party of N'Omb pilgrims who evidently had been attacked by highwaymen on the road to the Shrine of the Three Miracles in Kellerton."
He gazed at the wall of green outside, tracing the patterns of leaves, while his mind pictured the delicate jade leaf pin that had been his mother's. He touched his shirt to confirm that the pin lay beneath it, still chained around his neck. It was the sole clue to his origin, for only she had broken the pilgrim's vow of anonymity to carry a personal possession, the pin, on that journey to death.
He wished that he could remember his mother, but he'd been only a baby when the farmers had found him. Still, sometimes he could almost imagine her.
She bent over to kiss him goodnight, and the jade leaf pin glittered at her throat. She was warm and beautiful, but he could not really remember her features.
The image of the pin spun through his thoughts—a wheel of seven leaves, tips outward--rolling on a road that led nowhere.
"You don't know who your real parents were?" asked Roslyn.
"No. My foster parents were never able to track down their identities. So they could have come from the Triad area." Hawk smiled. "I can remember how my foster mother always wanted us to move south when I was a child—into the area protected by the Triad. Like many of the folk around here, she distrusted sorcerers and their magic. She didn't like living under their rule. My father felt pretty much the same, only he wasn't willing to give up his land, not even if it meant living in an area free from sorcery. Of course, when the Empire destroyed the Triad stones they were certainly glad they had never moved, and they were suddenly grateful that York had its own sorcerers who could protect the land against invasion. I sometimes wonder if it's wise for anyone to control such awesome power; although they have great potential for good, the stones have generally brought more war than peace."
Roslyn nodded. "I know what you mean. And sometimes even my own abilities frighten me—like the hunches I get. They happen so randomly, I can't control them, and I don't know how or why they happen." "It's no wonder the common people are suspicious A magic," said Hawk, "when not even sorcerers know how their spellstones work, and the rest of us with paranormal powers, such as telepathy or precognition, don't have the vaguest idea how we do what we do."
"What happened when your foster parents learned you were a telepath?" asked Ro.
"It took them a while to guess the truth—I suppose they didn't want to believe I was a telepath. When I was only two or three I tamed a wild hawk and kept it for a pet. That's how I got my name—it started as a nickname, but it stuck so firmly that I don't even remember being called anything else. At first my parents thought my hawk was someone's trained hunting falcon; when I started to attract other birds they thought it was a cute trick. By the time they realized that I was a bird-path, they'd come to love and accept me as much as their own natural son. So it didn't matter too much to them. Of course I was an oddity to the rest of the people in the area. I guess that's why I kept pretty much to myself as a child. I suppose I'm still a loner."
"But you're not lonely—you have your birds." There was a trace of envy in Ro's voice.
Her insight disturbed Hawk, and he suddenly felt embarrassed. He didn't know why he had opened up to her. She was surprisingly easy to talk to. Perhaps there was something special about Roslyn. Or perhaps he had changed without even realizing it. His responsibilities as a scout for York, his friendship with Derek S'Mayler, and his contacts with so many new people, including Lord S'York, had subtly altered his awareness of the world and of himself. He sensed that he was maturing, becoming more confident in himself, and that realization was both pleasing and disconcerting.
Feeling self-conscious and ill at ease, he said, "I guess it's time we were getting back."
"I suppose
He gazed at the wall of green outside, tracing the patterns of leaves, while his mind pictured the delicate jade leaf pin that had been his mother's. He touched his shirt to confirm that the pin lay beneath it, still chained around his neck. It was the sole clue to his origin, for only she had broken the pilgrim's vow of anonymity to carry a personal possession, the pin, on that journey to death.
He wished that he could remember his mother, but he'd been only a baby when the farmers had found him. Still, sometimes he could almost imagine her.
She bent over to kiss him goodnight, and the jade leaf pin glittered at her throat. She was warm and beautiful, but he could not really remember her features.
The image of the pin spun through his thoughts—a wheel of seven leaves, tips outward--rolling on a road that led nowhere.
"You don't know who your real parents were?" asked Roslyn.
"No. My foster parents were never able to track down their identities. So they could have come from the Triad area." Hawk smiled. "I can remember how my foster mother always wanted us to move south when I was a child—into the area protected by the Triad. Like many of the folk around here, she distrusted sorcerers and their magic. She didn't like living under their rule. My father felt pretty much the same, only he wasn't willing to give up his land, not even if it meant living in an area free from sorcery. Of course, when the Empire destroyed the Triad stones they were certainly glad they had never moved, and they were suddenly grateful that York had its own sorcerers who could protect the land against invasion. I sometimes wonder if it's wise for anyone to control such awesome power; although they have great potential for good, the stones have generally brought more war than peace."
Roslyn nodded. "I know what you mean. And sometimes even my own abilities frighten me—like the hunches I get. They happen so randomly, I can't control them, and I don't know how or why they happen." "It's no wonder the common people are suspicious A magic," said Hawk, "when not even sorcerers know how their spellstones work, and the rest of us with paranormal powers, such as telepathy or precognition, don't have the vaguest idea how we do what we do."
"What happened when your foster parents learned you were a telepath?" asked Ro.
"It took them a while to guess the truth—I suppose they didn't want to believe I was a telepath. When I was only two or three I tamed a wild hawk and kept it for a pet. That's how I got my name—it started as a nickname, but it stuck so firmly that I don't even remember being called anything else. At first my parents thought my hawk was someone's trained hunting falcon; when I started to attract other birds they thought it was a cute trick. By the time they realized that I was a bird-path, they'd come to love and accept me as much as their own natural son. So it didn't matter too much to them. Of course I was an oddity to the rest of the people in the area. I guess that's why I kept pretty much to myself as a child. I suppose I'm still a loner."
"But you're not lonely—you have your birds." There was a trace of envy in Ro's voice.
Her insight disturbed Hawk, and he suddenly felt embarrassed. He didn't know why he had opened up to her. She was surprisingly easy to talk to. Perhaps there was something special about Roslyn. Or perhaps he had changed without even realizing it. His responsibilities as a scout for York, his friendship with Derek S'Mayler, and his contacts with so many new people, including Lord S'York, had subtly altered his awareness of the world and of himself. He sensed that he was maturing, becoming more confident in himself, and that realization was both pleasing and disconcerting.
Feeling self-conscious and ill at ease, he said, "I guess it's time we were getting back."
"I suppose
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