that it would not interfere with his climbing. “I have done this countless times, Stefan.”
“N ot with an eagle calling you, you haven’t!”
Roydon turned away. “I will be back tomorrow, my friend.”
“See that you are. There will be hell to pay if I must come looking for you.” Stefan saw the earl raise his hand in acknowledgement of his threat and then watched him disappear among the rocks and crags of Eagle Mountain.
Chapter Three
Already he had been climbing for three hours and still the urge to go higher pushed at him. The ascen t became more difficult and dangerous the higher he went, for no path or even a goat track, broke the jumble of rocks and huge boulders that covered the mountain side.
Roydon’s hands, already covered in nicks and cuts from the sharp rocks, rested on his hips for a moment as he contemplated the interminable steep , scree-covered slope before him. He could see no other way up. On either side steep, vertical cliffs rose sixty or seventy feet into the air, impossible to climb.
Roydon had never come this way before so he did not know what he would find at the top of the high slope. Vaguely, in the lengthening shadows, he thought he could see a narrow ledge at the top that disappeared to the right behind an enormous boulder, round the shoulder of the mountain.
He must be insane, he thought, to even contemplate going up that slope. A slip, the slightest miss-step on the loose rubble and he would fall, God alone knew, how far down the mountain. Roydon shook his head; he would go back down and find another way up. The earl had already turned to return the way he had come, when the silence of the mountain, broken only by his own heavy breathing, was shattered by the cry of an eagle that circled the sky above him.
Instinctively, Roydon looked up knowing what he would see. He had been right. An enormous eagle, his eagle, circled a rocky crag up above and to his right. He had no doubt whatsoever that this bird was the same one that had already challenged him twice before. He felt the same possessive aggression that he had felt before.
“Mine”, Roydon utter the word aloud, the possessiveness in his tone shaking him. This could not be happening; he had to control this strange obsession. A sane and logical part of his mind urged him to ignore all this, to go back down the mountain; to forget his nemesis.
Roydon had barely taken a step back when another anguished cry from above froze him in mid-step. The pain and desolation in the cry mirrored his own feelings, seeming almost human and it pierced straight to his soul. The throbbing ache in his head became real pain and the knot in the pit of his stomach tightened in response to the pain and need he sensed in his eagle’s cry.
Without a second thought, Roydon turned back to the dangerous slope and started to climb.
Back muscles corded and straining, strong thighs pulling and flexing, heart pumping and perspiration soaking him, Roydon pulled himself up the treacherous slope. Loose stones and rubble under his booted feet and clawing hands, threatened to dislodge him, to loosen his tenuous hold on the slope, as he crawled up the nearly vertical incline to the beckoning ledge; to the call of his eagle.
He made it to the top with his last reserves of strength. Exhausted, Roydon collapsed on the narrow ledge. Chest heaving, throat constricted, starving lungs bellowing their need for air, he rested. As he lay there on his back, trying to regulate his breathing, a sane part of his mind berated him for his stupid, reckless action that could have resulted in serious injury, mostly likely death. A slip, a loose stone, would have plunged him down the mountain to his death. The climb had taxed him to his limit, not even the longest, most strenuous, deadly sword fight had ever brought him this close to total exhaustion.
Yet, another part of him exalted in his accomplishment, unmindful of
“N ot with an eagle calling you, you haven’t!”
Roydon turned away. “I will be back tomorrow, my friend.”
“See that you are. There will be hell to pay if I must come looking for you.” Stefan saw the earl raise his hand in acknowledgement of his threat and then watched him disappear among the rocks and crags of Eagle Mountain.
Chapter Three
Already he had been climbing for three hours and still the urge to go higher pushed at him. The ascen t became more difficult and dangerous the higher he went, for no path or even a goat track, broke the jumble of rocks and huge boulders that covered the mountain side.
Roydon’s hands, already covered in nicks and cuts from the sharp rocks, rested on his hips for a moment as he contemplated the interminable steep , scree-covered slope before him. He could see no other way up. On either side steep, vertical cliffs rose sixty or seventy feet into the air, impossible to climb.
Roydon had never come this way before so he did not know what he would find at the top of the high slope. Vaguely, in the lengthening shadows, he thought he could see a narrow ledge at the top that disappeared to the right behind an enormous boulder, round the shoulder of the mountain.
He must be insane, he thought, to even contemplate going up that slope. A slip, the slightest miss-step on the loose rubble and he would fall, God alone knew, how far down the mountain. Roydon shook his head; he would go back down and find another way up. The earl had already turned to return the way he had come, when the silence of the mountain, broken only by his own heavy breathing, was shattered by the cry of an eagle that circled the sky above him.
Instinctively, Roydon looked up knowing what he would see. He had been right. An enormous eagle, his eagle, circled a rocky crag up above and to his right. He had no doubt whatsoever that this bird was the same one that had already challenged him twice before. He felt the same possessive aggression that he had felt before.
“Mine”, Roydon utter the word aloud, the possessiveness in his tone shaking him. This could not be happening; he had to control this strange obsession. A sane and logical part of his mind urged him to ignore all this, to go back down the mountain; to forget his nemesis.
Roydon had barely taken a step back when another anguished cry from above froze him in mid-step. The pain and desolation in the cry mirrored his own feelings, seeming almost human and it pierced straight to his soul. The throbbing ache in his head became real pain and the knot in the pit of his stomach tightened in response to the pain and need he sensed in his eagle’s cry.
Without a second thought, Roydon turned back to the dangerous slope and started to climb.
Back muscles corded and straining, strong thighs pulling and flexing, heart pumping and perspiration soaking him, Roydon pulled himself up the treacherous slope. Loose stones and rubble under his booted feet and clawing hands, threatened to dislodge him, to loosen his tenuous hold on the slope, as he crawled up the nearly vertical incline to the beckoning ledge; to the call of his eagle.
He made it to the top with his last reserves of strength. Exhausted, Roydon collapsed on the narrow ledge. Chest heaving, throat constricted, starving lungs bellowing their need for air, he rested. As he lay there on his back, trying to regulate his breathing, a sane part of his mind berated him for his stupid, reckless action that could have resulted in serious injury, mostly likely death. A slip, a loose stone, would have plunged him down the mountain to his death. The climb had taxed him to his limit, not even the longest, most strenuous, deadly sword fight had ever brought him this close to total exhaustion.
Yet, another part of him exalted in his accomplishment, unmindful of
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