The woman crouched near the hawk, her grey-green eyes puzzled. ‘Let me try. Maybe it’s ’cause he doesn’t know you.’
‘I’ve fed plenty of animals that never met me first,’ Daine snapped, cutting another strip of meat for Onua. The hawk refused it as well.
Onua scratched her head. ‘Try cooked meat. I have to ward this place. There’re armed men all over the road, searching.’ She walked outside the shed.
‘For us?’ Daine asked. Onua shook her head and began the now-familiar spell. ‘Not for you, surely,’ the girl whispered to the hawk. Cutting meat off the spit, she cooled it with water and offered it to her patient. He sniffed it for a while, but refused it in the end.
‘Maybe he’s sick,’ Onua suggested as she ate. ‘I broke my collarbone once, and I was queasy for a day or two.’
‘That’s shock.’ Daine rested her chin on her knees. ‘I s’pose that might be it.’
‘He’s not just any creature.’ Onua finished her meal. ‘He may be a little strange to care for, Daine. Just do your best – please?’
The girl awoke in the night to hear a quiet murmur. Peeking with a half-closed eye, she saw that Onua sat with the hawk, talking softly to him. And Ma said I was fair foolish with animals, she thought. Rolling over, she went back to sleep.
They moved on in the morning. Searchers passed them on the road, men on horseback and men afoot, but none appeared to see the bird riding in state on ponyback. ‘I can’t throw fire or heal,’ Onua told Daine, ‘but when I hide a thing, it stays hidden.’
For three days they pushed on. The hawk’s eyes still would not focus, and his balance was poor. After some debate with herself, Daine lightly bound his claws to the pack he rested on. He didn’t seem to mind, which bothered her still more. Even the mildest sparrow would have fought the ties.
Her patient worsened. He refused any and all meat, raw or cooked. Their third day together she offered him raw egg and then cheese. He ate both, to her joy, but vomited it up later. That night she woke to hear Onua chanting a spell over him, but it didn’t seem to help. The K’mir still talked to him about human things – road conditions, the fair in Cría, the doings of the Queen’s Riders.
Once, after meeting the bird’s eyes, Daine walked into a ditch. Another time she fell over her own feet. After that, she avoided his gaze and resented it. Why couldn’t she look at this bird? And why did she not feel connected to him, as she felt with other creatures?
His wing did not heal. The fourth night she stayed up with him, coaxing water mixed with honey into his beak. It did no good. The fever she had fought to prevent set in and began to climb.
She woke Onua sometime after midnight. ‘He’s going to die. Not today – tomorrow, maybe. I hate losing one I’ve nursed!’ To her shame, she felt tears on her cheeks and wiped them away with an impatient hand. ‘He’s not right! He’s not like any bird I ever met, and I can’t fix him! Can we stop at a village or town, and find a sorcerer who might—’
Onua shook her head. ‘Out of the question.’ When Daine opened her mouth to argue, the woman said, ‘There are reasons. Important ones.’ She tugged at her lip, and came to a decision. ‘Get some rest – I’m calling for help. Horse Lords willing, somebody will be in range.’
Daine was too exhausted to protest or ask questions. It was hard even to crawl into her bedroll. The last thing she saw was Onua, kneeling before a fire that now burned scarlet, hands palm up in a summoning.
She slept until dawn, and Onua greeted her cheerfully. ‘I got lucky – help is closer than I thought. Eat something, and you might want to wash. There’s a bathing pool behind that hill. They’ll be here around noon.’
‘They who?’ Daine’s voice came from her throat as a croak.
Onua shook her head.
‘Wonderful. More secrets. My favourite,’ Daine muttered grumpily as she found towels and soap. Since the day was warm, she washed her hair and took extra time to scrub every inch of her skin. Why hurry? she thought, still feeling grouchy. They won’t get here till noon—whoever they are.
The hawk’s eyes were closed when she returned, and he was shivering. She warmed small rocks and wrapped them in cloths – towels, scarves, handkerchiefs. Carefully, talking to him the whole time, she cocooned bird and rocks in a blanket, hoping to sweat the fever out. After an hour of the extra warmth, he took some heated water and honey when she coaxed.
Onua had worn herself out with her magical efforts, and slept all morning. Daine had to content herself with frequent trips to the road, looking for the promised help. Cloud and Tahoi followed her, as worried as she was.
The sun was at its height, covered by thickening clouds, when she saw movement to the east. She raced back to camp. ‘Onua, there are people coming.’
The K’mir grabbed her bow and arrows; Daine got hers. They went to the road to wait. It wasn’t long before Onua said, ‘It’s my friends. The ones in white are in the King’s Own. They answer directly to King Jonathan.’
Daine gaped at the company that approached. Mail-clad warriors on beautiful horses rode in four rows, their white, hooded capes flapping grandly at their backs. The earth shook with the pounding of their steeds’ hooves. Before them came a standard-bearer, his flag a silver blade and crown on a royal-blue field.
Beside him was a full knight in gold-washed mail, his gold helm mirror bright. He bore a lance; on his left arm was a red shield with a device like a gold cat rearing on its hind paws. The knight’s horse was larger than those of the white-caped warriors, though not as large as the chargers normally used by those who wore full mail or plate armour. It was as gold as the cat on the knight’s shield, with a black mane and tail.
Together the company made a picture out of legends. ‘Oh, glory,’ whispered Daine.
Reaching Onua, the knight halted the warriors with a raised hand. His horse refused to stop and walked up to butt his head against Daine’s chest.
‘You beauty,’ she whispered, running her hand along his mane. ‘Oh, you pretty, pretty thing.’
Laughing, Onua went to the warhorse’s head and gently made him back up. The knight peered down at the K’mir through his open visor. ‘Are you camped here?’ Onua nodded, and he turned to his company. ‘Hakim, this is it.’
A brown man in the front rank of the white-caped riders nodded and called out instructions. The result was instant activity: men dismounted, giving their reins over to a few of their number while others removed packs from their mounts and from the spares. Within seconds they were off the road, erecting tents to share the clearing with the ponies and Tahoi.
The knight secured the shield and helm to his saddle. Dismounting, he gave the reins to one of the others, then stripped amethyst-decorated gauntlets from his hands. ‘I should’ve changed to leather,’ he complained. ‘My back has been one whole itch the last mile.’ He grinned at Daine. ‘The outfit looks nice, but it’s not very comfortable.’
Daine was very confused. Out of the saddle, the knight was two whole inches shorter than she was, and built on stocky, not muscular, lines. His cropped, coppery hair was tousled from being inside a helmet. Amethysts winked at his earlobes, stones that matched the colour of his eyes.
‘My wits have gone begging,’ Onua said. ‘Daine, this is Sir Alanna of Pirate’s Swoop and Olau – the King’s Champion. Alanna, this is Daine. Wait till you see what she can do with animals.’
Daine stared at the hand offered her, then into purple eyes. ‘The champion? The knight they call “the Lioness”?’
‘Don’t