As he moved to his right, he found the smoke blowing away from him. Now he could see the carnage in the village. Many of his friends lay motionless upon the ground. It was hard to make sense of the tableau before him.
Men on horseback, wearing various styles of clothing and armour rode through the village, several who were bearing torches firing the houses. Mercenaries or slavers, Kieli knew. Then he saw footmen wearing the tabard of the Duke of Olasko, ruler of the powerful duchy to the south-east. But why would they be aiding raiders in the mountains of the Orosini?
Reaching the back of Many Fine Horses’ home, Kieli crept along. He saw an Olaskan soldier lying motionless just beyond the edge of the building. Casting aside his dagger, Kieli decided to make a run for the man’s sword. If no one noticed, he would attempt to remove the round shield on the man’s left arm as well. It would hurt to carry the shield on his injured arm, but it could also mean the difference between life and death.
The sound of fighting was coming from the other side of the village, so he thought it possible he might be able to fall upon the invaders from behind. Creeping forwards, he retrieved the shield and sword and paused for a moment.
In the smoke, he could faintly discern figures moving in the distance, cries of outrage and pain drifted towards him, as his people struggled to repel the invaders.
His eyes smarted from the acrid smoke and he blinked back tears as he reached the fallen soldier. He turned over the body to retrieve the sword and as his hand fell upon the hilt, the soldier’s eyes snapped open. Kieli froze, and as he yanked back the sword the soldier lashed out with his shield, bashing him in the face.
Kieli fell back, his vision swimming and the world seemingly tilting under his feet. Only his natural quickness saved him, for just as the soldier was on his feet, dagger drawn and slashed at him, Kieli dodged.
For a second he thought he had avoided the blade, then pain erupted across his chest and he felt blood flowing. It was a shallow wound, but a long one, running from just under his left collarbone down to his right nipple and there to the bottom of his ribs.
Kieli slashed with his own blade and felt shock run up his arm as the soldier deftly took the blow on his shield.
Another attack and the boy knew that he was overmatched, for he only narrowly avoided death from a dagger-slash to the stomach. Had the soldier attacked with his sword instead of with a short blade, Kieli knew he’d be lying gutted upon the ground.
Fear threatened to rise up and overwhelm him then, but the thought of his family fighting for their lives only yards beyond the masking smoke forced it aside.
Seeing the boy’s hesitation, the soldier grinned wickedly and closed in. Kieli knew that his only advantage was the length of his blade, so he offered his already-wounded chest as a target and clumsily raised the sword with both hands as if to bring it crashing down upon the soldier’s head. As Kieli had hoped, the soldier reflexively raised his shield to take the blow and drew back his dagger for the killing thrust.
Kieli, however, dropped to his knees with a spin, bringing his sword down and around in a powerful arc which sliced through the soldier’s leg, knocking him backwards screaming. Blood sprayed from the severed arteries just below his knee. Leaping to his feet, Kieli stepped upon the man’s dagger-hand, and struck straight down with the sword’s point into the man’s throat, ending his agony.
He tried to wipe his sword-hand dry, but discovered that blood was flowing freely from the long cut on his chest and knew he’d soon be weakening if he didn’t bind it, though he thought it probably looked a great deal worse than it was.
As he hurried toward the sounds of battle a gust of wind cleared his vision for a moment so that he had a clean line of sight and could see the village’s central square. The tables that had been heavily laden with food and ale were overturned, the ground around them littered with the feast for the day’s celebration. The flower garlands were crushed into mud made up of soil and blood. For a panic-stricken second, Kieli faltered, horror causing his gorge to rise. He blinked back tears – though whether they were caused by smoke or rage he didn’t know. A short distance away lay the bodies of three children, obviously cut down from behind as they raced for shelter. Beyond them, he could see the men of his village making a stand before the round house. Kieli knew the women and surviving children would be inside, the women armed with knives and daggers to defend the children should the men fall.
Men he had known all his life were being slaughtered, despite fighting with desperation to protect their families. The soldiers had set up a shield wall and were pressing in with spears levelled, while behind them sat mounted soldiers, calmly loading and firing crossbows into the villagers.
The Orosini bowmen responded, but the battle’s outcome was obvious, even to a boy like Kieli. He knew he would not survive this day but even so, he could not stand behind the invaders and not do whatever was in his power.
On wobbly legs he started forwards, his target a man upon a black horse, obviously the leader of these murderers. Next to him sat another horseman wearing a black tunic and trousers. His hair was as dark as his clothing, pulled back behind his ears and falling to his shoulders.
The man somehow sensed something was behind him, for he turned just as Kieli started to run. Kieli saw the man’s face clearly; a dark beard trimmed close to his jaw-line, a long nose which gave him a harsh appearance, and pursed lips as if he had been lost in thought before he heard Kieli’s charge. The rider’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of the armed and bloody boy then he calmly said something to the officer, who turned. The man in black carefully lifted his arm. There was a small crossbow in his hand. He calmly took aim.
Kieli knew he had to strike before the man’s finger tightened on the release. But two strides away from the horseman the boy’s knees weakened. Kieli’s newly acquired sword felt as if it had been fashioned of lead and stone and his arm refused to obey his command to deliver a killing blow to the invader.
The boy was one stride away when the black clad man fired the crossbow. Then his knees buckled. The bolt had taken him in the chest, high up in the muscle below his first wound.
The bolt spun him around completely and his blood splattered both men as it fountained from the wound. The sword flew backwards from fingers that could no longer grip. His knees struck the ground and he fell over backwards, his eyes losing focus as pain and shock swept over him.
Voices shouted, but the sound was muted and he could not understand what they were saying. For a brief instant, he saw something: high in the sky above him a silver hawk flew in a circle, and to Kieli it seemed to be looking directly down at him. In his mind he heard the voice once again. Linger, little brother, for your time is not yet. Be my talon and rend our enemies.
His last thought was of the bird.
KIELI’S PAIN pierced the darkness.
He couldn’t will his eyes open, yet he knew he was alive. He felt hands upon him and as if from a great distance heard a voice mutter, ‘This one’s still alive.’
Another voice said, ‘Let’s get him in the wagon. He’s lost a lot of blood.’
Part of Kieli’s mind registered he was hearing words in the traders’ language, what was called the Common Tongue, not the language of the Orosini.
He felt another pair of hands upon him. As they began to move him, he groaned and lapsed back into unconsciousness.
Pain coursed though Kieli’s body as he came awake. He forced his eyes open and tried to lift his head. The effort brought forth a wave of agony and his stomach churned, yet there was nothing in it for him to vomit up. The wracking pain that swept through him made him gasp aloud and moan.
His eyes couldn’t focus so he could not see the owner of the gentle hands that pushed him back and said, ‘Lie still, lad. Breathe slowly.’
Kieli saw shapes before him: heads in shadow, lightning in the sky above them. He blinked and tried to clear his eyes. ‘Here,’ said another voice from above him, and a gourd of water touched his lips.
‘Drink slowly,’ said the first voice. ‘You’ve lost a lot of blood. We didn’t think you’d make it.’
The first swallow of water caused the spasms to return, and he vomited up the tiny bit of water. ‘Sip, then,’ said the voice.
He did as he was instructed and the mouthful of water stayed down. Suddenly he was thirsty beyond memory. He tried to swallow, but the gourd was removed from his lips. He attempted to lift his hand to grasp it, but his arm would not obey his command.
‘Sip, I said,’ demanded the voice. The gourd was pressed against his lips again and he sipped, and the cool water trickled down his throat.
He focused his meagre strength on getting the water down and keeping it down. Then he lifted his eyes above the rim of the gourd and attempted to discern the features of his benefactor. All he could see was a vague lump of features topped by a thatch of grey. Then he fell back into darkness.
At some point they stopped for a few days. He recognized a structure around him, a barn or shed, he couldn’t be sure which. And he knew it was raining for a time, because the air was heavy with the scent of wet soil and the mustiness of mould on wood.
After that images came and fled. He was in a wagon, and for a brief time one afternoon he sensed he was in the woodlands, but not those near his home. He didn’t know how he knew – some glimpse of trees that didn’t match the lofty balsams, cedars and aspens of his own forest. There were oaks, and elms and trees he didn’t recognize. He lapsed back into his troubled slumber.
He remembered bits of food being pressed to his mouth and how he swallowed them, his throat constricting and his chest burning. He remembered feverish dreams and awoke several times drenched in sweat, his heart pounding. He remembered calling out his father’s name.
One night he dreamed he was warm, at home, in the round house with his mother and the other women. He felt awash with their love. Then he awoke on the hard ground with the smell of wet soil in his nostrils, the smoke from a recently-banked campfire cutting through the air, and two men asleep on either side of him and he fell back, wondering how he had come to this place. Then memory returned to him and he recalled the attack on his village. Tears came unbidden to his eyes and he wept as he felt all the hope and joy die in his chest.
He could not count the days he travelled. He knew there were two men caring for him, but he could not recall if they had given him their names. He knew they had asked him questions and that he had answered, but he could not recall the subject of those discussions.
Then one morning, clarity returned to him.
Kieli opened his eyes and although he was weak, he found he could understand his surroundings. He was in a large barn, with doors at either end. In a close-by stall, he could hear horses eating. He was lying upon a pallet of straw covered by a double blanket, and had two more blankets over him. The air was hazy with smoke from a small camp stove, a rectangle of beaten iron sheeting within which coals were allowed to burn. Safer in a barn full of hay than an open fire. Kieli elbowed himself up and gazed around. The smoke stung his eyes a little, but much of it escaped through an open door in the hayloft. It was quiet, so Kieli judged it was not raining.
His body ached and he felt stiff, but his slight movement didn’t bring on waves of pain as it had before.
There was a man sitting upon a wooden stool, regarding him with dark eyes. The man’s hair was mostly grey, though bits of black still remained. His droopy moustache hung down on either side of a mouth that was tightly pursed as if he were concentrating. A heavy fringe hid most of his forehead, and his hair hung to his shoulders.
Blinking an accumulation of gunk from the corners of his eyes, Kieli asked, ‘Where am I?’
The man looked at him inquisitively. ‘So, you’re back with us?’ he asked rhetorically. He paused for a moment. ‘Robert!’ he shouted over his shoulder towards the barn doors.
A moment later the doors swung open and another man entered the barn and came to kneel beside Kieli.
This man was older still, his hair grey without colour, but his eyes were powerful and his gaze held the boy’s. ‘Well, Talon, how do you feel?’ he asked softly.
‘Talon?’
‘You said your name was Talon of the Silver Hawk,’ supplied the older man.
The lad blinked and tried to gather his thoughts, struggling to understand why he might have said such a thing. Then he recalled the vision, and he realized that it had, indeed, been his naming vision. A distant voice echoed in his mind, rise and be a talon for your people.
‘What do you remember?’
‘I remember the battle …’ A dark pit opened inside his stomach and he felt tears begin to gather. Forcing the sadness aside, he said, ‘They’re all dead, aren’t they?’
‘Yes,’ answered the man named Robert. ‘What do you recall after the battle?’
‘A wagon …’ Kieli, who now had to think of himself as ‘Talon’, closed his eyes for a while, then said, ‘You carried me away.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Robert. ‘We couldn’t very well leave you to die from your wounds.’ Softly he added, ‘Besides, there are some things we would know of you and the battle.’
‘What?’ asked Talon.
‘That can wait until later.’
‘Where am I?’ Talon repeated.
‘You are in the barn at Kendrick’s Steading.’
Talon tried to remember. He had heard of this place, but could not recall any details. ‘Why am I here?’
The man with the droopy moustache laughed. ‘Because we rescued your sorry carcass and this is where we were bound.’
‘And,’ continued Robert, ‘this is a very good place to rest and heal.’ He stood and moved away, stooping to avoid the low ceiling. ‘This is a forester’s hut, not used for years. Kendrick is allowing us to use his barn without charge. His inn has warmer rooms, cleaner bedding, and better food –’
‘But it also has too many eyes and ears,’ offered the first man.
Robert threw him a glance and shook his head slightly.
The first man said, ‘You bear a man’s name, yet I see no tattoos upon your face.’
‘The battle was on my naming day,’ Talon answered weakly.
The second man, the one called Robert, looked back at his companion, then returned his attention to the boy. ‘That was over two weeks ago, lad. You’ve been travelling with us since Pasko found you in your village.’
‘Did anyone else survive?’ Talon asked, his voice choking with emotion.
Robert returned to the boy’s side, knelt and put his hand gently on his shoulders and said, ‘Gone. All of them.’
Pasko said, ‘The bastards were thorough, I’ll give them that.’
‘Who?’ asked Talon.
Robert’s hand gently pushed the boy back onto the pallet. ‘Rest. Pasko will have some hot soup for you soon. You’ve been at death’s door. We didn’t think you’d survive for a long while. We’ve seen you through with sips of water and cold broth. It’s time to put some strength back in you.’ He paused. ‘There are many things to talk about, but we have time. We have a great deal of time, Talon of the Silver Hawk.’
Talon did not want to rest: he wanted answers, but his weakened body betrayed him and he lay back and found sleep welcoming him again.
The song of birds greeted him as he awoke ravenous. Pasko brought over a large earthen mug of hot broth and urged him to drink slowly. The other man, Robert, was nowhere to be seen.
After stinging his mouth with the hot liquid, Talon asked, ‘What is this place?’
‘Kendrick’s? It’s an … inn, buried somewhere in the forests of Latagore.’
‘Why?’
‘Why what? Why are we here, or why are you alive?’
‘Both, I suppose,’ said Talon.
‘The second, first,’ answered Pasko, as he sat down on the little stool and hefted his own mug of broth. ‘We found you amidst carnage unlike any I’ve seen since my youth – when I was a soldier in the service of the Duke of Dungarren, down in Far Loren. We’d have left you for crow bait with the others, save I heard you moan … well, wasn’t even a proper moan, more like a loud sigh. It was only by the hand of fate you survived. You had so much blood on you and such a jagged wound across your chest, we both took you for dead to start with. Anyway, you were breathing, so my master said to fetch you along. He’s a soft-hearted sort, I can tell you.’
‘I should thank him,’ said Talon, though he felt so miserable for being alive while the rest of his family had perished that he didn’t feel remotely thankful.
‘I suspect he’ll find a way for you to repay him,’ said Pasko. He stood up. ‘Feel like stretching your legs?’
Talon nodded. He started to rise and found that his head swam and his body ached. He had no strength.
‘Gently, my lad,’ said Pasko, hurrying to give Talon a helping hand. ‘You’re weaker than a day-old kitten. You’ll need more rest, and food, before you’re close to being fit, but right now you need to move around a bit.’
Pasko helped Talon to the door of the barn and they went outside. It was a crisp morning, and Talon could tell they were in a lowland valley. The air smelled and felt different from the air in his highland meadows. Talon’s legs were shaky and he was forced to take small steps. Pasko stopped and let the boy take in his surroundings.
They were in a large stabling yard, surrounded by a high wall of fitted stones. The boy instantly recognized the construction as a fortification by its design, for stone steps flush with the walls rose up at several locations a short distance from the large building which he took to be the inn. The top of the wall had crenels and merlons, and a walkway broad enough for two men to pass one another as they defended the grounds.
The inn was as large a building as Talon had ever seen, dwarfing the round house and long house of his village. It rose three storeys into the air, and the roof was covered with stone tiles rather than thatch or wood. It was painted white, with wooden trim around the doors and windows, the shutters and doors having been painted a cheery green. Several chimneys belched grey smoke into the sky.
A wagon had been pushed to the side of the barn, and Talon assumed it was the one that had carried him here. He could see the tops of trees some distance off, so he assumed the forest around the inn had been cleared.
‘What do you see?’ asked Pasko, unexpectedly.
Talon glanced at the man, who was studying him closely. He started to speak, then remembered his grandfather telling him to look beyond the obvious, so he didn’t answer, but instead motioned to Pasko to help him to the nearest steps. He climbed up them slowly until he was on top of the wall and able to look over.
The inn sat in the centre of a natural clearing, but the stumps of a fair number of trees revealed that it had been enlarged years before. The stumps were covered with grasses and brambles, but the road into the woods had been kept clear.
‘What do you see?’ Pasko repeated.
Talon still didn’t answer, but began walking toward the inn. As he did so, the layout of the inn called Kendrick’s unfolded in his mind’s eye. He hesitated. He had as much fluency with the Common Tongue as any boy in the village, but he rarely spoke it, save when traders came to … He thought of his village and the cold hopelessness returned. He pushed down the ache and considered the words he wanted. Finally, he said, ‘This is a fortress, not an inn.’
Pasko grinned. ‘Both, actually. Kendrick has no fondness for some of his neighbours.’
Talon nodded. The walls were stout, and the forest on all sides had been cleared sufficiently to give archers on the wall a clear field of fire. The road from the woods turned abruptly halfway to the inn and circled around to gates he assumed were on the other side of the inn. No ram or burning wagon could easily be run along to destroy the gates and gain entrance.
He glanced at the placement of the building. Archers in the upper windows would provide a second rank of defenders to support anyone on the wall. He returned his gaze to the doors and saw they were also heavy with iron bands. He imagined they could be barred from the inside. It would take stout men with heavy axes to break those down. He glanced up, and saw the murder-holes above each door. Hot oil or water, or arrows could be directed down at anyone in front of the door.
At last he said, ‘They must be difficult neighbours.’
Pasko chuckled. ‘Indeed.’
While they stood upon the parapet looking at the inn, a door opened and a young girl appeared carrying a large bucket. She glanced up and saw them and waved. ‘Hello, Pasko!’
‘Hello, Lela!’
‘Who’s your friend?’ she asked playfully. She appeared to be a few years older than Talon, but unlike the girls he had known among his people, she was dark. Her skin was dark with a touch of olive colour, and her hair was as black as night. Her large brown eyes sparkled as she laughed.
‘A lad we picked up along the way. Leave him alone. You’ve enough admirers already.’
‘Never enough!’ she shouted playfully, swinging the bucket around as she twirled a step, then continued on her path. ‘I could do with some help fetching water,’ she said with a flirtatious grin.
‘You’re a healthy enough lass, and the boy’s injured.’ Pasko paused, then asked, ‘Where are Lars and Gibbs?’
‘Kendrick’s got them out,’ Lela said, disappearing behind the other side of the barn.
Talon stood silent for a moment after she vanished from view, then asked, ‘What am I to do?’ Inside he felt a profound hopelessness, a lack of volition and will he had never known in his young life. Without his family … Memories of his village made tears gather in his eyes. The Orosini could be an emotional people, given to loud celebration in times of joy and tears in times of sorrow. But they tended to be reserved in the presence of strangers. All that seemed without purpose now and Talon let the tears run down his face.
Ignoring them, Pasko said, ‘You’ll have to ask Robert about that when he returns. I just do as I’m bid. You do owe him your life, so that debt must be settled. Now, let’s walk you around a little more, then get you back inside to rest.’
Talon felt a desire to explore, to go inside the inn and investigate its wonders, for a building this large must contain many, he judged. But Pasko took him back to the barn, and by the time they reached his pallet Talon was glad to be there, for he felt exhausted deep into his bones. The wounds on his body ached and stung and he knew that even that little bit of exercise had torn some new scar tissue and that he would need time to heal. He remembered when Bear Who Stands had been gored by a boar. He had limped for almost a half year before regaining full mobility in his leg.
Talon lay back on his pallet and closed his eyes while Pasko puttered around in the barn with some items he had brought in from the wagon. Despite having felt alert when he had awoken just a scant half-hour before, the boy drifted back off to sleep.
Patient by nature, Talon let the days go by without pestering Pasko with questions. It was obvious to him that the servant was by nature taciturn, and by instruction not very forthcoming. Whatever he discovered would be through his own powers of observation.
The pain caused by his people’s destruction was never far from his thoughts. He had shed tears nightly for a week, but as the days passed, he turned away from his grief and began to court anger. He knew that somewhere out there were the men responsible for his people’s obliteration. Eventually he would hunt them down and take retribution; such was the Orosini way. But he was also enough of a realist to understand that one young man on his own had little chance of extracting full vengeance. He would need to gain strength, power, knowledge of weapons, many things. He knew that his ancestors would guide him. Silver Hawk was his totem: the boy once known as Kielianapuna would be a talon for his people.
The days became routine. Each morning he would awake and eat. Pasko and he would walk, at first just around the compound surrounding the huge inn, then later into the nearby woods. His strength returned and he started helping Pasko with chores, hauling water, chopping wood, and mending reins, halters and traces for the horses. He was a clever lad and had to be shown a thing only once or twice to grasp it. He had a fierce passion for excellence.
Occasionally, Talon would catch a glimpse of Robert as he hurried about the inn, often in the company of any of three men. Talon didn’t ask Pasko to name them, but he marked them. The first Talon guessed to be Kendrick. A tall man with grey hair and a full beard, he moved around the property as if he owned it. He wore a fine tunic and a single ring of some dark stone set in gold, but otherwise serviceable trousers and boots. He often paused to give instructions to the servants – the girl Lela, and the two younger men, Lars and Gibbs. Lars and Gibbs had also been regular visitors to the barn when travellers called at the inn, for they cared for the horses.
The second man Talon saw he thought of as Snowcap, for his hair was as white as snow, yet he looked to be no more than thirty or so years of age. He was not quite as tall as Kendrick or Robert, but somehow seemed to look down at them. He carried himself like a chieftain or shaman, thought Talon, and there was an aura of power about him. His eyes were pale blue, and his face was coloured by the sun. He wore a robe of dark grey, with an intricate pattern woven at the sleeves and hem, which was just high enough for Talon to glimpse beneath it very finely crafted boots. He carried a wooden staff upon occasion, while at other times he affected a slouch hat that matched his robes in colour.
The last man bore a faint resemblance to the second, as if they were kin, but his hair was dark brown, almost the same colour as Talon’s. His eyes were a deep brown as well, and his manner and movement suggested a warrior or hunter. Talon called him the Blade in his mind, for his left hand never seemed to venture far from the hilt of a sword, a slender blade unlike any Talon had seen. He wore blue breeches tucked into kneehigh boots and a dark grey shirt over which he wore a tied vest. He also wore a hat all the time, a twin to Snowcap’s slouch hat, though this one was black. Once Talon had seen him leave the inn at sunrise carrying a longbow and that night he had returned carrying a gutted deer across his shoulders. Instantly the young man had felt a stab of admiration; hunting was considered a great skill among the Orosini.
Robert, Pasko and Talon were treated much as if they were part of the surroundings. Only Lela took a moment now and again to call out a greeting to Pasko and Talon, or to nod or wave. Lars, a stocky red-headed lad, and Gibbs, a slender older man, would occasionally speak to them, asking for a piece of tack, or assistance in holding a horse that was being tended. But both avoided any casual conversation. Most of the time, Talon felt as if he and Pasko didn’t exist in the minds of those inside the inn.
After a full month had passed, Talon awoke one morning to find Robert deep in conversation with Pasko. The young man arose quietly, and dressed, then made his presence known.
‘Ah, young Talon,’ said Robert, smiling at him. ‘Pasko tells me you’re recovering nicely.’
Talon nodded, ‘My wounds are healed, and most of the stiffness is gone.’
‘Are you fit enough to hunt?’
‘Yes,’ he answered without hesitation.
‘Good; come with me.’
He left the barn and Talon fell into step beside him. As they walked to the inn, Talon said, ‘Sir, I am in your debt, am I not?’
‘Agreed,’ replied Robert.
‘How shall I discharge my debt?’
Robert stopped. ‘I have saved your life, true?’
‘Yes,’ replied the boy.
‘If I understand the ways of your people, you have a life-debt to me, correct?’
‘Yes,’ Talon said calmly. A life-debt was a complex concept, one that involved years of service, directly or indirectly. When a man of the Orosini saved the life of another, the man who was saved was considered to be at the call of the other. It was as if he became a member of that family, but without the privileges of that membership. He was honour bound to ensure that his saviour’s family ate, even should his own go hungry. He was obliged to help bring in his saviour’s crops before his own. In every way, the rescued man was in debt to the other. What Robert was telling Talon was that he must now consider Robert his master until such time as Robert released him from service.
‘This is a heavy debt, is it not?’
‘Yes,’ Talon replied evenly.
The wind blew slightly, rustling the leaves in the distant trees and Robert was silent, as if thinking. Then he said, ‘I shall test you, young Talon. I will judge your mettle and see if you will do.’
‘Do for what, sir?’
‘For many things. And I shall not tell you half of them for years to come. Should you prove lacking, I will bind you over to Kendrick’s service for a number of years so that you may learn to care for yourself in a world other than the highlands of the Orosini, for that life is now denied you forever.’
Talon heard those words and felt as if he had been struck a blow, but he kept his expression blank. What Robert said was true. Unless others had somehow survived the attack and crept away into the mountains, he was now the last of the Orosini and no man could live alone in those mountains.
Tasuta katkend on lõppenud.