Days of Air and Darkness - Katharine Kerr [139]
“There was an odd thing, just before the sun rose. I thought I saw a man walking out in the herd, but then I looked again, and I couldn’t see a cursed thing. So I went out, like, just to see what I could see, and I thought I saw a stallion, a golden stallion with a silver mane and tail. So I rub my eyes, and by the gods, he’s gone! I’m dreaming, I tell myself, but now I wonder.”
“Maybe it was Epona’s husband, come to cheer them up a bit.”
They shared a laugh, and Yraen thought no more of it.
It was but a little while later that the men standing guard on the south-running road started to shout an alarum—dust rising, men on horseback coming! With no time to saddle up and arm properly, the men ran to the southern edge of the camp, formed into a shouting, cursing line, and realized that the contingent approaching was coming at an easy walk.
“More allies, maybe,” Erddyr said. “That would be a pleasant thing.”
Allies it turned out to be, over five hundred men of the Westfolk, archers all, with Prince Daralanteriel at their head, and best of all, they’d brought provisions and extra mounts. Since Dar knew him from their time together in Cengarn, Yraen introduced the prince to Gwerbret Drwmyc, then stood to one side of the circle of lords and half-listened to the exchange of ritual courtesies. He felt as if his blood would curdle with envy as he watched Dar, so much a warrior, such a good-looking man even if he wasn’t quite human, with his raven-dark hair and deep-set gray eyes, slit like a cat’s to reveal pupils of darker lavender, and with his straight stance and arrogant toss to his head, so much a prince, as well. Carra’s husband. Yraen turned away and hoped that the prince’s life never depended upon him in the coming war.
At the far edge of the camp, someone shouted a yelp of surprise like a kicked hound’s bark. Other men took up the cry and began pointing at something. At first, all Yraen saw was the shadow, a birdlike shape winging over the farmlands; finally it occurred to him to look up. He thought it a shape-changer at first, in the form of some peculiar bird, but as it circled, dropping lower, he realized the truth from its huge size.
“A dragon! Oh, by the black ass of the Lord of Hell, Rhodry did it!” Yraen tossed back his head and howled triumph. “He truly went and did it!”
“What?” It was Lord Erddyr, who’d wandered his way. “What are you saying, man?”
“Well, your lordship, Rhodry went off hunting for a dragon, you see, and by the look of that, I’d say he found one.”
Open-mouthed, Erddyr swung round just as the enormous creature landed out in the road. Dust plumed, then settled to reveal Rhodry indeed, sliding down from the dragon’s neck. With him was a man that Yraen recognized from years earlier, though it took him a moment to remember the name.
“That’s Evandar, my lord,” he said to Erddyr, “and he’s the greatest dweomerman in the world, as far I know, anyway.”
Erddyr made a strangled sort of noise, but no words came. The camp fell utterly silent, the men staring but never moving, never saying a word, never breathing, it seemed. A few had drawn their swords, but they held them loose in flaccid hands. The Westfolk archers merely smiled, watching the men’s reactions more than the dragon. With Evandar in tow, Rhodry came strolling up, grinning in his usual daft way, and bowed to Lord Erddyr.
“It gladdens my heart to see you again, my lord.” Rhodry glanced at Yraen. “You bastard! How did you get out of Cengarn?”
Yraen swung a pulled punch at him and hit him in the arm.
“A silver dagger’s luck, and a little help