Storms of Victory (Witch World: The Turning) by Andre Norton
Una placed her hand on his arm.
“It is not necessary for you to become involved. I can make the offer directly and deal with whomever your leaders appoint.”
The man turned to her once more.
“No, Lady. What must be endured shall be Falconers are trained to accept our responsibilities. That they at times carry with them danger greater than that of death or physical injury is of no significance.”
“We of Seakeepdale are as powerfully trained not to inflict such peril on others when the power to alleviate it is ours.”
He smiled sadly.
“It would be useless, Lady. No other Falconer would consider such a proposition from a woman, and I should still face the same wrath, the same penalty, for supporting it.”
He straightened as she had often seen him do before embarking upon some difficult course.
“The task is mine to carry, my Lady of Seakeep. Its importance to my people both now and in future times is such that I cannot even consider refusing it.”
The Daleswoman's eyes dropped, then lifted again.
“It is settled, then,” Una said, speaking slowly, wearily, as if she had spent herself in a bitter struggle,
“though I suppose it will be long before we beat out the final treaty.”
“Perhaps not so very long. You are mindful of our needs, and I shall endeavor to be as considerate of your people's.”
They both fell quiet. There was nothing more to be said on this subject, which now required deep, private thought on the part of both.
Tarlach did not move to take his leave of her but rather turned to the Window. Una had given so much, not merely the awesome gift of a Dale but that of life itself to his harsh race, and he had returned nothing. That he so valued her action and so appreciated its import that he was willing to place himself at risk of banishment and ultimate disgrace was no offering to her. It was but a warrior's duty in the face of his people's need.
Slowly, his hand went to a small leather pouch on his belt. Perhaps he had unconsciously intended to do this, he thought, for why else would he have chosen to carry the Talisman today instead of wearing it as he had always before done in all the years since its making?
“Una, I have no lands or gold to bestow in my turn, but I ask that you accept this from me.”
The woman took the pouch and carefully opened it. She drew forth a slender, silver chain. Depending from it was an object which drew a gasp of delight and wondering appreciation from her, a small but exquisitely wrought silver falcon portrayed diving with a blood-red jewel grasped firmly in his talons.
“Oh, Tarlach, this is indeed beautiful!”
“It is more than that,” he said in a way which caused her to look swiftly upon· him.
“Power?” she asked incredulously.
He nodded.
“Of a sort. Every Falconer fashions one of these when he attains manhood, and he may possess only one at any given moment in his life. They can be gifted, as I am doing now, or suffer natural mischance, but they cannot be beguiled from their owner or otherwise taken without the full consent of his will, a virtue which passes to a true recipient, though not to a chance discoverer in the event of loos.
His eyes rested somberly on the Talisman.
“The possessor may also claim the aid of any Falconer or Falconer unit, provided only that his cause be just and in no violation of our honor.”
“Thanks given, Tarlach,” Una said softly. “1 shall never of my will abuse this gift.”
So saying, she clasped the chain around her neck, then quietly slipped the falcon beneath the material of her gown. His giving of this had been open, as had been his earlier gifting of his name, with no stipulation or request that she hold her possession of it close. Her doing so was an offering of her own, her acknowledgment of his confidence and her assurance that it would not be betrayed.
It broke the control he had forced on himself. Tarlach turned from her to conceal the anguish twisting his face.
“Una,” he whispered in a muffled voice, “I swear to you, by the Horned Lord, were it not for my people's real and desperate need, I would offer you more than this, or seek to offer more. I would ask more of you.
The Daleswoman came into his arms. His mouth covered hers and found there a mirror of all his own passion and longing.
His hold tightened. They might make the dare this once, take and give what was their desire and need. Una was no maid, but a widow who had known a man's embrace… .
That thought died even, as it was born. It took the lash of his will, for his body was aflame, but his arms loosened, and he stepped away from her. Gratification was not what he, what either of them, wanted, and he did not believe, in his heart that the woman would willingly have yielded herself, for all her love, had he demanded that of her.
Una's eyes raised to his. She, too, had battled the desire burning within her, and she had to fight now to keep the tears brightening her eyes from welling forth.
“I would give you hand and hold, my own lord,” she told him almost fiercely, “and while will remains mine, no other man will ever gain either from me.”
Her shoulders squared.
“Nor will I Entirely abandon hope, Tarlach of the Falconers. We of High Hallack learned the value of holding to that despite reason's grimmest sentence during our war with Alizon, and I would not see you surrender it, either. No one knows what web fate has woven for him—or what may be done with the threads as yet laid out for that weaving. We may still win through to what seems an impossible goal now.”
The Holdlady drew one long breath, then she smiled at him.
“Let us be gone, Captain. I know little of him if we do not receive a visit from Lord Markheim very shortly. We had best prepare ourselves to greet and reassure him, and the others who will be following fast upon his heels.”
They left the chamber together, each realizing the days ahead would be full of challenge and each prepared to meet that challenge and the whole of the life to which their decisions and their deeds would bring them.
This tale of Seakeep was more than one night in the telling. Having once begun it I could sense that he who lived it must press on to voice the rest. Perhaps so he made clear to himself certain feelings and questions he bad not faced before.
When he finished it at last I was moved to throw the crystals. The pattern did not form falcon eyes as it had for Pyra, rather there was a jagged red line and above it grey so that I, knew ill was close upon him. I would have spoken so to this bird warrior save that a message came to him that the Lady Una bad come at last across the sea to join in his quest. And straightway he went forth from Lormit to meet her.
Only I was oddly shaken and once more I paced outside the walls of Lormt, with Galerider and Rawit as my only companions Twice it seemed tome that shadow clouds gathered strangely—not in the east where Escore knew those Dark skirmishes and danger which might burst swiftly out of nowhere, but westward—over that land where we thought war was Safely over.
My sword hand itched and I reached for that weapon I no longer wore. I found myself listening for a Border born, to sound downwind. Then I knew within me that, for all my thought of being one who no longer had any active part to play in action, strange destiny still lay ahead.
No—the end of the fight was not yet, nor would that pass me by.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1991 by Andre Norton, Ltd.
ISBN 978-1-4976-5528-7
This edition published in 2014 by Open
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Andre Norton, Storms of Victory (Witch World: The Turning)