Storms of Victory (Witch World: The Turning) by Andre Norton
She sighed to herself. The Amber Lady knew, they had room to spare. Seakeep's household had ever been small for the size, of the tower, and it was smaller still since war and sickness had laid their lash on the Dales.
“As you will, my Lady,” he responded, masking his surprise with some difficulty.
Una of Seakeep smiled. She was accommodating more than their own folk with those arrangements. She could have been far more specific with respect to the type of warriors she hoped to engage, but she did not choose to speak of that lest he believe her reason had been reft from her. She herself half believed that part of her plan to be sheer madness when she dwelled on it, but she was determined to make the effort. Her chances of securing Seakeep's safety would be fully trebled if she did manage to succeed.
Unlikely as that hope might be, there was still the possibility that it might come to pass—slight, perhaps, but real for all that. The Una who was as close to her heart as a sister of her blood might have been and who was her sole confidante in this matter agreed with her that the attempt must be made, as she agreed that the importation of mercenaries was Seakeep's only real chance of surviving as an independent entity during the period ahead, little though either of them liked the idea of bringing strangers onto the Dale's ancient soil.
Her head raised. The time for her to begin was come.
“Take you charge now, old friend. I shall return as soon as I can, hopefully with swords sharp enough to turn Ogin's greed.”
2
All Falconers were trained from boyhood to handle themselves in and around water, and many of them loved the wild, alien element so well that they would not voluntarily seek a nonmarine commission. The mountains, the mystery and beauty of the highlands, held Tarlach too powerfully for even the awesome lure of the ocean to claim him that completely, but he had served aboard both war and merchant craft in the past and did not mislike the thought of doing so again should that work present itself.
He was undecided at this moment as to what course he and his comrades should follow, but he would have to choose, or allow fate to choose for him, fairly soon if they were not to see the merchants and innkeepers of this place devour the gains their swords had hard won for them.
Fortune had served them ill by freeing their swords this far from the centers of real trade and activity in High Hallack. Linna was not a bad town in itself, just too small and isolated to provide much opportunity for a company of this size.
Before the invasion by Alizon, Linna had been an insignificant village serving the few needs of the poorly endowed, rugged Dales of the surrounding region, but it had escaped the hostilities ravaging the greater part of High Hallack. It had possessed one of the few harbors remaining in the hands of the hard-pressed Dalesmen as well, a reasonably good one at that, and to it had come Sulcar ships, some blockading the coast to turn back Alizon's efforts to supply and reinforce its troops, some bearing much-needed supplies or equally welcome contingents of blank shields, often men of his race, eager to hire out their swords and battle skills.
Some of that bounty had survived the war's end. The harbor was deep and it was sheltered even when the Ice Dragon bit sharpest and roared the loudest, and sea captains found they could access a current not far off the coast which nearly doubled the power of the average wind to hurry them to the richer ports to the south. They continued to use the place, and so, too, had the merchants and traders drawn by the presence of their vessels. Indeed, many of them had established permanent dwellings and workplaces here, settling chiefly in the previously open area abutting the walls of the small Abbey where a handful of devout Dames had gathered to serve the Flame. Along with these additions to the community, a couple of new inns had joined the much enlarged original one close to the waterfront, all of which were still reasonably busy during the more temperate seasons of the year.
Apart from these changes, however, Linna had more or less resumed its old village identity and had all but reverted to the peaceful market town it had been probably since the Dales were first settled.
He sighed, and his fingers caressed Storm Challenger. The falcon did not move from his place on Tarlach's arm but raised his head to fix piercing, steady eyes on the human he had chosen as his comrade and mind-brother. He sensed the trouble on the man but opened no communication, knowing that was not wanted now.
Tarlach sighed again. It was right that peace should return to High Hallack, even as it was slowly returning to Estcarp across the sea. People everywhere had a surfeit of violence and wanted only to build and live their lives, each in his own way. Most would succeed in the end, and slowly the scars of pain, ruin, and death would be. eased.
Not for the Falconers. When those thrice-accursed Witches had moved the mountains, destroying the Eyrie along with the invading army sweeping into Estcarp, they had sealed the fate of his race, or so he feared and believed.
His kind followed a lifeway most other peoples found harsh and cold in the extreme. In the far past, they had sailed north in Sulcar ships, fleeing the curse that still loomed over them. With them had come their women and young, but they had traveled together in the sense that others moved with their herds and in no manner as kin with kin. Estcarp, the realm of the Witches, was closed to them because of this treatment of their females, but they had found refuge and a home in the mountains on its border. There they had raised the Eyrie as the seat of their warriors, who earned their way as mercenaries, and had established the ever-perilous women in several villages where they remained apart, unvisited save at certain set periods by men who came on command to copulate with them to ensure the continuation of their race. In time, segregation born of need had been reinforced by hatred and contempt for all human and near-human females, and Falconers sought no alliances, permanent or temporary, with any woman apart from those brief encounters required for breeding the next generation of fighters.
That had worked well enough with villages and Eyrie set well apart from neighboring peoples, and even then some women had departed, slipping, away from the mountains to seek richer lives elsewhere. How long could they be expected to remain in their present settlements within Estcarp? Another generation? Two? Hardly longer than that, he imagined Falconer men would not stay bound to such a life with other examples and opportunities all around them, and, however little he might think of them, he did not believe their temporary mates would do so forever, either.
Once more, he touched the great, war bird. Would the day finally come when no member of his species, not a single human being, would be able to share thought with these winged ones? If so, then their ancient foe had her vengeance on them for a fact even if she was never to regain the freedom to work it herself.
He gripped himself, trying to shake his spirit loose from the pall which had settled on him. The Horned Lord knew, he was tired! Perhaps all this only stemmed from that. .·. .
Storm Challenger's soft greeting returned him to his surroundings. He looked up to see another man approaching, this one also wearing the high-winged helm and stark armor of his race, A black, white-breasted falcon rode his wrist with the ease of long custom. Brennan, his chiefmost lieutenant.
“What news, Comrade?” he asked, making himself speak lightly so as not to burden the other with his gloom.
“None. I came abroad early to enjoy the morning and saw you.” He hesitated. “Something rides you, Tarlach?”
The mercenary captain shook his head.
“I was merely preoccupied.”
“Deeply preoccupied for you not to have been aware of our coming.—This has been so more than once of late.”
Tarlach made him no immediate answer but rather fixed his attention on the activity already bringing the harbor alive. Three vessels were in port. Two Sulcar craft were unloading what looked to be kegs of wine or ale. The third, a vaguely disreputable-looking merchantman of no readily apparent origin, seemed to be making early preparations for departure.
“None of them is nearly large enough to serve our needs,” he
“For the journey back to Estcarp or just southward?”
“I have not decided, but either way, we should do better than in our present situation. We have been here four weeks now without receiving an offer, nor are we likely to receive one the way I read it. Perhaps there are no suitable commissions left to be had anywhere in High Hallack.”
Brennan eyed his commander.
“You sound less than desperate about that possibility. You want us to return to Estcarp?”
Tarlach shrugged.
“We could all use some time in one of the camps. We have been fighting now almost without break since we came to High Hallack.” He straightened. “Whether we go or stay, it will be as a unit. We went forth as a company, and it behooves us to return so to the commandant.”
The lieutenant started to agree, but before he could speak, both war birds hissed angrily and took to the air. Even as they did so, sudden shouts and clamor announced battle near to hand.
Instinctively, the two Falconers raced toward the source of the disturbance, a narrow alley separating two warehouses.
A band of seven men, a press gang to judge by their apparent unwillingness to damage their victim despite his resistance, had forced a lone traveler into the close space and were attempting to overpower him before anyone could become aware of their attack and thwart it.
Their target seemed to be a youth or a very young man. His hooded journey cloak was of a style which proclaimed that he had come from this general region. Much more they could not see, for he was standing at an angle to them, and the garment concealed his features and the greater part of his body. Only the sword glinting in his hand was clear to view.
One of the ruffians sprang in behind the lad in the hope of felling him with a blow from the stout rod he carried, but, to the surprise of all, the boy whirled even as he moved. The bright blade stuck home before the larger man could bring his weapon to bear.
The traveler's face was now partly visible to the newcomers. It Was starkly white and stricken in a manner which suggested that he had not slain before, but horror of the killing had not fully crystallized in the enormous jade eyes before Tarlach drew sword and forced his way through the press gang, casting two of them roughly, to the ground as he went.
He put himself between the attackers and their prey.
“Let him be.”
“Try nothing foolish, carrion dogs,” Brennan advised coldly. The second Falconer had kept his place at the alley's mouth but had unsheathed his own weapon in support of his commander's stand.
The gang hesitated only a moment before fleeing, taking advantage of the narrow path the lieutenant had purposely left free for their going. Their supposedly easily taken victim had proven something different in the testing, and the sudden appearance of the mercenaries altered matters still further. They were no match for those deadly, battled-tempered blades or for the falcons wheeling just over their heads. It was well known that those birds were trained to tear a man's face, his eyes, in battle.
Tarlach scarcely waited for them to disappear from sight before seizing the arm of the one he still took to be a boy.
“You are not injured?”
Una of Seakeep shook her head, too numbed by the shock of what had happened, what she had just done, to give him a verbal reply.
“Come quickly, then. If they return in force, we could be trapped here.”
She could not repress a shudder as she was hurried past the body of the man she had slain but willed herself to give no other sign of discomfort or to speak at all even to voice her gratitude. Her companions were right. They had good reason to fear entrapment in here. Besides, they were likely to abandon her very quickly once they discovered that she was a woman. That, she must try to prevent, and she needed to be certain that her wits were fully about her again when she fronted them.
The Falconer captain slowed his pace once they had left the docks behind.
“We should be safe enough here.”
Una drew away from him. He would not welcome physical contact with her once she revealed herself, as she must now do.
“Aye. Vagabonds of that ilk will not be anxious to face your like in any open place.”
The men stiffened. This was not the voice of a boy, or of any male.
The woman dropped her cowl.
“Thanks given, Bird Warriors, and to your winged comrades.”
“The service was slight,” Tarlach responded harshly as he turned to go.
“It was of great importance to me.”
He was hard-pressed to repress a smile.
“I suppose it was,” he conceded.
“Hold, Captain!” she said quickly as the pair started to leave her again.
She did not know his rank, of course. She could not tell one man from the other behind those masking helmets, and there were few if any not of their race who could decipher the subtle markings on their clothing and armor by which they, noted place and identity amongst themselves, but she had long ago learned that, when dealing with a strange warrior of unknown authority, it did not hurt to accord him a good rank. A certain amount of vanity was native to all her species.
There was no doubting, at least, that the man who had saved her was the senior of the two. Among Falconers, only the ranking officer of a party or the soldier of longest service actually dealt with those of other peoples among whom they moved, even in the tight quarters aboard a ship or with respect to those hiring their swords.
Although she trembled in her heart lest she lose this opportunity fate had given her, Una made herself speak quietly and steadily.
“You are blank shields?”
The man nodded. His grey eyes bore into her. Both her bearing and her manners of speech declared that the Daleswoman was wellborn, and her clothing was of good, though not extravagant, quality with little sign of wear. It was probable that she could afford to hire an escort for herself if she required one.
That she was such a fool as to imagine Falconers would swear allegiance to her was another matter.
“We are part of a larger force bound not to divide our number.”
“I have need of such. That is what brought me to Linna.” She drew a deep breath. “I had heard much of your kind's battle skill and courage and your quickness of thought from Lord Harvard, and I had hoped beyond hope to bind Falconers to Seakeepdale. What I have seen of you just now intensifies that wish.”
Both mercenaries stirred.
“Lord Harvard?”
Relief swept Una. That had been her high die. They did know her late sire's name. Given that recognition, she felt they would at least grant her a hearing. After that, well, she could do no more than tell her story well and hope.
“I am Una of Seakeepdale, his daughter and widow of the Lord Ferrick, his comrade and chief captain during the war.—My need is real, Bird Warriors. I know you dislike haying any dealing with a woman, but I ask you not to dismiss me before you listen to my tale. It will not take a great share of your time.”
The Falconer commander's lips tightened. He turned abruptly on his heel.
“Come with us.”
The captain did not break stride until he had reached the largest of Linna's three inns. Scarcely pausing even then, he threw open the heavy door and swept inside. Una followed after him and then Brennan, who quietly secured the way behind them.
The helmet-masked figures filling the big room within looked up at their coming. A deadly silence fell as they caught sight of the Daleswoman, and on every side she was conscious of their hostile, cold eyes burning into her, as if she were something vile which had just crept out of a Shadow-marred pit. Only the falcons seemed friendly, or comparatively friendly. At least, there was curiosity in the contacts she received from them and not the senseless resentment their masters evinced. She shivered in her soul and was glad that she had no Power to read that or to delve any part of these grim, hating minds.
Tarlach did not offer her a chair or bench on which to seat
“This is Lord Harvard's daughter, Una of Seakeep. She claims she has come to Linna seeking blank shields.”
His disapproval was so strong that it was almost palpable. That was a bad beginning, she thought, what she faced was an interrogation, and she wondered if anything she could say would convince these men, or win their aid even if they did come to believe the truth of her words and the reality of her need.
The Falconer leader's eyes were hard as the steel of a prize sword.
“You are alone? That is why you are in boy's garb?”
“I am alone, aye. As for my dress, it offers me a freedom of movement which I should not otherwise enjoy. I was born in Seakeepdale, and I am well known in Linna town. If I had come in my own guise, I would have heralded my intention to all the country.”
“Why do you feel it necessary to augment Seakeep's garrison now that Alizon's troops are no more? There is no wanring in this region.”
“Seakeep does not have a garrison,’’ she told him flatly. “The fever hit us hard and took not only my sire and lord but most of our men besides. Of those who remain, the better part are youths scarcely of an age to be considered warriors, none of them with .battle experience save against unorganized brigands. Only a relative handful of sound men are left to us, and it would be rank stupidity, madness, to imagine that the courage of women and children will stand against, trained war skill and physical strength in any real test.”
The Falconer was quiet for a moment.
“What is the nature of the danger threatening you?” he asked somewhat less harshly.
“It is only the possibility of danger as yet,” she responded, “but it would take a fool to ignore it.”
“There are more fools than you would imagine in this world,” Rorick, next in command after Brennan, muttered. Too often, blank shields were hired weeks or even months after they would have been most effective. Sometimes, their services were not sought until hope was entirely dead.