The Gold Falcon (64 page)

The light, however, never spread further.
A lantern, then
, Gerran thought.
But why would someone be sitting outside next to the wall like that?
Any sentries should have been up on the catwalks, and indeed, occasionally in the starlight he could discern men, walking back and forth at the top of the walls. Eventually, toward the end of his watch, the lantern light disappeared and stayed gone.

In the morning Gerran mentioned the mysterious light to Dallandra, who thanked him but seemed untroubled by the news—much to Gerran’s relief. He’d been afraid that the light meant some sort of evil dweomer at work.

“I doubt it,” Dallandra said. “More likely Honelg just couldn’t sleep, as you suspected. Salamander mentioned that he’s got a shrine to his goddess somewhere in the dun, and he could well have gone there to pray.”

“Ah,” Gerran said. “That makes sense.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Dallandra continued, “if you think Honelg will sally soon—or at all.”

“I’ve no idea, my lady. The man’s obviously daft, and so who knows what he’ll do? And that means we can do naught but sit and wait.”

Those left behind in Cengarn were just as impatient for news of the siege, but their curiosity was the more easily slaked. The afternoon was just turning to a long summer evening when Arzosah appeared over Dun Cengarn for a second time. Branna was sitting in the women’s hall working on Neb’s wedding shirt. At the sound of shouting in the ward she laid the shirt into her workbasket just as Midda came rushing in.

“She’s back,” Midda said, gasping for breath. “The dragon, I mean. Lord Oth wants you to go talk with her.”

“What?” Lady Galla practically bounced out of her chair. “How dare he! Branna, I don’t want you doing any such thing.”

“Aunt Galla, I’ll be very careful, I promise,” Branna said. “Since she knows me now, it’ll be safer for me than anyone else.”

“Apparently Oth thinks so.” Galla paused for a scowl. “He obviously doesn’t have the courage to go himself, and I shall tell him so at dinner tonight.”

Branna made her escape from the women’s hall before Galla could argue further and hurried upstairs. As she climbed the ladder to the roof, she could smell the dragon’s spoilt-wine scent. She scrambled out onto the sunny roof where Arzosah sat comfortably coiled, waiting for her. Branna curtsied, a gesture that brought a rumble of approval from the wyrm.

“And a good evening to you,” Arzosah said. “Is all well here?”

“It is, truly,” Branna said. “I see you’ve brought us more messages.”

“I have, and some good news. Your cousin and her daughter are safe and on their way here. They should arrive soon, in fact, well before sunset. I overflew them not long ago at all.”

“Thank every true goddess for that!” Branna felt like howling in sheer joy. “I can’t even say how much it gladdens my heart.”

“I thought it might.” Arzosah raised her head to reveal the dangling sack of messages. “If you could relieve me of this unseemly pouch, I’ll be off to hunt.”

“Gladly. Did you hear that Oth found Alshandra worshippers in the dun? We don’t know, though, if there are any down in town.”

“I did hear that. While I hunt and suchlike, I’ve been keeping an eye out for anyone who might have left town and ridden west.” The dragon curled one paw and contemplated her claws. “The prince personally asked me to do so.”

“Which one?”

“Voran. For a human being he’s unusually clever. We don’t want anyone trying to warn Zakh Gral.”

Once she had the pouch, Branna tossed it through the trapdoor, then climbed down after it as fast as she could. From above, she could hear Arzosah take flight with the slap and drumming of her enormous wings. Branna scooped up the messages and ran downstairs. On the landing she hesitated, then decided that Oth could wait a moment or ten. With a fling of the heavy door, she burst into the women’s hall.

“Aunt Galla!” Branna called out. “He’s let her go. Honelg, I mean. Adranna and Trenni are nearly here.”

Galla looked at her, smiled, hesitated, then wept in the flooding relief of tears, though she kept smiling the entire time. Solla hurried to her side and put an arm around her shoulders.

“I’ll just take these messages to Lord Oth,” Branna said. “I’ll come back as soon as he gives me leave.”

“Better yet,” Drwmigga said, “we’ll all go down to the great hall as soon as Galla’s composed herself. We’ll all want to go out to the ward to greet Lady Adranna.”

Just as the dragon predicted, Adranna, Trenni, and their escort reached Cengarn well before sunset. A fort guard on duty above the north gate saw their tiny procession straggling down the road and shouted the news to one of his fellows, who ran up to the dun with it. With Drwmigga at their head, as befitted her rank as the lady of the dun, the women left the great hall and waited by the open gates. Thanks to the steepness of the hill and the twists in Cengarn’s streets, they had something of a wait before they finally saw Adranna. She and little Treniffa were still on horseback, but the servant lasses and the men of the escort had dismounted to spare their horses during the steep climb up. Those pages left behind in the dun hurried forward to help the ladies, and the two remaining grooms came for the horses.

Once they’d dismounted, Adranna and Treniffa made no move to come forward. They stood together, Adranna’s arm around her daughter’s shoulders, as if they expected to be arrested rather than welcomed. The servant lasses huddled behind them. It was Drwmigga’s place to say a few words, but she seemed to have forgotten this particular courtesy. Branna felt like kicking her, but instead she strode over to her cousins.

“It gladdens my heart to see you safe,” Branna said. “Addi, you can’t imagine how worried we’ve been.”

At that Adranna managed a smile, but she was looking over Branna’s shoulder at her mother. Lady Galla wiped a few tears away with the back of her hand.

“You’ve been very naughty, Addi,” Galla said, “but I never wanted you to marry that awful man in the first place, and so it’s no wonder, I suppose.”

“Oh, Mama!” Adranna’s reserve broke at last. She ran to Galla and threw her arms around her. “It gladdens my heart to see you.” Her voice cracked, but she managed to choke back any tears. “I’m so tired.”

“Let’s all go inside,” Drwmigga said, “and take you up to the women’s hall. It will be nicer there.”

The women ate in their own hall that night, leaving the great hall to the men of the fort guard under the command of Lord Oth. Everyone but Adranna talked bravely about all sorts of things, none of which truly mattered except for Branna’s betrothal. Yet, even though her cousin did show some pleasure at the news and ask for some details about Neb, Branna changed the subject as soon as she could. Adranna was about to become a widow, and Branna refused to dwell on her own happiness. She did wonder, though, if Adranna would mourn her lord. She had accepted the marriage freely enough, Branna knew from the talk of the older women in her clan, but had she come to love him or hate him during those years shut up with him on the edge of the wild forest? Adranna gave no sign either way as the talk flowed around her like water around a rock in a stream.

It was late that evening before Branna had a moment alone with her niece. Since there were no other noble-born children in the dun, and thus no nursemaid, Treniffa would sleep on a trundle bed in her mother’s chamber, but exhausted though she was, she was afraid to go to sleep alone. Branna lit candle lanterns, gave one to Trenni to carry and took the other, then led her up to the room. Midda had already laid clean linen sheets and a blanket on the narrow little bed’s straw mattress. Branna set the lanterns down where there was no danger of tipping them onto the braided rushes covering the floor. Shadows danced in the curve of the wall and made Trenni flinch.

“It’s too hot tonight for a blanket,” Branna said, “so we’ll fold that up and make you a pillow instead.”

Trenni nodded. She was looking around the chamber wide-eyed, staring at the shadows and the flickering light. “You’ll stay till I go to sleep?” she said at last.

“I will.”

“Will you leave the candles burning?”

“I will indeed.”

“Will Mama be up soon?”

“I’m sure of that. She’s very tired too.”

“Then will you stay till she comes?”

“I will, love. Don’t you trouble your heart. You’re safe now.”

Branna helped her take off her dress, torn in places and filthy from the trip to Cengarn. Underneath she was wearing a thin shift of linen that was yellow and shiny with age.

“Do you have another dress with you?” Branna said.

“I don’t,” Trenni said. “We didn’t bring much. Mama was afraid Da would change his mind and not let us go. So we just grabbed some things and ran downstairs.”

“I see. Well, on the morrow we can sew you a new one.”

Trenni sat down on the edge of the bed. “Aunt Branna?” she said. “Will they kill Matto when they take our dun?”

Branna hesitated. She wanted to say neither the truth nor the lie. The truth would hurt the child now, but a lie would wound her more deeply later.

“They will, won’t they?” Trenni’s thin voice went flat. “I don’t want him to die.”

“Neither do I,” Branna said. “My Neb promised me he’d try to save him, and he’s got some very important friends there with him.”

Trenni lay down and turned on her side to hide her face against the improvised pillow. Branna thought at first that she was weeping, but she’d fallen sleep without another word.

Adranna came up soon after and released Branna from guard duty, as Branna was thinking of it. Since the night had turned stifling, Branna took one of the lanterns up to the flat roof of the main broch tower. Clouds, coming up from the south, covered half the stars, and a soft wind blew some of the day’s heat away. From the western quarter of the sky she heard what at first sounded like thunder, but instead of dying away, it strengthened into a regular drumlike sound, growing louder and closer. Arzosah, she assumed, and she looked up in hopes of seeing the great wyrm as she flew by.

While Branna did see a dragon flying from the west, the wyrm shone as silver and bright as a full moon against the gathering clouds. She could guess that it was Arzosah’s mate, Rori, surrounded by Wildfolk of Aethyr. He flew hard and steadily, heading straight north, most likely to join the battle for Honelg’s dun. She was reminded once again of her wretched stepmother, mocking her for thinking she’d seen a dragon, insisting it had only been a silver owl.
I’m well out of that dun!
she thought.
May the gods bless Aunt Galla forever!

The greatest blessing that she could imagine now would be the safe return of young Matyc, but whether such could ever happen lay in the laps of the gods indeed.

Inside Dallandra’s tent the air, stifling from the coming storm, weighed on Salamander like a wool cloak, but by staying inside they could talk about dweomer, or even work it, away from Deverry men with the exception, of course, of Neb. Dallandra had made a silver dweomer light to hang near the smoke hole. Gnats and moths swarmed around it, and a trio of sprites were amusing themselves by trying to catch the insects with their tiny fingers.

“I keep thinking about that dark dweomerman,” Dallandra said. “My worst fear is that he’s somehow or other gotten himself inside Honelg’s dun.”

“Now, that I doubt very much, O princess of powers perilous,” Salamander said. “He certainly wasn’t there when I was.”

“That’s some reassurance, at least. Have you scried the dun out lately?”

“I have. No sign of him there.”

“There’s been none at the temple either. No one’s ever rebuilt that astral construct, whatever it was. The priests seem to be devoting all their time and energy to keep the cattle safe from Arzosah. They’ve started bringing them into the temple grounds at night.”

“Which must be a great disappointment to our wyrm.”