Days of Air and Darkness - Katharine Kerr [145]
Below him, the mist lay with an edge like silver ferns, covering what had once been the horizon of the Lands. Through it he could see nothing. With a tuck of wings he dove, swooping through the mist, leveling just under its covering in a gray light hanging over a gray country, where huge boulders pushed up through thin soil, and dust blew in little scurries to match the mist. Yet here and there, he saw patches of green, lichen on a rock here, thin grass there. Little eyes gleamed in cracks and crannies; he heard little snarls and scrabblings. On and on it stretched, the gray and the broken rock. He began to circle back, knowing that Alshandra would never endure such a place.
His circling brought him to a dead tree, the black and stripped remains of a pine or some such straight-growing sort. Sitting with his back propped against it was an old man, dressed in shabby brown clothes; his skin, or his image of it, at least, was brown as well. He was paring an apple with a bent old knife; every now and then he would cut off a slice and eat it, but it seemed that he would never come to the end of the fruit, because the slice and the peel would grow back as soon as he’d done with them. Evandar’s curiosity won a brief battle. He circled again and landed on a boulder nearby. The old man considered him for a moment with merry black eyes, then offered him a slice of apple. Evandar shivered his feathers and changed into elven form, then took the fruit. Never had he tasted a thing so sweet or so fresh.
“Hah,” the old man said. “Well, now, you’re a surprise.”
“You’re one yourself, good sir. May I ask what you’re doing in this wretched place?”
“Doing what I can to make it less so. And what about you?”
“I’m looking for my wife. Sometimes she flies as a nighthawk, sometimes she walks as one of the Westfolk, but her name is Alshandra, and she’s quite mad.”
“Hah. Can’t say I’ve seen her. I’ve seen no one since I came into this country. Except for you, of course.”
“If you care to get out of here, watch the way I fly. There’s a green land in that direction, with a river of silver and some meadows that I am, I’ll admit, rather proud of. Come take our hospitality, if you’d like.”
“Very kind of you, and perhaps, one of these days, I might do so.”
Evandar stretched out his arms, shook himself all over, and changed into the hawk. He leapt from the rock and flew, heading back to the Lands, so intent upon finding Alshandra that he never gave another thought to the old man or wondered who he might be.
All day, with the elven archers and the dragon on guard, the relieving army worked furiously to dig itself into its new position behind some hasty ditches of its own. Once the supply train caught up with them, they barricaded the rear of the camp further with the carts. It was late in the evening before the men had time to talk among themselves, and then Yraen found out that their victory was in some ways a defeat.
“Well, look at their position now,” Rhodry said. “As snug as a bear in its den, they are, with the hills round their back to the north and the ditches in front of them. They still block the city gates, all three of them, north, east, and south. What are we going to do? Haul ourselves up and down the western cliffs in baskets?”
Yraen peered through the gathering dark. Against the stars, he could see the rise of the city, sailing like a ship over the exhausted armies below. Carra’s in there, he thought. And her blasted husband’s out here. He felt sick, realizing how fiercely he was wanting Dar to die in the coming battle. No honor left. Just a cursed silver dagger, aren’t you? Not a prince anymore at all. You couldn’t have her anyway. She’s carrying a royal child.
“Are you listening to me?” Rhodry snapped.
“What? My apologies. Just thinking.”
“That’s a bad thing for a fighting man to do.”
Yraen smiled at the familiar jest.
“I was talking about our situation,” Rhodry went on. “It’s like a siege inside a siege.