Talon of the Silver Hawk Page 5

  A coach, ornate with gilded trim on black-lacquered wood, all metal fittings polished to gleam like silver, sat near the barn. Gibbs and Lars were quickly unhitching from the traces as handsome a matching set of black geldings as Talon had ever seen. Horses were not central to the mountain tribes of the Orosini as they were to other cultures nearby, but a fine mount could still be appreciated.

  The coachman oversaw the two servants, ensuring his master’s team was treated with the respect due.

  Lela said, “Looks like the Count DeBarges is visiting, again.’’

  Talon wondered who he might be, but remained silent.

  “Put the basket down on the back stoop,” Lela instructed.

  Talon did so, and the girl smiled as she vanished through the rear door to the kitchen.

  He waited a moment, unsure what to do, then turned 9261.01 3/13/03 12:53 PM Page 44

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  and headed back toward the barn. Inside he found Pasko seeing to one of the many constant repairs the old wagon required, humming a meaningless tune to himself. He glanced up an instant, then returned his attention to the work at hand. After a few moments of silence, he said,

  “Hand me that awl there, boy.’’

  Talon gave him the tool and watched as Pasko worked on the new leather for the harnesses. “When you live in a big city, boy,” he commented, “you can find craftsmen aplenty to do such as this, but when you’re out on the road miles from anywhere and a harness breaks, you have to know how to do for yourself.” He paused for a moment, then handed the awl back to Talon. “Let me see you punch some holes.’’

  The boy had watched the man work on this new harness for a few days and had a fair notion of what to do.

  He began working the straps where he knew the tongue of the buckles would go. When he felt unsure, he’d glance up at Pasko, who would either nod in approval or shake his head indicating an error. Finally, the strap was finished, and Pasko said, “Ever stitch leather?’’

  “I helped my mother stitch hides . . .” He let the words fall off. Any discussion of his family brought back the despair that threatened to overwhelm him on a daily basis.

  “Good enough,” said Pasko, handing him a length of leather with the holes already punched. “Take this buckle”—he indicated a large iron buckle used to harness the horses into the traces of the wagon—“and sew it on the end of that strap.’’

  Talon studied the strap for a moment. He saw it had been fashioned from two pieces of leather sewn together for extra strength. He noticed there was a flatter side. He picked up the buckle and slid it over the long strap, the metal roller opposite the tongue he placed against the flat side. He glanced up.

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  Pasko nodded with an ever-so-faint smile, and Talon picked up the heavy leatherworker’s needle and started sewing the buckle in place. When he was done, Pasko said,

  “Fair enough, lad, but you made a mistake.’’

  Talon’s eyes widened slightly, in question.

  “Look at that one over there,” he said, pointing to another finished strap. Talon did as Pasko instructed and saw that he had made the loop where he had sewn the end together too short; this belt had triple stitching below the buckle for added strength.

  Talon nodded, and picked up a heavy leather knife and began cutting the stitches. He pulled them loose, careful not to damage the leather, then adjusted the strap so that the holes on one side would be where the first line would be stitched and the holes on the other piece would match up with the third. He carefully stitched those two lines, then added a third halfway between.

  “That’s right,” said Pasko when Talon was done. “If you need to do something for the first time, and there’s an example of the work close to hand, take a moment and study what you’re attempting. It makes for fewer mistakes, and mistakes can cost a man his life.’’

  Talon nodded, though he thought the last remark odd.

  He said, “Pasko, may I talk with you?’’

  “About what?” asked the older servant.

  “About my life.’’

  “That’s something you need to take up with Robert,”

  said the servant. “He’ll let you know what it is he expects as things move along, I’m certain.’’

  “Among my people, when a youth becomes a man, another man is always ready to guide him, to help him make the wise choices.” Talon stopped and stared into the imagined distance a moment, as if seeing something through the walls of the barn. “I have . . .”

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  Pasko said nothing, merely watching the boy closely.

  Talon remained quiet a long time, then he went back to working on the harness leathers. After more time passed, he said, “I was to be wed. I was to have joined the men in the long house, and I was to have joined in the hunt, planted crops, fathered children. I know what it was I was born to be, Pasko.” He stopped and looked at the servant.

  “A man was to guide me in those things. But none of those things matter now. I’m here, in this barn, with you, and I do not know my lot in life. What is to become of me?’’

  Pasko sighed and put down the leather he was working on. He looked Talon in the eyes and put his hand upon the boy’s shoulder. “Things change in an instant, lad. Nothing is forever. Remember that. For some reason the gods spared you among all those of your race. You were given the gift of life for a reason. I do not presume to know that reason.” He paused as if thinking for a moment about what to say next, then added, “It may be your first task is to learn that reason. I think tonight you should speak with Robert.”

  He put down the leather harness and started walking out of the barn. Over his shoulder he said, “I’ll have a word with him and see if he’s of a mind to speak with you.’’

  Talon was left alone in the barn. He regarded the work before him and remembered something his grandfather had once said to him: tend to the work at hand and set aside worrying about the work to come. So he turned his mind to the leather in his hand and concentrated on making the stitches as tight and even as he possibly could.

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  Weeks passed, and summer became autumn. Talon sensed the change in the air as might any wild creature who had lived his entire life in the mountains. The lowland 9261.01 3/13/03 12:53 PM Page 47

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  meadows around Kendrick’s were different in many ways from the highlands of his home, but there were enough similarities that he felt one with the rhythm of the season’s changes.

  When he hunted with Caleb he saw the coats on rabbits and other creatures thickening, anticipating winter’s approach. Many of the trees were losing leaves, and soon a cold snap would turn them red, gold, and pale yellow.

  Birds were migrating south, and those beasts that spawned in the fall were in rut. One afternoon he heard the roar of a male wyvern, bellowing a challenge to any other male who might trespass on his range. With the shortening days came a melancholy that threatened to overwhelm Talon at times. Fall was the harvest, and putting up salted meats and fish for the winter, gathering nuts and mending cloaks, blankets, and getting ready for the harsh winter to follow.

  Winter would bring more sense of loss, for while the harsh mountain snows could isolate a village until the first thaw, it was that time when the villagers grew close, huddling in the long house or round house telling stories.

  Families would often crowd together, two, three, or even four to a house, comforted by closeness and conversations, old stories being retold and listened to with delight no matter how familiar.

  The songs of the women as they combed their daughters’ hair or prepared a meal, the scent of cooking, the soun
d of the men telling jokes in low voices. Talon knew this winter would be the harshest so far.

  One day when he returned from hunting, the coach of Count Ramon DeBarges was again visible in the courtyard.

  Caleb took the brace of fat rabbits they had trapped while Talon deposited the carcass of a fresh-killed deer on the back porch of the kitchen.

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  Caleb paused a moment, then said, “Good hunting, Talon.’’

  Talon nodded in response. As usual they had hardly spoken throughout the day, depending on hand gestures and a shared sense of the environment. Caleb was as good a hunter as Talon had seen among his own people, though there were a dozen or so in the village who could . . . who had matched his skill.

  Caleb said, “Take the deer into the kitchen.’’

  Talon hesitated a brief second. He had never set foot inside the inn, and wasn’t sure if he should. But Caleb would not ask him to do something forbidden, so he reshouldered the deer and mounted the broad steps to the rear door. The door was solid oak with iron bands, something more expected on a fortification than a residence, but Talon didn’t pause much to think on it; he was certain that Kendrick’s had been designed as much for defense as for comfort.

  He lifted the heavy iron handle and pushed inward, the door swinging aside. He followed its arc into the kitchen and discovered a world unlike anything he had seen before.

  Orosini cooking was done over open fires or in large communal ovens, but never in a central location. Talon’s first sense was one of chaos, and as he paused a moment, order emerged.

  Lela glanced up and saw him, greeting him with a quick flash of a smile before returning her attention to a large pot hanging before one of three huge hearths. A stout woman saw Lela’s glance and followed it, seeing the rawboned boy holding the carcass.

  “Is it dressed?” she demanded.

  Talon nodded. Then he thought to add, “But not skinned.’’

  She pointed to a large meat hook over in the corner, 9261.01 3/13/03 12:53 PM Page 49

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  above a large metal pan he assumed was to catch blood and offal. He took the deer over and hung it by the strap holding together its hind legs. Once it was in place, he turned and waited.

  After a few minutes, the older woman glanced his way and saw him motionless. “Do you know how to skin a deer, boy?” she demanded.

  He nodded.

  “Then get to it!’’

  Talon didn’t hesitate, but set to skinning the deer in an efficient, practiced fashion. He also didn’t think for a moment about who this woman was and why she should order him about; among his people, women were in charge of all food preparation, and men did as they were told around the hearth, fire pits, and ovens.

  He was quickly done, and as he turned around to find a rag upon which to clean his belt knife, someone threw him one. He caught it in midair and saw a grinning Gibbs standing before a large block upon which rested a heap of vegetables, which he was cutting with a large knife.

  Behind Gibbs, Talon could see other servants cooking meats before one hearth, while others saw to fresh loaves of bread baking in the ovens. Suddenly Talon was overwhelmed with the aroma of the kitchen and simultaneously struck by a fierce hunger and a stab of pain through his chest, as the warm smells shocked him back into memories of his mother and the other women preparing meals.

  As his eyes threatened to well up with tears, Talon saw a large door swing aside, and through the doorway strode a man. He was of middle years, heavyset, with a large belly protruding over his belt—which looked more a horse’s girth than a belt to Talon—breeches tucked into midcalf boots, and a voluminous white shirt, covered with spatters of food and wine. His face was almost perfectly round, his 9261.01 3/13/03 12:53 PM Page 50

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  hair black with grey shot through, tied back in a horse’s tail, with long sideburns that almost met at the point of his chin.

  He glanced around with a critical eye and found nothing lacking until his gaze fell upon Talon.

  “You there, boy,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger at Talon, though his eyes were merry and he had a slight smile on his lips. “What is it that you’re doing?’’

  “I’ve skinned this deer, sir,” Talon said, haltingly, as the man was speaking Roldemish. The question snapped him out of his sadness.

  The man walked purposely toward the boy. “That is something which you have done,” he said in an overly loud voice. “What is it you are currently doing?’’

  Talon paused, then said, “Waiting for someone to tell me what to do next.’’

  The man’s face split into a grin. “Well said, lad. You’re the boy from the barn, Talon, is that correct?’’

  “Yes, sir.’’

  “I am Leo, and this is me kingdom,” said the man, spreading his arms in an expansive gesture. “I’ve served as cook to nobility and commoners alike, from Roldem to Krondor, and no man living has a complaint of my cooking.’’

  Someone in the busy kitchen muttered, “Because they died before they had the chance.” This brought laughter for a moment before the workers stifled the outburst, causing Leo to turn with unexpected swiftness, a black look crossing his visage. “You, there, Gibbs! I recognize that smart mouth. See to the slops.’’

  Gibbs stood erect, and said, “But the new boy should do that, Leo. I’m for the serving table.’’

  “Not tonight, my glib Gibbs. The boy will stand at the table, and you can see to the pigs!’’

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  winked at Talon. “That’ll sort him out.” He glanced over the boy’s rough appearance. “Come with me.’’

  Without waiting to see if he was being followed, Leo turned and pushed aside the large door through which he had entered. Talon was a step behind.

  The room was obviously some sort of servants’ area, with another door in the wall opposite. Large side tables ran along the left and right walls. Upon one table sat a variety of dishes, bowls, goblets, and other table service.

  “There is where we keep our dishes,” said Leo, pointing out the obvious. “If we have a reason, we’ll show you how to set the table for guests.” He pointed to the other table, which now sat empty. “There will be hot dishes at supper-time. Lela and Meggie will serve.’’

  He pushed through the second door, and Talon followed into the center of a long hallway. The opposite wall was composed of shelves upon which a variety of items rested: lamps, candles, mugs, goblets, an entire inventory of supplies for a busy inn. “Here’s where Kendrick keeps the knickknacks we need,” said Leo. Pointing to the door at the left end of the hall, he said, “That’s the common room. If we have a caravan stopping by, or a patrol from one of the local castles, it’ll be full of loud, drunken fools.”

  He pointed to the door at the right end of the hall, and said,

  “That is the dining room, where the nobles and guests of stature eat. Tonight you’ll serve in there.’’

  He paused and rummaged through the shelves until he came away with a long white tunic. “Put this on,” he said to Talon.

  Talon did so and found the tunic came to the midpoint between hip and knee. There were drawstrings at the cuff of the puffy sleeves, and he tied them.

  “Let me see your hands, boy,” Leo demanded.

  Talon held out his hands, and Leo said, “I’m not the 9261.01 3/13/03 12:53 PM Page 52

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  fanatic for washing up some are, but you can’t be serving nobility with blood from a skinning under your nails.” He pointed back into th
e kitchen, and said, “Go back and wash up. Use the brush to get the blood out.’’

  Talon moved back through the serving room into the kitchen and found a large bucket of soapy water used to clean the pots and dishes. He saw Lela standing before the wooden table Gibbs had vacated, finishing up the vegetables. He started to wash his hands, and she glanced over and smiled. “Serving tonight?’’

  “I guess,” Talon answered. “I haven’t been told.’’

  “You’re wearing a server’s tunic,” she informed him.

  “So you’re serving.’’

  “What do I do?” asked Talon, trying to suppress a sudden nervousness in his stomach.

  “Leo will tell you,” Lela said with a bright smile. “It’s easy.’’

  Talon inspected his hands and saw the blood was gone from his nails. He returned to the hall, where Leo waited.

  “Took you long enough,” said the cook with a playful tone. Talon was beginning to think that this cook was a lot like his grandfather had been, playful with his scolding, never truly meaning a word of it. “Come along,” Leo said.

  Talon followed him into the dining room. It was a long room with a huge table, the biggest the Orosini boy had ever seen. At each end sat a pair of high-backed chairs, with eight along the length on each side. The wood was oak, but ancient, polished by years of wear and oil and rags, and it shone with a dark golden color stained by thousands of spilled wine goblets and ale mugs, giving it a varied hue from one end to the other. Leo saw the boy’s expression, and said, “Kendrick’s table. It’s legendary. Cut from the bole of an ancient oak in a single piece. Took a score of men and two mules to haul it here.” He glanced up and waved 9261.01 3/13/03 12:53 PM Page 53

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  his hand. “Kendrick built this room around it.” He smiled as he cupped his chin with his right hand in thought.

  “Don’t know what he’d ever do had he to replace it. We could cut this one up with axes for firewood, but how’d we ever get another in?”

  Talon ran his hand over the surface and found it smooth.