Master of Hawks by Linda E. Bushyager Page A

the sorcerer on the porch of the inn. It had become a makeshift hospital, but there were too many wounded to fit within its walls.
    Derek was bent over a soldier, using his sorcery to heal a nasty sword cut. He'd been helping the wounded for most of the night and seemed exhausted. When he finished, he glanced up, saw Hawk, and smiled.
    "Shouldn't you get some rest?" asked Hawk with concern.
    "I'm fine." Derek replied. "I had a couple of hours of sleep after the battle. How are you feeling?"
    "Good."
    "And how . . . " Derek hesitated and then seemed to change what he was going to say " . . . are your birds doing?"
    "They're fine." Sensing Derek's unasked question, Hawk answered it, "And the last I've heard is that Ro is all right too."
    Derek nodded brusquely, but his eyes betrayed his relief.
    "I've sent my eagles up the Tompkins Road toward Swego. I was just about to check on them."
    "Let me know what you find out."
    "Certainly."
    Seeking a quiet place from which to contact his birds, Hawk headed toward the charred remains of the stable. He walked slowly among the blackened beams and twisted debris, stopping to kick at shriveled leather traces that had once been reins. He ran his fingers over an untouched stall wall standing in the midst of the desolation.
    Suddenly he felt a surge of anger and frustration at all that had happened—the horses, his hawk, Roslyn —the dead and the wounded. He smashed his fists against the scorched stall door.
    Then he grabbed the wood and squeezed his eyes shut—reaching with his mind for the eagles. He needed to submerge himself in the serenity of their flight. But he found Stormrider and Windrifter perched on newly killed rabbits, thinking of hunger, blood, and the excitement of swooping down to break their preys' necks.
    Hawk almost pulled his mind away, but beneath the blood lust he caught Stormrider's unhurried message—the birds had passed several men wandering without goal other than survival and, more importantly, a group of fleeing horsemen that Hawk thought might include Ramsey.
    Slipping from the eagles' minds, Hawk skillfully began to probe random birds along the Tompkins Road. He moved methodically, touching each animal lightly to determine if it had been disturbed or alarmed by the movement of horsemen. When he found one who had, he skipped ahead until he reached the center of the agitation.
    Although he did not expect to be attacked by the enemy telepath, he cautiously kept his mind tightly shielded. He thought that the man had died during the previous day's ambush, because the falcons had been uncontrolled when he'd sent his eagles against them to prevent the relaying of battle information to Ramsey. He hadn't liked killing them, but he'd felt that it was a necessary precaution. After the loss of his hawk when he'd scouted the ruins of Castle Buchanan, he had learned to take no chances.
    A frightened sparrow flew raggedly above the forest, seeking refuge from large moving animals. Hawk caught the mind and melded into it. He kept the bird's surface thoughts filled with chaotic impressions of fear and flight; but behind the façade lay Hawk's shielded thoughts. Then the sparrow turned and darted over the heads of the weary horsemen.
    Most of the survivors of the ambush had been wounded, one seriously enough to lie on a litter. Hawk recognized Ramsey's unconscious form—the man's dark hair and skin and the osmur cloak covering him were unmistakable.
    A powerstone glittered on a medium-sized man riding beside the litter. Hawk directed the sparrow back over him until he could distinguish the shape of a large pendant. There was something curious about the pattern of gold around the amber spellstone, but before he had a chance to think about it, Hawk realized that this was the falcon-telepath.
    The man looked up, saw the sparrow, and sensed Hawk's presence. As Jaxton Sinclair touched Hawk's mind-shield, Hawk cut off all contact, as he had during previous encounters with the