The Shining Falcon

«Now," Finist said firmly when it seemed the silence would go on forever. «Your story. First, you are…»

«Feodor, my Prince, son of Igor.»

«So. Talk to me, Feodor Igorovich.»

«I—it's about a wolf," the man began.

«A wolf. You'd hardly be wasting my time about some animal you could hunt yourself, now, would you? What's the matter, then? Is this wolf rabid?»

«No, no, nothing like that.» Feodor's voice shook. «The—the wolf is—one of us. Stefan. Stefan has—has become a wolf.» At Finist's startled, skeptical stare, he added fiercely, «It's true! I— Stefan's my son! I know him! You have to help him, my Prince, you must!»

«Slowly, slowly!» Finist wasn't quite so willing to believe, not so quickly. «How could such a transformation have come about? Was your son playing with dangerous secrets?»

«My God, no! Stefan would never— He's a good boy, my Prince, he'd never think of dabbling in‑in— He wouldn't!»

«Softly, now. Tell me exactly what happened.»

Feodor sighed. «All I know for certain is that one night Stefan disappeared. We hunted for him all the next day, but couldn't find a trace of him. The next night…» The man swallowed convulsively. «The next night the wolf appeared: Stefan. Every night since then, he's prowled the village. He—hasn't hurt anyone yet, or even taken any livestock; he only roams around the village palisade. But— but surely it's only a matter of time before he—before he — " Feodor choked, and couldn't go on.

«Before he forgets he's human," Finist said softly.

It was possible, it was very possible.

He shook his head impatiently. «Akh, Feodor, there doesn't have to be anything magical about this! Tell me, does Stefan have himself a girl?»

The peasant hesitated. «Marfa, Boris' daughter. They'd had a fight, Stefan and Marfa; that's why he ran off. But — "

«There you are! Stefan might even have run here, to Kirtesk. I'll have my guards — "

«No!» Feodor, in his distress, didn't even notice he'd interrupted his prince. «The wolf! What about the wolf?»

«It's probably only a youngling cast out from its pack.»

«No! I know my son! I saw the wolf! Those aren't the eyes of a beast, they're the eyes of my son! Please, you're the only one who can help him. I—I'll do whatever you command. Only please, help my son!»

Uneasy, Finist stepped down from his chair, moving to stare thoughtfully out the window. Could it be? There was magic enough in the forest, Heaven knew, strange beings and Power older than anything he wielded.

No, this was ridiculous! It was probably just as he'd said, a lovers' quarrel—

But what if it wasn't? What if, somehow, a young man had been bound into beast form, trapped till he came to forget his very humanity? No magician could be free of that nightmare…

«Yes," Finist said. «If it lies within my power, I will help.»

Of course, Finist had no need to waste time in riding all that way back with Feodor and the others. He had a much swifter means of travel, and so that night a silvery falcon sped towards the forest and the village within it.

Village? thought Finist. It was little more than a few huts sheltered within a palisade of wooden stakes, there in the middle of a clearing. Still, the prince conceded, these folk were his subjects, as surely as any of the nobility.

He stood alone in the growing darkness outside the palisade, sniffing woodsmoke from the village, hearing the rustlings of the forest, waiting, shivering a bit in the chill from the cooling earth, rather wishing he'd brought more with him than the one lightweight, silken caftan. But then, there was a limit to the bulk his talons could carry easily. He'd refused to allow the villagers to wait out here with him, fearing that if the wolf really was Stefan, the shock of capture might well drive an already shaken human mind past recovery. But I wish I'd at least had the sense to borrow a warm cloak.

The wolf appeared suddenly, materializing out of the forest and padding silently towards the village palisade, for the moment unaware of him. An adolescent wolf, this, still too long of limb, lanky, but surely no more than a lonely, curious, perfectly ordinary wolf.

Or was it? Finist stirred slightly, and the animal started, staring at him. For an instant, the prince saw something glint strangely in those greenish eyes; for an instant he wondered uneasily if this mightn't be a rabid beast after all, and him standing there without a weapon to hand, his magic not being of the dramatic, fireball-hurling sort.

He'd risk it. But if the wolf charges me, Finist thought with a flash of wry humor, he's going to see the fastest avion transformation in royal history!