A Time of Omens - Katharine Kerr [131]
“Transfer him over,” Rhodry yelled. “We’ve got to make speed.”
As Yraen mounted the fresh horse, he could tell from the gear that it had once been Lord Erddyr’s, who, of course, still rode his own gray. Ahead, the squad was already crashing its way through the underbrush and heading downhill. As he followed, Yraen saw Lord Erddyr, rising frantically in the stirrups as he tried to count his men. They trotted across the next valley and finally assembled in a laughing, shoving mob at the crest of the farther hill.
“Where’s that lad whose horse I’m riding?” Erddyr called out. “Come ride next to me, lad, and then we’d best get our asses out of here.”
Yraen guided his horse through the warband, which showered him with good-natured insults to show their respect for the way he’d saved their lord. Erddyr waved the line forward. Carefully they picked their way along the dark valleys until they reached the place where they’d left the main column. No one ever tried to follow them. Doubtless Adry and his men were chasing horses and swearing all over the hills round their camp.
“Well played,” Erddyr called out as the warband gathered around him. “It’s a pity your lord here almost ruined the whole maneuver, but we’re born to our place, not picked by wits.”
The men laughed and cheered him.
“It’s a cursed good thing I hired this silver dagger’s apprentice,” Erddyr went on. “But we’re a bit short on time to have the bard make you a song, lad. Let’s get on our way.”
When the warband rode out, Yraen and Rhodry rode together. By then the sky was beginning to pale into gray, and in the growing light Yraen could look round and see that their squad had suffered no losses. He remembered then the man who’d fallen at his feet when he’d been defending Lord Erddyr. I must have killed him, he thought—he lay so still. He shook his head hard, wondering why nothing seemed real or even important, then looked up to find Rhodry watching him.
“Not bad,” Rhodry said. “You’ve got sharp eyes, and a cursed good thing, too.”
“The scout, you mean?”
“That, too, but I was thinking about Lord Erddyr. Well done.”
Yraen felt himself blushing like the rising sun. The fulsome praise heaped upon his princely self by his father’s weaponmasters had lost all its meaning, compared to those two words.
“That’s true, good herbwoman,” Lady Melynda said. “My husband did indeed hire a silver dagger named Rhodry, and young Yraen, too. Of course, you’ve arrived a bit late to speak with them. The army rode out in the middle of the night, you see.”
For a moment the lady’s careful calm nearly deserted her. With shaking hands she wiped tears from her eyes, then composed herself with a long sigh that came close to being a gasp. Dallandra looked round the great hall, empty and echoing with silence. Aside from a handful of male servants, the only guards the lady had were three wounded men.
“Well, my lady, before I ride on, I’ll see what I can do for these men here.”
“My thanks, but I’d be most grateful if you did catch up with the army. You see, my husband doesn’t have a proper chirurgeon with his warband, so your aid would be most welcome.”
“In the morning, then, I’ll be on my way. No doubt they’ve left an easy trail to follow.”
Since it had been some years since Dallandra had tended wounds, she was dreading the job, but once she got the clumsy bandages off her first patient’s injuries, her old professional detachment set in. The man’s gashed and bloody flesh became merely a problem for her to solve with the medicinals and other means she had at hand, rather than an object of disgust, and his gratitude made the effort well worth it. By the time she finished with the wounded, it was late in the day. She washed up, then joined the lady and her serving women at the