The Spirit Stone (62 page)

‘Not if we strike a bargain with them.’

‘They’ll kill us if we try.’

‘No, I don’t think so. They’re Gel da’ Thae, not tribals, in their own way. The dragons obey them, you know. They could call them off.’

‘What do we have to bargain with?’

‘We hate their enemies, and we can tell them what happened to the stone. Besides, I can heal wounded horses.’

Sidro got up and walked over to the window that faced away from the rest of the camp. She leaned on the sill on folded arms and looked out, breathing the night air, the soothing scent of pine and fern, of running streams and a soft wind.

‘I know a few weak little magicks,’ she said. ‘It’s not enough.’

Pir walked up behind her. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘We’re going to need help to find him.’

‘That’s true, but it’s not what I meant. I can’t lead these men. Even though I’m a woman, I just can’t. I don’t know how, and they frighten me. A herd’s not going to follow a weak bell mare.’ She straightened up and turned around. ‘Well, do you think they’ll take my orders?’

Pir looked away, considering his answer for a long moment. ‘They will at first, until you do something they don’t like.’

‘Something like suggesting we surrender?’

‘Um.’ Again he stayed silent, thinking. ‘Something like that, yes.’

‘The only person who can lead this wretched excuse for a herd is you.’

Pir looked down at the floor. Since he was standing with his back to the wizard-light over the table, shadow fell across his face and made it impossible for her to tell what he might be feeling. Finally, just as she was ready to question him, he looked up.

‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘Especially if they know you’ve passed the leadership to me.’

‘I’ll tell them, if you think they’ll listen.’

‘They should.’ Yet Pir sounded doubtful.

Sidro wondered at her sudden fear. As a Horsekin woman despite her human blood, even as a Gel da’ Thae slave, she had always been perfectly confident that men would never harm her sexually unless her owner, another woman, allowed them to—not that Borgren would have let them. She remembered Movrae and shuddered. These men were outlaws, fugitives from the Gel da’ Thae world, as lawless as the savage tribes of the far north. She would need more protection than her weak magicks could give her. The ancient customs would have to provide it.

‘You know that Laz will always be my First Man,’ she said.

‘Oh yes.’ Pir’s face showed no expression at all, but she could smell a change in his scent.

‘I don’t see why you couldn’t be the Second. That should make everything perfectly clear.’

‘I was hoping you’d say that.’ He smiled, just briefly. ‘I’m going to build a fire. The men need to know what’s going to happen.’

Sidro stayed inside the cabin until she saw flames leaping from the firepit. The men had already assembled around it by the time she gathered enough courage to leave the cabin. Pir was talking fast, dramatizing his points with a shake of a fist here and a slap of his hands there. Many of the men were listening intently. A few at a time, they strode over to stand behind or next to him until some nine men had gathered on his side of the fire. The holdouts stood, scowling, behind Faharn.

Sidro took a deep breath to steady her nerves and walked over. Pir held out one arm, and she slipped into the comfort of his embrace. At that, four of the holdouts smiled and walked over to Pir’s side of the fire.

‘The rest of you can do what you want,’ Pir finished up. ‘You’ve got till the morning to, um, well, think about things.’

‘Pir, I can’t believe you’d come up with such a mad scheme,’ Faharn said. ‘Huh, Laz thought this woman loved him. Look at how fast she’s deserted him! Or have you been scheming all along to take her away from him?’

‘If I had,’ Pir said levelly, ‘I’d have come to you for help. You would have been happy to give it. You’d have done anything to have Laz all to yourself again.’

Pir’s supporters whooped with laughter, and even the men standing with Faharn broke into broad grins. Faharn started to speak, blushed, scowled, tried again, then flapped his hands in the air and turned away. He strode off as fast as he could and retain his dignity. A few at a time, the men who were staying with him followed. Most nodded pleasantly enough as they walked away to disappear into the darkened camp. The loyal men clustered around Pir and Sidro for a last reassurance.

‘I’ll ride down to the Ancients first,’ Pir said. ‘If Vek’s well enough, I’ll take him with me. His omen-sense might come in handy.’

The men—his men, now—nodded their agreement.

‘We’ll arrange the surrender,’ Pir went on. ‘If it looks like they’re going to be treacherous, then we’ll leave. If Vek and I run into trouble, Sidro will know.’

‘And we’ll come after you,’ one of the men said.

‘No, don’t! It won’t be worth it. There’s a wretched lot more of them than there are of us. Get Sidro somewhere safe. That’s all I’d ask of you.’

They pledged him, hands on knife-hilts, with the ancient chant, ‘hai! hai! hai!’

The men smothered the fire, then drifted away, talking among themselves. Pir took Sidro back to the safety of the cabin. Seeing the wizard-light still glowing where Laz had left it pierced her with grief like a spear. She stood staring at it while Pir watched, unspeaking, with shadowed eyes that revealed nothing of what he might feel. Finally she forced herself to turn away. She walked to the forest-side window and leaned out, breathing in the cleaner night air.

‘Sidro?’ Pir said at length. ‘Should I go get my gear, or do you want to be alone tonight?’

‘I don’t know.’ She turned to face him and leaned back, half-sitting on the windowsill for support. ‘I’m so weary, but I’m afraid of being alone.’

‘I’ll tell you what. I’ll go get my blankets, but I’ll sleep outside, across the door. You need rest.’

‘Yes, I do. I’m sorry.’

Yet once she was lying down, she could not sleep, even though she knew that she’d be safe with Pir right outside. Her thoughts swung back and forth between a certainty that Laz was dead and an equal certainty that he’d come back to her in the morning. Surely he’d be able to understand the magic of those two pyramids, surely he could think his way out of any danger. Couldn’t he? Not if he’s dead, her mocking mind would answer, and round she would go again. When she finally did manage to sleep, she dreamt of him floating in a lake, his unseeing eyes staring up at the stars, and woke screaming right at dawn.

She sat up in bed and clasped her hands over her mouth just as Pir, dressed only in his trousers, came rushing into the cabin.

‘What is it?’ he said. ‘Nightmares?’

She nodded and forced her trembling hands away from her face. Pir stood yawning and rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘You probably wanted to sleep longer.’

‘No.’ He paused for another yawn. ‘I’m going to dress and then fetch Vek. It’s time to ride down to the grasslands and see about that surrender.’

The sun was just rising when Salamander went down to the stream to scry. He knelt and stared into the sun-gilded water while he sent his mind out to the stone. Nothing. He felt nothing, saw nothing. Not the slightest trace of any sort of hint about the stone’s whereabouts came to him. He scrambled to his feet and spun around, staring at the dark swell of the forest, like a wave on the northern horizon. Once again he reached out for the stone. Once again, nothing.

‘How could I have been so witless, doltish, and in general, stupid? Ye gods, what am I going to tell Dalla?’

The stream ventured no opinion on the subject. Tieryn Cadryc, however, quite unconsciously saved Salamander from the grim task of admitting the truth by sending Clae to fetch him.

‘The tieryn says we’ve got to ride out as soon as soon,’ Clae said. ‘He wants you to write a letter to go ahead with the messengers.’

‘Splendid! I need to send a note to Branna myself about her father. Do you want to tell her anything?’

‘Just that I’m dreadful sorry her Da’s dead.’ Clae’s voice trembled. ‘I know what that feels like.’

By the time Salamander had written the messages and seen them on their way, the wounded and their guards were ready to move out. They crossed the ford again without incident and headed east, following the trail of ruts, cropped grass, garbage, latrine ditches, and the like left from their journey to Zakh Gral. They made a short march that day, however, and set up camp some eight miles from the ford. They would wait there for the rest of the army to catch up. Salamander escaped from the general confusion and went out into the grass to scry.

The summer breeze rippled the long grass and turned it into the waves of a green sea. When Salamander used this focus to reach out to Dallandra, he could feel her presence immediately, but she never responded to his contact. He received quick impressions of her state of mind, a competent urgency. She was hurrying back and forth, giving orders, shoving away disgust and fear both.

‘The battle’s started,’ he said aloud.

Salamander shifted his focus and opened his Sight. When he thought of Dallandra he could see her sluicing down a wagon gate with water in preparation for the patients sure to come. When he turned his mind to Calonderiel and the army, he saw archers, sending arrows in long arcs of death to fall among Gel da’ Thae spearmen, whose ranks were on the point of breaking. The men milled around, their shields held high to fend off in vain arrows that plunged from the sky to split wood and leather. The arrow-rain paused as the dragons swooped down. Cavalry horses reared in panic, bucked out of control, throwing their Horsekin riders into the spearmen’s ranks, plunging after them and kicking anyone and anything as they desperately tried to escape the huge meat-eaters swooping from the sky. Another volley of arrows fell. Horses and men both began to die.

Behind the archers, swordsmen formed up for the final charge. Salamander broke the vision. At any moment, he felt, he was going to vomit. He splashed his face with cold stream water until he could banish the images from his mind. He stood up, shaking water from his wet hair. Compared to what he’d just seen, the black crystal no longer seemed in the least important.

‘The wretched thing has an evil wyrd anyway,’ he said aloud. ‘You’re welcome to it, whoever you are, but I’ve no doubt it’ll bring you naught but bad luck, bad cess, and general misfortune.’

He turned towards the forest verge to follow up his remarks with a few good imprecations. Before he could speak, he saw two Horsekin, a man and a boy, lead their horses down from the wooded plateau out into the open grassland. The boy carried a long straight stick with a dirty grey shirt attached to it for a surrender flag. Apparently they saw Salamander, because they headed straight for him. The man had cropped off most of his hair, leaving a short fur. Down the centre ran a long braided stripe like a horse’s mane. Since his horse followed him without benefit of reins or lead rope, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called to Salamander.

‘Be you Evan the minstrel?’

Salamander glanced back at the encampment. He stood close enough to yell for help if these Horsekin proved treacherous.

‘I am,’ he called back. ‘What’s all this?’

‘Surrender. It be needful for us to parley and surrender.’

‘Well, come ahead, then. I’ll listen to what you have to say.’

As the pair walked up to join him, Salamander realized that they couldn’t possibly be Horsekin soldiers. For one thing, the only weapon that either carried was the man’s hunting knife. For another, their clothes were filthy and torn, their horses ordinary riding animals, their horse-gear patched together. Farm folk, he assumed, fleeing the war, but the man seemed not the least frightened of him. The boy watched him wide-eyed and wary, but again, he showed no particular fear.

‘My name be Pir,’ the man said. ‘This be Vek.’

‘Very well,’ Salamander said. ‘How did you know my name?’

‘Sidro told me.’ Pir smiled, ever so slightly. ‘She did scry you out, too, and tell me where you’d be found. There be more of my people back in the forest. We be fifteen in all. We all fled Taenalapan when the Alshandra folk did whip up the citizens against us. We did fear a slow death at the hands of their priestesses because of our gifts.’

‘You’re telling me you all have dweomer.’

‘Not all, just some. The rest did come for their own reasons. But I be a horse mage, should you ken what that may be, and Vek here does see omens.’

For the first time in many years Salamander could think of nothing to say. He gawked at them, then mentally shook himself and caught Pir’s gaze to determine if the man lied. When the horse mage looked steadily back, Salamander recognized him. After the long lapse of years, he could no longer remember the name of the miserable human being he’d once run across, the man whose instinctive dweomer gifts had ensorcelled Jill, but he knew him. Pir took a sudden step back.

‘No need to fear,’ Salamander said. ‘You seem to be what you say you are.’

‘I be not a man good at lying,’ Pir said, ‘unlike some among us. I did come first to ask of you, shall we be safe if we come to surrender? Sidro does have reason to fear your army’s dragons, among other things.’

‘It’s only the silver wyrm who threatened her. He’s already been told to leave her alone. Tell me somewhat—is the raven mazrak among your people?’

‘He was, but he be there no longer, and therein lies a truly strange tale.’ Pir shook his head in bafflement. ‘He did vanish from the face of the world, as far as any of us do know. The black pyramid that he did steal from you? It did steal him in turn from us.’

Once again Salamander found himself at a loss for words. He longed to get Dallandra’s advice, but of course the battle casualties would be engrossing her utterly. He would offer these refugees shelter, he decided, and wait till he reached her to do anything more.
But there’s Gerran!
he thought.
He can be downright murderous.

‘Wait here,’ Salamander told Pir. ‘I want to ensure you’ll be safe before I accept your surrender.’

‘So be it. I’ll let our horses graze while we wait.’