Claire Delacroix (32 page)

If I fell, I realized, I might be so battered by the time I hit the ground that I would not care whether I lived or died.

I was trapped. I could not even discern how I had managed to come this far. I looked up and saw only smooth stone rising before me, the plants having lost their tenuous hold at this height. To the left and the right of me was more smooth stone.

This, it appeared, had not been one of my better plans.

* * *

XVII

Even as I thought as much, the root holding my weight began to crack. My palms were sweaty as I ran one hand across the stone, desperately seeking some niche that would save me.

“There,” whispered a boyish voice into my ear.

Through a haze of panic, I saw a ghostly vision of a boy’s hand, the knuckles grubby and scratched. Those plump but agile fingers were painfully familiar, and I would have recoiled had the root not cracked more loudly. It began to shift and my weight slipped. I snatched at the grip the ghostly hand indicated, too relieved to be surprised that the rock was warm when I grasped it.

As if another hand had just abandoned it.

I pulled myself up and watched for Michel’s guiding hand. I dared not consider why he haunted me now, why he might choose to save me when I had not done as much for him. Memories assailed me of a young boy laughing at me as he tried to teach me to climb stone cliffs.

It was the sole deed he had done better than me, and he had loved to torment me about it. A lump rose in my throat.

“Here.” I heard his voice, bubbling with merriment at my incompetence, and saw his phantom hand above me once again. His eye was as sharp as I recalled.

As I climbed with phantom aid, the mist rose from the ground, its chilly fingers surrounding me like a shroud. There was only me and Michel’s ghost and a seemingly endless façade of stone.

This might well be a reckoning, but I did not care. A reckoning was long overdue. If not for his parents’ untimely demise, Michel might have had an honest trade; if not for my untimely abandonment, he might have yet been alive.

That was not an attractive truth, but I faced it squarely.

Michel’s father had been a falconer and the boy had learned young to climb to the eyries of gyrfalcons and peregrines. He had learned thievery in an honest trade, for stealing chicks from wild birds is not counted as a crime by men.

The birds, though, keep their own reckoning. Michel had been fleet-fingered because he had to be. A peregrine deprived of her offspring will hunt the offender as diligently as she hunts a partridge. She might not manage to kill whosoever assails her nest, but she will have her due in flesh and blood.

It is no accident that kings and queens prefer to hunt with the female, the peregrine, for her bloodlust is more fierce. Michel had had a scar across his temple, a reminder of a poorly calculated assault upon a nest.

I was destined to recall this detail shortly. As I drew nearer the high rock ledge, I saw that it was not the summit of the cliff. The rock face stepped back and continued upward, though that had not been discernible from below. This was but a ledge - and a falcon was perched upon it.

The peregrine turned her cool gaze upon me as I hauled myself over the lip of the precipice. Her nest was a mere hollow scratched in the dirt and rock. She was herself no larger than a crow. These are remarkable birds when seen at close proximity, all dark feathers and sharp angles. They seem wrought for fast flight and for killing.

I glanced back to find a carpet of fog, sealing me from the world of mortal men below. There was no way, even with ghostly aid, that I might find my way down again. I was bone-tired from my climb and more than willing to share the ledge amiably.

I knew that the peregrine might not share my perspective.

Indeed, she surveyed me coldly. I smiled, for though it seemed foolish, I doubted it could hurt. Then I recalled that peregrines are said to despise the sight of a man’s face.

I froze there, braced upon the weight of my hands, my legs dangling into the void, my smile like that of the corpse I might soon be. The peregrine did not so much as blink, though she ruffled her feathers in agitation.

Perhaps she sat upon eggs and was loathe to leave them. I did not dare to breathe, so fervent was my hope that her desire to shelter her eggs would outweigh her lust to protect them.

Night had fallen fully now and from this perch, the sky was awash with a million stars, the valley cloaked in silvery fog. We might have been the only two souls left in this world. My arms ached, though I dared not move quickly lest I startle the bird.

“Gawain, here!” My head snapped to the right at Michel’s cry of delight.

The precipice was not so small as I had originally believed. It curved around the face of the cliff, albeit somewhat narrow, and clearly offered a respite to the right, out of view of the nest.

If I could get out of the peregrine’s view without incident.

When I looked back at her, she had risen to her feet with purpose. I saw the four eggs beneath her, gleaming like great pearls in the moonlight. Creamy white they were, smaller than those of a chicken, and speckled.

Eggs! Had Evangeline been right about the effect of the return of the
Titulus
? I would not have credited it without this sight before me, but four eggs there were.

I dared not admire them long. The peregrine’s pupils had widened, as if she spied prey, and her gaze was fixed upon me.

My heart nigh stopped.

I heard the cry of another bird far overhead and guessed that she would hunt me once her partner was returned. The tiercel screamed at closer range and there was no more time to linger. I eased my knee onto the precipice, not averting my stare from hers.

With painful slowness, I eased to my feet, hoping my knees would not buckle from my exertion, hoping that my greater size might deter her. She settled back upon her nest cautiously, as if she considered an alternative plan to being rid of me.

I did not intend to give her the chance to create one. I stepped swiftly to the right, moving with the silent ease to which I was accustomed, knowing that stealing myself away from this huntress would be among my greater achievements. Her head swiveled as she watched me, and I did not know whether I imagined that her manner eased slightly when I was more distant. I slipped around the lip of the crevice, releasing my breath as the darkness swallowed me.

There was no echo of pursuit.

The tiercel landed with a piercing cry and the female cried lustily in answer. I glanced back at the rustle of feathers and realized that I had been momentarily forgotten.

He had brought fresh kill, a bird of some kind by the look of it, though it had already been mostly deplumed. The pair fell upon it greedily, scattering feathers, breaking bones, shredding flesh. There was blood on their talons and mandibles and a ferocity in their manner that nigh curdled my blood.

But they were too busy to trouble with me.

To my great relief, there was a crevice not far along the precipice that I could reach with care. I would be less exposed there, and I recalled with relief Michel’s certainty that falcons are clumsy unless aloft.

They would not pursue me into a darkened nook. Much reassured, I darted into the hiding place and only felt then the cold sweat upon my back. I slid down to sit against the wall, my legs straight out before me, and closed my eyes in relief.

I swallowed at the press of another beside me, a smaller soul, curling close for warmth. A ghostly hand slid across mine. I felt its warmth but did not look.

No, I dared not look. Instead I recalled an orphaned boy to my mind’s eye, a boy with tousled hair and an engaging smile, a boy who had been rewarded for his trust with betrayal. Michel had saved me from my own folly on this night, I knew not why, save that his loyalty and friendship was undiminished by either death or my own faithlessness.

I did not deserve such loyalty and I knew it well. Regret filled me then as I faced the fullness of my deeds. Evangeline had guessed aright - confronted with the same choice on this day, I would never abandon Michel, even if it meant my own demise.

But on that day long past, I had done so and I had never forgiven myself. In the black solitude of that refuge, I finally allowed myself to weep for what I had done.

* * *

I awakened to the screaming of the falcons, my neighbors evidently dissenting over some matter. My eyes were crusted with sleep and I ached from head to toe. The sky was rosy with the light of dawn and the mist had not yet begun to thin. My belly growled, though it would have no morsel soon.

I crept to the opening of my hiding place and took a breath, then peered around the corner. A falcon flew overhead, some bloody prize clutched in its talons. It was the male, for it was smaller than the female - one third smaller, as the name ‘tiercel’ does imply. The peregrine on the nest flapped her wings in annoyance, and rose to her feet as she screamed. Her partner ignored her, concentrating as he was upon his struggling prey.

With a mighty beat of her wings, the impatient peregrine took flight and pursued the tiercel. This time, he seemed disinclined to share his prize. She flew after him, crying outrage.

Aloft, their grace was peerless and a curious joy lifted my heart just watching their flight. I recalled Evangeline’s pleasure when she loosed the gyrfalcon and felt a commonality with her in this sense of wonder.

A scrabbling upon the stone drew my gaze back to the precipice. To my astonishment, a man’s head appeared at the lip of the ledge. He hoisted himself up the cliff and braced himself upon his elbows, sparing a glance skyward to the birds.

It was Dubhglas. I blinked, but it was certainly he. I retreated and took refuge in a shadow that I might watch him unseen.

Dubhglas glanced furtively to the left and the right, then hauled himself upward with a swift movement. There was a sack upon his back, which he slipped easily to the ground. He looked again at the feuding falcons, then promptly wrapped the four eggs in cloth and put them into the sack.

In the blink of an eye, the nest was empty and he was gone. I heard the scrabble of his boots as he descended with haste, and understood with sudden clarity what had ailed Inverfyre’s falcons.

They were not without issue: their issue had been stolen afore Inverfyre’s falconers came to gather their young. It was no curse that visited Inverfyre, no loss of divine favor or retaliation for poor guardianship of the
Titulus
.

It was deceit.

I imagined then that some ancient keeper of scores had compelled me to remain at Inverfyre, even to climb to this eyrie, that I might learn the truth.

I had to tell Evangeline.

First, though, I had to learn precisely what Dubhglas planned for the eggs, and gather some evidence to support my charge. I needed to know whether he had allies within Inverfyre or whether he acted alone. I had to be certain, lest I endanger myself with an untimely revelation.

I peered down the cliff and saw to my dismay that Dubhglas had nigh disappeared. I fairly leapt over the lip of the precipice in my haste to not lose him, ensuring that I kept to my side of the jutting face that would hide me from him.

Meanwhile, the falcons fought over the meat high above me, unaware that they had been robbed. They would not be pleased when they returned to their nest.

And the peregrine already knew of my presence. I had no doubt who she would blame for the thievery.

It is amazing how terror can add to one’s agility and speed. Indeed, I had not a single fear of falling on the descent as I had the day before on my ascent: my sole concerns were stealth and escape.

* * *

I wrestled with the question of whether I should disguise myself to enter Inverfyre or not, but I should not have troubled. There was little fear of my being recognized in Inverfyre’s keep on this day. The gates thronged with merrymakers, come on short notice to attend the lady’s nuptials. The square was glutted with peasants and petty nobles, warriors and even a few whores. I pushed my way through the throng, my hood over my head, and headed for the keep proper.

It was there that Evangeline would most certainly be.

A maiden pressed a braided garland of spring flowers into my hands and I bestowed a kiss upon her fingertips in return, my gallant gesture making her laugh. It was a day of celebration, to be sure.

I entered the hall without much subterfuge, and noted that it was too congested for me to climb to the solar without being noted. I had promised Evangeline not to sully her reputation so close to her wedding. This tale would be worth that, but I doubted I would survive any attempted ascent of those stairs.

Mercifully, I spied two familiar figures already seated at the board. I claimed the seat beside “Fat” with a flourish so that he glanced up. “Dour” glared at me from his seat opposite.

“You!” Tarsuinn whispered and began to rise to his feet.

I laid a hand upon his arm and pushed him back to the bench so firmly that he could not resist.