"But did you hear better afterward?"
"I heard surprisingly well," her mother had answered. "I could hear the high-pitched squeaks of bats at night so loudly that sometimes it would keep me awake if I tried to sleep. If I lay down on the ground, I could hear mice burrowing beneath the grass, and the baby mice squeaking as they cried for their mother s teats. Then of course, there was always your father. I could hear his stomach gurgling and churning from his evening meal, and if he began to snore-well, I could forget all about sleep!"
Her parents had seemed almost… disfigured to her. Masses of white scars covered her father s chest and arms. Sir Borenson had always pretended that he could not remember where most of them came from. He d been only sixteen when he took his first endowments, and over the years he claimed that his memories had faded.
When questioned, he would act befuddled, and then find some excuse to walk off.
Talon had thought that he was hiding something until her mother explained, "Your father took endowments of wit when he was young, so that he could learn to fight more quickly. But when his Dedicates were slain, the men from whom he had taken wit had died, and your father forgot a great deal. Imagine for a moment that you took four endowments of wit, and studied hard for several years; then one day someone stole four-fifths of all that you had learned. That s the way it is with your father.
"It s not that he is embarrassed to talk about it, I think. But it hurts him to admit how much he has lost, for you see, each Dedicate who died, your father took as a sign of his own failure.
"It is a Runelord s duty to protect his Dedicates. It s not important to do it just to make sure that you keep your endowments. It s a matter of honor. The people who give you your endowments, they re people just like you-with homes, and families, and hearts that break. You get to borrow their strength, or their vigor, or their beauty. And while you rejoice, they suffer terribly."
Talon s curiosity about her parents scars had never really waned. She d heard stories about them so often that in time the tales of the ceremonies seemed more like memories than history.
So she knew what to expect-the harking chants of the facilitators, the smell of charred hair and burning flesh, the glowing worms of light that came from the forcible as it was pulled away from the Dedicate s skin, the rush of ecstasy that came at the touch of the forcible to her own skin.
Talon took her endowments before the emir did. Many of those who had offered attributes were girls who had been friends when she was small. They had played games together, chasing blue-bellied lizards among the rocks along the hillside of Caer Luciare, planting flowers amid the vegetables in the garden, and studying at the creche school as toddlers.
Before the ceremony ever began, the facilitator Thull-turock took the potential Dedicates aside and asked if they understood what they were doing, if anyone had tried to coerce them into this agreement, and if they understood what they would be giving up.
He was pleased to see that so many of her friends came forward of their own volition, offering their attributes because they believed that it was right to do so.
And so for each endowment, one of her closest friends offered up an attribute.
It broke Talon s heart to see a young warrior give up his strength. His name was Crel-shek, and as a youth he had hoped to marry her, but Talon s father had forbidden it, claiming that he was of inferior breeding.
As she garnered attributes Talon grew stronger and suppler, inhumanly quick and filled with vigor. Alun brought his dogs, and she took endowments of scent and hearing from them, while an old man with uncommonly keen night vision gave his sight, and thus Talon sharpened her senses.
But all of my virtues are bought with blood, she realized, and suddenly she began to understand why her father had never wanted to speak of his past as a Runelord.
When she had taken her endowments, the emir finally was granted his. First came his daughter, Siyaddah, and he went to a corner and talked to her softly, saying his good-byes. Talon could not help but overhear. With her sharpened senses, even her own breathing seemed loud.
He spoke the words that any father might speak at such a moment, telling her of his love for her, his pride in her, his hopes for her future, for a life well lived and well loved.
But it was his final words that caught Talon s attention, for before he left, he whispered, "Sleep peacefully, my child. I borrow your speed for but a while. It shall not be long before you wake."
That s when Talon knew.
He plans to return his endowments to the givers, Talon realized.
But the only way that he could do that would be to give up his life.
He can t do it before the battle is won, Talon thought. He must make certain that the wyrmlings are defeated.
So he will die at his own hand thereafter.
It was a noble thing to do. Few were the Runelords in history that had undertaken such a feat.
But Talon knew of the emir s courage and determination. He was just the kind of man to do it.
The thought both thrilled and horrified her. It thrilled her to think that he was so noble of heart. It horrified her because it made her desire him more.
The emir s face was stoic as he began taking his endowments, and then it was time for Talon to go.
She went first to her mother, Gatunyea, and to her little brothers, and said her farewells. Then she gave her thanks to her Dedicates, and to those who would yet grant endowments to her through those Dedicates.
Talon went to get her pack, and sat quietly examining her clothes and her small stores of food, deciding which to take. Nearby sat Alun, who was quiet and sullen. He hunched over his dogs, caring for them from long habit. Now a young girl knelt beside him, his new apprentice.
I should go and thank him, too, Talon decided. He loves his dogs as if they were his own children.
The camp was settled for the night, and in a far room someone was singing, filling the chamber with sweet sound. Nearby, the water lapped on the shore of the underground pool.
Two of Alun s dogs cowered close. These were the ones that had given hearing and scent. They peered up at him with sad eyes, as if stricken and betrayed. After all of their love and service, he had done this.
Other dogs-Wanderlust and some of the old ones-hovered nearby.
Alun sat there petting the dogs. He hadn t liked taking their endowments. Each time an attribute had passed into Talon, the dog that gave it had yelped in pain, then floundered to the ground or crawled off, alternately yelping and whining. They could not understand how deeply Talon needed their gifts, or how grateful she felt. But now Alun sat petting them, and the dogs licked his hands, as if to tell him that all was forgiven between them.
There was movement nearby. Talon ignored it, thinking that someone must just be going to relieve themselves in the night.
"Back with the mutts?" Connor Madoc asked, slipping up behind Alun.
Talon turned to see Connor and Drewish hovering above Alun, leering down.
"Just putting them to sleep," Alun said, "for the night."
"Those should have been mine," Connor said, nodding at the dogs. "We had an agreement." He leaned close, threateningly. Talon could not help but notice that Drewish had his hand on the pommel of his dagger.
"I, I m sorry," Alun said. "I, I got so nervous!"
Talon did not hesitate.
She leapt up, rushed five paces, grabbed Connor by the collar of his shirt with one hand, by the belt with the other, and then hurled Connor as far as she could out into the pond.
He only went ten feet, but she was gratified to see how far Connor flew.
Drewish did not have time to react. Talon s endowment of metabolism saw to it that before Drewish could draw his dagger, he went hurtling, as if intent on catching his brother in midair.