. "And they would be hard to see
on a rainy day." He was a broad-faced man with a snub nose. All of his
upper front teeth were missing, which caused his upper lip to sink in
and his lower lip to protrude, giving him a permanent pout.

Irritated, Daoud spoke to Manfred rather than to Barth. "There are many
ways to signal. Colored lanterns at night. Horns. Drums. These men have
learned all those kinds of signals and can respond to them quickly."

Daoud's muscles tensed as he thought that the big German and he might
have it out today. Barth, he felt sure, was one of the advisers who was
holding Manfred back.

"I like the idea of signals," said Manfred. "In every battle I have
seen, no one knows what is going on once the two sides meet. Our knights
do not know how to fight in unified groups as the Turks and the Tartars
do."

The Sons of the Falcon rode to the base of the hill from which Manfred
was reviewing. Omar, Daoud's black-bearded second in command, spurred
his horse up the slope, leapt from the saddle, and rushed forward to
kneel and kiss Manfred's hand.

"You ride splendidly," said Manfred in Arabic.

"Tell the men I am very proud of them, Omar," Daoud said. Omar flashed
bright white teeth at him.

To Manfred Daoud said, "Now, Sire, if it be your pleasure, the Sons of
the Falcon will demonstrate their skill in casting the rumh--the lance."

Manfred nodded and waved a gauntleted hand. He was dressed in a long
riding cloak of emerald velvet, with an unadorned green cap covering his
light blond hair. His only jewelry was the five-pointed silver star with
its ruby center, which Daoud had never seen him without.

_Just as I still wear the locket Blossoming Reed gave me._

Omar bowed, and vaulted into the saddle with an agility that brought a
grunt of appreciation from Manfred. Waving his saber, he rode back down
the hill.

A scaffold and swinging target for the lances had been set up halfway
across the valley. Recalling his own training--and Nicetas--Daoud
watched his riders form a great circle in the plain below them. He heard
in his mind a boy's warbling battle cry, and felt a deep pang of
sadness.

"Why do you call them the Sons of the Falcon, Daoud?" Manfred asked.

"Because I know the falcon is the favorite bird of your family, Sire,"
Daoud said. Manfred grinned and nodded.

He thought, _And because the falcon does not hesitate_.

Daoud admired Manfred. He was said to be the image of his father, an