As if sensing Tal’s thoughts, Duke Kaspar, said, “Ah, young Hawkins, may I have the pleasure of presenting you to my sister, the Lady Natalia.”
Tal bowed in his saddle. “My honor, m’lady.”
It was obvious that the other two nobles were already acquainted with the Duke’s younger sister, who appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties. Both fell in behind the Duke and Natalia, leaving Tal either to follow or ride on the flank.
Duke Kaspar said, “We have a half day’s ride before us to get near our quarry.” He looked again at Tal. “That’s a serviceable-looking bow, Talwin. Do you know how to use it?” His voice was light and playfully mocking.
Sensing the mood, Tal smiled. “I’m a better archer than I am a swordsman, Your Grace.”
That brought a laugh from everyone, for Tal, as Champion of the Masters’ Court, was accounted the greatest swordsman in the world. Lady Natalia looked over her shoulder at him, giving him an excuse to ride forward a little. “Are you making a jest, sir?” she asked.
Tal smiled. “In truth, no, m’lady. I have hunted since I was a child, while I only took up the sword after my fourteenth birthday.”
“Then you must be the world’s greatest archer, sir,” said Baron Eugivney wryly.
Keeping his smile in place, Tal replied, “Hardly, sir. Elven archers cannot be matched by any man.”
“Elves!” said Baron Mikhael. “Legends. My father used to tell me stories about a great war in my grandfather’s time, against invaders from another world. Elves and dwarves figured in it quite prominently.”
“We’ll talk as we ride,” said the Duke, urging his horse forward.
Tal found himself beside Baron Mikhael, as Baron Eugivney rode forward to flank Lady Natalia. “Not legends, my good sir,” said Tal. “My home is near Ylith, and not too far to the west live those elves of legend. And to the north, in the city of LaMut, many descendants from that other world now live.”
Mikhael looked at Tal as if deciding whether or not the young man was jesting with him. “You’re serious?”
“Yes, Baron,” said Tal. “And those elves boast archers unmatched by any man living.” Tal didn’t know this from his childhood, but rather from long conversations with Caleb, one of his teachers on Sorcerer’s Isle; Caleb had lived with the elves in Elvandar, their home, for a time. He spoke their language and claimed only one or two men had come close to matching their skill with a bow.
“Well, then, if you say so,” conceded Mikhael, as if that put a close to the matter. To the Duke he said, “Your Grace, what are we hunting today?”
Over his shoulder the Duke said, “Something special if luck holds. A report has reached the King that a wyvern has flown up from Kesh and is nesting in the mountains. If that’s true, we have a rare opportunity before us.”
Baron Eugivney blinked in confusion. “A wyvern?”
Mikhael’s expression also revealed uncertainty. “I’m not sure…”
Tal said, “Small dragon. Very fast, very mean, and very dangerous…but small…for a dragon.”
Lady Natalia glanced from face to face, then smiled at Tal at the obvious discomfort exhibited by the other two men. “You’ve seen one, Squire?”
“Once,” said Tal. “In the mountains when I was a boy.” He neglected to mention those mountains were close to Olasko.
The Duke looked over his shoulder as they rode out of the palace gate and turned up the high street that would lead them northward out of the city. “How would you go about hunting one, Squire?”
Tal smiled. “I wouldn’t, Your Grace, any more than I would go looking for a forest fire or tidal wave. But if I must, there are two ways.”
“Really? Say on.”
“Stake out a sheep or deer on a high plateau in plain sight. Have archers nearby and when it lands, keep shooting until it’s dead.”
“Sounds like little sport,” observed the Lady Natalia.
“None, really,” agreed Tal. “Most of the time, the objective is to kill a marauding predator, protecting nearby herds, not sport.”
“What’s the other way?” asked the Duke.
“Find its lair. Wyverns like shallow caves or deep overhangs in the rocks. According to my grandfather—” Tal halted himself. For the first time in ages he found himself on the verge of slipping out of character. He forced Talon of the Silver Hawk down in his mind and continued, “—who heard this from a Hatadi hillman up in the mountains of Yabon—wyverns don’t like to go deep underground the way dragons do.”
Baron Mikhael asked, “So you find its lair, then what?”
“Flush it out. Lay nets over the mouth of the cave if you can, some heavy ropes, anything to slow it when it comes out. Then toss in some flaming brands and have long spears, ten-, twelve-foot stakes, ready. Impale it as it comes out and wait for it to die.”
“Has any man taken one with a bow?” asked the Duke.
Tal laughed. “Only if he has a couple of dozen other bowmen along.”