Sworn costume, could bear it. When the hills began to grow into something a bit more impressive, and the brush gave way to real trees, it was a genuine relief to spend all day in their cool shade. But now...
“It’s like they‘re—watching. I haven’t sensed anything, either with mage-senses or without, so I know it must be my imagination, but ...”
“It’s not your imagination; something is watching,” Tarma interrupted calmly. “Or rather, someone. I thought I’d not mention it unless you saw or felt something yourself, since they’re harmless to us. Hadn’t you ever wondered why I haven’t taken any shots at birds since we entered the trees?”
“But—”
“Oh, the watchers themselves aren’t within sensing distance, and not within the scope of your mage-senses either—just their feathered friends. Hawks, falcons, ravens and crows by day, owls and night-hawks by dark. Tale‘edras, my people call them—the Hawkbrothers. We really don’t know what they call themselves. We don’t see them much, though they’ve been known to trade with us.”
“Will we see any of them?”
“Why, do you want to?” Tarma asked, with a half-grin at Kethry’s nod. “You mages must be curiosity incarnate, I swear! Well, I might be able to do something about that. As I said, we’re in no danger from them, but if you really want to meet one—let’s see if I still have my knack for identifying myself.”
She reined in Kessira, threw back her head, and gave an ear-piercing cry—not like the battle shriek of a hawk, but a bit like the mating cry, or the cry that identifies mate to mate. Rodi started, and backed a few steps, fighting his bit, until Kethry got him back into control. A second cry echoed hers, and at first Kethry thought it was an echo, but it was followed by a winged streak of gold lightning that swooped down out of the highest branches to land on Tarma’s outstretched arm.
It braked its descent with a thunder of wings, wings that seemed to Kethry to belong to something at least the size of an eagle. Talons like ivory knives bit into the leather of Tarma’s vambrace; the wings fanned the air for a heartbeat more, then the bird settled on Tarma’s forearm, regal and gilded.
“Well if I’d wanted a good omen, I couldn’t have asked for a better,” Tarma said in astonishment. “This is a vorcel-hawk; you see them more on the plains than in the forests—it’s my Clan’s standard.”
The bird was half-again larger than any hawk Kethry had ever seen; its feathers glistened with an almost metallic gold sheen, no more than a shade darker than the bird’s golden eyes. It cocked its head to one side and regarded Kethry with an intelligent air she found rather disturbing. Rodi snorted at the alien creature, but Kessira stood calmly when one wing flipped a hair‘s-breadth from her ear, apparently used to having huge birds swoop down at her rider from out of nowhere.
“Now, who speaks for you, winged one?” Tarma turned her attention fully to the bird on her arm, stroking his breast feathers soothingly until he settled, then running her hand down to his right leg and examining it. Kethry edged closer, cautiously; wary of the power in that beak and those sharp talons. She saw that what Tarma was examining was a wide band on its leg, a band of some shiny stuff that wasn’t metal and wasn’t leather.
“Moonsong k‘Vala, hmmm? Don’t know the name. Well, let’s send the invitation to talk. I really should at least pay my respects before leaving the trees, if anyone wants to take them, so ...”
Tarma lowered her arm a little, and the hawk responded by moving up it until he perched on her shoulder. His beak was in what Kethry considered to be uncomfortably close proximity to Tarma’s face, but Tarma didn’t seem at all concerned. Thinking about the uncertain temperament of all the raptors she’d ever had anything to do with, Kethry shivered at Tarma’s casualness.
When the bird was
“It’s like they‘re—watching. I haven’t sensed anything, either with mage-senses or without, so I know it must be my imagination, but ...”
“It’s not your imagination; something is watching,” Tarma interrupted calmly. “Or rather, someone. I thought I’d not mention it unless you saw or felt something yourself, since they’re harmless to us. Hadn’t you ever wondered why I haven’t taken any shots at birds since we entered the trees?”
“But—”
“Oh, the watchers themselves aren’t within sensing distance, and not within the scope of your mage-senses either—just their feathered friends. Hawks, falcons, ravens and crows by day, owls and night-hawks by dark. Tale‘edras, my people call them—the Hawkbrothers. We really don’t know what they call themselves. We don’t see them much, though they’ve been known to trade with us.”
“Will we see any of them?”
“Why, do you want to?” Tarma asked, with a half-grin at Kethry’s nod. “You mages must be curiosity incarnate, I swear! Well, I might be able to do something about that. As I said, we’re in no danger from them, but if you really want to meet one—let’s see if I still have my knack for identifying myself.”
She reined in Kessira, threw back her head, and gave an ear-piercing cry—not like the battle shriek of a hawk, but a bit like the mating cry, or the cry that identifies mate to mate. Rodi started, and backed a few steps, fighting his bit, until Kethry got him back into control. A second cry echoed hers, and at first Kethry thought it was an echo, but it was followed by a winged streak of gold lightning that swooped down out of the highest branches to land on Tarma’s outstretched arm.
It braked its descent with a thunder of wings, wings that seemed to Kethry to belong to something at least the size of an eagle. Talons like ivory knives bit into the leather of Tarma’s vambrace; the wings fanned the air for a heartbeat more, then the bird settled on Tarma’s forearm, regal and gilded.
“Well if I’d wanted a good omen, I couldn’t have asked for a better,” Tarma said in astonishment. “This is a vorcel-hawk; you see them more on the plains than in the forests—it’s my Clan’s standard.”
The bird was half-again larger than any hawk Kethry had ever seen; its feathers glistened with an almost metallic gold sheen, no more than a shade darker than the bird’s golden eyes. It cocked its head to one side and regarded Kethry with an intelligent air she found rather disturbing. Rodi snorted at the alien creature, but Kessira stood calmly when one wing flipped a hair‘s-breadth from her ear, apparently used to having huge birds swoop down at her rider from out of nowhere.
“Now, who speaks for you, winged one?” Tarma turned her attention fully to the bird on her arm, stroking his breast feathers soothingly until he settled, then running her hand down to his right leg and examining it. Kethry edged closer, cautiously; wary of the power in that beak and those sharp talons. She saw that what Tarma was examining was a wide band on its leg, a band of some shiny stuff that wasn’t metal and wasn’t leather.
“Moonsong k‘Vala, hmmm? Don’t know the name. Well, let’s send the invitation to talk. I really should at least pay my respects before leaving the trees, if anyone wants to take them, so ...”
Tarma lowered her arm a little, and the hawk responded by moving up it until he perched on her shoulder. His beak was in what Kethry considered to be uncomfortably close proximity to Tarma’s face, but Tarma didn’t seem at all concerned. Thinking about the uncertain temperament of all the raptors she’d ever had anything to do with, Kethry shivered at Tarma’s casualness.
When the bird was
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