Talon of the Silver Hawk (10 page)

Talon instantly became analytical. “The city has a wall around it, extending into the water . . . I'd judge a hundred yards or more into the water.” He narrowed his eyes. “There's a large building in the middle of the city that rises high enough to overlook everything for miles. I don't know what it's called.''

“It's called a citadel. It was once a castle erected to defend this lakeshore. The city grew up around it.''

“There are five large . . . things that stick out into the water.''

“Docks.”

Talon's eyes wandered for a moment, and then he was struck by the size of the lake. Surely this couldn't be just a lake. It must be a sea.

Caleb's voice jerked him out of his reverie. “What else?''

Talon began to list the details that appeared to his almost supernatural sight. Each time he encountered something alien he would struggle to describe it, Caleb would supply the word, and he would move on.

As they passed down the road, heading toward the plain upon which the city rested, Talon lost his vantage point and was forced to rely upon memory. When they reached a stand of trees which cut off all sight of the city, Caleb said, “You did well. You missed things, but you're new to this business of paying attention.”

“Paying attention to what?” asked Talon.

Caleb smiled—a rare occurrence—and said, “Why, to everything. You pay attention to everything.”

“Why?”

They worked their way along the road, through the woods, and past a meadow as Talon waited for his answer. At last Caleb said, “When you hunt, to what do you pay attention?”

“To everything,” answered Talon. “The direction of the wind, the scents upon the air, the sounds of the woods, to anything that has left tracks.''

Caleb nodded. “Always think of yourself as being on the hunt.''

“Always?” asked Talon.

“Always.”

“Why?”

“Because it'll keep you alive,” said Caleb.

They rode in silence for another hour before reaching a crossroads and an inn. It was an hour after midday, and Caleb said, “We'll rest the horses and eat here. Then we'll be in the city by supper.”

Talon had no argument. They had spent two days on
the road, and while sleeping under the wagon had been no burden, he welcomed the idea of a hot meal.

The inn was a tiny place, a way stop for those few people who either found themselves just a little too late in the day to reach Latagore or who, like Caleb and Talon, were stopping for a midday meal. The sign above the door showed a man holding a pitchfork in one hand and a large mug in the other. The paint on the sign was faded, but Talon could see that the man's expression was one of sublime happiness.

“What is this place?” he asked Caleb quietly as the wagon ground to a halt.

“It is called the Happy Farmer Inn.''

Hearing the wagon, a boy appeared from out the back and listened as Caleb instructed him on how to take care of the two horses. As the wagon was empty, the horses were still fit and required only water and some hay. They would need more rest and grain on the long climb back up into the hills with the wagon loaded.

Caleb led Talon into the inn and crossed to an empty table in the corner. He removed his black slouch hat and adjusted the sword at his side so that he could sit comfortably at the table, then motioned for Talon to sit down opposite him.

A middle-aged woman with an agreeable manner approached and asked their pleasure. Caleb ordered a meal and ale for both of them and sat back to observe the other customers.

The common room was quiet, with only four other men taking their midday ease. Two were obviously traders of some fashion, portly men in sturdy but finely fashioned travel clothing. The other two sat at the next table, heads together, speaking quietly. They appeared to be fighting men of some stripe; both wore simple clothing—tunics,
trousers, and overjackets—but no jewelry was evident to Talon. However, their boots and weapons were well cared for, which Talon took to mean they spent a lot of time walking and fighting.

Food was brought, and Talon and Caleb ate in silence. The meal wasn't as good as what was served at Kendrick's, but it was filling, and the young man found the ale satisfactory.

Before they had finished, Talon saw all four other men rise and leave together. After they had gone, Caleb asked, “Who do you judge them to be?''

“Two merchants on their way to Latagore, with two guards to accompany them.''

“A fair assumption. Though I wager something more was in the wind.''

“What do you mean?''

“I mean it's not unusual for guards to eat near their employers, at a separate table, as those two did, but they seemed intent upon a topic they wished their employers not to overhear. They spent the entire meal in deep conversation.”

Talon shrugged. “I'm not sure what this means,” he said.

“It means nothing, except that it was not ‘business as usual' for the guards. One didn't touch his meal.” He indicated the table where the two guards had sat, and Talon saw that one plate was indeed untouched.

Talon had served enough guards and mercenaries during the year at Kendrick's to know that most of them ate whatever was in front of them as if it might be their last meal. “All right, Caleb. What do
you
think it means?''

“There was no wagon in sight either in the stableyard behind the inn as we approached, or on either side of the building, but there were four horses being looked after by the boy who came to take our wagon.''

Talon reflected upon what he had seen and what he knew of traveling merchants. “So, this would mean that those two merchants were traveling to buy goods in Latagore?”

“Or to arrange for transport somewhere else, but they are not selling wares in the city.''

“Which means they are carrying gold.''

“Perhaps, but the two mercenaries they hired are likely to assume as much.''

Talon hurried to finish his meal.

“What are you doing?” asked Caleb.

“We're going to hurry after them and help, aren't we?''

“We are not,” said Caleb. “You'll find enough trouble on the road without volunteering to take up someone else's.''

“But those two guards will kill those men for sure,” said Talon, draining his mug and standing up. “We can stop black murder.''

Caleb shook his head. “Most likely they will take whatever gold the merchants have, and the horses, and leave them to walk to Latagore. By the time they reach the city, the two mercenaries will already have left on a boat for the far shore and be on their way to High Reaches or Coastal Watch.''

“Or they could simply slit their throats and linger in Latagore. The nervous one might get panicked and act rashly.''

Caleb stood up and signaled to the woman who had served them. “Tell the boy to ready our wagon.” Looking at Talon, he said, “We will have to whip the horses to a froth to overtake them.''

“Not necessarily,” said Talon. “The mercenaries do not look like the type to ride in haste. They will attempt to keep the merchants deceived until they attack them. You've
traveled this road before; where would you judge the most likely place for the murders to take place?''

“There's a deep ravine five miles along from here, and it abuts the road. If I were to carry out an attack, that is where I would do it, for it would be easy enough work to drag the bodies up into the ravine for half a mile or so, then quickly return to the road without anyone noticing. It might take months for anyone to stumble on the bodies should that be the case.''

Talon said, “Then we need to hurry. They must already be a mile or more down the road.''

Caleb fixed Talon with a curious look for a moment, then said, “Let us go, then.''

They had to wait a few minutes for the wagon to be fetched around from the back. The boy had brushed the horses while they had rested, and Caleb gave him a copper piece for doing the extra work.

Caleb set the horses to a fast walk, causing them to snort in protest at the faster than average pace. “If you're right, we'll overtake the merchant and guards just as they reach the ravine cutoff.” He glanced over and saw that Talon's face was set in a mask of determination. “Why are you so anxious to intervene, my young friend?''

Talon's expression turned dark. “I don't approve of murder.''

Caleb nodded. After a moment he said, “If you're going to act the hero, it would be well for you to go armed.''

Talon nodded. He turned and fetched out a sword and belt-knife from behind the wagon's seat. He had seen no reason to don them prior to that moment.

Caleb kept the horses moving, and after a few minutes of silence, asked, “How are the two mercenaries armed?''

Without hesitation, Talon answered, “The taller one, the calm one, wore a long sword on his right hip—he's left-
handed. He wore a long dagger on his left hip, and I glimpsed the hilt of a throwing knife inside the top of his right boot.

“The nervous fellow wore a short sword on his left hip and had two daggers in the right side of his belt. He had several knives inside that black sleeveless overjacket he wore and another small blade in the sweatband inside his slouch hat, on the side with the black crow's feather.''

Caleb laughed, an even more rare occurrence than his smiling. “I missed that last one.''

“It deformed the hat slightly.”

“You've taken to your lessons at Kendrick's well. All you missed was the blade behind the buckle of the nervous man's belt. I noticed it only because he took care standing up and put his thumb behind it for a moment, as if preventing getting cut by it.''

“Sounds like a bad place to keep a blade.''

Caleb said, “If done right, it's a good place, really. If done poorly . . .” He shrugged.

They rode along at a good clip as the sun traveled across the sky. As they crested a hill, Caleb said, “There.''

In the distance, Talon could see the road rise up on the left and fall away on the right. The city was clearly in view in the distance: they would easily have reached it before nightfall if things had gone as planned.

At the far end of the road, Talon saw movement. “Four riders.''

Caleb snapped the reins and set the horses to a faster trot. “They're going to reach the ravine sooner than I thought!''

The wagon picked up speed, and Talon hung on to the seat with both hands as the heavy axles sent every bump from the wheel straight up into his back. This wagon was built to haul heavy loads, not provide comfort for those riding it.

The sound of the wagon flying down the road should have alerted the riders, but by the time Talon and Caleb drew near they could see the four men had squared off, the two merchants arguing with the two guards. The mercenary Talon thought of as “the nervous one” drew his sword, just as his companion turned to see the wagon approaching. He yelled, and the first man turned to see what the problem was.

The two merchants turned their horses and attempted to ride away, causing the nervous mercenary to swing his sword at the nearest merchant, cutting him on the left shoulder. The man shrieked and fell from his mount.

Caleb steered the now-galloping horses to the left of the three who were milling around. The merchant who had fallen scuttled like a crab, scrambling backward away from the two riders. The other merchant was charging down the road, arms flapping as if he were attempting to fly off the back of his horse.

Talon stood and launched himself off the wagon as it sped past, knocking the nervous rider from his horse, sending his sword flying. Caleb did his best to keep the wagon from overturning as it slowed down. The other mercenary quickly evaluated the situation and spurred his own mount to a gallop up the road, back the way they had come.

Talon landed on top of the nervous one, who grunted as the breath was knocked out of him, then thrashed as Talon rolled off him. Talon came to his feet, sword in hand, expecting the man to be rising.

Instead the man lay on the ground clutching at his stomach. Blood fountained through his fingers and he looked at Talon. “Look what you've done to me! You've killed me!''

Talon kept his sword in his hand as he went and knelt next to the man. “That blade behind the buckle?” he asked.

“Damn thing never worked,” said the injured man. “Now I'm bleeding like a stuck pig.''

Caleb had turned the wagon around and driven back to where Talon and the other two men waited. Talon pushed aside the wounded man's hands and disengaged the buckle. He pulled out the blade, a three-inch-long piece of sharp steel with a T cross handle; it was designed to slip out of the buckle and sit between the two middle fingers of the hand, the handle resting on the palm. It would be a dangerous jabbing weapon.

Caleb said to the merchant, “Are you hurt?''

The man held his hand over his bleeding shoulder. “I'll live, no thanks to that blackheart.” He was a stocky man with a balding pate, a fringe of grey hair circling the back of his head. His eyes were dark, and his chin sported a tiny beard.

Caleb got down from the wagon and came to stand beside Talon. He looked down at the mercenary on the ground, at the knife and the wound, and said, “You'll live to hang. That little blade didn't cut too deep.''

He took the palm-knife from Talon, cut off some cloth from the mercenary's shirt, and wadded it up. “Press it hard against the wound with both your hands.” To Talon he said, “Help me get him in the back of the wagon.''

Between them they got the wounded would-be robber in the back of the wagon. Then Caleb took a look at the merchant's shoulder. After a moment he said, “You'll be fine.''

“Why are you helping?” he asked. “I mean, thank you for saving me, but why?''

Caleb nodded toward Talon, who had taken up a position in the back of the wagon next to the wounded man. “My young friend there has a streak of decency in him, I fear. He objects to murder, it seems.''