created a little nesting place for themselves
at the edge of the meadow. However, when Fox Hair began his day felling
small trees and piling them on each other, she was completely puzzled.
Elation clarified his actions for her.
"They plan to stay awhile," she shrieked. Then more
calmly, "The fallen trees will cage their riding beasts so they do not
stray. Fox Hair is their keeper."
"Oh." Firekeeper was confused; then she thought of an
analogy. "Just as a young wolf acts as nursemaid to the pups. I
understand. I did think he was junior among them, for all that he is so
big."
"And the others," Blind Seer asked with a lazy yawn, "those who root in the heart of the Burnt Place. What are they making?"
"Nothing," Firekeeper replied with certainty. "They
are looking for traces of those who once denned there. Didn't Elation
tell us that they sought them?"
"True enough." Blind Seer yawned again. "I will sleep while they dig. Wake me if you have need."
"I will," she promised, her gaze drawn irresistibly back to the two-legs.
Today Firekeeper climbed a towering evergreen which
oozed strongly scented sap onto her hands and feet. She would have
preferred an oak or maple, but their pale green, still growing leaves
offered little concealment.
Hidden by the thick, dark green needles, Firekeeper had a clear view of all that went on below. Elation perched nearby.
Sometimes the falcon was able to clarify some
incomprehensible behavior; sometimes she admitted herself as confused
as the wolf. Sometimes, when the scene below became tedious, she dozed
or hunted mice.
Even though the two-legs kept watch around them, they
never looked up, never saw the watchers. Firekeeper didn't hold this
against them. When she remained still there was nothing to be seen.
When she climbed higher or lower, she was careful to wiggle the
branches no more than a squirrel might. Moreover, there was a stream
between her tree and the Burnt Place. As none of the two-legs or their
animals had crossed this natural barrier, none caught her scent on the
ground.
That night she climbed down to join Blind Seer,
careful this time to keep their greetings relatively quiet. The
two-legs had gathered round their fire and she could hear the rise and
fall of their voices as they discussed something—quite likely the
results of their day's hunting.
She wished she could understand them, but the sounds
they made meant less to her than the hoots of the owls awakening for
the night or the sleepy chirps of the day birds settling in to sleep.
B Y THE TIME DARKNESS FELL that night, all the expedition was subdued and depressed. Race had
pulled out his flute, planning to play for them as he had many nights
along the trail, but the instrument dangled unused between his fingers.
Even one day's excavation had provided evidence that at least some of
Prince Barden's expedition, if not all, had died in this place.
"Human bones," Ox said heavily. "No doubt about it.
Even if there was doubt, little things confirm that the settlement
wasn't systematically evacuated."
"Little things?" Derian asked. He didn't remember ever seeing the big man so depressed.
"Pots scattered where they fell," Ox explained, "a
tool kit, a sword with bits of the scabbard burnt hard around it.
Things they would have taken with them if they were merely resettling
elsewhere."
Race glanced at Earl Kestrel. "We could do some systematic salvage work here."
"Looting, you mean!" the nobleman said sharply. "No!
There will be nothing of the kind. Cousin Jared, to what society did
your parents give you when you were born?"
"The Eagle," Jared replied uncomfortably.
Derian wondered at Doc's apparent embarrassment, then
realized that by giving their son to the society patronized by the
royal house, Jared Surcliffe's parents had been openly soliciting royal
favor. That would be an embarrassment for a man who took such obvious
delight in making his way through his own skills.
"I thought that was what I recalled." Earl