falcon and wolf 1

 

Chapter 1

 

“Whisky, as you have real Scotch,” he said, laconically, laying down the coins on the bar. The barkeeper complied hastily. The stranger had appeared in the small town of Delaney, out of the mesas and with the dust of travel still on him. He had the sort of air of competence about him which made the barkeeper feel a need to hurry.

“Thats... oh. Thank you,” the bartender scooped up the money.

“Room. Third floor as you have one. Bath in fifteen minutes, dinner in an hour,” said the stranger. Bill Hymer, the barkeep, opened his mouth to say that the hotel did not operate under such whimsies, and found himself saying, ‘yes, sir.’

He knew who the stranger was.

They called him the Black Falcon. Some said he was half Native American; some said not. He was tanned with hawk-like features, but his eyes were blue green, and as warm as ice. His hair was dark, untidy, and collar length where it curled, as did the tips of his moustaches when he failed to cut them close. His long sooty lashes were the envy of many a woman, and his delicate features would be called effeminate on a man less confident of his manhood.  Nobody knew where he might arrive next.  What happened when he got there was usually uncomfortable for a while and then... a whole lot more peaceable after he had left.

His name, which he did not bother to advertise, was Luke Sokolov, though he was born Luke Levchenko. He did not use his father’s and brother’s names to avoid embarrassing them. He was known to work as a bounty hunter; he had been know to settle down for a few weeks on no more pay than his keep to help out a struggling rancher. Children and horses loved him; wrongdoers feared him; and honest citizens kept their distance from him.

And lawmen... reacted in one of two ways.

Luke smiled a cynical smile as the man with the star on his leather vest approached. He was about to find out which way this one would react. He kept his hands away from his pearl-handled Smith and Wesson Schofield revolvers. He favoured the model for its speed in reloading, and its heavy bore, 0.44 calibre. He liked the pearl coating for smooth handling more than for the decoration, and only one man had ever told him that he carried a lady’s weapon.

His other weapon, on his horse, was a trusty Winchester 73.  Luke had considered the advantages of using a Colt opentop revolver and the older Winchester 66 as both used the same ammunition; but the speed of reloading of the Smith and Wesson, and the heavy centrefire cartridge of the 73, had won over this convenience. He had not yet regretted it. His Winchester was a sharpshooter’s special and also had a telescopic sight. Luke could interrupt a lynching by cutting the rope at half a mile.

 

“You’re the Black Falcon; I’m told you’re trouble, and we don’t need you starting nothin’,” said the man with the badge.

That would be the hostile way, then.

Luke regarded him, levelly. He saw a man in his forties, grizzled, clean shaven, but not very well, wearing store-bought clothing which could do with brushing, washing, and better matching thread on the replacement button. Either unmarried, or his wife was no great shakes. Luke let his eyes travel down to the boots, which needed more than a drop of polish.

The gun seemed mostly well cleaned, though.

Luke permitted himself a light sneer.

“You heard wrongly,” said Luke.

“Huh?”

“You heard wrongly. I never start trouble. Where I find it, I aim to finish it. And I always hit what I aim at,” said Luke, quietly. “I followed a wanted man here. If he’s staying in this hotel, he’ll be relocating to your jail before tomorrow. If he’s staying someplace else? Well, that all depends whether they know they are granting succour to a wanted man, doesn’t it?”

The sheriff scowled.

“You sound like an easterner; we don’t need no poncy easterners telling us how to deal with varmints.”

“No, I speak like an Englishman, having English relatives, and a mother who teaches school,” said Luke, gently. “I fight like a Cossack, however, and I don’t like people who creep up behind me.”

The man who had been sidling towards him with a sap in his hand flew, by some strange art of prestidigitation, right over Luke’s suddenly dropped head as he went into a squat  and reached back to throw his would-be assailant. The man sprawled at the sheriff’s feet.

“You can’t go assaulting good citizens willy-nilly! I’ll have to take you in....” started the sheriff.

“Good citizens with a sap? Really? Have they bought you out so thoroughly?” said Luke. “Try, amigo, and I’ll take your badge from you.”

The sheriff looked terrified.

“They have my wife,” he mumbled.

Luke’s hard face softened.

“Well, you’d better take me in then, but don’t you go locking the door on me; and I’ll pay for us both to have our meals brought over, assuming this place is worth buying from.”

The sheriff brightened.

“It’s worth it,” he said. “I can’t afford it... I wouldn’t take bribes.”

“Thought you were too down at heel to be on the take,” said Luke. “An honest man who is being coerced, I can work with.”

 

“I doubt you can do much,” said the sheriff. His name, he had told Luke, was Jed Barton. They had eaten a good meal of steak with all the trimmings, and Barton was moved to unbutton his vest for the pleasure of easing the digestion of the best meal he had eaten in a long time. “I’ve given up doing anything but keep the peace in the most broad fashion.”

“You said, ‘they,’” said Luke. “I’m trailing Wily Willie Weston, whose name may sound silly, but he raped and killed the owner of a hotel in a place known as Mesquite and left her daughter scarred for life. It was vicious, but he gave everyone the slip by pretending to be taken ill. He’s a nasty piece of work who takes what he wants.”

“Yes, and he’s also the son of the biggest rancher around here, Big Bill Weston,” said Barton. “Weston is mostly law-abiding; which is to say, he  may have coerced some small ranchers to sell out to him, but nothing anyone has complained about, nor anything I can prove. But everyone is scared to act against him. His boy, Willy, has been wild from birth; it’s like he has to have what he wants when he wants it, and if denied, he gets violent. Some say he’s insane, and I say, if he’s insane, he should be locked up in a hospital where he can’t do no harm. But Big Bill and his other five sons, they’ll back Willy.  It was Chad you threw onto the floor. He owns the store in town, so don’t expect to get any provisions. Martin owns the saddlery and woodyard. Tom, Hank, and Judd work for their father on the ranch.  He has twenty hands, and they can be nasty.” He took a pull of coffee. “Yes, sir, very nasty; and if they think anyone is acting against them, they’re liable to offer a beating first, and ask questions after. Drove a lot of settlers off, so the land was left for cattle, but you know how it is.”

“I see,” said Luke. He knew how it was. Without complaints, or blatant wrongdoing, a sheriff was at the mercy of the men who had the most power. He filled the bowl of his pipe with tobacco, and went through the ritual of lighting it. He took a long pull, and blew three beautiful smoke rings.

“Oh, bravo,” said Barton, impressed.

Luke gave an impish grin. It made him look absurdly young.

“I can put a bullet through each of them as well,” he said.

“I don’t doubt it; I’d rather you didn’t prove it,” said Barton. “If I let you out in the morning, will you be on your way? They’ll let my wife out when they have Willy safely smuggled out of the country.”

“Would you do that if a rancher whose wife they had asked you? Hand in your badge and ride off?”

“No,” said Barton.

“Well, there’s the rub. I won’t, either,” said Luke. “See, I take the chasing down of owlhoots personally; we had to fight them off where my family settled. And we had help. And I swore on the grave of the Marshall who helped us that when I grew up, I’d dedicate myself to ridding the world of owlhoots. I prefer to bring them in; but if they die, I don’t lose sleep over it.”

“I believe that,” said Barton. “Suppose I let them think I let you convince me that you would ride on?”

“I have a better idea than that,” said Luke, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “But you go on and sleep; you don’t want to know what I’m up to.”

“I.... so long as I’m not involved,” said Barton.

“Give me the keys,” said Luke. “Have you a deputy, or any honest men who would back me?”

“No deputy; they shot him dead.  A terrible accident,” said Barton, bitterly. “You might have some help from Bill Hymer’s man of all work; Wolf Ninefingers. He hates the Westons bitterly. Bill Weston accused him of cattle rustling, and tortured him, hence the nine fingers. It wasn’t him, but Weston is prejudiced, and Wolf is a halfbreed Cherokee.”

“It’s a strong name,” said Luke. “You may as well leave me here, now; lock me in with my guns, but leave me the keys.”

Barton did as he was asked, hoping he and his wife would survive the consequences.

 

oOoOo

 

Luke waited for the sky to darken, made up the blankets in the cell to look like a body asleep, and slipped out, locking the cell behind him. He slid out of the back door, recalling that the general store had been two doors down from the sheriff’s office.  If the Westons were so egregiously corrupt, he felt no compunction whatsoever about robbing the store. He slid across the street first, keeping low, and in the back door of the hotel, where a man was sweeping up.

“You Wolf Ninefingers?” asked Luke, laconically.

The big, high-cheekboned man started, and a knife appeared in his hand. His face bore the scars of cuts.

“Who you?” the Cherokee snarled.

“Not an enemy,” said Luke. “Maybe, a friend. Can you taste revenge cold?”

“What you say?”

“I plan to take down the Westons. Are you with me?” asked Luke.

A fierce look of exultation came over the face of Wolf.

“Yes,” he said.

“You take my orders, you don’t go off doing what you want, understood?”

“I keep my cool.”

“Good. First thing is to rob the store blind, and cache what we take.”

“I know plenty good hiding place.”

“Good man.  I want to leave a loud surprise as we disappear; my unknown confederate, who is utterly fictional, is going to bust me out of gaol.”

Wolf frowned.

“You not in gaol. Where confederate?”

“He’s me. But I want Weston to think I have a friend.”

Wolf grunted.

“I understand.” He gave a savage grin. “We take saddler’s ponies to carry supplies, too,” he said.

“You get the ponies; I’ll start raiding the store,” said Luke.

 

 

They met at the back of the store; Luke had taken such provisions as he would normally have bought, survival rations for some weeks, corn, beans, bacon, dessicated vegetable soup, known to many as desecrated vegetables, and some onions.  Herbs and edible plants he could find in the wild. His mother was something of a herbalist, and he had learned well from her, as he learned fighting from his father. He also took ammunition, and some extra rifles, and blasting powder. It was this he had wanted for his noisy ‘escape,’ and as Wolf loaded up provender on the ponies, Luke set a tub of blasting powder, tamped it well, and ran a long fuse out back of the gaolhouse.  He threw the keys into the Sheriff’s desk drawer, where he had promised to leave them, and he stepped back to the rear of the one street of the town.

Wolf had prepared Luke’s own horse as well as his own, and nodded approval as Luke lit the fuse and vaulted into the saddle with one smooth move.

Luke must now trust Wolf to lead him surely, and to a place they might hole up and be safe. And as he went down the bed of a creek first, he plainly knew how to avoid being trailed. Luke followed, sat back in the saddle, Cossack fashion, willing to be led.

He had a light, but firm hand on his horse, and on the pony he was leading however; there would shortly be something they would not like.

 

As the sky lit up and the bang of the detonation reverberated around the valley, the horses and ponies expressed their dislike by rearing.

Luke soon had his own mount under control; Blackwind was used to noise and alarums, and only started slightly. The pony was more skittish, but a strong hand on the bridle reassured it. Wolf seemed to have little trouble too.

“Fireworks in it too?” he said, pointing to the stars bursting over the location of the sheriff’s office.

“It seemed a shame to waste the opportunity of being pretty,” said Luke.

“You are a strange one,” said Wolf.

“Whimsical,” said Luke.

 

 

 

 

Fate's Pawn 28

 

Chapter 28

 

The journey took three days, being mostly uphill. The wolves were suspicious at first of pulling the sleighs until Vulk pointed out that barrels of meat were carried on the sleighs, and the magic of the humans and trógling were needed to take off the preservation charms so it tasted fresh.

It was early days, and they could learn to work together over this mission.

The wolves wanted to avoid Toróg as well, as Toróg would eat wolf; and were happy to show a region beyond where the Toróg hunters usually bothered to go. Kaz was using memories of rock formations. Which being so, they set up a camp, sleeping in the sleighs, which had hoops over them with canvas tops to keep out the weather. Food must be cold, since the sensitive noses of the Toróg would soon pick up the scent of a fire. It was moderately unpleasant, but they took turns at activating the warming runes carved in the sleighs with a smear of blood, which made it bearable.

Fortunately, the back entrance to the trógling pens was not a region where the Toróg wanted to go, and Kaz was able to scout them fairly successfully, and plan a good way in, and back to the sleds. Three days of scouting was enough.

“We go just before dawn,” said Kaz. “Toróg are nocturnal, and will have settled down to relax and rest, if not actually to sleep. I’m giving the rings to Protasion and Polia, as Polia speaks the Toróg language; everyone else is to be waiting in the mouth of the cave, to help us get them to the sleds, and to be a rear guard if need be. All clear?”

“All clear,” said Protasion.

“All clear,” said Lelyn. Those left in the mouth of the tunnels would not be having an easy task, as they must be alert at all times.

 

Kaz, Rynn, Vulk, Protasion, and Polia walked along a projecting ridge towards the cave entrance used by the despised and debased Toróg cousins, the tróglings. The sky was becoming lighter as the sun approached the horizon, preceded by his daughter, the dawn. The blue moon was setting her ravaged body to rest for the daytime, and the passageways were empty.

“Why don’t trógling just slip out?” Polia murmured in a low tone.

“Some do. Most die for being unable to survive without being able to make a serious escape plan, with caches of food and so-on,” said Kaz. “Having enough is a problem, let alone extra to be able to hide it somewhere safe from wild animals, where one can find it. In the summer, there are attempts; but any trógling would freeze to death if trying an escape in winter. It’s the perfect time.”

 

Kaz crept ahead. She knew that it was possible for others to hear her use of Darksense, though few would perhaps realise the meaning of its direction, and might put it down to echoes.

The pens were guarded by a patrol of half a dozen warrior trógling; and they would have to be dealt with one way or another.

Kaz walked forward, motioning the others to lurk.

“I’ve come to rescue the other trollkin,” she said. “Are you with me, and ready for freedom, or do you oppose me?”

The leader raised a crossbow.

“I’ll take that as a no,” said Kaz, regretfully. She used her sword to parry the crossbow bolt, a skill she had been practising assiduously since Zon’s death. From her position lurking, Rynn shot the leader. It was not a tactically sound thing to do, as he was essentially disarmed for having discharged his weapon, and left Rynn’s leader against five others; but two of the other trollkin put down their weapons and assumed the squatting position of submission. The other three turned to run to warn someone.

Kaz hated killing from behind, but they could not be permitted to raise an alarm, and none of them got more than a few steps.

The two who submitted risked a quick look at each other of relief that they had made the right choice.

“Fall in,” said Kaz.

Used to following orders, they fell in.

There were perhaps two dozen trollkin in the food pens, of all ages. It was no more than a blocked off section of corridor with some shallow scrapes in the walls for families, and a walkway at a higher level which the guard used.

“Get up,” said Kaz, firmly. “You are coming with me.”

Dully, they got up, mothers clasping children; expecting death, but not knowing what else to do.

Kaz was aware of some whispering, and followed her instinct to go round what turned out to be a blind corner, where a mother was hiding a child of about nine years old under such straw as they had for beds.

“Ah, I am glad some of you are not cowed,” said Kaz, smiling at the terrified mother. “I am the Daykaz, the Daywalker spoken of in whispers. You and your child will go far. Come.”

“M…mistress?” said the mother.

“Just Kaz,” said Kaz. “Come, small one!”

The child emerged, carrying infants, presumably her siblings. She looked wary.

“Hurry, please,” said Kaz. “The longer we stay, the more risk there is. We’re taking you far away, but please keep moving.”

They had been discovered, and might not trust Kaz or her motives, but sullen obedience kicked in.

Kaz motioned to Rynn to bring up the rear; Rynn would detect any followers and would make an adequate whipper-in. Kaz went up and down the line, making sure they kept moving. The time between leaving the caves and reaching the sleighs would be cruelly hard on them partly because of the light, and partly because of the cold. It could not be helped.

Kaz was up near the cave entrance and her enemy sense prickled.

“Trouble,” she said, quietly, to Protasion. “Get them to the sleighs, and get going. I’ll delay pursuit.”

“I don’t have to like it,” grumbled Protasion.

“No,” said Kaz.

She stepped out into the light, and her sword whipped up to parry a crossbow bolt for the second time that day. This was a heavy bolt, however; and the big Darkling Toróg waiting was wearing iron.

Protasion, following, gasped.

Vulk, just behind, turned to Protasion.

“I’m expendable,” he said. “I swear that if I live through this, I will do for my people what she does for hers, and take them to freedom and beg Alethos to remove the taint of chaos.”

He jumped to hear a chime.

“You get used to it, after a while,” said Protasion. “Fate is pleased with you.”

 

A lot of things happened all at once as Protasion led the frightened trógling away from the combat, and the big Darkling drew his axe. Kaz ignored the self-satisfied chime, and Vulk had his own first divine experience as he felt the ability to become a wolf as he chose, and heard the voice,

“I am well pleased with you, my son. Aid my Chosen.”

Vulk had the sense of having suddenly been granted more knowledge, as an initiate.

“But don’t I have to go through a ceremony to prove my worthiness?”

“You just did.”

Vulk, awed, shifted into wolf form, and went for the glyph-lord as Kaz engaged an enemy, bigger and better trained than she. Vulk ran in, snarling, to hamstring the fellow, which would give Kaz a chance.

Meanwhile, the tróglings had paused to stare, and one of them muttered ‘Daywalker.’

Kaz felt her skin tingle, then burn, and bit down on a cry of pain as she started glowing, the pain of it almost unbearable.

“Sweet love! Open yourself in prayer and offering,” said Alethos’s mind voice. Kaz obediently did so, and the pain diminished, and the glowing reduced.

“What was it? Did he cast a spell on me? I did not see it!” Kaz was a little panicked.

“Your first worshippers worshipped you; but you are not equipped to take it yet,” explained Alethos. “You are receptive to power from prayer, and sacrifice of the magic force that runs through all, but not how to store or dissipate it from your body. I have done that for you, and I will see that you are better equipped in future. I did not realise your followers would try to raise you to minor goddess before you had become a hero. But it’s been done before, do not worry.”

“I must tell them just to worship you,” said Kaz.

“That boat pulled out of the harbour and sailed,” said Alethos. “I’ll find you an amulet of magic storage for now. Were you going to hit him, any time soon?”

Kaz, who had been frantically parrying the big war axe, ignored that snide aside, and danced in, parrying the axe once more, which was being damaged by her blade. The limping Toróg bellowed in rage, and swung the axe up high above his head, ready to smash it down on her head, and Kaz reversed stroke, activated her ring of fireblade, and cut upwards to the belly, then diving between his legs and rolling before the axe could descend on her.

The glyph lord was mortally wounded, but Kaz was spent, and quietly passed out as her opponent fell, and Vulk ripped out his throat.

Alethos manifested, and picked her up.

“Take her on your back, Vulk, and catch up with the others,” he said.

Vulk did so, awed, and got to the sleighs as they were about to set off.

“Is she….” Protasion let the question hang.

“She seems to be alive, but overcome,” said Vulk, transforming as Protasion lifted Kaz from his back. “She was glowing. I… will you laugh at me, if I tell you that Alethos materialised, and put her on my back?”

“Why would I laugh at you? Who is he but Death, and what does the prophecy say?”

“I… but surely that is not what such a curse means?”

“It may not have been meant as such, but Alethos’s mother is Fate, and she cheats.”

 

Vulk and Polia were rapidly coming to the conclusion that their world had changed quite radically, and that these young people were considerably more than quite hard initiates of a war god; but spoke of him almost familiarly.

“Wait one gods-damned minute!” said Vulk. “Were we played when she kept saying we couldn’t manage the discipline? Suckered in to be a saviour of the Lycoids, and… what?”

“Kaz doesn’t waste talent,” sniggered Lelyn. “You should be hearing a chime about now.”

“Yes, and one when I initiated,” said Vulk, “And when I swore to rescue lycoids.”

“That’s the one I heard when you swore. It’s Fate letting you know you worked out something important,” said Protasion. “I’m sure Kaz is getting one only louder to let her know she did the right thing in feeling you were needed. And we do also appreciate you saving her, may I say, my sword-brother.”

“I was glad to do so,” said Vulk. “And perhaps you will all help me to steal Lycoids for Alethos?”

“Gladly,” said Protasion.

“That raddled old, manipulative, interfering besom!” said Kaz, sitting up and rubbing her head.

“That’s no way to talk about your future mother-in-law,” said Lelyn.

“She set me up to introduce what I believe she calls ‘another piece on the board,’” said Kaz. “Welcome to the world of being a pawn of Fate, Vulk.”

“I daresay I shall come to terms with it,” said Vulk.

“What about me?” asked Polia. “Am I just incidental?”

“Oh, no,” said Kaz. “You’re Vulk’s prop and stay, as my friends are mine. And that is important. Unless Fate has a larger part for you, and that, she will doubtless announce smugly at the right time.”

 

The run to the hills overlooking Melokome was uneventful, which had been the whole point of having sleighs and wolves to pull them; though the wolves would not come into the farm. Kaz went round and petted all of them, which had them rolling around in the snow like puppies.

“And what now?” asked Protasion.

“Now? We give them a day round to eat, and rest, and then we take them on board the ship,” said Kaz. “Pythas has arranged accommodation in Mesolimnos until we can take them to the temple in the abandoned city. And in the meantime? In the meantime, we start to raid the Selenites, and take slaves from them, sabotage their efforts, and let them know they have an enemy. Once this first raid is known about, other trógling will come looking, and that means the Toróg, too, will be diminished. We start searching for hidden places like our cave in the woods, and then we can hit slave coffles hard and fast, and make them disappear.”

“It’s all about preparation,” said Evgon, nodding.

“Yes, and in getting people used to seeing us around, and writing us off as adventurers,” said Kaz. “Bandit hoards and their hideouts being on our agenda.”

“Looking innocent whilst plotting the downfall of the Selenite Empire,” said Kuros. “I can get behind that.”

“And Hakon and his friends, Zalmox and Alcitha also swore to oppose them,” said Kaz. “I suggest we sort out several teams to go ‘adventuring,’ and preparing for war.”

“To war!” toasted Protasion, with his water bottle.

“To the end of chaos!” answered Kaz.

They all drank to that.

 

End of ‘Fate’s Pawn.’

The next story is ‘Death’s Knight.’