Hawkmistress! A DARKOVER NOVEL by Marion Zimmer Bradley

They were watching the birds with excited interest. One, bolder than the rest, called out, “How do you handle the birds without getting hurt?” He came to Romilly, leaving the clustered children, and stretched out his hand to Temperance; Romilly gestured him quickly back.

“These birds are fierce, and can peck hard; if she went for your eyes, she could hurt you badly!”

“They don’t hurt you,” the child protested.

“That is because I am trained to handle them, and they know me,” Romilly said, Obediently, the boy moved out of reach. He was not much older than Rael, she thought; ten or twelve. In the courtyard a bell rang, and the children went, pushing and jostling, down the hallway; but the boy who was watching the birds remained.

“Should you not answer that bell with your fellows?”

“I have no lesson at this hour,” the boy said, “Not until the bell rings for choir; then I must go and sing, and afterward, I must go to arms-practice.”

“In a monastery?”

“I am not to be a monk,” the boy said, “and so an arms-master from the village comes every other day to give lessons to me and a few of the others. But I have no duties now, and I would like to watch the birds, if you do not mind. Are you a leronis, vai domna, that you know their ways so well?”

Romilly stared at him in shock. At last she asked, “Why do you call me domna?”

“But I can see what you are, certainly,” the boy answered, “even though you wear boy’s clothes.” Romilly looked so dismayed that he lowered his voice and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. The Father Master would be very cross, and I do not think you are harming anyone. But why would you want to wear boy’s clothes? Don’t you like being a girl?”

Would anyone? Romilly wondered, and then asked herself why the clear eyes of this child had seen what no one else could see. He answered the unspoken thought.

“I am trained to that as you are trained to handle hawks and other birds: So that, one day, I may serve my people in a Tower as a laranzu.”

“A child like you?” Romilly asked.

“I am twelve years old,” he said with dignity, “and in only three years more I shall be a man. My father is Lyondri Hastur, who is a Councillor to the king; the Gods have given me noble blood and therefore I must be ready to serve the people over whom I shall one day be placed to rule.”

Lyondri Hastur’s son! She remembered the story Orain had told her, of Alaric and the deaths of his family. She pretended to be fussing over the bird’s line; she had never had to conceal her thoughts before, and knew only one way to do it – with quick random speech.

“Would you like to hold Prudence for a little while? She is the lightest of the birds and will not be too heavy for your arm. I will keep her quiet for you, if you like.” He looked excited and pleased. Carefully hooding Prudence, and sending out soothing thoughts – this little one is a friend, he will not harm you, be still – she slipped the glove over the boy’s arm with her free hand, set the bird on it. He held her, struggling to keep his small arm from trembling, and she handed him a feather.

“Stroke her breast with this. Never touch a bird with your hand; even if your hands are clean, it will damage the set of their feathers,” she said, and he stroked the bird’s smooth breast with the feather, crooning to it softly.

“I have never been so close to a sentry-bird before,” he murmured, delighted. “I heard they were fierce and not to be tamed – I suppose it is laran which keeps her so calm, domna?”

“You must not call me domna here” she said, keeping her voice low and calm so as not to disturb the bird, “The name I use is Rumal.”

“Is it laran, then, Rumal? Do you think I could learn to handle a bird like this?”

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