Hawkmistress! A DARKOVER NOVEL by Marion Zimmer Bradley

“Which will be when apples and blackfruit grow on the ice cliffs of Nevarsin,” said Romilly, “You were there, you know what he feels.”

Darren shook his head. “Ah, no, sister, I am not so much a telepath as you, though I knew that he was angry.”

Romilly turned on him, blinking in disbelief. “Can you not hear a thing unless it is spoken aloud?” she demanded, “Are you head blind like the witless donkey you ride?”

Slow color, the red of shame, suffused Darren’s face as he lowered his eyes. “Even so, sister,” he said, and Romilly shut her eyes as if to avoid looking on some gross deformity. She had never known or guessed this, she had always taken it for granted that all her siblings shared the Gift she had come to take for granted even before she knew what it was.

She turned with relief to Davin, who was coming through the courtyard. “Was it you, old friend, gave orders to feed the hawks on the offal of the kitchens, and not even fresh at that?” She pointed at the pan of offending refuse; Davin picked it up, sniffed disdainfully at it, and put it aside.

“That lazybones of a lad brought this? He’ll make no hawker! I sent him for fresher food from the kitchens, but Lady Luciella says there are to be no more fresh birds killed for hawk-bait; I doubt not Ker was too lazy to catch mice, but I’ll find something fresher to exercise your hawk, Mistress Romilly.”

Alderic asked, “May I touch her?” and took the feather from Romilly’s hand, stroking the hawk’s sleek feathers. “She is indeed beautiful; verrin hawks are not easy to keep, though I have tried it. Not with success, unless they were yard-hatched. And this was a haggard? Who trained her?”

“I did, and am still working with her; she has not yet flown free,” Romilly said, and smiled shyly at his look of amazement.

“You trained her? A girl? But why not, you are a MacAran. In the Tower where I dwelt for a time, some of the woman tamed and flew verrin hawks taken in the wild, and we are apt to say there, to one who has notable success with a hawk, Why, you have the hand of a MacAran with a bird….”

“Are there MacArans in the Towers, then, that they should say so?” Romilly asked, “I knew not that there were any MacArans within their walls, until my brother went thither.”

Alderic said, “The saying was known in my father’s time and in his father’s – the Gift of a MacAran.” The word he used was not the ordinary word in the Kilghard Hills, laran, but the old casta word donas. “But your father is not pleased, then, to have a son in the Tower? Most hill-folk would be proud.”

Darren’s smile was bitter. “I have no gift for working with animals – and small gift for anything else, save learning; but while Ruyven was my father’s Heir it did not matter; I was destined for the monastery, and I was happy with the Brotherhood. Now he will even try to hammer this bent nail into the place laid out for my brother.”

“Have you not a third brother?” Alderic asked, “Is the little lad who greeted you nedestro, or feebleminded, that your father cannot give a son to St-Valentine-of-the-Snows and rear Rafael, Rael, whatever you called him, to the lordship of Falconsward? Or, seeing what Mistress Romilly can do-” his smile was generous, and Romilly blushed. But Darren said bitterly, “You do not know my father-” and broke off while Romilly was still pondering this; did it seem reasonable to Alderic, then, that she might even take Ruyven’s place at Falconsward?

“I’ve brought fresh-killed meat for your hawk, Mistress Romilly,” Davin said, coming into the stableyard, “One of the cooks had just killed a fowl for roasting at dinner; she let me have the innards for your bird, and I gave orders for the freshest offal of every day to be put aside for you in the morning; that garbage Ker brought was from the day before, because one of the cooks put it aside for the dogs, and he was too busy eyeing the wenches in the kitchen to ask for the fresh meat. He’ll never make a hawker, that one! I swear, I’d turn him off for a sekal, and start teaching little Master Rael the handling!”