Dara wasn’t exactly certain how to respond to that. On the one hand, it was a sincere and heartfelt apology from someone who was intensely embarrassed. On the other, it was blatantly patronizing. She swallowed and decided to respond to the apology. Getting offended with someone who was trying to help you was rarely a good idea.
“Don’t worry about it,” Dara decided. “I think all fathers are that way, to some extent.”
Chapter Seven
The Confrontation Before The Flame
Dara’s head was still spinning from the four-day excursion to Carneduin the day after she returned to Sevendor Castle. It seemed small, primitive, and rustic, after four days in the Alkan realm. Dara had learned so much and seen so many extraordinary things in such a short time that suddenly life in the famous magical castle seemed mundane and boring.
The most important event, to her mind, hadn’t been the revelations about humanity’s origins or the subtleties of the Alka Alon. It was the mighty gift they gave Minalan in return: an entire cask full of insanely valuable witchstones. Enough irionite to put more than a hundred warmagi on the field against the goblins. It was the strongest, most tangible sign of the growing alliance between the two people, and Pentandra had even credited Dara with helping convince some of the Alka that such trust was not misplaced.
Dara had no idea how she’d done that, but she took the compliment without comment.
Of course, Master Min and Pentandra had sworn her to secrecy about the gift, and she was honor-bound to keep the important secret. She understood why. Such a trove of magic hadn’t been in human hands since the Magocracy. It would attract a lot of attention, if it became known. Master Min wanted to use the stones to win the war, but there were plenty who would have used them in less-savory ways. It was a secret she knew she could keep.
It helped that there weren’t many people around to tell. Most of the castle folk had accompanied Sire Cei to represent Sevendor at the Chepstan Spring Fair. That was where many necessary supplies for the castle were secured every year, when the very best merchants and artisans from across the Bontal Vales gathered to take orders for their wares. Even if Master Minalan and his family didn’t go, someone from Sevendor had to . . . and many had.
That left the castle feeling a little empty, even lonely, but Dara soon had other work to do. While Master Min was trying to figure out what to do with his sudden fortune of witchstones, Dara quietly went back to work on her own secret project.
Ithalia came and went a few times, before Yule, always adjusting the transgenic spell one way or another. It was fascinating watching the way she worked, and Dara learned a lot from the Alkan maid that she never would have from a human wizard – even Lady Pentandra or Master Minalan. The visits slowed, as the weather turned colder and it became too cold to travel or fly. But the project continued in secret.
Of course, Dara continued her lessons with both her master and the other wizards he detailed to teach her. That included Gareth and even Banamor, sometimes, as well as visiting wizards Minalan trusted. She was soon lost in a tangle of runes and sigils, scrolls and books, her fingers inkstained and her mastery of magic growing. Master Min even let her keep her witchstone with her now, sometimes.
Yule came and went with the usual ceremony and merrymaking, and soon the weather began to turn warmer again as spring beckoned. After a long winter spent huddling under magelights, reading the accumulated wisdom of the ages, Dara was ready for something more active, and began looking forward to Ithalia’s return to Sevendor . . . and their secret project. Little did she know how complicated it was about to become.
Sir Festaran dropped by her room that morning, as he sometimes did when he had a message for her from Sire Cei, Sister Bemia, or anyone else who imposed on the young assistant castellan. Today he stuck his head through her door after knocking politely, and relayed his message.
“Sire Cei wishes for you to know that Master Arcor and his entourage have arrived at Sendaria Port,” he dutifully reported. “They should be arriving in Sevendor within the next few days.”
“Master . . . who?” Dara asked, confused. She didn’t recall hearing news of any new wizards coming to Sevendor. Or why it would matter to her.
“Master Arcor,” Sir Festaran repeated, patiently. “Did Baron Minalan not inform you? While he was on a military inspection of Vorone, in Alshar last year, he acquired a host of new birds for his mews from the corrupt Baron in charge of the city. And hired a master falconer to care for them.”
Dara’s heart sank and her head spun. “But . . . but I’m Master Minalan’s master falconer!” she objected.
“Which was appropriate, when our mews has but one falcon,” Sir Festaran replied, smoothly. “Baron Minalan bought more than twenty hunting birds, in Vorone. With everything else you are involved in, Lady Dara, do you not think adding that many new charges to your tasks would be . . . daunting?” he asked, smiling.
Dara groaned. He had a point, there. It seemed half of her day was filled with caring for Frightful, in one way or another. She couldn’t imagine being responsible for another score of birds, too. As she thought about it, there was simply no way a single falconer could.
“So . . . he’s actually coming here? With more birds?” she asked, her head whirling.
“The Magelord indicated that they would be required for use in a project of yours,” Festaran told her. “Whatever that might be,” he added, slyly. Master Minalan had decreed that she not discuss her experiments with Ithalia with anyone not directly involved – which apparently included even Sir Festaran.
Dara considered. He was absolutely correct, of course – they couldn’t expect to breed a new species of giant dragon-fighting falcons with just one bird. Even magic couldn’t replace nature for that.
But the idea of someone else messing with Frightful irritated her, for some reason. Even a professional falconer.
“Where are they going to put them?” she asked, absently, while she absorbed the information.
“For now, in a shed in the outer bailey,” Festaran explained, as Cinder trotted over to the young knight and demanded to be petted. “But your father should prepare permanent quarters in the Westwood, Sire Cei says, as that is where they will likely be assigned. But you should prepare yourself,” he advised. “It looks as if you’re going to be gaining another mentor.”
“I seem to have an abundance,” Dara snorted. “I have them for magic, I have them for manners. I suppose I’ll have them for falconry, too. It’s just a bother,” she complained.
“If it’s any consolation, I spent years at Chepstan Castle working with mentors . . . who made me run in full armor, beat me in combat with blunted swords, had me carry a lance over my head for three circuits of the castle, and ride endlessly at a quoit until I fell off my horse. In full armor. A lot,” he added. “You could have worse duties.”
“I shall bear that in mind,” Dara chuckled, thinking of the knight engaging in all the manly exercises that turned a boy into an armored horse-riding killing machine. Becoming a knight was a grueling and sometimes fatal training regimen that lasted years, she knew. Tyndal and Rondal, Master Min’s senior apprentices, were undergoing similar, if abbreviated, training in such matters now, as they were technically knights magi, like Festaran and Cei. But Sir Festaran had endured the full, rigorous training without the benefit of magic.
She realized Festaran was correct. There were worse things than a new falconer in the castle. She could be training for knighthood.
Of course, another part of her mind suggested, falling off a falcon was a little different from falling off a horse.
***
Master Minalan affirmed Sir Festaran’s directions at breakfast that morning in the Great Hall.
“I thought I’d told you,” he chastised himself. “I could have sworn I did. I suppose not,” he conceded. “Sorry, I’ve had a few things on my mind, of late. But yes, I hired the man and his assistant when I purchased a number of surplus falcons from the Royal
Warden of Vorone. I thought you and Ithalia might like having more than one subject to study. And you might learn some more advanced falconry techniques from an expert.”
“Aye, Master,” she nodded, solemnly. “I look forward to learning from him.” That was truthful, at least. She was appalled by how much she didn’t know about falconry, for a girl known as “the Hawkmaiden”, after she’d met some real falconers in Barrowbell. Her Uncle Keram had given her a bit of knowledge, but much of what she’d done with Frightful was by trial and error.
“His name is Master Arcor,” the wizard informed her, “and he and his apprentice are bringing twenty birds or more with them from Vorone, in the Wilderlands. An entire mews’ worth. At great cost,” he added, though he seemed unconcerned with the money. “He has some excellent specimens of Minden raptors.
“As the Hawkmaiden, I’d like you to take charge of them. Make arrangements with your father to house them at Westwood Hall,” he directed, “and then I want you to build them a proper mews, in the Westwood. It will be more protected there than in Sevendor, proper.”
“A mews, Master? You want me to build one?”
“Not personally,” he chuckled, “although I’d be impressed if you did. But see what Master Arcor needs, and then provide it. I’m sure you and your father can work out the details. Just submit a report to me, when you’re done, and I’ll have the castle reimburse you. I’m sure you can handle that,” he added, confidently.
“Of course, Master,” Dara agreed . . . although she had no idea if she could, in fact, handle the task. When your master gave you an order, you didn’t tell him you were afraid you couldn’t do it. She would find a way. That’s what wizards did.
Unfortunately, Minalan also had her plowing through the basic cantrips and elementary runes she was learning. After two years of study, she was actually becoming adept at some of the simpler ones. Olmeg and Gareth’s help had given her a good command of such things, but Master Minalan was ruthless in testing her. She spent hours in focused meditation, attempting to complete the arcane tasks he assigned her. It was exhausting, and such deep mental work often led to her forgetting more basic things . . . like eating.
After the second day of brutal testing, Dara was ready for a break. Her head spun with the new runes she’d learned, though Minalan said she needed a lot more thaumaturgical theory to understand just how to use them. The walk home was good for clearing the complicated details of learning magic from her mind and refocus herself on more mundane matters. She lazily walked the mile and a half back home to Westwood Hall, for some supper and to get some of her summer things out of storage, now that the weather was turning warmer. If anything still fit.
She enjoyed returning home from Sevendor Castle, usually. It gave her a sense of belonging to something, and a chance to see her family. As she padded across the gently swinging rope bridge in the morning light, through the magical wards she now saw as clearly as a sign, she became aware of something . . . different.
She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, which bothered her. She was a trained observer, after all. She had literally seen through the eyes of a falcon. One of the very first exercises Lady Pentandra had made her do when she began to study magic in earnest was a game where she had but thirty heartbeats to survey a collection of objects, and then only a few moments to recount them in detail. She had quickly mastered the game.
But she could not figure out what was amiss with Westwood Hall. The sentry was on duty at the far end of the bridge, and the hall itself seemed just where she’d left it, but something nagged at her mind as she waved to her cousin Kavo, who was guarding the entrance this morning.
“About time you showed up, Little Bird,” he said, shaking his head. “Your father has been getting antsy.”
“Why?” Dara asked, confused. “Master Min often takes me away for stuff. Meetings, this time,” she emphasized. Kavo had been one of those who’d accompanied her and the other Westwoodmen into battle at Cambrian. “Not battles.”
“Yeah, but you usually don’t leave behind a guest,” snorted her cousin. “Or . . . a retainer. Or whatever he is. They are.”
“Ashes and cinders, Kavo! What are you talking about?” demanded Dara, even more confused.
“That falconer the Magelord hired? He’s been here for days, waiting for you to show up and tell him what to do,” Kavo reported, as Dara’s heart sank.
She’d forgotten all about the master falconer!
“Flame!” Dara swore, her mouth open. “How could I forget about that?” she chided herself.
“That is just what the Master of the Wood was asking the man,” Kavo replied. “It’s not just him, see, it’s all his birds, too. And that pretty young assistant falconer,” he added, dreamily.
“What? Who? What?” Dara asked, stupidly.
“Master Arcor is nice enough, but he’s got this lovely apprentice falconer. A Wilderlands girl,” Kavo supplied. “She talks like . . . like they all do,” he said, guiltily, “but it sounds cute coming from her.” The broad lilt of the Wilderlands had a harsh quality to it that the Westwoodmen’s ears had become accustomed to, since the Spellmonger had led the Bovali settlers here. “She’s nice, too,” Kavo added, dreamily. “Red hair, kind of like yours but lighter and soft, and—”
“Scorch his assistant!” Dara shrieked. “What about Master Arcor? Where is he?” she asked, desperately.
“Back in the shed he’s convinced is the worst possible mews he’s ever seen,” Kavo told her, helpfully, as she turned and began hurrying toward the old shed. “The old wood shed. That’s where the Master put them and their birds, for now. And tell the girl I told you that I liked her!” he called after her.
Dara was mortified that she’d forgotten about the new Master Falconer that Minalan had hired. At great expense, he had paid for the man and some falcons to journey hundreds of miles just to teach her the finer points of her vocation.
She found Master Arcor and a girl about her own age fitting a new hood to a magnificent-looking raptor a third larger than Frightful. Both falconers looked up at her, when she entered the dark shed.
“I’m Dara!” she blurted out, before she could stop herself. Then she recalled that these people knew very little about her. She took a deep breath and tried again. “That is, I am Lady Lenodara of Westwood, called the Hawkmaiden,” she continued, a little more calmly. “Is that a Minden’s raptor?” she asked, before they had a chance to respond.
“Aye, my lady,” the man, a short, bearded fellow with dark, serious-looking eyes. “This is a three-year old male,” he continued, slowly, “who has out-grown his old hood. His name is Majesty,” he added, beckoning her to come inspect the bird.
Dara approached cautiously. She knew how skittish Frightful could get around strangers. To help calm the bird, she extended a wave of magical soothing as she began probing its mind with her Talent.
It was always a little tricky, getting to know a new animal. While she had extremely strong connections to Frightful, and a growing bond with Cinder, it took a while to gain an animal’s confidence enough to do more than direct it.
Dara had learned she could dominate an animal with her magic, if she needed to, without forming such a bond. Then again, she could shout orders at passers-by, too . . . but that didn’t mean that they would listen. She found it more effective to allow the connection to work voluntarily, if the animal was sufficiently intelligent enough to understand what was happening.
Majesty was cautious as she approached and was reluctant to accept her empathic appeal . . . but the bird slowly warmed to the idea, when he did not detect a threat from her. His big black eyes regarded her warily, but there was an eventual acceptance of her unspoken spell that allowed her to form a voluntary rapport with the falcon.
Majesty was hungry. That wasn’t unusual, at all, for a falcon, of course. The birds were kept hungry to keep them willing to hunt and train. She ignored the base desires and went deeper, establishing her friendliness and concern for h
is welfare. She was a little appalled how much Majesty thought of himself, she discovered. Dara was used to the selfish feelings Frightful experienced, but this big bird had an exceptional opinion of his own importance in the world. The name fit, Dara decided. The falcon was as arrogant as some kings.
That didn’t bother her. She’d stopped trying to hold an animal’s feelings up to human standards years ago. Animals and people were different, and they thought and felt things differently. Of course Majesty was arrogant – he was the largest bird in the mews, and he was beautiful by both human and avian standards. As long as Dara affected to share that opinion, she was welcomed into his mind.
Dara held out her hand and beckoned with a whistle, and Majesty obligingly flew the few feet between them and lighted on her fist. Master Arcor and the apprentice both gasped.
“You’re using magic!” the girl realized. “You’re a wizard!”
“Apprentice wizard,” Dara corrected, absently, while she studied the handsome features of the falcon. Majesty basked in her admiration as if it was his due. “But yes, I’m a mage. I’m also a beastmaster, I’m sure you’ve been told,” she continued as she struggled to keep the heavy bird steady on her wrist. It would have been easier with a gauntlet. Though he wasn’t trying to hurt her, Majesty’s big talons were digging into her skin painfully. She ignored it.
“Your father informed me,” Master Arcor admitted, as he slipped the hood over Majesty’s eyes unexpectedly. “You can speak to animals, my lady?” he asked, skeptically.
“Not exactly,” Dara explained. “I can form a bond with them, and usually convince them to do what I want them to. I can feel their feelings and sometimes hear their thoughts. But they don’t exactly speak the way that we do, so ‘talking’ really isn’t the right word for it. He is a handsome bird,” she praised, as she handed Majesty back to the falconer. “Has he hunted, recently?”
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