‘Ah, my beauty,’ said Sigarni, reaching up and ruffling the russet-coloured feathers of the bird’s breast. Taking a strip of rabbit meat
from the pouch at her side, she fed it to the hawk. Swiftly and skilfully she attached two soft collars to the hawk’s legs, then threaded short hunting jesses through brass-rimmed holes in the collars. Lastly she pulled a soft leather hood from the pouch at her side and smoothly stroked it into place over the bird’s beak and eyes. The hawk sat motionless as the hood settled, and even turned her neck to allow Sigarni to lean forward and tighten the braces at the rear. The woman turned her gaze back to the dwarf and smiled. ‘I know that Bernt acted from stupidity. And I am more angry with myself than with him. I told him to loose Lady only if there was a second hare. It was a simple instruction. But he was incapable even of that. And I will not have fools around me.’
Ballistar said nothing more. There were, he knew, only two creatures in all the world that Sigarni cared for – the hound, Lady, and the hawk, Abby. Sigarni had been training them both, determined that they would work together as a team. The training had gone well. Lady would seek out the hares and scatter them, while Abby swooped down from the trees in a kill that seemed swifter than an arrow. The danger area came when only a single quarry was sighted. Hawk and bird had raced each other to make the strike. Abby won both times. On the second occasion when Lady darted in to try to steal the kill, Abby had lashed out, her beak grazing the hound’s flank. Sigarni had grabbed Lady’s collar, dragging her back. In an effort to re-train Lady, Sigarni had allowed the cattle herder, Bernt, to accompany her on the training hunts. His duty was to keep Lady leashed, and only release her when more than one hare was sighted. He had failed. Excited by the hunt, Bernt had loosed the hound at first sight of a single hare. Abby had swooped upon it, and Lady had sped in to share the prize. The hawk had turned, lashing out with her cruel beak, piercing the hound’s right eye.
‘You are hunting today?’ asked the dwarf.
‘No. Abby is above her killing weight. I let her have the last hare we took yesterday. Today we’ll just walk awhile, up to the High Drain. She likes to fly there.’
‘Watch out for the sorcerer!’ warned Ballistar.
‘There is no need to fear him,’ said Sigarni. ‘I think he is a good man.’
‘He’s an Outlander, and his skin has been burned by sorcery. He makes me shudder.’
Sigarni’s laughter pealed out. ‘Oh, Ballistar, you fool! In his land all people have dark skins; they are not cursed.’
‘He’s a wizard! At nights he becomes a giant bird that flies across High Druin. Many have seen it: a great black raven, twice normal size. And his castle is full of grimoires and spells, and there are animals there – frozen. You know Marion – she was there! She told us all about a great black bear that just stands in the hallway, a spell upon it. You keep clear of him, SigarmT
She looked into his dark eyes and saw the reality of his fear. ‘I shall be careful,’ she said. ‘You may rely on it. But I will not walk in fear, Ballistar. Have I not the blood of Gandarin in my veins?’ Sigarni could not quite mask the smile as she spoke.
‘You should not mock your friends!’ he scolded. ‘Magickers are to be avoided – anyone with sense knows that. And what is he doing here, in our high, lonely places? Eh? Why did he leave his land of black people and come here? What is he seeking? Or is he perhaps hiding from justice?’
‘I shall ask him when next I see him,’ she said. ‘Come, Lady!’ The hound rose warily and paced alongside the tall woman. Sigarni knelt and patted her flanks. ‘You’ve learned to respect Abby now,’ she whispered, ‘though I fear she will never learn respect for you.’ ‘Why is that?’ asked Ballistar. Sigarni looked up. ‘It is the way of the hawk, my friend. It loves no one, needs no one, fears no one.’