The Fire Dragon (44 page)

“So I was. The council did need to come to some decision about the Horsekin emissaries. Rae, the mood of the town be ugly about this. We did deem it best that they stay near the gates—for their own sake.”

“Once the folk hear Kral out, they'll be less a-feared. Would it be seemly if I did speak to the citizens as well?”

“It wouldn't. I do think it best you stay here at the house and not go down.”

“What?” Raena got up with a toss of her long hair. “I do wish to hear the proceedings!”

“Indeed? Why? No doubt you already ken every word this rakzan will be saying.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“What I did say. Or did you talk of naught when you were a-bringing them here?”

She went pale and silent.

“You understand me,” Verrarc went on. “Do you believe me blind, that I'd not see which way your loyalty falls?”

“You know not the whole of it!” She laid a soft hand on his arm and looked up, her eyes pleading. “Truly, I be loyal to their cause, but more than any other, I be loyal to you. Verro, if Cerr Cawnen does decide to ally with them, the Horsekin will remember your part in this. You'll be like a lord unto them, a man they can trust. I swear it: the Horsekin repay their friends.”

“Oh, do they now? Think you I'll sell them the town? That be where your words are leading.”

“Naught of the sort! I only meant they'd honor you.”

Verrarc knew she was lying, but for those moments,
when she stared up into his eyes, he felt tempted. He could be Chief Speaker—more! With Horsekin soldiers at his command he could abolish the council. He could rule Cerr Cawnen as its lord. Raena's eyes seemed to turn to mirrors and show him the treasures that would be his. At last he would have his revenge on all those townsmen who'd let him suffer as a boy and who sneered at him now and snubbed his woman. They would pay for it, all of them! They'd all been against him, always—except for Dera and her family.

The thought of Dera struck him like a slap upon the face of a sleeping man. Raena was smiling, staring up at him in triumph. He grabbed her wrists and held her at arm's length.

“Stop it!” Verrarc snarled. “Keep your ugly little ensor-celments for your enemies, Rae! Unless you count me as one of those?”

“Never! What are you saying? I did naught—”

“Hold your lying tongue!” He let her go with a little push.

Panting for breath, she stood rubbing her right wrist with her left hand and staring down at the floor.

“I must be gone,” he said. “For your own sake, stay here! Ye gods, have you not seen the way the folk look at you?”

“If only I could tell them of Alshandra,” she began.

“This be no day for that! And what about the black wyrm? Dare you go out where she might see you?”

“Ah gods.” Her face dead-pale against the raven of her hair, she sat back down.

“Well and good, then. I'll be back as soon as I ever can to tell you how the meeting did proceed. Until then, stay in the compound.”

“I will, have no fear.”

Verrarc turned and strode out. He was halfway down the hill before he realized he'd not given her a single kiss. No more did he regret it—that was the most shocking realization of all.

As the dawn brightened into day, the morning shift of the town watch tramped across the commons to relieve the
night guard. Both contingents shouted back and forth as they changed places upon the catwalks. The noise woke Dallandra, who rolled out of her blankets and got up rather than lie there and curse the louts. She took a bone comb from her saddlebags and stood working the tangles out of her hair whilst she watched the militia manning the winch to open the south gates for the day. When she strolled over and looked out, she could see, some hundreds of yards away, the Horsekin camp of narrow tents. Some of the men were out and about, leading horses to the nearby river to drink, but there was no sign of the rakzan and the mazrak who belonged to Alshandra's Elect.

In a few moments several men came out of the largest tent. With her strong elven eyes Dallandra could see that one of them was human. This fellow, bald and stout, left the camp and came hurrying back to town, waddling rather than running, his scarlet cloak flapping in the morning wind. And just what was the Chief Speaker doing among the enemy? Dallandra wondered. The question was answered innocently enough, however, when Admi walked through the gates and hailed some of the town watch. She was just wondering if she could get close enough to eavesdrop when Admi waved her over with a vigorous pump of his arm.

“I do have a favor to ask of you, my lady,” Admi said. “The council did decide that the Horsekin emissaries shall speak their piece here on the commons. We do fear what our fellow citizens might do, should the Horsekin come all the way across to Citadel. I did ask them to appear here when they've broken their fast and suchlike. Could your men move their horses round to the far side of your tent? We do expect a goodly crowd to hear them out.”

“We can do that, certainly,” Dallandra said. “Or even strike the tent and move it farther along.”

“That does seem a great imposition.”

“Not to the likes of us. We'll move the camp over to the commons on the far side of the Gel da'Thae.”

“My profound thanks.” Admi grabbed the hem of his cloak and wiped sweat from his jowls. “Ai! I do fear that this day be an ill-omened one.”

Dallandra would have liked to have reassured him, but unfortunately she could only agree.

Moving the camp took a good while, even with the help of the Gel da'Thae men, who appeared silently, bowed to her, and carried whatever gear she indicated to them. Zatcheka, no doubt, had sent them, but she and her daughter stayed in their tent until the dusty, messy job of moving the horses and tethering them out in the fresh grass was over. By then a crowd of townsfolk had started to form in front of the south gates and spill over, just as Admi had predicted, onto the commons to either side of the path. The other four councilmen also appeared and clustered around Admi for what appeared to be an urgent conversation.

The grassy commons sloped slightly down from the walls to the lake, but even so, only those persons well to the front would be able to see and hear the rakzan when he finally arrived. The Council of Five bustled around, giving orders, sending men off to fetch wood and tools, talking anxiously among themselves, until finally workmen appeared and began to improvise a platform out of tables and crates. Dallandra kept an eye on Verrarc, who stood off to one side, leaning back against the wall with his head bowed. When she shifted her vision to the dweomer sight, she saw immediately that someone had tried to ensorcel him. His aura, a sickly grey-green, clung close to his body and in spots had the appearance of stone. No doubt he'd used his own weak magicks to harden it and fight Raena off. If it even was Raena, Dallandra thought. But she knew that if anyone else in Cerr Cawnen had dweomer, she would have spotted them long before this.

Once finished, the platform wobbled to such an alarming degree that the council had the workmen pull it all apart and start over. The crowd grew and began to sort itself out so easily that Dallandra realized the citizens had come to these large assemblies all their lives. The women and children sat down in front, the men gathered in the rear, the town watch turned up on the walls to lean over and listen from there. Dallandra looked back and saw Daralanteriel and his escort coming from their camp, and

Zatcheka leading her people over as well—the Gel da'Thae, that is. None of the human slaves were to be seen. Niffa and Carra, holding the baby, trailed along behind, talking together, while Lightning trotted beside them.

In front of the open gates the platform appeared to be finished and stable at last. The workmen dragged some slab-sided crates into position for stairs, and Chief Speaker Admi climbed them to stand on the platform. The other council-men waited off to the side, all except for Verrarc, who surprised Dallandra thoroughly by walking over to join her.

“Good morrow,” Verrarc said. “My thanks for moving your camp.”

“You're most welcome.”

Dallandra smiled, expecting him to return to the other council members, but he stayed, standing next to her and watching the gates. The Horsekin appeared so promptly that, Dallandra supposed, they must have been waiting nearby for the workmen to finish the platform. Rakzan Kral and ten men for his escort marched in formation through the gates.

“I don't see that mazrak with them,” Dallandra remarked.

“No more do I,” Verrarc said. “And my thanks to the gods for that.”

There was no denying the sincerity in his voice. The other four councilmen greeted Kral, but Verrarc remained where he was. As Kral climbed the steps to the platform, the crowd grew quiet and still. His cloth-of-gold surcoat glittered in the hot morning sun, and the metal talismans braided into his mane of hair winked and glinted. Although he carried no sword or knife, in his left hand he held a long black whip; jewels winked on the handle.

“Greetings, citizens,” Kral began. “Many years have your people hated the Slavers. I do come to offer you vengeance. Did they not enslave you? Did they not drive you off the lands of your fathers? Did they not take your sacred springs and pollute them? Did they not take the sacred meadows and drive cattle upon them?” He paused to let the crowd murmur its assent. “Among ourselves, we do call
those stolen lands the Summer Country. Here the winters be long and harsh, bain't? What man would not trade the winter for summer?” Another pause, and Kral was smiling as he looked over the crowd. “We too do long for the Summer Country. Join with us, and we shall lead your return.”

Dallandra caught her breath. Zatcheka, standing just behind her, leaned forward to whisper.

“Never did I think to see a man of the Horsekin with a silver tongue.”

“No more I.”

Out in the crowd the young men had pressed forward. Up on the town walls the militia were leaning forward as well. Dallandra could read their expressions clearly: a kindling eagerness.

“Vengeance!” Kral howled the word. “Be it not sweeter than water on the hottest day? And riches as well—the Slavers have prospered on their stolen land. Should not this bounty be yours?”

Some of the townsmen called out their agreement. Up on the platform Admi stepped forward.

“I do beg forgiveness, Rakzan, but we would know the price of this vengeance. What shall we do to join you?”

“Why, join us!” Kral laughed, revealing sharp teeth. “Naught more than that. Join with us in alliance!”

A fair many of the younger men cheered.

“But I understand it not,” Admi went on. “Your people be mighty warriors, we be but humble farmers. Truly, we could furnish you a company of foot soldiers, good men and true, but we have naught more than that to add to an alliance.”

“Ah, but you do.” Kral paused, smiling at the crowd. “The Rhiddaer does lie closer to the Summer Country than our own poor lands. Here you do have rich fields. I hear that they do yield grain in a most marvelous abundance. Warhorses do we need, and the grain to feed them upon. Could the Rhiddaer not become famous for its horses, were you to join with us?”

The crowd muttered, suddenly uneasy. No fools here, Dallandra thought.

“And after all,” Kral went on, “the lands of the Rhiddaer lie open to the west. There be good pasturing here, and roads to our lands as well. An army might sweep down easily to claim its horses here.”

Was it a threat? Dallandra wasn't sure, but she could see that everyone in the crowd but the young men had turned suspicious and narrow-eyed.

“These be dire times,” Kral continued. “The day will come when those who are not with us shall be against us. I think me it were best for you and your town to be with us on that day.”

“And is that a threat, then?” Admi's jowls were running with sweat, but his voice rang clear and steady.

“What? Never! My apologies!” Kral arranged a jovial smile. “I did mean only that we are many and strong, and in alliance with us so could you be as well. There be many a rich thing to be gained in the Summer Country.”

“Mera!” Prince Dar was shouting at the top of his lungs. “You lie!”

With a snarl Kral swung round to look for the speaker just as Daralanteriel pushed his way through the crowd and strode out into the open stretch in front of the platform. Tall, straight-backed, handsome with his dark hair and striking grey-and-purple eyes—his very presence made Kral look suddenly ugly and somehow smaller. At his belt Dar wore an elven long knife, and round his neck hung Ranadar's Eye on its gold chain. His men fell in behind him, but Dar motioned them back and walked on alone.

Kral snarled as he faced this threat. His escort, who had been standing patiently behind the platform, moved forward as if to block Dar's way. For a moment they stared at the approaching Westfolk; then, muttering to each other, the Horsekin began to edge backwards toward the open gates. Caught as he was on the platform, the rakzan held his place, but he clutched the handle of his ceremonial whip so tightly that the hair on his knuckles bristled. A sweating Admi scuttled back out of the prince's way.

“Meradan!” Dar called out. “You come to offer slavery, not an alliance of free men. You want grooms and ostlers,
not allies. You'll take those fields and starve their owners to feed your horses. I've met you on the battlefield. I know you through and through.”

Kral stood as straight as he could muster, threw his head back, and let the wind catch his mane of hair. He sneered, one lip curled as if he would speak. Dar broke into a brief run, leapt halfway up the stairs, leapt the rest of the way onto the platform, and strode toward Kral. Dangling on his chest the pendant seemed to catch the sunlight and glow—oddly brightly, really, for a single jewel. All at once Dallandra realized that sunlight had nothing to do with it. The enormous sapphire seemed to burst into flame, a cold silver leap and lick of fire that reached out like hands for the Horsekin leader. Kral yelped and staggered back. When Dar followed, the silver fire exploded from the jewel. It leapt up, spread, spiralled round upon itself until it seemed that Dar carried a burning silver shield in front of him. Kral screamed.