Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [121]
“You should have woken me earlier.”
“I don’t get as tired as most men. When you come in to change the guard, tell Myn to wake me well before dawn.”
Lidyc smiled, as if he thought Rhodry was pushing himself merely to spare his men, but it was the simple truth that Rhodry could go long hours without sleep, another gift from his wild blood. As he walked back into camp, he passed the wounded bandit, who was moaning aloud. When he knelt down beside the lad, he decided that Jill’s efforts to save him had been a waste of time. The bandit’s face was flushed so scarlet that it was obvious that infection had set into the wound.
“Which silver dagger are you?” he whispered.
“Rhodry. Why?”
“Where’s the lass?”
“Gone for help.”
“Does she truly have the jewels?”
“The what?”
“The jewels. The ones the old man said she had. We were supposed to take her alive and get the jewels.”
Rhodry grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Tell me the truth!” he snarled. “What old man?”
“The one who hired us.” His words were slurred and faint. “I don’t know his name. But he hired us to get the lass.”
“What did he look like?”
When he didn’t answer, Rhodry shook him again, but he’d passed out. With an oath he got up and left him. It was too late to go after Jill now. He wept again, then went out to take the watch back from Lidyc. It would be hours before he would be able to sleep with this new fear preying upon him. He’d let her go alone, when she was the true prize the entire time.
By midnight Sunrise was tiring badly. Jill dismounted to spare him her weight and led him on, both of them stumbling weary. Although her back ached like fire from the weight of the mail, she decided against taking it off. All she could think of was sitting down to rest, but she knew that if she did, she would fall asleep. In another mile she came to the highest point of the pass. Beside the road was a rough-cut stone pillar carved with a rearing stallion, the blazon of the gwerbrets of Cwm Pecl.
“The sight of that’s as good as an hour’s sleep. It can’t be much farther now.”
Sunrise snorted wearily, his head hanging. She leaned against the pillar and let him rest for a few minutes. All at once she knew that she was being watched, felt it as a cold shudder down her back. Sword in hand, she dropped the reins and took a few steps out into the road, then turned slowly in a circle, scanning the cliff tops. Nothing moved; no silhouettes of enemies showed against the moonlight. She grabbed the horse’s reins and went on, walking faster with a second wind of fear.
The feeling grew until sweat ran down her back. She was being watched. Any moment now, just beyond that bend in the road, or just behind that cluster of rocks, lay the ambush that meant her death. Yet another mile passed, and the ambush never came. The steep cliffs began to wear away, and the road grew wider, clearer, with easier footing, a better place for an attack. Still, mysterious eyes followed them as she walked beside her horse and patted his sweaty neck, encouraging him with soft words.
Finally he stumbled and almost went down. She let him stand, head hanging almost to the road, and considered leaving him behind. All at once she felt the watcher leave her. Dazed, she glanced around and saw, not a hundred yards away beside the road, a broch tower behind a low stone wall. It could only be one of Gwerbret Blaen’s famous patrol stations, a small warband quartered close to the border and ready for trouble, an expense no other lord in Deverry cared to undergo. She threw back her head and laughed.
“Come along, old friend. We can make a few more yards.”
Stumbling, Sunrise let her lead him to the iron-bound gates, carved with the stallion blazon. She prayed that someone would hear her when she yelled, but she saw a wink of silver in the moonlight—a horn, chained to the gate ring. She grabbed it and blew, a long, desperate note, while Sunrise tossed his head and snorted in triumph.
“Who