions were to be tested in as well on the fifth and sixth days of the games respectively. One of the decisions which had been made in the Falconer's conference was to include the subjects of Glider maneuvering in both of the upper divisions at the next games two years in the future. The senior division would also be tested on bombing techniques in future.

  Heron and Flash were primed and ready to go. As the top student of the first class at McAllister's new school, he was the odds on favorite to win in the junior division. He was so confident of his victory that he had even flown to altitude and practiced the victory dive the day before.

  The victory dive was considered by many to be a daredevil stunt and was frowned on but not prohibited by the Council of Falconers. The rider would fly his eagle to an altitude of about two thousand feet and order him into a stoop. The bird would fold his wings back, and drop from the sky to an altitude of about a thousand feet or less before coming out in a tremendous zoom maneuver. It was extremely difficult for the Rider to hold on during this maneuver. In fact, several senior Riders had actually fallen off their mounts while in the stoop. All of them, however, had been at or above a thousand feet and were able to deploy their safety wings and land unscathed. To date, the maneuver had never been attempted by a member of the junior or middle divisions.

  The practice runs that Heron had successfully completed had been at altitude, starting at five thousand and ending around or just below four thousand feet above the level ground outside of O'Malley crater. Heron had experienced little trouble holding his s
eat during the maneuver at that altitude and was confident that his execution of it would cause quite a stir if he had occasion to use it on the third day of the games.

  As the testing began, Heron performed brilliantly in the falcon competitions, using Ree to send and read messages. The tribunal of Falconers who judged his performance was suitably impressed by his mastery of the signals and his control of his messenger bird. In the first phase of the competition, Heron had been ordered aloft on Flash's back and told to send a series of messages back to the judges. The messages were picked from a long list of possible ones just before he launched.

  The second phase involved the reading of messages delivered by other falcons to Heron as he stood before the judges on the ground. Once again, the messages were picked at random before being ordered by one of the Falconers on the panel of judges.

  Late that morning, the Eagles Riders were sent out one after another to fly a set course outside of the crater. They were dispatched three minutes apart and were allowed only a limited period of time to complete the course. Ten targets had been set up on the course and were expected to be identified by the Riders. At one point, they were required to send a message back via falcon. Upon their return they were asked to identify on a map the targets that they had noticed. They were graded on the accuracy of their information, the content of their falcon's message and the number of minutes it took them to complete the course.

  When Heron had returned just after noon, he discovered that he had passed the three Riders who had preceded him and had identified nine of the ten targets correctly. His falcon's message had been correctly given and received. This performance had placed him in the lead for Champion of his division.

  The final phase of the competition came in the afternoon. As a tribunal of Falconers watched from the top of the landing platform, each of the twelve contestants launched and went through a ten minute drill, performing in formal sequence all of the advanced maneuvers. Each maneuver was graded on a scale of one to ten by each of the three judges. This score counted for half of the total score that determined the Rider's ranking toward the Championship.