Courage of falcons Page 3

  'Then, at the moment of his death, Solander spoke into the Veil. "More time," he cried. "I am not done here."

  'From within and beyond the Veil the gods listened, and though his body was broken beyond saving, they had pity on Solander, and did not call his soul away from the world. Instead, in sight of Dragons and Falcons, Solander took form as a sun, as a light unto the world, rising from his shattered shell.

  'And he spoke to all who watched, saying to them, "I am with you still."

  'And at his words the Dragons feared, and the Falcons rejoiced.' "

  Jaim said, "His body is dead, but his soul is... that light?"

  "I believe so."

  "Then what will happen to him now?"

  Dùghall touched the darkened viewing glass. "We can only wait to see."

  Chapter 3

  The carriage rattled over the cobblestone paving of Shippers Lane, in the Vagata District of Calimekka one of the few streets open to wheeled traffic during daylight hours. It made poor time; the driver jockeyed for place with wagons filled with ships' stores bound for the harbor, with donkeys, mules, and oxen pulling farm carts laden with produce just arrived from the country, with public coaches carrying merchants to and from their warehouses and private coaches bringing the rich to and from their ships.

  Kait held Ry's hand; it was the first time she had been able to touch him since they came to Calimekka to infiltrate the Dragons' city. Now the two of them were alone except for Ian, and Ian kept his eyes pressed to the peephole at the rear of the carriage. Kait knew he was looking for trouble that might be coming after them, but she suspected he didn't want to have to watch her sitting so close to Ry, either. Both his desire for her and his pain in knowing she loved Ry had been clear in his eyes when he'd rescued the two of them from the cages. And every time he looked in her direction, she could see it still.

  Ry leaned over and brushed the side of Kait's neck with his lips. "I love you," he whispered, too low for any but another Karnee to hear.

  She squeezed his hand and murmured, "I love you, too."

  "I have rooms waiting for us in one of the harbor inns," Ian said. He was still on his knees on the rear bench of the carriage with his back to them, clinging to the handholds and staring out the peephole. "You'll find forged papers in the packet beside you. You're to be Parat and Parata Bosoppffer, from the village of Three Parrots Mountain, first names Rian and Kaevi. Those were as close to your actual names as I could come using backcountry names. You're minor affiliates of the Masschanka Family taking passage for Birstislavas in the New Territories, where you're to homestead. You attended the funeral of Tirkan Bosoppffer, who was buried today his legacy to you was the lands in the Territories that you now go to claim. Your papers are very good," he noted in an aside. "They would hold up if you used them to take passage, and would probably get you your homestead deed when you arrived if you chose to leave Calimekka."

  "We won't be leaving the city," Kait said. "The Dragons are still here, and as long as they are, no one and no place is safe. As much as I would like to never see this city again, there's nowhere else we can go."

  Ian turned and nodded at her. A wry smile twisted one corner of his mouth. "I expected you'd say that. I still wanted to give you the option of escape." He turned back to his peephole. "We'll have to be in the inn for two or three days. Traffic along the Palmetto Cliff Road is watched now for us to get to Galweigh House, we're going to have to get a donkey to carry the Mirror of Souls and pack in over one of the mountain paths."

  "You have forged papers that will explain what we're doing heading there, too?" Kait asked.

  "No. No one goes to Galweigh House by any path. If we're caught on our way there, we'll most likely die."

  Ry sighed. He told Ian, "Since Kait and I jumped off a cliff to get here, I've been operating on the theory that I'm already dead. It's given me a whole new appreciation for every moment of my life, and has allowed me to keep from panicking."

  Kait looked at him, interested. "Does that work?"

  He looked over at her and grinned. "You'd be amazed. The guards came running at me with swords drawn when they caught on to us; I thought, I'm already dead what can they do to me? So I shouted to warn you, and stood to fight, hoping to create a distraction and give you time to escape. Didn't work... but I still think it was the right thing to do."

  Kait thought about it for a long moment, and decided to give it a try. She visualized herself still, gray-skinned, eyes dulled and open and staring at nothing, breath stopped. I'm already dead, she told herself, and forced her protesting mind to believe it. Already dead. Already dead. In a strange way, it was comforting. The instant she conceded her death, she had already lost everything she had to lose. She became indestructible. She could suddenly focus on what she had to do instead of on her fear of dying. Her goals and the logical steps she would have to take to reach them rose smoothly out of the background chatter of her mind, and the ceaseless shrill monkey voice that howled warning of her imminent destruction stilled. "That works," she said. "That actually helps."

  Ry nodded.

  Ian was less impressed. He said, "As I was saying, you have new identities to use before we get to Galweigh House. But you'll need to change into the clothes I brought for you now. We'll have a checkpoint coming up soon you need to look like poor relations just come from a funeral." He had stripped off his soldier's uniform as soon as they'd jumped into the carriage, and already wore his disguise. Dressed in a silk tunic embroidered with copper thread, deep blue pleated balloon breeches, and calf-high embroidered black cloth boots, and with his cropped hair covered by a long blond wig, he looked like the sort of man who could afford to rent a four-horse funeral carriage for himself and his poorer relations.

  "Where are the clothes?" Kait asked.

  "Compartment above your heads. You have a few moments, but do hurry."

  Ry stood, swaying with the movement of the carriage, and handed down a bundle of green cloth to Kait. He pulled out another bundle, this one brown.

  Kait pulled on the outfit Ian had obtained for her. It had once been intended to ape the fashionable funeral wear of the upper classes, though its dyes were muddy and its fabrics cheap. With the cut of it several seasons past its prime, it had descended from merely ugly to truly hideous. As she tightened the laces on the bodice and adjusted the ankle ties of the leg wraps, she decided she definitely looked like somebody's poor third cousin.

  In the time she had taken to get dressed, Ry had scrambled into his new clothes. His were equally ugly but she thought he looked good in them nonetheless.

  He looked at himself, grimaced, then looked at her. "Yodee hoder," he said in a broad backcountry accent. "Let's send Uncle Tirkan off with banana beer and an all-night stomp. And when we're done, you can tuck up your skirts and we can go plow the fields."

  Ian turned away from the peephole for a moment and studied the two of them. He shrugged. "You look like every other poor parat or parata leaving Calimekka for a fresh start. If you could afford silks and jewels here, why would you be traveling to the New Territories to make your fortunes?" He turned around and sat down on the bench facing the two of them. "Get your papers out," he said. "The checkpoint is just ahead. By the way, should you be asked, I'm Ian Bosoppffer, your first cousin, just arrived from the Territories to take you back with me."

  Kait nodded, memorizing his story and Ry's as well as her own. Her heartbeat picked up. The Mirror of Souls lay nestled in the compartment beneath Ian, easily found by even the most cursory search.

  "Get ready," Ry said, and gave her hand a final squeeze.

  "I'm ready," Kait said. "At least as ready as I can be."

  He told her, "They may know by now that we're gone. If they question us, or if they want to search the carriage, we're going to have to kill them."

  "I know."

  Ry said, "We can't let them get the Mirror back."

  "I know that, too."

  The carriage rattled to a stop. A guard pulled
the door open and leaned inside. "Apologies for interrupting you at your time of loss," he said, "but I'll have to see your papers." He gave each of their faces a cursory look, but Kait knew from experience with Family guards that in that quick glance he'd catalogued myriad details about them that he would be able to recall again if questioned.

  Ry handed the man his and Kait's forged documents, and Ian handed over his own papers.

  The guard studied her papers and Ry's first. He read the notations and snorted. "Three Parrots Mountain? Zagtasht preserve you!" He handed Ry the papers and said, "Here's some free advice, country boy. People in the city aren't like the ones you know. When you get to your rooms, stay there and hold your vigil in private. Don't play dice with the sailors, don't buy drinks for the whores, and don't go walking down backstreets with men who have a wondrous device to show you that is guaranteed to make your fortune."

  Ry nodded solemnly. "I won't." His accent was pure hillslogger.

  The guard said, "You think you won't. But you'll do something equally stupid, I'll bet you, and lose your ship fare and then you'll be stranded here like the thousand other yokels who thought they knew what cities were about."

  He studied Ian's papers next. After an equally quick glance, he shrugged. "You've made it to the Territories and back already, eh?"

  "Yes."

  "Then maybe you know a bit about the city. Keep them smart, would you?" He returned his attention to Ry. This time the glance was intent, not cursory.

  Kait felt a chill crawl down her spine.

  Ry shrugged.

  The guard finally said, "You remind me of the last hillslogger I warned to stay out of trouble. He ended up back at the guardstation the same gods'-damned night, weeping about his lost life savings and wondering how he was ever going to reach his claim in the Territories." The guard gave a disgusted snort and stepped down from the carriage. "As if in this city we could find the trickster who gulled him out of his gold and get the whoreson to give it back." He slammed the carriage door and waved up to the driver. "Move it. Next!"

  When they were through, Ry sagged against Kait's side.

  "What's the matter?"

  "I knew him," Ry said. "He was one of the gate guards at Sabir House before I came after you. His name is... damnall. What is it. Lerri? Herri? No, but that's close. Guerri? That's it. Guerri. What's worse, he knows me, too. He hasn't connected my face with who I am yet, but he will."

  Ian grimaced. "We should have killed him, then."

  Ry shook his head. "No. We wouldn't have made it past the checkpoint. We may have time to lose ourselves at the harbor. We'd better get new papers, though."

  Kait looked from Ry to Ian. "He knew who you were, Ry," she said. "He knew. I saw an instant of surprise in his eyes when first he looked at you. I didn't know what to make of it, and when he didn't say anything, I thought perhaps I'd imagined it."

  "Nonsense," Ian said. "If he'd recognized Ry, he would have sounded the alarm. He could have been a wealthy man for turning him in a fact I know he knows. The decree of Ry's barzanne is posted in all the guardhouses, in the dorms, and on the public posts."

  Kait looked at Ry. "I'm sure he knew you," she insisted.

  Ry leaned his head against the wooden headrest and closed his eyes. "I was good to him when he worked at the gate," he said thoughtfully. "Nothing spectacular... but I remembered his name, and I gave him small gifts for Haledan's Festival and the Feast of the Thousand Holies."

  Ian raised an eyebrow. "Considering what the rest of our Family is like, you must have seemed a veritable saint to him."

  "The Sabirs earned their bad reputation for their dealings with other Families," Ry said stiffly. "They weren't cruel to those who served them."

  Ian said, "It was my Family, too, brother. Remember? I spent my first years in that House, and saw plenty of cruelty aimed at those who served. My mother was one of those who served."

  Ry shrugged. "Perhaps you're right. In any case, he didn't turn us in, and if Kait's right and he did recognize me, I don't think he will turn us in."

  "I hope she's right. He knows the names we're traveling under, our faces, our cover story, and our general destination. If he sends the Sabir guards after us in the next few days, they won't have any trouble tracking us down."

  Chapter 4

  Hasmal's last words still rang in his own mind like the pure tones of a meditation bell. Dùghall, hear me. I want more time. I am not done here.

  He was dead, he knew and he could feel the pull of the Veil still tugging at him like the waves of an outgoing tide pulling at a piece of driftwood. But the light that infused his soul gave him strength to resist the pull, and his mind remained his own not confused, not lost and uncomprehending as he had heard minds became when people died suddenly by violence. He knew exactly what had happened to him. Crispin Sabir had finished killing him. And Vodor Imrish had heard his summons and answered his prayer. Even dead, Hasmal now had at least a little time to finish the things he had left undone, and though he was not sure of how everything worked in this new state of being, he knew that he had within his grasp the means to effect change.

  He rose slowly, feeling an unnerving pull as his spirit separated from his body. As his flesh fell away, he felt both lighter and cleaner. But he also felt the first wave of terrible loss. His heart cried out for Alarista; he knew he would never hold her again; never touch her; never kiss her; never make love to her. The last words they had spoken were the last words they would ever speak; the last kiss they had shared would be the final one. His dreams of having children with her, of growing old together those were gone.

  He hoped their souls would reunite beyond the Veil that they would share their afterlife, or that they would be reborn into other bodies where they could share other lives. It was something to hope for. But the happiness of this moment, this love, this life, was now behind him.

  He hung in the air for a moment, staring down at his dead self lying on the table, and he grieved. He had wanted so much more.

  Then he drew himself together. Vodor Imrish had not given him this second chance so that he could mourn his own death. He was a Falcon he had sworn himself to the service of good, and while he existed in any form as Hasmal rann Dorchan, son of Hasmal rann Halles, he had work to do.

  He felt certain that Dùghall had heard his last words. He'd felt the old master's presence just before the Dragon soul of Dafril was ripped from Crispin's body. He felt equally certain that Dùghall would realize that he intended to bind his soul to the plane of the living as Solander the Reborn was rumored to have done, so that he could carry out the destiny that had been stolen from him by the Dragons. Now he had to hope that Dùghall would find a way to provide an open channel for him, as the Secret Texts said Vincalis had provided an open channel for Solander after his death.

  Hasmal would not try to become another Reborn. Not for an instant did he believe Vodor Imrish had intended any such destiny for him. But his god had put him in the hands of Dafril, a powerful Dragon who had bragged to him that he and he alone had been the creator of the original Mirror of Souls. And his god had allowed him to see Dafril captured and rendered helpless, while the body Dafril had inhabited had remained close at hand. If the rightful occupant of that body, Crispin Sabir, had killed him, Hasmal believed Vodor Imrish had allowed it for a reason. He believed he had died so that he could achieve the one form which would allow him to obtain the information the Falcons needed to conquer the Dragons once and for all.

  Vodor Imrish was not a god of war; he didn't destroy perfectly good worshipers to take pleasure in the spectacle of their deaths as did the gods of war. He had no love of blood for the sake of blood, nor of pain for the pleasure of pain. He would make good use of the dead as he made good use of the living.

  Crispin Sabir still stood in the spot from which he had killed Hasmal. Hasmal could tell that Crispin could see him, too; the Wolf's eyes were fixed on the place where he floated, and his breathing was faster than normal, and shal
lower. Hasmal could feel Crispin's fear vibrating in the air.

  He found that he could will himself to move in any direction with a thought. He began to float slowly toward Crispin, not certain of what he would do when he reached him, but certain that Crispin needed to be his first destination.

  The Wolf hummed with magic power, Hasmal realized, that he had drawn from the energy of Hasmal's death. As Hasmal moved toward him, Crispin attacked with that magic.

  The magic that Crispin had intended to be a weapon, however, did not act like a weapon when it encountered Hasmal's insubstantial form. It flowed through Hasmal, but didn't harm him. Instead, it fed him back the life-force that Crispin had stolen, making him stronger and further clearing his mind. The spell attached to the energy, though, rebounded on Crispin, and the rewhah energy that came from the death-powered spell hit the Wolf at the same instant. The combined forces of spell and rewhah stunned the Wolf, pinning his feet to the ground. Hasmal felt the vibration of Crispin's fear rise in intensity.