Read Online The Eye of the Falcon by Michelle Paver - Free Book Online

than any man he’s ever met. He doesn’t want this dream to end.
    â€œStop grinning, Flea, you’re dribbling.”
    Hylas gives a spluttery laugh. It’s so good to hear the nickname Akastos gave him once. If only this dream would last . . .
    He woke up. Akastos was still there. “It’s really you!” cried Hylas.
    â€œWell of course it is,” snapped Akastos.
    He was sitting on a log by a roaring fire. Steam rose from his sheepskins and his grimy fur cloak, and snow speckled his beard and his long, dark tangled hair. His light-gray eyes were as keen as ever, and fixed suspiciously on Hylas. “Why were you following me?” he demanded.
    Hylas struggled to sit up. “I wasn’t. I didn’t even know you were on Keftiu, I was following Havoc—”
    â€œ Havoc? ” Akastos was startled. “That lion cub is on Keftiu?”
    â€œShe led me here, she must have known it was you. She saved me . . .” He trailed off. It was warm in the hut, but outside, the blizzard was raging, the wind roaring in the pines, making the roof beams creak. Havoc was out there alone.
    â€œA lion led you to me,” murmured Akastos, scratching his beard in a gesture Hylas remembered. “I wonder what that means.”
    â€œI don’t know, but I’m glad she did. And I’m really glad you got away from Thalakrea!”
    Akastos sighed. “I suppose I’m glad you did too, Flea.”
    â€œWhy only suppose?”
    The wanderer stared at him. “How can you ask? Fifteen years I’ve been on the run from the Crows. I had one chance to kill a highborn Crow. One chance to destroy the dagger of Koronos. What happens? You. And you think I’d be glad to see you?”
    â€œThen why rescue me?” Hylas said sulkily.
    â€œBecause for some reason I couldn’t let you freeze to death outside the door.” He rose to fetch wood from a pile in the corner, and Hylas saw how he winced and flexed his right leg. “Yes that’s your fault too,” muttered Akastos. “A little reminder of that burn you gave me last summer.”
    â€œSorry.”
    â€œThat’s not going to do me much good. Here, help fix something to eat.”
    Hylas rummaged around and found two chipped horn beakers and a couple of bowls, while Akastos unearthed a soot-crusted cooking pot and pooled their provisions: what was left of the barley meal and bacon, some goat’s cheese, a couple of moldy onions, snow, and a handful of hairy pale-green leaves from a pouch at his belt.
    â€œWhat’s that?” Hylas said warily.
    â€œDittany. It only grows in the Keftian mountains and it keeps away Plague—so don’t complain about the taste.” Chucking Hylas a stick, he told him to stir the porridge, then started mixing wine with more snow and crumbled cheese in another bowl.
    Hylas said, “There’s something I need to tell you.”
    â€œMm.”
    â€œThey—the Crows—they got the dagger back.”
    Akastos stopped mixing the wine. “How?” he said.
    Hylas told him how he’d battled the Crows on the burning mountain of Thalakrea. He was shaking when he’d finished, but Akastos merely lifted his beaker and tasted the wine, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
    â€œYou don’t seem surprised,” said Hylas.
    â€œI’m not. I guessed months ago, because they’re stronger than ever. They’ve taken the mines at Lavrion—which means they can make all the weapons they need.” He paused. “Now suppose you tell me how you fetched up here.”
    Still stirring the porridge, Hylas told him of his wanderings, and Akastos listened without giving anything away, although he asked lots of questions about Periphas.
    â€œWhen we reached Keftiu,” said Hylas, “the others left and I stayed . . .” He broke off, remembering the haunted shore and the