Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [109]
Arrows flew down into the rear of the mob, and Cullyn saw one shaft split a lad’s mail and skewer him like a chicken on a spit. Cursing and yelling, part of the mob tried to peel off and run back around the walls. The rest surged forward. Cullyn got a kill at last, keeping his arm close to his side and stabbing rather than slashing. As the corpse fell, it knocked another man off his feet, and the mob swirled in confusion. Over the screaming, Cullyn heard a silver horn ring out.
“Red lions!” Calonderiel yelled.
“Cannobaen!” Dregydd howled.
Trapped between Lord Rhodry’s charge and the dun, the enemy broke in screaming panic. One clot of men surged blindly forward. Cullyn saw Albaral knocked off balance and swung round toward him. With a shout Dregydd leapt into line. Out of the corner of his eye, Cullyn saw the blur of a staff swinging down and the snap of a head as an enemy fell. An enemy slashed at Albaral, but an arrow caught him in the back. With a quick stab and slash, Cullyn killed the last of them. He threw his shield and grabbed Albaral’s arm as he tried to stagger to his feet. Albaral flopped like a rag doll onto Cullyn’s shoulder, and his mouth and nose were running blood. The cat-slit eyes, no longer alien somehow, sought his.
“I always knew this dun would see my death,” Albaral said. “Never thought I’d be defending it.”
When he coughed, blood bubbled and gouted on his lips. Staggering under his weight, Cullyn knelt to lay him back down, but Albaral was dead before they reached the ground, his mouth frozen in a blood-stained smile at his own jest.
“Ah, shit!” Cullyn said.
Around him echoed the cheers of the muleteers. Cullyn closed Albaral’s eyes, crossed his arms over his chest, then rose to find himself face to face with Rhodry. For a moment, they merely looked at each other. Cullyn was sure that he knew him; irrational though it was, he’d never been so sure of anything in his life, that he knew this young lord like a brother. Then the feeling vanished like dweomer. Rhodry laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.
“Lose a friend?” Rhodry said.
“I did. Well, it happens.”
“So it does, silver dagger.”
Cullyn nodded and let out his breath in a long sigh, surprised at the truth of it: Albaral had become a friend, there in the breach. The other two Westfolk came running. At the sight of Albaral, Jennantar burst out keening and flung himself down by the body, but Calonderiel merely set his hands on his hips, his whole body as tense as a strung bow.
“There’s another one,” he whispered. “Slain by the stinking Round-ears.”
Then he looked up and howled out a single word in his own tongue, the meaning plain for any man to hear: vengeance. Cullyn and Rhodry glanced at each other, then walked away to leave the Westfolk to their mourning. Once they were out of earshot, the puzzled lord turned to Cullyn.
“Westfolk? What are Westfolk doing mixed up in this?”
“It’s a stinking strange tale all round, my lord. These men weren’t bandits, either. What would you say if I told you Councillor Loddlaen of Dun Bruddlyn’s behind this?”
Rhodry seemed about to argue; then he glanced down to see the shattered shield of one of the enemy—a green shield with a tan chevron.
“By the Lord of Hell’s hairy balls! That’s Corbyn’s blazon, sure enough. Looking for a hire, silver dagger? I think me you’ve already captained the first battle of an open war.”
• • •
Lovyan was wondering irritably when Rhodry and his warband would return when Amyr rode in to deliver Rhodry’s message. Although she said nothing to Amyr, the news troubled her badly. She knew that there weren’t any bandits in western Eldidd for the simple reason that there wasn’t enough caravan trade to support them. At dinner, she and her two serving women, Dannyan and Medylla, sat at table