Sons of the Falcon (The Falcons Saga) (32 page)

A cloudbank hid the tops of the
Silver Mountains, threatening another spell of cold, wet weather. And over the
Drakhans, Forath rose alone. He followed fast after the sun, a bloody gash on
the blue face of the sky. He and his silver sister had been feuding longer than
expected. The two moons hadn’t shared the sky all winter, and they showed no
sign of merging. Thorn had asked the Elaran stargazers in the observatory
towers about the matter; they told him that the last time the phenomenon
occurred was a thousand years before, during the last year of the Human-Elf
War.

Thorn eyed the red crescent with a
silly sense of resentment, as if the moon were responsible for all that had
happened in the past few years—and all that was sure to come.

Kelyn followed his gaze. “The first
night the Warrior Moon rose by himself was the same night Rhorek died. I didn’t
think anything of it at first. But now it seems fitting. You knew, I suppose.”

Thorn glanced down at the onyx ring
upon his hand. Rhorek’s gift to him. His fingers had thickened; the only way he
could remove the ring now was to cut off his finger. “I heard he was ill a long
time. I would’ve come, but I don’t visit sick beds anymore.”

“No, I suppose not.” Kelyn leaned
heavily against the battlement. “I’m glad Father died in battle, rather than
suffer for weeks like Mother and Rhorek. I guess it wouldn’t have been
appropriate for Rhorek to die on the field. He was never one for war. So what
about this war you—”

“What of Valryk?” Thorn
interrupted. A few more moments of peace, that’s all he wanted. “What kind of
king is he?”

Kelyn glowered at him. His
resentment was a crackling wave rolling over Thorn. “It’s too early to tell,”
he said at last. “He’s intelligent, quick-witted, but impulsive. He’ll beggar
the crown yet with all his building projects. And after a year he still seems
closed to advisement. His council speaks, and he shuts us off. He sent his
mother back to Rhyverdane. All her experience, and he has no use for it. He has
as little use for me. You’d think all those years I trained him would have made
us friends, but no. The past few months have been all too quiet, mostly because
Valryk sends for Kethlyn instead.”

While Thorn listened, his gaze swept
the hills and valleys. It had become a habit, this watching. The sea of land
around them appeared empty and benign, but Thorn knew better. Across the
Avidan, crowds gathered on the edges of wide fields, cheering on teams of mules
and men behind sharpened plows. The rich earth rolled aside in black curls. Below
the castle walls, tables and stalls were set up for the selling of wool and
pies, ceramics and furniture. People bartered for the things that caught their
eye; boisterous voices wafted up the walls on the updraft.

How untroubled, these who had no inkling
that a storm raged beyond the edge of sight. Thorn lifted a short, bitter
prayer to the Mother-Father that these good folk might live forever in blissful
ignorance. But he suspected the storm was about to spin through their quiet
lives.

He crossed the tower turret and
examined the fortress grounds. Ilswythe’s gates stood open; villagers and
visitors came and went freely.

“Did you hear me?” Kelyn asked.

Forcing a casual shrug, Thorn
addressed the matter at hand, “You’ll have to advise Kethlyn, then.”

“That hasn’t been easy either.”

“They’re young. Eager to get things
done in their own way. They probably get tired of you old folks thinking them
incompetent.”

“
Old
folks?”

Thorn grinned. “You could be Valryk’s
father, Kelyn. That makes you old. Give him time. He may need to make a few
mistakes before he realizes he needs you.”

Kelyn grunted in a way that implied
he agreed and didn’t like it.

Thorn’s gaze locked on a boy in the
stable yard, and he forgot about kings and grouchy, neglected advisers. “Who is
that?” The skinny sapling of a kid sponged down Thorn’s black horse. Rhian’s
stood nearby, white suds dripping down her flanks. The boy, as blond as the
dawn, was about ten years old and had long limbs and oversized feet that hinted
at a potential for great height. At first, Thorn mistook him for an Elaran
child, until he remembered where he was. “Those snobby animals can’t abide
human touch, but look at them.” Thorn had left strict orders to leave the
horses tethered until he and Rhian could come see to their comfort themselves,
but both were enrapt with the boy. When he carried his bucket to the well for a
refill, they tried to follow him. He jabbed a finger at the cobblestones
ordering them to stay put, and they obeyed, standing forlorn in the soapy puddle.

“That’s Jaedren, my newest squire,”
Kelyn said.

“Whose son is he?”

Kelyn grinned. “Look again, and you
tell me.”

Thorn studied the boy. He was about
to give up the game, when the squire dropped the sponge and bent to retrieve
it. Thorn laughed. “That cannot be Laral’s boy.”

“His youngest.”

“His
youngest
?”

“Aye. His girl is sixteen, I
believe. And there’s another boy in between.”

“Goddess, we
are
old,” Thorn
whined. “And Laral’s growing old with us. How splendid. I’ll be sure to point
it out to him next time I see him.”

“The middle boy,” Kelyn went on,
“he’s sickly. He wanted to stay at Ilswythe with his younger brother. I agreed,
but Bethyn flatly told me no. I wasn’t about to cross her. Nobody crosses that
little woman. Not even Laral.”

“Do they visit often?”

“No, sadly. Too much distrust, I
think, and pain. But Eliad invited them to Drenéleth last fall, and Laral’s
boys didn’t let him refuse.”

“Years ago he told me … I’m afraid
to look ….” He blinked to focus his Veil Sight. Fingers of light shimmered around
the boy, reaching as high as the parapets. “Goddess, curse you, but I knew it.”

“What’s wrong?”

Thorn breathed deeply to cool his
anger. “Do you know if Laral’s other children are avedra?”

“Jaedren’s
avedra
?”

“Shh.”

“What, is that word taboo now?”

“Before the Battle of Tor Roth, I
warned Laral this was a possibility. For a moment I thought
he
was
avedra. He told me he’d never seen fairies or understood birdsong,
and
that he would never have a family. I wish he’d kept his word.”

“Why would you wish such a thing?”

“Bad times, that’s why.”

“This war you mentioned?” Kelyn fired
the question before Thorn could cut him off again. “And this sword. Since when
do you wear a sword?”

“Since I’ve been hunted.”

“Look, are you going to tell me
what this is about or keep me worrying?”

“Keep worrying. Tonight, when
everyone is joined in the dances, we’ll talk.”

“Why not now, damn it?”

Thorn ignored the demand and
started for the stairwell. “As soon as Jaedren is free, I need to speak with
him. I’ll be in the library.”

Kelyn grabbed his sleeve.

“Be patient!” Thorn snapped. “It’s
vital I begin Carah’s training as soon as possible. Jaedren’s, too, now. That’s
why I came back. All right?”

“Why didn’t you come two years ago,
as you’d promised, train her then?”

Thorn sighed. He had misjudged so
much. Even that. Especially that. “I thought I could protect her better out
there.” He gestured toward the horizon, any horizon.

“
Protect
her?”

Thorn laid a gentle hand on Kelyn’s
arm. “She’ll be safer when she can protect herself. We’ll talk tonight.
Promise.”

~~~~

T
horn sat across the table
from Etivva. The dust fell softly around them, settling on the shelves and
books almost audibly in the stiff silence. The shaddra’s mouth pinched thin
with worry while she digested all Thorn had told her. In her sixties now,
Etivva’s dark desert hair would be white if she permitted it to grow. Brown
fingers fiddled uneasily with an inkpot. Her response rolled out slow and
careful, “I was not unaware of the signs. Not long after you left the last time,
m’ lord, I felt it. I thought, yes, times are changing. The world is not the
same as it was yesterday. I felt the shift in the Triangle. The unbalance
began. Soon everyone was speaking of the vanishings. I will pray to Ana that
they do not portend what you say, but I think … I think the Mother-Father is angry.”

It relieved Thorn to hear his old
tutor confirm his suspicions. “Do you remember when we talked of my encounter
with the Mother-Father?”

“Of course.”

“I didn’t tell you everything she
said. I still won’t. But she warned me that the days to come wouldn’t be easy.
For any of her children, she said. She told me that her Third Children, her
avedrin, exist for this very era, Etivva. And yet we’re all slowly
disappearing.”

“You think someone is aware of the
Mother’s game and tries to … how do you say? … head her off?”

“Game, eh? I never expected
you
to put it so crassly, but yes. I think I know who’s behind it, and they—”

Etivva stopped him with an uplifted
finger. A boot scuffed the tiles in the corridor. Thorn had been so happy to
see Etivva that he’d left the library doors standing open. He admonished
himself for his oversight.

“Master squire?” Etivva called. “It
is rude to linger in doorways, you know. Get in here.”

A boy groaned and peeked around a
bookshelf, certainly expecting a scolding. Prepared to bear the shaddra’s wrath,
Jaedren squared his shoulders and aimed his eyes at the wall over her head in
true soldier’s fashion.

Etivva’s tongue stabbed deep into her
scarred cheek. Waving the boy closer, she told Thorn, “This one I enjoy
tutoring. Unlike your niece and nephew. Lord Jaedren is far more patient and
diligent in his studies, a blessing in my old age.” She vacated her chair and gestured
him into it. He hesitated, however, distracted by an intent study of the stranger
at the table.

Thorn smiled. “You have your
father’s gray eyes.”

Jaedren slid into the chair.
“Yessir.”

Etivva patted his wiry shoulder,
saying to them, “I’ll be below.” Her shaved head bobbed lower and lower, round
and round, as she descended the spiral iron stair to the ledger room. Her
quarters were there, too, and her shrine to the Mother-Father.

“You’re His Lordship’s brother,”
Jaedren said, confident of his assessment. “His twin.”

“I’m Kieryn Dathiel. Thorn to you,
as I am to your father.”

“Yessir.”

Thorn grinned at the typical
Laral-ish reply.

“Let’s get down to business, shall
we? Even though you and I don’t know each other, I need to ask some nosey questions.
And you need to be as honest as you can. Even if the answers might seem … well,
kinda silly.”

Jaedren shrugged. “You’re going to
ask me about fairies and stuff. Right?”

Thorn blink in surprise. “How do
you reckon that?”

“My fairy told me. At least, I
think that’s what she is. I see her in dreams sometimes. She’s … a blue light.
Bright blue, kinda like the soldiers’ uniforms. Even her hair is blue. She
tells me stuff.”

Using Veil Sight, Thorn found the
fairy hovering over the boy’s shoulder. Saffron’s soft golden light glowed
nearby, and the two fairies chatted in their own strange, singing language.
“What stuff does she tell you?” Thorn leaned forward on the table, intrigued.

“She told me her name is Aster,”
Jaedren said, shyness giving way to excitement, “you know, like the flower. She
told me that as long as she’s with me, nothing bad will happen to me. So I’m
never scared. Not even of the dark.”

“What about birds?” Thorn asked.

“Am I afraid of birds?”

Thorn laughed. “No, I mean, do
birds say things as well?”

“Sure,” the boy said, as if it were
the most natural thing in the world. “They sing to the Mother-Father a lot.
They tell other birds to stay away from them. Birds can be kinda mean to one
another, you know, defending their territories and nests and all. And just a
little while ago, your horses were very demanding.”

“Oh, they were?” How extraordinary
that no one had told this boy to ignore the voices.

“Oh, yes,” he insisted, fists going
to his hips in a paternal manner. “I was told to leave them be, saddled and
all, but when I walked by them, they said they wanted to be fed
now
. So
I fed them. But then they said I didn’t feed them enough. And I said, ‘I’m
feeding you the same as I feed all the other horses, so be quiet.’ They snorted
and stomped. Real pouts, those two. They even insulted the other horses and
called them ‘common.’ But those horses belong to His Lordship, so I didn’t know
what that meant. But I got them to behave. They liked their baths, so they like
me now, too.”

Thorn shook himself from the tale
and asked, “Have you ever told anyone else about these things?”

“Only Andy. He’s my older brother.
I was going to tell Mum and Da, too, but Andy said I shouldn’t. He said they
might not understand. But
you
understand, don’t you, Thorn?”

“Yes, son,” he said, trying to hide
his sorrow. “Most avedrin have a fay guardian and understand birds and other things.”

Jaedren’s eyebrows knitted. “I’m
avedrin?”

“Avedra,” Thorn corrected,
resolving to teach the boy basic Elaran. “And, yes, you are.”

“His Lordship told me you’re
avedra. So is Lady Carah, and that other man who came here with you. A long
time ago, Etivva had me read about the avedras—”

“Aved
rin
—”

“Yessir, but I never guessed
I
was one. What am I supposed to do?”

Charmed right down to his toes,
Thorn said, “First, no one but His Lordship and Her Grace need to know. People
have always had an aversion to we avedrin, but now things are … getting a
little less friendly for us.”