Days of Air and Darkness - Katharine Kerr [124]
“Ah, my fellow officers,” Tren said. “Ye gods! We have the Overseers and the Keepers of Discipline and the rakzanir—officers everywhere you look. A wretched lot of extra mouths to feed!”
“Well, the Overseers do fight, my lord. Just to be fair.”
“True. They’re not all useless.”
Some yards away across the parade ground, a fight broke out, a quick swirl of brawl like a dust devil. Yelling at the tops of their lungs, a handful of Horsekin swung and slugged one another. Tren saw a knife flash; the shouting changed to urgency. Red surcoats flapping, the Keepers shoved their way through the crowds and grabbed the brawlers, pulling them apart.
“Not precisely useless, my lord,” Ddary said, sighing. “I wish the Goddess would show herself again. It’s the only thing that keeps them happy, like.”
“Well, that and an attack. Expect one soon, captain. And this time we’re going to be in the thick of it. The high priestess herself has requested it.”
Ddary swore, looking round him with bleak eyes.
“We’d best comport ourselves well, too.” Tren dropped his voice. “There’s more than one way for a man to die in battle.”
“I take your meaning, my lord. I’ll pass the word on to the lads, well, the ones I can be sure of, anyway.”
“Let the ones you’re not sure of lead our part of the charge.”
They exchanged a fast smile. Tren would have said more, but by then they were walking too close to human slaves, some of whom spoke a dialect of Deverrian, to risk more honesty.
Every morning, like a warrior laying out his armor, Meer prepared himself for the next attack on Cengarn. On the carved chest in the chamber that he and Jahdo shared, he would lay out his small goatskin drum and its padded stick and his buckskin tunic with the charms and talismans studded all over it. Jahdo would fill a leather water bottle with fresh water, too, and put it next to the drum. When the alarum finally sounded, then, early on a sunny morning, they were ready. Meer had just told Jahdo to take the remains of breakfast away when they heard silver horns blow and a great shout go up from the dun walls.
“To arms! To arms!”
The sound of distant screaming from the town drifted in through the sunny window. Jahdo leapt to his feet, his heart pounding in time to the calling horns. More slowly, Meer rose, lifting his arms high.
“May the gods be with us, lad. It is time for me to join the fight as a bard’s calling demands.”
With Jahdo’s help, Meer stripped off his cloth shirt and put on the ceremonial tunic that marked his rank as bard and loremaster. He picked up the drum, gave it an experimental thwack, and pronounced it sound. Jahdo led him down the staircase and into the great hall, where a last few warriors were settling pot helms over their padded caps and grabbing swords.
“What’s this?” young Draudd called out. “Is the bard going to come sing to us while we fight?”
“Hold your tongue, you arrogant young colt,” Meer snarled. “I am a true bard marked out by the gods, and my words carry some force with the savages at our gates.”
In the company of Draudd’s squad, they hurried down through the swirling panic of the town. Since word reached them, passed along from militiaman to townsman, that the fighting was once again heaviest at the east gate, Draudd ran his men there with Meer and Jahdo scrambling to keep up. The captain of the town guard, Mallo, was standing at the foot of the ladders up to the catwalk, yelling orders.
“Ye gods!” he snarled at Meer. “I’ve no time to waste worrying about you, good sir, nor your lad neither.”
Meer drew himself up to his full height and boomed.
“The gods themselves have sent me here to curse those who would profane these walls. Will you stand in my way and theirs?”
Mallo growled under his breath, but he gave way. Getting Meer up the ladder wasn’t easy. He had to feel his way up each rung, and at the top,