Master of Hawks (9 page)

A short, brown-haired man stood next to S'Mayler. Without knowing how, Jaxton sensed that this was the hawk-telepath he'd fought. Looking at the man gave Jaxton an unsettled feeling. His skin crawled, as though he'd stepped through a spider's web. He shrugged off the feeling. It was just, he thought absently, that his enemy was a bird-path like himself.

Having perceived enough, he released the image and looked around. The great earth-beast menacing Ramsey's group had dissolved into a dusty cloud that spread and darkened, obscuring the men. Jaxton spurred his horse and rode after them.

Then one side of the inn rippled as though the stone and timber were liquid- It began to crumble. The earth shook and fissured in reply.

Jaxton's horse stumbled and fell, tossing him to the ground. When the land quieted, he ran toward the black cloud. A horse hurtled through it, heading toward him, so he concentrated on the Pendant of

Thantos and spoke. The terrified animal slowed and came to him, dazed and made docile by the spell.

Grabbing the reins, Jaxton turned back to the tavern and pointed, murmuring the fire spell again. The flames touched the stable and the cupola on the top of the main building, but before they could reach the inn proper, S'Mayler countered his incantation, turning back the flames so that they engulfed Jaxton, causing him to draw all of the Thantos's power to block the fire and protect his horse.

Finally he managed to mount and ride into the black dust, which had thickened into a fog. Dark trunks loomed out of the mist as he entered the woods behind the inn. Iridescent lights flickered in the darkness ahead, indicating the continuing battle between Ramsey and S'Mayler.

As Jaxton headed in that direction, a freezing wet wind suddenly blew through the trees, coating them with ice. The cold filtered through his shield with numbing intensity. Dust and sleet like leather whips scourged his hands and face.

Abruptly the ice storm ended and the dust cloud evaporated. The sunlight revealed a spring-green forest entombed in bright white sheaths. Icicles hung
from
every bough and twig.

Ahead stood two ice sculptures that nature could never have carved. Two of Ramsey's men and their horses, frozen solid in their tracks, sparkled and began to melt.

Jaxton looked away and prodded his horse around them. When he reached the Tompkins Road, he saw the remnants of Ramsey's party just ahead. They were still in the center of a whirlwind of sorcery.

Crevices formed and trees fell to block their way,
while insubstantial shadow-soldiers made of spells and mist attacked from the trees with spears of flame. Ramsey rode forward, seemingly oblivious to the destruction around him. His frightened men cowered on their mounts and tried to stay close enough to him to be protected by his sorcery. Although they feared magic, they knew their only chance for escape lay with Ramsey.

As Jaxton joined the group, the ground ahead surged up like a fountain, and rocks and debris pummeled them. Ramsey's powers seemed to be weakening, and beads of sweat glistened on his dark forehead. Jaxton gripped the Thantos spellstone in his left hand and used it to spin a web of force that protected them from the hail of stones.

A few of the soldiers looked at him with terrified awe as they realized that he now controlled the Pendant of Thantos. Others were too numb even to notice.

The shadow-soldiers became wisps of vapor and disappeared, the hail of dirt and rocks lessened, and the earth ahead of them rippled and quieted. Then the attack stopped altogether—they had traveled beyond S'Mayler's effective range of a few miles.

While the men had fought, the clouds from the west had become dark thunderheads. Now they broke, and the rain pelted down on the battle-weary soldiers- Threeforks and the road to Swego were covered by a sea of rain that would last for hours.

Jaxton could barely make out his companions through the sheets of water. The men were still stunned and frightened, not yet realizing that the sorcery had ended.

Ahead a man slumped forward. He crumpled from his horse to lie unmoving in the mud.

Recognizing the osmur cloak half-covering Lord Ramsey's still form, Jaxton galloped forward.

7

While massing clouds above Threeforks transformed bright azure into dull gray, the dark town had become a study in crimson. Scarlet flames leaped from building to building along a narrow street that had turned blood red.

From his vantage point atop the wall-walk surrounding the inn's courtyard, Hawk felt as though the battle below had lasted forever.

He had spent the first part of the interminable day as he had the past several—contacting hundreds of birds to trace Ramsey's progress without attracting the attention of the falcon-telepath. Even though he had fleetingly contacted the man several times during the reconnaissance, his shield evidently had been strong enough to hide his presence, for the telepath hadn't been able to attack him and had not suspected their trap.

Then he had rechecked the layout of the town with
his eagles, making sure that no one from a bird's view could detect the fortifications and the hiding men, or determine that the soldiers masquerading in black and silver were not the men who had originally worn those uniforms.

The jaws of their trap had closed even more cleanly than they'd hoped- Hawk had never expected the troops to take the bait so enthusiastically, but they had—and he could see that the far end of town had become a charnel house for most of the soldiers. Some of the troops at the tail of the column had managed to escape back up the Buchanan Road, but most had been trapped along the street or in the courtyard.

Hawk leaned forward, aiming an arrow through the slitted parapet of the wall-walk. A black-uniformed soldier was trying to batter his way through a shuttered window into the tavern- Hawk released the arrow. The soldier crumpled when the shaft entered his back.

Before Hawk could fire another arrow, men in the courtyard below began to surrender- Imperial soldiers threw down their swords- Those who were not wounded raised their arms above their heads in submission
.
The inn's door opened and some Yorkmen took them prisoner.

Turning to the other side of the walkway, Hawk saw Derek S'Mayler lean against the wall and look toward the burning town. Multicolored lights burst around him in a deadly pyrotechnic display. S'Mayler swayed slightly, as though his large frame were buffeted by a windstorm, yet Hawk felt nothing other than slight vibrations as one of the lightning-like flashes of red and black occasionally penetrated S'Mayler's defense and hit the tavern wall.

The wind shifted direction, covering Hawk with an acrid smoke that stank of burning wood and flesh. It clung to his face and clothing and stung his eyes; when he wet his lips, the taste of ashes and death made him gag.

Then a sound like the screech of a bluejay made him look up, and he saw the cupola at the top of the inn burst into flames
.
He ran past Derek S'Mayler to the end of the wall and scrambled up the tiled roof toward the top. Several other men followed him. Reaching the structure, he took off his jacket and used it to beat at the flames.

"I'll get some water," shouted one of the men as he ran down the gentle slope behind the tower toward a window.

"Just get a couple of blankets," said another, following.

In a moment they returned to subdue the fire. Fortunately the blaze appeared to have started in only one area, and they quickly smothered it. Hawk leaned back against the half-charred timber with a sigh of relief.

Then one of the men yelled, "The stable is on fire!"

Hawk blinked and rubbed his stinging eyes. Through the rising smoke he could
see
the building. The roof was ablaze, and he knew that the wood and hay would go up like tinder.

While he followed the other men to the nearest window and down through the inn, he thought of Roslyn. He knew she'd been stationed near the stables because of her ability to control animals. With growing alarm he remembered that she'd said she was terrified of fires.

They sprinted through the back of the tavern into
the searing smoke outside. Horses screamed, men fought, and York soldiers struggled to form a bucket brigade. The smoke erased the sky and obscured the buildings.

Hawk moved blindly toward the stable, cognizant of the direction only because of the shri
eking of panicked animals ahead.

Suddenly two horses appeared through the billowing smoke. Although their skin dripped with sweat, they moved with surprising calm until they were well away from the burning stable. Then their nostrils flared, terror replaced the vacant glaze of their eyes, and their careful trot became a wild gallop. They veered back in Hawk's direction.

Jumping to avoid a collision, Hawk stumbled into one of the fire fighters. He recognized the white hair and soft blue eyes, if not Coleman S'Wessex's soot-streaked face.

"Where's Roslyn?" Hawk asked. He was certain that the horses' strange behavior was caused by her telepathic control.

The older man shook his head. "I don't know—she went inside the stable to get the horses out."

"She's still inside?" Hawk shouted over the din.

"She must have gotten out the back way with the rest of the men," S'Wessex replied. As they moved closer to the barnlike structure, the whole building seemed to glow as the flames spread.

Coleman S'Wessex seized one of his men by the sleeve. "Siclari—did Ro get out with you?"

The man shook his head and tossed a bucket of water ineffectively against the wall. Then an Empire soldier appeared in the red-tinged haze, and the Yorkman instinctively swung his pail, knocking the other down.

Coleman caught the next bucket of water from the line as several more horses burst through the flaming doorway. It didn't seem possible that the terrified animals could have escaped without Roslyn's control.

"I've got to get her out of there," Hawk yelled.

Before Coleman could move, Hawk twisted the bucket from his hands. Then the telepath plunged his scorched jacket into the cold liquid, poured the rest of the water over his head, and ran through the blazing doorway into the stable.

Sheets of flame moved down the walls like living things. Sparking and crawling from one piece of straw to the next, the fire moved quickly down the empty stalls.

A few beams fell in the back of the barn, and the roof shuddered.

Staring into the shadows and smoke, Hawk felt the intense heat blast against his skin. He coughed, choked, and pulled the jacket over his head. Breathing through the coolness of the water, he stepped forward.

A figure moved haltingly among the flames, running and stopping in a dance of delirium to the music of past terror.

"No . . . no . . . Matthew, it's me," whispered the figure. Hawk recognized Ro's voice and moved toward her.

"Father? Father?" the girl's voice shrieked- Then smoke flowed around her again, concealing her form.

"What's happened to you? Don't you recognize me?" cried the girl.

Hawk stumbled as another beam fell, nearly hitting him.

Reality suddenly caught up with him, and he realized his own danger. A wave of fear and panic smashed against him, but he stood his ground.

Then he saw Ro. She sat on the floor now, her eyes closed, her hair spread around her streaked face in a fan of singed gold. When he touched her, her eyes snapped open, revealing emeralds that flashed flames of reflected light.

Her face contorted into a wild mask. She shouted hysterically at him. Hawk pulled her to her feet and tried to lead her back toward the doorway. But her fists pounded against his chest. She struggled to pull away as her mind relived the past.

"Put down your sword Matt . . . " she cried. "Matthew, it's me. It's Ro, Ro S'Cascar. . . . " The words tumbled from her lips in confusion.

"Let me go. . . . " Her fingers dug into his arm like talons as she twisted and squirmed, almost breaking his hold. "Matthew . . . " She shrieked the name in terror. Her head arched back and her arms shoved against his chest as she frantically tried to get away. "Don't make me hurt you. . . . "

Abruptly her mood quieted, and she went limp in his arms.

"Father?" This time her voice was almost a sob.

Hawk pulled her under the protecting fold of his tattered jacket, and holding her tightly against him, headed toward the doorway.

"Father? Father?" her voice whispered hoarsely. "No, no . . . everyone's gone crazy . . . killing each other . . . fire . . . everything's burning, everyone's gone crazy . . . I've got to get out . . . ," she mumbled incoherently. "Matthew, what's happening? . . . Matthew.. . . " She screamed the last syllable of the name, and the sound echoed through the thunder of falling ceiling.

Then they were outside. Hands reached for Hawk, someone beat at the flames that had begun to crawl up his sleeve, and Coleman S'Wessex pulled the half-conscious girl from his arms and carried her toward the inn.

Hawk began to cough uncontrollably, so S'Wessex's aide, Hank Siclari, let him drink from a bucket. His hands shook as he gulped the liquid. His whole body trembled from the sudden release of tension.

Still half-blinded and half-suffocated by the smoke, he was hardly aware of what was happening as the thin, white-haired Siclari led him back into the tavern- Following Coleman S'Wessex, they passed through the common room, which had been arranged for the wounded, up the stairs, and into S'Wessex's room.