Ironhand's Daughter Read Free

the whispering of wind-breath before the winter storms. High Druin spoke to the heart. He said: “I am Eternity in stone. I have always been here. I will always be here!”
    The huntress let Abby soar into the air and watched her swoop over High Druin’s lower flanks. Lady bounded out over the grass, her sleek black body alert, her one good eye scanning for sign of hare or rat. Sigarni sat by the Lake of Tears, watching the brightly colored ducks on the banks of the small island at the center of the lake. Abby circled high above them, also watching the birds. The hawk swooped down, coming to rest in a tree beside the lake. The ducks, suddenly aware of the hawk, took to the water.
    Sigarni watched with interest. Roast duck would make a fine contrast to the hare meat she had eaten during the last fortnight. “Here, Lady!” she called. The hound padded alongside and Sigarni pointed to the ducks. “Go!” hissed Sigarni. Instantly the dog leaped into the water, paddling furiously toward the circling flock. Several of the birds took wing, putting flat distance between them and the hound, keeping low to the water. But one took off into the sky and instantly Abby launched herself in pursuit.
    The duck was rising fast, and Abby hurtled down toward it with talons extended.
    At the last possible moment the duck saw the bird of prey—and dived fast. For a heartbeat only Sigarni thought Abby had her prey, but then the duck hit the water, diving deep, confusing the hawk. Abby circled and returned to her branch.
    The huntress gave a low whistle, summoning Lady back to the bank. The sound of a walking horse came to Sigarni then, and she rose and turned.
    The horse was a tall chestnut, and upon it rode a black man, his cheeks, head, and shoulders covered in a flowing white burnoose. A cloak of blue-dyed wool hung from his broad shoulders and a curved sword was scabbarded at his waist. He smiled as he saw the mountain woman.
    â€œWhen hunting duck, it is better for the hawk to take it from below,” he said, swinging down from his saddle.
    â€œWe’re still learning,” replied Sigarni affably. “She is wedded to fur now, but it took time—as you said it would, Asmidir.”
    The tall man sat down at the water’s edge. Lady approached him gingerly, and he stroked her head. “The eye is healing well. Has it affected her hunting?” Sigarni shook her head. “And the bird? Hawks prefer to feed on feather. What is her killing weight?”
    â€œTwo pounds two ounces. But she has taken hare at two-four.”
    â€œAnd what do you feed her?”
    â€œNo more than three ounces a day.”
    The black man nodded. “Once in a while you should catch her a rat. Nothing better for cleaning a bird’s crop than a good rat.”
    â€œWhy is that, Asmidir?” asked Sigarni, sitting down beside the man.
    â€œI don’t know,” he admitted with a broad smile. “My father told me years ago. As you know the hawk swallows its prey—where it can—whole and the carcass is compressed, all the goodness squeezed out of it. It then vomits out the cast, the remnants. There is, I would imagine, something in the rat’s pelt or skin that cleans the bird’s crop as it exits.” Leaning back on his elbows, he narrowed his eyes and watched the distant hawk.
    â€œHow many kills so far?”
    â€œSixty-eight hares, twenty pigeons, and a ferret.”
    â€œYou hunt ferret?” asked Asmidir, raising a quizzical eyebrow.
    â€œIt was a mistake. The ferret bolted a hare and Abby took the ferret.”
    Asmidir chuckled. “You have done well, Sigarni. I am glad I gave you the hawk.”
    â€œThree times I thought I’d lost her. Always in the forest.”
    â€œYou may lose sight of her, child, but she will never lose sight of you. Come back to the castle, and I will prepare you a meal. And you too,” he said, scratching the hound’s