The Fire Dragon (48 page)

“I'll be off to find Kiel,” he announced. “Mayhap he can make some sense of all this.”

Lael strode out, leaving the door half-open to the twilight. The fire in the hearth brightened and set light to dancing in the room. For a long while Dera stared at the worn planks of the table; then she rose, sighing.

“Well, I'll just be making some dinner,” she announced. “Life won't stop just because the whole town's gone daft.”

From a wooden bin she took a sack of turnips. Jahdo sat down on the straw-heaped floor with Ambo on his lap. The ferret curled and fell asleep, so oblivious of their plight that Jahdo envied him.

“Well,” he said, “if the Horsekin do siege us, at least the weasels can eat rats. They be luckier than we.”

Dera tried to smile, then turned away sharply, fumbling with the hem of her apron. Jahdo knew that she was crying, but since she'd gone to the trouble of trying to hide it from him, he said nothing. In a moment she went back to trimming the mould off the turnips.

“Dera?”

Jahdo nearly screamed. Verrarc had opened the door and stepped in, so quietly, so suddenly that he'd never noticed the councilman there.

“Well, come you in, Verro,” Dera said. “But how you did startle us!”

“My apologies.”

Carrying a candle lantern, Verrarc came in very slowly, very carefully, looking round him at each step. In the grey light he seemed grey, himself, his blond hair as dead and matted as the fur of a sick animal, his eyes deep pools of shadow in his pallid face. He sat down on the wooden bench by the table to watch Dera work.

“Be you ill?” she said, and sharply.

“Not truly. I've not slept much, these past nights.”

“Have any of us? But you do look like weasel bait.”

Something of a smile formed on his mouth, then vanished.

“Mayhap I do,” he said. “It weighs on me worse than most, this threat from the Horsekin.”

“There be a charge on you to turn it aside, of course.”

He winced and began to tremble. Dera put down the knife and shoved a wisp of hair back from her face with her little finger.

“What be so wrong?” she said, softening her voice. “I meant not but that the council's got the responsibility of looking after the town. The charge lies on the whole council, not only you.”

“I know.” His voice cracked and broke. “Forgive me? Please, Dera. Forgive me?”

He got up, took his lantern, and rushed out. As he turned in the doorway to squeeze his way out of the alley,
Jahdo got a glimpse of his face, dead-white and streaming tears. Dera stared after him a long, long time.

“Now what does lie behind that?” she said. “The poor lad! He did start life wounded, and he be as weak as a split stick. May his father's spirit walk in pain forever!”

“Mam!” Jahdo slung the furious Ambo over one shoulder and scrambled to his feet. “You don't think a madness lies on Verrarc, do you?”

“What? Of course not! Mind your silly tongue!”

But the crack and quaver in her voice told him that she lied.

“Be it a fit thing for me to ask questions?” Niffa blurted.

“It is,” Dallandra said, smiling, “and I'll wager you've got a lot of them.”

They were standing together at the edge of the elven camp. A pale greenish twilight was gathering in the sky, and mists drifted out on the water as the night cooled. Behind them in the camp firelight suddenly bloomed. They walked only a few yards away in order to stay within reach of the firelight. Dallandra realized that no one was going to follow them to eavesdrop, anyway. No doubt the men had seen too much strange dweomer already to wish to hear of more.

“Now then,” Dalla said. “Where do you want me to start?”

“Well,” Niffa said, “you did say somewhat about other parts of the universe. I do know this part, where we stand and see and suchlike. What be the others?”

“Ye gods! You don't want to begin with an easy question, do you?”

“My apologies. I be grateful for any lore you do choose to tell me, so there be no need on you to start there if—”

Abruptly Niffa stopped talking. When Dallandra turned, wondering what had silenced her apprentice, she saw Verrarc, walking along the lakeshore and heading for them. He carried a candle lantern as if it were a heavy burden. Something, at least, was making him stagger like an old man.

“I think me,” Dallandra said, “that the workings of the universe will have to wait for a bit. Niffa, go back to camp.”

Niffa obeyed her without a murmur. Dallandra hurried to meet Verrarc. They stood at the edge of the lake, where the water lapped onto the sand with a noise like drops falling. The speckled light from his lantern danced around them from the shaking of his hand.

“Are you looking for Raena?” Dallandra said.

“I am,” Verrarc said. “Though I think me she did go off to the Horsekin camp.”

“I saw her run that way, truly, after her false goddess disappeared. You have heard what happened, haven't you?”

“I did.” Verrarc hesitated for a long moment. “That thing in the sky—the one she did think was her Alshandra? That were the fox-spirit, bain't?”

“It was. I take it you've seen Lord Havoc before?”

“I have.” He paused again, staring at the closed gates on the other side of the commons. “I do wonder if it behooves me to go out to the Horsekin camp.”

“To fetch Raena back?”

“She'll not come back.” Verrarc's voice suddenly thickened with tears. “That I do know deep in my heart. But to speak with her, like, for a last time.”

“I think me that it would be very unwise, Councilman, if not dangerous. What if they took you hostage?”

“I'd not thought of that. Think you they might?”

“I'd not put anything past the Horsekin. At the least, they could disrupt the Deciding that way.”

The candlelight danced so wildly that she reached out and took the lantern from him. He seemed not to notice, even when she raised it to look him in the face. Tears glistened in long trails.

“My heart aches for your grief,” Dallandra said. “But truly, her staying would only have brought you a greater one.”

“I did deem as much. Ah ye gods! I do hope only that the town may forgive me.”

“Well, come now! When you took her in, you couldn't have known the truth of all of this.”

“Oh, no doubt. But—later did I err, and grievously.”

“What? Here, what have you done?”

For a long moment he merely stood, staring down at the water's edge, then raised one arm and wiped the tears from his face. Dallandra waited, fighting the urge to probe.

“It were a thing I did for Raena's sake.” Verrarc spoke at last. “When Zatcheka came, asking for alliance, Raena did beg me to put off the Deciding. And I did what she did ask. Ah gods! Had I not, the town would have had its alliance, and I could have spurned the Horsekin at our gates.”

“I see.”

“But that be the least of it. I did take her in, I did shelter her, I did listen to her lies. This Lord Havoc—I envied her the magicks he did give her. I should have—”

“Should have what?” Dallandra made her voice gentle. “What could you have done about it?”

Startled, Verrarc looked up, blinking in the lantern light.

“Here you were, alone and unmindful,” Dallandra went on. “Did she tell you about the war on Cengarn?”

“She didn't. I heard not a word of that till Zatcheka came.”

“As for Lord Havoc, how were you to know who he might be?”

“Well, his brother did warn me once.”

“Once.”

He managed a faint shadow of a smile.

“It's not all lost yet, you know,” Dallandra said. “I think me that if your people choose the alliances Dar and Zatcheka offer them, the Horsekin will think more than twice about taking your lands. You can't blame yourself for everything.”

“But there be Rae, working more harm, for all I know, and that cursed mazrak too—she did bring him here.”

He was quite right, Dallandra realized. She had no idea of what dweomer Raena and her strange priest might be working, off among the Horsekin. Casually she turned a bit away and glanced down at the water's edge, as if she were merely thinking, but in truth she opened her dweomer sight and called up Raena's image. In the dappled light upon the water the scrying came easily, and she saw Raena quite
plainly. Inside a tent dimly lit with silver dweomer light Raena lay on a pile of blankets with the mazrak on top of her, both of them naked. Her head was thrown back and her face, beaded with sweat. Even in vision Dallandra could see the streaks of dirt on his back and hairy haunches.

“Oh curse her!” Verrarc snarled. “The lying slut!”

Too late Dallandra realized that he'd been able to follow her mind's lead and see the vision. With a shake of her head she closed down the sight and turned to see Verrarc trembling, his fists clenched at his sides.

“I'll kill her,” Verrarc whispered. “May the gods of my people rise up and help me kill her!”

“Leave her to me,” Dallandra said. “Leave her to me and the laws of your town!”

“Why? How may I count myself a man if—”

“Hold your tongue!” Dallandra put a snap into her voice. “If you kill a sworn priestess of their goddess, they'll demand retribution. They'll use it to lay a claim on your town, and when the claim's not paid, they'll come back with an army, alliance or no.”

Verrarc started to speak, then merely stared at her, his mouth slack.

“Do you understand me?” She softened her voice. “Truly, my heart aches for you, but ye gods, man! Think of your fellow citizens!”

“I swear to you, Mazrak, that my fellow citizens be never far from my heart. But ye gods! You must think me no true man, that I could swallow this bitter ale she poured me and smile when I were done?”

“Naught of the sort!”

Verrarc turned, one hand on the hilt of the long knife at his belt. He was staring at the town wall, where lantern light bloomed on the catwalks as the town watch took up their posts.

“Sergeant Gart be on duty this night.” Verrarc spoke so softly that she wondered if he realized he were speaking aloud. “He'll open the gates if I command.”

“Don't! What will you do, rush into the camp and try to stab her? The Horsekin would cut you down so fast you'd never even get a strike on her.”

That gave him pause. With a long sigh that sounded near a sob he laid his hands over his face. Dallandra wondered if he wanted her to talk him out of his revenge, and if she could, but she had an ally close at hand. From the elven camp Rhodry came striding over, calling out in Elvish.

“Dalla! Are you all right? Who's this?”

“Councilman Verrarc,” she called back in the same. “Come talk with him, will you?”

When Rhodry joined them, Verrarc made some effort to pull himself together, but he could not stop shaking, nor could he bring the color back to his face.

“What's so wrong?” Rhodry snapped.

“Raena,” Dallandra said. “She's deserted to the enemy.”

“Ah horseshit!” Rhodry turned to Verrarc. “My apologies, Councilman, but your woman's a danger to you and the town both.”

“I do know that better than you.” Verrarc's voice was more a growl. “Tell me somewhat. She did charge you to me with wanting her death, all over the murder of some friend of yours.”

“She spoke true for a change, though she didn't kill him with her own hands.”

“I did wonder. She did show me a knife such as the one in your belt there and claim that it were your friend's. It did have a wyvern graved upon the blade.”

“True again.”

Verrarc considered this for a long moment while he went on shaking.

“Do you blame me for hunting her down?” Rhodry said.

“Not anymore,” Verrarc snapped. “I think me there be more than one man's death that might be charged against her.”

“True spoken indeed. And if she escapes with the Horsekin, she'll work more harm.”

“But you can't go charging into their camp!” Dallandra put as much force as she could muster in her words. “I'll not have you start a new war over their wretched priestess.”

“Wise counsel as always, my love.” Rhodry grinned at her. “But I doubt that we can lure her out of their cursed
camp. If she came back inside the walls, she'd be subject to your laws, Councilman, not theirs. And she knows that as well as I do.”

“True enough,” Verrarc said. “And she knows another thing as well, that I do command the town watch. We could arrest her easily enough.”

“We?” Rhodry said. “Are you in this hunt with me, then?”

“I am.” Verrarc took a long deep breath. “And what has she done, but betray me and my town to the Horsekin?”

When Rhodry held out his hand, Verrarc took it. Dallandra allowed herself a quick look at his aura: strong and blazing red.

“Well and good, then,” Rhodry said. “Dalla, don't you see? If we're going to bring Raena to heel, we have to do it now, and if it takes force, well, I don't see the harm of that. The Horsekin will doubtless attack anyway, sooner or later.”

“Better later,” Dallandra snapped. “Think! If they thought they could just march down and take Cerr Cawnen, why would they be bothering to ask for an alliance?”

“True spoken,” Verrarc said. “There be some sort of constraint upon them. I know not what it may be, but why would they come talking peace and not war?”

“The horses,” Rhodry put in. “We killed a fair number of their warhorses last summer.”

“That could be,” Dallandra went on. “But if you slay Kral and that filthy mazrak, and you'll doubtless have to do that if you want to seize Raena, then the affair will be a matter of honor and revenge. I don't care what's making them hold back. It won't matter anymore. We need time, Rori. Dar's made this offer of alliance on his own, and if the townspeople take it, he'll have to ride back home and find his father and Calonderiel before he can fulfil his obligations.”

Rhodry sighed in a gloomy sort of way. “You're right,” he said at last. “But ye gods, it would have gladdened my heart to turn Arzosah loose on the bitch.” He turned to Verrarc. “My apologies. I should mind my tongue about her.”

“Not for my sake.” Verrarc turned on his heel and ran, leaving her the lantern.

Dallandra took a few steps after him, but he plunged into the welter of houses and crannogs and disappeared. And what more could I say to him? she thought. Very little. Very little indeed.