Talon of the Silver Hawk (13 page)

A little after midday they reached a small market near the eastern wall of the city and wended their way through the stalls of merchants offering food, clothing, live poultry, jewelry, tools, weapons. There was even a broker for mercenary guards. The shoppers looked different from the people who populated the rest of the city, and Talon felt a stab of recognition. For a brief instant he thought he was among his own people! The men wore tattoos upon their faces, although the markings were unfamiliar. They wore fur overjackets, not unlike those worn by the Orosini, and they traveled in groups that included children and the elderly.

He heard speech that was tantalizingly familiar, peppered here and there with a word that he recognized. He put out his hand and halted Caleb, who turned to see what was wrong. Noting the expression of concentration upon Talon's face, Caleb said nothing but waited as Talon strained to make sense of what he heard.

After a few moments of listening to a man speaking with a woman whom Talon took to be his wife, he realized he understood the speech, even though it was heavily accented and contained several strange words and phrases. Leaning close to Caleb, he asked in low tones, “Who are those people?''

Caleb motioned for Talon to follow him, and as he moved away from the couple of strangers, he replied, “These are the Orodon. They live on the other side of a mountain range to the north. They are distant kin to the Orosini, though they are plainsmen and fishermen of the deep oceans, not mountain people. They have villages, but no cities, so each winter many of them journey south and in the early spring come here to the market in Latagore. There are traders who also put in at coastal villages up and down the land of the Orodon regularly.”

“Why have I not heard of them?''

Caleb shrugged. “You would have to ask someone who is now dead—your father or grandfather. Once all these lands belonged to your ancestors, Talon. Men from the south, city men, moved northward and pushed your people up into the mountains, and the Orodon to the north. The nations to the south are all related to the nation of Roldem, which is why that language is spoken throughout these kingdoms.”

Talon glanced over his shoulder as they left the open market and walked down another street. “I would like to know more of these people.''

“Magnus will be thrilled,” Caleb said. “He has a particular bent for history and will be happy to teach you. It bores me, I'm afraid.''

They reached an inn, the sign of which showed a man in footman's livery running after a departing coach. “The Running Footman,” said Caleb. “In which we'll find our friend Dustin Webanks.''

They entered the relative darkness of the common room of the inn and stood blinking for a moment as their eyes adjusted to the darkness. Then, with an inarticulate shout of rage, Talon drew the sword at his side and charged straight at a man who was standing at the bar.

Caleb moved swiftly.

He saw Talon draw his sword, shout in rage, and charge at a man standing at the bar. The man—a mercenary, judging by his garb and weapons, was a seasoned veteran who reacted with shock for only a moment before recognizing a threat. But as his hand moved to his sword, Caleb reached out with his left leg and caught Talon's right ankle, tripping him.

A second later Caleb had his own sword in his hand and had moved to stand between Talon, who was scrambling to his feet, and the man at the bar. He lowered his sword point in the general direction of the stranger and with his left hand pushed Talon back to his knees as he attempted to rise.

“Hold on!” Caleb shouted. “Wait a minute!''

The mercenary assumed a defensive position rather
than attacking either of the two men he faced. “I'm holding,” he replied. “But not for long.''

Talon attempted to get up again, and Caleb grabbed his tunic by the fabric at the shoulder and hauled at him. Instead of the resistance he had anticipated, Talon found his upward motion aided so that suddenly he was standing upright on his toes. Caleb let him hang there for a moment before releasing him. Talon crashed to the floor, landing on his backside.

“Wait, damnit!” shouted Caleb.

Talon waited.

“What is this about?” yelled the mercenary.

“He's a murderer!” Talon shouted, trying to rise once more, his face full of rage. In his anger, he had reverted to his native language.

Caleb let him get halfway to his feet, then kicked his left heel, sending him back to the floor again. In the language of the Orosini, Caleb said, “No one here but me understood what you just said. Who do you think this man is?''

“One of the men who killed my people!''

Caleb did not take his eyes off the mercenary for more than a second. “Your name?” he asked the man in Roldemish.

“Who wants to know?''

“Someone trying to keep the bloodshed to a minimum,” answered Caleb.

“My name is John Creed, from Inaska.''

Glancing at Talon, to make sure he was still behaving, Caleb asked, “Have you ever served with Raven?''

Creed nearly spat. “I wouldn't piss on Raven if his arse was on fire. I'm a mercenary, not a child killer.''

Caleb said to Talon, “Slowly,” and let him rise.

Sensing the crisis had past, the mercenary asked, “Who's your hot-tempered friend?''

“This is Talon, and I'm Caleb.''

Putting his sword away, John Creed said, “If that lad's looking for Raven's bunch, and he acts like that, you'd better make sure he has enough silver on him to pay for his funeral pyre. They'll cut him up for dog meat without spilling a drop of ale and laugh while they're doing it.''

Turning to Talon, Caleb said, “What were you thinking?”

Talon slowly put his sword away, not taking his eyes from Creed. “He looks . . .”

“He looks like someone else, so you just go witless and forget everything you've been taught, is that it?''

Talon studied the man, attempting to fit him into the images that still were vivid in his memory and gradually realized how foolish he had been. Creed was a brawny man with black hair that hung to his shoulders. His nose had obviously been broken more than once and was little more than a distorted lump in the center of his face. His mouth was topped by a drooping moustache. His face was unremarkable, except for his eyes, which were narrowed as he studied his erstwhile attacker. Talon recognized his eyes; they were like Caleb's, dark and intense, and they didn't miss a detail of what they saw. This man resembled one of the men who had destroyed his village, one of the men Talon had surprised before he was shot with the crossbow bolt, but he wasn't the same man.

“I'm sorry,” he said to Caleb.

“Don't tell me. Tell him.''

Talon moved past Caleb and stood before John Creed. “I was wrong. I am sorry.” He looked the mercenary straight in the eyes.

Creed was silent for a moment. Then the left corner of his mouth moved upward, and with a crooked smile
he said, “No harm done, lad. A hot temper is a sign of youth. You'll outgrow it . . . if you're lucky to live long enough.''

Talon nodded. “I acted rashly.''

Creed continued to appraise the boy. Finally, he said, “Raven's men must have done you quite an injury for you to go flying off the handle like some loose ax head.''

“They did,” was all Talon said.

“Well, if you're looking for Raven and his bunch, word is he's been working for the Duke of Olasko for the last few years. Young Kaspar has them involved in some difficulty down in the Disputed Lands, bumping heads with the Duke of Maladon and Simrik's men. So you're in the wrong end of the world if you're trying to find Raven.''

Caleb said, “Let us buy you a drink, to make amends.''

“Thanks,” said Creed.

Caleb looked around the crowded inn, which was returning to a semblance of normalcy now that the potential confrontation was halted. Caleb instructed the innkeeper to provide Creed with a drink, then took Talon by the elbow and moved him through the crowd. At a corner table he half pushed the lad down into a chair. He looked at the boy for a long while. After a few minutes of silence between them, Caleb said, “For someone who is normally thoughtful and reflective before acting, you were as rash as a man can be.''

Struggling with the frustration and rage that were bringing him to the edge of tears, Talon nodded. “I saw that man . . . and something inside just rose up and overwhelmed me. I was certain he was . . . one of the men I fought when my village was destroyed.”

Caleb signaled for a serving girl to bring them drink and food, then removed his gauntlets and threw them on
the table. “You're young. As Creed said, you'll outgrow the rashness if you live long enough.''

Talon remained silent. The drinks and food appeared, and they ate without discussion. Talon brooded upon what had occurred, and as they finished eating, he said, “Caleb, why didn't you tell me?''

Caleb said, “What?''

“That you knew who it was that raided my village?''

Caleb's eyes flickered only for an instant, but Talon knew he had caught him out. “You told me about the raid, many times,” he replied.

“But you never told me their leader was called Raven. You knew who they were!''

Caleb let out a long sigh. “Very well, Raven and his company are well enough known. I guess it never occurred to me that you needed his name.''

“There's something else. What is it?''

“Nothing.” Caleb spoke softly, but his eyes warned Talon not to press the matter.

Calmly, Talon said, “You know. Tell me.''

Caleb regarded the young man for a while, then he said, “Not today.''

“When?”

“When you're able to understand.”

“Among my people I have been a man for nearly two years, Caleb. If . . . my village still existed, I would almost certainly be a father. What is so difficult to understand here?''

Caleb sipped at his ale. Finally, he said, “There are many more things involved in such a choice than I can reveal to you. I judge you able in many things, Talon. More able than most your age, and even than some twice your years, but the decision wasn't mine alone.''

“Whose, then? Robert's?”

Caleb nodded. “He is responsible for your training.”

Talon turned his head slightly, one eye fixed upon Caleb. “Training for what?''

“Many things, Talon,” said Caleb. “Many things.''

“Such as?''

“That is most certainly a topic for you to take up with Robert. But this much I will tell you, Talon of the Silver Hawk. Should you learn all that is given you to master, you will become an unusual and dangerous man. And you will need to be such should you choose to avenge your people.''

“I have no choice in the matter,” said Talon in even tones. “Once free of my debt to Robert, I must find the men who destroyed my people.''

Caleb knew what he intended once he found those men. Finally, he said, “Then be diligent in your work, and learn your lessons well, Talon, for those you seek have powerful and deadly friends and masters.''

Talon sat quietly, contemplating what Caleb had said, while around him the bustle in the room increased as more men came in to drink. Among them was Dustin Webanks and his companion from the day before.

“Hello!” Dustin called out as he spied them in the corner. “I feared you wouldn't appear, but I'm glad you have, for I feel strongly in your debt.''

He crossed the room to them, and Caleb indicated that he and his companion should take the remaining two chairs, but Webanks declined. “We have much to do, so we will be on our way shortly.” He removed a pouch of coins from his belt. “There is no value I can place on my life, but please accept this gold as a reward for your actions on my behalf.''

His companion looked away, as if embarrassed by the fact that he had fled while Webanks was in peril. The pouch hit the table with a loud clinking sound, and Caleb
looked at Talon. When the boy didn't move, Caleb said, “It was your idea to take a hand; you leapt from the wagon to knock the assassin off his horse. You deserve the reward.''

Talon looked at the pouch. He had served long enough at the inn to have some idea of how many coins filled a pouch of that size, and calculated that the gold in it amounted to more than he could rightly expect to earn in ten years of toil. Yet he hesitated. At last he reached out and pushed the bag back toward Webanks.

“You refuse it?” asked the merchant in astonishment.

Talon said, “As you said, your life is without price. Instead of gold, however, I would ask you a favor.''

“Name it.''

“Should I come to Opardum in the future, I will ask it of you then.''

Webanks seemed confused by the request, but said, “Very well then, I am in your debt.” He picked up the gold, then glanced at his companion, who seemed likewise bemused by the young man's refusal of the gold. They exchanged perplexed expressions and, bowing slightly, withdrew from the men.

Caleb waited until they had left, then said, “Why?''

Talon said, “Gold will buy things I don't need. I have food, clothing, and friends at Kendrick's. But if what you say is true, that my enemies have dangerous friends and powerful masters, I need more friends. Merchant Webanks may prove to be such a friend in the future.''

Caleb sat back and considered what Talon said. After a moment, he smiled. “You learn quickly, my young friend.''

Instead of acknowledging his remark, Talon's face whitened and his hand flew to the hilt of his sword. But rather than leap to his feet, he sat there as taut as a
bowstring. Caleb slowly turned to see what he was looking at. “What is it?''

“That man,” said Talon.

Caleb saw that a man had entered the inn and was now over by the bar speaking with Webanks and his companion. Caleb's own hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. He turned and looked at Talon. “What of him?''

“He
is
one of those who destroyed my village.''

“Are you certain?''

“Yes,” said Talon, his voice the hiss of a coiled serpent. “He wore the tabard of the Duke of Olasko, but he sat upon a black horse, commanding the murderers who killed my people.''

Caleb looked around and saw that four other men had come in behind the man. They were glancing around the room, as if seeking any sign of trouble. Caleb returned his attention to Talon and said, “What do you propose to do?''

“Watch.”

Caleb said, “Well done. You do learn quickly.''

For fifteen minutes they sat there, sipping at half-empty mugs of ale, until the five men left. Talon got up instantly and crossed to Webanks. With a calm voice he asked, “Master Webanks, a question.”

“Certainly, young Talon.''

As Caleb joined them, Talon said, “I noticed just a moment ago you were deep in conversation with a man, one who looked passingly familiar to me. I believe he may have visited the inn where Caleb and I are employed. But I can't recall his name.''

Webanks looked disturbed and said, “He is just a guard, one I've hired for the return trip to Opardum. He and his four men are waiting for us to finish our business on behalf of the Duke and then depart.” With a nervous laugh he
added, “I can't recall his name at the moment. Ah . . . Stark. Yes, I believe it's Stark.''

“Thank you,” said Talon. “I must have been mistaken.”

Talon then left the inn at such speed that Caleb had to hurry to keep up. Outside, he glanced left and right and caught sight of the men rounding a corner.

“What are you doing?” asked Caleb.

“Tracking.”

Caleb nodded, and they followed the men. Talon's exceptional vision kept him from losing the five men, even though they moved quickly through the press of the bustling market and down streets thronged with wagons, carts, and travelers. Finally, they saw the men halt, look around to see if they were being followed, clearly decide that they weren't, and enter a nondescript building.