Courage of falcons Read online

  He sat up, thinking that if he Shifted, the collar around his neck would get tighter but the bracelets around his wrists and ankles would grow loose enough that he could shake them free. The question was, would the collar get so tight that it would strangle him before he could complete the Shift and return to human form? He had no wish to die in such an ironic fashion. Neither did he wish for Ulwe to see him as a beast. Someday he knew she would have to, but not yet. Not yet.

  "Parat," a voice nearby whispered, "you've escaped as well."

  "So it would seem." He searched out the source of the voice, and discovered that it belonged to Ilari, one of his personal guards. "How did you get away?"

  "I had nothing to do with it. Some horror grabbed me and dragged me out here, telling me all the while what it wished it could do to me, and poking at me in the most disgusting fashion." She was crawling around the trees toward him, watching the gate for any signs of pursuit. She glanced at Ulwe. "You got her away from them."

  "After a fashion." He smiled at his daughter.

  "Good. I rejoice for you. But..." Ilari nodded toward the House. "They'll be after us before long. I need to get that chain off of you before we have to run."

  "You can do that?"

  "I'm good with locks. And I have my hairpins no one thought to take them from me."

  He saw then that she no longer wore her chains.

  "Who else got free?"

  "I'm not sure. We seem to be scattered about. Of our number, I saw Guibeall die he and Hixcelie killed each other. And Theth died, too."

  Crispin and Ilari could take Ulwe and escape together if they had to if more of his personal guard had gotten free, so much the better. He suspected those nightmares from inside the House had carried the rest of his surviving troops outside and dumped them; he should have other loyal fighters to guard his back. And that gave him a sudden, tremendous advantage. The last thing the Galweighs would expect was another attack immediately. He would have Aouel's throat in his teeth before the night ended he had sworn to it. And he would eliminate the Galweighs who still survived he would make them pay for stealing his child.

  Ilari, crouched behind him, neatly sprung the locks on the bracelets and collar, and they fell away. Crispin rubbed his wrists and ankles and throat briefly, then said, "Let's gather up the others who escaped. We're going back in. This time, we'll truly have surprise on our side."

  * * *

  Ulwe rested a hand on his forearm and shook her head. "No, Papa. You dare not. Trouble comes, and you must be well away from here before it arrives."

  Crispin looked down into that earnest young face the face in which he saw both a mirror of himself and of the one woman he had mistakenly loved so long ago and for a moment he hesitated. He could take Ulwe from this place without exacting revenge; after all, he had the most important part of what he'd come for. But he felt Dùghall's memories in the back of his mind, and Ry's as well. He felt their distaste for him, their lack of respect for who he was and what he had accomplished as both a wizard and a man, and he knew that if he crept away without making them pay for what they had done, they would gloat. And they would spread stories of his weakness around the city.

  Crispin had too many enemies. Any of them would leap at the first sign that he had lost his edge; he dared not let those who had stolen from him, who had shamed him, live.

  He gently lifted Ulwe's chin with his index finger and said, "We go back in, Ulwe. But you will be safe. I will see to it." Then he turned to Ilari and said, "Let's hunt now."

  Ilari grinned, and Crispin liked the way her teeth gleamed in the darkness. "We'll get them, Parat."

  He flashed his own grin. "We will indeed."

  * * *

  They'll come back," Dùghall said.

  Kait said, "Surely not. They barely escaped by all rights they should be our captives."

  Dùghall nodded. "But they aren't. They escaped, and they have Ulwe... and now Crispin must think of his pride and his reputation. We stole his daughter. He will have to kill us for the crime, or die trying."

  Kait started to ask him why he thought that, but she already knew. Crispin's memories twisted inside of her mind, too, and when she allowed herself to touch them, she felt the utter truth in Dùghall's words. "But we'll beat them. We can get Ulwe back."

  Dùghall was shaking his head. "She chose. For whatever reason, she decided to be with him. We have to let her go." He stared out into the darkness and said, "I don't like the feel of this night. I don't like the way the air moves, or the way sounds carry. Something is wrong."

  "Something beyond Crispin attacking us again?"

  Dùghall turned to Aouel. "How much fuel is in the airible?" "Not much. And the right rear engine was knocking by the time we landed."

  Dùghall said, "You have the men to fix these things?"

  "We should find most of what we need the Sabirs never could clear all the fuel from the wells. The House fought them too hard."

  "Go, then. We probably don't have much time."

  "Why must we flee? Why can't we let the House itself fend them off?" Kait asked.

  "Because," Dùghall said, "the voices of uncounted dead Falcons whisper to me that now is the time to make a strategic retreat. If enough enemies come against us, the living will outstrip the capacity of the dead to remove them. The House can hold off small forces nearly indefinitely if it has the corpses to feed the spell. And it can clear large forces eventually again, if enough die to keep the ghosts fed. But if we are overrun, we could be lost. Flight is always a better option than pointless death."

  Kait stared out the window. "But there are no large forces. There are only those we have already defeated and they are fewer now than they were the first time."

  "Sometimes, Kait, it pays to listen to instinct."

  She looked over at him thoughtfully. She would have argued... but in her gut, too, she felt the sudden urge to be elsewhere. Karnee senses, perhaps, or just the scent of wrongness in the night air. Whatever it was, it decided her. "There are a few things I would take with me."

  "Fetch them then, but be quick."

  * * *

  Anwyn, his deformities hidden by mask and cloak and special clothing, had led his half of the mob up the easier incline of the Avenue of Triumph. His cousin Andrew had brought the other half up the Path of Gods. Both mobs kept silent a surprising feat in itself, for they were not composed of trained soldiers, but primarily of angry survivors seeking revenge for the deaths of loved ones.

  From his vantage point at the top of the great road of the Ancients, he could see the flickering of torches moving steadily up the distant Path of Gods. His own line had already come to a halt, deployed more or less in lines around the base of the wall from the west side of Galweigh House to its north. Andrew's forces would surround the House from the east to the north. The south, being built over the Palmetto Cliff, was inaccessible.

  He moved his ladder carriers to the front of his ragged lines and, when he was sure his people were in place and fairly sure they would hold, ran north behind their lines to meet up with Andrew, where the two of them planned to give the sign to attack.

  But instead of Andrew running along the cleared space between the great white wall and the jungle, he found Crispin loping toward him, with a pretty young girl, a few of his personal guard, and a handful of Sabir troops in tow, wearing a fierce grin on his handsome face.

  Anwyn smiled beneath his mask, and held up a gauntleted hand. "Hold!"

  Crispin slowed, then stopped. His grin faltered. "Brother," he said, "your timing is perfect. We can catch all of them in there if we hurry."

  "Brother?" Anwyn's voice sounded hollow beneath the metal armor. "Who are you to call me brother?" Behind him, the mob shifted. A soft whisper the hiss of a bag full of snakes poised to strike rose from them. Andrew and a few of his horde closed the gap between them, boxing in Crispin and his people from the other side.

  Crispin's eyes narrowed, and he said, "Anwyn, what game are you play
ing?"

  "I play no game. We came to find those responsible for the death of half of Calimekka. We find... you. You and the brat you kept secret from your own Family. You claim you had no part in the disaster?"

  "Of course I had no part in the disaster. I'm here for the same reason you are."

  "And yet, you did not come with us, and you did not come with Andrew. And no one traveled these roads ahead of us. We posted guards. We sent scouts. How can you claim that you were not already here, that you are not part of the evil that comes from this place?"

  "We came here to rescue my daughter the Galweighs had her. We arrived by airible," Crispin snarled. "You moron, you know how we got here."

  * * *

  Andrew's people had cut Crispin and his daughter off from Crispin's troops; now Andrew and three of his men moved to surround them. "When he's dead, I get the little girl," Andrew said. He giggled.

  Anwyn was disgusted. He needed to kill Andrew soon. But not tonight. Tonight he still needed him. "You can have the girl," he said. "When all of this is finished."

  * * *

  Crispin, one hand on Ulwe's shoulder, backed slowly until he could back no farther. He stood against the wall of Galweigh House with Andrew and Anwyn and their mobs between him and his people. He was trapped. He had only Ulwe at his side, and she would be useless in a fight. Worse than useless, he thought. A liability. He stared down at her, thinking that he had used girls like her any number of times as sacrifices to fuel his magic but as a sacrifice, she would stand as far above those girls as a paraglesa stood above a commoner; she was, after all, his own daughter. His own blood. With the power he could draw from her life, he could utterly destroy those who hid behind the walls of Galweigh House Dùghall, Ry, Kait, and the rest. He would have his vengeance on them. Further, he thought he would be able to craft a quick removal spell that would allow him to escape from his brother and his cousin and their horde of rabble. He could, if he aimed the spell carefully, destroy both Anwyn and Andrew; a sacrifice as enormous as a daughter would confer tremendous power. He might save Ilari or the others of his guard. He could certainly save himself. He could certainly hope for the immortality he so desired. He would not be beaten.

  Andrew licked his lips and grinned at Ulwe, and beneath the palm of his hand, Crispin felt her shudder. A quick death would be better for her than what Andrew would do to her. And if he did not take some action, he would certainly die, and she would just as certainly become Andrew's toy. Eventually, she would also die. It was that "eventually" that so chilled him.

  She looked up at him, and in her face he saw himself, and a poignant image of a love lost in his distant past, when he was a better man. When he had been less hungry for power, less frightened of life, less twisted by the choices he had made.

  His options, then. Ulwe's merciful death at his hand, or his death at the hands of a mob and her slow, terrible destruction by Andrew?

  And then a third option presented itself. It came not from him, but from memories not his own that resided within him.

  He could use Falcon magic, and with Falcon magic, he could save Ulwe.

  He had never followed the Falcon path he had always known of it, as scholars in any field know something of the errant fools who practice bizarre offshoots of their own sensible discipline. But as he touched the old man's memories inside his head, he could feel Falcon magic. He could draw from his own life-force, from his own will and blood and flesh and spirit, and with his sacrifice of himself, he could send his daughter to safety. He could not use Falcon magic as a weapon; any magic that caused harm required sacrifice and also rebounded on its sender. So with Falcon magic, he could not destroy his enemies. He could clearly feel the range of his power, too, and, assessed as Dùghall would have assessed it, he could see that he was weak. He had not spent a lifetime developing the strength of character and the deep reserves of integrity that the old wizard had he had propped his magic on the lives of others, and had never paid his own price. As a result, he had no hope of saving himself and Ulwe with Falcon magic. He would be lucky to save her.

  And if he did sacrifice himself, where would Ulwe find safety? In that moment, he regretted terribly the fact that he had spent his life making enemies. He had no dear friend, no beloved companion, no sympathetic colleague with whom he could entrust his daughter's life.

  Andrew said, "I want her now," and tittered.

  Crispin heard Anwyn's disgusted snort; then, however, his voice boomed from behind the metal mask. "Give the child to Andrew; if you do so quickly and without causing difficulties, perhaps we can work something out for you."

  Crispin's mind raced. He had so little time, so much to do. Both spells were clear in his mind, both sets of words as obvious and simple as if they were written in front of him. And his choices, too, were clear. Sacrifice Ulwe and save everything he wanted even, perhaps, his chance of someday finding immortality. Or sacrifice his just vengeance, his pride, his future, and his life, and save his daughter.

  Or do nothing and lose this brief opportunity, and with it everything revenge, future, and daughter.

  "Papa, give me to the bad man," Ulwe whispered, looking up at him. "Then they will let you go." Her face was pale, her body trembled, and he could see tears welling in her eyes.

  His hands tightened on her shoulders, and his throat tightened so that he had to fight to breathe. "Not that," he whispered back, and kissed her lightly on the top of the head. Her hair was soft and smelled of hay and sunlight and girl; her skin was warm; and with his face so close to her, his Karnee ears easily picked up the bird-quick racing of her beating heart.

  His hand slipped to the dagger at his hip, and he drew it quickly, before he could let himself think about what he was doing or debate further the rightness of his action. He tightened his grip around Ulwe with his left forearm so that she could not run, and tilted his left palm upward; he slashed the dagger across his exposed flesh, and when his blood poured from the deep cut, he bellowed:

  "My flesh, my blood, my soul,

  Vodor Imrish!

  Yours for her life,

  For her freedom,

  For her safety.

  Take what you will,

  But first give me what I will."

  "Papa, no," Ulwe shrieked. "They'll kill you!" She tried to break free from his grip, but he caught her up in both hands, lifted her feet off the ground, and flung her into the air, focusing his will like an arrow toward the parapet of the wall high above him. The only place where he could hope she would be safe was among his enemies with Dùghall and Ry and Kait. His shame was complete... but his daughter would live.

  She shot toward the parapet like a doll tossed by a child, and landed lightly at the back edge. The stunned faces of the mob turned from her back to him; Andrew screamed like a pig at slaughter; Anwyn swore and called his personal guards to surround him.

  Crispin caught a quick glimpse of Ulwe's face staring down at him, and then he heard her screaming, "Kait! Kait! Come help him! They're going to kill him."

  He did not have time to watch what happened atop the wall, though, because in the next instant, Andrew was upon him, knife drawn, snarling like a madman. The Falcon magic had left Crispin weak and drained; he managed to block Andrew's first thrust, but felt the second slip past his guard and tear across his ribs, leaving a line of white-hot fire in its wake. He yelled, and felt the beast within waken and snarl and demand that he give himself over to it. Crispin could control the beast he had mastered Shift long ago but this time he did not. He let himself Shift; he let the trappings of humanity fall away from him like symptoms of a sickness, and he set the fanged, four-legged monster free.

  He heard screaming, but only peripherally. He tore off the sleeves of his tunic with his teeth, shrugged out of his cloak, and with a quick shudder worked free of boots and breeches. He grinned, his lips pulling back over fangs long as a man's thumb, and laid his ears flat against his head, and in a growl dragged through Shift-mangled vocal cords, he said, "C
ome a little closer, Andrew."

  The guards around them backed away. Andrew said, "Kill him, you fools," but perhaps none of the guards had cared for Andrew's leering after a little girl. None approached, and Crispin launched himself into the air, animate fury with dagger-sharp claws, and tore eight long slashes in Andrew's left shoulder and the left side of his face as he vaulted past.

  He landed, spun gracefully as any big cat, and coiled himself for the next spring.

  Andrew swore, and Crispin caught the thickening of Karnee scent in the air. He waited; Andrew began to Shift. Crispin attacked again when his cousin was caught in mid-Shift a clumsy creature neither man nor beast. He gouged out one eye and left the monster's throat a bloody mess. But the Karnee curse did not let its creatures die so quickly. Though the eye had ripped free of the socket and so was beyond repair, the gaping wound at Andrew's throat drew together and the bleeding stopped as quickly as the wound along Crispin's ribs had healed.