Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [137]
Rhodry turned and blindly walked away. He felt his death lay a heavy arm around his shoulder and walk with him. Puffing a little, Sligyn caught up with him near the edge of the camp.
“Now, here. I don’t believe a word of it, eh? Doesn’t matter if it is true. Lot of horseshit.”
“Is it, now? If Aderyn can turn himself into an owl, why can’t he know the true or false of a prophecy?”
Sligyn started to reply, then looked away and chewed furiously on his mustache.
“It’s a cursed strange feeling, being doomed by dweomer,” Rhodry went on. “And doomed I am. When Corbyn chooses to cut his way to me, no one’s going to be able to stop him. When we face off, I won’t be able to kill him.”
“Only one thing to do, eh? Send you back to Cannobaen.”
“Never! And what good would my life do me, if I spent it as a shamed man?”
All at once Rhodry felt his berserker’s laugh, welling out of his mouth. He tossed back his head and howled until Sligyn grabbed him and shook him into silence.
By late afternoon, the news was all over the camp. Rhodry had never had the experience before of seeing an army’s morale crumble like a bit of dried mud rubbed between a man’s fingers. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Although the noble-born blustered and swore like Sligyn, they looked at Rhodry with a horrified pity. Rhodry walked through the camp and tried speaking personally to the men in the hopes of wiping away a fear so strong that he could smell it. At first, some of the men tried to jest with him, but as the afternoon wore on, they drew back as if he were a leper, this man whom the gods had cursed, lest his ill luck rub off on them.
To spare them the sight of him, Rhodry walked to the edge of the camp with Amyr, the only man in his warband who seemed glad of his company. Blond and bland looking, Amyr at sixteen was new to the warband, but he had more honor than most.
“My lord, when we face Corbyn again, I’ll fight right next to you. I swore I’d follow you to the Otherlands, and I will.”
“I honor you for it, but there’s no need. I’m going to challenge Corbyn to single combat and let him put an end to it.”
“What?”
“Just what I said. Why by the hells should the rest of you die in a hopeless cause? We’ll never kill Corbyn, and so, well and good, once he kills me, the rebellion’s over.”
Amyr turned to him with tears in his eyes.
“Speak well of me after I’m dead, will you?” Rhodry said.
His mouth working, Amyr walked a few steps away. As Rhodry looked down the road, he saw a small troop of horsemen coming up from the south. He waited until he was reasonably sure that Amyr could see them, then pointed them out. As the troop came closer, Rhodry could pick out the colors on their shields, a mixed lot from his various allies, and Jill at their head.
“By the hills, it’s the Cannobaen fortguard! What are they doing here?”
As soon as she dismounted, Jill enlightened him on the point.
“Reinforcements, my lord. I saw the battle in a vision, and you know I’m not daft because there was one, wasn’t there? So, by the Goddess herself, where’s my father?”
Amyr started to giggle, so loudly and so high that Rhodry grabbed and shook him.
“Pull yourself together! We’ve seen enough dweomer to take a little more.”
“It’s not that, my lord. It’s Jill.”
“What? Of course it’s Jill. I can see her.”
“Not that, my lord. Look—look at Jill. So Corbyn won’t die by any man’s hand, will he?”
Her thumbs hooked into her sword belt, Jill frowned at them as if she were thinking they’d both gone daft. Her stance, her gesture were so much those of a fighting man that suddenly Rhodry saw Amyr’s meaning. He threw back his head and howled with laughter until Jill could stand it no longer.
“By every god and his wife as well! Have I ridden into a camp filled with madmen?”
“My apologies. I’ll take you to your father straightaway, but Jill, oh, Jill, I should fall to the ground and kiss your feet.”
“Has my lord cadvridoc been hit on the head? What is all this?”
“I’ll explain after you’ve seen Cullyn. Silver dagger, I’ve got