The Shining Falcon

He was indeed no young man, this Svyatoslav, though not as old as Finist had pictured him. But the harsh lines of suspicion etched into the thin face gave the illusion of greater age, made him look drawn and cruel. For a moment Finist hesitated, uncertain.

But this was neither the time nor the place for delay. Quickly Finist moved to the clothes chest, rummaging about as silently as he could until he found a heavily embroidered cloak that fit him reasonably well. Wrapping its folds about himself for warmth and modesty, the prince drew back a nonthreatening distance from the royal bed and coughed gently till Svyatoslav began to stir.

«Prince Svyatoslav," Finist murmured, then repeated the name more emphatically, and the man sat bolt upright, staring. Before Svyatoslav could even begin his shout of alarm, Finist added hastily, «I'm quite unarmed," and let the cloak fall open to prove it.

Shock does odd things. The first thing Svyatoslav thought to say was an indignant «That's my cloak!»

«Ah, yes. Forgive me.» Finist caught it about himself once more. «The room is rather chilly.»

«But who—how — "

He shot a quick, desperate look towards the door, and Finist hurried to assure him, «No, no, your guards haven't betrayed you! I came in through the window.»

«Do you think me a fool? No man could — "

«I could. As a falcon.»

Dawning comprehension lit Svyatoslav's eyes. «Prince Finist!» he gasped, then gasped again, hastily signing himself, because, of course, the saying of Finist's name aloud finally broke the disguise-spell and rid him of being Finn. «The sorcerer!»

«No, not exactly. Magician, rather.» The prince bowed as formally as he could under the circumstances, clutching the cloak about himself. «Yes, I am Finist, Prince of Kirtesk. But, my word and honor upon it, I'm not here to do you harm, magically or physically.»

«Then why are you here? Why this unorthodox invasion?»

«I'm sorry. But I couldn't exactly have appeared in your audience chamber, now, could I?»

Svyatoslav had the good grace to look abashed. True enough, had Finist contrived to enter there as plain Finn, he would have been dragged off by guards before he'd had a chance to open his mouth. As Finist, he would have been risking his neck, magic or no, because alone, with no retainers, he would almost certainly have ended up either as Svyatoslav's «guest» till some royal ransom had been paid, or‑more likely, judging Svyatoslav's fears—bound to a stake as a sorcerer.

«I concede the point," said Svyatoslav flatly. «But now, I repeat, why are you here?»

Finist drew a wary breath. «There's something I feel we really must discuss. It's about one Danilo Yaroslavovich.»

Svyatoslav tensed at the sound of that dangerous name. But he gestured grimly for Finist to continue. And, doing credit to his royal training, he heard Finist out without once shouting for help or snatching for a weapon or holy item. But it was only too clear that he didn't believe a word Finist said.

There was a moment's chill silence when the prince had finished. And then Svyatoslav asked bluntly, «Why should you care? The man means nothing to you.»

«But justice does. Prince Svyatoslav, boyar Danilo is still loyal to you. He always was loyal. I know it.»

«Through your… magic?» It was delicately said.

«Ah, yes, but surely you can't let the man suffer when there's no proof he — "

«There was proof.» Svyatoslav's voice was ice.

«The documents. But did he write them? Did he actually write them?»

«Of course he did!»

«I wonder…» Finist hesitated, trying his best to be tactful. «Prince Svyatoslav, I can understand your shock and anger at the thought of betrayal — "

«Of treason, dammit!»

«Of treason. But… in all the excitement, perhaps certain paths were left untrodden.»

«Meaning?»

«Your royal scribes must be like mine in that they keep in their records all the court correspondence.»

«Of course they do! What of it?»

«Why, surely there are other letters written by the boyar — "

«There are! But those treasonous documents were written by Danilo! I know his hand! And, yes, I did have them checked against other samples of the man's writing. There could be no mistake!»

Finist sighed. «Forgers?» he suggested gently, and saw by the man's uneasy squirm that Svyatoslav, in his rage, hadn't even considered such a possibility. «Forgers can be remarkably accurate, you know.»

«Out with it, man! What are you saying?»

«Simply this: Prince Svyatoslav, I believe I can prove once and for all who actually wrote those damning documents.»

«By magic.»

«Yes. Harmless magic. I will swear to that on whatever holy items you require. That's right," Finist added wryly, «I really can touch such things; I don't vanish in a cloud of smoke at contact.»

«Of course you don't!» said Svyatoslav so hastily Finist knew he'd been wondering just that. Reddening, the older man snapped, «Come, what are you proposing?»

«Prince Svyatoslav, what I mean to do is cast a compulsion‑charm over the documents.»

«And just what does that mean?»