Master of Hawks (18 page)

Jaxton and Prenis dismounted in front of S'Stratford's headquarters, the red-brick city hall. The building was tall enough to be a tower, but it seemed almost squat compared to the spires of the cathedral-like shrine across the square.

The plaza was almost empty. Normally it would be filled with crowds of pilgrims waiting to enter the shrine. In its center a group of N'Omb priests gathered around a kiosk that shimmered in a blue-gold halo. The magic protected a display of minor holy relics inside.

Jaxton found the sight of the gray-robed pilgrims and white-robed priests disturbing. They reminded him too much of the past. His mother had been devoutly religious, but when she'd disappeared during a pilgrimage to several of the holy shrines, he'd developed a hatred of the N'Omb priests and all they represented.

Irritated at himself for feeling pain at a wound he considered long healed, he brusquely handed his reins to Wagner Prenis and stalked into the city hall. The dim hallway led to a set of narrow wooden steps curving upward into a darkness pungent with decay. The stairs appeared to have endured centuries of use and, thought Jaxton as he stepped on the shuddering boards, perhaps centuries of termites.

Reaching the second floor, he passed along a hallway stained coal black from the torches lining it. He opened the door at the end and again admired S'Stratford's ability to find the best accommodations, even in the musty hallways of the city hall. The former mayor's office was brightly lit by several enormous chandeliers and the sunlight from two bay windows. The walnut paneling and furniture were quite luxurious, far more than anything else Jaxton had seen in the town, except for the Shrine of the Three Miracles itself, of course, which siphoned off most of the city's wealth.

As he expected, Jaxton found Douglas S'Stratford with Jessica S'Logan.

"Ah, Jaxton, we were just talking about you," said S'Stratford.

"Darling?' The Red Witch kissed Jaxton quickly but firmly on the lips. He had gotten to know her rather well during the past couple of weeks. She had even found time to teach him something about the use of the Pendant of Thantos.

"We've decided on our next move," continued S'Stratford, ignoring Jessica Slogan's actions. He'd seen her work on other men before; in fact, he'd been one of her targets. Somehow he didn't think she'd find Jaxton Sinclair to be as malleable as she hoped.

"When we leave here tomorrow, you will remain behind as temporary mayor of this region. You'll maintain control here and ensure the delivery of our supplies."

"That's a nice job," said Jaxton sarcastically. "Don't you think someone else could do it? Now that I have the Thantos spellstone, I think I'd be of more help coming with you."

Jessica moved closer so that he felt the warmth of her body, smelled her exotic perfume, and heard the faint rustle of petticoats beneath her red taffeta gown.

"That's why we want you here, darling, to use its power to keep the Keller Road safe. When the siege
of York Castle is about to break, we'll send word for
you to join us."

"That's fair, you know," added Douglas S'Stratford.

Jaxton realized the futility of arguing. He had been chosen to remain at Kellerton, and that meant he'd have the responsibility of preventing sabotage and hijackings of the supplies being transported along the
Keller Road.

"I have a present for you," said Jessica with exquisite sweetness. Jaxton resisted the urge to put his arm around her, for he'd already learned to recognize her ploys, and he was determined not to fall for them. He would enjoy their relationship as long as possible, but he would not let her use him. However, when she pulled forth a cage containing a large, alert falcon, he could not help but be touched by the thoughtfulness of the gift, even though he suspected that her motives were probably mixed—after all, he'd be more useful with a trained bird of his own.

"I heard that you lost your falcons, so I thought you might like this one."

"Thank you very much," he replied, taking the cage.

"It is easier for a telepath to work with a bird he is used to. He looks like a fine hunter."

S'Stratford walked over to one of the windows to watch the small crowd in the plaza below. "You'll have lots of use for him," he said. "So far the N'Omb priests have stayed out of things, and we've respected their neutrality. I want to keep it that way. So I want you to move carefully where the N'Ombs are concerned. Although we've occupied this town, remember that the shrine itself is strictly neutral—I don't want any of our men harassing priests or pilgrims or deciding to steal a little loot from the shrine, right?

Some of the priests don't like the Empire, some are
e
ven trying to persuade the whole Church to come out against us—so I don't want any incidents, you understand?"

"I know," Jaxton replied.

"Of course he does, Douglas," added Jessica S'Logan. "Jaxton is going to do an excellent job here,
I'm sure of that." She moved closer to the telepath and leaned against him. "Of course, I wish you were
coming with us instead, but we'll be back together very soon."

S'Stratford nodded. "Once we join up with the Southern Imperial Army at York, there is nothing that's going to stop us. A siege of a few months perhaps, that's all we'll need."

"I hope you are right," said Jaxton.

Jessica S'Logan pressed her hand against his thigh. "It's too bad Ramsey is still unconscious. It's a real shame to see a sorcerer of such talent lying there totally useless. And of course his seat on the Council of Seven is vacant now . . . "

She batted her beautiful green eyes at Jaxton and offhandedly smoothed her flaming red hair. He knew what she was thinking, what she'd been hinting at for days. She could influence the Council to appoint him to Ramsey's seat, at least temporarily, if he'd agree to support her in the power struggle within the Council. She wanted to control as much of the newly conquered lands as possible, as did everyone else on the Council of Seven.

"Yes, it is sad," he added. "He was . . . is a good friend."

S'Stratford turned back toward them. "Well, I'm convinced of one thing now, Derek S'Mayler is the major force we have to reckon with, you know? He devised that ambush, and he was a strong enough sorcerer to defeat Ramsey. Taral's always warned us about him, and now we know why. Jessica, you know the man. Is there some weakness we can use against him?"

The Red Witch laughed. "I knew him many years ago. His weakness then was women, and we used that against him. I hear it still is his weakness, but I don't know how we can use that against him now. I really don't know how we can get to him. But it won't matter, he'll be no match for Taral."

"What sorcerer is?" said S'Stratford. "Still, Ramsey was a great sorcerer, one of the best, and now he's lying in a coma while Derek S'Mayler is out there," he gestured at the window, "sending raiding parties against us."

Jessica S'Logan filled three glasses with brandy from a decanter sitting on the mayor's desk. "We'll be testing S'Mayler's abilities soon enough, so why don't we stop worrying about them? The downfall of York is inevitable. Let's drink a toast to that, shall we?"

She handed one of the glasses to S'Stratford and another to Jaxton. "Let's drink to all the poor York soldiers who are going to be dead very soon," she said.

"To our victory," added S'Stratford as the glasses clinked together, "and to their deaths."

"To the defeat of York," toasted Jaxton Sinclair.

13

"Perhaps the downfall of York is near," said Lord Brian S'York, refilling Derek S'Mayler's glass and then his own. He stared at the thick, cold walls of Castle York and wondered how long they could withstand the siege that now seemed inevitable. The defeat of the York troops attempting to hold back Taral's main forces at Twin Lakes had been a severe blow. When Derek arrived with the news of heavy losses to the forces protecting the north and of S'Stratford's imminent arrival into the area, he'd had to face the fact that York's forces were no match for Taral's more numerous troops.

"We may be outnumbered," said Derek, as though he had read the thoughts that shadowed S'tork's face with worry, "but we're not finished by a long shot. We've weakened S'Stratford's forces, and I wouldn't say that Taral's army in the south was intact either—their losses were considerable."

"Well, we're well prepared for a siege at least, and with the sorcerers we've got and the protective spells you and the other League sorcerers laid on the castle itself, Taral won't find us as easy a target as the other
kingdoms he's fought. We haven't really opposed him with sorcery yet." S'York put his left elbow on the table, propped up his head with the back of his hand, and glanced glumly across at Derek. "But I still think we'll need a miracle to win."

"One miracle coming up," said a deep voice from the doorway behind him. Brian S'York half rose from his chair and swung around to face Coleman S'Wessex, who had just entered the room. Behind him came Ro and Hawk.

Derek S'Mayler studied their travel-stained pilgrim
garb and smiled wryly. "Well, either your disguise was so good that N'Omb granted your prayers, or somehow you've gotten the Sylvan to agree to help us."

Coleman smiled, but Ro and Hawk looked grim.

"Not quite," said Hawk, slipping into a chair.

"May we join you in your drink?" asked Coleman, pouring himself a large glass of whiskey without waiting for an answer. Then he drank it, straight.

"Certainly," murmured S'York. He called out to the guard standing just outside the door. "Jeff!" When the man entered he continued, "Have the kitchen send up some food for these people, they look as though they could use something to eat, and some sleep.” The guard nodded and hurried out.

"You're right about that, we rode almost straight through after talking with Feder."
Coleman sank
into a chair. Ro remained standing, leaning against door frame, with her gray cloak trailing over her arm. Although she declined S'York's offer of whiskey, Hawk poured himself a short one with a little water. Then Derek's exasperated voice punctured the silence. "Well, aren't you going to tell us what Feder said?"

Coleman took another sip of his drink and set it down thoughtfully, letting the liquid fill his empty stomach with a warm glow. Then he replied, "Feder has agreed to help us, and the Sylvan Council has gone along with his wishes . . . "

"That's wonderful!" interjected S'York.

"Not totally," Coleman continued hastily, "there's a condition . . . "

Brian S'York slapped his hands against his thighs impatiently. "I might have known the Sylvan would never agree to help us without demanding something in return."

"Yes, Feder wants something from us. It's a kind of test. He thinks we may be able to accomplish something the Sylvan can't, and if we can, he'll accept that as a sign that their god
Shuull
is in favor of their participation in the war."

Coleman sighed, wondering how to tell the story so that it made sense. "The attack on the Avedon forest in Cumberland evidently really shook up the Sylvan. So some of them with close contacts with the Empire tried to learn more about what happened. They discovered what we had learned, that Taral's Council of Seven had not planned the raid, but rather that it had been caused by the overly ambitious governor of Cumberland.

"But in the process the Sylvan got some information that we didn't. They obtained a paper that described Taral's entire blueprint of future conquests! And it was unequivocal proof that Taral intends to move against the Sylvan once he finishes off York.

"Naturally the Sylvan were . . . disturbed . . . to say the least. But Feder and some of the others still weren't willing to ally themselves with us—we're mere humans you understand—unless they could get some sort of directive from
Shuull
himself that this would be a good thing. The anti-human feeling is quite strong in some places. So Feder demanded that we pass a test in order to prove ourselves."

Hawk nodded. "He's evidently quite fond of tests. He told us that he was sorry that the ancient testing of Sylvan children is no longer done. You know what that is?" Hawk's voice rose with indignation. "They used to take the Sylvan children when they'd reached the age of six and shape a tree trunk near the edge of the forest around them. Each child would be sealed off completely within the tree. If the child could unshape the tree before he ran out of air, he'd prove himself a true Sylvan and would live. And if he didn't have a strong enough psychic ability, he'd be left sealed inside the tree forever!"

"It was one way to improve the psychic powers of the tribe," said Derek S'Mayler darkly.

"Well, he's appointed Ro and me to be the guinea pigs in this test, and I don't like it," exclaimed Hawk. "What's this?" S'York looked at Coleman.

The exiled lord of Wessex answered grimly. "Feder wants them to recover a Sylvan religious object. That's the test. Unfortunately, the N'Omb priests consider it a holy relic of N'Omb, and they are the ones that have it." He let that sink in.

"You see, it's some sort of a plaque that the Sylvan found while shaping the roots of one of the trees at Artoria, a skytree forest destroyed by S'Shegan during the Great War. Since the Sylvan believe their god
Shuull
lives in the ground, they thought the plaque was a message from him. After Artoria burned, a looter found the plaque among the ruins. Evidently he left it at the Shrine of the Three Miracles as an offering. The N'Omb priests said it was a relic of N'Omb, a fragment from some ancient city lying buried beneath the Artoria forest. So they kept it.