"Kestrel" by Aubra Penner

                  Suede boots stepped into a puddle, then paused distastefully as mud splattered on their golden buttons. After a moment, they strode onwards. Their wearer swore softly as he walked. and his watch chain clinked. His long velvet coat was immaculate, and the breeches would have been so but for the mud. He stopped and seized one of the groundskeeper's lads by the shoulder as he raced past, head lowed as though expecting a blow. "Look at this," Lord Brynt snarled into the boy's face. "I cannot even walk from my house to the mews without stepping in filth." He threw the cowering boy away. "Fix it!" The boy landed on hands and knees in the mud. He stayed down until the Lord had walked on. Then he stood, scraping mud from his clothes with his hands. He muttered something, and set to work repaving the path with a smile- not a common expression in the Keep.

                  Uncommon though it was, there were a lot of smiles that day as Lord Brynt traversed his property. The stablemen, when told to bring a hunter to the mews in a quarter of an hour, smiled and nodded. The laundrymaids, when told to fetch another immaculate pair of boots and to clean the soiled ones, smiled and did as told. "Good hunting, sir!" One was cheeky enough to call after him. The Lord made a mental note to have the young snip sacked.

                  He reached the mews in clean boots and a foul mood. He opened the door and stepped into the dimness, seething. The falconer stepped forward and bowed. Lord Brynt ignored him and strode past to the perch of his favorite goshawk, pulling on a thick falconer's glove. The bird's red eyes were hooded, and it remained firmly tethered to its perch. "Falconer," he demanded, "Why is my hawk not readied?"

                  The falconer bowed again, and Lord Brynt suspiciously caught the tail of yet another smile. He cursed under his breath the insolence of servants before the falconer replied. "I did not ready my lord's hawk because there is a new bird I believe my lord would like to see before he makes his choice."

                  Lord Brynt was intrigued, and his bad mood lifted slightly at the thought of a ne acquisition. "Well, let me see it." He followed the falconer through the mews, between perches covered in rustling, shadowy birds. The windows were covered in cobwebs and the dusty light that filtered through them was faint and yellow. The falconer stopped at a door in the back wall of the mews which Lord Brynt had not been aware of before. He pulled a large iron key from his belt and unlocked the door.

                  Lord Brynt stepped within, to find himself in total darkness. He stood waiting, and the pitch black faded to leaping shadows as the servant followed with a candle. A floor perch stood in the center of what appeared to be a disused store room. There were many such chambers throughout the Keep, left over from the days when Lord Brynt's grandfather had expanded the original buildings of the Brynt property to facilitate his short-lived militia. The venture had failed, and the troops had disbanded and gone back to their homes, leaving almost half the Keep empty. The rooms had been shut up and forgotten after that, and were opened now only when further storage was needed or guests had to be housed.

                  On the perch, something compact and feathered shifted and muttered throatily. As the candle was borne closer by the falconer, it resolved into a dull-looking falcon of some sort. Its build, though, had a grace of line that interested Lord Brynt. He adjusted the glove on his hand nudged the bird's chest. It transferred its light, warm bulk on to his fist where it shuffled and rustled its wings before settling back to its nap. Lord Brynt untied the bird's hood, and it blinked and glanced up at him, eyes reflecting orange in the candlelight. "It's not much to look at. What is it?"

                  "I don't know what it's called properly, sir. It's a fine bird though, perhaps the best one I have ever had the honor of handling for my lord. Perhaps if my lord would take it into the sun? The beauty of such a creature is dimmed by the crude light." Lord Brynt nodded.

                  "I think I shall."

                  "There is a door here, my lord." The falconer bowed and gestured to another solid door that Lord Brynt had not noticed before. The servant opened it with another bow, and the nobleman was even more sure of the hidden smile as he had been before. Nevertheless, he strode out into the sunlight and held the bird up to examine it. Before he could get a good look, though, he noticed that he had stepped out into rather a crowd of people. It was a motley group, blacksmiths and bootboys and gardeners and maids. Lord Brynt drew himself up to full height and opened his mouth to order them all off, but a gleam in the corner of his eye caused him to remain silent. He looked back to the dull bird on his fist.

                  Dull no longer. The bright autumn sun refracted off its feathers in thousands of blinding rays. The eyes that had been orange in darkness and flame glowed molten and violent gold, and the intriguing curve of line was transformed into prehistoric, flowing beauty as the bird's hackles went up like a helmet of pure polished gold. The bird's hooked beak opened in a hiss as it spread delicate wings into blinding mirrors. Lord Brynt was transfixed, too awed to raise his hand to protect his eyes. The shining falcon on his fist seemed to grow in size and glory until it took up his whole field of vision, a huge enrapturing statue come alive. The luminous eyes flashed, and the wings beat with a rush of air that stirred Lord Brynt's hair. It took to the air, a glowing star in the daylight sky, jesses trailing behind.

                  Lord Brynt reached to catch the incredible creature, but his hands would not move right. He blinked and looked about, to find that the crowd had vanished, replaced with curious, Goliath trees. Two of the huge trees shifted, and Lord Brynt attempted to struggle away from them, but he could not coordinate his legs. He cowered as something huge reached out to him, but it only picked him up. He found himself lifted aloft and set down on something hard and steady. He gripped it and sat, gazing about at his surroundings. Huge, exaggerated faces bent towards him.

                  Lord Brynt bated furiously as panic set in. He could feel his heart beating fast, hundreds of times a minute as he threw himself off the glove and beat at the air with blue-mottled wings. Blood rushed to his head and he ceased struggling to dangle uselessly from his jesses. A maid laughed, a huge slow sound that terrified him, but he could not move anymore. Another huge hand scooped him up and set him back on the glove, and as the darkness of a hood settled over his eyes, Lord Brynt calmed. "There, there." Murmured the falconer's voice. "There's a good bird."

Aubra Penner