Carol Chase - Hawk's Flight

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?"

"Not many."

"Notany," 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, 'causethat'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 havesome 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

this year."

"Ifwe 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. Markoliked

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 asSadra 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.

"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 imposeSadra 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 fromSadra 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 underSadra 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, "areikiji. "

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 whowill 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.

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.

His five mules huddled on the far end of the picket line, their breath misting. Taverik ran his hand down

the leg of the little one who had developed a limp that afternoon. The leg felt puffy and warm.

"You did this on purpose to plague me, you little idiot," he muttered. He'd have to repack everything the

next morning to give her a rest up the switchbacks. He patted her and moved on to his riding mule, a

huge, big-hearted beast.Sadra Laws forbade him horses, but he'd found himself the best mule he could

afford. Better than any horse he'd ever seen, he thought, gently pulling the long silken ears. But still, low

status.

A little apart stood the horses ridden by the caravan guards and the two Massadarans. Taverik paused

to stroke the warm neck of the dappled grey nearest him, admiring the broad chest and powerful

shoulders. The grey bent his head and nuzzled Taverik's fingers.

Suddenly a hand seized his collar. "Get away from my horse!" shouted Viti Karaz. Before Taverik could

react, the student spun him around, kicked him in the rear and sent him sprawling to the rocks. Furious,

Taverik surged to his feet, pulling his knife.

Arms circled him from behind. "Easy, easy," said the caravan captain, and to the student, "Put that

sword away. I'll have no brawling."

Recalled to his senses- he could spend a year in prison for threatening a viti- Taverik relaxed and

allowed the captain to push him away from the student. He turned into the darkness hearing the captain's

low voice saying in Massadaran, ". . . not doing any harm, no need to humiliate him like that," and the

angry mutter of the student's reply.

Marko watched from near his wagon, hands buried in the thick mane of his giant white mule. "They are

pigs," he said.

Though seething with resentment Taverik merely shrugged. "I should have known better," he said lightly.

He draped his arms over Whitey's bony back and tried to forget the incident. After all, during this entire

trip the two students had reviled the Pakajans- including Taverik- in Massadaran, completely unaware

that Taverik, and Marko too, spoke it fairly fluently. Not that they'd have cared if they'd known.

He stole a look at Marko, who was staring off up the pass, hands still under the warmth of Whitey's

mane. Scared, but holding it in, Taverik thought.

He'd met Marko at the Textile Guild last year when the youth had attended his first meeting. Marko had

only just earned enough money for the guild fee, and from his gaunt look, must have starved himself to do

it. He'd plainly been on the edge of going under, and the other merchants, who had their own snobberies,

had avoided him. Taverik had felt sorry for him and invited him along on the next merchant caravan as his

mule boy. He'd offered to lend him money for purchases, too.

Older merchants had immediately closed in around Marko, obviously warning him about the Zandros.

But to Taverik's surprise, Marko had gone with him and brought back excellent rugs. He'd immediately

repaid Taverik with interest, and on the next caravan brought his own wagon, a huge-wheeled farm cart,

though he and Taverik had still worked together.

Taverik couldn't exactly explain why he'd first put himself out for him. Maybe the determination and guts

of the lad. But there was more to it, something about the way Marko seemed able to see Taverik for

himself, instead of as one of those damn Zandros. Well, that wasn't it exactly, but he gave up trying to

untangle it and tried instead to think of something to say to encourage the lad.

Cold darkness settled around them as the camp quieted for sleep. The twin peaks of the Guardian

Ladies loomed high against the starry sky, and the wind poured down their talus slopes like fingers

seeking entry in every crack of clothing. "Tav," said Marko softly.

"What?"

"If, hmm, if-"

Marko stopped there so Taverik finished it for him. "If anything happens to you?"

"Yes, damn you," Marko said, laughing softly. "Would you take care of my sister?"

"Of course," Taverik said. Though what, he privately wondered, would he ever do with a quiet,

intellectual, self-contained young woman like Oma?

He said good night and went for his blankets, feeling hollow inside. Marko had people he loved waiting

for him. What could he himself say?Ifanything happens to me, would you tell my uncle I love him?

He hadn't seen his uncle since his seventeenth birthday, four years ago. Ah, how about,Commend me to

my brother Chado? Taverik laughed sardonically and forced his mind to get sleepy.

* * *

The next morning dawned gray and grew no lighter. Clouds hung low, hiding the pass. As the caravan

began its way up the trail, Taverik pulled up his hood against the cold damp wind. He rode tensely,

moodily, at the end of his string.

Below him, the round stone houses of the village seemed to disappear into the rocky slopes from which

they were made, their window holes staring blankly. Above, the first of the caravan rounded a

switchback, the two students in the lead of course, flanked by watchful soldiers. The trail grew steeper.

All too soon they were approaching the gorge. The captain rode back along the caravan. "Close up!" he

said softly. "Stick together."

Uali hunched miserably on the lead mule, reins slack, and the string began to lag. The lame mule just

ahead of Taverik balked suddenly. Taverik's big mule threw up its head with a snort as they almost

collided.

"Will you get moving?" said the loudmouthed merchant just behind Taverik.

The captain trotted past. "Quiet! Don't get separated."

"We'll get left behind for the bandits," whined the loudmouth, "and it will be all your fault."

Taverik ignored him. "Uali! Keep them moving! Go on."

Uali looked back, then urged his mule on. They gained on Marko, whose cart had slowed at the steep

turn of the switchback. Marko jumped down to lead the straining Whitey and Uali followed them around.

Taverik gave the lame mule a touch of the whip and then his own big mule carried him up the rocky

curve.

Ahead, six vultures struggled into the air. They'd entered the gorge.

To each side of Taverik lay the remains of carts, a dead mule, and scraps of cloth- the debris of a ruined

caravan. Two more vultures hopped awkwardly away from an unidentified carcass. Taverik looked

away.

High walls lifted overhead, echoing back hoof beats, the chink of rock and the creak of the wagons. If

only they didn't make so much noise. Not that any bandits wouldn't have known exactly where they were

at any point all morning. Taverik sat tense in the saddle, scanning the cliffs, his face tight, his buttocks

tight, even his toes curled tight in his boots.

Gradually the trail rose. The cliffs receded and the switchbacks began again. They'd made it through the

gorge. Nothing had happened. Taverik took a deep shuddering breath of relief.

They reached the top several hours later. The forest thickened here- the west side of the pass caught the

rain from the sea and hoarded it, while the east went dry. Fog and spruce needles muffled the creak and

clop of the caravan. To each side the White Lady and the Dark Lady rose into the clouds and

disappeared, their presence almost human. The twin mountains had Massadaran names, but it was the

old Pakajan names that stuck, the White Lady for her almost continual snow cap, and the Dark Lady for

her south-facing rock field. Together they were the beloved guardians of Illiga.

Now that he could relax, Taverik became aware of his hunger. He reached back and dug in his saddle

bag for the hunk of cheese stowed there.

With a dry woosh, an arrow struck the bag.

Taverik stared at it for one uncomprehending moment. Then the spruces on each side of the trail came

alive with men. A high wavering yell exploded about the caravan.Damn SadraLaws, Taverik thought,

leaving a man defenseless. Then a man with a long knife leaped at him.

Taverik kicked a booted foot at him, and the man disappeared under the mule's hammering hooves.

Some of the hired guards fled into the brush.

"Cowards!" shouted the captain, then fell from his horse, an arrow in his side.

"Taverik!" screamed Uali. Three men had surrounded him, dragging him from his mule.

"Hang on!" Taverik shouted and drummed his own mule forward.

A man on a white-eyed roan plunged between them. Behind the black beard the man's teeth gleamed as

he roared something in a language Taverik couldn't make sense of. He swung a club. Taverik ducked

under it. The man swung again, just as the mule reared bringing Taverik well in range. The club caught

him a glancing blow, exploding the world into slivers of light and pain. Taverik grabbed for the mule's

mane but it wasn't there.

Chapter 2

Taverik

He became aware he was lying on his face in the freezing mud. His head ached until he thought it would

shatter, and he wanted to vomit. He swallowed and swallowed again.

Men shouted back and forth, but the battle was apparently over. Taverik lifted his cheek from the ooze

and tried to see, but his eyes seemed glued shut. He rubbed at them- they felt sticky and his hand numb

and stiff with cold.

"What about this one?" someone asked in Vosa Pakajan. The ground shook and footsteps crunched by

his ear. Taverik forced himself limp. If any of the bandits realized he was still alive they might simply knife

him. A booted foot kicked him ungently onto his back. He lay where he fell, trying not to screw up his

face in defense. Hands patted his surcoat, felt the lump of his money bag, pulled it from his undercoat.

His warm mantle was stripped away. Rough fingers found his chain and yanked.

"Hurry it up!" a man shouted in a strange and heavy accent, directly over Taverik. He recognized the

voice of the black-bearded man who had struck him down.

"Get his ring," said another.

His ring!Oh Zojikam, his ring! It always was too tight. They'd cut off his finger for it. Taverik stiffened

then again forced himself limp. Better than losing his life, better than losing his life, he thought over and

over in rhythm with his throbbing head. Someone lifted his hand and he grit his teeth. But his fingers were

cold and the ring loose. A tug, then his hand was dropped into the mud. Hooves thudded past. "Hurry!"

shouted the bearded man again.

Footsteps crunched, then faded. The trail was silent.

"Zojikam!" groaned someone nearby. "Help me!"

Taverik struggled to his knees and wiped his hands over his eyes. His lashes parted painfully and he

stared blurrily at his fingers. All there.

He looked up. His favorite mule lay dead beside him. The rest of the string was gone. And Uali?

He pushed himself to his feet. Around him lay broken wagons, dead mules, and twisted bodies. The loud

mouth from Perijo sat on the ground shaking his head back and forth like a bewildered bear. Uali

sprawled on his face. Taverik rolled him over, then turned abruptly away. His stomach twisted, then

heaved.

He straightened slowly, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Suddenly he stiffened. What about Marko?

The farm wagon still stood just ahead. Taverik stumbled past it and saw why. Whitey lay in the traces,

red stains bright against his creamy coat. "Poor thing," he murmured. At his voice, Whitey lifted his head

and looked at Taverik then laid it tiredly down again.

Climbing over the tangle, Taverik found Marko curled up against the front wheel. He dropped to one

knee beside him, allowing himself no hope.

"Marko?" he said softly. He lifted him away from the wheel. Marko groaned. Blood darkened the front

of his black surcoat, red on Taverik's fingers as they found the gash in the fabric. Marko opened his eyes,

focused on Taverik and gasped. He struggled away.

"Stop it," Taverik said. "It's me. Tav."

Marko stared at him a moment then relaxed. "Your face."

"Bloody, I know. Let me look at you." Taverik eased him down and began to unbutton the quilted

undercoat.

Marko's cold fingers closed around his hand. "I'll be all right," he said. "Just take me home and Sahra

will take care of it."

"Who's Sahra?"

The fingers tightened. "I mean, Oma."

"Let me bandage it, Marko."

"No, I'll be fine. Just help me up."

"Hold still, will you?" Taverik said, exasperated. He pulled his knife and slit the linen undershirt. Marko

caught his hand with surprising strength. "Are we friends, Tav? Truly?"

"Of course," Taverik said. "You know that."

Marko met his eyes for a long moment. Delirious, Taverik thought. Finally Marko nodded and turned his

face aside. Wondering at his tension, Taverik tore open the linen shirt. "But ..." he said in surprise.

"You're already bandaged?"

"Taverik," Marko began resignedly.

Taverik slit the bandage. He stared in astonishment, then understanding flooded him. "You- you're a, a .

. ."

Marko met his eyes again. "A woman."

Taverik stared back, anger quickly replacing his amazement. A woman! All this time, all these trips,

she'd made a fool of him. Here she was, walking brazenly around, her hair uncovered, the Guild, Taverik

himself taking her for a man, talking to her like she was a man-

"Take me to my sister," Marko said. "And don't let anyone know . . . anddon't take me to a doctor!

Promise!"

Promise? How could he promise that? Yet, he thought, he, no, she, was the same person he would have

given his life for in a street fight, and he could have sworn Marko would have done the same. Why was

she pretending to be a man?

Marko shook his arm. "Promise!"

Carol Chase - Hawk's Flight

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