Talon judged it a story fit for a talker around the campfire, but only if more attention was paid to the warriors and magicians in the tale and less to a boy who grew rich. He tilted the chair he was sitting on back against the wall. He was beginning to understand the concept of wealth. Other people seemed to delight in amassing it. He was Orosini, and from his point of view anything you couldn’t eat, wear, or use was a luxury. And collecting luxuries after a certain point was a waste of time and energy.
Yet with his understanding of the concept of wealth, he was beginning to understand the concept of power. For reasons alien to him, there were those who lusted after power as much as this Avery had lusted after wealth. Men like the Duke of Olasko, who wanted nothing so much as to wear a crown and be called King, though from what Caleb and Magnus had told him, he might just as well be called King in the lands of Olasko and Aranor right now.
Talon rocked his chair forward again and put the book on the table. He had been alone for three days because Magnus was off on one of his mysterious journeys. Talon had been given a set of tasks by the magician, some reading—which Talon enjoyed now that he had been reading for over a year—and some practicing a strange series of moves, almost like dance, which the magician had taught him. Magnus claimed that the dance was a form of open-handed fighting, called Isalani, if Talon had it right, and that years of studying it would make him more proficient in other areas of combat. He also had to keep the hut clean and feed himself.
It filled most of his day, but what time he had left he used to explore, though Magnus had instructed him to stay on the north shore of the island. To the south a ridge of hills rose up, perhaps half a day’s easy walk, and Magnus had instructed him not to climb those hills or pass along the beach south of them. Magnus didn’t explain why he should not go south, or what would happen if he ignored the instruction, but Talon was not inclined to challenge the magician.
A great deal of Talon’s life was now centered around waiting. He was waiting to discover what he was being trained to do, for now he was certain Robert and the others had a purpose for him.
His education was proceeding at a fast pace: languages—he was almost fluent in the King’s Tongue, the main language of the Kingdom of the Isles, spoke almost flawless Roldemish, and was starting to learn dialects from the Empire of Great Kesh—geography, history, and music.
Music was what he enjoyed the most. Magnus had a spell he used to conjure up performances by musicians whom he had encountered over the years. Some of the simpler music sounded almost familiar to Talon; but more sophisticated music, played for nobles by accomplished musicians, was just as compelling. To aid in his understanding of music, Magnus had told Talon he would learn to play instruments, and had started him off with a simple pipe, which lay on the table—a long wooden tube, with six holes cut in it. It was very much like one his father had played, and Talon had quickly mastered playing some simple melodies on it.
Talon rubbed his face with one hand. His eyes felt gritty, and his back hurt. He stood up and glanced out of the window. The afternoon sun was setting. Talon realized he had been studying the book all afternoon.
He glanced at the hearth, where a large cauldron sat half filled with a stew he had prepared two days before. It was still edible, but he had tired of the same fare. He judged that he had maybe an hour in which to hunt or hurry to the shore and fish.
Sundown was a good time for either activity. The island had a large pond a short distance away from the hut, where game would gather to drink at sunrise and sunset, and the fish beyond the breakers seemed to be more active at sundown.
He wrestled with the choice for just a moment, then decided that fishing was more to his liking. The stalking of game required too much concentration, and right now he was in the mood to stand upon the sand, with the wind in his face and his eyes focused on something farther away than the end of his arms.
Talon grabbed his pole and creel and headed out of the door.
The sun had set by the time Talon started back up the hill. In a few short minutes he had managed to catch two large jack smelts, more than enough for his supper. He would cook them over the wood fire in the hearth, upon a metal grill, and add some spices Magnus kept in a small chest. He wished he had some rice to cook with it, and realized how much luxury he had been exposed to by Leo in the kitchen at Kendrick’s. His mother often prepared fish, and served it with whatever roots or berries the women had gathered. Sometimes a corncake, hand-rolled and cooked by the fire, made with honey, berries, or nuts, would be served along with the game. But Talon now appreciated food far more than his mother would ever have imagined. It was amusing to think he was probably the best cook in the history of his people.
As he rounded a small bend in the trail near the summit of the bluff, he stopped. The sky was still light with the just-set sun, but darkness was quickly descending. He sensed something.
He listened. The woods near the hut were silent. There should have been noises, the scurrying of the day animals seeking out their lairs as the night predators made their presence known. Night birds should have been flitting about, seeking insects.