The Fire Dragon (45 page)

“Coward!” Dar snarled. “Kneel before the children of the gods!”

The rakzan knelt so fast and hard that he grunted. Behind the platform his men did the same, dropping into the dirt. Dallandra could see their lips moving; she could guess that they were muttering prayers. The townsfolk went silent; Dallandra had never heard so many persons make so little noise. On the platform, Chief Speaker Admi tried to speak, failed, and seemed about to choke on shock, but he held his ground.

“This town lies under my protection,” Dar went on. “Think you to add to the ancient sins of your people?”

“Never, never,” Kral said. “Forgive! No curses upon us!”

“If you would be spared Ranadar's curse, then listen to me! The people of Cerr Cawnen will choose their alliances. It's not for the likes of you to force yourselves upon them.”

“So it's not, not in the least. I swear to you! I'll not say another angry word.”

“Good.” Dar smiled, but it was a ghastly sort of smile— tight-lipped and hard. “Then you may live.”

Kral touched his forehead to the platform, then scrambled
up, yelling to his men. When he jumped down, they flocked around him, muttering and waving helpless hands in the air. From somewhere in the crowd someone laughed; another person took it up, then another, and like a breaking wave the laughter crashed and howled, washing over the Horsekin and flooding them out of the gates. With his men close behind, Kral raced for the safety of their camp.

By then the silver fire had shrunk back into the sapphire and died. Dar waited until the last Horsekin was out of sight, then stalked to the edge of the platform. When he held up both hands, the laughter stilled, running away like the ebbing tide until at length the silence held.

“Citizens of Cerr Cawnen,” Dar called out. “My name is Daralanteriel tran Aledeldar, prince of the Westfolk, heir to the Seven Cities of the Far West. We have more reason to hate the Meradan, that is, the Horsekin as you name them, than ever you could know.” He paused, glancing around. “But hate them we do. Hear this! I offer you an alliance with me and my people, to stand against the Horsekin in any time of war. Our longbows brought down plenty of their precious horses in last summer's war, and we stand ready to kill more.”

The townsfolk roared their approval, stamping their feet, clapping their hands. Once again Dar flung his arms into the air, and once again they quieted.

“Let me warn you,” Dar went on, “that if you take my alliance, the Horsekin will hate you doubly. Think well on that before you make your choice on the morrow.” He turned on his heel, strode back to the stairway, and came down it in two leaps.

The crowd seemed frozen in a stunned silence. Admi hurried forward again, but when he tried to speak, his voice choked. He looked as if he'd woken from a blow to the skull. With a wave to her guards to follow her up, Zatcheka climbed to the platform.

“Chief Speaker,” Zatcheka said, “be it lawful for me to address your people?”

“It is.” Admi made her a bow and stepped back.

“I do have but one thing to say.” Zatcheka turned to
face the crowd. “There be no need upon you to choose between the alliance my town does offer you and the prince's offer. We would count ourselves honored to join an alliance twixt your people and his.”

In the crowd a fair number of people clapped in appreciation. Others nodded, and the talk began, murmuring among the women first, then spreading to the men. Admi raised his hands, got ignored, and called out that the meeting was over in a voice as loud as booming brass. The talk grew loud and anxious as the women stood, collecting children, looking around for their menfolk. In a long slow milling about the crowd began to disperse.

“I'd best join the others,” Verrarc said.

Dallandra nearly yelped, she'd forgotten all about the councilman.

“Indeed,” she said. “This is quite a turn of events.”

Verrarc tried to smile but succeeded only in looking terrified. And with good reason, Dallandra thought. With all the reason in the world.

“The gall!” Raena grabbed a pottery cup from the table and threw it at the wall. “I do hate him! How dare he!”

The cup shattered with a fine spray of dust. Verrarc grabbed her wrist when she reached for another.

“It be needful for you to spare my crockery,” he said. “Hush, Rae! Eat your dinner and calm your soul.”

With a snarling sound she pulled her hand away, but she let the dinnerware be. They were sitting in the little alcove near the kitchen in Verrarc's house, and before them on the table sat a steaming pot of venison stew, a loaf of bread, and a pitcher of beer. Verrarc ladled the stew onto the trencher they shared while she cut hunks of bread.

“The Prince of the Westfolk be a well-spoken man,” Verrarc said. “There be no surprise in my heart that the Horsekin did listen.”

“He lied to them! Children of the gods—my arse! They be men like any other, for all their ugly ears.”

“So it would seem. Why does Kral think otherwise?”

“It be a legend among the Horsekin, that their ancestors
did overthrow the children of the gods long long ago, and because of this sin the gods did send upon them a terrible plague that did slay them by the thousands. If any man, either Gel da'Thae or Horsekin, should ever harm another child of the gods, then the plague will return. Or so they say. They call it Ranadar's curse.”

“No wonder then that they did grovel. That jewel, Rae—never did I see such a wondrous thing, the way it burned without true fire.”

“Had I been allowed to be there, I might have doused it.”

“Had the black dragon eaten you, you'd have doused naught ever again.”

She scowled at him, then laid the loaf back in its basket. Verrarc took a chunk and bit into it while she daintily sliced hers thin.

“So, the prince of the Westfolk be here,” Raena said at length. “Tell me somewhat, my love. His wife, a pretty blonde lass—be she here with him?”

“She is, truly, and with her their child.”

“Ah, truly, the babe would have been born by now.” For a long moment she stared at the wall with the bread knife still in her hand.

“What be so wrong?” Verrarc said at last. “Be you well?”

“My apologies, my love.” Raena smiled at him and laid the knife down. “I did but remember a thing Nag-arshad did tell me once, about a vow to our goddess that would tame the Horsekin's hearts. There be a need on me to speak with Kral. I swear to you, Verro, if they make this vow to the Great One, that never will they enslave your fellows, they would die rather than break it. Curse that meddling wyrm! Mayhap she'll hunt tonight, and I may leave the house then.”

“If you do go to see the rakzan,” Verrarc said, “I come with you.”

“You'll not! This be my goddess's affair and none of yours!”

“Oh, bain't? You did promise me—”

“I did promise to tell you what I do know and naught more than that!”

“I'll not have you trotting off to the Horsekin camp alone!”

Raena shoved back her chair and stood up, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Sulk all you want,” Verrarc said. “I think me it be time for me to be master in my own house again.”

Raena turned on her heel and stomped out of the room. When he heard the bedroom door slam behind her, he half rose, thinking he would go calm her, but he made himself sit down. In his mind he was seeing Burra, sneering his scorn at a man who let a woman rule him. He ate a few bites more, felt as if the food would choke him, then got up and left the house. If he stayed, he would weaken, he knew, and besides, he needed to rejoin the council.

The Council of Five had many a grave matter to discuss that afternoon in the cool stone chamber of Council House. At their round table fear took the sixth seat as they argued over details of possible alliances. The prince's offer had rolled an entirely new handful of dice, as Burra remarked.

“True enough,” Frie said. “But it be a goodly roll for winning a wager. Two alliances be a fair bit stronger than one.”

“If we can trust these Westfolk,” Burra broke. “They did turn up what? yesterday, and what ken we about them?”

“The old lore tells us somewhat,” Hennis said. “You've heard the tales a hundred times, lad. Think! When our ancestors fled the Slavers, the horsemen of the west did hide them and speed them on their way. Who else would these people be, but the horsemen of the west? The old tales do limn them the same, what with their eyes like cats and strange ears.”

“I'd forgotten that.” Burra was silent for a long moment. “But could they not have turned to villainy since then? That were many a long year ago.”

“So it was.” Frie laid his enormous hands, all callused and pitted with tiny burn scars, flat on the edge of the table. “But desperate men needs must take the help they be offered.”

The wrangling went on for a long while, though they settled nothing, of course, because until the townspeople voted they were powerless. As Admi remarked in the end,
however, none of them could see many citizens choosing the rakzan's proposition.

“Though I do have fears,” Admi said, “that the young men among us do see adventure and glory in his words.”

“True enough.” Hennis heaved a dramatic sigh. “Well, we'll be setting up an urn for Kral at the Deciding nonetheless. He shan't be able to accuse us of working fraud.”

“Just so.” Admi shoved his chair back and stood up. “I think me we can do more good out in the town, reassuring whom we can, than ever we'll do sitting here.”

Silently the five of them filed out of the Council House. Outside, the hot spring sunlight made Verrarc blink. He shaded his eyes with one hand, then glanced sideways at the sky to get some idea of the lateness of the day— midafternoon, about. He was just about to make some comment to Frie when he heard the sound, a flap or thwack like an enormous hand hitting a bigger drumhead.

“Ye gods!” Hennis yelped. “What be making that noise?”

The answer rose suddenly into the sky from the ruined temple. The black dragon had flown, and she was gaining height steadily with each beat of her huge wings. As they watched, she launched herself straight west, heading for the mountains rising just beyond the farmlands.

“She be going to feed, I'll wager,” Burra said.

“As good a guess as any.” Admi shuddered visibly. “May she stay gone for a good long while! Let's be about our business, lads. It be needful for us to serve our fellow citizens.”

Although most of a day had passed in Cerr Cawnen, under the green moon Time crept. As he lay in hound-shape by the beacon tree, Evandar was painfully aware of the discrepancy. What if Dalla needed him down in the city? How long by her reckoning had he been gone? He was just considering leaving his post when he heard the cries.

Deep in among the twisted trees something was hunting. A pair of them, whatever they were—cries like those of gigantic cats called back and forth. Growling under his breath, the black hound rose to his feet and waited. Closer and closer they came, and with them another set of sounds,
twigs snapping, branches cracking, leaves rustling. It would be prudent, Evandar decided, to take to the air. He changed into hawk form, then ran a few steps, flapped hard, and rose, circling over the forest edge.

Through the trees he could see someone running, crashing his way through the underbrush. Not so far behind him came the cat-beasts, though all he could see of them was the occasional flash of spotted hide. Evandar flew a little higher and hovered on the wind to look down. The figure burst out of the trees—Shaetano, all right, screaming as he raced for the safety of the boundary. Or was it Shaetano? It seemed to be his usual form of a fox-spirit, but on his head grew a mane of honey-blonde hair. Evandar banked a wing and turned to fly after him just as he leapt up and mutated into bird form. Hair and fox-spirit both vanished in a flutter of black-and-white feathers: a shrike.

Shaetano was panicked enough that Evandar might have been able to dive and catch him from his superior height, but his curiosity had been aroused. Just what was his wretched brother up to now? When Shaetano flew off, heading for a mother road, Evandar trailed behind at a safe distance, just to see where he would lead.

“There goes Arzosah,” Rhodry said, “off to hunt, no doubt.”

Dallandra looked up in the sky where he pointed and saw the dragon, a tiny figure against the sky, heading straight west.

“It's a good thing she can fetch her own food,” Dallandra said. “Keeping her in meat isn't a job I'd want.”

“Nor I, either. I blasted well wish she'd lay off the local cattle, though.”

They were walking together at the edge of the lake. The sun was beginning to sink toward the western horizon, gilding a long streak of mackerel clouds that arched over the town.

“Looks like rain coming,” Rhodry remarked.

“It does. I suppose the townsfolk will come to the Deciding no matter what the weather.”

“No doubt. When I was walking through the town, I could hear the people talk about naught else. I hope to the gods that they see the Horsekin alliance for what it is: bait for a trap.”

“I think me most of them do.” Dallandra paused to look across to Citadel, looming dark against the sky. “They didn't escape your ancestors just to sell themselves into slavery again. Though I wonder, truly, where the Horsekin and the Gel da'Thae both get those human slaves of theirs. I've not wanted to ask Zatcheka right out.”

“It might well blight a flowering friendship.”

They continued on, walking so close together that their shoulders touched. Rhodry twined his arm through hers.

“Will you miss me?” he said abruptly. “When I leave for the Northlands?”

“I will. And you?”

“I'll think of you often.” He was staring down at the ground. “And curse myself for a fool a thousand times over for leaving you behind for naught but a daft hope.”

“Oh here, you'd not stay long anyway, even if you did come back to the grass with me. Somewhat else would catch your fancy, and you'd be off. You're that sort of man.”

“Well, I was a man like that once.”

“Not anymore?”

“I hardly know who I am anymore. I've lived too long, Dalla.”

“Oh hush!” She pulled free of him. “Don't! Just don't go on about Lady Death and all the rest of it!”