CHILDREN OF AMARID Read online

  DAVID B. COE

  A Tom Doherty Associates Book / New York

  www.eBookYes.com

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.

  CHILDREN OF AMARID

  Copyright © 1997 by David B. Coe

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  Edited by James Frenkel

  A Tor Book

  Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.

  175 Fifth Avenue

  New York, NY 10010

  Tor Books on the World Wide Web:

  http://www.tor.com

  Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.

  Map by Ellisa H. Mitchell

  Coe, David B.

  Children of Amarid / David B. Coe.—1st ed.

  p. cm.—(The LonTobyn chronicle ; bk. 1)

  “A Tom Doherty Associates book.”

  eISBN 0-312-87082-5

  I. Title. II. Series: Coe, David B. LonTobyn chronicle ; bk. 1.

  PS3553.0343C49 1997

  813'.54—dc21

  96-52647

  CIP

  First Edition: May 1997

  This book is also available in print as ISBN 0-312-85906-6.

  Acknowledgments

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  About the Author

  For Nancy,

  who believed even when I did not.

  Acknowledgments

  I owe thanks to a great many people whose contributions to this book deserve more than a simple acknowledgment.

  My dear friend Harold Roth agreed to serve as my agent, putting his substantial reputation on the line to sell what was, at the time, a very rough, partially completed manuscript. Harold’s success in this endeavor is testimony to his talents as an agent rather than to mine as a writer.

  I am deeply grateful to Tom Doherty for taking a chance on an author of unknown ability, and to James Frenkel, my editor at Tor Books, for recommending that he do so. Jim has a keen sense of what I am trying to do with my world and my characters. That his editing has improved this book goes without saying, but I am amazed by the magnitude of that improvement.

  I am also indebted to: James Minz, Jim’s editorial assistant; all the wonderful people at Tor who helped get this book into print; my friends Alan Goldberg and Chris Meeker, who read early drafts of the novel; and my siblings, Bill, Liz, and Jim, and my parents, the late Jacques Coe, Jr., and the late Sylvia W. Coe, who gave me their love and support even though they didn’t always understand what I was doing with my life.

  Finally, and most importantly, I must thank my wife, Nancy Berner. She not only watched me trade in a stable but dissatisfying career as a historian so that I could pursue my dream of writing fantasy, she urged me to do so. I am grateful not only for her insights and her astute criticisms of the manuscript, but also for her unwavering encouragement and love. Without her, this book would never have been written.

  1

  Gerek awoke with first light, rose, and dressed quietly. He kissed his wife, who stirred slightly before turning over and going back to sleep. Then he stepped noiselessly to the next room, where his son slept. Gerek smiled when he saw the boy, still asleep, sprawled ridiculously in his bed. Kori’s small feet rested on the pillow and his head leaned against the wall. Gerek sat down on the bed by his son and shook the boy gently.

  “Kori. Kori,” he called softly. “I’m going to the island to pick someshan leaf. Do you want to come along? Or do you want to sleep some more?”

  The boy turned over and yawned, his eyes still closed. “I want to go with you,” he replied sleepily.

  “All right,” Gerek continued in the same hushed tone. “Then you have to get up now.”

  “All right,” Kori answered, although his eyes remained closed.

  His father laughed quietly.

  A moment later, the boy opened his eyes and yawned again. His father helped him out of bed, dressed him, and led him by the hand out to the common room.

  “Do you want something to eat now, or do you want to wait until we get back?” Gerek whispered.

  The boy considered the question for a moment, his face, still puffy from sleep, wearing a thoughtful expression. “I think I’m hungry now,” he said at last. His father held a finger to his lips indicating that he should speak quietly. “Can I have a piece of sweet bread?” Kori continued in a whisper.

  Gerek nodded and stepped lightly into the pantry. He returned with two pieces of the soft bread, giving one to his son and biting into the other himself. When they finished eating, both man and boy donned heavy brown overshirts and silently left the house.

  The early morning air felt cool and damp, and the briny scent of the nearby harbor lay heavy over the village. The sky was azure, and the first rays of sunlight cast elongated shadows in front of them as they crossed through the village and down to the shore. When they reached the waterfront they walked among the small, wooden boats that sat on the sandy beach until they reached the dugout Gerek had fashioned the previous spring. In the boat lay three wooden paddles, two of them full sized, and one of them, clearly intended for Kori, half the size of the others. Kori removed his paddle and one of the larger ones, struggling slightly with the latter, and his father pushed the dugout along the sand until it glided onto the glasslike surface of the harbor. There, he held it still, allowing Kori to climb in and move to the front. Then Gerek took his place at the stern and began to paddle away from the shore.

  A fine mist, rising slowly from the water’s surface, parted and swirled past the sides of the dugout as the small boat glided toward a large, wooded island half a mile from the shore. The island’s trees were mottled with numerous shades of green, their leaves still young with the spring. Thin strands of steam curled over the wooded island like fingers on some ghostly hand. Beyond the island, in the distance, a thick fog lay like a blanket over the pale, green rise of the Lower Horn.

  In the prow of the little boat, Kori paddled, smoothly shifting the oar from side to side the way his father had taught him. Gerek smiled and shook his head. It’s not possible, he thought to himself, watching the boy, that he can already befive years old. Where do the years go?

  “You’re paddling well, Kori,” he called. “We’ll have you sitting back here and steering soon.”

  Kori turned to look at his father, a proud smile on his young, sun-lit face. Then the boy faced forward again and began to paddle with even more determination than before. Again, Gerek smiled.

  When they reached the island, the man steered the boat around to a small beach at the south end, hopped out of the dugout, and pushed it up onto the shore. Kori climbed out of the boat and, together, he and his father moved into the forest.

  A narrow, worn path, one the man and boy had taken before, wound among the maples, oaks, elms, and aspens, climbing steeply away from the beach before leveling off several hundred feet into the woods. Sunlight slanted through the trees, casting shafts of alternating light and shadow through the smokelike mist that permeated the forest. The drumming of a woodpecker echoed through the woods, and a thrush sang from a hidden perch.

  Gerek and Kori began searching along the lush floor of the wood for the tiny, velvet-blue shan leaves for which they ha
d come. One usually smelled shan before seeing it. It grew low to the ground, snaking inconspicuously among the leaf litter and other shrubs. But it had a distinctive sweet, cool fragrance that only hinted at its full flavor. Many in western Tobyn-Ser used the dried leaves as a seasoning, and some even chewed the leaves as they found them. In higher concentrations, steamed shan had medicinal value, and, in all forms, it was a popular and precious market item. Gerek planned to trade most of what they found this morning with an Abboriji trader, who had promised in return to deliver several yards of a fabric that Shayla had admired. They could never have afforded such material simply on what they earned from Gerek’s fishing and Shayla’s basketry. Gerek had told Shayla as much. But, with this shan . . . Gerek smiled to himself; he couldn’t wait to see the expression on Shayla’s face.

  He and Kori moved slowly through the forest, filling their sacks with leaves, the boy covering the area to the right of the path, Gerek harvesting the leaves to the left. After nearly an hour, Gerek returned to the trail and called to his son.

  “How are you doing, Kori?”

  “Fine,” the boy called back. A moment later he stood breathlessly in front of his father. “Look how much I got!” Kori opened his sack, which was nearly filled with blue leaves. Their aroma seemed to permeate the forest.

  “That’s great,” Gerek said, “but let’s leave a few for next time, all right?”

  “All right. I’m hungry anyway.”

  “Again?” the man asked with mock amazement.

  The boy nodded and laughed, and the two of them began to make their way back through the forest toward the boat. They had only taken a few steps, however, when Gerek heard something moving in the woods behind them. He turned and saw, through the branches and the mist, a distant figure approaching slowly. The stranger was tall and lean, and he moved among the trees with an easy grace. He wore a hooded cloak of deep forest green, and carried a long staff on top of which was mounted a glowing, crimson stone. And on his shoulder sat a great, dark bird.

  Gerek grinned, feeling his pulse quicken as it always did when he saw one of Amarid’s Children. It seemed funny in a way that, even now, even though he was a father with a five-year-old son, the sight of a mage could affect him so.

  “What is it, Papa?”

  It took Gerek a moment to respond. “It’s a Child of Amarid,” he said at last, still gazing at the approaching figure. He did not recognize the man, and he had never seen a hawk or owl as large or as dark as the one this mage carried.

  “Is it Master Niall?” Kori asked excitedly. “I can’t see him!”

  Gerek picked up his son and pointed. “See? There he is, although I don’t think it’s Niall, not unless he’s gotten a new bird.”

  “You mean it’s another one?” Kori asked, his voice rising and his eyes growing wide. “Is this one a Hawk-Mage or an Owl-Mage?”

  “Hawk-Mage or Owl-Master,” Gerek corrected, and then, looking back at the mage, who was drawing closer, he shrugged. “I’m not sure,” he told the boy, still unable to recognize the strange bird on the figure’s shoulder. In truth, Gerek knew little about the hawks or owls to which the Children of Amarid bound themselves, and from which, it was said, they drew their powers and healing abilities. He knew Amarid’s Hawk, as most did, and he could distinguish a hawk from an owl. But beyond that, he couldn’t tell one bird from another. He did know, however, how unusual it was to see a mage other than the one who served this portion of the land. There were only a few dozen mages in all of Tobyn-Ser, most of them serving specific areas. Niall, who served the Lower Horn and the shore of South Shelter, visited Sern and the other coastal villages twice a year—more often if the people had need. He had been doing so for as long as Gerek remembered, first as a Hawk-Mage, and, in more recent years, as an Owl-Master. The mage had been a close friend of Shayla’s father, and he had come to Gerek and Shayla’s wedding. He was a familiar figure in Gerek’s life, but still, every time Gerek saw the beautiful bird Niall carried, and the long green cloak that betokened the mage’s membership in the Order, Gerek could not suppress the excitement bordering on giddiness that overcame him. And this was not Niall. Gerek could not remember the last time he had seen a mage other than the silver-haired Owl-Master; Kori, he knew, had never seen one.

  “Greetings, Child of Amarid,” Gerek called out formally. “We are honored by this meeting.”

  Gerek’s salutation brought no response, and, he noticed, even as the figure came closer, the hood of the cloak continued to conceal the mage’s face. Slowly, not understanding why it happened, Gerek felt his excitement begin to give way to something else.

  Amarid’s Children were, along with the Keepers of Arick’s Temples, the most honored men and women in Tobyn-Ser. They roamed the land serving and protecting its people, healing them when they were ill or wounded, and guiding them in times of trouble. In the absence of a centralized government binding together the land’s cities, towns, and villages, the Order, in an uneasy alliance with the Sons and Daughters of the Gods, functioned as Tobyn-Ser’s leadership, guarding the people from outside threats and settling disputes among different communities.

  They were as much a part of the land as the Seaside Mountains, which rose majestically from the coastline just to the east of Sern; they were nearly as important to Tobyn-Ser’s people as Arick, Duclea, and the other gods. The feathers the mages left as tokens of their service were prizes to be cherished; indeed, even finding a feather in the woods or on a beach was considered to be good luck. Gifts from Amarid, they were called. As a child, Gerek had longed to join the Order himself, and Kori already spoke of it as well. Any man or woman who donned a forest-green cloak and bore a mage’s staff, even a stranger, was a friend and a protector.

  And yet now, confronted with this silent, hooded figure and the strange black bird, Gerek suddenly, inexplicably, felt vulnerable and afraid. Within him, everything he had learned as a child—everything he, in turn, had taught Kori—battled with an overpowering, instinctive urge to flee. Battled, and lost.

  Still holding Kori in his arms, he turned and began to walk quickly down the path toward the safety of the boat.

  “Can’t we stay and talk to him?” Kori asked, gazing back over his father’s shoulder, his words jarred with each of his father’s steps.

  Gerek didn’t answer, concentrating instead on keeping his footing and avoiding the roots and rocks that cluttered the trail.

  “I want to see his bird!” Kori said, his tone becoming more insistent and plaintive. “Why are we leaving!” Then Kori’s tone changed utterly, and he whispered fearfully, “Papa, I think he’s coming after us!”

  Gerek whirled and saw the figure, its benign, leisurely bearing gone, striding purposefully and menacingly toward them. Still, Gerek could not discern the cloaked face, nor could he identify the strange bird. He began to run. Kori clung tightly to his neck and bounced in his arms. Twice they nearly fell, but both times Gerek righted himself and maintained his grip on his son. He knew without looking that the figure was pursuing them, gaining on them with each step. And then, just as they reached the descent to the beach, Kori screamed.

  “His bird!”

  Gerek stopped and swung around again, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The huge, black creature was already in flight, overtaking them with sickening speed. Gerek put Kori on the ground and picked up a short, heavy stick from beside the path.

  “Kori! Run to the boat! Don’t wait for me! Just paddle home as fast as you can!”

  “But, Papa—”

  “Move!”Gerek exploded.

  He saw Kori begin to back away, the child’s eyes locked on the approaching creature, the expression on his young face a mix of fascination and horror. And then Gerek was aware of nothing but himself and the great bird. He could now see that it was a hawk, but an enormous one, larger than any he’d seen before. Its feathers were unnaturally stiff and glossy. Its knifelike talons and sharply hooked beak seemed strange somehow, far more threatening than t
hose of any other hawk he had encountered, although even they were not as alien as the bird’s bright, glimmering eyes. These were golden in color, and, impossibly, horribly, they appeared to have no pupils.

  As the creature reached him, Gerek leveled a ferocious blow at its head, but, at the last moment, with extraordinary agility, the bird wheeled off to the side. The force of his swing threw the man off balance momentarily, but he recovered quickly and spun around to face the hawk with the stick held in front of him.

  The creature hovered before Gerek for a few moments. Then it suddenly rose up above him and dropped toward his head, its claws outstretched. Gerek dove to his left, rolled, and sprang to his feet just in time to raise the stick and block a swooping blow from the bird’s fisted talon. The bird moved with incredible speed, swooping again while Gerek still recovered from the force of the last attack. Again Gerek dove away, this time rolling to the far side of a tree, where he was able to gain a moment’s respite. He scrambled to his feet and, keeping his back to the tree and holding his stick before him, stepped around into the clearing. He expected an immediate assault from the creature, but the great bird was nowhere in sight. Instinctively Gerek looked up, guarding his head with the stick and his arms, but the hawk was not above him. He looked over to where Kori still stood and, as he did so, Kori screamed and pointed. From behind another tree, the hawk rushed at Gerek’s head, its beak open and its talons poised to strike. Gerek, caught off guard by the attack and impeded by the tree he had tried to use as protection, wrenched himself desperately to the side and flung the stick toward the bird. The creature veered off to avoid it, but caught Gerek’s left arm just below the elbow with one of its razor claws. Gerek gasped in pain and blood began to soak through his overshirt. He heard Kori start to sob. He tried to flex his hand, but the hawk’s talon had sliced through his tendons, leaving him with little strength or control in his fingers. Keeping his injured arm close to his body, Gerek grabbed another fallen branch to use as a weapon and watched as the hawk glided back toward him again.