Talon of the Silver Hawk (22 page)

Talon used every skill he had learned in every other discipline he had been taught, for as much as anything he had ever tried to master, painting caused him seemingly unending frustration. Nothing ever looked the way he had imagined it would when he started. Maceus had started him off painting simple things—four pieces of fruit upon a table, a single leather gauntlet, a sword and shield; but even these objects seemed determined to escape his efforts.

Talon studied and applied himself, failing more often than not, but slowly he began to understand how to approach the task of rendering.

One morning he arose and after finishing his duties in
the kitchen—painting made him long for the relatively simple joy of cooking—he found himself looking at his latest attempt, a painting of a porcelain pitcher and bowl. Off-white in color and with a decorative scroll of blue knotwork along the rim of the bowl and around the middle of the pitcher, the items required a subtle approach.

Maceus appeared as if sensing he had finished, and Talon stood aside. Maceus looked down his nose at the painting and said nothing for a moment. Then he pronounced: “This is acceptable.”

“You like it?” asked Talon.

“I didn't say I
liked
it; I said it was acceptable. You made correct choices, young Talon. You understood the need for representation rather than exact delineation in the painted knotwork. Your palette was correct in rendering the white.''

Talon was gratified to earn even this guarded praise. “What next?''

“Next, you start painting portraits.”

“Portraits?”

“You'll paint pictures of people.''

“Oh.”

Maceus said, “Go and do something else. Go outside and use your eyes to look at the horizon. You've been taxing them with close work for too long.''

Talon nodded and left the room. Everyone else was doing their assigned work, and he didn't want to ride alone or walk down to the lake and swim on his own. So he wandered across the meadow north of the estate and at last came across a group of students working in the small apple grove that bordered the deeper woods.

A familiar figure called out to him, and he felt his pulse race. “Talon!” Alysandra cried. “Come and help!''

She stood at the top of a ladder leaning against a tree.
The ladder was being held by a boy named Jom. Talon saw that there were twelve students in all—six pairs.

Talon came to stand at the foot of the ladder, and called up, “What do I do?''

She leaned over and handed down a large bag of apples. “Put that with the others and fetch me another bag. That way I don't have to climb up and down.''

Talon did as she asked and carried the apples to a large pile of full bags. In the distance he saw another student driving a wagon slowly in their direction, so he assumed it was close to finishing time. He took an empty bag back to the ladder, climbed up a little way, and handed the bag to Alysandra.

Her hair was tied back and tucked up under a white cap, accentuating the slenderness of her neck and how graceful her shoulders were. Talon saw that her ears stuck out a little and found that endearing.

“Why don't you go and help the others?” she said after a moment. “We're almost done.''

Talon jumped down and grabbed up an armful of bags. He exchanged empty bags for full ones, and by the time the wagon pulled up, the harvest was complete.

The students quickly loaded the wagon and started the trek back to the estate. When they were almost there, Alysandra fell in beside Talon, and said, “Where have you been keeping yourself? I hardly see you anymore.''

“Painting,” said Talon. “Master Maceus has been teaching me to paint.''

“Wonderful!” she exclaimed, and her eyes seemed enormous as she looked up at Talon. She slipped her arm through his and he felt the softness of her breast against his elbow. He could smell the faint scent of her mixed in with the overwhelming scent of the apples. “What do you paint?''

“Mainly what the master calls ‘still life'—things he
arranges on a table, or pictures of the land. Tomorrow I start painting portraits.”

“Wonderful!” she repeated. “Will you paint a portrait of me?''

Talon almost stuttered. “Ah . . . certainly, if Master Maceus allows it.''

She rose up on her tiptoes for a brief instant with the grace of a dancer, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “It's a promise,” she said. “I'll hold you to it.''

And with that she hurried ahead, leaving Talon standing as if thunderstruck, while several other boys laughed at his obvious state of confusion.

Talon reached up slowly and touched the cheek she had kissed and for a long time thought of nothing else.

Talon frowned.

“Hold still, please,” he pleaded.

Demetrius and Rondar both attempted to hold their poses for a moment longer, but at last Demetrius burst out, “I can't do this!''

Talon threw his brush down in disgust. “All right. Let's take a minute to relax.''

Rondar came around to where Talon had set up his easel with a treated piece of wood resting on it. He examined the portrait Talon was painting of the two young men and grunted. “Pretty good.''

Demetrius picked up an apple off the small table by the door and bit into it. Around a mouthful of fruit, he said, “Do you have any idea why they're doing this?''

“Doing what?” asked Talon.

“Making you learn to paint.''

Talon shrugged. “They have had me learning all manner of things over the last few years that don't make a lot of sense to me. But I owe Robert de Lyis my life, and he's bound me over to Master Pug's service, so I do what they tell me.''

“But aren't you the least bit curious?” asked Demetrius.

“Of course, but they'll tell me what I need to know when I need to know it.''

Rondar sat down on a bed and said, “It's simple.''

“What?” asked Demetrius, his freckled face resolving into a frown.

“Why he paints,” replied Rondar.

“Well, be so kind as to explain it to us, then, why don't you?” Demetrius looked at Talon, who smiled.

Rondar shook his head as if it was obvious to any but a fool. Then he stood up, crossed the room, and put his hand on Talon's shoulder. “Talon: Mountain boy.''

“Right,” said Demetrius, his expression showing he wasn't following so far.

“Talon: Roldemish gentleman.” With that, Rondar sat down.

Demetrius nodded as if understanding.

“What?” asked Talon, puzzled.

“How many languages do you speak now?''

“Six, including Orosini. I speak fluent Roldemish, King's Tongue, the Common Tongue, pretty good Keshian; and I'm getting decent with Quegan—which is pretty close to ancient Keshian. Next I'm supposed to learn Yabonese.”

“And you're the best on the island with a sword.''

“Yes,” said Talon without modesty.

“Do you play an instrument?”

“A flute. Nakor showed me how to make one.''

“Well?”

“Well enough.''

“You play chess, cards, dice, right?''

“Yes.”

“And you're good at them, right?''

“Yes,” Talon repeated.

Demetrius grinned. “Rondar's right. They're going to pass you off as a gentleman of Roldem.''

“Cook?” asked Rondar.

Talon grinned. “Better than Besalamo, if I'm honest.''

“That's not saying much,” observed Demetrius. “Look, if they start teaching you how to play more instruments and everything you need to know about wine and other such niceties, then Rondar's right. The masters of this island are transforming you into a gentleman of Roldem.''

“But why?” asked Talon.

“You'll know when they tell you,” Demetrius replied.

Talon pondered the possibility for a moment, then said, “All right. Back to your places. I told Master Maceus I'd have something to show him before supper.''

The two young men resumed their positions, and Talon turned his mind away from the question of what he was being trained to do and back to the task at hand.

Master Maceus considered the portrait. After a while he said, “Passable.”

“Thank you,” Talon replied without much conviction. He was frustrated by the shortcomings he recognized in his work; the figures were stiff, unnatural, and showed little of the nature of his two friends.

“You need work on the structure of the body,” said his instructor.

“Yes, sir.''

“I think your next study should be a nude.''

Talon raised an eyebrow. He had grown up in a culture in which the sight of the human body was no cause for notice, yet he had learned since coming away from the mountains of the Orosini that many other people viewed nakedness in a very different fashion. Some students swam nude in the lake, while others avoided those gatherings, preferring to swim and bathe alone, or wearing clothing designed for wear in the water. Others, like Rondar, avoided swimming altogether.

Talon had even discussed the matter with Nakor, which probably had been a poor choice, since his instructor had left him with more questions than answers. Even so, Talon felt compelled to ask, “Master Maceus?''

“Yes?”

“Are such paintings common?''

“Common enough,” said Maceus, though he added a self-conscious cough and remarked, “Though not often for public viewing. Private collections and the like. Still, statuary, that's another story. Great heroes are often depicted in various stages of undress, their bodies showing magnificent wounds. But I'm not concerned about your ability to create something to titillate a bored noble; nor do I think you have the makings of sculptor. It's a matter of seeing below the surface, Talon.” He pointed to the work on the easel, and went on, “You've captured the surface of the boys, the overall sense of the planes and angles of their faces and clothing, but the muscles underneath, the curves of their shoulders, arms, chest—all that is missing. When you paint a portrait you must think of the body beneath, the spirit within: then you clothe the subject with your brushes and knives. When you look at the naked body, see the bone, sinew, and muscle within, and clothe them
in skin
and hair. You'll learn to understand this.” With a rare smile, he added, “We may make a painter of you yet.''

Thinking of trying to persuade Rondar to stand in the room with no clothing, Talon said, “Should I seek another subject?''

“Do not concern yourself. I'll send someone along tomorrow.”

Talon nodded, thinking about what his instructor had said, and slowly began to clear away his brushes and paints.

Talon hurried from the kitchen. He had been assigned breakfast duty and had been up for two hours before the rest of the community had arisen. He had spent the entire time in the kitchen, until the afternoon crew had come aboard. He was to have returned to his quarters to meet the model for his new painting, but Nakor had found him and sent him off on an errand, telling him he'd meet the model later.

It had taken almost all of the afternoon for Talon to finish Nakor's bidding, and he was ready to return to his quarters to take a quick bath before supper. But when he got there, he found Rondar and Demetrius picking up the wooden chest that held Talon's belongings. “What's going on?” Talon asked.

“Moving,” said Rondar.

“We're moving?''

“
You're
moving,” said Demetrius. “I don't know why, but we just got orders to take all your things down to that little cottage by the lake. You know the one.''

Talon grinned. The cottage was often used by students for assignations after hours. Then his grin faded. If he was being assigned that hut as quarters, any number of students would be less than thrilled.

As if reading his mind, Rondar said, “They can use the stable.''

Demetrius laughed. “He's right. There are plenty of other places to get friendly. I'm partial to the baths after dark, myself. Water's still very warm, it's quiet . . .” He grunted theatrically as he lifted the trunk, but Talon knew it wasn't heavy, just big.

He let them go past him and out through the door, then fell in behind them. “My bed?''

“Moved an hour ago,” said Demetrius. “Along with your painting gear. We just couldn't get this trunk into the wagon with the rest.''

“Why?” asked Talon. “I don't have much, certainly not enough to fill a wagon.''

Demetrius again grinned. “You'd be surprised.”

They moved down the hall to where the now-empty wagon waited, and loaded the trunk. In a few minutes they were bumping along down the track that led from the village, past the lake, to the small hut.

It might once have been a charcoal-burner's hut, or perhaps the hut of a gamekeeper, but it had for some reason fallen out of use and been uninhabited for years. When they got there, Demetrius reined in the horse, and Talon jumped down from the back of the wagon. He and Rondar got the trunk down and maneuvered it to where Demetrius stood, holding open the door.

As he stepped into the cottage, Talon stopped stock-still. Then he said softly, “I'll be . . .''

“The girls were in here yesterday cleaning, and Rondar and I moved everything else,” Demetrius said.

“But where did all this come from?” asked Talon, indicating the room.

The cottage was spacious, larger than the hut he had shared with Magnus. A hearth complete with a spit and an
iron cauldron on a hook for stews and soups waited for a fire. A freestanding pantry had been placed near at hand, and a small table occupied the corner between the pantry and the fireplace. His bed rested against the opposite wall, near the door, and at the foot of it was placed a large wooden wardrobe. Talon and Rondar set the trunk down next to the wardrobe. Talon opened its door and exclaimed, “Look at this!''

Fine garments of various colors and cuts hung neatly inside.

Rondar said, “Gentleman.”

Demetrius nodded. “Seems to be the case. But why here I have no idea.''

Looking at one doublet, with enough eyelets and fasteners to confound the eye, Talon said, “To practice getting dressed, I suppose. Look at these things.''

Hose, leggings, trousers, singlets, doublets, waistcoats, all hung neatly from wooden rods and hangers. In the bottom of the wardrobe half a dozen different types of boots and shoes were neatly arranged.

Then Talon caught sight of the far corner. “Books!” he exclaimed with pleasure. He crossed the room to examine the titles on the shelves there. “All new to me,” he said quietly.

“Well,” said Demetrius, “we're for supper. I've been told to tell you you're on your own for a while. Someone will bring you your supper tonight and some other provisions, and then you're to keep to yourself for a while.''

Talon knew better than to ask why. No one would have told Demetrius.

Rondar pointed to the easel. “Practice.”

“Yes,” said Talon. “I guess they want me to focus on that, and these other things.''

“We'll see you around, I'm sure,” said Demetrius.
“Come along, Rondar. Let's get the wagon back to the stable.''

The two friends left, and Talon sat down and drank in his new surroundings. It was strange to think that, at least for a short while, this would be his home, and it filled him with an odd melancholy. He had never lived alone, not since the day of his birth. The only significant time he had been by himself had been upon Shatana Higo, waiting for his vision.

He sat quietly, letting the mood sweep through him. He remembered what he had been taught and allowed the nostalgic longing for his childhood to pass through him; he would not engage that sorrow now. He would acknowledge it and renew his vow that someday his people would be avenged; then he would let it go.