A Time of Omens - Katharine Kerr [168]
“There, there, lass.” It was Otho, and his voice was full of soft concern. “You’ll come right in a moment.”
When she tried to answer the words stuck like lumps of vomit in her throat. Finally she decided that she’d have to face what needed facing and turned to look at the distant village. She could just see Rhodry and Yraen circling round the burning, with Nedd close behind them. She realized suddenly that if there were trapped survivors, the dogs would find them. She snapped her fingers and pointed.
“Nedd. Go to Nedd.”
They bounded off.
“Oh, well,” Carra went on. “It’s still better than marrying Lord Scraev. I’ll tell you about him sometime, Otho. You’ll laugh and laugh.”
Her voice sounded so weak and shaky to her own ears that she nearly wept. Otho laid a surprisingly gentle hand on her shoulder. “Tears help, lass.”
“I can’t weep. I’m a queen now. Sort of, anyway. The queens in all the old tales face this sort of thing with proud sneers or maybe a supernatural calm. Like what’s-her-name, King Maryn’s wife, when her enemies were accusing her of adultery and stuff.”
Otho’s face turned pale and oddly blank.
“Haven’t you heard that old story? Bellyra, that was it, and she stared them all down till her witness could get there and keep them from killing her.”
“Many a time and from many a bard.”
“You know, he was a smith like you, wasn’t he? I think that’s the way the tale ran. He was her jeweler or suchlike.” Carra forced a smile. “And she wasn’t killed, and so I’ll just take that as a good omen.”
“Now listen, lass, things look dark. I won’t lie to you. But for all that I love to slang him, Rhodry ap Devaberiel’s the best swordsman in this kingdom and points beyond as well, and young Yraen’s his match. We’ll get you through to Cengarn.”
“Shouldn’t we turn back?”
“Well, the raiders left plenty of tracks. Didn’t seem to see any reason why they should cover them, like, the arrogant bastards. I’d say they’re heading south right now. No use in riding after them, is there?”
“Oh, Goddess, I wish Dar were here! I… hold a bit. Did you say that Rhodry’s father is one of the Westfolk? I mean, with that name—”
“He couldn’t be anything but an elf, truly. That’s what I said, all right, but I’m not saying another word about it. Rhodry’s affair, not mine.”
In a few minutes the other men came back, Rhodry and Yraen grim, shaking their heads, Nedd dead-pale and sweating, the dogs slinking, all limp tails and ears. When they reached the body of the dead woman, Rhodry sent the others on ahead, then knelt down beside it. Carra turned her back on him and took a deep gulp of air.
“Are there more people dead?” she said to Yraen.
“There are. Not one thing we can do for the poor bastards. Three dead men, one lad of maybe fifteen. That woman we saw first. And the child she was carrying, of course.”
“That’s all? I mean, a farm this big—usually there’s a couple of families, working it.”
“I know.” Yraen muttered something foul under his breath before he went on. “I wonder if these bandits maybe took the other women and the children with them.”
“We’re not close enough to the coast for that.” Rhodry joined them. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“What?” Carra broke in. “What are you talking about?”
“Slaves for the Bardek trade. But the bandits would have to get them all the way down to the sea, avoiding the Westfolk and Deverry men alike on the way. Can’t see them bothering.”
“Well.” Yraen rubbed the side of his face with a gauntleted hand. “They might have wanted the women for—”
“Hold your tongue!” Rhodry hit him on the shoulder. “Look what I found in the dead woman’s fingers. She must have grabbed her attacker or suchlike.”
He held out a tuft of straw-colored hair, each coarse strand about a foot long.
“Looks like horse hair to me,” Yraen said.
Nedd sniffed it, then shook his head in a vigorous no.
“There weren’t