Andre Norton - Ware Hawk

Tirtha watched his face, intent upon his words, and she knew that he spoke in all sincerity. That part of her which had been awakened through his efforts, through Alon’s—the belief in herself, was now strengthened. She was as one recovering from an illness who feels the touch of returning health. There was good council in what he said. Suppose she had succeeded, and these two left her at her demand?

It might not matter that she went on to oblivion save that, though she in herself did not count, what she must do had strong reason and purpose. As Tirtha faced that thought, another clear flow of energy surged into her, bringing with it the will to banish the last of the shadow.

Also, breaking their bonds with her now might not save the Falconer and Alon. Alon was the one to point that out.

“They will search for us, even if you send us from you. Lady Tirtha. We have been one. If they take you, then maybe they can still compel us to them—or it—because of that very fact. We have made a choice…”

The girl shook her head a fraction. “I have forced one on you,” she corrected.

“Not so,” was the Falconer’s quick denial. “I have long thought that perhaps we are all under a geas—that you came to me in Romsgarth not by chance but by purpose. I was minded to ride that very morning for the coast. My comrades were dead; I felt but half a man. There was nothing to hold me to the hills. Yet against my own planning, I returned again to the market because”—for the first time real puzzlement crossed his face—“I cannot tell you why. And see, already I am more of a man, once more a warrior with a feathered brother, such as I had never hoped to be again. That, too, was not chance. Wind Warrior was waiting for one he believed would come.”

“And I would have died,” Alon said softly. “I think you yourself this night touched on the same death that would have taken me. But you and the Swordmaster and Wind Warrior, you brought me to life and awakened in me that which I had never understood, so that I had only a half life before. Can you say all of this was by chance alone?”

Tirtha moistened her lips with tongue tip, staring first at the Falconer in whose arms she still rested, then at the boy, who was certainly more than he seemed to the outer eye—at last to the bird on his shoulder. The wall she had built around her for years had cracked.

“I do not know what must be sought at Hawkholme,” she said, “but it is of importance to more than me. I have come to believe that my clan were guardians of something of great value, which must be found. They say that very ancient powers are awake and move in Escore from which our blood first came. Did those of my House bring with them some weighty symbol of force, some treasure, which is needed now in the war that rages there between the Dark and the Light? If only I had more of the talent…” Her old regret was heavy in her voice. “Perhaps had I been trained and not had to forage for myself, garnering bits and pieces I have not the wit to use, I could foresee as well as farsee. I am not a Wise Woman.”

“You do not know yet what you are,” the Falconer interrupted her. “Make no statement that you are not this or that. But this I know.” He looked straight into her eyes. “Our bargain has changed, Lady. There are no twenty days of service. No, what lies between us now shall continue to the end, whether you will it or no. That is the way that things must be.”

He eased her with a gentleness she did not expect, had not known that one of his schooling could summon, wrapping her in her cloak, settling her with one of the limp saddlebags for a pillow. Then he held the power sword in the air. Its light had faded to the smallest glimmering, hardly more than the flash of a night-flying insect. But by it she could still see the blur of his face and believed that he was staring upon what he held.

“This came into my hand, even though those of my blood trust not in things that are of witchery. Yet it slipped into my hold as if it were made for no other man in this world. That is another sign that I am one in this quest. I, too, have a geas laid upon me to bear this where it must go, wield it as it must be used. I do not know, but perhaps he who was Nirel has died, and I am someone else. If that is so, then I must learn who. Now, Lady, I set it on you to sleep, for you have come through such a fight as would exhaust any warrior. And the feathered brother, though he hunts by day, is an excellent sentinel, so we need not keep watch and watch. Tomorrow we face perhaps other trials, but those are for the morning and one does not look ahead for the evil that may lie in wait.”

She was indeed tired. His voice had softened, lost that harsh bite it so often carried. Now it seemed a flow of reason, carrying her easily with it, sliding into rest, which was not the dark peace she had sought, the nothingness of non-being, but rather that which renewed both body and spirit.

Alon, the blanket that had been rolled behind the Torgian’s saddle wrapped around him, settled down so that she need not even reach forth a hand more than a palm’s width away to touch him. And she heard movements through the dark that told her the Falconer was also seeking rest. What had happened tonight, Tirtha still did not understand. But she was too weary to seek an answer; there would be time with morning light for that.

There was warmth on her face when she opened her eyes again; a patch of sun lay across her cheek, having found entrance between two overhead branches. It required determination and will for her to pull herself up and allow the cloak to fall away. For a single moment of surprise and confusion, she thought that for all their talk the other two had obeyed her and gone their own way, for there was no one in sight. Then the evidence of the saddles to one side, their bags lying beside them, was proof that they had not left. Near her was a broad leaf on which rested two long white roots so recently washed free of earth that stray drops of water lay upon them. Beside them a water bottle sat upright.

She recognized the roots as ones Alon dug now and then. Eaten raw, they were crisp and slightly biting to the tongue but palatable. So she ate and drank, finding that she was near famished, and then wobbled to her feet, leaning back against the trunk of the tree under which she had lain. There was a swishing in the brush as Alon pushed through, his face lighting as he saw her.

He came across the small open space into which they had edged their camp to catch one of her hands, holding it in both of his.

“Tirtha, it is well with you?” His eyes sought hers and satisfaction grew in his expression. “You slept—ah, how you slept.”

She looked at the sun and suddenly felt guilty. “How long?”

“It is midday. But it does not matter. In fact, the Swordmaster said that it was a good thing. For he thought us best here until those others are well into the wood. Wind Warrior has gone to settle on one of the trees at the edge of it and watch what they do, look for any guards that may be on the prowl there. Swordmaster is hunting—he put down snares and caught two meadow hens. Also he believes that we dare light a fire if we keep it under cover here.”

Alon made a small face. “I do not like raw hare; this is better.” He loosed his hold on her and briskly set to work with the bundle of sticks he had dropped when he first sighted her, laying them with care, choosing only the driest, those least liable to give forth smoke.

When the Falconer returned, he had two plump birds swinging from his belt. Also he told her he had found a small side dell in which the ponies and the Torgian had been put on picket lines and were grazing well.

“We are a day late,” she said, as he plucked the birds skillfully and impaled them on sticks, to be set to broil at the pocket of fire Alon tended.