Talon of the Silver Hawk. Raymond E. Feist

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       • CHAPTER TWO •

       Kendrick’s

      KIELI’S PAIN pierced the darkness.

      He couldn’t will his eyes open, yet he knew he was alive. He felt hands upon him and as if from a great distance heard a voice mutter, ‘This one’s still alive.’

      Another voice said, ‘Let’s get him in the wagon. He’s lost a lot of blood.’

      Part of Kieli’s mind registered he was hearing words in the traders’ language, what was called the Common Tongue, not the language of the Orosini.

      He felt another pair of hands upon him. As they began to move him, he groaned and lapsed back into unconsciousness.

      Pain coursed though Kieli’s body as he came awake. He forced his eyes open and tried to lift his head. The effort brought forth a wave of agony and his stomach churned, yet there was nothing in it for him to vomit up. The wracking pain that swept through him made him gasp aloud and moan.

      His eyes couldn’t focus so he could not see the owner of the gentle hands that pushed him back and said, ‘Lie still, lad. Breathe slowly.’

      Kieli saw shapes before him: heads in shadow, lightning in the sky above them. He blinked and tried to clear his eyes. ‘Here,’ said another voice from above him, and a gourd of water touched his lips.

      ‘Drink slowly,’ said the first voice. ‘You’ve lost a lot of blood. We didn’t think you’d make it.’

      The first swallow of water caused the spasms to return, and he vomited up the tiny bit of water. ‘Sip, then,’ said the voice.

      He did as he was instructed and the mouthful of water stayed down. Suddenly he was thirsty beyond memory. He tried to swallow, but the gourd was removed from his lips. He attempted to lift his hand to grasp it, but his arm would not obey his command.

      ‘Sip, I said,’ demanded the voice. The gourd was pressed against his lips again and he sipped, and the cool water trickled down his throat.

      He focused his meagre strength on getting the water down and keeping it down. Then he lifted his eyes above the rim of the gourd and attempted to discern the features of his benefactor. All he could see was a vague lump of features topped by a thatch of grey. Then he fell back into darkness.

      At some point they stopped for a few days. He recognized a structure around him, a barn or shed, he couldn’t be sure which. And he knew it was raining for a time, because the air was heavy with the scent of wet soil and the mustiness of mould on wood.

      After that images came and fled. He was in a wagon, and for a brief time one afternoon he sensed he was in the woodlands, but not those near his home. He didn’t know how he knew – some glimpse of trees that didn’t match the lofty balsams, cedars and aspens of his own forest. There were oaks, and elms and trees he didn’t recognize. He lapsed back into his troubled slumber.

      He remembered bits of food being pressed to his mouth and how he swallowed them, his throat constricting and his chest burning. He remembered feverish dreams and awoke several times drenched in sweat, his heart pounding. He remembered calling out his father’s name.

      One night he dreamed he was warm, at home, in the round house with his mother and the other women. He felt awash with their love. Then he awoke on the hard ground with the smell of wet soil in his nostrils, the smoke from a recently-banked campfire cutting through the air, and two men asleep on either side of him and he fell back, wondering how he had come to this place. Then memory returned to him and he recalled the attack on his village. Tears came unbidden to his eyes and he wept as he felt all the hope and joy die in his chest.

      He could not count the days he travelled. He knew there were two men caring for him, but he could not recall if they had given him their names. He knew they had asked him questions and that he had answered, but he could not recall the subject of those discussions.

      Then one morning, clarity returned to him.

      Kieli opened his eyes and although he was weak, he found he could understand his surroundings. He was in a large barn, with doors at either end. In a close-by stall, he could hear horses eating. He was lying upon a pallet of straw covered by a double blanket, and had two more blankets over him. The air was hazy with smoke from a small camp stove, a rectangle of beaten iron sheeting within which coals were allowed to burn. Safer in a barn full of hay than an open fire. Kieli elbowed himself up and gazed around. The smoke stung his eyes a little, but much of it escaped through an open door in the hayloft. It was quiet, so Kieli judged it was not raining.

      His body ached and he felt stiff, but his slight movement didn’t bring on waves of pain as it had before.

      There was a man sitting upon a wooden stool, regarding him with dark eyes. The man’s hair was mostly grey, though bits of black still remained. His droopy moustache hung down on either side of a mouth that was tightly pursed as if he were concentrating. A heavy fringe hid most of his forehead, and his hair hung to his shoulders.

      Blinking an accumulation of gunk from the corners of his eyes, Kieli asked, ‘Where am I?’

      The man looked at him inquisitively. ‘So, you’re back with us?’ he asked rhetorically. He paused for a moment. ‘Robert!’ he shouted over his shoulder towards the barn doors.

      A moment later the doors swung open and another man entered the barn and came to kneel beside Kieli.

      This man was older still, his hair grey without colour, but his eyes were powerful and his gaze held the boy’s. ‘Well, Talon, how do you feel?’ he asked softly.

      ‘Talon?’

      ‘You said your name was Talon of the Silver Hawk,’ supplied the older man.

      The lad blinked and tried to gather his thoughts, struggling to understand why he might have said such a thing. Then he recalled the vision, and he realized that it had, indeed, been his naming vision. A distant voice echoed in his mind, rise and be a talon for your people.

      ‘What СКАЧАТЬ