Free The Eye of the Falcon by Michelle Paver Page A

picked him for a guide because he was a goatherd—and so was Hylas. When Telamon saw the terror in the Keftian’s brown eyes, he pictured Hylas kneeling before him, begging for his life.
    â€œHow much farther to Taka Zimi?” he asked in the quiet voice that he’d learned from his grandfather Koronos was so much more terrifying than Kreon’s bluster.
    Ilarkos, who spoke a little Keftian, translated, and the prisoner stammered an answer in his odd bird-like speech. “He says it’s no more than a day, my lord.”
    â€œHe’s sure about that,” said Telamon.
    Ilarkos grunted. “He’d better be.”
    Pointedly, Telamon stared at Kreon’s weapons, piled on his massive ox-hide shield. The prisoner gulped at the hefty spear and sword and the rawhide whip with the bronze spikes, which earlier had taken the skin off his back.
    â€œAnd the girl will be there, at Taka Zimi?” said Telamon.
    â€œ. . . He’s sure of that too, my lord,” said Ilarkos, translating the desperate torrent of speech. “He says the High Priestess sent the girl there when the Plague struck.”
    â€œAnd he knows what’ll happen if he’s lying,” growled Kreon.
    â€œHe knows, my lord.”
    Telamon rose and put his hands on his hips. The Keftian didn’t dare look him in the face, but fastened his gaze on Telamon’s belt. His eyes widened as he saw the splendid gold plaques on either side of the clasp.
    â€œYes, they’re Keftian,” Telamon told him softly. “Once they were part of a wristband that belonged to your High Priestess’ daughter. Now they belong to me. What does that tell you about the fate of your precious island?”
    Ilarkos started to translate, but Telamon cut him short. “He understands.”
    â€œTake him away and feed him,” said Kreon. “We need him alive till we’ve got the girl.”
    When the prisoner had been hauled outside, Telamon remained on his feet, warming his hands over the brazier.
    Kreon rose, a bull of a man, towering over him. “This is starting to look like a mistake,” he said between his teeth.
    â€œBe patient, Uncle,” said Telamon.
    â€œI’m not known for my patience. You told me we’d find the dagger. That’s why I agreed to come.”
    Telamon did not reply. It hadn’t been hard to persuade Kreon, who was burning to be the one to restore the dagger to his father, Koronos. If he did, then at one stroke he would have gained his father’s favor and shattered the hopes of his brother and sister, whom he’d hated all his life.
    â€œAnd in case you’ve forgotten,” Kreon went on, “if it hadn’t been for me, Koronos wouldn’t have let you come at all.”
    â€œAre you sorry you did?” Telamon said sharply.
    â€œI’m sorry I let you talk us into heading into the mountains! What are we doing here? The House of the Goddess is standing empty, we have a golden chance to seize the whole island!”
    â€œWith forty men?”
    â€œKeftians don’t know how to fight!” sneered Kreon. “But instead, where are we? Knee-deep in snow halfway up some cursed mountain—because you say the girl has the dagger!”
    â€œShe does.”
    â€œYou’d better be sure about that.”
    â€œI’ve told you before. I saw her getting away from Thalakrea. I guessed soon afterward that she’d stolen it. Then at Mycenae I asked a seer, and he said, ‘ What you seek is on Keftiu .’ How much more proof do you need?”
    Kreon pushed his face close to Telamon’s. “What I need ,” he said in a voice that made Telamon shrink inside, “is to hold the dagger in my fist. What I need is to know you’re not wasting my time.”
    Telamon saw the bronze wire glinting in his uncle’s greasy black beard. He caught his rank warrior smell and the threat behind his words. If he