Carol Chase - Hawk's Flight.pdf - Carol Chase - widez2

Hawk’s Flight

By Carol Chase

"Bandits," mumbled the old man. He plunked his elbows on the splintery table and buried his nose in the

bowl of ale Taverik had bought him. Taverik met Marko's eyes across the bent white head. With the

incredible din in the tiny mountain tavern, he couldn't be sure he'd understood the old man's toothless

Pakajan. But Marko's gray eyes had gone wary.

"Bandits! Where?" Taverik pressed, voice hoarse from the smoky room.

The old man surfaced and wiped his mouth on his filthy sleeve. "I told you, but you can't understand your

own language anymore. You want I talk Massadaran, you boot-licking merchants? In the pass. Just

above us."

"How many?" Marko asked.

"Dunno. More and more all summer. Attacked the last caravan ahead of you. In the gorge. You know

it?"

Taverik nodded. He'd travelled the gorge dozens of times, a narrow, high-walled defile about two hours

climb up the mountain from the village. "Any survivors?"

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"Not many."

"Not any," Marko said grimly. "Or we'd have heard about it in Illiga."

Taverik saw the old man's quick scowl and looked a warning at Marko. Several of the villagers had

quieted suddenly and edged closer. He didn't like their expressions. They might have finished off the

survivors themselves, and looted whatever the bandits didn't take. Either that, or they'd attacked the

caravan themselves and made damn sure no one survived to warn later travelers. Times were hard under

Massadaran rule and who knew what these last few pockets of ungoverned Pakajans would turn to for

survival. Best get out of there.

A young man swaggered over, hand on the sword he wore at his belt. Just making sure, Taverik thought

with faint amusement, that we two "tame" Pakajans notice it. If caught, a Pakajan could spend a year in

prison for wearing a sword. If caught.

With a sneer that heated Taverik's blood, the young man planted his knuckles on the table. "It's said that

they are Bcacmat."

"The bandits?" said Taverik. "Oh, come on. You're trying to scare us."

"It's true," said the old man, puffing beery breath into Taverik's face. "We call the leader Red, and not

for his hair, 'cause that's black. So's his beard. And he don't hardly speak no Pakajan. Nor

Massadaran."

"And he comes here each night to relax," Marko said tartly.

"Yup," agreed the old man.

"No," chorused the others hurriedly. The old man thrust out his lip sulkily and buried his face in the bowl.

Taverik caught Marko's eyes and gave a slight jerk of the head toward the door. Marko nodded and

flipped a coin to the table with a casual yawn. "Well, guess it's time to turn in," he said.

Taverik backed away. "Nice meeting you all." To his relief the crowd parted and let them cross the

round room to the door. And why not? Taverik thought as he followed Marko under the reeking hide in

the doorway. What's a few pelli from two merchants tonight, when tomorrow a whole merchant caravan

might be for the taking?

A few snowflakes swirled through cold blue dusk. He took a deep breath and his lungs gave a twinge

from breathing smoke. "Phew!"

"No wonder the others refused to come with us," Marko said, leading the way past silent stone houses.

"Lucky thing we went, though."

"Yes," Taverik agreed. "Now we have some warning, at least." They rounded the last house and Taverik

could see the twinkle of the caravan's five campfires on the mountain almost directly above them. A cold

gale roared down the slope, flattening his boot-length surcoat against his shivering body, and whipping his

long yellow hair into tangles. "Going to be tough sleeping."

"First day of winter," Marko said into the teeth of the wind. "We'll be the last caravan through the pass

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this year."

" If we get through," said Taverik, then wished he hadn't, for Marko's shudder was not from cold.

"Who goes?" sang out a sentry in Massadaran.

"Taverik Zandro," Taverik called. "And Marko Kastazi."

The soldier abandoned formality. "You crazy, Zandro? You went down there?"

"Where's the captain?"

"Over there." The soldier pointed up at the second of the fires.

"Taverik," said Marko, "you go ahead. I'm going to take a walk."

"Take a walk?" repeated the soldier. "You want to get picked off?"

But Marko merely waved and continued on past the mules toward the pine grove on the other side of

the trail. The soldier looked at Taverik with his jaw dropped, but Taverik only shrugged. Marko liked

solitude. He was forever slipping off by himself. Taverik had given up two caravans ago warning him to

stay in sight of camp. Marko would smile and agree it was dangerous, and the next moment off he'd go

again. He was a strange one, Marko, and oddly close-mouthed about his past.

The captain stood up as Taverik strode toward the fire. "What's wrong?"

"Bandits," Taverik said, pulling off his cap as Sadra Law required. In the sudden silence the wind roared

through the spruces around them. Even the loudmouthed merchant from Perijo found nothing to say.

"They attacked the last caravan," Taverik added. "In the gorge. The villagers say it's a band which has

been growing throughout the summer and fall."

"Don't believe it," said the Copper Guild man. "It's probably them, themselves, the flea-ridden thieves."

"They do seem on pretty friendly terms with the bandits," Taverik admitted.

"We must not go on!" declared the loudmouth from Perijo.

The captain made a rude noise. "You can stay in this forsaken village if you like. I intend to spend the

winter in the comforts of Illiga."

"Well, you just see we get there!" said the loudmouth. "We paid the zoji through the nose for your

protection. So if I'm murdered by bandits, I'll report you!"

Taverik joined the roar of laughter and laughed even harder at the furious scowl on the loudmouth's face.

The captain wiped his eyes and said, "Well, I'll warn the others. I've no doubt we can beat them off.

We're a good size and have more soldiers." He strode toward the next fire.

Taverik sat down next to his mule boy. Twelve-year-old Uali shuddered and pressed closer to Taverik's

leg. Tough for him, Taverik thought, his first caravan. He was the son of the family stableman and had

never even been out of Illiga before. His face, white in the gathering darkness, turned up toward Taverik.

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"Maybe we shouldn't go, Kali Taverik."

"Don't worry," Taverik said bracingly, ignoring the tensing in his own stomach. "I've run off bandits

before. It doesn't take much to scare them."

One of the Massadaran students condescended to speak Illigan Pakajan. "No, don't worry, boy," he

said and glanced pointedly at the man to his right. "They're probably just a bunch of northern Pakajans

who don't know what end of a sword is which."

The brunt of the barb was an immense Pakajan with the long red beard and braids all Pakajans had

worn before the Massadaran colonists had arrived. He defiantly wore the colorful embroidery and sword

belt, but his scabbard was empty. "Notice," he said in pure Pakajan, which the student probably couldn't

follow, "first they impose Sadra Laws forbidding Pakajans to use a sword then they ridicule us for not

using a sword. In the north, life is hard, but we are free from Sadra Laws. We haven't submitted to the

Massadaran yoke."

"Barbarians!" retorted the other Massadaran student, poking his long nose from his furs- also forbidden

to Pakajans under Sadra Laws. His sneering glance included Taverik, whose yellow hair and wide

cheekbones proclaimed him Pakajan, and the Copper Guild man, with his light red hair and freckled

face. "All of you."

"And you," Taverik returned, "are ikiji. "

The student flushed and shoved the amulet he'd been fingering into his surcoat. Taverik had never seen

anything like it before, a circlet with an odd claw-like design in it. Ugly. Ikiji - second best- indeed.

The Copper Guild man saw it too. "What are you doing?" he cried. "You'll bring the bandits upon us as

punishment. You know the Creator forbids worship of anything made by man."

"Zojikam doesn't care a hoot about anything," said the student. Karaz, his name was. The Viti Karaz. "If

you need help, turn to someone who will help."

The loudmouthed merchant from Perijo wrung his hands. "You mustn't say things like that!"

"Things like what?" Marko squatted down next to Taverik and spread slim, chapped hands to the fire.

The Copper Guild man reached across both Uali and Taverik to thump his knee. "You'll have to stop

creeping off into the dark like that now, lad. Not safe no more!"

The loudmouth nodded solemnly. "The bandits will get you."

"So no more maidenly modesty!" cackled the Copper Guild man. "Take your leaks against a tree like the

rest of us."

Everyone guffawed at his words, then laughed again as Marko calmly told him what he could do with his

leaks. Only Taverik saw the faint flush creeping up Marko's beardless cheek and wondered, not for the

first time, how old he actually was. Young enough to have trouble growing a beard, but with the self

containment of an older man. He had the dark hair, high cheek bones and hawk nose typical of the

Massadarans, yet he had the gray eyes of the Pakajans, and supported himself, his sister, and

housekeeper as a merchant. Odd.

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Sanisman, the only other Textile Guild member in the caravan, strolled over from the next fire. "Figures

you'd go down to the flea-hole, Zandro," he said. "So tell us more about these bandits."

"They say the bandit chief speaks neither Massadaran nor Pakajan. Claim he's a Bcacmat."

"Bcacmat!" gasped the loudmouth from Perijo.

Taverik snorted. "The boogy man. More likely he's a merchant from Perijo."

"Will you be serious?" demanded the Perijan.

Sanisman laughed and squatted closer to the flames. "You're asking the wrong one to be serious. Our

Taverik here's as crazy as they come. He's the one who dressed up a goat in the Textile Guild president's

robes."

Not that story again. "That was three years ago," Taverik protested above the laughter. "And it was a

pig, not a goat. Ittato campaigned for election saying a pig might as well hold the office as his opponent!"

"So," Sanisman said, "he tethers it in old Ittato's chair just before a meeting. And here's dignified old

Ittato, opening his mouth to commence the meeting, and this pig starts squealing!"

Everyone hooted. Sanisman gasped out, "Then Ittato tries to drag it from the chair and it gets away and

runs across the dais. And Donato Zandro- that's Tav's father - stands up and shouts, 'Hey, that's our

pig!' "

A fresh wail of laughter arose.

"And when he realizes what he said, he shouts, 'Where's Taverik?' "

"Nowhere near," said Taverik.

"Next day, here comes Tav with both eyes black and a nose the size of a turnip!"

The men laughed again, but the smile faded from Marko's face. "That's nothing," Taverik said quickly.

"The worst was Ittato's lecture. My ears ached for a month."

The Copper Guild man shook his head, still grinning. "Is that Zandro the one in three guilds and with all

the warehouses? You're his son? Aye, I'd rather face an angry bull than cross Donato Zandro."

"So would Taverik!" said Sanisman, and they all laughed again.

"Glad you find bandits so funny!" called a merchant heading for the mule string.

Taverik's stomach flopped like a fish at the reminder. He caught Uali's worried eyes and stretched

casually. "You set for the first watch?" he asked.

The boy nodded. "As long as there's plenty of firewood."

"Good lad. Wake me next, and I'll wake Marko." He looked the question at Marko and received a nod

in return. They'd worked together for the last three journeys and barely needed words to communicate.

Tossing a blanket to Uali, Taverik strolled into the cold to check the mule string one last time.

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Carol Chase - Hawk's Flight.pdf

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