Sons of the Falcon (The Falcons Saga) Read Online Free

‘stone-son’?”
    “That means I have a hard head and
I’m true to my word.” A lie, but it satisfied the boy’s curiosity. He also avoided
telling his squire that his legs ached and not only from the cold. They were
too short to straddle the sturdy, broad-backed mountain horse properly. He took
a pull from a flask to ease the pain.
    Surely Wolf had heard the rumors
and hoped to trick his foster-lord into revealing the truth, but the boy was not
clever, and Degany, as his father before him, was a well-practiced liar. If the
dwarves preferred to deal with him over many another lord, it was because they
knew his ancestry, even if Degany himself denied it.
    His past negotiations with the
clans had mostly revolved around bargaining for lower tolls on trade roads. His
present assignment was inexplicably more delicate. Gold was a touchy subject on
the best of days, but after the White Falcon’s stunt in robbing the Drakhan
dwarves of their new-found treasure, the matter, if not handled with extreme
care, might put an end to his long-standing friendship with the clans.
    “Now is the time,” King Rhorek had
told him. Newly returned from the peace talks at Nathrachan, the Black Falcon
had looked worn and sick with exhaustion. Still, His Majesty reminded Degany
how formal and well-groomed life was at court compared to that at Zeldanor. Standing
in the Audience Chamber, Degany smelled horse on his trousers, hounds on his
gloves, and he hadn’t considered polishing his boots or trimming his beard
until the meeting was upon him. If the king had taken note of his uncouth
appearance, he had the grace not to mention it. “Fiera is in upheaval, and the
Princess Regent is not as discreet as her brother was. She let it be known that
she wants nothing to do with the gold that, she believes, led to Shadryk’s death.
When her temper cools, she may feel differently. Therefore, we must act now.
Before she realizes her error in judgment and sends a delegation into the
mountains.”
    Degany had urged the king to wait
until the temper of the dwarves ebbed, but Rhorek wouldn’t hear of it.
“I do not expect them to give us their treasury, Lord Zeldanor,” he’d said.
“Just make inroads. Get them talking. Find out what they mean to do with this
gold and what they want in trade. One must start with a single cut to whittle
down a mountain, am I correct?”
    This first cut might take Degany
all winter, or a single day. So he sharpened his chisel and headed into the
Drakhans with his two brothers and his brother-by-marriage, along with twenty
men of Zeldanor’s garrison, four squires, and two supply wagons.
    The dwarven city of Ristencort lay
on the far side of the first range of mountains in the canyons of the
Ristbrooke, a three day journey from home. Would the stone-fathers there turn
him away? Or would they escort him to the hidden City of Elders where surely
the gold was hoarded? Degany forbade himself to hope for an easy negotiation
but prepared himself to set in for a winter-long siege and much bootlicking.
    “Drys might like to go,” Truva had
said when she learned of his mission. “He’s old enough now and has been to war
besides.”
    “This isn’t a journey for
high-spirited boys, Truva. I take Wolf only because it’s his duty. But to Drys,
this business will likely be dull and disappointing. Until I know what to
expect, I won’t send for him.” Truva’s cocked eyebrow told him what he already
knew. The words were empty excuses and Degany himself was full of shit. The
straw-haired boy that Degany had carried on his shoulders had grown into a
stranger. In the service of Blue Mountain, Drys had ridden off to war while his
father stayed home with orders to guard the hinterlands from any Fierans trying
to sneak into Aralorr by the back door. None did. And when his son rode home
with tales of valor and conquest, what had Degany to offer? Nothing. Besides,
he wasn’t any good around strangers. Learning to speak each