The Shining Falcon

Was he? Something was watching him; that was no superstitious fancy. Something inhuman, something hostile, was watching him. He knew it. Something was virtually breathing down his neck, playing with him, preparing to strike—

Alexei whirled in the saddle, staring back over his shoulder, half expecting to see the trees quietly closing in behind him.

Nothing.

Of course, nothing, he told himself angrily. Don't be a fool.

But the blood was surging in his ears, his heart pounding so sharply he thought it must burst… It was the forest pursuing him, the forest itself that didn't want him here…

With a startled snort, Alexei's horse almost fell out of underbrush onto a road, an undeniable road, and he could have kissed the beast. He didn't know where he was, he didn't know where the road led, but surely it had to get him out of the forest!

But which was the right way? The branches even overhung the road, and in this cursed sunless gloom, he couldn't even begin to judge direction. Gnawing on his lip, Alexei picked a direction at random, forcing his horse forward. The animal didn't seem very happy about his choice, its ears flicking nervously until he could have shouted at it to be still. Save for the clop of its hoofs on dirt and the continued surging of blood in his ears, there still wasn't a sound, not even the faintest stirring of wind in leaves. The sense of being watched, of riding ever deeper into nameless peril, grew till he could have screamed.

Suddenly Alexei's nerve broke. He whirled his horse about so sharply the animal reared in protest, then kicked it into a frenzied run—

Just as something heavy came hurtling down on him out of the trees. Alexei was sent flying from the saddle, landing on his back with an impact that knocked the breath from him. Dazed, he saw men peering down at him‑dirty, ragged, perfectly human robbers—but his attention was on his horse, galloping off with an eagerness that said it wasn't going to stop till it was safe in Stargorod. Galloping off with all his possessions and his hopes of getting out of the forest!

«No!» he gasped, and again, in rising panic, «No!» Oh, God, the thought of being trapped here forever — «Damn you!» It was a shriek. «You've stranded me. Damn you!»

Blazing with mindless rage and sheer terror, in that mad instant blaming these fools for everything that had gone wrong, Alexei sprang to his feet, sword in hand, and descended on the amazed robbers like a demon out of the old tales. He was dimly aware of knives flashing out, improvised clubs being raised, but just then he didn't care what weapons these peasants bore.

«Damn you!» he repeated, and when one of them, better-armed than the rest, dared to lunge at him with long knife raised, Alexei swung his blade, two-handed, and felt a savage surge of joy at the impact of steel on flesh. His victim fell, spouting blood, nearly decapitated, and the other robbers cried out angrily. The sound penetrated Alexei's killing rage, and he looked down at his ghastly handiwork in sudden horror. He'd never had to kill anyone before; not like this, not with his own hands. God, the mess of it, the ugly, reeking mess… But he didn't dare be sick, as his churning stomach was insisting, because these creatures would almost certainly murder him if he showed any weakness.

Yes, but why did they all seem more shocked now than angry? Surely they'd seen violent death before. Oh, fine, thought Alexei in sudden realization, that was their leader I just killed. And now they're going to kill me.

The fading of his killing frenzy had left him fairly shaking with reaction. Alexei thought of those dirty peasant hands tearing him limb from limb, and all at once wanted nothing so much as to beg their mercy. Not that he would ever dishonor himself like that! But right now, he had to think of something clever, and fast.

And to his amazement, Alexei heard himself saying, in a cold, casual voice, «The fool is dead.»

There was a muttering of anger from the robbers.

''Fool, I say!'' repeated Alexei sharply. ''Look at you— half-starved, ragged, filthy. Is that the sort of leader you admire, a man who couldn't even keep you fed, let alone show you riches?»

«What makes ye think ye're better?» came a grumble. «Ye, with yer fine city clothes and yer fine city words.»

Oh, God, now what? Alexei located the one who'd spoken, and started towards the man as boldly as he could, praying his weak‑limbed gait would be taken for brash swagger, letting his sword droop in his hand in what he hoped was a convincingly casual manner. Face to face with the man, trying not to breathe in the stench of him, Alexei simply stared, the unblinking stare of a boyar trained to cow servants. And to his great relief, he saw the robber blink and look angrily away. Alexei smiled. «That should be obvious," he said coolly.