King's Dragon (Crown of Stars 1)

“I have nothing but the clothes I’m wearing,” said Liath.

It was such an outright lie that Hanna looked at her in surprise, but Liath was looking away, at the wall, not at anything or anyone. If the others noticed, they gave no sign. But they did not know Liath as Hanna did.

“I’ll go in and get my sack,” said Hanna. “I hope you will grant me leave to say good-bye to my family.”

“Of course,” said Wolfhere.

There Liath stood, still staring at nothing.

Hanna swallowed, and went on. “My mother would be well pleased if you took formal leave of her as well, sir.”

“Ah,” said Wolfhere, although the soft exclamation betrayed no obvious emotion. He had seen the book, of course—they all had—but none of the Eagles had made any mention of it. Did he suspect it was important and that Liath was hiding it from him? She could not tell. “Take your horse out to Hathui, then. I will go to your mother. Liath must finish saddling, of course. She can meet us outside.”

Hanna let him go out first, as was polite. Liath mouthed the words, “Thank you.” Hanna led her gelding outside.

Outside, the midday sunlight lay softly cool over the distant hills and the closer cropped green of the village common. Hanna’s entire family had gathered in the stable yard. Amazingly, Karl brought her sack forward—a change of clothes, a pot, a spoon, and a handful of other items—and begged to be allowed to tie it onto her saddlebags. His eyes shone as he gazed up at her, and it occurred to her all at once that he admired her, the bright new Eagle, just as she admired Hathui. It almost made her cry.

“You look like neither fish nor fowl,” he said impertinently, spoiling the effect.

But she smiled. She had no fine, practical clothes, no long tunic cut for riding, like the other Eagles wore. She, like Liath, wore a mixture of her old clothes and castoffs from her married brother Thancmar, cut down and patched well enough, and likely to last some time. Birta was never one to stint on cloth, or weaving, or leggings, since she reckoned that if you paid half again as much for cloth that lasted twice as long, then it was a bargain. Hanna felt strange, dressed half as a woman and half as a man, but Liath had herself commented that this was what she had always worn, traveling with her Da.

Birta came up to her and hugged her hard. “Now mind you, Hanna,” she said into her ear, “that you look after yourself, and after Liath, too, for she’s more fragile than I thought and will need some time to heal.”

“I will. I promise it.” Then she hugged her father, who was speechless as always, and Karl again. “And a devil will plague you,” she added, holding onto his tunic, “if you don’t obey Mam and Pap in all things. Do you understand me?”

He gulped out a yes and scurried away to a safe distance. Hanna wiped a tear from her eye with the back of a hand.

Liath came out of the stables, leading her bay mare. If anything new and bulky rested in her saddlebags, anything rectangular, like a book, Hanna could not tell; she must have rearranged and reweighted the bags in order to hide the book. She did not look at Hanna but made her good-byes to Birta and Hansal and Karl. The locals had come out to gawk, but they remained respectfully back.

uckled. “And today is St. Euseb?’s Day, is it not? The sixth day of Avril. What more auspicious day to begin your apprenticeship as King’s Eagles?” He rose. “Hathui, see to provisions. Come, Liath, it is time to move. You and Hanna will come with me to the stables.”

Hanna thought his tone softened a little as he looked at Liath. Poor Liath. Hanna knew very well that Liath did not intend to look quite so exotically lovely and quite so pathetically lost. She touched her friend’s shoulder, and Liath started and jumped to her feet, banging her thighs against the table, as she always did when startled out of a distraction. But this time she cursed under her breath and rubbed her legs, and everyone, even Liath, laughed.

Out in the stables, Hanna examined the rangy white-stockinged gelding Wolfhere had brought for her before venturing forward with a windfall apple as a greeting. Soon enough she was rubbing its flanks and then saddling it.

Liath’s bay mare was more restive, and the other horses were all saddled by the time Liath even considered introducing the bridle. Hathui arrived with the provisions, levied from the villagers as part of their tithe to the king. With the speed of long practice, she loaded the pack mule. Then she and Manfred led the mule and the other horses outside.

“Pack what you wish to bring now,” said Wolfhere. “But remember there is little an Eagle can afford to possess, besides the trust of her comrades and her own strength.”

“I have nothing but the clothes I’m wearing,” said Liath.

It was such an outright lie that Hanna looked at her in surprise, but Liath was looking away, at the wall, not at anything or anyone. If the others noticed, they gave no sign. But they did not know Liath as Hanna did.

“I’ll go in and get my sack,” said Hanna. “I hope you will grant me leave to say good-bye to my family.”

“Of course,” said Wolfhere.

There Liath stood, still staring at nothing.

Hanna swallowed, and went on. “My mother would be well pleased if you took formal leave of her as well, sir.”

“Ah,” said Wolfhere, although the soft exclamation betrayed no obvious emotion. He had seen the book, of course—they all had—but none of the Eagles had made any mention of it. Did he suspect it was important and that Liath was hiding it from him? She could not tell. “Take your horse out to Hathui, then. I will go to your mother. Liath must finish saddling, of course. She can meet us outside.”

Hanna let him go out first, as was polite. Liath mouthed the words, “Thank you.” Hanna led her gelding outside.

Outside, the midday sunlight lay softly cool over the distant hills and the closer cropped green of the village common. Hanna’s entire family had gathered in the stable yard. Amazingly, Karl brought her sack forward—a change of clothes, a pot, a spoon, and a handful of other items—and begged to be allowed to tie it onto her saddlebags. His eyes shone as he gazed up at her, and it occurred to her all at once that he admired her, the bright new Eagle, just as she admired Hathui. It almost made her cry.

“You look like neither fish nor fowl,” he said impertinently, spoiling the effect.