At the frontier between Latagore and Orodon, they had bedded down outside a small inn, and there Tal got as much information as he could on the land on the other side of the mountains. It had taken them three days to reach the meadow where they had slept the night before, then they had broken camp an hour before sunrise.
“If that innkeeper knows what he’s talking about,” said Creed, “the first village should be about five miles ahead.’’
“Closer, I think,” said Tal. “They wouldn’t have sentries posted that far from home.’’
“Unless they were expecting trouble,” answered Creed.
They continued to ride as the sun rose, and as they reached the foothills Tal felt a stab of familiarity. In the distance he could see the haze that he knew hung over the ocean, but between there and where he now sat, the land reminded him achingly of his home mountains. In the distance he saw a haze. “Cooking fires,” he murmured. Turning to the men, he said, “Rest here until I get back, but don’t get too comfortable.”
The men muttered, and a few made jokes, but as he was their captain and was paying them well, they obeyed. Creed had convinced Tal that he had to take the role of captain; otherwise, disruption would ensue. Men who had fought alongside one another, or at other times against one another, didn’t feel comfortable taking orders from each other, but from a young captain, obviously a gentleman—that was different, especially when he paid good gold up front.
Talon rode on, moving slowly, not wishing to appear rushed or anxious. He sensed that he was being watched, and as he got closer to the Orodon village he knew there would be more eyes, bows, and swords close by.
He saw the stockade. The gate was closed. Although he could see no figures on the wall, he knew they were there, just as there would be many warriors in the woods behind him as he rode into the clearing.
He came within a bowshot of the gate and dismounted. Rather than speak, he squatted down with most of his weight on his right foot, his left foot extended a little in front for balance, in the fashion of his people. He waited.
Nearly an hour went by before the gate opened and a single man walked out. He appeared to be in his late fifties, for his hair was mainly silver-grey, but his bearing showed he was still a fit and powerful man. He came to stand before Tal and knelt in a similar fashion, saying nothing.
Slowly, in his native language, Tal said, “I seek a parley with the Orodon.’’
“You speak the tongue of the Orosini,” said the man with a heavy accent. “It is a speech I have not heard since I was a boy.’’
“I am Orosini.’’
The man smiled. “You are not. You have no markings.”
“I am Talon of the Silver Hawk, of Village Kulaam, called Kielianapuna as a boy. My village was destroyed on my naming day, as I waited on Shatana Higo for my name vision. I was left for dead by those who slew my people. I am the last of the Orosini.’’
“Who are your people?’’
“I am son to Elk’s Call at Dawn and Whisper of the Night Wind, grandson to Laughter in His Eyes. My brother was Hand of the Sun, and my sister was called Miliana. All were slain, and I am here for vengeance.”
“Why do you come here for vengeance, Talon of the Silver Hawk?’’
“Men are coming to burn you out of your villages, to slaughter your people and scatter your ashes to the winds. They are the same men who destroyed the Orosini.’’
“I am called Jasquenel,” the old chieftain said. “In our tongue it means Rock Breaker. If you have cause against our enemy, then you are a friend and welcome. What of the others you’ve left in the hills?’’
“They are my men,” said Tal. “They obey me and will fight alongside your warriors. I have weapons in the wagon, and I have brought engineers, for if we can turn the invaders away while you warn the other villages, then can you save your people.’’
The old man nodded, then stood up. “You may enter the village. I will send a man who speaks the Common Tongue to summon your men. We shall feast tonight and discuss what is to be done when the invaders come.’’
Tal stood up as well. He extended his hand, and the Orodon chieftain gripped his forearm, in the same fashion as the Orosini used to greet one another. Jasquenel said, “You are welcome, Talon of the Silver Hawk.’’
Tal smiled. “Among my men I am known as Tal Hawkins. They do not know me to be Orosini, and think me a gentleman from the Kingdom of the Isles.’’
“Then we shall also call you Tal Hawkins. Come. Let us go inside and talk to the other men of the village.’’
Leading his horse, Tal followed the old man. As he entered the stockade, he felt a stab of emotion. It was all so much like his own home, yet there was enough that was different that he knew it wasn’t home.
Home would never exist for him again.
DEFENSE