Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [166]
As they stooped to pick up the body, Jill heard Aderyn wail, a long high keening from among the trees. On and on it went in a frantic rhythm so painful that she was glad when they were finally out of earshot. Although she was stunned that Aderyn would mourn his enemy, all she could assume was that the old tales were true, and that working dweomer together made strong bonds between men.
When they staggered into camp with their burden, one of the guards recognized Loddlaen and howled his name. The rest of the army came running. Laughing and slapping each other on the back, the noble-born and the commoners alike crowded round when they dumped the body at Rhodry’s feet.
“So the bastard bleeds like any other man, does he?” Rhodry called out. “Here, men, how do you feel about his cursed dweomer now?”
The army answered with catcalls and obscenities. Rhodry held up his hands for silence.
“It would only be honorable of me to return the councillor to his lord, wouldn’t it? I wonder what the piss-poor little weasel will think when he sees this?”
The men laughed and cheered him roundly. Jill looked up at the silent dun and wondered if Corbyn and his men could hear the noise. With a touch of dweomer-cold, she knew that tomorrow would bring the battle. The only way that Corbyn and Nowec could salvage one scrap of their lost honor was to sally and die.
Later that night, Nevyn attempted to contact Aderyn. He could feel his old pupils mind, grief-struck, torn, filled with a pain so palpable that a few tears came to Nevyn’s eyes. He broke off the attempt and left Aderyn alone with his mourning. Later there would be time to talk and learn the details, but Nevyn knew the most important thing: Loddlaen was dead. He left the brazier and flung open the shutters over the window in his chamber.
Far below him the tiny town of Dun Gwerbyn lay wrapped in darkness and silence. Once a dog barked; once a lantern bloomed briefly in a yard, then went out. The sleeping householders would never have to know what strange dangers had been threatening them and their overlords, and Nevyn was profoundly grateful for it. Over the past week, he had been contacting the other dweomermasters in the kingdom, who were scattered like a wide-meshed net across the land. A few had picked up traces of the dark dweomer close at hand, and now all were alerted. Soon Nevyn might have news of his fleeing enemy. He hoped so, because he would have to take steps against him as soon as he could.
“And tomorrow will see the end of this little tangle,” he remarked to the starry sky. “Oh dear gods, keep my Jill safe.”
The camp was struck, the baggage train sent farther down the meadow. In the brightening sunlight Rhodry’s army sat on their horses outside Dun Bruddlyn and waited. In a last honorable gesture to the enemy, Rhodry had positioned his men far enough back so that Corbyn would be able to get his entire force outside before the fighting started. Off to one side, Jill rode between Sligyn and Rhodry himself. Ready behind them was a squad of picked men to guard their dweomer warrior.
“Remember your orders,” Rhodry said to Jill. “You hang back and let the rest of us cut your path to Corbyn. Then he’s yours.”
Jill smiled at him; now that the time had come, her fear was far away, a little coldness in the pit of her stomach. Under her, Sunrise stamped, battle eager and ready. Suddenly the wind carried the sound of silver horns, ringing in the dun. Jill pulled her mail hood over her padded cap, settled her helm on top of it, then got her shield into position as javelin points winked up and down Rhodry’s line. As the distant horns sang out again, she drew her sword.
The gates to Dun Bruddlyn creaked open. With Lord Peredyr at its head, the main body of Rhodry’s army surged forward, held steady for a moment, then charged as the enemy poured out the gates in waves, turning and wheeling into a ragged line to meet the charge. Javelins arched through the air and fell as the field exploded with war cries.
“Get into position!” Rhodry yelled