The falcon wheeled, banking like a plane, and rushed in again. No egg had hatched these birds! I knew who had shaped these slapping pinions! Over one corner of my cloak I saw Narayan pull his pistol-like electro-rod, and screamed warning. “Drop it—quick!” The birds could turn gunfire as easily as could Evarin himself, and if the falcon drew one drop of my blood, then I was lost forever, slave to whoever had flown the bird. I thrust upward with the knife, dodging between the bird’s wings. Men leaped toward us, knives out and ready. The bird screamed wildly, flew upward a little ways, and hung watching us with those curiously intelligent eyes. Another falcon and another winged across the road, and a thin, uncanny screeching echoed in the icy air. I heard the jingle of little bells. Three birds, golden-trapped and green-trapped and harnessed in royal purple, swung above us; three pairs of unwinking jewel-eyes hung motionless in a row. Beyond them the darkening red sun made a line of blackening trees and silhouetted three figures, ahorse, motionless against the background of red sky. Evarin—Idris—and Karamy, intent on the falcon-play, three traitors baiting the one who had escaped their hands.
The falcons poised—swept inward in massed attack. They darted between my knife and Narayan’s. Behind me a bestial scream rang out and I knew one of the falcons, at least, had drawn blood—that one of the men behind us was not—ours! Turning and stumbling, the stricken man ran blindly through the clearing, down the road—halfway to those silhouetted figures he reeled, tripping across the body of a man who lay beneath his feet. Narayan gave a gasping, retching sound, and I whirled in time to see him jerk out his electro-rod, spasmodically, and fire shot after wild shot at the stumbling figure that had been our man. “Fire—” he panted to me, “Don’t let him—he wouldn’t want to get to—them—”
I struck the weapon down. “Idiot!” I said savagely, “Some hunting they must have!” Narayan began protesting, and I wrenched the rod from his hand. The man was far beyond firing range now. At Narayan’s convulsed face I nearly swore aloud. This weak fool would ruin everything! I said hastily “Don’t waste your fire! We can take care of them later—” I waved a quick hand at the three on the ridge. “There is no help for those caught by Evarin’s birds.”
Narayan breathed hard, bracing himself in the road. I beckoned the others close. “Don’t fire on the birds,” I cautioned, tensely; “It only energizes them; they drain the energy from your fire! Use knives; cut their wings—look out!” The falcons, like chain-lightning, traced thin orbits down in a slapping confusion of wings and darting beaks. I backed away from the purple-harnessed birds, flicking up my cloak, beating at the flapping wings. Our men, standing in a closed circle back to back, fought them off with knives and with the ends of their cloaks thrown up, swatting them off; and three times I heard the inhuman scream, three times I heard the lurching footsteps as a man—not human any more—broke from us and ran blindly to the distant ridge. I heard Narayan shouting, whirled swiftly to face him—he ran to me, beating back the green-trapped bird that darted in and out on swift agile wings. The screeing of the falcons, the flapping of cloaks, the panting of men hard-pressed, gave the whole scene a nightmare unrealness in which the only real thing was Narayan, fighting at my side. His gasp of inhuman effort made me whirl, by instinct, flinging up my cloak to protect my back, my knife thrust out to cover his throat. He raked a long gash across the down-turned head of the falcon, was rewarded with an unbirdlike scream of agony and the spasmodic open-and-shut of the razor talons. They raked out—clawing. They furrowed a slash in the Dreamer’s arm. The razor beak darted in, ready to cut. I threw myself forward, unprotected, off balance, ready to strike.
At the last minute talons and beak turned aside—drew back—darted swiftly, straight at me. And my knife was turned aside, guarding Narayan!
But Narayan jerked aside. His knife fell in the road, and his arm shot out— grabbed the bird behind the head, twisting convulsively so the stabbing needle of a beak could not reach him. The darting head lunged, pecking at the cloak that wrapped his forearm; thrown forward, I stumbled against Narayan, carried by my own momentum, and we fell in a tangle of cloaks and knives and thrashing legs and wings, asprawl in the road. The deadly talons raked my face and his, but Narayan hung on grimly, holding the deadly beak away. I thrust with the knife again and again; thin yellow blood spurted in great gushes, splattering us both with burning venom; I snatched the wounded bird from the Dreamer’s weakening hands twisted till I heard the lithe neck snap in my fingers. The bird slumped, whatever had given it life—gone!
And high on the ridge the dwarfed figure of Idris threw up his hands—fell— collapsed across the pommel of his saddle!
Narayan’s breath went out limply in a long sigh as we untangled our twisted bodies. Our eyes met as we mopped away the blood. We grinned spontaneously. I liked this man! Almost I wished I need not send him back to tranced dream—what a waste!
He said, quietly “There is a life between us now.”
I twisted my face into a smile matching his. “That’s only one,” I said. “The rest—” I turned, watching for a moment as the falcons tore at the ring of men. “Come on,” Narayan shouted, and we flung ourselves into the breach. I flung down my knife, snatched a sword from someone and swung it in great arcs which seemed somehow right and natural to me. The men scattered before the sword like scared chickens, and I went mad with hate, sweeping the sword in vicious semicircles against the lashing birds ... the sword cut empty air, and I realized startlingly that both birds lay cut to ribbons at my feet, their blood staining the dead leaves. Narayan’s eyes swam, through a red haze, into my field of vision. They were watching me, trouble and fright in their greyness. I forced myself to sanity; dropped the sword atop the dead birds. I wiped my forehead.
“That’s that,” I said banally.
We took toll of our losses, silently. Narayan, gasping with pain, rubbed a spot of the yellow blood from his face. “That stuff burns!” he grimaced. I laughed tightly; he didn’t have to tell me. We’d both have badly festered burns to deal with tomorrow. But now, there was work—
“Look!” One of the men stared and pointed upward, his face tense with fright. Another great bird of prey hung on poised pinions above us, sapphire eyes intent; but as we watched, it wheeled and swiftly winged toward the Rainbow City. Not, however, before I had caught the azure shimmer of the bells and harness. A thin, sweet tinkling came from the flying bells, like a mocking echo of the spell-singer’s voice.
Gamine!
The Return of Adric
Back in the windowless house, we snatched a hurried meal, cared for our slashed cuts, and tried to plan further. The others had not been idle while we fought the falcons. All day Narayan’s vaunted army had been accumulating, I could hardly say assembling, in that great bowl of land between Narabedla and the Dreamer’s Keep. There were perhaps four thousand men, armed with clumsy powder weapons, with worn swords that looked as if they had been long buried, with pitchforks, scythes, even with rude clubs viciously knobbed. I had been put to it to conceal my contempt for this ragtag and bobtail of an army. And Narayan proposed to storm Rainbow City—with this! I was flabbergasted at the confidence these men had in their young leader. So much the better, I thought, take him from them and they’ll scatter to their rat-holes and crofts again! I felt my lips twisting in a bitter smile. They trusted Adric, too. When I had shown myself to them, their shouts had made the very trees echo. Well—again the ironic smile came unbidden, that was just as well, too. When Narayan was re-prisoned, I could use the power of their lost leader to tear down what he himself had built. The thought was exquisitely funny.
“What are you laughing about,” Narayan asked. We were lounging on the steps of the house, watching the men thronging around the camp. His slumbrous grey eyes held deep sparks of fire, and without waiting for my answer he went on “Think of it! The curse of the Dreamer’s magic lifted—what would it mean to this land, Adric? It means life—hope—for millions of people!”
In a way, Narayan was right. I could remember when I had shared that dream; when it had seemed somehow more worthy than a dream of personal power. Cynara