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II

FALCON’S EYRIE

The bird, with that art known to the predatory clans, hung over them on outspread wings. Simon saw enough of those bright red thongs or ribbons fluttering from about its feet to guess that it was not a wild creature.
“Captain!” Tunston edged over to shake Koris awake, and the other sat up, rubbing his fists across his eyes in a small boy gesture.
“Captain, the Falconers are out!”
Koris jerked his head sharply up and then got to his feet, shading his eyes against the sun, to watch the slow circles of the bird. He whistled a call which arose in clear notes. Those lazy circles ceased and Simon watched the miracle of speed and precision—the strike. For the bird came in to settle upon the haft of Volt’s ax where the weapon lay half hidden in the grass of this tiny meadow. The curved beak opened and it gave a harsh cry.
The Captain knelt by the bird. Very carefully he picked up one of the trailing cords at its feet and a small metal pendant flashed in the sun. This he studied.
“Nalin. He must be one of the sentries. Go, winged warrior,” Koris addressed the restless bird. “We be of one breed with your master and there is peace between us.”
“A pity. Captain, that your words will not carry to the ears of this Nalin,” commented Tunston. “The Falconers are apt to make sure of the borders first and ask questions later, if any invaders are left alive to ask them of.”
“Just so, vagabond!”
The words came from immediately behind them. Almost as one, they whirled, to see only rocks and grass. Had it been the bird that spoke? Jivin eyed the hawk doubtfully, but Simon refused to accept that piece of magic or illusion. He fingered his only weapon, the knife which had been in his belt when he had made the shore.
Koris and Tunston showed no surprise. It was apparent they had expected some such challenge. The Captain spoke to the air about them, distinctly and slowly, as if his words must carry conviction to the unseen listener.
“I am Koris, Captain of Estcarp, driven upon this shore by storm. And these are of the Guards of Estcarp: Tunston, who is officer of the Great Keep, Jivin, and Simon Tregarth, an outlander who has taken service under the Guardian. By the Oath of Sword and Shield, Blood and Bread, I ask of you now the shelter given when two war not upon each other, but live commonly by the raised blade!”
The faint echo of his words rolled about them and was gone. Then once more the bird gave its screeching cry and arose. Tunston grinned wryly.
“Now I take it, we wait for either a guide or a dart in the back!”
“From an invisible enemy?” asked Simon.
Koris shrugged. “To every commander his own mysteries. And the Falconers have theirs in plenty. If they send the guide, we are indeed fortunate.” He sniffed. “And there is no need to go hungry while we wait.”
 
Simon gnawed at the fish, but he surveyed the small meadow cut by the stream. His companions appeared to be philosophical about the future, and he had no idea how that trick with the voice had been worked. But he had learned to use Koris as a measuring instrument when in a new situation. If the Guard Captain was willing to wait this out, then they might not have to face a fight after all. But on the other hand he would like to know more about his might-be hosts. “Who are the Falconers?”
“As Volt,” Koris’ hand went to the ax, slipping in caress down its handle, “they are legend and history, but not so ancient.
“In the beginning they were mercenaries, come overseas in Sulcar ships from a land where they lost their holdings because of a barbarian invasion. For a space they served with the traders as caravan guards and marines. Sometimes they still hire out when in their first youth. But the majority did not care for the sea; they had a hunger for mountains eating into them, since they were heights born. So they came to the Guardian at Estcarp city and suggested a pact, offering to protect the southern border of the land in return for the right to settle in the mountains.”
“There was wisdom in that!” Tunston broke in. “It was a pity the Guardian could not agree.” “Why couldn’t she?” Simon wanted to know.
Koris smiled grimly. “Have you not dwelt long enough yet in Estcarp, Simon, not to know that it is a matriarchate? For the Power which has held it safe lies not first in the swords of its men, but in the hands of its women. And the holders of Power are in truth all women.
“On the other hand the Falconers have strange customs of their own, which are as dear to them as the mores of Estcarp are to the witches. They are a fighting order of males alone. Twice a year picked young men are sent to their separate villages of women, there to sire a new generation, as stallions are put out to pasture with the mares. But of affection, or liking, of equality between male and female, there is none recognized among the Falconers. And they do not admit that a woman exists save for the bearing of sons.
“Thus they were to Estcarp savages whose corrupt way of life revolted the civilized, and the Guardian swore that were they to settle within the country with the consent of the witches the Power would be affronted and depart. So were they told that not by the will of Estcarp could they hold her border. However they were granted leave to pass in peace through the country with what supplies they needed, to seek the mountains on their own. If there they wished to carve out a holding beyond the boundaries of Estcarp the witches would wish them well and not raise swords against them. So it has been for a hundred years or more.”
“And I take it they were able to carve out their holding?”
“So well,” Tunston answered Simon’s question “that three times have they beaten into the earth the hordes of Dukes of Karsten have sent against them. The very land they have chosen fights upon their side.”
“You say that Estcarp did not offer them friendship,” Simon pointed out. “What did it mean then when you spoke of the Oath of Sword and Shield, Blood and Bread? It sounded as if you did have some kind of an understanding.”
Koris became very busy picking a small bone from his fish. Then he smiled and Tunston laughed openly. Only Jivin looked a little conscious, as if they spoke of things it was better not to mention.
“The Falconers are men—”
“And the Guards of Estcarp are also men?” Simon ventured.
Koris’ grin spread, though Jivin was frowning now. “Do not misunderstand us, Simon. We have the greatest reverence for the Women of Power. But it is in the nature of their lives that they are apart from us, and the things which may move us. For, as you know, the Power departs from a witch if she becomes truly a woman. Therefore they are doubly jealous of their strength, having given up a part of their life to hold it. Also they are proud that they are women. To them the customs of the Falconers, which deny that pride as well as the Power, reducing a female to a body without intelligence or personality, are close to demon-inspired.
“We may not agree with the Falconers’ customs, but as fighting men we Guards pay them respect, and when we have met with them in the past there was no feud between us. For the Guards of Estcarp and the Falconers have no quarrel. And,” he tossed aside the spit from which he had worried the last bite of fish, “the day may be coming soon when the fact shall be an aid to us all.”
“That is true!” Tunston spoke eagerly. “Karsten has waned upon them. And whether the Guardian wills it or not, if Karsten marches upon Estcarp the Falconers stand between. But we know that well and this past year the Guardian turned her attention elsewhere when the Big Snow struck and grain and cattle moved southward to Falconer villages.”
“There were women and children hungry in those villages,” Jivin said.
“Yes. But the supplies were ample and more than villagers ate,” countered Tunston.
“The falcon!” Jivin jerked a thumb skywards, and they saw that black and white bird sail through the air over their campsite. It proved this time to be the fore-scout of a small party of men who rode into view and sat watching the Guards.
The horses they bestrode were akin to ponies, rough-coated beasts that Simon judged were nimble footed enough on the narrow trails of the heights. And their saddles were simple pads. But each possessed a forked horn on which perched at ease one of the falcons, that of the leader offering a resting place to the bird that had guided them.
As did the Guards and the man of Sulcarkeep, they wore mail shirts and carried small, diamond-shaped shields on their shoulders. But their helms were shaped like the heads of the birds they trained. And, though he knew that human eyes surveyed him from behind the holes in those head coverings, Simon found the silent regard of that exotic gear more than a little disquieting.
“I am Koris, serving Estcarp.” Koris, the great ax across his forearm, stood up to face the silent four.
The man whose falcon had just returned to its perch held up his empty sword hand palm out in a gesture as universal and as old as time. “Nalin of the outer heights,” his voice rang hollow in the helm-mask. “Between us there is peace. The Lord of Wings opens the Eyrie to the Captain of Estcarp.”
 
Simon had doubts about those ponies carrying double. But when he mounted behind one of the Falconers he discovered that the small animal was as sure-footed on the slightest of trails as a burro and the addition of an extra rider appeared to be no inconvenience.
The trails of the Falconer’s territory were certainly not laid to either entice or comfort the ordinary traveler. Simon kept his eyes open only by force of will as they footed along ledges and swung boots out over drops he had no desire to measure.
Now and again one of the birds soared aloft and ahead, questing out over the knife slash valleys which were a feature of the region, returning in time to its master. Simon longed to ask more concerning the curious arrangement between man and bird, for it seemed that the feathered scouts must have a way of reporting.
The party came down from one slope onto a road which was smooth as a highway. But they crossed that and bored up into the wilderness once more. Simon ventured to speak to the man behind whom he rode.
“I am new to this southern country—is that not a way through the mountains?”
“It is one of the traders’ roads. We keep it open for them and so we both profit. You are this outlander, then, who has taken service with the Guards?”
“I am.”
“The Guards are no blank shields. And their Captain rides to a fight and not from it. But it would seem that the sea has used you ill.”
“No man may command storms,” Simon returned evasively. “We live—for that we offer thanks.”
“To that give thanks in addition that you were not driven farther south. The wreckers of Verlaine haul much from the sea. But they do not care for living men. Someday,” his voice sharpened, “Verlaine may discover that none of her cliffs, nor her toothed reefs shall shelter her. When the Duke sets his seal upon that place then it will no longer be a small fire to plague travelers, but rather a raging furnace!”
“Verlaine is of Karsten?” Simon asked. He was a gatherer of facts where and when he could, adding them piece by piece to his jigsaw of this world.
“Verlaine’s daughter is to be wed to the Duke after the custom of these foreigners. For they believe that holding of land follows a female! Then by such a crooked right the Duke will claim Verlaine for its rich treasure seized out of storm seas, and perhaps enlarge the trap for the taking of all coastwise ships. Of old we have given our swords to the traders, though the sea is not our chosen battlefield, so shall we perhaps be summoned when Verlaine is cleansed.”
“You reckon the men of Sulcarkeep among those you would aid?”
The bird’s head on the shoulders before him nodded vigorously.”It was on Sulcar ships that we came out of blood, death and fire overseas, Guardsman! Sulcar has first claim upon us since that day.”
“It will no more!” Simon did not know why he said that, and he regretted his loose tongue immediately.
“You bear some news, Guardsman? Our hawks quest far, but not as far as the northern capes. What has chanced to Sulcarkeep?”
Simon’s hesitation was prolonged into no reply at all as one of the falcons hung above them, calling loudly.
“Loose me and slide off!” his companion ordered sharply. Simon obeyed, and the four Guardsmen were left on the trail while the ponies forged ahead at a pace reckless for the country. Koris beckoned the others on.
“There is a sortie.” He ran after the fast-disappearing ponies, the ax over his shoulder, his slender legs carrying him at a muscle-straining trot which Simon alone found it easy to equal.
There were shouts beyond and the telltale clash of metal meeting metal.
“Karsten forces?” panted Simon as he drew abreast of the Captain.
“I think not. There are outlaws in these wastes, and Nalin says they grow bolder. To my mind it is but a small part of all the rest. Alizon threatens to the north, the Kolder move in upon the west, the outlaw bands grow restless, and Karsten stirs. Long have the wolves and the night birds longed to pick the bones of Estcarp. Though they would eventually quarrel over those bones among themselves. Some men live in the evening and go down into darkness defending the remnants of that they reverence.”
“And this is the evening for Estcarp?” Simon found breath to ask.
“Who can say? Ah—outlaws they are!”
They looked down now upon a trade road. And here swirled a battle. The bird-helmeted horsemen dismounted as the level ground was too limited to give cavalry any advantage, to strike in as a well-trained fighting unit, cutting down those who had been enticed into the open. But there were snipers in hiding and they took toll by dart of the Falconers.
Koris leaped from ledge to trail, coming down in a pocket where two men crouched. Simon worked his way along a thread of path to a point where, with a well-aimed stone, he brought down one who was just shooting into the melee. It took only a moment to strip that body of gun and ammunition and turn the weapon against the comrades of its former owner.
Hawks flew screaming, stabbing at faces and eyes, raking with savage claws. Simon fired, took aim and fired again, marking his successes with dour satisfaction. A fraction of the bitterness of their defeat at Sulcarkeep oozed from him during those few wild moments while there was still active resistance around and below.
A squeal of horn cut the shrieks of the birds. Across the valley a rag of flag was waved vigorously and those of the outlaws who still kept their feet fell back, though they did not break and run until they reached cover where mounted men could not pursue. The day was slipping fast into evening and a host of shadows swallowed them up.
Hide from the men they might, but concealment from the hawks was another matter. The birds swirled over the rising ground, striking down, sometimes finding a quarry as screams of pain testified. Simon saw Koris on the road, ax still in hand, a dark stain on the blade of that weapon. He was talking eagerly with a Falconer, oblivious of those who walked from one body to the next, sometimes making sure of its status with a quick sword stroke. There was the same grim finality to this engagement as there had been after the ambush of those from Gorm. Simon busied himself with the buckling on of his new arms belt, taking care not to watch that particular activity.
The hawks were drifting back down the arch of the evening sky, coming in answer to the whistles of their masters. Two bodies in bird helms were lashed across the pads of nervous ponies, and other men rode bandaged, supported by their fellows. But the toll among the outlaw force had been far the greater.
Simon rode behind a Falconer again, not the same man. And this one was not inclined to talk as he nursed a slashed arm across his breast and swore softly at every jolt.
Night came quickly in the mountains, the higher peaks shutting out the sun, enclosing growing pools of gloom. The track they took was a broader one and smooth as a highway when compared to their earlier trails. It brought them at last, up a stiff climb, to the home the Falconers had made for themselves in their exile. And it was such a keep as drew a whistle of astonishment out of Simon.
He had been truly impressed by the ancient walls of Estcarp with their air of having been wrought from the bones of the earth in the days of its birth. And Sulcarkeep , though it had been cloaked with the spume of that unnatural fog, had been indeed a mighty work. But this was a part of the cliffs, of the mountain. He could only believe that the makers had chanced upon a peak where there were a series of caves which had been enlarged and worked. For the Eyrie was not a castle, but a mountain itself converted into a fort.
They entered over a drawbridge spanning a chasm luckily hidden in the twilight, a drawbridge giving footing to only one horse at a time. Simon released his indrawn breath only when the pony he bestrode in company passed under the wicked points of a portculis into a gaping cave. He aided the wounded Falconer to the pavement and into the hands of one of his fellows, and then looked about for the Guardsmen, sighting Tunston’s height and bare dark head before he saw the others.
Koris pushed his way to them, Jivin at his heels. For a space they seemed to be forgotten by their hosts.
Horses were led away, and each man took his falcon upon a padded glove before going into another passage. But at last one of the bird heads swiveled in their direction and a Falconer officer approached.
“The Lord of Wings would speak with you, Guardsmen. Blood and Bread, Sword and Shield to your service!”
Koris tossed his ax, caught it, and turned the blade away from the other with ceremony. “Sword and Shield, Blood and Bread, man of the hawks!”

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II

FALCON’S EYRIE

The bird, with that art known to the predatory clans, hung over them on outspread wings. Simon saw enough of those bright red thongs or ribbons fluttering from about its feet to guess that it was not a wild creature.
“Captain!” Tunston edged over to shake Koris awake, and the other sat up, rubbing his fists across his eyes in a small boy gesture.
“Captain, the Falconers are out!”
Koris jerked his head sharply up and then got to his feet, shading his eyes against the sun, to watch the slow circles of the bird. He whistled a call which arose in clear notes. Those lazy circles ceased and Simon watched the miracle of speed and precision—the strike. For the bird came in to settle upon the haft of Volt’s ax where the weapon lay half hidden in the grass of this tiny meadow. The curved beak opened and it gave a harsh cry.
The Captain knelt by the bird. Very carefully he picked up one of the trailing cords at its feet and a small metal pendant flashed in the sun. This he studied.
“Nalin. He must be one of the sentries. Go, winged warrior,” Koris addressed the restless bird. “We be of one breed with your master and there is peace between us.”
“A pity. Captain, that your words will not carry to the ears of this Nalin,” commented Tunston. “The Falconers are apt to make sure of the borders first and ask questions later, if any invaders are left alive to ask them of.”
“Just so, vagabond!”
The words came from immediately behind them. Almost as one, they whirled, to see only rocks and grass. Had it been the bird that spoke? Jivin eyed the hawk doubtfully, but Simon refused to accept that piece of magic or illusion. He fingered his only weapon, the knife which had been in his belt when he had made the shore.
Koris and Tunston showed no surprise. It was apparent they had expected some such challenge. The Captain spoke to the air about them, distinctly and slowly, as if his words must carry conviction to the unseen listener.
“I am Koris, Captain of Estcarp, driven upon this shore by storm. And these are of the Guards of Estcarp: Tunston, who is officer of the Great Keep, Jivin, and Simon Tregarth, an outlander who has taken service under the Guardian. By the Oath of Sword and Shield, Blood and Bread, I ask of you now the shelter given when two war not upon each other, but live commonly by the raised blade!”
The faint echo of his words rolled about them and was gone. Then once more the bird gave its screeching cry and arose. Tunston grinned wryly.
“Now I take it, we wait for either a guide or a dart in the back!”
“From an invisible enemy?” asked Simon.
Koris shrugged. “To every commander his own mysteries. And the Falconers have theirs in plenty. If they send the guide, we are indeed fortunate.” He sniffed. “And there is no need to go hungry while we wait.”
 
Simon gnawed at the fish, but he surveyed the small meadow cut by the stream. His companions appeared to be philosophical about the future, and he had no idea how that trick with the voice had been worked. But he had learned to use Koris as a measuring instrument when in a new situation. If the Guard Captain was willing to wait this out, then they might not have to face a fight after all. But on the other hand he would like to know more about his might-be hosts. “Who are the Falconers?”
“As Volt,” Koris’ hand went to the ax, slipping in caress down its handle, “they are legend and history, but not so ancient.
“In the beginning they were mercenaries, come overseas in Sulcar ships from a land where they lost their holdings because of a barbarian invasion. For a space they served with the traders as caravan guards and marines. Sometimes they still hire out when in their first youth. But the majority did not care for the sea; they had a hunger for mountains eating into them, since they were heights born. So they came to the Guardian at Estcarp city and suggested a pact, offering to protect the southern border of the land in return for the right to settle in the mountains.”
“There was wisdom in that!” Tunston broke in. “It was a pity the Guardian could not agree.” “Why couldn’t she?” Simon wanted to know.
Koris smiled grimly. “Have you not dwelt long enough yet in Estcarp, Simon, not to know that it is a matriarchate? For the Power which has held it safe lies not first in the swords of its men, but in the hands of its women. And the holders of Power are in truth all women.
“On the other hand the Falconers have strange customs of their own, which are as dear to them as the mores of Estcarp are to the witches. They are a fighting order of males alone. Twice a year picked young men are sent to their separate villages of women, there to sire a new generation, as stallions are put out to pasture with the mares. But of affection, or liking, of equality between male and female, there is none recognized among the Falconers. And they do not admit that a woman exists save for the bearing of sons.
“Thus they were to Estcarp savages whose corrupt way of life revolted the civilized, and the Guardian swore that were they to settle within the country with the consent of the witches the Power would be affronted and depart. So were they told that not by the will of Estcarp could they hold her border. However they were granted leave to pass in peace through the country with what supplies they needed, to seek the mountains on their own. If there they wished to carve out a holding beyond the boundaries of Estcarp the witches would wish them well and not raise swords against them. So it has been for a hundred years or more.”
“And I take it they were able to carve out their holding?”
“So well,” Tunston answered Simon’s question “that three times have they beaten into the earth the hordes of Dukes of Karsten have sent against them. The very land they have chosen fights upon their side.”
“You say that Estcarp did not offer them friendship,” Simon pointed out. “What did it mean then when you spoke of the Oath of Sword and Shield, Blood and Bread? It sounded as if you did have some kind of an understanding.”
Koris became very busy picking a small bone from his fish. Then he smiled and Tunston laughed openly. Only Jivin looked a little conscious, as if they spoke of things it was better not to mention.
“The Falconers are men—”
“And the Guards of Estcarp are also men?” Simon ventured.
Koris’ grin spread, though Jivin was frowning now. “Do not misunderstand us, Simon. We have the greatest reverence for the Women of Power. But it is in the nature of their lives that they are apart from us, and the things which may move us. For, as you know, the Power departs from a witch if she becomes truly a woman. Therefore they are doubly jealous of their strength, having given up a part of their life to hold it. Also they are proud that they are women. To them the customs of the Falconers, which deny that pride as well as the Power, reducing a female to a body without intelligence or personality, are close to demon-inspired.
“We may not agree with the Falconers’ customs, but as fighting men we Guards pay them respect, and when we have met with them in the past there was no feud between us. For the Guards of Estcarp and the Falconers have no quarrel. And,” he tossed aside the spit from which he had worried the last bite of fish, “the day may be coming soon when the fact shall be an aid to us all.”
“That is true!” Tunston spoke eagerly. “Karsten has waned upon them. And whether the Guardian wills it or not, if Karsten marches upon Estcarp the Falconers stand between. But we know that well and this past year the Guardian turned her attention elsewhere when the Big Snow struck and grain and cattle moved southward to Falconer villages.”
“There were women and children hungry in those villages,” Jivin said.
“Yes. But the supplies were ample and more than villagers ate,” countered Tunston.
“The falcon!” Jivin jerked a thumb skywards, and they saw that black and white bird sail through the air over their campsite. It proved this time to be the fore-scout of a small party of men who rode into view and sat watching the Guards.
The horses they bestrode were akin to ponies, rough-coated beasts that Simon judged were nimble footed enough on the narrow trails of the heights. And their saddles were simple pads. But each possessed a forked horn on which perched at ease one of the falcons, that of the leader offering a resting place to the bird that had guided them.
As did the Guards and the man of Sulcarkeep, they wore mail shirts and carried small, diamond-shaped shields on their shoulders. But their helms were shaped like the heads of the birds they trained. And, though he knew that human eyes surveyed him from behind the holes in those head coverings, Simon found the silent regard of that exotic gear more than a little disquieting.
“I am Koris, serving Estcarp.” Koris, the great ax across his forearm, stood up to face the silent four.
The man whose falcon had just returned to its perch held up his empty sword hand palm out in a gesture as universal and as old as time. “Nalin of the outer heights,” his voice rang hollow in the helm-mask. “Between us there is peace. The Lord of Wings opens the Eyrie to the Captain of Estcarp.”
 
Simon had doubts about those ponies carrying double. But when he mounted behind one of the Falconers he discovered that the small animal was as sure-footed on the slightest of trails as a burro and the addition of an extra rider appeared to be no inconvenience.
The trails of the Falconer’s territory were certainly not laid to either entice or comfort the ordinary traveler. Simon kept his eyes open only by force of will as they footed along ledges and swung boots out over drops he had no desire to measure.
Now and again one of the birds soared aloft and ahead, questing out over the knife slash valleys which were a feature of the region, returning in time to its master. Simon longed to ask more concerning the curious arrangement between man and bird, for it seemed that the feathered scouts must have a way of reporting.
The party came down from one slope onto a road which was smooth as a highway. But they crossed that and bored up into the wilderness once more. Simon ventured to speak to the man behind whom he rode.
“I am new to this southern country—is that not a way through the mountains?”
“It is one of the traders’ roads. We keep it open for them and so we both profit. You are this outlander, then, who has taken service with the Guards?”
“I am.”
“The Guards are no blank shields. And their Captain rides to a fight and not from it. But it would seem that the sea has used you ill.”
“No man may command storms,” Simon returned evasively. “We live—for that we offer thanks.”
“To that give thanks in addition that you were not driven farther south. The wreckers of Verlaine haul much from the sea. But they do not care for living men. Someday,” his voice sharpened, “Verlaine may discover that none of her cliffs, nor her toothed reefs shall shelter her. When the Duke sets his seal upon that place then it will no longer be a small fire to plague travelers, but rather a raging furnace!”
“Verlaine is of Karsten?” Simon asked. He was a gatherer of facts where and when he could, adding them piece by piece to his jigsaw of this world.
“Verlaine’s daughter is to be wed to the Duke after the custom of these foreigners. For they believe that holding of land follows a female! Then by such a crooked right the Duke will claim Verlaine for its rich treasure seized out of storm seas, and perhaps enlarge the trap for the taking of all coastwise ships. Of old we have given our swords to the traders, though the sea is not our chosen battlefield, so shall we perhaps be summoned when Verlaine is cleansed.”
“You reckon the men of Sulcarkeep among those you would aid?”
The bird’s head on the shoulders before him nodded vigorously.”It was on Sulcar ships that we came out of blood, death and fire overseas, Guardsman! Sulcar has first claim upon us since that day.”
“It will no more!” Simon did not know why he said that, and he regretted his loose tongue immediately.
“You bear some news, Guardsman? Our hawks quest far, but not as far as the northern capes. What has chanced to Sulcarkeep?”
Simon’s hesitation was prolonged into no reply at all as one of the falcons hung above them, calling loudly.
“Loose me and slide off!” his companion ordered sharply. Simon obeyed, and the four Guardsmen were left on the trail while the ponies forged ahead at a pace reckless for the country. Koris beckoned the others on.
“There is a sortie.” He ran after the fast-disappearing ponies, the ax over his shoulder, his slender legs carrying him at a muscle-straining trot which Simon alone found it easy to equal.
There were shouts beyond and the telltale clash of metal meeting metal.
“Karsten forces?” panted Simon as he drew abreast of the Captain.
“I think not. There are outlaws in these wastes, and Nalin says they grow bolder. To my mind it is but a small part of all the rest. Alizon threatens to the north, the Kolder move in upon the west, the outlaw bands grow restless, and Karsten stirs. Long have the wolves and the night birds longed to pick the bones of Estcarp. Though they would eventually quarrel over those bones among themselves. Some men live in the evening and go down into darkness defending the remnants of that they reverence.”
“And this is the evening for Estcarp?” Simon found breath to ask.
“Who can say? Ah—outlaws they are!”
They looked down now upon a trade road. And here swirled a battle. The bird-helmeted horsemen dismounted as the level ground was too limited to give cavalry any advantage, to strike in as a well-trained fighting unit, cutting down those who had been enticed into the open. But there were snipers in hiding and they took toll by dart of the Falconers.
Koris leaped from ledge to trail, coming down in a pocket where two men crouched. Simon worked his way along a thread of path to a point where, with a well-aimed stone, he brought down one who was just shooting into the melee. It took only a moment to strip that body of gun and ammunition and turn the weapon against the comrades of its former owner.
Hawks flew screaming, stabbing at faces and eyes, raking with savage claws. Simon fired, took aim and fired again, marking his successes with dour satisfaction. A fraction of the bitterness of their defeat at Sulcarkeep oozed from him during those few wild moments while there was still active resistance around and below.
A squeal of horn cut the shrieks of the birds. Across the valley a rag of flag was waved vigorously and those of the outlaws who still kept their feet fell back, though they did not break and run until they reached cover where mounted men could not pursue. The day was slipping fast into evening and a host of shadows swallowed them up.
Hide from the men they might, but concealment from the hawks was another matter. The birds swirled over the rising ground, striking down, sometimes finding a quarry as screams of pain testified. Simon saw Koris on the road, ax still in hand, a dark stain on the blade of that weapon. He was talking eagerly with a Falconer, oblivious of those who walked from one body to the next, sometimes making sure of its status with a quick sword stroke. There was the same grim finality to this engagement as there had been after the ambush of those from Gorm. Simon busied himself with the buckling on of his new arms belt, taking care not to watch that particular activity.
The hawks were drifting back down the arch of the evening sky, coming in answer to the whistles of their masters. Two bodies in bird helms were lashed across the pads of nervous ponies, and other men rode bandaged, supported by their fellows. But the toll among the outlaw force had been far the greater.
Simon rode behind a Falconer again, not the same man. And this one was not inclined to talk as he nursed a slashed arm across his breast and swore softly at every jolt.
Night came quickly in the mountains, the higher peaks shutting out the sun, enclosing growing pools of gloom. The track they took was a broader one and smooth as a highway when compared to their earlier trails. It brought them at last, up a stiff climb, to the home the Falconers had made for themselves in their exile. And it was such a keep as drew a whistle of astonishment out of Simon.
He had been truly impressed by the ancient walls of Estcarp with their air of having been wrought from the bones of the earth in the days of its birth. And Sulcarkeep , though it had been cloaked with the spume of that unnatural fog, had been indeed a mighty work. But this was a part of the cliffs, of the mountain. He could only believe that the makers had chanced upon a peak where there were a series of caves which had been enlarged and worked. For the Eyrie was not a castle, but a mountain itself converted into a fort.
They entered over a drawbridge spanning a chasm luckily hidden in the twilight, a drawbridge giving footing to only one horse at a time. Simon released his indrawn breath only when the pony he bestrode in company passed under the wicked points of a portculis into a gaping cave. He aided the wounded Falconer to the pavement and into the hands of one of his fellows, and then looked about for the Guardsmen, sighting Tunston’s height and bare dark head before he saw the others.
Koris pushed his way to them, Jivin at his heels. For a space they seemed to be forgotten by their hosts.
Horses were led away, and each man took his falcon upon a padded glove before going into another passage. But at last one of the bird heads swiveled in their direction and a Falconer officer approached.
“The Lord of Wings would speak with you, Guardsmen. Blood and Bread, Sword and Shield to your service!”
Koris tossed his ax, caught it, and turned the blade away from the other with ceremony. “Sword and Shield, Blood and Bread, man of the hawks!”

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