Diana Pharaoh Francis - Path of Fate

Praise for

Path of Fate

"What's better than a story about a stubborn, likable heroine thrust into events fraught with danger, wizards, and gods? Well, all of the above, plus a goshawk I thoroughly enjoyed Path of Fate by the talented Diana Pharaoh Francis and look forward to more of the adventures of Reisil and her goshawk, Saljane."

-Kristen Britain, bestselling

author of Green Rider

"This is an entertaining book-at times compelling- from one of fantasy's promising new voices."

-David B. Coe, award-winning

author of Seeds of Betrayal

"In this delightful debut, Diana Pharaoh Francis caught me with a compelling story, intrigued me with the magic of her ahalad-kaaslane, and swept me away with her masterful feel for the natural world."

-Carol Berg, critically acclaimed

author of Restoration

To Tony, because you make everything possible.

Acknowledgments

First I want to thank my parents, Bill and Vi Pharaoh, for encouraging and funding my reading habit from the moment I learned what words were. They taught me to love language. Next I want to thank Jennifer StevenSON and the "book in a week" group that got me started on Path of Fate in the first place. Thanks also to Kevin Kvalvik for teaching me how to build a Web site: www.sff.net/people/di-francis.

It is said that writing is a lonely experience, and that is true, but a lot of people contributed to this book, including Sherman Horwood, Lyn McConchie, Megan Glasscock, MJeam Harvey, and Elizabeth Covington, who all read Path of Fate in draft and offered wonderful aid. Thank you for your encouragement, advice and friendship. Thanks also to Jack Kirkley for introducing me to goshawks and answering all sorts of questions. I'd also like to thank the members of Broad Universe and the Roundtable, for humor, support, interest, and information, especially Fighter Guy.

Next I'd like to thank Lucienne Diver and Jennifer Heddle for your support, advice and hard work. This is a much better book because of you both, and Jen, thanks especially for the inspiring "prune generously" editorial advice-you have no idea what that did for my writing. Thanks also to Kristen Britain, David Coe and Carol Berg for generously reading my manuscript and offering wonderful reviews and helpful critiques.

One other person who had little to do with my book, and yet everything to do with enabling me to write it needs to be mentioned: Dr. Gerald Dorros. You are my hero and my friend. There will never be words to thank you enough.

And last but not least, to the two loves of my life, Tony and Quentin. For believing in me, for making me laugh, for making sure my world keeps running even when I'm too mired in words to know, for all your unconditional support. This book is yours as much as mine.

As always, any mistakes are mine alone. I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Chapter 1

R Reisil's spine twinged protest as she lurched into a shadowed wagon rut. Her next step caught the lip of the uneven furrow and she sprawled on the hard-rated road, scraping her chin and inhaling a mouthful f powdery dust. Coughing, she struggled to her feet. She brushed the graze on her chin with tender fingers, pleased when they came away unbloodied. An anxious glance revealed that no one had witnessed her clumsiness. She sighed, licking the dust from her lips.

Not that she wasn't willing to be the brunt of a joke, but people in Kallas still saw her as the child she had been thirteen years ago, rather than as a capable tark. Tripping over her own feet didn't do much to revise that perspective. She snorted. The fever that had swept through the town three months ago had done even less. Never mind that it was one of those illnesses that had no cure, and could be treated only with sleep, fluids and time. Never mind that only two men had died-one with a weak heart and the other with bad lungs. Many more would have died if Reisil hadn't been there.

She shook her head. All Kallas knew was that there had been a major illness three months after her arrival and she'd been helpless against it.

No, she admonished, pulling herself up short. That wasn't fair. The townspeople knew well enough that things would have been worse without her. But she had wanted to shine. She wanted them to see her as a rock in the storm, not as the little abandoned girl they'd fostered.

Reisil bent and dusted herself off, scowling at the tear in her trousers. If only the fever hadn't been so recalcitrant

But she still had time, she reassured herself for the umpteenth time. She had six more months before the council voted on accepting her. They'd paid for her upbringing and her training. Surely they'd want some return on their investment? Surely they wouldn't decide they'd prefer to have no tark at all.

Strain pulled the corners of her mouth down. The fact was, the council could very well vote against throwing good money after bad in support of a less than competent tark. After all, for the seven years since her predecesssor's death, Kallas had made do with wandering tarks who preferred the rambling life. Which was not what she wanted to do. She meant to settle down, and right here.

Humor wriggled up through the morass of her fears. Certainly tripping over her own feet would not make them reject her, she chided herself. She giggled. Any more than dribbling food on her shirt or bumping into furniture. It was her skills that counted, and she had confidence in those.

She gripped the handles of her pack firmly. Six more months. Plenty of time. She nodded sharply and strode forward, her back straight as she set her feet carefully on the uneven ground.

Alone in the predawn, Reisil approached the gate, fishing a handful of nut mix from the pouch dangling from her belt. Behind her, the empty road rolled toward the river like an elegant pearl snake in the moonlit morning. Rising from the gauzy darkness, Reisil heard rumbling voices from the river as captains rousted their crews out of bed. From the wall above came the jingle and thump of armor and booted feet as the watch changed shift.

She halted before the inset pedestrian gate beneath the portcullis and yanked firmly on the chain. Within, dull tin bells tinked and clanked. After a few moments the spyhole slid back, revealing a lantern-lit square. Reisil could see a pair of bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows below a wrinkled brow. She stood on tiptoe to be seen better, though in truth she was not particularly short.

"Reisiltark! Is there an emergency?" The guard scrarched his beard and yawned, while Reisil scrambled to recall his name.

"No emergency. Beren." she replied, triumph at the memory brightening her voice. "I'm just going to replenish supplies. Aftermath of Lady Day," she said with a little shrug and a grin. The wrinkles in Beren's brow smoothed and he chuckled understanding.

"Just a minute," he said. The spyhole snapped shut and Reisil heard the bars slide back one at a time.

He waved her inside, the metal plates on his shoulders and chest clanking together softly, the boiled leather beneath it squeaking.

"Lady Day is one of rest. But I never lived one, but that it was the day after that saw a lot more rest than not." His teeth were uneven as he smiled.

"I didn't rest," Reisil said with a little sigh and a roll of her eyes. Beren laughed and clapped her on the shoulder.

"Reckon not. Folks like to celebrate the Lady's day. Get a little boisterous with it, I suppose. Give themselves sour stomachs and such."

Reisil nodded. "Used up a lot of my stores."

"Where are you headed?"

"East gate and up into the hills. I could go around, but it's so much faster to cut through town."