The Eye of the Falcon (10 page)

F
rom the lookout post on the wall, Pirra caught movement farther down the mountain. There among the pines: black cloaks and bronze spears.
Crows.

Her mind darted in panic. They had tracked her here and were coming for the dagger. They would force their way in, and when they discovered that she didn't have it, they would torture her till she told them where it was.

Unless—unless they thought she had gone.

Crouching behind the juniper tree, she tore off her belt, leaned over the precipice, and tossed it onto a thorn bush. The lambskin snagged, as she'd hoped it would. Maybe the Crows would think she'd fallen.

Or maybe they would see through the trick in a heartbeat, and ransack Taka Zimi.

Scrambling down into the courtyard, she raced unsteadily for the sanctuary. She halted on the steps, straining to hear over the noise of the stream and her own panting breath.

She caught the distant crunch of boots in snow.
Already?

She glanced over her shoulder. No no no. Her tracks cut across the courtyard like an arrow, pointing to where she'd gone. Biting her lips, she flew down and swept the snow with her cloak.

Harsh cries of men beyond the walls, a savage pounding at the gates. Pirra couldn't move, couldn't take her eyes from the crossbeam. It held—but it wouldn't keep them out for long.

Abruptly, the noises ceased. The silence was terrible. Then something heavy struck the top of the wall. Pirra's heart jerked. They had flung a rope around one of the bull's horns. Any moment now, a warrior would appear at the top and see her.

Nowhere to hide in her chamber. She darted for Silea's, kicked aside the mat, and yanked open the hatch to the cellar.

Your tracks! Again she retraced her steps, wiping her wet boot-prints off the stones. Then she half fell, half slid down the ladder into the cellar and paused at the bottom to listen.

Nothing. But she pictured warriors swarming over the walls, then lifting the crossbeam and letting in a black flood of Crows.

Soundlessly she lowered the hatch, struggling to keep hold of a corner of the mat, in a desperate attempt to conceal her hiding place. The darkness was so thick she couldn't see her hand before her face, but she found a gap behind an oil jar and squeezed behind it.

She smelled wet earth and heard the gurgle of the stream. Icy air blew through the hole she'd pecked away at over the winter. Waste of time. Earlier, when she'd realized that she'd been left for dead, she'd come down here and tried to enlarge it. She'd been so weak from the fever that she'd had to stop and crawl back to her bed to rest.

“Search everywhere, leave nothing intact,” shouted a harsh voice that was dreadfully familiar.

Pirra's mind flew to last summer, when she'd faced Kreon in his stronghold. She remembered his greasy warrior braids and his massive fist crushing a harmless grass snake and flinging it writhing on the fire . . .

Clutching her sealstone, she tried to feel its tiny falcon. Her fingers were shaking too hard, she couldn't make it out.

As Telamon stood in the courtyard watching his men search the guardhouse, a falcon lit onto a juniper tree on the wall, uttering shrill cries of alarm.

The men stared at it. Kreon narrowed his eyes and fingered the bow slung over his shoulder. “A falcon,” he muttered. “What does that mean?”

“It means she's here,” said Telamon. “There's a falcon on her sealstone. It won't be long now.”

Ilarkos ran over to them. “We found this,” he panted, “snagged in a bush on the edge of that precipice.”

Telamon took it without a word. It was a lambskin belt, intricately braided and gilded, as befitted Yassassara's daughter.

“She could have fallen,” said Ilarkos. “Or jumped—”

“Or it's a trick,” cut in Kreon.

Again the falcon uttered its
eck-eck
cries. Ilarkos cast it an uneasy glance. “Keftian magic is strong, my lord. They say their priestesses can turn themselves into birds . . .”

“She's not a priestess,” Telamon said coldly as he wound the belt around his wrist. “She's just a girl.”

“We've still got to find her,” growled Kreon. “I'll take some men and search the slopes.”

Telamon nodded. “I'll stay here and make sure they turn over every stone in this sanctuary. Don't worry, Uncle. We'll find her and we'll find the dagger.”

“Let's hope so,” Kreon said grimly.

But it wasn't only Ilarkos who was wary of Keftian magic; Telamon was annoyed to see that his men hadn't dared approach the sacred buildings.

To show them he wasn't afraid, he took the steps two at a time. He hesitated. Someone had chalked a Plague mark on the first door. If he entered that room, he might catch the Plague.

That's what the men are for, he told himself. I'm a leader. Leaders don't risk their lives for something like this.

Swiftly, he rubbed off the mark with his sleeve, then called to his men to search the room. The remaining doors were unmarked; he would deal with those himself.

As he entered the first, he reflected that something about that belt didn't feel right. Pirra hadn't jumped or fallen down that precipice. She was still here.

Pirra heard a man stride into the room above her head—and shrank deeper behind the oil jar.

A deafening crash made her start, and she nearly knocked over the jar. Silently, she begged the Goddess to stop the Crows from spotting the hatch.

More crashes and thuds. It sounded as if they were overturning Silea's bed and smashing pots, lamps, everything. And still the hatch remained shut. Perhaps Silea's bed had fallen across it, hiding it from view.

Dust sifted onto Pirra's face, and she fought the urge to cough.

“I know you're here,” said a voice above her, terrifyingly close.

She stopped breathing. She knew that voice.

“If you come out of your own accord,” said Telamon, “we won't hurt you. I give you my word.”

To her horror, she felt the beginnings of a sneeze. Clamping her hand over her mouth, she squeezed the bridge of her nose.

No sound from above. Telamon was listening.

The sneeze subsided. Shakily, she took away her hand. Her sweaty fingers found the sealstone at her wrist, and as she clutched the amethyst falcon, she prayed to the Goddess.
Hide me please please . . .

The noise of running feet, and now another man was talking in an urgent murmur that she couldn't make out.

“Good,” snapped Telamon. “Go and tell the lord Kreon.”

Pirra's grip tightened on her sealstone. The tiny falcon dug into her palm.

“Pirra,” said Telamon calmly. “I know you're here. My men searched your room. Your bed is still warm.”

Riding the Wind, the falcon glanced down at the humans crawling like ants all over the eyrie. She couldn't see the girl, but she knew she was in trouble; she felt her call.

To get a closer look, the falcon tilted one wing and swooped toward the biggest of the humans. He was huge and lumbering, with weird black wings hanging limp and flightless down his back, like a crow's, only without the purple and green. She caught his bitter stink and sensed his rage—and also his fear.

He seemed to be frightened of her. As she swept over his head, he ducked. The falcon was astonished. Did he imagine she was stupid enough to hit him? He was enormous; she'd rather crash into a boulder. But the human didn't seem to realize that, and this gave the falcon an idea.

When she swooped again, the human bent back a stick and sent another stick wobbling through the air toward her. This stick was so ridiculously slow that she dodged it with scornful ease. Did he think he could hit a falcon with that?

Letting the Wind carry her out of reach, she scanned the mountainside. She saw more crow-men floundering in the snow below the eyrie. She caught the purple flash of a weasel near the rainbow torrent of the waterfall.
But where was the girl?

At that moment, the falcon spotted movement in the bushes below the waterfall. It was that boy again, the one who'd watched her failing to kill a crow.

The falcon flew nearer.

This boy wasn't one of the crow-men. He smelled of the forest, and he puzzled her, because unlike all the other humans the falcon had ever seen, his hair wasn't black; it was dark gold with flashes of red, like an eagle.

From his hiding place below the waterfall, Hylas watched in horror as the Crows ransacked Taka Zimi: hauling chests onto the steps and hacking them to pieces with axes, spearing mattresses and smashing stools, pots, lamps.

He could see no sign of Pirra, and it flashed across his mind that such savagery might mean that they
hadn't
found her, and were venting their rage.

Suddenly he caught movement above, and a bird swept overhead. It was that falcon again, the young one he'd seen being mobbed by crows. Puzzled, he watched her wheeling over Taka Zimi, shrieking her alarm call at the warriors.

This had to be a sign.
She's still here,
the bird's shrill cries seemed to be saying.
She needs your help.