Soul of an Eagle

by Edwin Skinner

  Silar the Great considered the captive for a moment. It seemed to Goovon that the Chieftain was weighing the hunter's dubious plan against the almost overwhelming pleasure he would enjoy in dissecting the man alive. The nomad leader finally turned back to his war chief. "What do you think of his plan, Crill?"

  Crill hesitated a moment before answering. "If I had not felt it had some merit," he said, "the man would already be dead. It is not foolproof but it will risk little. Washington is a tough nut to crack but the meat on the inside will be very sweet. To risk the lives of twenty warriors and a little time to train them does not seem like much of a gamble compared to the expected rewards. The plan may not work. In that case, many of those twenty will not return but if it does work, the same twenty will become heroes and can be given first choice of the spoils. If you can find twenty volunteers who will take that chance, I would say that it is worth the try."

  The Chieftain considered this a moment. "Would you be the first volunteer, Crill?"

  "My contempt for the farmers is too great," the warrior said, shaking his head. "I would not be a good choice for that reason. I have no desire to learn their simpering ways. Besides, I do not need the opportunity to earn a higher place in our people's esteem nor do I need to prove my loyalty or bravery to you. I will, however, be happy to lead the frontal attack after the 'hunting party' gets into the crater."

  Silar's black gaze turned once more upon Goovon's cowering form. "Then let me pass my judgment on this matter. I will cause your plan to be explained to all of the warriors of this camp. I will give you a one week reprieve. If twenty volunteers of sufficient merit step forward to gamble their lives on your idea, you will be given the time and freedom to train them. So that you will be able to keep your mind on that work instead of the naked breasts of our women, I will even allow you to take your pick of the female captives we have at the moment. She will either see to all of your comforts or be killed and replaced by another.

  "Put yourself under no illusions, you will be given six weeks to get your party ready. If your plan does not gain us the success that I crave or if you attempt to escape or betray us, I will turn you over to Crill's tender mercies for ten days and then what's left of you will be boiled alive in oil. On the other hand, if the plan succeeds and you comport yourself well during its execution, you will be trained in our traditions and given a place among the foremost of our warriors."

  It had taken only four days for thirty seven warriors to step forward for this hazardous duty. The top twenty had been put under Goovon's Tutelage. That very day, fifteen young women had been paraded before Goovon. All had been attractive to him and it had been a hard choice but he had selected a buxom blond of around five seven who had a haughty expression on her face. She was informed that she was to be the hunter's servant. All had gone well until, after a good meal, Goovon had ordered her to disrobe and come to his bed. She had flatly refused and he had attempted to force her, getting a sound thrashing from her instead. He had gone to Crill.

  The war chief had come to his tent and confronted the woman himself. When she had steadfastly refused to make love to the scarred hunter, Crill had gone berserk. He had cuffed her around brutally and then casually raped her. After that, his face had taken on a calm, satisfied expression. He had then ordered Goovon to watch as he methodically began to inflict indescribable pain upon the unfortunate girl. The ordeal had sickened the hunter and had taken most of the night. The next morning, the other fourteen young girls had been brought before Goovon's tent once again. The naked and mutilated but still breathing and conscious body of the blond had been brought out in front of them.

  "This miserable creature," announced Crill, "did not understand the place and position of a nomad woman. She was ordered to become the servant of our friend, Goovon here." He placed one enormous hand on the little hunter's shoulder in apparent comradeship. "That includes, but is not restricted to, the fulfillment of all of his sexual desires. This she refused to do because of the minor scar he bears as the result of honorable battle with a wounded zorbeast." At this point and to Goovon's great discomfort, several of the nomad men and women standing around tittered with suppressed laughter.

  "I have shown her the error of her ways. She has learned her lesson but, alas, the learning of it has taken its toll on her. She has allowed the condition of her body to deteriorate to the point that she is no longer of any use to Goovon or to any of the rest of us, for that matter. I thought that you should all see her now so that you, too, may profit by the lesson that she has learned. Now, I'm afraid that you must say farewell to your fellow captive for useless items must be disposed of." With that, he drew his knife and, very slowly, slit her throat with its razor sharp blade as the other girls looked on in horror. The girl had struggled briefly and her eyes had bulged as the life gurgled from her body. Crill released her, allowing her to fall face down in the dirt. He turned his baleful gaze once again upon the other fourteen captives.

  "Now," the war chief said, as though nothing had happened, "since Goovon is once again without a servant, I will let him choose a replacement from among those of you who are left. I would hope that his next choice will be more prudent and diligent in the execution of her duty."

  The women had, once again, been lined up as Goovon had walked back and forth in front of them to make his decision. Finally, he had chosen a petite brunette with a slim but well-formed body and a sweet, angelic face. Her name was Tunia and she had been captured from among a band of Gypsies that had been ambushed a month earlier. She was eighteen years old.

  Goovon smiled as he thought about Tunia. She had taken the point well that Crill had been trying to impress upon her. The cowardly hunter knew that she was repulsed by his touch but she had been too afraid to refuse him. He had insisted that she wear little clothing whenever she was in their tent and he had used her to act out most of the sexual fantasies that he had ever had no matter how repulsive or painful it was to the poor girl. Goovon was looking forward to the successful completion of his plan. He had been promised his choice of two more women from those captured in the crater when the invasion was complete. There were some fantasies that required two women, or, perhaps, a woman and a child.

  The plan was paramount to him now. Not only would its success guarantee his safety, it would now grant him the sybaritic life that he had always dreamed of. The training of "the twenty," as he called them, was going well. They had been supplied with hide garments cut in the style favored by the hunters and most of them had been supplied with crossbows, the hunter's most popular weapon. Those who were not familiar with the powerful weapons had been taught and were practicing with them daily.

  Most of "the twenty" had mastered the dialect of the craters fairly well already. The two languages were not so dissimilar. Somewhere in the forgotten past they had all come from common ancestors, Goovon was sure. The differences were only ones of inflection and grammar with a few words that had to be learned or unlearned. Training had now boiled down to drilling and testing in order to be ready to handle all possible questions and situations that might arise. Goovon thought they were sufficiently prepared but he would train for another two weeks or so just to make sure. As eager as he was to see the plan to its conclusion and proper reward, it would not do to go off half-cocked. Too much depended on its outcome.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  The clash of iron on iron rang through the little valley. The two antagonists bounded from one place to another as they jockeyed for the advantage in single combat. Kit's sword and knife wove a defensive net around him as he looked for the right moment to drive one of his weapons under the guard of his opponent. The nomad was fighting with great confidence and determination, using his greater strength to wear down that of the boy who was less than half his age.

  It was more difficult to operate under these conditions, Kit realized, because he had not fought seriously against another who used two swords since his friendship with Heron had been shattered. Chan had taken to his ne
w short sword with a will. It had taken little time for him to become adept at fastening it to his hook and he was almost as adroit at its use as Kit was with his knife. This was one of the first times that they had tried fighting metal to metal. They were both a bit nervous because, although they were supposed to pull their punches, one small slip on either of their parts could have painful results for whichever was the less fortunate of the two.

  Chan's greater strength and longer weapons combined to make an advantage that only greater agility and skill could counter and Kit was hard pressed to do so. Twice now, he had passed up a potentially fatal stroke because of his fear of hurting his friend. Finally, the opportunity presented itself. Chan's sword struck his in just the right place and, with the twist of a wrist Kit managed to send it flying across the practice field. Chan's empty right hand grasped that of his opponent and Kit stepped in to place his knife point just below the nomad's chin.

  "You're dead!" he chortled in triumph.

  "Check your gut," answered his friend with a smile. "I might not be able to defeat you but I, sure enough, can take you with me." Kit looked down to see that the nomad's short sword was poised ready to plunge itself into his unprotected stomach. He grinned and backed away.

  "I've taught you too well," he commented. "I'm certainly hopeful that we'll never be doing this in earnest. You're too good for comfort." He returned his weapons to their respective scabbards and bent to pick up Chan's sword from the dirt where it had landed. "I have to get going now. I'll see you tomorrow." He handed the sword, hilt first, to Chan and turned on his heel to leave.

  Kit was now leading a sort of double life. About every third or fourth day, he would go to visit his grandfather in his comfortable house within the security of the crater. The rest of the time he spent in the wilds with Helvon and Chan. Their hunting had been very lucrative and, under the thrifty influence of the old hunter, he was saving most of those profits for future eventualities. If he ever decided to join the Home Guard, he already had enough saved up to buy a commission as an officer. If he were to lose all of his ponies and equipment to nomads, he had enough stashed there at his grandfather's farm to replace them three times over.

  About once every seven to ten days, he would ride into the crater with Helvon to sell meat and hides, leaving Flash in Chan's care in their secure little valley. All of the other visits were made, like today, by flying Flash over the barrier rim and onto a little ledge at the base of the rim above Jaron's orchard. There was an old, abandoned barn there and a hidden pasture where Kit kept Satan, his black stallion.

  This morning, his daily practice session over, Kit saddled up Flash and took to the air. The point at which he preferred to cross over the rim was on the far side of Maryland pass from their little hideaway and he was forced to circle far out from the crater to avoid detection by patrolling Eagle Riders. He then turned up a box canyon whose back wall was the crater's barrier rim, rising at the last to nip over the rim with a minimum of exposure to the eyes of either Rider or nomad.

  Not far from where he crossed over the rim was the ledge with its pasture and barn. He put Flash in the barn and gave him some food from the store that he and Helvon replenished every time they came into the crater together. He then went out into the pasture and gave a whistle. Satan came up to munch contentedly from a feed bag of oats as Kit brushed him down and saddled him. When the stallion had finished eating, Kit mounted up and rode down to his grandfather's house a mile further downslope.

  When the boy came trotting into the farmyard, it looked as though he was coming from the pass. There was a little used track that followed the rim and came down behind the orchard and whenever Kit came with Helvon, they used that as well. The only difference was that he would be riding Paint instead of Satan. He would then stop, replenish his store of meat for Flash and change ponies, riding Satan down to the farmyard and leaving the pinto in the field above the orchard.

  Jaron was waiting for him and stepped out to greet him fondly. The two were getting along famously now that the older man was making an effort to get to know his young grandson better. It was now nearly impossible to mistake him for the son for which he had been named. He was even smaller for his age but, more importantly, his personality and talents were altogether different. As Jaron had come to know this person better, the nature of the visits changed from being a duty into a thing of pleasure.

  It was around noon and, as usual, Jaron's cook had dinner already on the table. After their meal, Kit helped his grandfather with chores around the orchard. They took advantage of this time together to talk. Jaron had even begun to relate some of his adventures as an Eagle Rider. He found himself doing this more and more because, when he did, the boy would listen with sheer rapture.

  The day would end with a late afternoon meal and then Kit would go for an evening stroll. He would make his way on foot to the makeshift aerie and feed and clean up after Flash. This day was not so different than others before it and as Kit walked up to the little ledge above the orchard, he was thinking happily about how their relationship had grown in the last few weeks. Kit was beginning to feel like he might have some sort of family again. The boy was so absorbed in this revelation that he completely missed all of the clues that normally would have told him that he was being followed as he climbed the narrow trail.

  "Hello Flash," he projected as he entered the barn, "how are you feeling tonight?"

  "Hungry," flashed into his head, causing him to grin.

  Kit went to his store of meat and came back with two buckets full of reasonably fresh meat for the hungry eagle. He had just begun to feed them to Flash when the bird projected "visitor" into his head as a warning. Kit turned quickly around to see what the great eagle was looking at.

  "So this is the great mystery," said Jaron as he stepped into the deepening gloom of the barn. "I was wondering why you took these walks every night and came back smelling of raw beefalo meat. What is his name and where did he come from?"

  Kit smiled sheepishly. "He's Heron's mount, Flash. I had accidentally created a second bond by talking with him one day. After Heron died, he came back to our area. Chan saw him arrive and later told me about it. It was Chan who suggested I go find him and complete the impression. I fly him using a saddle with straps to keep me from falling off. He comes in handy finding game and watching out for nomads."

  "So that's why you have dropped the subject of joining the Aerie," the farmer commented. "I had just about decided to give in to you but you just stopped asking. Why didn't you tell me?"

  "I've been thinking about it. I just wasn't sure you would understand."

  "Oh, I understand well the lure of the skies," Jaron pointed out. "Don't forget that I was an Eagle Rider for over seven years. The saddest day of my life was when I had to hang up my saddle for good, at least until the day your Uncle Kittron died. You know, I was in the running for the position of apprentice Falconer. I lost out to Daron's father. I could easily have been him. You might have grown up in the Falconer's Residence instead of here. Falconers tend to run in a family for obvious reasons. In time you might make a good one yourself."

  "In order to be a Falconer," the boy protested, "you must first be an Eagle Rider. I ride an eagle but I am not by any means an Eagle Rider. I haven't the training or the traditions behind me."

  Jaron nodded thoughtfully. "Right you are. That's why I think you should join the Aerie right away. You need training in the use of the safety wing and you should learn the battle signals if you are to be of any use during an invasion attempt. If you are going to ride an eagle, you might as well do so properly. Besides, what are you going to do when you get too heavy for your bird to land with you? If you don't learn the safety wing, you will not be able to execute separate landings with him."

  The boy fidgeted uncomfortably. It was a subject he had considered often but with little success in coming up with a satisfactory answer. "I'm small for my age and Flash is large. It'll be a long time before I'm too heavy."


  "You can't stop the inevitable, I know," the man said kindly. "You cannot slow down time or keep yourself from aging. Don't you think I would have if I could have? You need to join the Aerie if only to get wing training."

  "Can't you get me a wing and teach me how to use it?" Kit asked stubbornly.

  Jaron looked wide eyed in surprise. "I'm not a Falconer. I've forgotten more about safety wings than I remember. Why are you fighting it? I've said you can join and I know that Daron wants you. He told me himself. Now, all of a sudden, you act as if that was the last thing you would want to do."

  Kit's hand swept back toward Flash. "This is Heron's bird and Heron was Daron's own son. Don't you think he would be angry to find that I dared to take his son's place? I know I might be if I were him. I would love to join the Aerie but only if I could fly on Flash. I've been thinking on it a lot. I cannot take the gamble that Master Daron would not do something to prevent our being together. I was hoping to ask you to train me with a safety wing but now I know what your answer to that would be."

  "Kit," the grandfather pleaded, "wing training is a long, involved process requiring a lot of knowledge and special equipment. The only practice slope is at the Aerie. Besides, those wings don't grow on trees. Where would I get one for you?"

  Kit thought for a moment. "There's always the black market. With enough money you can always get what you want from the Gypsies. If I get hold of a good wing, would you teach me how to use it? If you teach me the basics here on the ground, I'll fly Flash out to the top of a good cliff and try it out there. It shouldn't be that hard."