Mercedes Lackey - Anthology by Flights of Fantasy Read Free Book Online Page A

They
can't be dead. They can't all be dead—
                
                 Not
quite. One bird remained alive, trapped in a cage far too small for it...a
fledgling eagle, its brown plumage still mottled with white, its gaping beak
evidence of shock and exhaustion.
                 It
will die before they can even sacrifice it!
                 No,
it would not. Not if he had any say about this. Amazed at the intensity of his
emotion, Arikan forced himself to continue pretending to do nothing but
resting. But his sly, subtle glances took in every detail about his
surroundings, about the eagle . . .
                 Maybe,
Arikan decided at last, then altered that to, no "maybe" about it.
Now that he'd committed to this, it was simply succeed or die: basic choices.
                 Assuming that poor bird lives long enough. Till nightfall,
youngling, he pleaded with it, at least till then.
                 Had
the eagle somehow heard him? The beautiful, wild head turned to him, the savage, desperate eyes seemed to stare directly at
him.
                 Then
the moment passed. The eagle was but a bird, no more than that.
                 And I? I am a fool.
                 Oh,
indeed. And a fool wouldn't sit here all day. Arikan got to his feet, forcing
an amiable, almost idiotic smile onto his face, and ambled about the village,
projecting I'm not quite right in the head with all his might. He let warriors
shove him roughly out of the way, helped the women carry their water skins as
though unaware that it was women's work, wearing his torn and badly stained
hide as a cloak—and all the while continued to subtly study the village and the
way it fit into the landscape.
                 The
cliffs here were barely more than half the height of those shielding his
village. A determined man could scale them if need be.
                 A
man burdened by a fledgling eagle? And, Arikan added with a sudden start, only
if those owls I see dreaming in those niches aren't trained to attack.
                 Could
owls be trained?
                 No,
Arikan scolded himself, he wasn't going to worry about what might or might not
be.
                 Enough of this. If he hadn't established his slow-witted
harmlessness by now, he never would. Arikan returned to his resting place,
sitting back down with the air of a man prepared to stay the night.
                 It
would seem to be working. A woman threw him some scraps of meat, another
dropped a small watersack at his side, and Arikan, shrugging mentally, ate and
drank. This wariness of strangers, the lack of genuine hospitality . . . yes,
these people had been hurt by something. Disease, he thought again, gone now
but not without having taken its toll on the young.
                 Why
blame us?
                 Why? Because we are the enemy. Because, were the situation
reversed, we would surely blame them.
                 And
he, Arikan reminded himself sharply, was not there to solve the problems of
feud or enmity. He was there to rescue that eagle—and keep his life at the same
time.
                 The
day faded into twilight, the twilight into night. Arikan, wrapped in the dirty
hide, trying to ignore its sour smell, settled down as best he could, wondering if he was really going to be left unchallenged.
                 Not
quite. One warrior gave him a not too rough kick, and a harsh, "Are you
staying there all night?"
                 Arikan
blinked up at him, trying to look utterly innocent, utterly weary. "If it
is not inconvenient, yes, I was hoping to do just that. I will be off in the
morning."
                 The
warrior paused, then shrugged. "See that you
are."
                 Oh,
I will, I will, indeed.
                 And
still the night darkened. Little by