Wild Born
Page 12
For a moment, Rollan’s eyes seemed unusually keen. He was able to see the porous textures of the stone floor and walls. He spotted a spider hiding amid the wafting cobwebs in a high corner and felt the startled moods of those around him with abnormal clarity. And then, all of a sudden, he was back to normal.
“It’s a falcon!” the Greencloak marveled. “A gyrfalcon . . . with amber eyes!”
“She’s a falcon,” Rollan clarified. “She’s a girl.”
“How do you know that?” the jailer asked.
Rollan paused. “I just do.”
“She would be female, I suppose,” the Greencloak murmured. Seeming to snap out of a trance, she stared at Rollan searchingly. “How is this possible? Who are you?”
“Just some orphan,” Rollan said.
“There has to be more to it than that,” she muttered, half to herself.
“I’m also a criminal,” Rollan volunteered. “The worst kind of criminal, actually.”
“What kind is that?” the Greencloak asked.
“The kind who got caught,” Rollan replied.
The Greencloak glanced at the jailer. “Put him back in his cell. I’ll be back.”
“The bird too?” the jailer asked.
“Naturally,” the Greencloak replied. “It’s his spirit animal.”
“Guess it was my lucky day,” mumbled the seedy prisoner. “Nobody took my bet. I get to keep my coppers.”
It was not long before the jailer escorted a man to Rollan’s cell. The stranger looked like some sort of foreign lord. He wore high boots, leather gauntlets, a fancy sword, and an embroidered blue cloak that Rollan guessed cost more than a team of horses. The man had a neatly trimmed beard on his chin, and gazed at Rollan with interest.
“Would you like to get out of here, Rollan?” the man asked.
“I might miss the itchy mat and the black stuff that rubs off the bars,” Rollan said. “Sometimes we don’t appreciate what we have until we lose it.”
The man smiled, but with the hint of a sneer.
“Why isn’t your cloak green?” Rollan asked.
“My name is Duke Zerif,” the man said. “I work with the Greencloaks, but I’m not one of them. They send me to help with cases like yours.”
“Cases like mine?”
Zerif glanced at the jailer. “Better if we converse in private. I’ve paid your bail.”
“Fine with me,” Rollan said.
The jailer opened the cell door. Rollan stepped out, the bird on his shoulder, and exited with Zerif, never glancing at the other prisoners, not saying a word to anyone. What did this guy want?
When they reached the street, Zerif looked over at him. “That is a superior bird.”
“Thanks,” Rollan grunted. “What now?”
“Today your new life begins,” Zerif said. “We have much to discuss.”
“Bail isn’t a pardon. What about Mr. Valdez?”
“The charges will be dropped. I’ll take care of it.”
Rollan gave a slight nod. “What about the girl who gave me the Nectar? Where is she?”
Zerif flashed a cocky grin. “These matters exceed her expertise. You are no longer her assignment. Come.”
The falcon gave Rollan’s shoulder a brief, painful squeeze with her talons. Despite her weight, Rollan had nearly forgotten her presence. Something about the timing of the squeeze, and the way Zerif had spoken about the girl, made Rollan uneasy. “Is she all right?”
Did a trace of admiration creep into Zerif’s grin? “I’m sure she’s fine.”
He was lying and Rollan knew it. Zerif even seemed to respect that Rollan suspected him. Rollan felt a disturbing certainty that Zerif had done something to the Greencloak. Just who was this guy?
Zerif hurried them down the street. “Where are we going?” Rollan asked.
“A quiet place to talk. Then far away from here, if you like. Have you ever yearned to see the world? That bird is your ticket.”
The falcon shrieked loud enough to hurt Rollan’s ears. Zerif’s eyes darted between the bird and Rollan, his smile faltering a bit.
“She doesn’t like you,” Rollan realized.
“She’s just testing her voice,” Zerif answered. “I mean you no harm.” Rollan would have bet two coppers that he was lying. His response had almost sounded relaxed, but Zerif was definitely acting. And he was wearing a large sword.
“What is that woman doing?” Rollan asked, pointing across the street.
As Zerif turned to look, Rollan ran. They had passed an alley, and he turned and sprinted down it. Halfway along the alley, Rollan risked a glance back and saw Zerif in pursuit, blue cloak flapping behind him. The man had jerked his sleeve back and the mark on his forearm flashed. A canine creature landed in front of him, already running. What was it? A coyote?
Rollan had hoped that the lordly stranger would be above chasing him. Apparently not. But the coyote proved that Zerif was one of the Marked. Maybe he was a Greencloak after all. Still, Rollan didn’t trust him and neither did the bird. He needed to ditch him fast.
Rollan had some experience escaping down alleyways. He ran hard, and extended his hands to topple crates and rubbish bins into the path of his pursuers. In spite of his efforts, he could hear them gaining. Visions of coyote teeth and the thought of Zerif’s expensive sword impelled him to run faster.
Rounding a corner, Rollan raced into another alley. He passed an occasional door, not daring to try it in case it was locked, or that whoever lay beyond might not aid him. He had learned the hard way that an orphan in flight had few friends. He glanced up, looking for a way up to the rooftops, but there was nothing in view. The man and the coyote kept gaining.
Ahead on the left, Rollan saw a fence between buildings. He jumped, grabbed the splintery top of it, and kicked one leg over. With a snarl, the coyote leaped for his dangling leg. Teeth tore through his pant leg and scraped his skin, nearly yanking him from the wall.
“Come down from there!” Zerif ordered, racing forward with his sword drawn.
Rollan rolled over the top of the fence and fell into a weedy lot with a shanty in one corner. A ragged man glared at him unwelcomingly from the shadows of his hovel. Springing to his feet, Rollan dashed across the lot. As he approached the fence on the far side, Rollan glanced back. The coyote streaked across the lot toward him, but there was no sign of Zerif. Had he tossed his spirit animal over the fence? Rollan scanned the scraggly ground ahead as he ran for something to use as a weapon but saw nothing. The coyote was closing in. He knew he would barely win the race to the fence. No way would he get up and over without getting mauled.
“It’s a falcon!” the Greencloak marveled. “A gyrfalcon . . . with amber eyes!”
“She’s a falcon,” Rollan clarified. “She’s a girl.”
“How do you know that?” the jailer asked.
Rollan paused. “I just do.”
“She would be female, I suppose,” the Greencloak murmured. Seeming to snap out of a trance, she stared at Rollan searchingly. “How is this possible? Who are you?”
“Just some orphan,” Rollan said.
“There has to be more to it than that,” she muttered, half to herself.
“I’m also a criminal,” Rollan volunteered. “The worst kind of criminal, actually.”
“What kind is that?” the Greencloak asked.
“The kind who got caught,” Rollan replied.
The Greencloak glanced at the jailer. “Put him back in his cell. I’ll be back.”
“The bird too?” the jailer asked.
“Naturally,” the Greencloak replied. “It’s his spirit animal.”
“Guess it was my lucky day,” mumbled the seedy prisoner. “Nobody took my bet. I get to keep my coppers.”
It was not long before the jailer escorted a man to Rollan’s cell. The stranger looked like some sort of foreign lord. He wore high boots, leather gauntlets, a fancy sword, and an embroidered blue cloak that Rollan guessed cost more than a team of horses. The man had a neatly trimmed beard on his chin, and gazed at Rollan with interest.
“Would you like to get out of here, Rollan?” the man asked.
“I might miss the itchy mat and the black stuff that rubs off the bars,” Rollan said. “Sometimes we don’t appreciate what we have until we lose it.”
The man smiled, but with the hint of a sneer.
“Why isn’t your cloak green?” Rollan asked.
“My name is Duke Zerif,” the man said. “I work with the Greencloaks, but I’m not one of them. They send me to help with cases like yours.”
“Cases like mine?”
Zerif glanced at the jailer. “Better if we converse in private. I’ve paid your bail.”
“Fine with me,” Rollan said.
The jailer opened the cell door. Rollan stepped out, the bird on his shoulder, and exited with Zerif, never glancing at the other prisoners, not saying a word to anyone. What did this guy want?
When they reached the street, Zerif looked over at him. “That is a superior bird.”
“Thanks,” Rollan grunted. “What now?”
“Today your new life begins,” Zerif said. “We have much to discuss.”
“Bail isn’t a pardon. What about Mr. Valdez?”
“The charges will be dropped. I’ll take care of it.”
Rollan gave a slight nod. “What about the girl who gave me the Nectar? Where is she?”
Zerif flashed a cocky grin. “These matters exceed her expertise. You are no longer her assignment. Come.”
The falcon gave Rollan’s shoulder a brief, painful squeeze with her talons. Despite her weight, Rollan had nearly forgotten her presence. Something about the timing of the squeeze, and the way Zerif had spoken about the girl, made Rollan uneasy. “Is she all right?”
Did a trace of admiration creep into Zerif’s grin? “I’m sure she’s fine.”
He was lying and Rollan knew it. Zerif even seemed to respect that Rollan suspected him. Rollan felt a disturbing certainty that Zerif had done something to the Greencloak. Just who was this guy?
Zerif hurried them down the street. “Where are we going?” Rollan asked.
“A quiet place to talk. Then far away from here, if you like. Have you ever yearned to see the world? That bird is your ticket.”
The falcon shrieked loud enough to hurt Rollan’s ears. Zerif’s eyes darted between the bird and Rollan, his smile faltering a bit.
“She doesn’t like you,” Rollan realized.
“She’s just testing her voice,” Zerif answered. “I mean you no harm.” Rollan would have bet two coppers that he was lying. His response had almost sounded relaxed, but Zerif was definitely acting. And he was wearing a large sword.
“What is that woman doing?” Rollan asked, pointing across the street.
As Zerif turned to look, Rollan ran. They had passed an alley, and he turned and sprinted down it. Halfway along the alley, Rollan risked a glance back and saw Zerif in pursuit, blue cloak flapping behind him. The man had jerked his sleeve back and the mark on his forearm flashed. A canine creature landed in front of him, already running. What was it? A coyote?
Rollan had hoped that the lordly stranger would be above chasing him. Apparently not. But the coyote proved that Zerif was one of the Marked. Maybe he was a Greencloak after all. Still, Rollan didn’t trust him and neither did the bird. He needed to ditch him fast.
Rollan had some experience escaping down alleyways. He ran hard, and extended his hands to topple crates and rubbish bins into the path of his pursuers. In spite of his efforts, he could hear them gaining. Visions of coyote teeth and the thought of Zerif’s expensive sword impelled him to run faster.
Rounding a corner, Rollan raced into another alley. He passed an occasional door, not daring to try it in case it was locked, or that whoever lay beyond might not aid him. He had learned the hard way that an orphan in flight had few friends. He glanced up, looking for a way up to the rooftops, but there was nothing in view. The man and the coyote kept gaining.
Ahead on the left, Rollan saw a fence between buildings. He jumped, grabbed the splintery top of it, and kicked one leg over. With a snarl, the coyote leaped for his dangling leg. Teeth tore through his pant leg and scraped his skin, nearly yanking him from the wall.
“Come down from there!” Zerif ordered, racing forward with his sword drawn.
Rollan rolled over the top of the fence and fell into a weedy lot with a shanty in one corner. A ragged man glared at him unwelcomingly from the shadows of his hovel. Springing to his feet, Rollan dashed across the lot. As he approached the fence on the far side, Rollan glanced back. The coyote streaked across the lot toward him, but there was no sign of Zerif. Had he tossed his spirit animal over the fence? Rollan scanned the scraggly ground ahead as he ran for something to use as a weapon but saw nothing. The coyote was closing in. He knew he would barely win the race to the fence. No way would he get up and over without getting mauled.
