The Eye of the Falcon (19 page)

T
he boy, the girl, and even that wretched falcon had been swallowed by this great horned mountain—and only the lion cub was left outside.

She felt a bit battered after falling out of the tree, and she limped as she prowled the mountain's feet. From somewhere within came the cries of that stupid bird. It sounded as if it was in trouble. Well, good. It wasn't
fair
that the falcon was inside with the boy, just because she could fly.

Darkness gaped in the mountain's flank, and the lion cub halted. She was back before those dreadful gaping jaws that had swallowed the boy and girl—and what was worse, they now reeked of the terrible men with the flying black hides who had killed her parents.

Flattening her ears, the cub hunkered down to think.
No no no,
she couldn't go in there.

But the terrible men were hunting the boy.

In an agony of terror, the cub flexed her claws in and out. She couldn't go in there, not even for him.

But he needed her.

The lion cub twitched her tail and tightened her haunches. Then she seized her courage in her jaws and darted inside.

The falcon was exhausted, frightened, and
angry
. It was her own fault that she'd gotten herself trapped.

After saving the girl from the bull, the falcon had flown off to find a roost in a nice dark corner of one of the caves. Some time later, she'd woken with a sense that the girl was in trouble again. The falcon didn't know how she felt this, but she did, to the roots of her feathers.

So once again she'd sped through the narrow winding caves. She'd forgotten all about those giant cobwebs that spanned the caves—until it was too late, and she crashed into one.

The cobweb was tougher than it looked, and although the falcon pecked and lashed out with her talons, she couldn't tear herself free. She'd been struggling for ages, but the more she fought, the more tangled up she became.

Now her wings were squeezed shut and she couldn't move a claw. It was awful, like being back in the Egg.

It was awful inside the mountain.

The ground was menacingly smooth beneath the lion cub's paws, and on either side of her rose strange threatening trees with very straight trunks that she didn't dare scratch.

At times, she blundered into giant cobwebs spanning the mouths of caves. They clung unpleasantly to her muzzle, and she had to claw herself free with both forepaws.

Worst of all, everywhere stank of the bad humans. The caves were so echoey that the cub couldn't tell where they were, but she heard their yowls and the clash of their long shiny claws.

At last she caught the boy's scent and followed it to a pile of dead sheep. She smelled that he'd curled up on them and had one of his endless sleeps, and this made her feel a bit braver.

Nosing a sheep, she was startled to find that it was nothing but pelt, with no meat inside. She ripped open the smallest, fattest sheep, and to her astonishment, it was full of feathers. What kind of sheep has feathers instead of guts?

Coughing and sneezing, the lion cub forgot about the empty sheep and padded into the next cave, which smelled strongly of the boy and the girl. They weren't here now, but they'd left her some meat, so she settled down to eat, swiveling her ears for the least sound of the terrible men.

Somewhere not far off, that falcon was squawking again. Let her squawk. Hungrily, the lion cub gulped more meat.

The falcon struggled, but it was no use; the cobwebs held her fast—and now some earthbound monster was coming toward her.

Helpless as a sparrow, the falcon lay with her beak agape and her heart fluttering in her breast. She saw the enormous shadow drawing close. She heard harsh sawing breath.

A huge black nose nudged her roughly in the breast—and sniffed.

The lion cub sniffed the falcon and patted her with one forepaw.

The falcon hissed, but she couldn't move: The giant cobweb held her fast. With her wings squeezed shut, she looked even punier than usual. The cub thought about eating her, but she was mostly feathers and wouldn't make a mouthful. Besides, the lion cub was full, and feathers made her sneeze.

Again she patted the falcon, who glared at her as she swung back and forth in the cobweb. The cub did it again, but this time the cobweb snagged her claws, so she ripped them free, and the falcon fell to the ground with a thud.

Curious, the lion cub batted the bird between her forepaws. The falcon shrieked and lashed out with one foot, catching the lion cub a painful scratch on her pad.

The cub snarled. The falcon hissed.

Suddenly the lion cub heard men yowling, alarmingly close.

The falcon flew off. The cub fled in terror. The caves were so echoey that she couldn't tell if the bad humans were ahead or behind. She wished she'd followed the falcon—at least then she wouldn't be alone.

Where were the bad humans?

And where was the boy?

E
cho swept past Hylas and he nearly fell off the ladder, which angered the wasps, who buzzed furiously around his head. One stung his ear and another his thumb. Clenching his jaw, he tied the cord around the wasps' nest, then slid down the ladder, looped the cord at ankle height around the pillars on either side of the passage, and raced off. There. Another trap set.

As yet, he'd seen no sign of the Crows, but he knew it wouldn't be long. Earlier, he'd peered out of a window and glimpsed a black swarm of them at the north gates. He'd counted twenty-two, including Telamon and Kreon. Twenty-two against one. He didn't want to think about that.

If he'd been out in the wild, he would have made boulders into deadfalls and saplings into spring-loaded spikes. In here, his only plan was to frighten them off. In a workshop he'd thrown together a couple of lumpy wax figures, and sloshed water in powdered lime to make runny white paint; then he'd raced about, leaving the pus-eaters where they'd look most menacing, and marking doors with the white handprints of Plague.

If that didn't work and it came to a fight, he was finished. All he had were axe, knife, and slingshot—with not enough shot, just a pouchful of big carnelian beads from a necklace of Pirra's.

As he ran, he felt a stab of worry at leaving her alone. She was somewhere in the east of Kunisu, while he was in the west, with the Great Court between them. Although no one knew better how to hide in here than Pirra, if the Crows caught her, he wouldn't even hear her scream.

Turning a corner, he started down a shadowy passage flanked by workshops. No handprints on the doors; he hadn't set any traps here. He bumped into a brazier and sent it clattering, then tripped over a coil of rope. That'd come in handy; he slung it over his shoulder.

At the end of the passage, torchlight glimmered. Hylas crouched behind the brazier. Any moment now and Crow warriors would appear around the corner.

Torchlight glimmered at the
other
end too. The Crows were approaching the passage from both ends.

In panic, Hylas threw himself into the nearest workshop. Please please don't let it be a dead end.

It was. No windows, no ceiling hatch, not even a drain to crawl into. Just a dim chamber cluttered with tools.

“Search every room!” shouted a man from one end of the passage. The crash of breaking pottery: The two parties of Crows were working their way toward each other, ransacking every workshop as they went. The one where Hylas hid was in the middle. It wouldn't be long before they found him.

In panic, he cast about him. On a workbench he saw three of those weird giant eggs; no use to him.

The din was getting nearer.

He backed deeper into the gloom, and something jabbed his shoulder blade. It was one of those giant tusks; in fact, a whole wobbly stack of them.

The Crows were almost upon him.

In feverish haste, he tied a loop in one end of his rope and slung it over a tusk jutting from the middle of the stack; then, placing a giant egg on the floor to distract the Crows, he darted behind the workbench, gripping the other end of the rope in both hands.

An instant later, the room filled with the stench of sweat and the creak of rawhide armor. Torchlight slid across the floor toward him.

“Told you there's no one here,” growled a man, shockingly close. “I say we get out before we catch Plague.”

“Those handprints were fresh, you idiot!” snapped another. “Who d'you think made them?”

“I don't care! This whole place feels cursed, I'm getting out!”

Mutters of agreement from the others, but the one who'd noticed the paint didn't back down. “You heard the orders,” he insisted, “check every cubit!”

The torchlight slid closer to Hylas' foot. He fought the urge to recoil, knowing that the slightest move would betray him.

“What's
that
?”

He froze.

“Looks like—a giant
egg
.”

“Don't touch it, it's cursed.”

“What's that over there?”

The torchlight moved even closer. With a desperate prayer to the Lady of the Wild Things, Hylas yanked the rope as hard as he could. The pile of tusks tottered—and fell with a crash.

Torches went flying, men shouted and swore in the dark. Seizing his chance, Hylas scrambled past them and out the door.

The Crows recovered terrifyingly fast. As he sped down the passage, shouts rang out. “There he is!”

He hurtled around the bend, slipped on a rug, and staggered past a doorway flanked by two painted lions with wings. He'd seen them before: He'd set another trap somewhere close.

This time, he let the Crows catch a glimpse of him.

“That way!” one yelled.

They were so intent on catching him that they didn't see the rope at ankle height. He heard the lead warriors go down in a clatter of weapons, then men howling in rage and pain as the wasps' nest burst.

A swarm of furious wasps wouldn't delay them for long. Hylas found a stairway that he recognized and sped up it, past a lumpy little pus-eater that glared at him from the bottom step with red carnelian eyes.

He'd scarcely reached the dark at the top when warriors appeared at the foot. They saw the pus-eater and lurched to a halt.

“Told you this place is cursed,” panted one.

“Whatever you saw, it can't have been human,” whispered another. “I'm getting out!”

This time, no one argued.

Shaking with relief, Hylas listened to them go. From a window on an upper gallery, he saw them streaming out of the gates. He counted nine, far better than he'd dared hope. Now the odds were only thirteen against one.

It was getting hotter. Yanking his jerkin over his head, he stuffed it behind a brazier and headed off.

Downstairs, he found himself in another endless passage, with giant earthenware jars standing sentinel between workshops along one side. All the doors except one bore his white handprints.

More torchlight and creaking armor. He darted into the one room that bore no handprint. This time, he
wanted
the Crows to give the Plague-marked workshops only a cursory look, and concentrate on his hiding place: It was his final trap. Either that, or it would be his tomb.

The room was dark, and full of an eye-watering stink. Dung crunched underfoot and he fought the urge to gag as he slipped behind the column by the door and climbed onto its base, so that his face was near the roof beams. They were thick with sleeping bats, hanging motionless. Across the room, he made out the pale rectangle of the opposite door, which earlier he'd left ajar, with a basket balanced on top.

“He went in there, I saw him,” a warrior said hoarsely.

Light glimmered in the workshop, but the bats slept on. Hylas watched in horrified fascination as warriors passed within touching distance of the column behind which he hid. He heard the hiss of their pine-pitch torches. He saw the sweat beading their muscles and the vicious gleam of spears. If they found him, he'd be skewered like a pike.

It was time to put his plan to the test. The surest way to waken bats is to mimic their worst enemy. Putting his mouth close to the cluster near his face, Hylas
hissed
.

Snakes invaded the bats' dark dreams, and the colony exploded in twittering panic. Shouting in disgust and clawing at bats, the warriors fled for the opposite door, bringing down the basket with its load of whipsnakes. Torches went flying, men roared and trampled each other.

“Told you this place is cursed,” yelled one. “I'm getting out!”

“Orders is orders, you can't run away, you coward!”

A torrent of oaths—and now bronze was clashing with bronze, the Crows were fighting each other. In the lurching light, Hylas saw a man fall, clutching his belly. Another crumpled with blood bubbling from his mouth. The coppery tang caught at Hylas' throat, and he smelled the stink of burst bowels. The bats and snakes had fled: He followed their lead and slipped unnoticed into the passage. If he was lucky, the Crows would slaughter each other, and those who survived would flee.

Which still left a handful unaccounted for, including Kreon and Telamon. Somehow, he had to get back to the staircase where he'd left Pirra.

But now he found himself running down a passage he'd never seen before. It was painted a burning yellow, and its floor was set with red river pebbles, knobbly and painful under his bare feet.

He stumbled into an enormous hall that was also unfamiliar. He saw black ivy painted on the walls and oxblood hangings stirring in a breeze. Benches and three-legged tables lay overturned on moldering rushes—as if the hall had only just been deserted by a gathering of ghosts.

Hylas cast about him. Which way? All the arches and doorways looked the same.

An arrow whined past his ear. He flung himself sideways, and cried out as another grazed his calf.

Grabbing a bench, he held it against him as a shield.

Above him on a balcony, he glimpsed a shadowy figure crouch to nock another arrow to its bow.