Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [163]
“Well and good, then. I’ve been waiting for that.”
Jill felt a cold shiver run down her back.
“Loddlaen is the key to everything,” Aderyn went on. “Corbyn’s been ensorceled so long that without Loddlaen, his nerve will break, and he’ll either surrender or sally. I’ve already asked Jennantar and Calonderiel to help me kill Loddlaen. Will you come with us when we go hunting the hawk?”
“I will, truly, but how are we going to get at him?”
“I’m going to make him fly. I wager I can lure him out, because I know him very well indeed.” He got up slowly. “It may take some time, mind, but I’ll just wager he comes to us in the end.”
After Aderyn left her, Jill sat by the campfire and wondered what strange dweomer Aderyn would use to lure his enemy out. She was still musing over it when Rhodry stepped out of the shadows as silently as one of the elves and sat down next to her. At an inadvertent touch of his sleeve on hers, Jill’s heart began to pound.
“Tell me somewhat. Are you sure that Nevyn spoke the truth about my Wyrd being Eldidd’s Wyrd?”
“I am. Rhodry, are you aching your heart again over having a lass fight for you?”
“Well, what man’s heart wouldn’t ache? But it’s not just the honor of the thing. I can’t bear to think of you being harmed. I think I’d rather have bards mock my name than to risk you getting one little scratch.”
“Has his lordship been drinking mead?”
“Oh, don’t be all my lady Haughty with me! You know I love you, and you love me, too.”
Jill got up, threw a branch on the fire, then watched the Wildfolk dancing along the dry bark in a long flare. After a long moment she heard Rhodry get up behind her.
“Jill? I know I can bring you nothing but harm. You’re right enough to be cold to me.”
Jill refused to answer.
“Please?” Rhodry went on. “All I want is to hear you say you love me. Say it just once, and I’ll be content with that.”
Rhodry slipped his arms around her from behind and pulled her back to rest against him. The simple human comfort of his touch went to her head like mead.
“I do love you. I love you with all my heart.”
His arms tightened around her; then he let her go. She stared into the fire while he walked away, because she knew that she would weep if she watched him go.
“We’ve got one last hope, the way I see it,” Nowec said. “Rhys hates his cursed brother so much that he might intervene just to shame him.”
“He might, truly,” Corbyn said.
When they both looked at him, Loddlaen merely shrugged. They had been besieged for eight days now, eight stinking days in the hot, dry autumn weather, eight days of living behind stone walls—a torment for a man used to riding with the Elcyion Lacar. He wanted to make them share his torment by telling them the bitter truth, but he wanted to have a plan of escape laid by before he did. If he could find a plan of escape.
“I’ve been working on the gwerbret’s mind, of course,” Loddlaen lied smoothly. “But the situation’s vexed for him. He has councillors who argue against intervention.”
“Ah, ye gods!” Nowec said. “We’ve got to think of morale. Can’t you do somewhat faster?”
“The dweomer has its own times of working.”
“Oh, indeed, you piss-proud beggar? You were quick enough to get us into this mess.”
Loddlaen stared straight at him. From his own aura he sent a line of light and struck at Nowec, spinning the lord’s aura. Nowec’s eyes went glazed.
“I do not care to be cursed.”
“Of course,” Nowec whispered. “My apologies.”
Loddlaen spun the aura once more, then released him.
“Besides, I assure you that the question of morale is very much on my mind. No doubt I can keep the men confident of our eventual victory.”
Loddlaen rose, bowed, and swept out of the chamber. He had to be alone to think. All he wanted to do was to call forth fire and burn that stinking dun to the ground. He would escape; he’d pack his clothes and a few coins in a sack, then fly away alone and free. Somewhere he’d find another lord to