Occasionally, Talon would catch a glimpse of Robert as he hurried about the inn, often in the company of any of three men. Talon didn’t ask Pasko to name them, but he marked them. The first Talon guessed to be Kendrick. A tall man with grey hair and a full beard, he moved around the property as if he owned it. He wore a fine tunic and a single ring of some dark stone set in gold, but otherwise serviceable trousers and boots. He often paused to give instructions to the servants—the girl Lela, and the two younger men, Lars and Gibbs. Lars and Gibbs had also been regular visitors to the barn when travelers called at the inn, for they cared for the horses.
The second man Talon saw he thought of as Snowcap, for his hair was as white as snow, yet he looked to be no more than thirty or so years of age. He was not quite as tall as Kendrick or Robert, but somehow seemed to look down at them. He carried himself like a chieftain or shaman, thought Talon, and there was an aura of power about him. His eyes were pale blue, and his face was colored by the sun. He wore a robe of dark grey, with an intricate pattern woven at the sleeves and hem, which was just high enough for Talon to glimpse beneath it very finely crafted boots. He carried a wooden staff upon occasion, while at other times he affected a slouch hat that matched his robes in color.
The last man bore a faint resemblance to the second, as if they were kin, but his hair was dark brown, almost the same color as Talon’s. His eyes were a deep brown as well, and his manner and movement suggested a warrior or hunter. Talon called him the Blade in his mind, for his left hand never seemed to venture far from the hilt of a sword, a slender blade unlike any Talon had seen. He wore blue breeches tucked into knee-high boots and a dark grey shirt over which he wore a tied vest. He also wore a hat all the time, a twin to Snowcap’s slouch hat, though this one was black. Once Talon had seen him leave the inn at sunrise carrying a longbow, and that night he had returned carrying a gutted deer across his shoulders. Instantly the young man had felt a stab of admiration; hunting was considered a great skill among the Orosini.
Robert, Pasko, and Talon were treated much as if they were part of the surroundings. Only Lela took a moment now and again to call out a greeting to Pasko and Talon, or to nod or wave. Lars, a stocky redheaded lad, and Gibbs, a slender older man, would occasionally speak to them, asking for a piece of tack or assistance in holding a horse that was being tended. But both avoided any causal conversation. Most of the time, Talon felt as if he and Pasko didn’t exist in the minds of those inside the inn.
After a full month had passed, Talon awoke one morning to find Robert deep in conversation with Pasko. The young man arose quietly, and dressed, then made his presence known.
“Ah, young Talon,” said Robert, smiling at him. “Pasko tells me you’re recovering nicely.’’
Talon nodded. “My wounds are healed, and most of the stiffness is gone.’’
“Are you fit enough to hunt?’’
“Yes,” he answered without hesitation.
“Good; come with me.’’
He left the barn, and Talon fell into step beside him. As they walked to the inn, Talon said, “Sir, I am in your debt, am I not?’’
“Agreed,” replied Robert.
“How shall I discharge my debt?’’
Robert stopped. “I have saved your life, true?’’
“Yes,” replied the boy.
“If I understand the ways of your people, you have a life-debt to me, correct?’’
“Yes,” Talon said calmly. A life-debt was a complex concept, one that involved years of service, directly or indirectly. When a man of the Orosini saved the life of another, the man who was saved was considered to be at the call of the other. It was as if he became a member of that family, but without the privileges of that membership. He was honor-bound to ensure that his savior’s family ate, even should his own go hungry. He was obliged to help bring in his savior’s crops before his own. In every way, the rescued man was in debt to the other. What Robert was telling Talon was that he must now consider Robert his master until such time as Robert released him from service.
“This is a heavy debt, is it not?’’
“Yes,” Talon replied evenly.
The wind blew slightly, rustling the leaves in the distant trees and Robert was silent, as if thinking. Then he said, “I shall test you, young Talon. I will judge your mettle and see if you will do.’’
“Do for what, sir?’’
“For many things. And I shall not tell you half of them for years to come. Should you prove lacking, I will bind you over to Kendrick’s service for a number of years so that you may learn to care for yourself in a world other than the highlands of the Orosini, for that life is now denied you forever.’’
Talon heard those words and felt as if he had been struck a blow, but he kept his expression blank. What Robert said was true. Unless others had somehow survived the attack and crept away into the mountains, he was now the last of the Orosini, and no man could live alone in those mountains.
Finally, Talon said, “And if I am not lacking?’’