Soul of an Eagle Read online

  That night, Chan had been confined in a small, windowless room. His arm had been aching all along but now it seemed to burn as though on fire. The crude bandage which had been applied to it was leaking blood and he was given no further medical attention that night. When the guard had checked in on him the next morning, he had fainted from a loss of blood and had slipped into a fever. The Master Healer was summoned and had tended the festering wound to the best of his abilities. They had wanted him alive for the time being.

  Chan's battle for renewed health had taken months. Convinced as he was of his impending death at the hands of his natural enemies, he had made little effort to take care of himself, eating little and ignoring the instructions of the Master Healer. The cauterized stump of his left arm was still tender but had healed cleanly. The fever was gone and, in spite of himself, Chan had gained back some of the twenty pounds of weight he had lost.

  As he had begun to mend, his jailers had arrived to question him about the happenings that had led to the misbegotten invasion attempt on McAllister. He had learned that the Chieftain, Ajax, and Jax, his favorite son and Chan's closest friend were dead. Jax had fallen to the sword of the same Guardsman Captain that had relieved Chan of his left hand. He had answered all questions honestly when he realized that no harm could be done to anyone living by doing so.

  Chan paced his cell nervously. The room that he had been moved to was larger by far than the first one. There were iron bars on the single window and a sturdy lock on the door. It was equipped with a small cot and a table. There was a bucket for his sanitary needs and a jar of water that was refilled daily. He had been fed twice daily and the food had been reasonably good. Chan heard the door opening and turned toward it slowly. Nina stood there gazing at him, an armed Guardsman behind her.

  "They said you were nearly healed," she mumbled thoughtfully. "I had to come and see you one last time."

  "Then my time is nearly here," the nomad thought. Aloud, he merely grunted. He was amazed at the effect that the tall, raven haired Eagle Rider still had on him. She had filled out some since he had last seen her and her beauty had grown accordingly.

  Nina paused before continuing, taking in the manly figure before her. Chan was tall, well over six feet with a muscular, athletic build. He had dark red hair and beard, strong, white teeth and piercing green eyes. Under other circumstances, he would have turned the head of most any maiden. "You know," she said, "I have tried hard to hate you." Her eyes bored into his. "I thought that you, my principle captor, should deserve all of the contempt that I could muster. The problem is that, when I think about it, you treated me as well as you did your other two wives, perhaps even better. You were always gentle in bed, unlike the others who just used me brutally. I cannot really hate you. It is the nomad way of life that I cannot abide. I don't love you, I love Selevon. He is the man I will spend my life with."

  "But I struck him," Chan objected, confused. "I tried hard to kill him. Have you forgotten that? If he is the man you love, how can you not hate me for that act?"

  "Perhaps if you had killed him, I could," she answered, "but you didn't. I was given the honor of tending him as he healed and our love grew during that time period. Selevon is a good man, a gentle man who holds no malice in his heart. He is the one who told me to forgive you. He said that hatred only breeds evil and misfortune."

  "But I am a traditional enemy," the nomad pointed out. "Our peoples have fought each other since the dawn of time. It is the natural order of things."

  "You didn't really treat me as an enemy," she retorted. "You just took me as you have taken anything else that you wanted from your ponies to that iron sword you were so proud of. Besides, you can no longer do us any harm. As a spy, you have been exposed. It will be hard to hide that severed arm of yours. Your meat hunter's disguise will never work again. As a warrior, you can do us little harm also. Without a strong tribe, no lone warrior is much of a threat. If you return to your old people, Bojax, the new Chieftain, will most likely have you staked out on an anthill to die because you failed his father."

  "When will my torture begin?" Chan asked stoically. "I am prepared to die as a great warrior should."

  "I guess it will start when and if your former friends catch up with you," was the answer. "Crater dwellers don't use such barbarous practices. We wouldn't even have put Durabon to death. Death of a helpless person is not an option for us. The worst sentence we can impose is banishment from the craters. Of course, if the subject is not a capable survivor, that can mean death by starvation or at the hands of nomads. For you, all it would mean is freedom. Freedom to roam the wild lands alone with every human hand turned against you. I don't envy you but I don't pity you either. You earned your lonely freedom." With that, the ex-Eagle Rider turned and left, leaving the nomad open mouthed in wonder as the door swung shut.

  Chan's next visitor came the following morning. He was a large boy of perhaps ten or twelve years. He, too, was accompanied by a guard. He stepped in, introduced himself as Meron, and requested a look at Chan's stump. Thinking that the boy was a healer's assistant, the nomad pulled off his shirt and presented the shortened limb to the lad. To the man's surprise, Meron took out a tape and made several measurements of the forearm. He then turned to go.

  "What is this all about?" Chan asked suspiciously.

  The boy turned to face him while still in the doorway and flashed him a friendly smile. "You'll see in a few days," he said and left.

  What Nina had said to him had really affected the nomad warrior. He did not believe for a minute that the farmers who had suffered so much at his hands would release him, unharmed, into the wilds but if they did her assessment of his condition would have been correct. He knew Bojax well. The Chieftain's eldest son had never liked him. Bojax had always resented his younger brother, Jax, and all who had befriended him. Jax had been their father's favorite son, borne by his favorite wife. It had been obvious who was being curried for the future leadership of the tribe.

  It was well that the tribe was nomadic in nature. By now, they should be over a thousand miles from the vicinity of McAllister the way they moved. Besides, after the scathing defeat they had suffered, Bojax would want to put as much distance between himself and the bombs that defeated them as possible. That, of course, did not mean that Chan would have nothing to worry about outside of the crater. There were nomads of other tribes out there and they would be just as eager to kill him, a stranger, as would his own people. It was all moot, anyway. He would never see freedom again in this life.

  Three days later, Chan was marched from his cell by a strong contingent of Guardsmen. They wore the golden armor of the Headmaster's Guard and were led by the same Captain who had attempted to arrest Durabon. Chan was mystified when they turned up the road to East Pass. It was winter now and Chan had been given a long sleeve leather shirt, a coat and warm leggings which must have been taken from a nomad killed recently. The decorations were not familiar to Chan, being from another tribe.

  The nomad was even more astonished as they approached the bulwarks at the outer entrance to the pass. Waiting for him was a small knot of people including Nina, Selevon, Meron, the Captain who had chopped his arm off and a young Eagle Rider complete with eagle.

  Selevon made the introductions. "Good morning, Chan," he began, "Nina and I wanted you to meet some of the principals who effected your tribe's defeat. I believe you met Meron briefly. He made many of the iron swords that surprised your warriors and beat them back so many times. You are also familiar with Zoron, who, unfortunately, deprived you of your hand as well as your friend, Jax. Such are the vagaries of war. Finally, this is Piperon and his eagle, Fury. They are the ones who led the bombing attacks that foiled Jax's sneak attack on this pass."

  The nomad had looked hard at each person as they were introduced. The only one he had never seen before was the Eagle Rider. It seemed ludicrous that a boy so young had been able to foil the well laid plans of the mightiest Chieftain on the planet of Randor. He
stepped forward and offered his hand to the lad.

  "If half of what I heard is true," he said, "yours was a courageous and amazing victory. I would be proud to die at your hands if there is a choice."

  Pip shook his hand with a look of surprise on his face. "Nobody here is going to kill you," he stammered, "least of all me. You're here in order to be released."

  For the first time, Chan seriously entertained the notion that he was really going to get his freedom. His face, which usually wore an unreadable, stoic expression, mirrored his surprise.

  "Nina said you didn't believe that you were to be spared," the Headmaster broke in. "It is not our way to kill a man because he has failed in his duty. It was your job and nature to deceive and try to conquer us. You were only serving your Chieftain in the best way you knew how. You neither knew us nor had any reason to care for our welfare and you acted accordingly. Perhaps, in the future, you will feel differently. It is not a weakness, as you may believe, to show mercy. It takes a strong, confident man to do so. I would like to offer you my hand once again." He extended his right hand toward the nomad. "The last time we shook hands, it was done in an atmosphere of deceit. This time, let us shake as honest men. I bear you no malice. In a way, I am indebted to you. It was during my convalescence that Nina and I fell in love."

  Hesitantly, Chan accepted the handclasp. Selevon's grip was dry, firm and warm. The nomad was overcome by a strong feeling of shame for the hatred and contempt he had held for this man. He fought hard to keep any of that from the expression on his face.

  Meron stepped forward, lifting something from a sack he had been carrying. "I told you that you would find out what I was doing in a few days," he said. "Take off your shirt and extend your left arm."

  As Chan complied, he got his first glance at the contraption that the young armorer was holding. It was made mostly of iron but had a tangle of leather straps attached. The predominant part was a shiny metal hook fashioned from eight inches of hard iron. There was some sort of metal lever at the base of the hook with a piece of hide attached to it. He watched, mystified, as Meron began strapping the gadget to the stump of his arm.

  "Let me know if it is uncomfortable," the lad said, "I imagine you are still a little sore."

  Chan winced only once but found when the boy was through, that the device was securely bound to his arm and yet was reasonably comfortable. Meron was explaining.

  "What use is it to release you if you don't survive out there?" He gestured toward the wild lands. "I devised this hook so that you can do many of the things that you might have done before with your hand. Hooks have been used for eons and can be quite useful but this has an attachment that allows you to grip as well."

  He was handed a short bow by one of the soldiers nearby and placed it inside the hook. Then he pulled forward on the lever and a ratchet clicked as it held the lever forward. Soon, the bow was held firmly wedged between the hook and the leather strip on the lever. "I think, with practice, you can learn to grip all sorts of tools with this. If you want to release the grip, press this button on the bottom of the ratchet like so. I put it on the bottom so that you can release it by banging it on the pommel of your saddle. Now, you try it." The boy proudly stepped back and handed the bow to Chan.

  Chan looked the device over for a minute and tried it out a few times. "I can learn this, I think," he told the boy, "but why have you made this wondrous device for me?"

  "Because Nina says that you are basically a good man and you deserve a chance to survive," the armorer answered truthfully. "We cannot give you back your hand but we can try to make up for its loss a little bit."

  The nomad looked at Zoron. "And you agree with what this device implies?" he asked the Guardsman.

  "I deeply regret that I was unable to stop your attack on Selevon without disabling you permanently," Zoron answered. "I think that what Meron has done is very noble." He turned to one of his men. "Bring the pony," he ordered.

  A few moments later, Chan saw the fiery roan he had ridden into the crater being led forward. It was saddled and over the pommel hung his quiver of arrows and his belt and scabbard with the great iron sword still in it. Nina stepped up to the pony and lifted the sword off it.

  "We saved your precious sword for you," she said. "Selevon wants to keep the knife you used on him as a souvenir. I think the sharp hook on your arm can replace it but Meron has a small, iron knife he wants you to have also." She buckled the belt around the astonished nomad's waist. Meron stepped forward and handed him a small knife in its own sheath. Chan accepted it numbly.

  "I love this pony dearly," Nina continued, "I named him Fire. Would you please take good care of him? He is the one I rode during my escape from your camp." She noted Chan's confused expression. "Look, I know that I would have died in Ajax's camp if you had not taken me away from the other men. I owe you a debt of life. This is how I decided to repay you."

  Selevon stepped forward and put his arm around the girl's waist. "Her debt is my debt. I wish I could come to be your friend but now you must go. Do not try to enter any of the craters again. Your description is known by all and you will be killed on the spot if you attempt to do so."

  Chan silently mounted the pony and started to ride away. As he came to a ravine, down which he must turn, he halted and looked back. They were all standing there looking at him. Nina raised her hand in farewell. He turned and left, a troubled look on his face.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It was nippy out but Kit, dressed only in leggings and a light weight shirt, hardly felt it at all. He bounded from one side of the practice field to the other as he practiced swordsmanship with his father. Peron was, of course, only playing with him. The swords were wooden and the older man pushed only hard enough to make the boy work to his best ability, not that this was easy. Kittron was already more than a match for most of the men in the barracks and was quickly catching up with the rest. The boy moved quickly and struck when least expected. His parries with the knife were as effective as any shield and he could attack with it as easily as he could with his short sword. Peron was used to the two sword fighting style and was always aware of that second blade but most soldiers only considered the right hand to be dangerous. That was where Kit gained an enormous advantage. It would be even more pronounced if he were to fight a stranger.

  "Eagle Rider coming in," a sentry called.

  Peron looked up for only a split second in response to the sighting. Kit was quick to take advantage.

  "Got ya!" the lad shouted triumphantly. He had stepped inside his father's guard and made what would have been a killing stroke with his long knife had it been metal.

  "Not fair, doesn't count," the man protested, "I was distracted by the sentry." There was a grin plastered across his handsome face.

  "To quote the best fighter at Washington," the lad retorted, hands on hips and legs spread wide, "'A soldier never lets his eye stray from his opponent. He must remain aware of his surroundings while maintaining total concentration on the fight at hand.'"

  "But I am the best fighter at Washington," Peron laughed.

  "I know," replied Kit, pointing with his wooden sword at Peron's heaving chest, "and I have just defeated you using your own maxim. Admit it."

  "Sometimes you are too smart for your own good," the father grumbled good naturedly. "You're right you beat me fair and square but don't expect to catch me with that one again." He winked and then led the way to the landing platform.

  A young, fledgling Eagle Rider had just touched down on the platform above a slight cliff down crater from the barracks. He was just climbing down off the back of a huge eagle. Kit looked the bird over with the critical eye of one who has spent many hours doing so at the Aerie. The bird looked unrelated to any of the eagles at Washington crater. He was large already and would be enormous when he reached his full growth at about three years of age. His lines were proud and graceful, his glance reflected better than average intelligence.

  Kit turned his attenti
on to the Rider who had been making a report to Peron, the ranking officer present that afternoon. The boy looked to be about Kit's age, perhaps a half year older, was tall, very slender and had sandy blond hair. Kit knew him from the Learning Hogan. He was Heron, son of their Master Falconer, Daron. As the fledgling turned to go, Kit addressed him.

  "That's the finest eagle I've ever seen, Heron," he said. "What's his lineage?"

  The young Rider's chest expanded with pride. "This is Flash, out of Sable, sired by Whirl of McAllister Aerie. He is a clutch mate of Fury, the mount of Piperon McAllister. I was the top student in the first class at McAllister and earned the very best mount they had."

  "You've been pretty lucky," Kit commented. "I have to admit that I'm green with envy. It couldn't have happened to a better fellow, unless that fellow was me, of course." The grin he flashed took all of the sting out of that last remark.

  Heron's eyes moved to the two practice swords in Kit's hands. He noted that the lad was sweating in spite of the crisp bite to the air. "Have you been practicing swordsmanship?" he asked. "Why do you carry two swords and where is your shield?"

  "You know flying but I know fighting," Kit said. "I've learned to use my father's famous two sword style. Would you like to try me out?"

  Heron looked at his eagle and then at Kit. He then took off his wing, placed it carefully on the ground at the edge of the landing platform and followed the other boy toward the practice field. "I have an hour or so before I have to return to the Aerie. Flash will be all right here for a while."