The Blue Hawk by Peter Dickinson Read Free Book Online Page B

bothered about whether I oughtn’t to tell you. Perhaps I would have. But I have to fight with what weapons I’ve got, you see. What will they do when you fail?”
    â€œSend me to Aa.”
    â€œHm. Yes. The One of Gdu must know it can’t be done, surely.”
    â€œYes—but he was so angry, I think he’d prefer me to fail. I must run away.”
    â€œNot easy. Every village has its priest. Every face is known, because every man is bound to one village. There are no vagabonds in my country … if I could get you to the far south, to Kalavin’s house near the Jaws of Alaan. His father … hm …”
    When the King thought, his face became unreadable. During the hunt he had lived, as it were, entirely on the surface of his being, taking all his pleasure in the minute of action. Now he seemed to turn inward and explore his own depths. Tron waited until he laughed and returned to the moment.
    â€œI’ve an idea,” he said. “Tell you later, when I’ve worked it out. Mustn’t waste good hawking time. My turn now.”
    He led the way southwest at a steady march, far too fast for serious hawking. Once he put up a hare but was slow in loosing his hawk, which turned out to fly in a quite different style from the Blue Hawk. It hunted level, and very fast, but the hare escaped it by a sudden break to the right; the hawk’s pace carried it far too wide on the turn, and by the time it was ready to pick up the line the hare was still, a rock with the other rocks. At a cry from the King the hawk lolled back to his wrist without a lure, as though it were used to missing its prey.
    â€œShe’s lazy with hares,” said the King. “I’d like you to see her after kingfowl someday. My method is brisker than yours, at least, and a lot more dangerous. When we spot a covey we simply ride them down. They rise and rise again, but if we go hard enough we get among them. We yell and tootle our horns to keep them on the move, too. It’s rough riding, half a dozen of us, hawk on one wrist, horn in the other hand, reins loose on the pony’s neck—you’ve got to have a pony who knows the game and can pick its own line, but it’s up to you to keep him going flat out, come rough come smooth. I’ve seen plenty of bones broken, including some necks, but the risk of that is part of the fun. And yet … it’s only a game compared to your way. Your way is the real thing. You use as little as you need, but use it to the utmost. If ever I fight a war, it will be like that.”
    He gave up all pretense at hunting and walked beside Tron, asking questions about the life of priests.
    â€œWhere will you sleep tonight?” he asked suddenly.
    â€œAt the Temple of Tan.”
    â€œWhew! I told you that priests were braver than us in some ways. We don’t go near it. It’s not just that it’s priest-ground, but … you know, I’m a servant of the Gods, just as much as you. But I don’t think the Gods are altogether what the priests say they are … at least, I’m certain that the priests try to use the Gods, in the same way that they try to use you and me.… Now, here. I wanted to show you this.”
    For the last half mile they had been striding through thorny scrub land, hopeless for hawking, so it was startling to come out into an open place from which it was possible to see for a hundred miles. The King had led Tron to the southern edge of the rock plateau. O was halfway down the sky to their right and His slant beams lit the enormous tract of land that the river had smoothed out in her passage toward the Jaws of Alaan. They stood not two hundred feet above the plain, but in that dry air eyesight seemed to reach on forever. Far to the left in a gray and yellow line lay the beginnings of the dunes of the true desert. Even farther to the south Tron could see a line of blueness bluer than the sky and separated